6 January 1942, Iceland
Lieutenant Brett Castlebury was leading his platoon on a patrol near the small town of Selfoss. One of the locals reported seeing a stranger wandering the shores the day before yesterday. The platoon had loaded up in trucks yesterday and made the fifty mile trek over what the locals had the guts to call a road. They had spent the night in the town's Lutheran church. Now battered, bruised and stiff from the trip, the men of 3rd Platoon, Foxtrot Coy had spread out to search all the coves and bays that dotted the Icelandic coast.
Brett was in front of a squad heading east when he topped a rise and looked down into a small inlet below him. He held up his hand to stop the men as he spotted a man near a small boat. He peered through his binoculars at the man. He was dressed in heavy weather gear typical worn by sailors and appeared unarmed. Castlebury stepped back off the ridge and ordered his squad to deploy to his left. He then took three men with him as he slowly worked his way down keeping one eye on the unidentified stranger as he made his way through the rocks.
As he approached the man he could hear him softly singing to himself. Brett was no linguist but he didn't think Icelandic was the language of the tune. To his surprise the man either didn't notice the Marines approach or didn't care. He just sat there on a rock singing his little ditty. As they got closer, Brett could make out writing on the boat: SS Nidardal. The name sounded familiar to him, but Castlebury couldn't quite place it. No matter as he was taking no chances. They had been briefed on arrival on a few phrases in German they might need.
Brett raised his 0.45 pistol and said,“Tropfen Sie Waffe und heben Sie Ihre Hände (drop your weapon and raise your hands)”.
The man looked up at the Marine lieutenant with a bewildered look on his face.
“Hei, og hvem er du?”, the man said in a bemused tone.
“That's not German, Lieutenant. I think its Norwegian. My grandparents used to speak it”, commented PVT Olsen from behind Brett.
“Do you speak it?”, Brett said as he turned towards Olsen
“A little, sir. Its been a long time, “ Olsen replied hesitantly. “Hva er ditt nvan?”
“Jarl. Jarl Jonsen”, the main replied in surprise.
“His name is Jarl Jonsen, sir”, Olsen repeated.
“I got that part, Private”, Castlebury sniped. “What is he doing here?”
“Hvordan kom du hit?”, Olsen said brokenly.
The man looked up at Olsen and suddenly stood. Brett stepped back and held up his pistol. Jonsen then went into what must have been an epic tale. Brett couldn't understand a word and Olsen struggled to keep up. The long and short of it was that Jonsen had been aboard the freighter Nidardal when it was torpedoed by a U-boat. He was the only man to make it to the boat before it sank. Now, Brett remembered why the name sounded familiar to him. It had been part of the daily brief one day that she was sunk, but that was around Christmas! From what he could tell this man had spent ten days in the North Atlantic in that dinky lifeboat. He had come ashore three days ago but had no idea where he had landed.
Castlebury signaled the rest of the squad to come come down the ridge. He ordered the men to share some C-rations with Jonsen. He sent two men back to Selfoss to get a truck. He could tell there was no way Jonsen could make there on foot. In spite of his enthusiasm in telling his story, Brett could tell this man was about spent. After an hour or so, SGT Wilson appeared with a truck and they loaded their castway aboard and headed back to town making it there just before dark. They bedded down for the night in the church again. Jonsen, now warmed and well fed just kept talking. The men of the platoon were polite and smiled as he rambled on. They didn't understand a word he said but there were all duly impressed. Brett was too. Ten days lost at sea and all this guy needed was a crappy meal and some hot coffee to set him right. He found himself with a new level of respect for Norwegians.
The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
Moderators: wdolson, MOD_War-in-the-Pacific-Admirals-Edition
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
7 January 1942, Southwest of San Francisco, CA
LT(jg) Hank Tyler was flying his first patrol off the California coast. While there had been no submarine sightings this far south, several ships had been sunk up near Vancover Island. The RCN had lost two corvettes to the Japanese and they were not happy about it. There were also numerous sightings of Japanese float planes up there. Hank knew that the IJN had several submarines capable of launching float planes; he just found it hard to beleive that they actually were using them in a war time setting. A submarine was at its most vulnerable while on the surface. That type of operation would require the sub to remain there for some time.
Judd Stephens appeared between the pilot and copilots seats.
“Coffee, lieutenant?”, Stephens said as he extended a cup toward Tyler.
“Thanks, Judd”, Tyler replied taking the cup.
Hank usually didn't call the enlisted men by their first name but it was different with Stephens. First, he was more than five years Hank's senior, and more importantly, he needed to feel close to the one man who knew this plane better than anyone else including Tyler.
“You'all think were gonna find one of them crazy airplane carryin' Jap subs”, Stephens asked.
“Not likely”, Hank replied. “Between us and VP-44 we have this particular part of the Pacific Ocean well covered. You have to figure they know that as well.”
“How ya figure that, lieutenant?”, Stephens asked
“Well, the entire West Coast is filled with Japanese immigrants,” Hank replied. “ It would be foolish to think that some of them weren't agents. Don't get me wrong, I am sure most of them are good US citizens. Its just too easy for a Jap spy to blend right in is all I'm saying.”
“They out to just round them all up and send 'em packin' as far as I'm concerned”, Judd snarled.
“Really, Judd?”, Tyler interrupted. “They way I see it is that we all came from some where. Maybe these people left Japan because they didn't like the way the country was heading. I am sure most of them are just as loyal to the United States as you or me”
“Maybe so, lieutenant, but a Jap is a Jap to me,” Stephens replied.
“If you say so”, Hank replied knowing he was wasting his breath arguing with the man. “Besides, I am sure much smarter people than you in me will figure out how to deal with the situation”
LT(jg) Hank Tyler was flying his first patrol off the California coast. While there had been no submarine sightings this far south, several ships had been sunk up near Vancover Island. The RCN had lost two corvettes to the Japanese and they were not happy about it. There were also numerous sightings of Japanese float planes up there. Hank knew that the IJN had several submarines capable of launching float planes; he just found it hard to beleive that they actually were using them in a war time setting. A submarine was at its most vulnerable while on the surface. That type of operation would require the sub to remain there for some time.
Judd Stephens appeared between the pilot and copilots seats.
“Coffee, lieutenant?”, Stephens said as he extended a cup toward Tyler.
“Thanks, Judd”, Tyler replied taking the cup.
Hank usually didn't call the enlisted men by their first name but it was different with Stephens. First, he was more than five years Hank's senior, and more importantly, he needed to feel close to the one man who knew this plane better than anyone else including Tyler.
“You'all think were gonna find one of them crazy airplane carryin' Jap subs”, Stephens asked.
“Not likely”, Hank replied. “Between us and VP-44 we have this particular part of the Pacific Ocean well covered. You have to figure they know that as well.”
