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ALright, I actually started this AAR, herbie versus wobbly before teh big crash of '87. Unfortunately my initial musings were eaten by the crash. So here we go again without the first instalment, which unfortunately, set the scene.

I am allies in scenerio 19 herbie Japs

If you managed to catch the first instalment you know the deal. But if not, then basically I am going to tell the story much like I did in th elast battle against Herbie-san, from the view point of many "Daniel Curruthers" look and act alikes. Hope it brings a new slant. Actions will be based on real happenings but you wont get a real good understanding of how things the game is going. To find that out, albeit from a Japanese viewpoint, read herbie's AAR.

Major O'Donahue moved around his C-47 checking each component that went together to make the finest god-d@mned aircraft the world had ever seen. The rain had abated an hour and a half ago but now the tropical heat of Townsville began to kick it up a notch; the coolness the rain had bought had converted to clinging heat; the humidity was getting close to solid water.
Everything was in order and O'Donahue signed the mechanic's chit to take ownership of the aircraft. He sauntered over to Leautenant O'Reilly who was sitting in a foldout chair in the shade of his aircraft.

"Morning sir"

"Morning O'Reilly"

"What's the scoop sir - I know its need to know but I never even knew there was a 'Wau' airfield".

Major O'Donahue's eyebrow raised in a reindition of uppity officers everywhere; they know the skinny but don't necessarily want to give up the info. Then he aquiesed; these were his men and this little bit of knowledge might just help to ease the tension.

"It has been decided that the Japs are going to take the place whether we like it or not. We don't have the strength to oppose them at the moment and the likelihood of a stuff up if we did must be bringing the brasshats down. There's been too much loosing going on for anyone's liking, capiche?"

O'Reilly thought on it a bit and then added:

"So some poor fellazar out in the boon docks and we're bringin' 'em home?"

"Bingo Leautenant, bingo".

Half an hour later the squadron of transport planes were at 6000 feet heading to the mountains of New Guinea. O'Donahue stared out of the cockpit window at the maze of passages created by the Great Barrier reef. A small naval vessel of some type was cruising through the tight confines of the water there. At this height the vicious humidity had at last relinquished it's stranglehold. The flight to Wau would take some ten hours. The weather was likely to change from mild to savage within ten minutes flying; who needed the Japanese?

Major O'Donahue stared out at the small brown gash in the undulating carpet of green below him. Somehow the engineers had managed to cut an airstrip into the side of a hill, the Jungle threatened to engulf their incursion from every angle. He lined the now lightened C-47 up with the airstrip. A variable breeze was attempting to push him off target as it was defelected from the hillside, flaps at 20 percent, the plane touched the hewn dirt runway and rolled.

An aussie soldier with his distinctive half folded hat marshaled him to a parking apron (of sorts) at teh edge of the cutting. He leaned the mixture and then cut power to the magnetos. The non-stop racket that had been with them was replaced with more of the same (from a distance) and the 'tinking' of the expanding and contracting of the stressed metal skin of the airplane.

"Made it" O'Donahue sighed, and unbuckled himself from the pilots seat.

Jumping off the plane he was met by a sargeant of Kanga force.

"So your taking us out of this gawd forsaken jungle pit? To Port Moresby yeah?"

"Yeah" O'Donahue agreed, too tired to keep the well known secret.

Being on the surface this close to the main Japanese base of Shortlands Islands was dangerous. Thankfully his target was not at Shortlands but 20 miles or so north of there at the far smaller base of Buin. Davis stared up at the rapidly darkening sky, it never failed to amaze him how fast broad daylight turned into night in the tropics. Stars were already starting to show through and if it wasn't for the diesel engines noise and exhaust, he might even have been enjoying himself.
The aircraft watch went below and was replaced by Davis's Exec. Both men used their binoculars but the light was so low now that it was difficult to see through them properly - natural vision seemed more effective.

"Hows the leak"?

"It's holding, for the moment. We really need to get this boat overhauled, it's worse than my grandma's sieve!"

Davis smiled, S-47 was no longer a new boat; small, cramped and with a limited endurance, they were overdue for retirement. His contemporaries at Pearl, driving the new fleet boats, loved to hassle him about his command: "your shorter and skinnier aren't you? Must be getting in and out of your bunk bed!"

The dark outlines of the island that surrounded their target were becoming more defined, light off a patch of bare rock, a particularly large tree. Butterflies began to build in his stomach, every lighter patch or darker shadow took on the resemblance of a ship. In the dark of course, he could blunder into range of his quarry and that would be that, or worse he reminded himself, blunder into a warship.

