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USS Lexington
April 9th, 1936
"Chief Two, you read?"
Dick Yates picked up his microphone and spoke, "Chief Two reads." He, his flight leader Lieutenant Clark, and another wingman were in standard triangular formation, their piston engines powering their F2F fighters 5,000 feet above the waterline. Usually pilots clocked in flight time by taking up patrol and in this case, they were flying cover for an exercise undergoing by the carrier's scout-bomber wing. The Helldivers were in line formation, 20 lbs training bombs hooked underneath with a red circle of wire indicating the target area.
"Alright Flying Chiefs, start orbit while the Divers make their runs" crackled the flight officer. Dick slightly shifted his stick to the left, following the wing commander's lead. Pretty soon the flight was orbiting the target area, simulating as fighter cover. The scout bombers began their run, diving to gain speed. The flight lead of that formation, Lieutenant Sampson, almost was an exact clone of Lt. Clark except with a mustache. When he dropped his payload, it was dead middle of the target area. Scratch one sucker! yelled Dick in his head, already imagining flames and scattered debris flying in the water.
The rest of his flight however, were not that great. Only two of the fifteen planes hit their mark with the others splashing all over the ocean.
Lt. Clark came on the flight radio "Poor bastards. Too bad those bombs weren't armed or we could've had us some fresh fish."
Dick decided to comment on that "Sir, I'm sure the fragments in your filet would taste delicious." Clark laughed and told him where he could put the fragged filet and what to do with it; Dick laughed in return. His commander and he have been flying together for most of the '30s and their partnership reached a point where they could insult each other without causing trouble. Anyone else would've either earned a court martial or a knuckle sandwich.
Pretty soon the scout bombers were done with their work and began their landing procedures. The Lady Lex sat idle in the waters near San Diego, her service grey paintwork not at all uncommon. In the distance, some destroyers and a battleship were doing training exercises. It seemed the entire Pacific Fleet were in training, spring time come alive.
Half an hour later, both Clark and Dick were safe on the ship, shedding their flight gear and heading to the galley. Hot smoking mugs of coffee and greasy bacon kept them alive for awhile.
One crewmember, a gunner mate, spoke up, "Hate to be one of Macho's boys right now. They must be getting chewed out left and right about now." Lieutenant Sampson was called 'Macho" for some damn reason Dick could never figure out. Every time he tried to ask, noone could give him a clear answer. One thing however he did know. Set off Macho and he will make you wish that you would jump off the ship and swim to shore.
Lieutenant Clark shrugged. "They screwed it up. It's not that hard to drop a bomb on a stationary target for crying out loud!" He paused before going on, "In war, you cannot have silly little mistakes like that happen. In actual battle, your target is moving, trying to dodge whatever you throw at them. They're not going to sit there, bend over and say 'Bomb me please!'. You have to be prepared for that and if you can't even hit a target that is not moving, you deserve a chewing out." Noone rose to disagree with him because he did have a point. Mistakes in training do not need to be repeated in war unless you don't care much about your life. A ship will be trying to dodge everything you fire at her and the airman have to transition their aim to hit that moving ship. The men of the Lady Lex depend on their scout bombers and torpedo bombers to actually hit the ships and get their carrier out of harms way from surface threats.
Dick went for another mug of coffee and made small talk with Lieutenant Clark. It killed alot of time that they had onboard. Unless the fliers were flying, the only thing they did was play cards, talk, use the john, eat, and sleep. Sometimes they would get newspapers and some of the crew would sneak in magazines past the eyes of senior officers. Just anything the fliers could do to kill time, they did. In Dick's opinion, it was the most easy going profession on the ship save yeomen and paperwork wasn't exciting as flying planes.
The intercom clicked on and the skippers voice was loud and clear, "Petty Officer Yates report to the Bridge! Petty Officer Yates report to the Bridge!" Dick went pale and got goose bumps. You usually don't get called to officer country unless you done something wrong.
"Shit, what did you do Dick?" Clark inquired.
Dick shook his head. "I have no idea myself." Instead of waiting, he hurried out of the galley and ran up towards the bridge. The way he was running, he could've been on the U.S. Olympic track team getting ready for the Berlin Games. He ran past crew whom gave him odd looks and twice he almost busted his head, but he knew that he shouldn't keep the skipper waiting. Arriving on the bridge panting his lungs out, he stood at attention, with his mind racing back and forth. What did I do?! What did I do to deserve this sort of attention?!
