Dauntless Sky

Dauntless Sky
by
John Seward

August, 1963
President John F. Kennedy stood at the microphone, enjoying the gentle
breeze coming off the Kennebec River. The freshly painted hull of a
guided missile destroyer loomed a few feet behind him, and the sounds
of a busy shipyard permeated the sunny afternoon air. In spite of the
event taking place, work continued at the sprawling Bath Iron Works,
the Maine birthplace of many of the Navy's past and present warships.
The skeletal steel monsters of different sizes and shapes were at
various stages of completion, yard workers engulfing them like armies
of ants.
"Today we celebrate the commissioning of the newest in America's line
of proud warships, the USS Douglas S. Ramsey. Armed with the latest
technological advances in weaponry, and manned by a crew of dedicated
officers and men, the Ramsey upholds our commitment to peace throughout
the world&;#8230;"
Captain (retired) Robert Stuart Clarke sat on the podium, listening to
the words, his mind awash with memories. He stole a glance at Liz
Ramsey, her eyes focused on the young President, embracing every word.
Her hair, now touched with the slightest of gray strands, gently wafted
in the breeze. The years had been good to her-very good. He thought
perhaps now; after the years had passed, maybe he would enjoy her
steady company. After all, she was unattached, and in all the time that
had passed since Doug's death, he had never seen her in the company of
another man. He'd found himself wondering why that was. Bobby had been
in regular contact with Liz since Doug's death, and although they lived
in different states, Bobby had always been "little Doug's" surrogate
father, and the boy reveled in the yearly summer vacations he would
spend on Bobby's small ranch in Texas after the latter's retirement
from the Navy. It was a question that seemed too unsettling, as if any
interest in his best pal's wife would be disloyal to his memory.
"&;#8230;through the nation's long history of sea power. We honor
this commitment-- today and in the years to come. The vital job of
maintaining the freedom of the seas must be borne at any price, and we
do not take this responsibility lightly. We accept it willingly. With
that responsibility of course, comes sacrifice&;#8230;"

December, 1941
"&;#8230;have attacked the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
Early reports indicate heavy loss of life, along with major damage to
ships and installations. Repeating, the Japanese have attacked the
naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Stay tuned to this station for
further reports." Elizabeth Ramsey looked at her husband staring at the
radio in disbelief, and a cold chill began crawling up her spine.

August, 1963
"&;#8230;months ago, we stood at the brink of nuclear holocaust.
Without the courage, dedication, and commitment of brave young men such
as these, that holocaust would surely have engulfed the world. Freedom
knows no price&;#8230;"

June, 1942
Doug Ramsey turned to his buddy, a forlorn smile creasing the handsome
Kansan's face. He had the look of quiet consternation of missing
something really big. It was the same look that came over him as a boy
whenever he'd missed the berthing of a new calf back on his parents'
farm in Salina. Those days were long gone, however, but the same aura
of disappointment held him. "Damn, Bobby. If we'd gotten here a week
earlier, we'd have had a shot at a carrier. Man, what rotten luck!" The
sandy haired pilot pulled the cap from his head, and ran the fingers of
his right hand through his hair. "One week", he mused. "Forget it.
We'll get our shots in.," replied Bobby Clarke, the amiable Texan who
had been Doug's pal and wingman since flight school at Pensacola over a
year before. Bobby was the ultimate optimist. His demeanor was always
upbeat, and his personality and charm had left a trail of broken hearts
from his days as a high school football star in Baytown, all the way
through flight training. Weekends were two day parties with Bobby, and
nobody ever went away unhappy. "Don't be in such a hurry. Besides, if I
let anything happen to you, Liz'll have my butt in a sling." Doug
smiled wistfully. Elizabeth Ann Hathaway had walked into his life one
July weekend in 1941, blonde hair, blue eyes, incredibly long legs, and
he had never let her go. They'd met on a Florida beach and the spark
between them had been instantaneous. Her soft South Carolina drawl and
smile had stolen his heart. A senior at the University of South
Carolina, she was the only daughter of Charles W, a Charleston banker,
and Margaret T. (Megs) Hathaway, and was never far from Mama and
Daddy's watchful eyes. The idea of their precious Elizabeth consorting
with a Navy pilot made their aristocratic blood run cold. In spite of
her parent's pleas to think of her future, three months later Liz had
stolen away to be married by a justice of the peace in a little Florida
town called Gonzalez. Even with talk of war, the future seemed
limitless. She dreamed of babies and gardens, homes and neighborhoods.
She dreamed the dreams of every young newlywed. Then came December 7,
and the broad horizon in front of them suddenly seemed to be covered by
dark clouds. Doug remembered how frightened she'd been at the news of
war. A relentless tide of Japanese conquest was rolling through the
Pacific, each Allied loss a little more disheartening. The prospect of
a long, drawn out conflict was certain. For Elizabeth Ramsey, the
dreams of home and family were smashed like the fleet in Hawaii.
Doug and Bobby received their orders to the aircraft carrier USS
Hornet in late May, and after a brief weekend leave to be with Liz in
San Francisco, Doug joined his buddy in Hawaii, waiting on their new
home to return from the decisive engagement that had taken place in the
waters around Midway Atoll in early June. The US Navy had ambushed a
powerful Japanese fleet, sinking four of the six fleet carriers from
the Peal Harbor Striking Force of the previous December, and the
stunning victory had begun the turnaround in the Pacific. As they
viewed the wreckage of the battleships Arizona and Oklahoma from their
vantage point on Ford Island, they burned to get their licks in on the
Japanese fleet.