"Reduce speed to 6 knots" he called down the conning tower, trepidation was making him anxious.

10 more minutes......

"Sir, hydrophones report a weak contact to port" came the call up from the red lit control room.

Like everything on these boats, the hydrophones were not particularly effective - especially while the diesel engines competed for your hearing.

"Slow to 3 knots and come to bearing 286" said Davis, again smiling at his hushed tones - the engines still drowned out everything. In fact it would be prudent to change to electric propulsion this close to an enemy - stealth was his greatest asset.

"Change us to the electrics exec"

"Aye sir"

The sub continued on the same course for 5 more minutes, almost silent....

"There sir, there..." The Exec said, pointing slightly to port, the excitement obvious in his voice.

It wasn't as if you could actually see the boat, it was more that you couldn't see the stars that should have been there upon the horizon.

"What do you make it Exec? 6-10 knots, with a heading of 345-355?"

The Exec stared in the direction of the ship: "feels about right, you can see the phosphorescence in her bow wave now".

"Well if we can see theirs then a pair of sharp eyes may see ours - lets take her down."

"Aye sir".

Davis dropped into the control room - the red lighting making each man's face a pallor.

"Prepare to dive" The exec ordered.

The sub got into diving trim, the ballast tanks were opened to the outside water and with a loud gurgling noise, encompassed within the escaping air, the US Navies S-47 sank beneath the waves.

"Levelling off at periscope depth" intoned the exec.

Davis walked forward to the periscope mast and positioned himself ready to receive the handles as the periscope rose out of its housing. As he waited he felt the beating of his heart, his skin, slightly clammy was cold despite the encapsulated heat of the surroundings. These surroundings he was so familiar with. The stink of sweating men, diesel oil and all of it mixed with the smell of old water. Despite the warm temperature of the tropic sea it was still cold enough to cause condensation from the heavily humid air.

Davis caught the periscope as it came up to viewing height. He was a tall man and the periscope mast and viewing platform must have been built for midgets. He often found an extended time viewing the outside world caused an awful crick in his back.
The view outside rapidly cleared and he saw a picture in miniature of the one he and the exec had seen outside.

"Now, it was over this way a little", for a horrible period he thought he had lost his target, but then:

"There you are my girl! (Louder) Ready tubes 2 and 4"

After a moment "Tubes 2 and 4 ready for firing sir".

Davis lined the ship up, it's shape now more easily discernable. A Maru of some size, maybe one of the medium sized ones. It was heading at a steady 7 knots across his bows. Approximate distance 2400 yards...

"Fire tubes 2 and 4!"

There was a loud "farting" of compressed air, then again. The submarine seemed to physically jolt backwards and the atmosphere increased suddenly as the air escaped into the submarine. The ear Davis had damaged in diving training obliged him by popping.

"Come to bearing 220 and increase speed to five knots". He tried to put distance between where he had fired, travelling at the subs current best underwater speed.

Looking at the Maru all the while as the little submarine manoeuvred.

Time dragged; surely it had reached the target by now?

"Time to target" he added, impatience getting the better of him.

Suddenly a huge explosion, just under the water by the Maru’s stern, lit the night. A second or so later the sound wave hit the sub. It was like being battered sideways in a car driven by an errant driver. The crew cheered. Davis could see a small fire had broken up in the middle of the ship, it's outer plating peeled back to reveal the decks inside.

No second explosion - the other torp had missed.

Despite not having seen any escorts Davis decided he had killed the Maru and that discretion was the better part of valour.

"Make depth 50 meters, lets put some distance between us and our handy work" He lowered the periscope and looked over at the Exec. He was grinning from ear to ear.

don't make the meatball flag on the conning tower too big or ya might be spotted at night....lol

Lee

Captain Davis rested his head against the mirror in his spartan cabin and slowly opened his eyes. The dull light enough to show his operational map on its table and his bunk bed (made according to the navy’s stringent guidelines). Anywhere else and the cabin would have been called a broom cupboard, but aboard the US Navy’s S-47, it was palatial – a Captain’s privilege. Davis lifted his head away from the mirror and stared at the face that looked back at him; unshaven, dark smudges under eyes that were bloodshot and watery, brown leathery skin; basically the face of fatigue.

“But if you don’t pull yourself together they’ll know” He sighed.

