Chapter 313
“What about Shepard? He proved himself during Java.” the Canadian Prime Minister opined.
Admiral Somerset, Royal Canadian Navy, thought about this proposal.
“The People need a hero and Shepard is the best we've got, Sir.”
“He is a tad junior, but the best Carrier Officer we have, and yes I do agree with your evaluation, Admiral.” King said.
“I'll make the call. The Brits will certainly want to know about this.”
And with that Captain Johnathan Jason Shepard, a native of Alberta, was bumped up on the promotion list and earmarked to command Battlegroup Able-Seven of Force A of the British Pacific Fleet.
What made this force so special was that Able-Seven was a purely Canadian force. It's centrepiece, HMCS Vimy Ridge was Canada's first full-on Fleet Carrier and was about to be joined by HMCS Bonaventure, the first Carrier produced in Canada. The workers had worked triple shifts to get her ready, both to free up the slip for other construction (it was the largest slip in Canada and she had been in it for more than a year) and to get her out to the fleet.
Admiral Cunningham was expecting a great counterattack of some sort to be carried out by the Japanese as soon as the weather was to their liking and he wanted every deck he could get. To that end and for political and propaganda reasons it had been decided that since the number of Canadian Cruisers and Destroyers was large enough, a purely Canadian Battlegroup was in order.
Now it had needed a commander as it was supposed to operate independently when needed and because of this the Canadian Prime Minister and the Chief of Staff of the Royal Canadian Navy had met.
The appropriate messages were made and the day after the Royal Air Force made the Austrian look ridiculous newly minted Rear Admiral Shepard was standing on the bridge wing of Her Majesty's Canadian Ship Vimy Ridge and felt the extra weight of his shoulder boards.
That Vimy Ridge would be where he planted his flag, and he knew that her new Captain knew what he was doing but was he really ready for what was being dropped on him?
Canada would be watching, as would the Admiral and the Admiralty in London and he had to perform.
He took off the cap and ran a hand through his short ginger hair. Such was the lot of any Naval Officer.
“Sir?”
Shepard turned and saw an Able Seaman saluting to him.
“What is it, Thompson?”
“Message from the Bonaventure. She and her group are about to join us.”
“Already?” Shepard asked himself more than anyone else.
Bonaventure had barely finished Sea Trials and most of her pilots had been rushed through deck training at the centre north of Vancouver, but even so he hadn't really expected her for at least another two or three weeks. He would need to speak to her CO about it, but it was very likely that she was only half worked up and that her crew would need another two months of hard training before she could be considered really combat effective.
Shepard stepped back inside the bridge and watched as the crew went about their work.
“Admiral, message from Scout Four. They have Bonaventure, Spirit of Quebec and Spirit of Montreal at ten miles out.”
“Acknowledge. And prepare a message to Bonaventure. Message reads: 'How did you get here so fast?'”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
When Bonaventure lay a mile to starboard and Shepard saw through his binoculars that she was flying the new RCN Ensign and he had to admit, he approved of the design.
But what he approved of even more were the ship itself, the crew going about their routines and the brand new and sparkling Seafires line up on her deck. An additional deck. However inexperienced, they would need it.
~**---**~
When we left the small, out of the way supply base in Northern Australia I noted that Ian had insisted on buying several copies of the local rags. When I asked him about it he replied to me that considering we would spend at least a few months going back and forth there was no telling when we would next get some decent newspapers.
Life on the Edgehill settled in during those days. We had learned her foibles and little eccentricities while crossing the Indian Ocean, but now things were about to get serious. Everyone had posted the last letters for at least several months, and I could see even then that Ian was missing his family at least as much as I missed my sister.
We hopped from Island to Island, trying to keep out of everyone's way if possible though we were still spotted and queried by a scout from Bonaventure who luckily was convinced by our cover story of us being on our way to Port Moresby on New Guinea.
Edgehill slowly moved through the northern perimeter of what were Allied-controlled territories on 5th February 1943. Felix had the deck tonight and he watched the arms of the clock creep towards 04:00. Two more hours then Takahashi would relieve him. Nip or not, the man had at least paid attention at Dartmouth, and that Academy was at least as good as Annapolis had been.
The quiet night gave him ample opportunity to ponder the mission as he sipped on his tin cup of tea. (In Australia had had been surprised to find that he had lost his taste for Coffee)
The holds of the ship were crammed full with ammunition, both for her own weapons and for the crates upon crates of small arms that had also been loaded. Why on earth the Australians had decided to keep producing the Owen Machine Carbine that had at one time been considered by the SAS instead of using the cheaper and easier to produce Sten like everybody else was something he didn't understand, but at least there had been lots of them.
Going north to the Philippines wasn't what he had expected but such was the mission and hitting the Nips over the head from behind was the sort of work he had done in Europe against the Axis and truth be told, he considered himself to be quite good at it.
Felix was sitting in the Captain's chair and inwardly complained not for the first time why the Japanese designed their merchant ships with so uncomfortable seats. Around him the ratings that made up the Bridge Crew tried to stay out of his way, they had learned long ago that at this time of night the Officer who was not only the brother in all but name but actually the CO's brother-in-law was grumpy but didn't bother anyone without cause.
Felix at the same time heard the steps on the deck and could tell by the sound that it was Smith. The Ex-Marine or whatever he had been before the SBS carried himself in a way similar to what Felix had observed during the times he and Ian had worked with the SAS.
“Permission to come to the Bridge?”
“Granted.” Felix replied to the only semi-serious question.
“What's the situation?” Smith asked. To get the information he needed he could just have entered the chart room without ever entering the bridge itself but Felix had quickly found out that for someone who was obviously hiding who he was Smith was remarkably chatty as long as things didn't touch his past or matters of duty.
“We passed the three-mile limit of New Guinea an hour ago. Everything in front of us belongs to the sons of the sun.” Felix said with a sweeping gesture towards the forward bridge windows.”
To his credit Smith didn't glance at the overhead pipes as if he expected a thousand Vals dive-bombing them.
“Anything on the plot?”
Felix glanced at the hatches to the bridge wings.
“Lookouts report nothing.”
Even though he knew the reasons for it, Felix deplored the lack of an RDF set that reduced them to lookouts. He shook his head as he realized how quickly the fleet had become used to and come to depend upon RDF.
“Well then, I better get my men checked out on those Ozzie guns then.” Smith said and left the bridge again.
What was the matter with that man? Felix couldn't help but wonder.
+-+-+-+-+-
Comments, questions, rotten Tomatoes?