July, 1942
Changes had marked the start of Doug and Bobby's tour on the Hornet.
Shortly after arrival in Pearl, the Hornet's air group had been made
over. After the tragic loss of Torpedo Eight at Midway, a whole new
squadron had been brought aboard, complete with aircraft. Now called
Torpedo Six, the squadron was flying the new Avenger torpedo bomber. A
much-needed upgrade from the obsolete TBD Devastators that carried John
Waldron and his men to their fate at Midway, the TBF's from Grumman
featured a bigger engine, capable of a maximum speed of at least fifty
knots faster than the older plane. VF Seventy Two, completing the
makeover, had replaced fighter Squadron Eight.
Since LT. A.B. "Abie" Tucker had taken over Bombing Eight from Stan
Ring, Doug, Bobby, and the rest of the new pilots in the squadron
drilled endlessly. Daytime patrol-training flights enabled them to
learn how to handle the rugged SBD Dauntless. Built by Douglas, the
Dauntless was the Navy's carrier and land-based dive-bomber. The
two-seater carried a pilot and radioman-gunner, and was powered by a
smaller version of the engine mounted in the TBF. Doug and Bobby
constantly worked at formation flying, and worked at how best to
maintain group integrity with the other planes of their section. What
little leisure time left over was spent writing letters, or playing
cards. There was always an Acey-Deucey game to be found somewhere.
Poker was rampant, the winners often coming away with hundreds of
dollars. After all, what else was there to do in the middle of a vast
ocean? The sounds of Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, and Artie Shaw leading
their bands wafted through the ship, as several portable record players
were always at work.
Doug's letters home to Liz were short and to the point. Not wanting to
give the censors spicy reading, they all contained the same basic
stuff--how much he loved her, how he hoped the war would be over soon,
and how his flying was getting so much better with all the patrolling.
Don't worry about me honey; Bobby's got my back. Her letters back were
full of love, and assurances that she was keeping "a stiff upper lip,
as the British say". There was also plenty of news about the folks back
home, the problems with rationing, and "last Saturday's War Bond
drive". He couldn't help but laugh at the thought of his beautiful Liz
trying to "keep a stiff upper lip".