The captain was a man in his fifties, greying hair and medals stretching back to World War One. Despite his old appearance, he was one tough SOB. Apparently one of the rumours was that when he served as a junior officer, he broke his arm but kept directing his men while extreme pain was on him. Say what you would about the skipper, but he was no damned empty uniform like some Annapolis graduates were. Lifting his hand, he spoke "Relax Yates, you're not in trouble." He chuckled when Dick took a deep breath. The skipper motioned him to follow "Come to my cabin, I need to discuss with you on a matter."
The skipper's cabin was way better than anything Yates slept in. Wood panelling, a full sized mattress where you can stretch your legs out, a sink with mirror and closet to store uniforms. There was also a little desk where the skipper attacked most of his paperwork. Sitting in one of the chairs across from him, Dick waited for whatever was about to come.
The skipper produced a sheet of paper from his desk. "You have been flying for a long time isn't that right Yates?"
Dick nodded. "Yes sir, four years and before that on crop dusters."
"Really? We don't get many of those with prior flying experience." The skippers eyes scanned the paper and looked back up at Dick. "Well son, to get right to the point, you're an excellent flyer. Some others have trouble flying those planes you got, but you manage to keep that thing steady. What I brought you up here for is on this piece of paper here. Admiral King wants me to send someone to start training some folks that are preparing to become navy pilots and your name came up. Lieutenant Clark vouched for you and had confidence in your abilities."
Whatever Dick was expecting, this wasn't it. "Sir?"
The skipper chuckled "Yes this is for real son. As of tomorrow, you're to report on mainland and head for Baltimore. This will allow you to become a new wing commander for one of one of the fighter groups on the USS Enterprise when she is finished, but for that to happen you also need to go through OCS to do that," He let that sink in for awhile, "so what do you say?"
Dick didn't know what to think, but not for long he grinned. "Hell yes! uhh... y-yes sir."
The skipper laughed again. "Understood you the first time. Alright, a boat will pick you up at 1100. Dismissed." Dick stood back up and saluted, which the ships captain returned. Marching off the bridge, Dick couldn't help but to smile. His own wing on a new ship and possibility of officer rank too! Not a bad day...nope, not a bad day at all.
Sorry for the short update. Promise it won't be short again!
Been busy for a long while 
, but finally getting an update in
April 22nd, 1936
Aberdeen Proving Ground
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
Major Price covered his ears just in time. The artillery crew fired off its brand new 75mm M8 Howitzer, sending the round thirteen thousand yards before destroying an old truck hulk. The hood almost disintegrated and some of the cabin parts flew in the air like a gymnast. The crew landed two more shells on the target, turning the scrap hulk into a scrap pile in just mere seconds. If Price was convinced on one thing, he surely would not wish to be under the fire of that thing.
General Craig called out to the crew, "Alright men, nice demonstration." Craig was in his shirt sleeves and hat, trying to keep himself cool in the coming heat. He looked around his entourage of eight men, including Major Price. "Any comments, objections?"
One from the artillery department spoke up first. "Well sir, as you can see the M8 is a great improvement over older models the Army is using. It's lighter, throws out more shells, and the range is better."
Craig nodded at that "Yes, a big improvement over the 155 giants. One thing to make a big hole, but that really means nothing if you can move the bloody things at all."
Another responded, "But sir, isn't that the point of most artillery? To have more firepower to knock out more of the enemy?"
Major Price shook his head and answered for General Craig. "Firepower is only one part of the battle as far as artillery is concerned. In the trenches, it was fine if we were sitting on our backsides huddling in the mud and throwing shells across No Mans Land, but when we were moving around, we had to leave alot of those artillery pieces behind because they were too damn heavy. I remember after we left the Marne and my guys had to get one of those giants out of a mud hole...a mess I much rather not experience again.
" He shuddered at the thought, 2 complete hours of trying to free a heavy artillery piece and a colonel coming by to chew them out for it. Just can't make everyone happy.
"We got to think about movement," General Craig said. "Fortunately the Army will have this to allow them to be faster and still have that knockout punch. I want to make good use of the money Congress is allowing us." He smiled towards Price, a smile that superiors give to subordinates when they get something right. Him and Major Price were on good terms, even if Price preferred MacArthur to Craig.
The artillery piece was packed and being shipped out back to the tent where it came from. The crew saluted General Craig as they passed, kids fresh out of training with a veteran noncom leading them. More and more were joining the Army these days, liking the idea of a job they knew that wasn't going to go away based on economic trends. Even though the artillery guys were prone to losing their hearing, being behind the line wasn't a bad job...even thought there wasn't a line at the moment.
As the entourage was beginning to walk back to their cars, General Craig was next to Major Price. "Eddie, how are the reports on the M1 Combat Car coming along?"
"Oh pretty well sir, the machinery is doing perfectly and the speed is incredible. Can't outrun them anymore." Both men laughed. They remembered the slow monsters of the First World War, a tank going at the pace of an old lady. Now the tank crews had something grin about. "What are you thinking about doing on them sir?"
"The next time I go talk with Dern, I'll see if I can get the approval of starting up a tank regiment for starters. I know some want to go to brigades, but we don't have that much money yet. This will be a good start, you have anyone in mind for the post?" Craig asked.
Price was a little surprised at the question. "Isn't that more something the S-1can offer?"
Craig shook his head "As capable as he is, I don't necessairly trust him on suggesting officers to me; I do with you."
"Hmmm..." Price just needed a few seconds before coming up with a suggestion. "George Patton sir? I know he has been making noises about restarting the Armored Force and with his experience, I think he will be a fine commander."
The chief of staff looked down at the ground in thought. He remembered Patton real well, both in war and out. He wasn't real happy about the man's involvement in the Bonus Army incident in '32, but never the less was a fine commander. Major Price was right, he did have the experience to train these new generation of tankers. "All right Eddie, I want you to contact George in Ft.Myers and tell him whats going on when we get back. We should be starting the regiment sometime in June if Dern approves."
"Yes sir"
"What about the other projects?" While the Army didn't have the money to increase it's force size, it certainly did have the money to conduct projects like the one they saw with the artillery.
"Curtiss is being reasonable about the switch to P-36 Hawks for the Air Corps and there is more development on dive bombers. As far as infantry is concerned? Not hardly anything outside of the artillery sir. Those M1 rifles are taking a hell of a long time getting to our forces."
Craig growled "Why the hell aren't they?"
"From what Springfield is telling me sir, our own side is to blame. Since we don't have enough money to buy a large batch of M1 rifles, we can only issue them in small numbers. If you can convince the President on adding more to the defense budget, we can do it. But it'll be till October before we can even think about firing these things off."
Craig just shook his head. "Did I ever mention to you Eddie that I can't stand politics at all?" Eddie just chuckled. What proper Army leaders did?. Some tried to enter politics, but very few made it well enough on Capitol Hill. The way the Congress functions might aswell be another race on Mars, according to the science fiction stories Eddie read. But one thing is for sure, Congress did not like funds going into the military and kept the budget as low as they can. It was almost a miracle to Price that they were able to keep their Springfields instead of using broom sticks like some politicians wanted them too. Bunch of damn fools to the veteran, thats for sure.
When the bunch left in their cars, Major Price managed to nap through the ride. Work in the day and rowdy kids at night kept him almost on guard twenty-four seven and whenever he could grab sleep, he did. His wife managed to make it feel better to him, but still cannot keep him from grabbing the Army kind of coffee every morning. He now respects what Flora has to put up with most of the time.
It was ten after two when the car came back in Washington. Major Price woke up and looked out the window, watching as the regular citizens walked by. Lighting up a cigar, he often wondered if conflict really did die on those mud fields of France years ago.
, but finally getting an update in
April 22nd, 1936
Aberdeen Proving Ground
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
Major Price covered his ears just in time. The artillery crew fired off its brand new 75mm M8 Howitzer, sending the round thirteen thousand yards before destroying an old truck hulk. The hood almost disintegrated and some of the cabin parts flew in the air like a gymnast. The crew landed two more shells on the target, turning the scrap hulk into a scrap pile in just mere seconds. If Price was convinced on one thing, he surely would not wish to be under the fire of that thing.
General Craig called out to the crew, "Alright men, nice demonstration." Craig was in his shirt sleeves and hat, trying to keep himself cool in the coming heat. He looked around his entourage of eight men, including Major Price. "Any comments, objections?"
One from the artillery department spoke up first. "Well sir, as you can see the M8 is a great improvement over older models the Army is using. It's lighter, throws out more shells, and the range is better."
Craig nodded at that "Yes, a big improvement over the 155 giants. One thing to make a big hole, but that really means nothing if you can move the bloody things at all."
Another responded, "But sir, isn't that the point of most artillery? To have more firepower to knock out more of the enemy?"
Major Price shook his head and answered for General Craig. "Firepower is only one part of the battle as far as artillery is concerned. In the trenches, it was fine if we were sitting on our backsides huddling in the mud and throwing shells across No Mans Land, but when we were moving around, we had to leave alot of those artillery pieces behind because they were too damn heavy. I remember after we left the Marne and my guys had to get one of those giants out of a mud hole...a mess I much rather not experience again.
" He shuddered at the thought, 2 complete hours of trying to free a heavy artillery piece and a colonel coming by to chew them out for it. Just can't make everyone happy.
"We got to think about movement," General Craig said. "Fortunately the Army will have this to allow them to be faster and still have that knockout punch. I want to make good use of the money Congress is allowing us." He smiled towards Price, a smile that superiors give to subordinates when they get something right. Him and Major Price were on good terms, even if Price preferred MacArthur to Craig.
The artillery piece was packed and being shipped out back to the tent where it came from. The crew saluted General Craig as they passed, kids fresh out of training with a veteran noncom leading them. More and more were joining the Army these days, liking the idea of a job they knew that wasn't going to go away based on economic trends. Even though the artillery guys were prone to losing their hearing, being behind the line wasn't a bad job...even thought there wasn't a line at the moment.
As the entourage was beginning to walk back to their cars, General Craig was next to Major Price. "Eddie, how are the reports on the M1 Combat Car coming along?"
"Oh pretty well sir, the machinery is doing perfectly and the speed is incredible. Can't outrun them anymore." Both men laughed. They remembered the slow monsters of the First World War, a tank going at the pace of an old lady. Now the tank crews had something grin about. "What are you thinking about doing on them sir?"
"The next time I go talk with Dern, I'll see if I can get the approval of starting up a tank regiment for starters. I know some want to go to brigades, but we don't have that much money yet. This will be a good start, you have anyone in mind for the post?" Craig asked.
Price was a little surprised at the question. "Isn't that more something the S-1can offer?"
Craig shook his head "As capable as he is, I don't necessairly trust him on suggesting officers to me; I do with you."
"Hmmm..." Price just needed a few seconds before coming up with a suggestion. "George Patton sir? I know he has been making noises about restarting the Armored Force and with his experience, I think he will be a fine commander."
The chief of staff looked down at the ground in thought. He remembered Patton real well, both in war and out. He wasn't real happy about the man's involvement in the Bonus Army incident in '32, but never the less was a fine commander. Major Price was right, he did have the experience to train these new generation of tankers. "All right Eddie, I want you to contact George in Ft.Myers and tell him whats going on when we get back. We should be starting the regiment sometime in June if Dern approves."
"Yes sir"
"What about the other projects?" While the Army didn't have the money to increase it's force size, it certainly did have the money to conduct projects like the one they saw with the artillery.
"Curtiss is being reasonable about the switch to P-36 Hawks for the Air Corps and there is more development on dive bombers. As far as infantry is concerned? Not hardly anything outside of the artillery sir. Those M1 rifles are taking a hell of a long time getting to our forces."
Craig growled "Why the hell aren't they?"
"From what Springfield is telling me sir, our own side is to blame. Since we don't have enough money to buy a large batch of M1 rifles, we can only issue them in small numbers. If you can convince the President on adding more to the defense budget, we can do it. But it'll be till October before we can even think about firing these things off."
Craig just shook his head. "Did I ever mention to you Eddie that I can't stand politics at all?" Eddie just chuckled. What proper Army leaders did?. Some tried to enter politics, but very few made it well enough on Capitol Hill. The way the Congress functions might aswell be another race on Mars, according to the science fiction stories Eddie read. But one thing is for sure, Congress did not like funds going into the military and kept the budget as low as they can. It was almost a miracle to Price that they were able to keep their Springfields instead of using broom sticks like some politicians wanted them too. Bunch of damn fools to the veteran, thats for sure.
When the bunch left in their cars, Major Price managed to nap through the ride. Work in the day and rowdy kids at night kept him almost on guard twenty-four seven and whenever he could grab sleep, he did. His wife managed to make it feel better to him, but still cannot keep him from grabbing the Army kind of coffee every morning. He now respects what Flora has to put up with most of the time.
It was ten after two when the car came back in Washington. Major Price woke up and looked out the window, watching as the regular citizens walked by. Lighting up a cigar, he often wondered if conflict really did die on those mud fields of France years ago.
The way you have written this update really shows where your priorities are, good work.