SONG OF THE BATTLE OF OPERATION TIGER

 

Due to a cascade of accidents, inept leadership from the Brass, and cross-communications between American and British forces,

German E-Boats have evaded British patrols, been spotted, but neither American nor British are on the same radio frequency

so the convoy of Exercise Tiger is about to be massacred without warning.

It is up to the crew of the lone Higgins craft, Rocinante, to do what they can.

SONG OF THE BATTLE OF OPERATION TIGER

“It is better to stand and fight. If you run, you will only die tired.”

– George Armstrong Custer

 

Fear iced my blood. ‘Who is going to steer Rocinante?’

‘I am, of course. Do you have sufficient mastery of  differential and integral calculus to calculate where this craft must go to direct the repelled torpedoes into the E-Boats surrounding us?’

In my mind, Sentient’s voice was a living sneer. ‘I have observed Man from his very beginnings, and I have never seen a worse leader of men.’

‘You put me in this spot in the first place.’

‘“Bah! If you had but seen what I have seen, walked the paths of nightmare that I have, and endured the lonely ages as civilizations rose only to crumble, you might have some small understanding of me.’

I felt unseen fingers squeeze my nose. ‘Just because you picked your teams in your head, your men are not mind-readers to divine your choices.’

‘Merde.’

‘Fortunately, I imitated your voice within their helmets and notified each individual. Also, I have initiated a fuller instruction of how to use the Stinger missiles.’

My nose was squeezed again. Harder. ‘You failed to mention the BCU coolant unit of Argon gas which only lasts 45 seconds, then must be changed, turning it counter-clockwise.”

‘Shit.’

‘Yes, feces is what your training was worth. You are also quite possibly the worst instructor of men I have ever observed. Oh, and on board a sea vessel, it is hatch not door!’

‘I am a librarian not a war hero.’

‘Hero? You are a barely adequate soldier. You must become more than what you perceive yourself to be. Bah! I cannot believe I am directly entangled with any of this.’

‘Welcome to the club.’

‘The direct use of force is such a poor solution to any problem that it is generally employed only by small children and large nations.’

I started to yell for my eight to climb into their lowered chairs, when Sentient chided me. ‘Just speak normally. The sensors in your helmet will speak directly to theirs.’

‘But mine ….’

‘Looks outwardly like a traditional Spartan helmet, but it is much like theirs inwardly.’

“Into your seats, Spartans!” I snapped, angry at Sentient. Again.

I jerked as a tall standard shot up from the middle of the deck. I frowned. It was topped by a strange American flag. The rows of stars were off somehow. Then, I realized why. There were 51 stars.

‘I was feeling nostalgic for the future.’

I sighed. Another incomprehensible statement from Sentient.

I climbed into the shooter’s seat as the Stinger swung up from its housing and onto my right shoulder.

I frowned. These bulkheads were higher than any other Higgins I had ever seen.

‘Rocinante is not a Higgins obviously.’

Theo clambered into the seat next to mine. I spoke again. Milder.

It was not their fault that I had a Dark Passenger.

“Remember, Gentlemen, there is already a missile in the pipe, and the E-Boat must be at least nine feet away when you fire.”

To my right, Cloverfield protested as Lt. Stein got into the shooter’s seat. “Hey! When did I get to be the spear carrier?”

“When you told me about Auschwitz, James.”

On the opposite bulkhead, Reese, Porkins, Dee, and Sam had already decided who would be the shooter.

The hinged seat rose swiftly. My stomach decided to stay on deck. Salty spray from the ocean parting easily at our passage wet my face, stinging my eyes.

That would teach me to go all dramatic with an exposed face.

Suddenly, Rocinante lurched violently going starboard at a rate a Higgins boat couldn’t possibly attain. But then, Rocinante wasn’t in any way what she appeared from the outside.

Were any of us?

Explosions all around us. Screams. All from the E-Boats scattering as their own torpedoes detonated into one another.

Though I didn’t utter a word, I heard my voice in my helmet speakers. “Now! All of you. Fire on the E-Boat to your port side at twenty degrees. NOW!”

I’ll give my Spartans this: each of them, even the hardly battle-hardened Rabbi fired immediately. I followed a heartbeat later.

There were more explosions, more screams, more blood in the water. More recriminations from Sentient.

‘You were slow. Fortunately, I expected that and shifted Rocinante accordingly.’

‘How can I ever thank you?’ I mind-spoke sarcastically,

‘By being better.’

I ignored her and said, “Eject those Argon batteries.”

Sentient snapped in my voice through my speakers and theirs. “Catch them as they eject and throw them with all your strength at the craft to your starboard.”

I was so stunned that I failed to follow those orders. Sentient ripped control of my body from me and followed her own orders. The E-Boat She/I hit with my BCU coolant unit bellowed with the impact of what looked like a dozen sticks of dynamite.

Clouds of shrapnel swirled towards us, then veered away to hit one unlucky attack craft. More screams. One from Porkins.

Reese yelled so loud that I squirmed at the pain of his bellow in my ears.

“Franklin! You all right? Answer me, man!”

Porkins groaned in my speakers. “Just got my head rung good by that big piece of metal. I thought the hull was supposed to repel stuff like that.”

Reese’s relieved voice came through my speakers. “The hull, Numb Nuts! The hull. The air above it apparently is not so protected. Everyone! Keep your heads down as much as you can.”

‘Porkins is right. He should not have been hit. I sense Mr. Morten in this.’

‘But he is all the way back in New Orleans!’

‘His reach is long … as you should remember … which is why I have … Sister Ameal protecting your Helen.’

‘What?’

‘Hush! Focus on the moment.’

‘What moment?’

‘The two additional E-Boats charging us. Courtesy of Mr. Morten I would wager.’

“Damn!” snapped Cloverfield in my helmet’s speakers. “The convoy has caught up to us. Those ricocheting torpedoes might hit one of them!”

And of course, as soon as he said it, one torpedo veering off from us did just that.

Soldiers from the stricken ship tumbled overboard into freezing waters …

and because of the late, unlamented Captain Sturges, those doomed men were uselessly wearing their life vests around their waists.

How were we going to rescue those men with these high bulkheads … with two E-Boats shooting at us?

 How?

“The Spartans do not ask how many are the enemy but where are they.” – Plutarch