The stresses were really starting to tell. This old boat was falling apart at the seams; a leaking water sleeve around the screw, 4 cracked batteries and a broken desalinisation plant – the last was truly dangerous, they had stopped at one of the islands to replenish from the pool beneath a visible waterfall, finishing the job had nearly finished Davis. All this of course during a war when the enemy was intent on adding to his misery by trying to kill him.

Currently S-47 sat on the bottom, in 45 metres of water, in the bay surrounding a new Jap airstrip at Munda. Air activity had been high and the shallow water made the sub more likely to be seen, so they lived on the bottom during the day, the air getting fouler with each passing hour. This was their second trip. Higher command had caught wind of the landings here and wanted Davis to take a look and put a crimp in their plans if possible. Davis had not managed to find any of the Marus doing the transporting but had put a fish into a MSW, which had promptly sunk: another feather in his cap.

A low rumble flowed through the sub, shaking the map on his table: an underwater explosion, and quite some distance off.

“Captain to the bridge” the tannoy squeaked metallically.

Anticipating this Davis had half opened the door to his cabin, he continued into the cramped confines of the submarines main thoroughfare and entered the control room moving over towards the exec.

“What have we got”?

“Well sir, it could be depth charges, do you know of any other boat supposed to be hunting here?” Davis shook his head in the negative, US subs worked alone at this time of the war, not utilising the wolfpack tactics of their Atlantic enemy: the Germans.

Another explosion rumbled through the hull.

“Where are they coming from?”

“From the direction of Munda.”

It could be anything from depth charges to fishing with dynamite.

“Lets take a look,” the Captain ordered.

S-47 came to life, a short blow on the ballast to get her off the bottom, then the batteries were engaged and the sub moved off at 2 ½ knots.
Davis bought the submarine to periscope depth and had a quick scan, it was now late afternoon above and the onset of night would quickly grab the sky in about an hour. The two hours motoring on the batteries had seriously depleted his reserves; it was just too dangerous to travel on the surface. However, now he could see the cause of the explosions. Another Jap MSW had found a sub laid minefield and was detonating the mines it had found.
Davis had his last torpedoes already loaded in the forward tubes. The opportunity to hit larger prey was a sub skipper’s preference, but he was tired. Sinking another of these small, but not unimportant ships, would qualify for allowing him to return to Port Moresby.
Despite their less than intimidating persona, there was real danger here. The target had depth charges and deck guns to defend itself against surface attack. It also had men up the mast to look for the mines as they surfaced; it was not impossible to imagine the lookouts spotting the sub in the clear water of the South Pacific.

Davis went for a quick kill; the minelayer was keeping to a predefined line as it ‘mowed the lawn’. He had to remember that the same mines she was trying to clear took no prisoners and couldn’t tell the colour of your uniform; for this reason he set up for a longer range attack.
After checking the horizon one last time he let fire with a full spread of torpedoes.

“Come to new heading 180 degrees, make depth 35 metres”

The chief of the boat repeated his commands and Davis stepped away from the periscope as it hissed back into position. The sub took on a slight down angle as it dive-turned to the South at 2 ½ knots.

“Estimated time to detonation?”

“22 seconds”

“Conn, Sonar. Hydrophonic effects from target, she just increased speed sir!”

Captain and Exec looked at each other; had the target seen their torps?

Booooom!!!!!!!

Well if she had it had been too late.

“Bring us to Periscope depth”

The sub crept back up to periscope depth and Davis stared through the magnified view at the remains of an IJN MSW. It had literally ceased to exist. A large pall of black smoke climbed into the sky above a patch of oily water and splintered wood, barrels and other detritus. A man was swimming away from the patch, supporting himself on a piece of wood.
It was later that night, after the excitement had calmed down S-47 had surfaced to clear its air and fire up the diesel to replenish the very low batteries, that they found out that all the news was not good. There base of action: Port Moresby was reported as lost to the enemy. Their new base of operations was Townsville on the coast of Australia. Davis, smiled ruefully to himself; he had the whole Coral Sea to negotiate and 1 torpedo and a deck gun to defend himself if required.

May 28th 1942

Sitting at the end of the runway, his Twin Wasp turning over at 1000 revs, Joe pondered on the events that had led him to an airbase on the Southern end of the Island of New Caledonia, waiting for his slot to get his Grumman F4F airborne.