“How ya figure that, lieutenant?”, Stephens asked
“Well, the entire West Coast is filled with Japanese immigrants,” Hank replied. “ It would be foolish to think that some of them weren't agents. Don't get me wrong, I am sure most of them are good US citizens. Its just too easy for a Jap spy to blend right in is all I'm saying.”
“They out to just round them all up and send 'em packin' as far as I'm concerned”, Judd snarled.
“Really, Judd?”, Tyler interrupted. “They way I see it is that we all came from some where. Maybe these people left Japan because they didn't like the way the country was heading. I am sure most of them are just as loyal to the United States as you or me”
“Maybe so, lieutenant, but a Jap is a Jap to me,” Stephens replied.
“If you say so”, Hank replied knowing he was wasting his breath arguing with the man. “Besides, I am sure much smarter people than you in me will figure out how to deal with the situation”
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
8 January 1942, east of Sydney, Australia
Enterprise and Lexington were steaming east again. Scuttlebutt had it that they were to meet up with CV Saratoga somewhere near New Zealand. Many of the men were hoping that meant that they would finally be heading for a fight. The war was a month old and all the USN carriers had done was steam around the South Pacific. LT(jg) James West was in his cabin once again trying to get some sleep. Of course that meant the nightly ritual of what James had come to call The Three Bob's Supreme War Council.
“I don't understand why we don't just run north and raise some hell with those Japs around Rabaul”, opined Supreme War Minister Stone.
“Yeah, we need to give it to them they way they gave it to us”, agreed Supreme War Minister Jaccard
“Its about time they were on the receiving end of a good butt kicking if you asked me”, interjected Supreme War Minister Carey.
“Do you three clowns have any idea what you are talking about?”, James said knowing it was futile. “The Lex's fighter squadron still is flying Buffalos! What chance do you think they would have against Zeroes? CDR Gallaher told me that the Navy is rounding up some more F4Fs to fill out all the squadrons but it may take a month or more. Once that happens we can go looking for a fight. You three ever heard about the guy that brought a knife to a gunfight?”
“No, what happened?”, Stone replied quite seriously.
“It didn't end well for him”, West replied as he rolled over and tried to get to sleep.
Enterprise and Lexington were steaming east again. Scuttlebutt had it that they were to meet up with CV Saratoga somewhere near New Zealand. Many of the men were hoping that meant that they would finally be heading for a fight. The war was a month old and all the USN carriers had done was steam around the South Pacific. LT(jg) James West was in his cabin once again trying to get some sleep. Of course that meant the nightly ritual of what James had come to call The Three Bob's Supreme War Council.
“I don't understand why we don't just run north and raise some hell with those Japs around Rabaul”, opined Supreme War Minister Stone.
“Yeah, we need to give it to them they way they gave it to us”, agreed Supreme War Minister Jaccard
“Its about time they were on the receiving end of a good butt kicking if you asked me”, interjected Supreme War Minister Carey.
“Do you three clowns have any idea what you are talking about?”, James said knowing it was futile. “The Lex's fighter squadron still is flying Buffalos! What chance do you think they would have against Zeroes? CDR Gallaher told me that the Navy is rounding up some more F4Fs to fill out all the squadrons but it may take a month or more. Once that happens we can go looking for a fight. You three ever heard about the guy that brought a knife to a gunfight?”
“No, what happened?”, Stone replied quite seriously.
“It didn't end well for him”, West replied as he rolled over and tried to get to sleep.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
9 January 1942, Washington, DC
LT(jg) Greg Cummins' eyes were beginning to ache. He'd been staring at blueprints all day and there were starting to all look the same to him. The USN had nine or ten destroyer classes his team was assigned to work up. The nine or ten was because some considered the Benson Class as two classes (Benson and Livermore) and some considered it as just one. The major difference was that the latter ships (the Livermores) had about two extra feet of beam which did give them slightly better sea keeping. Other than that they carried the same armament, had the same power plants, and essentially looked the same without a tape measure. For now, the old WWI four-pipers were not assigned to Greg's team.
“Thank God for small miracles”, Greg mused to himself.
He heard footsteps approach his desk and looked up to see Capt. Lawrence walking toward him.
“Greg”, he started. “If you were going to pick one class of destroyers to upgrade first, which would it be?”
“Hasn't that decisions already been made?” Greg asked
“Yes, but I just wanted your opinion, “ the Captain continued.
“ Well sir, there are a number of things I might consider”, Cummins replied while thinking
“ Such as?” Captain Lawrence asked drawing out the last word.
“First, I would want it to be one of the newest classes as those ships are the most modern”, Greg started. “While I could see suggesting the Benson/Livermores as they are still being built, I think it might be better to start with one of the smaller classes to get the kinks out if you know what I mean.”
“Agreed”, nodded Lawrence.
“So that leaves the the Sims and the Benhams in my mind”, Greg said thinking aloud. “Being as the Benhams are going to be tougher because of the torpedo layout, I would go with the Sims.”
“Good man!” Lawrence said as he clapped Greg on the shoulder. “BurShips wants the plans and materials for the Sims Class in place by 1 March. You think you can do that?”
“Do I think I can do that?” Greg stammered.
“Yes, you”, Lawrence answered confidently. “I want you to drop everything else you have and work on just this project. You think you can do that for me.”
“Aye, sir”, Greg said with confidence.
“Good man”, Lawrence said with another clap on the shoulder and walked away
Greg sat there for a moment in stunned silence. Did he just volunteer himself for this job? He didn't mean to but some how it seemed that way. Wasn't there a saying in the Navy: never volunteer for anything? Well, he guessed he really didn't have anything else to do this weekend. He sorted through his stack of blueprints and pulled up the ones for the Sims class. He also made a mental note to himself: he better stop by operations to figure out where all the Sims class destroyers were at that moment. That might be some helpful information to have on hand
LT(jg) Greg Cummins' eyes were beginning to ache. He'd been staring at blueprints all day and there were starting to all look the same to him. The USN had nine or ten destroyer classes his team was assigned to work up. The nine or ten was because some considered the Benson Class as two classes (Benson and Livermore) and some considered it as just one. The major difference was that the latter ships (the Livermores) had about two extra feet of beam which did give them slightly better sea keeping. Other than that they carried the same armament, had the same power plants, and essentially looked the same without a tape measure. For now, the old WWI four-pipers were not assigned to Greg's team.
“Thank God for small miracles”, Greg mused to himself.
He heard footsteps approach his desk and looked up to see Capt. Lawrence walking toward him.
“Greg”, he started. “If you were going to pick one class of destroyers to upgrade first, which would it be?”
“Hasn't that decisions already been made?” Greg asked
“Yes, but I just wanted your opinion, “ the Captain continued.
“ Well sir, there are a number of things I might consider”, Cummins replied while thinking
“ Such as?” Captain Lawrence asked drawing out the last word.
“First, I would want it to be one of the newest classes as those ships are the most modern”, Greg started. “While I could see suggesting the Benson/Livermores as they are still being built, I think it might be better to start with one of the smaller classes to get the kinks out if you know what I mean.”