August, 1942
Things went from bad to worse for the Pacific Fleet and its carriers
later in the month. In the ongoing fight for the island of Guadalcanal,
the USS Enterprise had sustained enough bomb damage in the Battle of
the Eastern Solomons to force her return to Pearl Harbor for repairs.
The pilots of Torpedo Six spent the last week of August shuttling
Marine pilots from Henderson Field to the Hornet, where twenty-one F4F
Wildcat fighters trussed up above the hangar deck were taken down and
assembled. The Marine aviators of the "Cactus Air Force", as they were
called, flew the fighters back to the beleaguered island. Doug saw the
haggard pilots; faces unshaven, their clothes stained with dried mud
and oil, and he could only guess at the strain they must be under. The
constant night shellings and daylight raids by the Japanese were
leaving telltale signs of stress upon them. They wore their fatigue
like a second skin.
With the latest mail transfer by way of fleet oiler, came the
surprising news that Liz was pregnant. "Buddy boy, that's terrific!"
exclaimed Bobby. "I couldn't be happier if it was my own. When's the
big day? How'd you manage that, anyway? You've only seen her once since
March." Doug couldn't stop grinning. "Guess it was that last night in
San Francisco. She says she wanted to make sure everything was all
right before she told me. Wow! Me&;#8230;a father!" Bobby slapped
him on the back. "Guess I have another reason to watch your back, eh?
C'mon "Pappy", let's celebrate." and he pulled a couple of chocolate
bars from the pocket of his flight suit.
They found a quiet spot in one of the port gun galleries, and sat
down. It was twilight, and the cool of the ocean breeze brought comfort
from the heat of the day. "Here's to Junior", Bobby said with a grin,
and the two touched candy bars as if they were glasses full of
champagne. "I still can't believe it, you know?" said Doug.
"Me&;#8230;a father". Bobby threw back his head and erupted in
laughter. "You can stop saying that now. It was going to happen
eventually. There'll be plenty of sleepless nights ahead, buddy boy.
Get used to it." Doug looked at him quizzically. "Sleepless nights?"
"Sure! Ask any man here who's a father. You're in for a stretch, pal."
and Bobby laughed again. "Any ideas about names?" Doug stared blankly
ahead. "Names&;#8230;y'know, it hasn't sunk in yet. I suppose that's
something Liz and I will have to discuss." and quietly began to
consider the options. His next letter to Liz would contain his list of
suggestions. There was one stipulation though. Be it boy or girl, he
wanted to honor his best friend by using the name Robert or Roberta. He
didn't think she'd have any argument with that.

September 1942
As September dawned, Hornet was now the lone carrier at sea, the USS
Saratoga having been torpedoed on the morning of August 31st. With
Enterprise and 'Sara' now out with battle damage, the fliers of
Hornet's air group suddenly realized that the stakes in this
winner-take-all game had just been raised. Quiet resignation registered
on every face. Grim determination to stave off whatever the Japanese
threw at them, became the mindset of every man aboard. The temporary
sense of relief felt when USS Wasp and her escorts arrived on scene,
vanished on the 15th when torpedoes from a submarine set off bomb
magazines and fuel lines aboard the carrier. In a matter of moments,
Wasp was a blazing wreck, wracked by explosions. Her escort destroyers
solicitously hovered nearby, handmaidens awaiting the death of a
dowager queen. Sheets of angry red and orange flame spewed from every
opening around the flight deck. Dense clouds of oily black smoke issued
forth, marking what soon would be Wasp's final resting place. Nearly
six miles distant, Doug and Bobby, along with most of the other Hornet
airmen, stood helplessly watching from the flight deck