Before the war Adams had flown for the postal service, getting the mail from place to place, flying in some of the worst weather. That had bored him to tears and with the war in Europe looking like it would progress for some time he had figured that the forces were where the action would be. Training at San Diego to fly navy aircraft, and more importantly, how to land on a Carrier. Then posting to VF-42 on the CV Yorktown. Since then the ship had ferried planes around the battle area and also taken part in attacks against the Marshall and Gilbert islands. Joe had flown with the main bombing attack and had experienced combat for the first time. The lazy balls of flak floating up towards the aircraft, then the bass tone crack as they detonated forming dirty black-brown clouds around the bombers flying below him. Incredibly he hadn’t been frightened at all; in fact it had been the most exhilarating experience of his life. They had seen 2 Zeros but the numbers had been so against them that the enemy pilots had stayed above the fighters throughout the attack. A flight had tried to climb to get to them but they had eventually dived for clouds and escaped. Other than that this war had managed to miss him completely.
Now here he was in the same aircraft but stuck on land. The timid Kiwi Admiral in charge of South Pacific operations had retreated from the Japs giving them more island bases to cause havoc on the shipping lanes. Worse he had imprisoned the aircrews on land, away from the carrier, while it had been sent back to Pearl for AAA upgrades. Adams just could not understand the thinking about removing aircraft from their carrier – surely that lost strategic flexibility?
The invigorating rush of combat seemed still further from his grasp.
Today’s flight was a continuation of the same thing they had been doing for a month now; get to combat height and stooge around for an hour, then land.

BORING

It was his turn to takeoff now, he opened the throttle and the Twin Wasp roared its appreciation as it hurtled him down the runway…

June 1st 1942

Admiral Rob “Wob” Lee sat at his desk and contemplated the situation that lay in front of him. The door was firmly locked against more interruptions and frankly, more complaining. The political ramifications of his strategy were now confronting him full in the face, he considered himself a man of strong will but the constant barrage from politicians had started to make him a disbeliever. In truth he couldn’t blame them, he had removed all military forces from Cooktown and even Cairns; on the other side of his demesne, Luganville and Efate had been stripped. Residents of these locations were rightly upset about the loss of their defenders; what would happen to their houses and their possessions if the Jap came? The sheer populace of these locations had been enough to create a clamour to have him replaced. All the attention would easily be picked up by the Japanese, making their decision to move on Oz, or the Hebrides, or both, a certainty.
The trouble was he was privy to the code breaking ciphers; the papers and politicians were not, and he couldn’t tell them! Rob knew the next hammer was going to fall in the South Pacific and he also new the approximate size of it: huge! The krauts had hammered the Sovs and with all the likelihood of Russian intervention in the North eroding the Japs had decided to further consolidate their gains; grabbing a perimeter fence so expansive that the allies might come to the negotiation table.
After the insult of Pearl Harbour ‘Wob’ knew that the Americans were not even contemplating this, but they were also allocating the lion’s share of their rapidly expanding production to the European theatre. This meant he had to make do with what he had, and that wasn’t much. The only alternative was to trade space for time and hope that he had enough equipment when the time came for the Allies to stop retreating. There were of course certain places he could not allow the Japs to take Noumea (where he now sat) in the East and Brisbane in Oz. He had ceded the need to defend Townsville to the Aussies, he hoped to make a stand there but was willing to loose it to give his forces the chance to catch up.
One of the main issues was allowing the Japs to station their long-range bombers at Lunga, let alone Luganville, Efate or Cooktown. Their ability to reach out and interdict lifeblood shipping could push Australia out of the War. To combat this ‘Wob’ had planned on smashing the facilities with his own bombers, hoping that the lines of supply would be too long and too tenuous to keep intact. The final touches on the first steps were coming together now: supplies and fuel burnt or shipped out, destruction of facilities, mining of the grounds and waters around the locations; everything he could manage without loosing valuable warships or aircraft.
His greatest weapon for continuing the fight against the enemy had been his subs. So far they had managed to hit many of the ships the Japs had seen fit to move south and their presence must be slowing the juggernaut: time, it all came back to time.

Two words of advice for the complaining civilians: Martial Law [:D]

Risky, very risky.

Interesting too. It will bear watching to see how it turns out.

thanks for the comments lads. It should hopefully get interesting when i tie the stories together - that does rely on herbie a bit though. Apparently he is waiting on a few more CV decks...