“Agreed”, nodded Lawrence.
“So that leaves the the Sims and the Benhams in my mind”, Greg said thinking aloud. “Being as the Benhams are going to be tougher because of the torpedo layout, I would go with the Sims.”
“Good man!” Lawrence said as he clapped Greg on the shoulder. “BurShips wants the plans and materials for the Sims Class in place by 1 March. You think you can do that?”
“Do I think I can do that?” Greg stammered.
“Yes, you”, Lawrence answered confidently. “I want you to drop everything else you have and work on just this project. You think you can do that for me.”
“Aye, sir”, Greg said with confidence.
“Good man”, Lawrence said with another clap on the shoulder and walked away
Greg sat there for a moment in stunned silence. Did he just volunteer himself for this job? He didn't mean to but some how it seemed that way. Wasn't there a saying in the Navy: never volunteer for anything? Well, he guessed he really didn't have anything else to do this weekend. He sorted through his stack of blueprints and pulled up the ones for the Sims class. He also made a mental note to himself: he better stop by operations to figure out where all the Sims class destroyers were at that moment. That might be some helpful information to have on hand
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
10 January 1942, West of Tori Shima Island
Swordfish had pulled south away from her primary patrol zone. The sub was being overflown almost every day by Japanese patrol aircraft. LCDR Smith was concerned that the enemy might have them boxed in; so, he ordered the move south. Predictability was never a good idea in war.
LT(jg) DJ Haskins was once again Officer of the Deck (OOD) during midwatch. The night was cold but the seas were blissfully calm. The only sounds were the quiet hum of the boat's diesel exhaust aft and the gentle lapping of the wavelets as they broke against the subs bow. DJ heard steps coming up the ladder from below, and soon LT Phelps was beside him.
“Anything to report?” Phelps said in almost a whisper not wanting to break the near silence without even thinking about it.
“Nothing, sir. Its 0400 and all is well”, he replied with a grin. “ I was just going to get a fix before I went below.”
“Definitely don't want to pass up that opportunity on a night like this”, Phelps replied looking up at the stars. “Which one's you gonna use?”
While technically it was possible to get a fix off a single star, most navigators took several readings to reduce the margin of error. Dan pointed his sextant due north and found the last star in Ursa minor.
“Well, sir”, he said peering through the sextant. “I like to start with Polaris just out of habit. Now let's move over to Aries, the god of war. And finally, Orion ...the hunter”
With each reading, DJ made a mental note of the angle. Most navigators would write down the number, but he never had problems remembering them. When he got below he would use the appropriate charts cross-referencing his readings with the time to get a near perfect fix on Swordfish's position.
“You have a good night sir. Happy hunting”, Haskins said with a salute. “Mr. Phelps has the bridge”, he barked as he descended the ladder.
Swordfish had pulled south away from her primary patrol zone. The sub was being overflown almost every day by Japanese patrol aircraft. LCDR Smith was concerned that the enemy might have them boxed in; so, he ordered the move south. Predictability was never a good idea in war.
LT(jg) DJ Haskins was once again Officer of the Deck (OOD) during midwatch. The night was cold but the seas were blissfully calm. The only sounds were the quiet hum of the boat's diesel exhaust aft and the gentle lapping of the wavelets as they broke against the subs bow. DJ heard steps coming up the ladder from below, and soon LT Phelps was beside him.
“Anything to report?” Phelps said in almost a whisper not wanting to break the near silence without even thinking about it.
“Nothing, sir. Its 0400 and all is well”, he replied with a grin. “ I was just going to get a fix before I went below.”
“Definitely don't want to pass up that opportunity on a night like this”, Phelps replied looking up at the stars. “Which one's you gonna use?”
While technically it was possible to get a fix off a single star, most navigators took several readings to reduce the margin of error. Dan pointed his sextant due north and found the last star in Ursa minor.
“Well, sir”, he said peering through the sextant. “I like to start with Polaris just out of habit. Now let's move over to Aries, the god of war. And finally, Orion ...the hunter”
With each reading, DJ made a mental note of the angle. Most navigators would write down the number, but he never had problems remembering them. When he got below he would use the appropriate charts cross-referencing his readings with the time to get a near perfect fix on Swordfish's position.
“You have a good night sir. Happy hunting”, Haskins said with a salute. “Mr. Phelps has the bridge”, he barked as he descended the ladder.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
11 January 1941, Reykjavik Iceland
1st LT Bret Castlebury was getting a little tired of these wild goose chases. The locals, while initially suspicious of the Americans, were now in full blown war mode. Hardly a day went by without a report of “a suspicious man” or “a strange boat” or even “An U-boat being sited off the coast”. With the exception of his encounter with the shipwrecked Jonsen a few days ago, 3rd platoon had not found any of these reports to be valid at all. Nonetheless, each one had to be investigated just in case the next one proved to be accurate.
They were trudging up and down the steep ridges that mark the Icelandic coast to investigate another U-boat siting this gray, wet afternoon. A local fishermen was “sure” he had spotted a periscope on his way back to harbor just southeast of the port. Bret had set the men down on the lee side of a particular high ridge for a quick breather. He walked to the top of the ridge with his binoculars to take a look.
To his surprise he caught movement out of his eye to the southeast. He lifted his binoculars and for a moment he too thought he was looking at a periscope. Closer examination revealed the true “enemy”. It was a whale. What happened next made Castlebury think he was losing his mind. The whale was waving at him! It was holding one of its fins straight out of the water and flipping it back and forth. He was about to call MSGT Wilson up to take a look but thought better of it. Brett doubted he would ever live it down if his men found out he thought a whale was waving at him. Instead, he just turned and headed back down the ridge.
“Everybody up!” he commanded. “Nothing to see here. Just another false alarm”, he said as he started back to base.
1st LT Bret Castlebury was getting a little tired of these wild goose chases. The locals, while initially suspicious of the Americans, were now in full blown war mode. Hardly a day went by without a report of “a suspicious man” or “a strange boat” or even “An U-boat being sited off the coast”. With the exception of his encounter with the shipwrecked Jonsen a few days ago, 3rd platoon had not found any of these reports to be valid at all. Nonetheless, each one had to be investigated just in case the next one proved to be accurate.
They were trudging up and down the steep ridges that mark the Icelandic coast to investigate another U-boat siting this gray, wet afternoon. A local fishermen was “sure” he had spotted a periscope on his way back to harbor just southeast of the port. Bret had set the men down on the lee side of a particular high ridge for a quick breather. He walked to the top of the ridge with his binoculars to take a look.
