Missing Name
01-26-11, 08:45 PM
Oh. Look. I'm trying to write fiction again. I got bored after only one entry in my first try, so of course I'm writing another tale.
This one is from the viewpoint of Commander Richards, commander of the Clemson-class destroyer Parker. Ship and people names have been completely made up; please ignore those historical inaccuracies.
__________________________________________________
"Six."
"I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?"
"No, Lieutenant. Carry on." The navigator turned back to the table, modifying the route they would be taking. It was about 2600 kilometers from Miami to Halifax. From there, they would join up with a larger convoy and head to England.
Commander Richards sighed and looked around the harbor. Ahead of him, docked at Port Island, was the crude oil tanker Mondgreen. Directly behind it was the convoy tender Cordo, loading the last of her supplies. The USS Hatcher was moored alongside.
The rest of the ships were lined up along the north side of Fisher Island. The Choctaw was the oldest, a steamer from 1910. She was carrying a load of scrap metal and was to be scrapped herself upon arriving in Halifax. Next was the big collier Binghamton, not much younger than the Choctaw. The boilers were in poor shape and were due to be replaced. Until then, she had to be make do with patches. She was carrying partially assembled PBY Cats. A Canadian cargo ship loaded with foodstuffs... what was her name? Mary Le Crans? Lacrosse? Mary L-something. Richards scratched his head. Damn, he was tired. Finally there was a smallish tanker loaded with fuel-oil, the Delila.
Six nice-looking targets to be escorted by two obsolete flush-deckers with minimal equipment. The Hatcher was fine considering the burden being placed upon her, but the Parker's rudder was jamming. With no time to fix it, Richards could only turn in slow circles and hope the rudder wouldn't stick. The Navy was overburdened and every floating ship was needed.
"Six ships, and I'm crippled. Christ."
"Sir, you're talking to yourself again. Get some sleep." Lt. Singer didn't even look up from his charts. "We leave before the sun comes up, remember."
He's right. Sleep sounds good.
* * * * *
At 0400, the convoy was ready to leave Miami. It had assembled outside the channel and was only waiting for the go-ahead.
Hatcher led the way, with the merchants in two lines behind her. To the Hatcher's port, the Binghamton, Staeder and Mary Lacroix waited; the Mondgreen, Delila and Choctaw opposite. Richards brought up the rear with the cranky Parker.
The captain of the Binghamton had said he was unsure how long the boilers would last at full speed. She would make seven knots, max. The largest target in the convoy was also the one slowing the entire thing down. Wonderful.
From the Hatcher, a signal:
COMMANDER RICHARDS PREPARATIONS COMPLETE
"Scotch, ask Commander Wiley what the hell he is waiting for." Scotch grinned and started flicking the signal lamp. Having an old friend working escort duty with him was somewhat comforting.
LETS GET THIS RODEO GOING
"Yes, lets." Richards picked up the phone. "Grant! We're moving! Ahead one-quarter."
"Aye aye sir."
This is going to be one hell of a rodeo, Richards thought as the convoy sailed past the beach.
This one is from the viewpoint of Commander Richards, commander of the Clemson-class destroyer Parker. Ship and people names have been completely made up; please ignore those historical inaccuracies.
__________________________________________________
"Six."
"I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?"
"No, Lieutenant. Carry on." The navigator turned back to the table, modifying the route they would be taking. It was about 2600 kilometers from Miami to Halifax. From there, they would join up with a larger convoy and head to England.
Commander Richards sighed and looked around the harbor. Ahead of him, docked at Port Island, was the crude oil tanker Mondgreen. Directly behind it was the convoy tender Cordo, loading the last of her supplies. The USS Hatcher was moored alongside.
The rest of the ships were lined up along the north side of Fisher Island. The Choctaw was the oldest, a steamer from 1910. She was carrying a load of scrap metal and was to be scrapped herself upon arriving in Halifax. Next was the big collier Binghamton, not much younger than the Choctaw. The boilers were in poor shape and were due to be replaced. Until then, she had to be make do with patches. She was carrying partially assembled PBY Cats. A Canadian cargo ship loaded with foodstuffs... what was her name? Mary Le Crans? Lacrosse? Mary L-something. Richards scratched his head. Damn, he was tired. Finally there was a smallish tanker loaded with fuel-oil, the Delila.
Six nice-looking targets to be escorted by two obsolete flush-deckers with minimal equipment. The Hatcher was fine considering the burden being placed upon her, but the Parker's rudder was jamming. With no time to fix it, Richards could only turn in slow circles and hope the rudder wouldn't stick. The Navy was overburdened and every floating ship was needed.
"Six ships, and I'm crippled. Christ."
"Sir, you're talking to yourself again. Get some sleep." Lt. Singer didn't even look up from his charts. "We leave before the sun comes up, remember."
He's right. Sleep sounds good.
* * * * *
At 0400, the convoy was ready to leave Miami. It had assembled outside the channel and was only waiting for the go-ahead.
Hatcher led the way, with the merchants in two lines behind her. To the Hatcher's port, the Binghamton, Staeder and Mary Lacroix waited; the Mondgreen, Delila and Choctaw opposite. Richards brought up the rear with the cranky Parker.
The captain of the Binghamton had said he was unsure how long the boilers would last at full speed. She would make seven knots, max. The largest target in the convoy was also the one slowing the entire thing down. Wonderful.
From the Hatcher, a signal:
COMMANDER RICHARDS PREPARATIONS COMPLETE
"Scotch, ask Commander Wiley what the hell he is waiting for." Scotch grinned and started flicking the signal lamp. Having an old friend working escort duty with him was somewhat comforting.
LETS GET THIS RODEO GOING
"Yes, lets." Richards picked up the phone. "Grant! We're moving! Ahead one-quarter."
"Aye aye sir."
This is going to be one hell of a rodeo, Richards thought as the convoy sailed past the beach.