George Washington's Ghost

In retrospect, even a couple of months ago, nobody had really worked out the half of the basics of operating the big new carriers; true to form, the Navy had worked it out in quick order. Even a month ago, not even standard cruising stations had been established, now everybody took the new practices for granted.

Perseus’s Captain, Patrick O’Mara Bentinck, one of the men who had written what were now only the first chapters of ‘how to do carrier operations’ well over two decades ago, had had the inevitable talk with Alex about whether or not, in the circumstances, he ought to ‘sit this one out?’

Alex had already had that conversation with the ship’s CAW, and fast-found firm friend, Commander Andrew Buchannan.

Both men had made their points, because that was their duty, and given in gracefully. They knew this was his last ‘outing’ aboard Perseus and that, understandably, he wanted to go out with a bang, leading from the front and in their hearts, Patrick Bentinck and Andrew Buchannan knew he was the man best qualified to be the master of ceremonies over the target.

That was another completely new innovation.

With so many aircraft in the air it was no longer good enough to allow individual squadron, flight and section commanders to call the shots; somebody, had to retain the big picture in his head and to keep the show on the road when, as was likely to happen, the confusion of battle intervened and the attack faltered, or became dispersed. One day, not long ahead, there was talk about ELDAR and scrambled telecommunications making it possible for a high-flying ‘command and control’ aircraft to safely hang back many miles from the battle and for a master of ceremonies to conduct operations from afar. However, for the moment nothing was going to supersede the Mark I human eyeball or the wily old scout pilot’s brain it was attached to.

Alex’s Goshawk was being modified to carry a one hundred gallon drop tank under each wing to enable him to loiter over San Juan for up to forty-five minutes – five to ten before, thirty minutes during the attack, and another five to permit him to assess the results afterwards – and still have a twenty percent margin of safety when he got back to the Perseus, which at no time during the operation would risk approaching nearer than eighty-five nautical miles from the Santo Domingo coast.

For Alex, to have spent a couple of days with Leonora again, to have held his new baby son in his arms, to have been there at Virginia Beach when his brother returned from the dead and now to be overseeing the preparations for the greatest carrier-borne aircraft strike in history, was… surreal.

Am I living in a dream; or am I living my dream?

It was hard to tell. Of one thing he was absolutely sure, he had never been more alive.

Chapter 29

Sunday 7th May

Trinity Crossing, Unincorporated District of Northern Texas

Flight Lieutenant Greg Torrance and his ground crew chief, Sergeant Fitter Bill Fielding wiped the sweat and grime out of their eyes as they stepped into the Headquarters Tent.

George Washington’s sparsely furnished lair in the midst of the ever-expanding tented, shack camp, swollen daily by new arrivals, retreating stragglers from the south and west and new recruits from the surrounding hills, was a cool haven from the noon-day sun.

“Forget about trying to get one of the Fleabags ready for a search mission,” the tall Texan said decisively as he rose to his feet to greet his visitors. “You guys look hot, take a pew,” he said, waving at two collapsible canvas camp chairs. He stuck his head outside the open end-flap. “Bring us some coffee please.”

Tea was a beverage they drank back on the East Coast, out here in the wide-open spaces of the West people preferred something with ‘bite’ and a real blast of caffeine.

The big man came back inside and perched on the edge of his desk, something a local carpenter had hammered together from old timber salvaged from around the derelict airfield.

“We ain’t going to waste avgas looking for a damned fool who had the fuel to go on a pointless sightseeing tour but wouldn’t send us a goddamned drop of the stuff!”