To his surprise he caught movement out of his eye to the southeast. He lifted his binoculars and for a moment he too thought he was looking at a periscope. Closer examination revealed the true “enemy”. It was a whale. What happened next made Castlebury think he was losing his mind. The whale was waving at him! It was holding one of its fins straight out of the water and flipping it back and forth. He was about to call MSGT Wilson up to take a look but thought better of it. Brett doubted he would ever live it down if his men found out he thought a whale was waving at him. Instead, he just turned and headed back down the ridge.
“Everybody up!” he commanded. “Nothing to see here. Just another false alarm”, he said as he started back to base.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
12 January 1942, Wellington New Zealand
The two CVTF had met up with oilers and ammunition ships in this small port at the southern tip of New Zealand's North Island. An IJN submarine had been spotted near Auckland so Admiral Halsey had ordered his ships further south. He knew that his carriers were the primary deterrence to the Japanese Navy making a strike towards the New Hebrides and New Caledonia. The last thing he wanted was for them to get a fix on his position.
Now, the two CVTF were three as Saratoga's group had just arrived. Word had it that Yorktown was not far behind. While not enough to challenge the full Japanese carrier fleet, that force would be able to put a hurt on anything short of a max effort. LT(jg) James West was now joining in with The Three Bobs nightly War Council meetings a little more enthusiastically. Wasn't it time that the USN made some noise?
The two CVTF had met up with oilers and ammunition ships in this small port at the southern tip of New Zealand's North Island. An IJN submarine had been spotted near Auckland so Admiral Halsey had ordered his ships further south. He knew that his carriers were the primary deterrence to the Japanese Navy making a strike towards the New Hebrides and New Caledonia. The last thing he wanted was for them to get a fix on his position.
Now, the two CVTF were three as Saratoga's group had just arrived. Word had it that Yorktown was not far behind. While not enough to challenge the full Japanese carrier fleet, that force would be able to put a hurt on anything short of a max effort. LT(jg) James West was now joining in with The Three Bobs nightly War Council meetings a little more enthusiastically. Wasn't it time that the USN made some noise?
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
13 January 1942, Washington, DC
LT(jg) Greg Cummins was on his way back to his office after spending the morning in the Operations Center. Just finding all the Sims Class destroyers was no easy task. They were spread out across have the world it seemed. Five of them were in the South Pacific escorting CV Yorktown. Five were in the North Atlantic on convoy duty. The last two were off the East Coast chasing U-boats. At least the last two would be relatively easy to get into a shipyard. Greg also figured the five on convoy duty could be rotated in and out so as to not put undue strain on CINCLANT's needs. Quite frankly, he had no idea as to how to deal with the five in the Pacific. They were thousands of miles away from the nearest US port. Greg just couldn't see how the logistics could be worked out to get the needed materials to New Zealand or Australia either.
He stopped at Captain Lawrence's office on his way back.
“Sir, we have a problem”, he said as he saluted.
“How's that?” Lawrence replied as he motioned Greg to sit.
“Well the seven Sims class assigned to the Atlantic shouldn't be much trouble sir”, Cummins started. “The other five are steaming with Yorktown. The CNO's staff can't even tell me for sure where they are now let alone where they will be in six weeks. Where should I assemble the equipment for their upgrades? Pearl Harbor? The West Coast?”
“I'll have to run that by Admiral Stark's Chief of Staff”, Lawrence answered. “For now I think you should plan to gather all the necessary items at a West Coast port. We'll either move it to where it needs to be from there or bring the destroyers to that point.”
“Aye, sir”, Greg said as he stood. “Any idea which port I should use?”
“I'll leave that up to you”, Lawrence answered, “but I would think either San Diego, Alameda, or Mare Island would be best. No sense in sending them all the way up to Puget Sound if the are needed in the South Pacific.”
“Aye, sir”, Greg saluted and left. Great, yet another item to add to his “to do” list.
LT(jg) Greg Cummins was on his way back to his office after spending the morning in the Operations Center. Just finding all the Sims Class destroyers was no easy task. They were spread out across have the world it seemed. Five of them were in the South Pacific escorting CV Yorktown. Five were in the North Atlantic on convoy duty. The last two were off the East Coast chasing U-boats. At least the last two would be relatively easy to get into a shipyard. Greg also figured the five on convoy duty could be rotated in and out so as to not put undue strain on CINCLANT's needs. Quite frankly, he had no idea as to how to deal with the five in the Pacific. They were thousands of miles away from the nearest US port. Greg just couldn't see how the logistics could be worked out to get the needed materials to New Zealand or Australia either.
He stopped at Captain Lawrence's office on his way back.
“Sir, we have a problem”, he said as he saluted.
“How's that?” Lawrence replied as he motioned Greg to sit.
“Well the seven Sims class assigned to the Atlantic shouldn't be much trouble sir”, Cummins started. “The other five are steaming with Yorktown. The CNO's staff can't even tell me for sure where they are now let alone where they will be in six weeks. Where should I assemble the equipment for their upgrades? Pearl Harbor? The West Coast?”
“I'll have to run that by Admiral Stark's Chief of Staff”, Lawrence answered. “For now I think you should plan to gather all the necessary items at a West Coast port. We'll either move it to where it needs to be from there or bring the destroyers to that point.”
“Aye, sir”, Greg said as he stood. “Any idea which port I should use?”
“I'll leave that up to you”, Lawrence answered, “but I would think either San Diego, Alameda, or Mare Island would be best. No sense in sending them all the way up to Puget Sound if the are needed in the South Pacific.”
“Aye, sir”, Greg saluted and left. Great, yet another item to add to his “to do” list.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
14 January 1942, South of Japan
Still no sign of the Japanese. Well except for the constant overflights by patrol aircraft that is.
LT(jg) DJ Haskins had just given his morning position fix to LCDR Smith. He, Smith and LT Phelps were gathered in the sub's control room.
“Ron, what's the fuel status?” Smith asked Phelps.
“I figure we still have a week's steaming before we need to head back sir”, answered Phelps. “That is assuming, we are still planning on returning to Mariveles. Is that correct, sir?”
“I think that is still the plan”, Smith replied. “With Manila gone, we don't have much choice. Supposedly MacArthur has finally stopped the Japs at the base of the Bataan Peninsula. I don't know how long they can hold but the word from Admiral Hart is that we should still have a port there”.
“If that is still the case, I think we can stay out for about another week”, Phelps added. “Of course that all depends on if we burn any fuel chasing targets.”
“Well, if that's the case, find me some targets, LT Phelps”, Smith jibed. “No offense, lieutenant, but you could use a shower.”
Phelps knew better than to shoot back with a wisecrack of his own. He had a good relationship with the skipper but not that good.
Still no sign of the Japanese. Well except for the constant overflights by patrol aircraft that is.
LT(jg) DJ Haskins had just given his morning position fix to LCDR Smith. He, Smith and LT Phelps were gathered in the sub's control room.
“Ron, what's the fuel status?” Smith asked Phelps.
“I figure we still have a week's steaming before we need to head back sir”, answered Phelps. “That is assuming, we are still planning on returning to Mariveles. Is that correct, sir?”