Later that night Doug went topside, and walked the length of the
flight deck. A gentle breeze was blowing, and he let the coolness wash
over him. Alone with his thoughts, he looked out over a gently rolling
sea, finding only the great cloak of infinite blackness. An occasional
star violated the darkness. Reflecting upon the events of the past few
weeks, a great melancholy filled him. So many dead&;#8230; so much
destruction. What drives men to such ends? I should be
home&;#8230;with Liz&;#8230;and that beautiful new baby when it
comes. Not here. Not in the middle of this Godforsaken ocean trying to
kill someone I can't even see. What's going to happen if I die? What'll
happen to my family? Who'll raise my child? Will Liz have the strength
to deal with it? Who will &;#8230;
"Hey buddy, you look like you just lost your favorite toy. What's the
matter?"
Doug was startled. He hadn't noticed Bobby at his side.
"Oh, just thinking a little bit", came the reply.
"'Bout what, Pappy?" asked the Texan.
"Remember those Marine pilots from Henderson? I looked at those guys
and couldn't help but wonder what it is that lets a man take what
they've been taking day and night for weeks on end. The constant
bombing and shelling. Never knowing when or if help is coming. Not
knowing if today is the day you get it. I guess what I'm really
wondering is, could I take it?" Doug looked into the blackness. "I
think I could, but I guess the only way to find out is to actually be
in that situation. None of the training and simulation can prepare you
for the real thing. Y'know how we've heard that sometimes the biggest
talker in the unit turns out to be the least reliable person under
fire. That's what worries me, Bob. Coming to the critical moment and
finding out that I can't cut it."
"You'll cut it, Pappy, you'll cut it." Bobby said softly. "I'm betting
my life on it"
"This damned war", Doug spat. "We should be home living our lives. I
should be mowing the yard&;#8230;painting the
fence&;#8230;playing ball with my kid. " Making love to my wife, he
thought.
"Hell Doug, wars have been fought for centuries. Our daddies went to
war, and their daddies and granddaddies before them. Now it's our turn.
We gotta hope the next generation gets it right. We gotta make sure the
next generation can stay home and mow, and paint, and play ball, and
all that stuff. We didn't ask for this, but here we are, and by God we
gotta make sure it ends with this one."
Doug let out a small sigh, and chuckled softly. "Listen to Jimmy
Stewart, here. I think you've seen 'Mr. Smith Goes To Washington' one
time too many. Let's get below and hit the sack."

August 1963
The President was sitting now, his tanned face creased with a smile.
The reception had been enthusiastic, and he scanned the crowd, enjoying
the response from the sea of smiling faces. Liz turned to Bobby, and he
could see the reflected glow of deep satisfaction in her eyes. "Oh,
Bobby, wasn't that wonderful? All those nice things he said about Doug.
I wish he could hear them."
Bobby smiled and nodded. "He'd probably be a little embarrassed
".
Next at the microphone was the Secretary of the Navy, and as he began
to speak, Bobby fell back into reverie. "Thank you, Mr. President, and
distinguished guests&;#8230;"

October 25, 1942
Dearest Liz,
My darling, I write you tonight because this may be the last you hear
from me. I say that because we are preparing to meet the enemy
tomorrow. I must be honest with you, and honest with myself. I pray to
God that I come back, as with every flight, but I know that this moment
before me is more than a routine mission. If you receive this letter,
then I will be gone. It will be with my personal effects, which will
have been sent to you.
There are no words to describe my love for you. I wish more than
anything in the world to be with you now, holding you, loving you. The
times with you were, and are, the best of my life, and I cherish each
moment. If I die in action, it will be with your name on my lips. The
thought of never seeing our child makes my heart ache. I want so much
to do the things only a husband and father can enjoy, and if I could
trade my life now for just one look at both of you, I surely would. If
I am not meant to survive this conflict, I know that you will never let
our beautiful child forget his or her father.
Bobby has told me more than once that he'd look after you both. Don't
be afraid to call on him for anything. He's like a brother to me, and I
can trust him to keep his word.
My darling, always keep me close to your heart. You will always be
with me. I love you more than you could ever know.
Yours,
Doug

Doug carefully folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and sealed
it. He wrote her name on the front, and carefully placed it on his
desk. Tomorrow promised to be a long day, and he had to get some rest.
He lay back on his bed, and let the steady pounding of Hornet's huge
engines lull him to sleep.

August 1963
"&;#8230;the brave souls who sail the seas in our country's
defense. So, with today's commissioning of this ship, the legacy of
American naval power continues. You send your sons, husbands, brothers,
and fathers to sea again, as so many families have before you. Your
sacrifices also follow the grand tradition of service families all over
the world. It is these sacrifices that&;#8230;."