June 4th 1942

Dan Curruthers reflected on the South Pacific campaign from the all-seeing importance of a 5-inch gun on the Heavy Cruiser Chicago. So far there had been plenty of pensiveness but little to get pensive about. Chicago had sailed up to Port Moresby, a town in the jungle hell of New Guinea, to help fast track the troops and their support crews out to the safety of Australia. The likelihood of air attack from the Japanese had been rated as high, so the warships had docked and loaded at night in order to be many miles south by the time the sun came up. However, nothing had eventuated and the continuous runs in and out of PM had not accounted for a single enemy. The only damage had come from wear and tear on the engines as they sprinted in and out of their destination. No sooner had the last men of the remaining unit been removed than the Japs had pulled in to claim their new territory: now they had an airbase within easy reach of the Australian homeland.
Many on the ship were more than angry at the steady retreat going on. The nancy boy army types were touting the Nips as Supermen – but the Navy wasn’t scared. The only time the Japs had bested them was by the surprise attack at Pearl Harbour – hardly an even contest. Dan however was philosophical, someone had a reason for the retreat and they had a better view of things than him, he would just go where the war took him and fire his 5-inch at any Jap unfortunate enough to get close enough.
A week ago it had been one of their own Airedales that had been on the receiving end (not of his mount though that is for sure). They had been towing a target for AAA practise at 6000 feet; unfortunately one gun crew had mistaken the tow plane for the target. Before the fire director could fix the mistake the pilot had hit the silk, his aircraft disintegrating upon impact with the sea. The chief gunnery officer had got it in the neck from the captain, and as sh!t is want to do, it rolled down hill. They had been disallowed shore leave and put on extra duties. Simons, the guilty mount’s commander was given a serious reprimand and a black mark to his service record. Through the grapevine Dan had heard that secretly the Captain was rather proud of their accuracy even if their identification left something to be desired.

Last night they had attacked Port Moresby. A force of 3 heavy cruisers and 3 destroyers under Lee had hoped to find a reported transport TF at the port. Unfortunately the task force had retired, it had also dropped off a few more troops and guns. It was these guns that provided the first surprise for the USS Chicago.
Lee had taken the ships into the main bay of Port Moresby hunting for the transport TF with lookouts and radar – unfortunately the bluffs of the nearby hills had provided too many ghosts to be effective. All ships had then moved further into the bay to shell the installations.
Dan had been ready in his 5-inch mount for the fire order. You could see nothing of the warehouses and installations of the port – the light was too poor. On orders to fire everything on the Port side had opened up, including his gun, and poured shells into the area recently vacated by their own men. Star shells burst above the targets and the area leapt into stark relief; they were slightly off and most of the first shells fell harmlessly into the port’s normally protective waters. Dan changed the bearing on his weapon and fired again – others were copying this move and explosions and fires mushroomed into existence in the facilities of the port. The large 8-inch turrets then added their anger to the crescendo – no resulting explosions appeared in the port; their target was further inland at the airbase.
Dan was grinning insanely, the recoil from the gun harmonising with his heart – beating like a guardsmen’s drum; cordite fumes surrounding him; he was a horseman of the apocalypse!
The ships had lashed the base with their fire and then pulled out of the Bay to deeper, safer water. It was afterwards that the damage the enemy guns had caused became apparent. Chicago had been fired upon and even hit by what was estimated as a 5-inch shell. The damage to the ship amounted to paintwork but her compliment had suffered their first injury – an aircraft mechanic had lost the tip of his little finger to shrapnel. Dan hadn’t even known he was in danger.