“I think that is still the plan”, Smith replied. “With Manila gone, we don't have much choice. Supposedly MacArthur has finally stopped the Japs at the base of the Bataan Peninsula. I don't know how long they can hold but the word from Admiral Hart is that we should still have a port there”.
“If that is still the case, I think we can stay out for about another week”, Phelps added. “Of course that all depends on if we burn any fuel chasing targets.”
“Well, if that's the case, find me some targets, LT Phelps”, Smith jibed. “No offense, lieutenant, but you could use a shower.”
Phelps knew better than to shoot back with a wisecrack of his own. He had a good relationship with the skipper but not that good.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
15 January 1942, Iceland
Being a Michigander, 1stLT Castlebury had only read about hurricanes. Never in his life did he expect he would face a storm of hurricane force in Iceland. His Navy meteorologist friend had warned him last night that the storm was coming and it was going to be a blow. The storm had sustained winds of over 80 kts and the gusts were topping 100 kts. Castlebury was hunkered down with his platoon in the now darkened barracks. Power had been knock out early in the morning and they all knew it would stay that way until the storm had subsided.
Brett and the men were huddled around the kerosene heater at one end of the barracks. Several windows had already been knocked out causing them to scramble to find some wood to fashion makeshift patches. Even with the heater, the temperature was still hovering just above freezing. The building was shaking with every strong gust causing the men to look up wondering if the next gust would take it down. The large shortwave antenna at the Com station on the other side of the base was acting as a giant tuning fork emitting a low hum in response to the assault from the gale.
Castlebury was walking among the men stopping and talking to small groups. He knew his men were highly trained to fight any enemy, but this was different. A man could stand up and face his foe even if it meant hand to hand combat. Brett knew his men were ready for that when it was time. But this? This was different. To sit in the cold wondering if the roof was literally about to come down on them was testing them in a completely different way. He made his way through the group making a mental note of each man he thought might need extra attention. For now, all they could do is wait it out.
(Note: the storm lasted from 15 January unto 19 January causing heavy damage to CA Wichita that was at anchor in Hvalfjordur harbor)
Being a Michigander, 1stLT Castlebury had only read about hurricanes. Never in his life did he expect he would face a storm of hurricane force in Iceland. His Navy meteorologist friend had warned him last night that the storm was coming and it was going to be a blow. The storm had sustained winds of over 80 kts and the gusts were topping 100 kts. Castlebury was hunkered down with his platoon in the now darkened barracks. Power had been knock out early in the morning and they all knew it would stay that way until the storm had subsided.
Brett and the men were huddled around the kerosene heater at one end of the barracks. Several windows had already been knocked out causing them to scramble to find some wood to fashion makeshift patches. Even with the heater, the temperature was still hovering just above freezing. The building was shaking with every strong gust causing the men to look up wondering if the next gust would take it down. The large shortwave antenna at the Com station on the other side of the base was acting as a giant tuning fork emitting a low hum in response to the assault from the gale.
Castlebury was walking among the men stopping and talking to small groups. He knew his men were highly trained to fight any enemy, but this was different. A man could stand up and face his foe even if it meant hand to hand combat. Brett knew his men were ready for that when it was time. But this? This was different. To sit in the cold wondering if the roof was literally about to come down on them was testing them in a completely different way. He made his way through the group making a mental note of each man he thought might need extra attention. For now, all they could do is wait it out.
(Note: the storm lasted from 15 January unto 19 January causing heavy damage to CA Wichita that was at anchor in Hvalfjordur harbor)
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
16 January 1942, San Francisco, CA
As is typical for this time of year, the entire San Francisco area is socked in with fog. The men of VP-51 have little to do but wait to see if it lifts enough for flight operations. On this day, it does not. Some men are gathered in one corner of the Ready Room playing cards. Others are writing letters to mothers, friends, and sweethearts back home. Some of the eager beaver young ensigns are ready training manuals and quizzing each other over the new information.
LT(jg) Hank Tyler is sitting at a table reading the San Francisco Chronicle. The first few pages all all filled with various stories of the war. Fortunately, the “invasion hysteria” seemed to be wearing off some but not completely. Hank scans the pages not looking for anything in particular. He turns the page and is met by a photograph of a strikingly beautiful women.
“No what do we have here?”, he said under his breath.
The women was Emily Stebbins, the daughter of a local bank president. It seems Miss Emily had organized a fund raising tea to raise money for local orphans of servicemen killed in combat. The war was barely a month old and already dozens of children were now fatherless in the Bay area.
“Just an excuse for a bunch of rich girls to get together in the name of a good cause so they can “feel” like they were doing something of consequence”, Hank sneered to himself.
He had known plenty of girls like this back in New York. Spoiled little girls who found their greatest pleasure in letting every one know just how much Daddy was worth. Still, Emily was a looker. Hank wondered if there was any way he could meet her. Past experience certainly proved that if he could get in the door, he knew his way around the house.
As is typical for this time of year, the entire San Francisco area is socked in with fog. The men of VP-51 have little to do but wait to see if it lifts enough for flight operations. On this day, it does not. Some men are gathered in one corner of the Ready Room playing cards. Others are writing letters to mothers, friends, and sweethearts back home. Some of the eager beaver young ensigns are ready training manuals and quizzing each other over the new information.
LT(jg) Hank Tyler is sitting at a table reading the San Francisco Chronicle. The first few pages all all filled with various stories of the war. Fortunately, the “invasion hysteria” seemed to be wearing off some but not completely. Hank scans the pages not looking for anything in particular. He turns the page and is met by a photograph of a strikingly beautiful women.
“No what do we have here?”, he said under his breath.
The women was Emily Stebbins, the daughter of a local bank president. It seems Miss Emily had organized a fund raising tea to raise money for local orphans of servicemen killed in combat. The war was barely a month old and already dozens of children were now fatherless in the Bay area.
“Just an excuse for a bunch of rich girls to get together in the name of a good cause so they can “feel” like they were doing something of consequence”, Hank sneered to himself.
He had known plenty of girls like this back in New York. Spoiled little girls who found their greatest pleasure in letting every one know just how much Daddy was worth. Still, Emily was a looker. Hank wondered if there was any way he could meet her. Past experience certainly proved that if he could get in the door, he knew his way around the house.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
17 January 1942, Dunedin, New Zealand.
The three CVTF were now patrolling off the east side of the South Island. A submarine had been spotted near Wellington so they scooted south. Scuttlebutt was that once Yorktown joined up, they were going on some major operation. Options ranged from raiding Rabaul to the Marshalls to even hitting the major Jap base at Truk. It was amazing what men could do with so little information and time on their hands
LT(jg) James West was more concerned with the task at hand. That task was beating LT(jg) Carey at Gin. James was raised playing the game. His mother was an expert and had taught all her children the fine nuances of play. Sunday afternoons at the West household were often filled with family tournaments. James was not as good as his mother but he was no slouch. Carey was not bad either, and the discovery that he played was a pleasant surprise to say the least. At present, Carey had an 85 to 76 lead and of course was relishing his moment.