October 26, 1942
The chatter of the teletype startled Doug, who was lightly dozing. On
the screen at the front of the pilots' ready room, information on the
disposition of the Japanese task force was being displayed. The pilots
began furiously transferring the information to the chart boards they
would take to the planes with them-- information vital to locating and
destroying the carriers that were, in turn, looking to accomplish the
very same thing. Walt Rodee, the Hornet's air group commander, would be
leading the strike, while Gus Widhelm and Vose would be leading the
bombing squadrons.
"Pilots, man your planes." At once, everyone in the ready room began
the dash to the flight deck. Doug and Bob exchanged a solemn glance.
"Let's give 'em Hell pappy!" Bobby said with a wink. "After you, son,
after you", replied Doug with a flourish. On the flight deck, the
sounds of 29 radial engines roaring to life drown out any hope of
further conversation. Doug and his rear-seat man, Aviation Radioman
Second Class Tommy Connor climbed in their respective seats, and
strapped themselves in for the long flight.
"All hands, prepare to launch aircraft."
It was 0730 on the morning of October 26, 1942.

August 1963
The officers and crew of USS Douglas S. Ramsey came to attention.
Assembled on the pier just at the amidships point, they faced the
podium, where the Commandant of the First Naval District, was reading
the official proclamation transferring the ship to the commanding
officer. Liz eyed the rows of rock steady sailors; their dress uniforms
a sea of white against the gray background of the ship. She thought she
spied him in the second row where his division was assembled. No-that's
not him. I thought he said he'd be up front.

October 26, 1942
One by one, the Hornet's strike force lumbered down the flight deck
and grabbed at the sky. Already circling high above was the Combat Air
Patrol, a protective umbrella of Wildcat fighters designated to guard
the Task Force and it's valuable carriers from incoming attacks. Doug's
Dauntless was sixth off the flight deck, followed by Bobby, then
Hoskins and Johnny Allen. The TBF's followed, and last off the carrier
were Mike Sanchez' two divisions of Wildcat escorts. Following about a
half hour later would be the rest of Hornet's strike, led by Air Group
Commander Walt Rodee.
Doug quickly reached altitude and formed up on the left wing of
section leader Clemens. Bobby formed up on the right wing, and the
three made a " V". They, in turn, joined the other elements of the
Bombing Eight section to make a "stepped V" to allow for the greatest
unit defensive firepower. Doug flicked the intercom switch to his
rear-seat radioman/gunner, Aviation Radioman Third Class Tommy Connor.
"Clear your guns Connor." "Aye, sir", Connor responded, and fired a
burst from the twin 30 caliber machine guns mounted in the rear
cockpit.
"Guns are shipshape, Sir".
"Ok, Tommy. Heads up now."
"Yes, sir"
The air at 12,000 feet was cool and clear. Intermittent clouds dotted
the sky, and the ocean below was a blue carpet reaching to the horizon.
A thousand feet above him, Doug saw half of the Wildcat escort weaving
gently across the formation in order to keep themselves on station with
the slower dive bombers. Below, at 800 feet above the sea the Avengers
of Torpedo Six lumbered along, guarded by their half of the fighters,
also doing slow weaves to keep station with their charges. The sight
was inspiring. The fighter escorts, the dive and torpedo bombers in a
noisy ballet being played across the azure South Pacific sky.
It was a good day to be alive.

August 1963
Commander Robert Elyea was reading his orders to the multitude of
people witnessing the ceremony. "You are to assume command of USS
Douglas S. Ramsey, DDG112, and the crew thereof. You will prepare her
in every respect for sea, and proceed to Naval Station Norfolk,
Virginia where you will take on stores and munitions facilitating
completion of initial phase of service. It is the President's express
Orders, that you employ the most vigorous Exertions to accomplish these
objects and put your Ship as speedily as possible in a situation to
sail at the shortest notice."

