This chapter was the first time I really experimented here. Different situation, first part had no kamusu or Thompson...different in general, really. Hopefully it worked out well.
Especially since there was so much improvisation there.
Chapter Eight: Exercise
"No sign of
Yorktown's boys."
"Roger."
"
Lady Lex's bombers are where they should be."
"Understood. Vector a pair of birds to cover them."
"
Roger that!"
Lieutenant Commander John Thach cracked his neck, shifting slightly in the tiny cockpit of his Brewster F2A Buffalo. The stubby little fighter roared along at a steady 161 miles-per-hour, not a cloud to mar his vision. Off his port wing was another Brewster bird, piloted by his promising young wingman. Butch O'Hare waved a hand, as the pair of fighters flew along. Off his starboard wing, two more of the little fighters flew. Together, they were Red Flight of VF-3, off
Sister Sara. The formation was a new one, at least in United States Navy service.
As was the fact that Thach had sent Blue Flight's first wing pair down to cover the lumbering TBD's flying closer to the crystal blue waters below. Close escort of the bombers in this way was a new tactic, put into use on
Sara first by Admiral Thompson. Thach could respect the man's ingenuity in that regard, if nothing else. This formation was untested as of yet, but it made some sense.
Those birds need escorts.
Innovative when designed or not, the TBD was painfully slow compared to Thach's fighter. God only knew what the Japs were using these days, probably those tiny little fixed-gear birds ONI swore were their mainline fighters. Even those things could probably catch the lumbering torpedo birds though.
"Keep an eye out for
Yorktown's boys." Thach keyed his new radio once more, his own eyes scanning the horizon. "Don't want to be caught by them, now do we?"
"No sir!"
Thach smirked at that, "Good."
The rivalry between the carriers was almost as legendary as that between the armed services.
Sara and
Yorktown had a more personal rivalry, since Thach's boys had 'damaged' her earlier that year during the Fleet Problem.
Yorktown was going to be gunning for payback after that.
"Light on the horizon."
Butch's voice echoed in Thach's cockpit, making the man spin his head around, sharp eyes scanning for what his wingman had seen. And indeed, there was the glint of glass rapidly approaching.
West, angle 20. Altitude...twenty-thousand. Those aren't Lex's birds.
"Break!" Thach snapped into his radio, as the glints of light rapidly formed into the light blue form of Brewster fighters.
Those birds were painted with the insignia of
Yorktown's fighter squadrons. Thach couldn't tell which one from this angle, but he knew they weren't his own VF-3 or VF-2 off
Lady Lex. And they only had that special paint to mark who was who in the exercise and avoid friendly fire.
That thought went through his head and left as quickly as it came however. Thach and Butch broke to port, while his wing-pair broke to starboard.
Yorktown's birds shot between VF-3's fighters, entering into a turn of their own to come up behind the Lieutenant Commander's planes. Classic tactics, but that didn't mean it wouldn't work. In planes that were equal to each other, it would come down to the individual skill of the pilots on who would win this bout. That and a whole lotta luck.
Or...
Weave. Time to see if the Admiral is right about this.
Thach waved a hand at Butch, getting a nod from his wingman in return. Time to put this to the test.
Thompson's Weave, as Thach had coined it- with a bit of grumbling that
he hadn't come up with the tactic -was simple in practice. Thach allowed himself to slow down, presenting a target that
Yorktown's boys couldn't pass up. In doing so, he focused their attention on him instead of Butch.
"Come on, take the bait..."
Two of the 'enemy' fighters did take the bait, the other pair of Buffaloes going after Red Flights second wing-pair. Thach smirked at that, as he turned into Butch's flight path, his wingman doing the same. Practice rounds flew past his cockpit, narrowly missing the stubby little fighter. The Lieutenant Commander's fighter continued it's turn, the
Yorktown boys following the movement...
Right into Butch's sight. Four 50-cal guns barked from the Brewster bird, the practice rounds slamming into one of the
Yorktown fighters. That plane broke off, 'killed' by the shots. His wingman spun into a panicked dive, clearly not expecting the maneuver. Thach didn't whoop in exhilaration like he would have in his younger days, merely smirking as he sent another hand gesture at his wingman. Butch returned the gesture, the two pilots diving down after their counterpart from
Yorktown. Wind flew by the Buffalo, as the fighter picked up more and more speed.