“We still playing a penny a point?”, Carey asked
“No reason to change now”, West replied. “Unless, of course, you want to double it.”
“Two cents a point?”, Carey said raising his eyebrow. “Fine with me”
“And me also”, smiled West. “Oh, and GIN!”
The three CVTF were now patrolling off the east side of the South Island. A submarine had been spotted near Wellington so they scooted south. Scuttlebutt was that once Yorktown joined up, they were going on some major operation. Options ranged from raiding Rabaul to the Marshalls to even hitting the major Jap base at Truk. It was amazing what men could do with so little information and time on their hands
LT(jg) James West was more concerned with the task at hand. That task was beating LT(jg) Carey at Gin. James was raised playing the game. His mother was an expert and had taught all her children the fine nuances of play. Sunday afternoons at the West household were often filled with family tournaments. James was not as good as his mother but he was no slouch. Carey was not bad either, and the discovery that he played was a pleasant surprise to say the least. At present, Carey had an 85 to 76 lead and of course was relishing his moment.
“We still playing a penny a point?”, Carey asked
“No reason to change now”, West replied. “Unless, of course, you want to double it.”
“Two cents a point?”, Carey said raising his eyebrow. “Fine with me”
“And me also”, smiled West. “Oh, and GIN!”
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
18 January 1942, Washington, DC
The Naval Operations Center in the main building at the Washington Naval Yard was a sight to behold. Teletype machines were running constantly as information was gathered from the four corners of the world. Serious looking men ripped sheets from the machines and whisked them off to even more serious looking men. To the outsider it looked chaotic, but a trained eye could see a high level of organization in this chaos.
Greg Cummins was trying to find LCDR Rogers to get an answer to his question about PacFleet's Sims Class Destroyers. He found him at his desk talking on the telephone. He held an open palm up to Cummins as he approached signaling him to wait. He finished his conversation and put down the receiver.
“I don't even need to ask why you are here, Cummins”, Rogers said. “BurShips wants to know where the five Sims Class in the SoPac are going to be in six weeks.”
“Exactly”, Greg replied in hope he might actually get an answer this time.
“The answer is: I don't know. In fact nobody knows,” Rogers said in exasperation. “Hell, six weeks ago, we were at peace. Now Hong Kong has fallen, Manila has fallen, and Singapore is threatened. We are trying to piece together some sort of effective defense with the ships and units at our disposal.”
“We understand that sir”, Greg said. “We just need to know where to send the necessary equipment to upgrade the ships when they do make port. Should we send it to Pearl Harbor or San Diego or ship it to Australia or some other place?”
“Well I wouldn't send it to Pearl Harbor at this point”, Rogers replied. “The shipyard there is still occupied with repairing the ships damaged on 7 December. I wouldn't send it south either because there is just as good a chance that Sims will not put into port down there. So, I'd go with San Diego for now. I'm not promising you anything but its the best I got for now.”
“Thank you, sir”, Greg said smiling. “Don't worry. I won't hold you to it”
Greg saluted and walked away. He hoped Rogers realized that he had no control what BurShips would do with that information. If the Sims ended up 5000 miles away from their upgrade material, some one was going to get blamed. Greg just hoped it wasn't him.
The Naval Operations Center in the main building at the Washington Naval Yard was a sight to behold. Teletype machines were running constantly as information was gathered from the four corners of the world. Serious looking men ripped sheets from the machines and whisked them off to even more serious looking men. To the outsider it looked chaotic, but a trained eye could see a high level of organization in this chaos.
Greg Cummins was trying to find LCDR Rogers to get an answer to his question about PacFleet's Sims Class Destroyers. He found him at his desk talking on the telephone. He held an open palm up to Cummins as he approached signaling him to wait. He finished his conversation and put down the receiver.
“I don't even need to ask why you are here, Cummins”, Rogers said. “BurShips wants to know where the five Sims Class in the SoPac are going to be in six weeks.”
“Exactly”, Greg replied in hope he might actually get an answer this time.
“The answer is: I don't know. In fact nobody knows,” Rogers said in exasperation. “Hell, six weeks ago, we were at peace. Now Hong Kong has fallen, Manila has fallen, and Singapore is threatened. We are trying to piece together some sort of effective defense with the ships and units at our disposal.”
“We understand that sir”, Greg said. “We just need to know where to send the necessary equipment to upgrade the ships when they do make port. Should we send it to Pearl Harbor or San Diego or ship it to Australia or some other place?”
“Well I wouldn't send it to Pearl Harbor at this point”, Rogers replied. “The shipyard there is still occupied with repairing the ships damaged on 7 December. I wouldn't send it south either because there is just as good a chance that Sims will not put into port down there. So, I'd go with San Diego for now. I'm not promising you anything but its the best I got for now.”
“Thank you, sir”, Greg said smiling. “Don't worry. I won't hold you to it”
Greg saluted and walked away. He hoped Rogers realized that he had no control what BurShips would do with that information. If the Sims ended up 5000 miles away from their upgrade material, some one was going to get blamed. Greg just hoped it wasn't him.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
19 January 1942, South of Kure, Japan
Tensions were high on Swordfish as this was the closest she had approached Japan during her six week patrol. She was running submerged now creeping along at 5 kts.
“Up scope”. LCDR Smith ordered. “Lets see if we can find anything here”
“Contact, bearing 030. Looks like a group of sampans. No sign of radio antennas”, Smith said casually.
The seemly endless stream of small Japanese fishing boats was all it seemed Swordfish could find these days. As of yet, they were not considered valid targets. Even if they were, there was no way Smith would chance a surface engagement this close to the Japanese mainland. LT(jg) Haskins was sure they weren't worth expending one of the boat's precious few torpedoes. Still, DJ, was surpised by the lack of IJN activity in this area. It would be like not finding any naval activity off Los Angeles or San Francisco he thought. He wondered where the Japanese Navy was if it weren't up here. There was no way for him to know just how active there IJN really was on this day. They were just several thousand miles south of the subs present position
Tensions were high on Swordfish as this was the closest she had approached Japan during her six week patrol. She was running submerged now creeping along at 5 kts.
“Up scope”. LCDR Smith ordered. “Lets see if we can find anything here”
“Contact, bearing 030. Looks like a group of sampans. No sign of radio antennas”, Smith said casually.