He was bone weary. Despite the pace of the war slowing in this area, the pressure of continuing his plan had built to such a level that he dreaded calls from anyone to his office. No one had any belief in the course of action he had taken and the clamour to replace him had become a crescendo. Only yesterday an Australian politician who had fought in the first war had grilled him; he couldn’t abide a retreater and a coward. Such strong and hurtful words from someone who had no idea of the real strategic situation: until now.
The submarine Greenling had managed to take some photographs of Truk lagoon and make an attack on a Surface Combat TF heading south. A PBY Catalina, at the end of its range, had verified the sub’s findings: the Japs were on the way, and they weren’t doing it by halves. So many major capital ships and escorts had been sighted that the meagre defences would struggle to hold them back, let alone drive them away. It was the well-defended troop ships that would cause the most worry, because they would signal an invasion, as yet these had not been found.
Because the oncoming hoard had been found by conventional means Wob no longer had to keep the knowledge quiet; now they knew the enormity of the beast they were to struggle against. They would also see the benefit of the reduction in supply lines his “cowardly retreat” had afforded them.
The bespectacled intelligence Captain at the front of the room laid out the latest information on a giant area map on the wall of the main briefing room. The officers listening to this oratory were suitably sombre: this was the realisation that the war was stepping up a level; they were the last hope. The most worrying was the number of carriers the enemy seemed to be fielding. Although not completely verified, more than 8 decks were on their way. That was more than the six that attacked pearl!! The Captain finished his assessment and announced a recess. A Naavi bought in a pot of coffee and most of the men gathered around to get a cup. Soon the room was full of muffled chatter under a miasma of cigarette smoke.
Wob tapped his knuckles on the wooden sill of the briefing map. “Gentlemen, please take your seats, I am sure you would like to know what my thinking has been up until this revelation, and as to what we are going to do about it”.
“As you have seen and heard we have not been retreating from a ‘non existent’ enemy for the last two months”.
“I can tell you now that we had good information that the enemy would make a concerted effort in this area. For this reason, and because we know we are well behind in quantity of equipment and manpower at present, we have retreated to areas that we feel we can keep supplied and reinforced when required.”
“Make no mistake, there will be no further retreat from here. A loss of Noumea or Brisbane is a loss of Australia: this cannot be allowed to happen.”
“Once we have bested the Jap and blunted the sword he now wields, we will roll him back, all the way to Japan if necessary.”
“If they assault us in the Australian mainland, we will deny them a foothold any lower than Townsville, occupation of bases in Cooktown or Cairns (aside: both of which had been declared open mush to the chagrin of residents and politicians) will be laid waste. Townsville has been made into a fortress; it will be reinforced as necessary from air delivered troops to Charter Towers and warships up from Rockhampton and Brisbane.”
“An attack on Brisbane will likewise be reinforced from Townsville and Rockhampton”.
“In the East Noumea is the key. It must be held without easy reinforcement. As you know we have reinforced Noumea with the 21st brigade of the Aussie 7th.” He said gesturing towards its commander.
“They, and the Americal Division are tasked with defending the main bases at Noumea until the 1st marines can arrive from New Zealand.”
“All available air power will harass attackers wherever they may be. Be assured gentlemen, the blight stops here”.
Wob stepped away from the front of the room. There was instantly an excited buzz to the conversation that sprang up: the old man wasn’t completely mad and it also sounded like he had good reasons for his moves – now the Jap would be made to pay!
He felt light headed, released, like a giant weight had been lifted. The secret had been a heavy burden, now he had shared it, he could join his executive in countering the threat.

“All right then, watch the ball, watch the ball”

Foot forward positively and follow through with the bat: miss – still need to watch the ball properly (damn this guy is fast!)

The bowler had returned to the top of his mark and was in the process of readying himself for the next delivery. C Company 14th brigade, New Guinea Division, were playing B Company in a cricket match thought up by B Company’s commander. The main reason was running towards Alex now.

Short ball, jagging back off the green track (they had borrowed a local cricket ground and the groundsman had been given late notice, most likely the B Company commanders idea as well), Alex weaved out of the way but could not help reflexively waving his bat at the ball: missed again. The bowler continued down the wicket, a wide grin on his face.

Hell, he had four more balls of this, apparently his tormentor had played for the New South Wales State side; Alex could believe it!

Next ball, forward and it thumps into his pads, a loud appeal but turned down. This attempt was greeted with a loud catcall from the batsmen on the sidelines that had already faced this guy and been found wanting. With no further requirement in the batting effort they thought it was helpful to give words of encouragement like: “on the front foot Al” or “smash him over the square leg boundary”.

“OK, this time” muttered Alex.

The bowler let fly a fuller delivery and Alex swung his bat through the path of ‘likely’ travel, he connected with a loud ‘snick’ and the ball sailed over the slips (most of the field) and down to the boundary; the sideline cheered. Alex held his bat up to his teammates. He turned back to the bowler, who had not retreated to his mark; the look on his face was thunderous.

Alex was just starting to wonder where the next missile was likely to be aimed when he noticed the Adjutant, on a bicycle, riding for all he was worth behind the bowlers arm. Not that it would put off the inevitable but maybe the bowler might calm down; Alex stepped away from the crease and pointed at the adjutant: illegal distraction. The ploy backfired as the bowler seemed more put out by having to start his run up again, he started on his way back to his mark. About half way back he stopped, as did Alex, when they noticed the men on the sideline crowding the Adjutant. Slowly the outer fieldsmen lost interest in the game and started to join the crowd. By the time Alex had got there the Adjutant had said his piece and was remonstrating the men to “hurry up lads”.

“What’s up?” enquired Alex.

“The Japs have taken Cairns!” replied an excited squaddie. “We have to report to barracks and then to the coastal positions ASAP”.

“My god, Cairns” thought Alex “my grandparents live there.”

He wandered to his kit bag and took off his pads, the worry of facing the next delivery gone from his mind.

Ya kinda lost me with all the cricket stuff but I think I got the gist of the story....lol....forgive me, I'm just a Yank.

yeah sorry rogue

The strange english game of throwing a ball at a batsmen clad in padding for five days has never really taken off in the states i understand! [>:]

ORIGINAL: wobbly

yeah sorry rogue

The strange english game of throwing a ball at a batsmen clad in padding for five days has never really taken off in the states i understand! [>:]

then he leaves the little signature script there too....lol...was that for me?

oops sorry rogue, the signature got added because i didn't take it out.... I play cricket during the summer season but i can sympathise with those that don't - to the uninitiated it must be like watching paint dry!

Just givin' ya a hard time....keeps ya humble.

BTW, me not gettin' a turn to ya last night shoulda given ya time to post another installment of WWII...According to Wobbly....lol

I am enjoying them tho.

June 19th 1942

Davis searched the horizon through his binoculars. The ocean was a mill pond albeit with a slight undulation, from North to South, East to West there wasn’t a cloud to be seen although a haze obscured perfect vision; which of course was no good for finding his targets.
S-47 had been spending the best part of the last 2 weeks just out of sight of the Northeastern tip of Bouganville. The sub had spent a short time in its homeport of Cairns getting the leaking sleeve around the screw sorted out and then straight back out to the war. The news of the loss of Cairns had come as quite a shock, if the Japs could land and take a major city in Northern Oz where could they be stopped? After the frenetic pace of the action around Shortlands this last jaunt had been a cakewalk. Davis had even managed to catch up on sleep, my god he needed that.
Something flashed in the corner of his eye; he quickly turned in that direction. Searching the horizon was yielding little, he took his eyes from the eyepieces and instantly noticed he had been looking too low: a large plane, with a wide wingspan and bulbous body was heading directly for them.

“Aircraft Aircraft! He yelled and then “Crash dive” down the conning tower.

The rest of the watch quickly grabbed the railings and slid down the ladder – not bothering with the rungs – the exec waiting behind to fasten the hatch tight. Water could be heard rushing into the venting forward ballast tanks and the submarine was taking on a decided nose down attitude; this was massively dangerous, an out of control crash dive could result in the submarine diving out of control to crush depth and that would be that. His was a well-oiled machine though – this was something they practiced all the time.

“Make our depth 120 feet and bring us 30 degrees to port”

“Kaboom” the sub shook, a dial forward exploded sending shards of glass across the room, and then another explosion a little further away. The subs watertight integrity had not been compromised and she continued on course, leveling out at the required depth.
Davis pondered the attack: it was a Mavis, by the quick look he had taken, and it had been carrying bombs, if it had been carrying depth charges they would have been killed.
S-47 continued underwater for another hour in an Easterly direction away from Bouganville. She surfaced again, running on the batteries was something a Captain was always loath to do, and you never knew when they would be needed. Davis joined his exec and the watch crew back on the conning tower. Everyone was a little shaken by the attack and most of the men were watching for aircraft rather than ships now.

“Aircraft aircraft!” yelled one of the watches.

To the North a single engine aircraft was flying across their bows at a range of about two and a half miles. The sub went into another crash dive. This time no bombs were dropped, they may have escaped without being seen or more likely the aircraft wasn’t armed.
His Exec turned to him in the relative safety of the control room as the sub again egressed the danger zone, “that was a Val, they’re carrier bombers.” The ramifications were simple: a carrier or carriers were in the vicinity.

June 28th 1942

Wob looked at the situation map and dispatches that lay in front of him. He had reports of transport shipping entering the reef at Cairns and a landing below Cooktown at an unused base called Ayton. The transports had been hit the day earlier by medium bombers from Townsville and by all accounts they had managed to sink two ships and damage another. The enemy had defended his ships with zeros. Wob mused upon this: carriers had been sighted and they were well within range to provide cover, but then the Japs also had the airbases at Port Moresby – the zero had range…

“More likely from the carriers, why expose your pilots to the rigors of a long flight before and after combat” he mused.

The Enterprise and Hornet under Mitsher were due at Noumea tomorrow. Wob planned to sortie them straight away, they were to meet Spruance: who was in charge of the Yorktown and Lady Lex now situated West South West of Noumea. This would make a very powerful air combat group that would be bolstered further in seven days with the arrival of Saratoga and her escorts. Aside from this Noumea also boasted 6 Heavy Cruisers and 27 Destroyers, he figured he could handle any attempt at Noumea, a bit more land based air would have been beneficial but the naval aviators were sure they could handle the job. He had to keep landings away from New Caledonia, as he was most vulnerable here until the 1st Marines arrived: in sixteen days they informed him. Most of his LBA was based in Australia, specifically Charter Towers and Townsville, they were tasked with defending the rest of the sun burnt country. Warships were thinner on the ground in this theatre with 3 Heavy Cruisers and 8 Destroyers making up his Brisbane based contingent.

It was all about timing. The Japs had been cautious up to now but the weight of his forces must give him a measure of confidence. In all likelihood he would attempt to bring the carriers to battle and remove them as a force. It was also likely that he would attempt to take the bases of Luganville and Efate – that like Cairns - had also been left open.

Wob made up his mind: the Carrier forces would retreat further South waiting on the arrival of Saratoga and then they would try and engage the Jap Carriers within landing distance of their own bases. Wob was willing to fight the Flat tops but he wanted it on his terms. He would inform the commanders in Townsville and Charter Towers to prepare for naval attack while the Fortresses of 28th Bombing Squadron could hit Cooktown airbase….

28th Bombing Squadron – Charter Towers

Waist gunner Paul Sorenson stared up at the soft white clouds as they meandered their way across the sky. He loved this: lying on his back and making shapes as best as his imagination could render. The cloud to the left looked like flattened flower and one over to the right had taken on the shape of Adjutant Johnsons head – well maybe if he had fallen into a wasp nest… In the distance an engine was fired as the engineers tested the B-17s for the coming bombing raid.
Paul rolled over and looked at his own ship: Bessie Lou. This was her third mission of the Australian campaign and she had yet to suffer a single piece of damage. The crew thought of her as good luck, although some of the other flights liked to show off their battle damage and some even had pieces of shrapnel their ships had shrugged off like so much harmless rain. The pilot: 2nd Lieutenant Mark Hubble was talking to the flight commander in his dispersal jeep, he nodded a few times and then gave his charismatic smile, the one the ladies were extremely attracted to and saluted the seated commander. The jeep was crashed into gear and then raced on to the next ship.

“All right guys, on your feet. Lets get this show on the road.”

Everyone stood up, extinguished nervous cigarettes and started the contortionist act of getting into their aircraft. Paul picked his way down the fuselage, crossing each spar and brace as he made his way to the open port of the .50 cal waist gun. Nick Johnson, his partner in crime, set himself on the starboard side. Attach harness, check oxy and bullet feeds, yep, yep, ready to go, ready to duke it out!

His routine was interrupted by the first of Bessie Lou’s engines firing, it shuddered twice, three times, refrained from catching and then roared into life with a belch of black smoke and flame from the exhaust stubs. The other engines started without incident and then the Captains voice came over the headset calling for everyone to check in. Hubble warmed the engines up waiting on the order to get in line for takeoff.

Like a troop of ants, or maybe moths, the Forts lined up ready for takeoff, and then one by one, their engines roaring as they hauled the dead weight of a four engine heavy bomb plus payload, the bombers clawed into the air. At 6 thousand feet the order was given to test the guns; Paul let off a long burst aiming at a cloud that looked like an upside down pie. Talking to some of the medium bomber boys they had seen zeros on one of their trips to Cairns, maybe this time he would get a chance to bag one.

“Ah, lads we’ve had a change of plans. Apparently the Jap landings at Ayton are now more important so we are bombing our alternate.”

Paul and Nick looked at each other, nobody liked to have the orders changed mid-flight; it lacked cohesion. Nothing could be done about it though, orders were orders, so it was back to scanning the skies.

“Ayton approaching lads; stay sharp!”

Puffs of black smoke with angry red or purple centers started to appear in front and around the aircraft. Paul sneaked a peek out of the port ahead, his eyes instantly watered as more of the slipstream hit him. He could see no obvious target in their path.

A dirty black cloud appeared close by followed by a fierce patter on the metal body of the aircraft. Not close enough to penetrate but enough to really get the heart going. Crack! Another, closer this time and the plane lurched a little, part of the port wing puckered upwards.

“Bombs away” called the bomb aimer and instantly the plane swallowed upwards, relieved of its burden. Bessie Lou continued through the bomb zone and turned in towards Australia and then around in a long semi-circle to fly back to Charter Towers.

The flight back was uneventful, Paul ruing the fact he had still not seen a zero. The large aircraft formed up to land and all aircraft made it back without further incident.