Yorktown's pilot, realizing he was being pursued, pulled out of his own dive, turning sharply to port. Thach pulled against his own controls, straining against the pressure caused by the dive. But his fighter was an agile little bird, and responded to the Lieutenant Commander's orders.
Got you.
Pulling out of his turn, Thach had the
Yorktown boy dead to rights. He focused, took a breath, and depressed the firing control. The sharp report of his fifty-cals roared to life, the practice rounds stitching the other Brewster. The
Yorktown pilot broke off, sending a friendly wave at Thach as the pilot formed back up with Butch. Only one of Red Flight's second pair returned however, though they had dealt with their own counterparts.
"Good job." Thach nodded at his fellow pilots. "Now, let's find
Yorktown."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
"
Smoke at ten o'clock!"
"Looks like a Carrier!"
Thach turned in the indicated direction, a smirk crossing his face. Far below, closer to where the bulky TBDs flew, was a formation of warships. A pair of cruisers, several destroyers, and at the center...USS
Yorktown. Her distinctive silhouette, nothing like
Lex and
Sara, or for that matter
Ranger, was a sight for sore eyes. Thach's eyes scanned away from her however, looking for any sign of the carrier's Combat Air Patrol. If
Yorktown's flight ops were smart at all...there! The Lieutenant Commander's eyes locked on to a group of four Brewsters, already angling to hit the torpedo bombers. Unluckily for them...
Well, they exposed themselves too soon.
"Keep them off the bombers." Thach calmly spoke into his radio, as he spun his Brewster into a dive towards the
Yorktown CAP.
With the sun behind him and Blue Flight, Thach had the advantage. If the
Yorktown boys even had the caution to look up, they would be blinded by the sun in their eyes. Whereas
Sara's fliers had the sunlight reflecting off their targets, marking them out perfectly against the ocean beneath them. Thach zeroed in on the lead pilot in that four-man formation, once more letting his guns rip. The moment the rattle of the weapons came to life, the other pilots broke their formation, rapidly maneuvering to avoid incoming fire.
The one Thach had targeted broke off towards his carrier however, 'killed' by the surprise attack.
One down.
Even as that pilot left the battle, Thach was forced to fling his Brewster to the side, as one of the
Yorktown birds came up on him. The movement wasn't quite quick enough, as practice rounds stitched up his wing. Grimacing, Thach finished his turn, moving out of the battle area. The Brewster was maneuverable for sure, but it's armor wasn't worth a damn. Those rounds would have blown his wing off, were they live. Still...he had done his job though.
"Beginning final approach now."
For both the TBDs and a group of SBD's escorted by Green Flight had arrived on target.
Yorktown began to turn hard to starboard, attempting to throw off the aim of the attackers. It was too little, too late. The SBD's dove down on the carrier, fat practice bombs falling from their fuselages. Two of the bombs splashed in the water off the carrier's bow, but two also hit dead center of her flight deck. And even as the dive bombers had their moment to shine, the lumbering TBDs released their own weapons, peeling off to avoid vengeful Brewsters.
Thach nodded in approval at the textbook perfect drop, expecting the torpedoes to hit
Yorktown squarely in the flank, the carrier unable to change her path quickly enough to matter. Instead...
"What the hell...?"
The torpedoes didn't work properly at
all. Two of them sank without their motors firing. Three ran in a different direction than they had been dropped, and the one that actually
did go to
Yorktown?
Well, it hit squarely into the carrier's side, instead of running beneath her keel as it was supposed to. The torpedo crumpled, and promptly sank to never be found again.
"Negative hits. I repeat, negative hits."
Thach heard his torpedo bomber counterpart speak those words, but his attention was on
Yorktown. The bomb hits rendered her 'inoperable' until repairs could be made, but it should have been a textbook 'kill' shot. With that many fish in the water? It was inconceivable that all of them could fail like that. Thach knew one thing. His friend in the TBD was going to raise
hell when he got back to
Lady Lex. And Thach was going to do the same thing when he returned to
Sara.
They couldn't go into combat with torpedoes that didn't work!
Receiving the report of the attack, James sighed softly. He had gone into this, full-well knowing what would happen. Knowing and experiencing were, as ever, two entirely different things however. He had known that the Mark 13- and by extension, 14 and 15 -were one of the greatest failures in American military history. So many duds, so many failed attacks...all tied to that torpedo family. However, knowing it hardly prepared him for seeing it in action. A tenth of the torpedoes launched by Lex and Sara's planes worked. That was it. The other nine-tenths failed outright in different ways.
It was a painful lesson all around, to say the least.
The only real positive was that
Yorktown had been unable to get a single fish in the water. The joint CAP of Lex and Sara worked together marvelously, scything through the unescorted bombers in a repeat of Midway that had James wincing. He'd gotten odd looks from that, but it didn't change his reaction. The Devastator with the Mark 13...useless, and a death trap without heavy escort. And Buffaloes were
not Zeroes. But then, this was the purpose of the exercise.
To show how tactics could help immensely, and how the torpedoes needed fixing ASAP.
"I can't believe they all failed..." Sara whispered from the Admiral's side, having been listening to the reports from her planes. And her sister's, for that matter.
"I can." James whispered back, careful to go unheard as ever.
"I never really doubted you Admiral." The carrier frowned lightly. "But seeing it..."
Admiral Thompson sighed softly, "Yeah, I know."
"Sir?"
Turning away from Sara, James looked at one of his crew. The man was gesturing towards the wireless, making the Admiral sigh softly again. Time to get a message to Richardson then. Needed to be done though. James could pull some strings on his own, but he was limited by his position. Richardson? Well, as CinCUS- Commander in Chief, United States Fleet -that man had a lot more pull. With the evidence of dangerous flaws?
Well, one could hope he could pull the strings properly.
"Are you sure this will work Admiral?" Sara asked, not really expecting an answer considering the people around.
James shrugged, not vocally replying.
"Thought so..."
Turning his head ever so slightly, the Admiral sent a reassuring smile at the blue-haired woman. Trying to convey what he meant, without actually saying anything.
I wish we could
guarantee this Sara. But we will do everything we can, and hope for the best.
Sara smiled at that herself, "Right, we always do our best don't we?"
The Admiral shrugged again, but didn't drop his smile as he turned back to getting his message put together.
'The exercise has discovered two important facts, that cannot wait until my return to report.'
Sighing, James continued to type out the message.
'First, the tactics I suggested worked flawlessly. Neither USS Lexington nor USS Saratoga took any hits. By contrast, USS Yorktown sustained two hits from dive bombers. However, there should have been more impacts from my torpedo squadrons. The Mk.13 did not work as it should, a mere tenth of them functioning properly. I believe they- and likely the Mk.14 and Mk.15 as well -require more testing to identify the problem.'
Handing off the message to his communications officer, James got to his feet and left the bridge to Sara's Captain. The Admiral was going to go down to the flight deck, and wait for his pilots to return. Was it more hands on than the average Admiral? Sure. Did James care? Not one bit. He wanted to know these men, and figure out how they felt about both the tactics and the torpedo issues. When he returned to Pearl, he wanted reports from the men
using the tactics and weapons. Admiral Richardson was going to need everything he could get, to push through what was needed.
Of course, there was also the fact that leaving the crowded bridge allowed him to talk to Sara again. That too.
"All we can do now is hope Sara." James turned to the carrier, as they walked through her halls. "Admiral Richardson is a good man. He'll do what he can, to fix things."
"But will it be enough?" Green eyes looked out from the curtain of blue hair, Sara clearly worried. "
Yorktown...she...all those pilots lost."
James could do nothing but put a hand on Sara's shoulder, "I know. Trust me...
I know. Midway was the same, in my past. Except there, six out of
41 made it back to the carriers."
Saratoga winced, holding a hand to her heart, "So many..."
To a carrier, steel hull or ship girl, losing that many planes would hurt. James knew that from his experience during the Abyssal War. It was why he kept a hand on Sara's shoulder as long as possible, providing silent support for the shaken girl. It was only when they reached the flight deck, that he removed that hand.
I can only hope we do better this time. It is out of my hands now though...Admiral Richardson will have to do what he can.