The seemly endless stream of small Japanese fishing boats was all it seemed Swordfish could find these days. As of yet, they were not considered valid targets. Even if they were, there was no way Smith would chance a surface engagement this close to the Japanese mainland. LT(jg) Haskins was sure they weren't worth expending one of the boat's precious few torpedoes. Still, DJ, was surpised by the lack of IJN activity in this area. It would be like not finding any naval activity off Los Angeles or San Francisco he thought. He wondered where the Japanese Navy was if it weren't up here. There was no way for him to know just how active there IJN really was on this day. They were just several thousand miles south of the subs present position
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
20 January, 1942, Iceland
The Marine base at Reykjavik was a mess. The storm had torn sheathing and roofing from nearly every building. Power was slowly being restored but it would take days if not weeks for the job to be complete. Most of the men who experienced the winter hurricane had no desire to ever experience a true tropical cyclone for real. Bret Castlebury's meteorologist friend had told him for as bad as this was, a real hurricane could level every building at the base.
The men of 3rd Platoon were on clean up and repair duty. Most were just glad to be moving again. The five days they spent huddled in the barracks had given them more than just a bit of cabin fever. Wood was in short supply; so they were scavenging every supply crate, broken plank, and discarded beam they could find. It would take three days before the base was back in passable condition.
The Marine base at Reykjavik was a mess. The storm had torn sheathing and roofing from nearly every building. Power was slowly being restored but it would take days if not weeks for the job to be complete. Most of the men who experienced the winter hurricane had no desire to ever experience a true tropical cyclone for real. Bret Castlebury's meteorologist friend had told him for as bad as this was, a real hurricane could level every building at the base.
The men of 3rd Platoon were on clean up and repair duty. Most were just glad to be moving again. The five days they spent huddled in the barracks had given them more than just a bit of cabin fever. Wood was in short supply; so they were scavenging every supply crate, broken plank, and discarded beam they could find. It would take three days before the base was back in passable condition.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
21 January 1942, Off the Monterrey Peninsula
LT(jg) Tyler's patrol area was south of San Francisco today. Other than a few small fishing boats, they had not seen a thing. Hank was descending again to overfly another small boat they had spotted a few minutes ago.
“Definitely looks like another local fisherman, Sir”, ENS Page remarked in a matter of fact tone. “Yup, American flag on the stern and definitely a Caucasian crew”.
Hank descended a little lower and flew towards the boat. He waggled the PBY's wings as he passed over it.
“Holy crap, did you see that?”, came the excited voice of SM1c Benchley, one of the Catalina's rear gunners.
“See what?”, Tyler replied
“A Shark! Right behind that boat. The thing had to be over twenty feet long!”
“Calm down, Benchley”, Hank said. “I am sure your imagination is getting the best of you”
“I'm telling you, Lieutenant, the thing was huge!”, He insisted.
Well, Hank had to admit his curiosity was peaked just a bit; so he pushed the big lumbering flying boat into a shallow dive as he turned to the port back towards the boat. He passed the boat on the port side and gently turned again to get a better look at the ocean behind her. There it was and Jones was if anything understating its size! The thing had to be at least 20 if not 25 feet long. Tyler was surprised to see such a huge fish this close to shore. ENS Page leaned over to look at the port side window and whistled.
“Benchley, I have to admit”, Hank said in amazement. “That thing is a monster. I bet the people who swim those beaches in the summer would think twice if they knew that beast was out there. That's the kind of thing people write horror stories about.”
LT(jg) Tyler's patrol area was south of San Francisco today. Other than a few small fishing boats, they had not seen a thing. Hank was descending again to overfly another small boat they had spotted a few minutes ago.
“Definitely looks like another local fisherman, Sir”, ENS Page remarked in a matter of fact tone. “Yup, American flag on the stern and definitely a Caucasian crew”.
Hank descended a little lower and flew towards the boat. He waggled the PBY's wings as he passed over it.
“Holy crap, did you see that?”, came the excited voice of SM1c Benchley, one of the Catalina's rear gunners.
“See what?”, Tyler replied
“A Shark! Right behind that boat. The thing had to be over twenty feet long!”
“Calm down, Benchley”, Hank said. “I am sure your imagination is getting the best of you”
“I'm telling you, Lieutenant, the thing was huge!”, He insisted.
Well, Hank had to admit his curiosity was peaked just a bit; so he pushed the big lumbering flying boat into a shallow dive as he turned to the port back towards the boat. He passed the boat on the port side and gently turned again to get a better look at the ocean behind her. There it was and Jones was if anything understating its size! The thing had to be at least 20 if not 25 feet long. Tyler was surprised to see such a huge fish this close to shore. ENS Page leaned over to look at the port side window and whistled.
“Benchley, I have to admit”, Hank said in amazement. “That thing is a monster. I bet the people who swim those beaches in the summer would think twice if they knew that beast was out there. That's the kind of thing people write horror stories about.”
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
22 January 1942, East of New Zealand
LT(JG) James West was on final approach to Enterprise having finished his morning patrol. His left hand was on the throttle and his right on the stick. He eased back on the throttle and let the SBD settle a little bit. He could see the LSO now and his paddles were straight out indicating his was on the glide slope.
Wheels down, hook down, full flaps
He added a little power to to offset the added drag. Looking good. Just another quarter of a mile. A little more power and easing back on the stick ever so slightly
200 yards, 100 yards, and he was over the ramp.
SLAM! The hook caught the fourth wire and nearly four tons of aircraft went from 80 kts to 0 in a second.
The LSO gave him the thumbs up as the deck crew released the arresting cable from the tail hook. James taxied forward towards the forward elevator and cut the power.
“And that ENS Stone, is how you land this bird”, he said to himself as he began to climb out of the cockpit.
LT(JG) James West was on final approach to Enterprise having finished his morning patrol. His left hand was on the throttle and his right on the stick. He eased back on the throttle and let the SBD settle a little bit. He could see the LSO now and his paddles were straight out indicating his was on the glide slope.
Wheels down, hook down, full flaps
He added a little power to to offset the added drag. Looking good. Just another quarter of a mile. A little more power and easing back on the stick ever so slightly
200 yards, 100 yards, and he was over the ramp.
SLAM! The hook caught the fourth wire and nearly four tons of aircraft went from 80 kts to 0 in a second.
The LSO gave him the thumbs up as the deck crew released the arresting cable from the tail hook. James taxied forward towards the forward elevator and cut the power.
“And that ENS Stone, is how you land this bird”, he said to himself as he began to climb out of the cockpit.
- Attachments
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"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
23 January 1942, Washington DC
Greg Cummins was at his desk late this Friday evening. He figured he only had a week to get everything in order for the Sims project. If all the elements were not in motion by 1 February, it was unlikely that they would meet the 1 March deadline. There were 72 K-guns that had to be at the proper shipyards plus twelve radar sets. In addition, the engineers had to have the final blueprints in there hand well before the first ship arrive for upgrade. While that didn't seem like that much, the Navy was still building up its logistic base to war levels. Even getting this small amount of material in place would strain the system at this point.
He closed the folder and placed it in his filing cabinet. He looked at his watch and realized he'd missed dinner (again). That's all right he knew a nice restaurant not far from the main gate of the base. The half mile walk would do him good. He figured he'd put in a short day tomorrow. If he planned it right, he could still make afternoon Confession; so he could attend Mass on Sunday morning.