October 26, 1942
Far ahead, Doug noticed specks in the sky. The advance sections of the
Japanese CAP were approaching. The sudden burst of excited chatter
filled his ears.
"Hawks at Angels 13!"
"Tally Ho! Dead ahead"
"Tally Ho! Below"
"Let's go!"
Above, below, and all over, the sky erupted in a flurry of tracers and
smoke. VF-72's Wildcats and the deadly A6M3 Zeros were spitting death
at each other at closing speeds of over four hundred miles an hour. In
moments, dying aircraft were leaving smoking trails across the broad
swatch of sky as they plummeted to sea. The fighter pilots were
twisting and turning, trying to get the best shooting angle on each
other. Occasional glimpses of parachutes were seen. It was impossible
to tell which side was winning the aerial duel. Cockpit chatter became
indistinguishable as men cut each other off in the heat of battle. The
bombers flew on, knowing that the Japanese carriers were ahead and
below. It was a matter of time now. Time to reach the targets and press
home the attack before the Zeros pounced. Ahead, Gus Widhelm fingered
his microphone. "Close up. Tighten up the formation. Don't give 'em any
free shots!" Each SBD began the closing maneuver, the formation
becoming an interlocking web of protection.
"Enemy fleet dead ahead!"
Across the windscreen in front of him, Doug saw the breadth of the
Japanese task force. Two&;#8230;maybe three carriers, heavies,
escorts of different sizes--all moving at high speed away from the
incoming strike. In a few short minutes, the TBF's of Torpedo Six would
begin to press home their attacks. Doug stole a glance at Bobby. He was
totally focused on the ships below.
The moment was at hand.

August 1963
The crowd of spectators stood and prepared for the playing of "The
Star Spangled Banner". On deck, sailors prepared to raise the Flag of
The United States. Up behind the bridge and pilothouse, more sailors
prepared to hoist the Commissioning Pennant. It was at that moment Liz
spotted her son. The Captain solemnly addressed the crowd. "Ladies and
Gentlemen, this will not be your average striking of the Commissioning
Pennant. For today, taking his place among the proud crew of this fine
ship will be the son of her namesake, Radioman Third Class Douglas
Robert Ramsey. Petty Officer Ramsey will hoist the Pennant". The
National Anthem began to play, as one by one, the Stars and Stripes,
the Union Jack, and finally the Ramsey's Commissioning Pennant went up
the mast. The moment became a blur as Liz gave way to long checked
emotion, and slumped against Bobby, sobbing openly.

October 26, 1942
12,000 feet below, the Japanese Navy Task Force under Vice Admiral
Chuichi Nagumo barreled ahead at full speed, screws biting deep into
the water in an attempt to escape the onslaught. At its center, the
huge carriers Shokaku and Zuikaku, the last survivors of the Pearl
Harbor attack, turned frantically to avoid the torpedo attacks now
being pressed home by Ed Parker's Torpedo Six.
A third carrier, Zuiho was already desperately fighting off an attack
by Enterprise's air group. In moments, Bombing Eight would vindicate
its bad luck at Midway, and strike the final blows against the
perpetrators of Pearl Harbor.
The Dauntlesses of Bombing Eight broke formation momentarily to
prepare to dive on the targets. Bobby could see that Widhelm was lining
up on the farther of the two, identified as HIJMS Shokaku. From out of
nowhere came the diving attacks of Shokaku's Combat Air Patrol.
Widhelm's plane took hits immediately and fell out of formation,
smoking badly, but still in the air. Three more SBD's felt the sting of
the deadly Mitsubishi's 20-millimeter cannon. Two spun out of control,
the pilots dead or dying. As the Zeros passed through the formation and
began to climb for another pass, Doug fingered the mike button. "Be
ready Tommy, stay on 'em". An excited "Yes, sir. I'll blast the hell
out of 'em if they get close" was the reply. Hoskins was next to get
it, as he was jumped by a Zero that killed his rear-seat gunner, and
methodically shot up the SBD until it too, fell out of formation. Doug
watched as Hoskins fell free of the burning wreck and opened his
parachute. Anti-aircraft fire was getting heavy, and it claimed Johnny
Allen and Dave Wilson. The squadron was being chewed to bits, only
eight of the original fifteen still running the deadly gauntlet of
enemy planes and flak.
Doug felt the steady thudding of something hitting the wings and sides
of his plane, and realized he was being hit by machine gun fire. The
steady clattering from behind told him that Connor was responding with
equal fervor. At the pushover point, Doug shouted into his microphone
to be heard above the din.
"Hang on Connor, here we go!"
There was no response. Only the continued report of the twin-30's, as
the Dauntless began the seventy-degree dive at the huge flight deck
below. Through 10,000 feet, he followed Clemens and Vose down. He was
vaguely aware of heavy AA fire. Connor had fallen silent, but the
steady thudding of cannon fire hitting his wings let him know that the
Japanese fighter pilot was not giving up just yet. At 7,000 feet the
Jap fighter pulled out, not wishing to run into friendly fire. The
shuddering of the Dauntless indicated severe damage, and the
corkscrewing effect of the plane trying to maneuver with the twisting;
turning carrier below was throwing his aim off. He saw the 1,000-pound
bombs fall away from the planes in front of him and fall towards the
carrier. He couldn't see what had happened to Vose's missile, but saw
the bomb from Larry's plane strike just off the port quarter of the
flight deck, sending up a geyser of water high above. Near miss! He was
alone and in the clear as the planes before him pulled out of their
dives and firewalled the throttles to vacate the now seemingly
impenetrable curtain of steel being thrown at him. Instantly, he felt
as though he'd been punched hard in the right shoulder. By reflex, Doug
pulled the bomb release handle, and started the pullout of his dive. He
felt wetness down his right side, but banked his plane to see the
result of his attack. The bomb had entered the flight deck just forward
of the island, and near the forward elevator. A ball of fire erupted
from the great hole blown in the flight deck, and parts of men and
machines were hurled skyward. A serious blow, but not a killing one. It
was up to Bobby and the rest of the guys to finish her off. He leveled
off and began to head back to Hornet, but couldn't make his rudder
work. It had been shattered by a splinter of jagged metal from an
exploding shell, and was barely able to steer the plane. One dive brake
had been shot away, and the control surfaces on the left wing were
riddled with bullet holes. He fought to maintain control of his badly
damaged bomber, and noticed his right arm wasn't working. A
20-millimeter cannon shell had made his arm a limp piece of meat. He
could see bone showing, and was bleeding steadily.

August 1963
Liz had recovered somewhat, and was gathering herself for the
Benediction, to be delivered by the Force Chaplain of the
Cruisers-Destroyers, Atlantic.
"Are you ok now?" asked Bobby.
"Yes, thanks Bobby. I guess it's all been a little too much for me
today." she replied.
"You're entitled. How many other women can say she's seen her son
commission a ship named for her husband, and be a member of the ship's
crew to boot? It's not exactly your everyday occurrence."
"Doug would be so proud."
"Hell, he'd be bustin' his buttons", Bobby said grinning.

October 26, 1942
Rodee's wave of SBD's approached the damaged Shokaku, and from his
vantage point, Doug saw the intense umbrella of steel reach upwards. He
knew that unless the guns blazing from the galleries around the flight
deck, the strike was doomed to failure. Only the fire from his bomb hit
was any visible sign that damage had been done. By all outward signs,
Bobby and the rest of the first wave had missed completely or made
negligible hits. They were gone, possibly wiped out by the Zeros
waiting outside the cone of anti-aircraft fire, or winging back to
Hornet. He hoped the latter was true. In the meantime, there had to be
a way to distract the Shokaku gunners. As he circled the Dauntless just
out of range of the guns, he took stock of the situation. He touched
the mike button.
"Connor, you ok?"
No reply
"Connor!" he yelled into the mouthpiece.
Still no response.
"Tommy, do you hear me?"
Doug opened the canopy, and painfully tried to look back. All along
the side of the aircraft, jagged holes had been stitched from front to
back. What looked to be a splash of red paint decorated the port side
along the open rear cockpit area. Doug knew then, his rear-seatman was
probably dead. As he sat back in his seat, he knew what he had to do.
If he could get by the destroyer screen, and fool the carrier's gun
crews into thinking a torpedo attack was underway, he might just divert
some of the anti-aircraft fire now being directed at the second
wave.
With great effort, he managed to get the disintegrating SBD turned
toward the Shokaku's starboard side. The controls were sluggish, and
with the use of only one hand, the effort was like pushing a bus. If he
stayed low enough on the horizon, he just might sneak through. High
above, Rodee was having a time of it. Zeros and heavy AA were playing
hell with the formation as it neared the point at which the planes
would make their dives.
One chance was all he'd get.

August 1963
The ceremonies finished, Bob and Liz, worked their way to the spot
where Doug was standing on the pier. Mother and son embraced, and as
they parted, Liz dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex.
"Oh Douglas, I'm overwhelmed. I'm so proud of you."
"Gee Mom, not in front of the guys, ok?"
"I'm sorry, but it's just so&;#8230;"
Bobby stuck out his hand. "Doug, you did a helluva job there"
"Thanks Captain."
"It's Bob, son. Captain was a while ago. We know each other too well
for formalities."
"Aww, ok Bob. You know, with all the brass and stuff around, I figured
I ought to show some military bearing."
Bobby laughed heartily. Liz smiled, still dabbing at the corners of
her eyes.
"What time you shove off?" he asked Doug.
"1600. I'm sorry there won't be any time for us to spend together. You
know how it is in the Navy."
"Yeah, I'm familiar with the institution."
Doug put out his hand, and Bobby clasped it with both of his. "Your
Dad would have been thrilled Doug. Stay safe. Let me know if there's
anything you need. I know some people in high places."
Doug smiled, and turned to Liz, taking her hands in his. "I'll be okay
Mom, you know that. I'll drop you a line as soon as things settle a
bit. You got my address, right?"
"Right here in my purse, honey. I'll be looking forward to your
letter. Don't you forget to write, or I'll have to call your Captain!"
She chuckled, and added, "I'm kidding of course. I love you son. Stay
safe."
"Love you too Mom. Bye Bobby!"
"Bye Doug"
"So long, son"

October 26, 1942
Doug turned his broken aircraft toward the giant carrier two thousand
yards ahead. The pain in his arm was roaring through his brain, and he
fought to keep his senses. A quick glance skyward indicated that the
second wave was about to roll into their dives. He pushed the throttles
as far forward as they would go. The dying SBD sprung to life and
hurtled itself forward, whipping up spray from the sea that was just
feet below. Suddenly the sides of the flattop came alive with flame, as
scores of 25 and 13.2 millimeter guns opened up on him. The water
kicked up small geysers around him. He felt the fuselage of his
Dauntless shudder and shake from the shells hitting.
As if punched by an invisible fist, Doug was slammed deep into his
seat. A gout of blood splashed against the instrument panel. Again, he
felt the sting of an enemy slug. He began to fade, the vision of his
beautiful Liz forming in his muddled thoughts. He didn't feel the next
one.
The Dauntless came apart under a hail of fire, exploding as it hit the
water.
Walt Rodee's strike aircraft, with the stream of AA reduced by Doug's
diversion, rolled into their dives one by one. The 1,000-pound bombs
from three of the planes struck Shokaku with a devastating result. The
carrier's 847-foot flight deck was shattered. In the hangar deck below,
the carnage was indescribable. Somehow the crew, through prompt action,
would be able to save her, but the damage done by this attack would
sideline her for nine months. She ceased to be an effective fighting
machine.
Doug's gambit had worked. When the Hornet air group got back to Task
Force 17, they discovered the result of the Japanese strike. Hornet was
a floating wreck. They would have to go on to land aboard Enterprise.
Doug was nominated for the Navy Cross for his action, and Bobby swelled
with pride at the ceremony. With tears streaming down his face, he
readily accepted the medal for his fallen pal.

August 1963
USS Douglas Ramsey slowly, carefully, pulled away from her berth. The
ship's company not on watch manned the rails. As Ramsey moved down the
Kennebec towards the Atlantic Ocean, Bobby turned to Liz.
"Well Mrs. Ramsey, may I take this occasion to invite you to
dinner?"
"Why Captain Clarke, are you asking me on a date?" Liz feigned
surprise.
"Well ma'am, one might consider it as such. My intentions are strictly
honorable, I assure you."
"I see. Well then&;#8230;by all means, let us dine!" Liz laughed
with unrestrained joy.
He escorted her to his car, and as they started for the main gate, he
heard an old familiar sound. It was the sound that only a radial engine
could make. He pulled to the side of the street and got out, looking
up. High above, it's silver wings reflecting the sunlight, a vintage
Douglas SBD Dauntless was making lazy circles in the sky. He smiled to
himself and looked at Liz.
She smiled back, her eyes sparkling.
It was a great day to be alive.

The End

?2001 J Seward