Greg Cummins was at his desk late this Friday evening. He figured he only had a week to get everything in order for the Sims project. If all the elements were not in motion by 1 February, it was unlikely that they would meet the 1 March deadline. There were 72 K-guns that had to be at the proper shipyards plus twelve radar sets. In addition, the engineers had to have the final blueprints in there hand well before the first ship arrive for upgrade. While that didn't seem like that much, the Navy was still building up its logistic base to war levels. Even getting this small amount of material in place would strain the system at this point.
He closed the folder and placed it in his filing cabinet. He looked at his watch and realized he'd missed dinner (again). That's all right he knew a nice restaurant not far from the main gate of the base. The half mile walk would do him good. He figured he'd put in a short day tomorrow. If he planned it right, he could still make afternoon Confession; so he could attend Mass on Sunday morning.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
RE: The Dogs of War - companion AAR to Howlin' At The Moon
24 January 1942, San Francisco, CA
The officers of VP-51 had been invited to a dance hosted by the San Francisco Garden Club. With the exception of the few officers that were married, they had all accepted. The dance was held in the Hotel Whitcomb right in the center of downtown. It was a opulent building to say the least. The more astute members of the group realized that except for the war, most of them could not afford to check their bags with a bellhop at such an establishment.
LT(jg) Hank Tyler was all decked out in his dress whites. He had to admit he cleaned up pretty well. The last item to be put in place was his Academy ring. He didn't wear it often, reserving it for occasions such as this. He knew a lot of USNA grads not only wore their rings all the time but flaunted them. They knew they were part of an elite club and wanted to make sure that everyone else knew too. This was especially true for the reservist who many Annapolis men considered to be second class citizens in the naval officer world. Hank had no use for that type. He judged a man by how he performed not by where he went to school. He had already happened upon his share of Academy grads that were a danger to themselves, their ships, and the Navy in general.
As he entered the ballroom at the Whitcomb, he scanned the room with predator-like focus. Which lucky young lady would be his prey tonight he thought to himself. As he perused tonight's offerings his eyes moved up to the refreshment table. Hold it! There was a familiar face. It was none other than Miss Emily Stebbins serving up punch to the thirsty patrons. Hank casually made his way up to the table.
“Excuse me miss, are you Emily Stebbins?” Hank asked even though he knew the answer to the question.
“Yes”, she answered. “Have we met?”
“No, ma’am”, he replied. “I recognized you from the photograph in the Chronicle last week.”
“Oh, I see”, she replied. “I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage Lieutenant. It seems you know my name but I as yet do not yours”.
“My apologies Miss Stebbins”, he said offering his hand. “My name is Henry Tyler, LT(jg), US Navy, but my friends call me Hank”. This girl was smarter than he had originally given her credit . She recognized his rank before he told her.
“Well, Lieutenant Tyler, Hank”, she stammered, “my friends call me Emily. I see you are a pilot. Are you allowed to tell me what type of plane you fly?”
“Well Mi.... Emily”, he paused. “For security purposes we are not supposed to discuss our unit name or post with civilians. You know – the whole “Loose lips sink ships” thing. I suppose it would do no harm in telling you I fly a PBY – its a flying boat.”
“Yes, I've seen them over the Bay. They fly out every morning and come back every afternoon”, Emily remarked
The line at the punch bowl was beginning to stack up. Emily looked up at the perturbed guest and handed Hank a glass of punch.
“Lieutenant”, she said. “I have to work the refreshment table for another 45 minutes. Perhaps we could continue this conversation then”.
“Yes, that would be nice”, Hank replied confidently.
Hank stepped away from the table and back into the room. Wow! This girl was at the very least observant. Hank suspected it didn't end there. There was just something about the way she carried herself and the way she spoke. She was definitely not another vacuous debutant whose only life skill was spending Daddy's money. He would definitely be keeping that appointment later in the evening.
The officers of VP-51 had been invited to a dance hosted by the San Francisco Garden Club. With the exception of the few officers that were married, they had all accepted. The dance was held in the Hotel Whitcomb right in the center of downtown. It was a opulent building to say the least. The more astute members of the group realized that except for the war, most of them could not afford to check their bags with a bellhop at such an establishment.
LT(jg) Hank Tyler was all decked out in his dress whites. He had to admit he cleaned up pretty well. The last item to be put in place was his Academy ring. He didn't wear it often, reserving it for occasions such as this. He knew a lot of USNA grads not only wore their rings all the time but flaunted them. They knew they were part of an elite club and wanted to make sure that everyone else knew too. This was especially true for the reservist who many Annapolis men considered to be second class citizens in the naval officer world. Hank had no use for that type. He judged a man by how he performed not by where he went to school. He had already happened upon his share of Academy grads that were a danger to themselves, their ships, and the Navy in general.
As he entered the ballroom at the Whitcomb, he scanned the room with predator-like focus. Which lucky young lady would be his prey tonight he thought to himself. As he perused tonight's offerings his eyes moved up to the refreshment table. Hold it! There was a familiar face. It was none other than Miss Emily Stebbins serving up punch to the thirsty patrons. Hank casually made his way up to the table.
“Excuse me miss, are you Emily Stebbins?” Hank asked even though he knew the answer to the question.
“Yes”, she answered. “Have we met?”
“No, ma’am”, he replied. “I recognized you from the photograph in the Chronicle last week.”
“Oh, I see”, she replied. “I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage Lieutenant. It seems you know my name but I as yet do not yours”.
“My apologies Miss Stebbins”, he said offering his hand. “My name is Henry Tyler, LT(jg), US Navy, but my friends call me Hank”. This girl was smarter than he had originally given her credit . She recognized his rank before he told her.
“Well, Lieutenant Tyler, Hank”, she stammered, “my friends call me Emily. I see you are a pilot. Are you allowed to tell me what type of plane you fly?”
“Well Mi.... Emily”, he paused. “For security purposes we are not supposed to discuss our unit name or post with civilians. You know – the whole “Loose lips sink ships” thing. I suppose it would do no harm in telling you I fly a PBY – its a flying boat.”
“Yes, I've seen them over the Bay. They fly out every morning and come back every afternoon”, Emily remarked
The line at the punch bowl was beginning to stack up. Emily looked up at the perturbed guest and handed Hank a glass of punch.
“Lieutenant”, she said. “I have to work the refreshment table for another 45 minutes. Perhaps we could continue this conversation then”.
“Yes, that would be nice”, Hank replied confidently.
Hank stepped away from the table and back into the room. Wow! This girl was at the very least observant. Hank suspected it didn't end there. There was just something about the way she carried herself and the way she spoke. She was definitely not another vacuous debutant whose only life skill was spending Daddy's money. He would definitely be keeping that appointment later in the evening.
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry