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Midway

By Anthony Colombo

Born 1941, M, from Santa Clara, CA, United States

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MIDWAY

The year was 1942 and the United States was at war. Pearl Harbor was past, but the effect of the Japanese raid was very much a thing of the present. Admiral Yamamoto. Was now working on a plan to complete the job he started on December 7, 1941. His plan was two pronged: First, part of his fleet would attack two islands in the Aleutians, and the second, involved an attack on the island of Midway. Admiral Yamamoto’s hope was that these combined attacks would draw the American carriers out into the Pacific Ocean where his fleet could kill them.

Yamamoto knew from the onset of the war that America could not be beaten. He knew that the best Japan could hope for was a negotiated peace. The key to peace for Japan was the destruction of the American fleet, and since the carriers had not been at Pearl, he now had to lure them into a trap of his choosing, and Midway was that trap.

Someone once said that war was fluid meaning that things change from moment to moment and the victor could become the defeated in a heartbeat. Well, who ever that was had not figured on the American cryptanalysts and their ability to break and read code. In May of 1942 the Japanese code was being read by the Americans, and on June 4th, 1942, at approximately, 0630 hours when the attack on Midway began, the American carriers Yorktown, Hornet and Enterprise were there waiting.

September 1989: The newest USS Enterprise, on her 14 deployment, was in route to the Philippines. She was acting under orders from President George Bush Sr. Her mission was to assist the President of the Philippines Corazon Aquino by providing air support for a rebel uprising.

“Skipper, CIC,” sounded an electronic voice over the ship’s intercom.

“Go CIC,” was the response.

“Sir, we are tracking inbound air traffic.”

“CIC, are we expecting any company?”

“Not at this time, Sir. We will have a flight from Midway later today.”

“OK, I’m on my way down.”

CIC, the initials for the Combat Information Center, on a war ship is the heart of that ship and on the flagship, it is the brains of the fleet. It is a room where people speak softly in subdued lighting and the loudest noise is the hum of computers, but when the captain of the ship walks into the room, the command attention is given and all in the space respond.

“Well gentleman, what have we got,” asked the captain of the officer in command of the sailors sitting in front of the computer screens or standing around plotting tables.

Sir, you’re not going to believe this, but we have a slow flyer approaching.”

“Have we tried to hail him?”

“Yes Sir. We have checked all frequencies with negative results. Either his radio is out or he just doesn’t want to talk to us.”

“How soon will he be within our threat zone?”

With the tone of a chuckle in his voice, he said, “that’s the thing Sir, if he were a jet we would be at general quarters already, but plot makes him out to be a single engine prop job. And, at his present speed … hell Sir, about thirty-five minutes,” he said unimpressed.

OK son, keep an eye on him, and let me know … just keep me posted. I’ll be on the bridge.”

“Aye aye Sir,” came the response from the duty officer.

The bridge of a ship is the opposite of the CIC. While noise is kept to a minimum, the bridge is a busy place with sunlight streaming in every opening. Even at night the bridge is well lit, unless they are operating under combat conditions. The bridge was the royal chamber onboard a vessel and the captain its king.

Rear Admiral (LH) Jorgenson was the man in charge of the fleet heading to the Philippines. His flag was on the USS Enterprise. He was a veteran of twenty-nine years going to sea right from the Naval Academy. He was on his last Crouse and looking forward to his retirement upon his return to Pearl. At sea, he served as weapons officer on everything from fleet subs, nuclear subs, battleships, and later after winning his wings; he flew F4’s during two tours in Viet Nam off carriers. On shore, he served as the military liaison to both the Korean and Japanese governments and as the Navy’s representative on the Joint Chief’s of Staff in Washington, DC.

The admiral’s leadership style was that of a man respected by not only his piers, but his crew as well. He was able to interact on a personal level and still command the respect necessary for men to be willing to go into combat without question. Now he was sitting in the bridge waiting for a plane headed for his ship.

“Skipper,” said a voice from someone near the admiral.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Plot has the plane circling to our stern. Plot said it looks like the pilot may be trying to land on our deck, sir.”

“Land,” asked the admiral not really believing what he just heard.

“Aye sir and they say that the plane seems to be in trouble.”

“What the hell is going on here?” The room was silent while the admiral weighed his options. Then he said, “What have we got on the flight deck right now?”

“The decks are clear, and we have nothing scheduled for the next three hours. Then we have a flight of six F18’s from Midway, sir.”

“OK. Get security on deck, and make ready to receive a plane, and alert the ships company for the possibility of a crash.” Then after another short silence, the admiral said, “Has anyone been able to contact this guy?”

“Negative sir and we have tried everything except smoke signals.”

“Sir,” another voice on the bridge interrupted, “I was just told that we have the plane on video, and their sending it to our monitor here on the bridge.”

“OK, let’s take a look.”

“OH my God that thing is trailing smoke,” said the first voice.

“I see that,” replied the admiral “We are going to need the crash crew. Get them on deck and notify sickbay that they may have business. Tell them to have their people on deck as well!”

As all on the bridge watched, a small black spot at the head of a long line of black smoke seemed to grow. As it got larger, one was able to make out wings and a tail. Then too, its color changed from black to blue. And, as they continued to watch more details became visible like a bark blue circle on the fuselage. Then it was possible to see a white star in the center of the circle with white rectangular wings emanating from the star

“It’s a World War II dive bomber,” said a voice questioningly.

“To be exact son,” said the admiral, “it’s an SBD Dauntless, and if my memory serves me, there were about one hundred and twenty-eight of those planes involved during the battle of Midway.”

“Aye, Sir, and some forty-eight were lost at sea.”

Forgetting his place in the rank structure, a seaman said, “You guys aren’t saying that that is a plane coming back from that battle, or you? That was forty-seven years ago!”

With a smile on his face, the admiral said, “well son your math is perfect, and no we aren’t saying that, but I sure am curious as to what the hell he is doing out here and where the hell he did come from.”

The admiral and two of his officers left the bridge to observe the landing. As the plane began its final approach it dipped, climbed, veered from side to side – there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the pilot needed serious help. “He’s not going to make it,” said the officer to the left of the admiral.

Taken aback by the comment as though it were jinxing the pilot, the admiral said, “if he’s Navy and got this far, he’ll make it.” But, even the admiral had his fingers crossed behind his back.

As the men watched the plane, its wheels lowered and locked. Then the tail hook came down and the smoke got darker. The smoke billowed as the plane slowed reducing the wind resistance giving the fire in the engine compartment a chance to take hold and flare up.

The plane dipped once again disappearing below the flight deck and everyone braced awaiting the impact with the ship’s stern. Instead of contact, however, the plane seems to be lifted straight up as if hands were picking up a toy from the floor of a child’s room. As the plane flew over the deck the pilot cut the engine and the plane slammed onto the deck. The downward force caused the landing gear to compress, and the rebound pushed the plane into the air. The only thing holding the plane to the deck was the tail hook that had grabbed a cable. The cable gave letting the plane continue forward, but when the cable reached its limit and the planes forward momentum stopped abruptly dropping it to the deck. This time the landing gear collapsed and did not recover. The fuselage slammed onto the deck and the churning propeller dug into the ship throwing chunks of deck and prop into the air. The prop jammed and stopped turning. The engine raced out of control and flames exploded from under the cowling and across the deck.

Corpsman ran to the cockpit while the fire suppression team covered the front of the plane with foam extinguishing the fire in seconds. The corpsman worked much slower. Both the pilot and the man in the rear gunner/radioman’s seat were unconscious. Both had upper and lower body wounds, and both compartments were colored red with their blood.

The plane told how the men had gotten into their present condition. The fuselage had over a hundred fist size holes in it. The portside wing was missing about three feet of wing tip and the rudder was shot away. The pilot’s windscreen was just a jagged hole large enough for a man to crawl through.

The corpsman worked much slower making every effort to remove the two men without causing more injury to them. As they worked on the pilot, he opened his eyes and asked, “What ship is this?”

The corpsman said, “It’s the Enterprise, sir.”

The pilot said, “It can’t be,” and passed out again.

“Doctor, how are your patients,” asked the admirals as he entered the sickbay.

“The radio operator is the worst. He has an unexploded 20mm round in his chest very close to his heart. He poses the biggest problem. We will have to set up the OR to provide some safety for the surgical team, and the bomb squad will be standing by for the safe disposal of the thing when we have it out. The wound itself should be no problem, but the getting to it could be touchy.”

“What about the pilot?”

“He has two holes in his chest, some shrapnel in his leg, two broken ribs, and a round through his left arm, but they are all clean wounds. There is a round that entered his right ankle and exited out his thigh. Here he has a problem in that the round caused multiple fractures and the damage they caused may cost him his leg.” Then as an after thought, the doctor said, “Even if we can save the leg, he may never be able to walk on it again.”

“Doc, do what you can for both of them, and let me know when I can talk to the pilot. There are a few questions I would like to clear up.”

“I’ll bet there are,” the doctor said to himself as the Admiral disappeared through the hatch.

Two days later the pilot and radioman were in isolation recovering from their surgery when the admiral entered their room. The pilot tried to sit up as best he could under the circumstance trying to come to attention. The radioman, too weak to sit, stiffened in recognition of the rank now in their room. The admiral said, “At ease gentleman I am here to see how you are doing.”

“We’re doing better, sir.”

“Do you two feel like talking? If you do, I have some questions.”

“Sir, I remember asking the man at the plane what ship this was, and he said the Enterprise.”

“That is correct son, why?”

“Then, Sir, we have some questions as well.”

“I think if we start by you telling me what you two were doing out here, we may get the answers to both our questions.”

“Then we have to start a month or so ago when the brains in Washington broke the code and Nimitz ordered us, the Hornet and the Yorktown out here to stop the Japanese attach on Midway. Then at about 1030 hours, three days ago Petty Officer Marcs sighted carriers.”

“Boss, off the port wing in the water,” said radioman Marcs.

What have you got, Marcs?”

“Its carrier’s sir, three of them and the one in the middle looks like the Akagi and the other two fit the silhouettes of the Kaga and the Soryu.”

“OK, Marcs hold onto your wallet. We’re going down.”

As the plane dove on its target, it was rocked, and lights flashed, and noise exploded in Lieutenant (jg) Timmons’ ears. “What the hell was that Marcs? We just lost a big part of our wing.”

“I’m sorry Boss. We got a Zero on our tail and I think he got me. I’m sorry Boss.”

“Then Admiral, there was a burst right in front of me and my windscreen blew out in my face. The next thing I know is that I see you and I got to get Marcs down.”

“Son, that is incredible.”

“But sir, you can’t be the Enterprise…”

“Son you flew off the Enterprise on June 4, 1942.”

“Yes Sir that is what I just said.”

“Son that was 47 years ago,” said the admiral.

The room became as silent as a tomb. Three men from different times stood looking at one another. Three men two different times; two men from a time that represented reality, a here and now, and one from a time that smacked of UFO’s and science fiction. Somewhere in between them was an answer to what they were living. Wormholes, warped time zones – time, how much time does anyone have? Why were these two men from one time period suddenly in another? If there is a meaning to life, what was the meaning of their life, and what life were they cheated out of? What about these two? They cheated death and were now in another life looking at another death.

“Well admiral, checking up on my patients,” asked the doctor breaking into the admiral’s thoughts. The three men looked at the doctor still stunned by their discovery. “I have to say that this is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” not realizing how true his statement was.

“What do you mean by that,” asked the admiral.

“I mean how fast these men are recovering. I have never seen wounds of their severity heal as fast as these. It’s as though these two men have been in the hospital for months. I haven’t seen anything like this,” said the doctor.

Walking with the doctor into the hall outside the ward, the admiral said, “Doctor, I’m going to have to ask you for a favor.”

“What do you need sir?”

“I need to have these two men isolated for a while longer, and while they are here get them all the video history we have in our library. Start with World War Two up to the present.”

“I don’t understand admiral.”

“Doctor that is an understatement, not only do I not understand, I find it very hard to even believe any of this happened. Doctor, what I am about to tell you is for your ears only, at least for now. Hell, I’m not even sure if or how to tell Pearl about this.”

As time passed, two things happened. First, the ships crew began to talk about the mysterious men in isolation, and as they talked, the reason for their isolation became a matter for speculation. As with men of the sea, from time immemorial, speculation is as good as superstition and superstitious minds develop monsters that will devour them in their beds. Men and women, officers and enlisted alike came to think the two were in isolation because of a disease that was going to go through the ship. They believed that, unlike a plague on land that they could seek protection from, this one would kill each and every one of them. The second thing that happened, both men began to age and age rapidly. This aging was hard to explain and added to the fuel sparking the crew’s suspicion building to panic.

Finally, the admiral found that his ship was on the verge of a mutiny. “All hands, attention all hands! The captain will address the ships company on the ships television network. All hands, Admiral Jorgenson.”

Onboard the ship there was a television monitor in all the areas where crewmen were able to gather. The screen was lighted and showed a blue drape with the Enterprise logo behind a dais. Shortly after the announcement, a gray-haired man stepped behind the dais. He wore a kaki uniform shirt open at the collar. On the collar were two stars and the upper left side of his chest bristled with colored ribbons denoting theaters of action as well as awards for bravery. He was an impressive man strong facial feature giving the appearance of honesty and strength. He stood for several long seconds looking directly into the camera’s lens as though he was looking into the eyes of each person onboard. To the ships company it seemed that he was looking into their souls. Then in a soft voice he said, “It has come to my attention that some of you feel our two guests have been quarantined because of some illness that now threatens all of us. This is a great disappointment to me for several reasons. First, ladies and gentlemen, this kind of thinking may have been alright for the residents of Salaam over two hundred years ago, but it is out of place with you who are far and away better educated than they, Furthermore, even if these men were suffering from some unknown disease, the mere fact that they were in quarantine would mean that you were safe, and it is with a heavy heart that I witness your lack of faith in our medical staff. Still, it is time for me to inform you of the circumstance that caused these men to be onboard our ship. What I am about to tell you is as hard for me to believe as it will be for each of you, but the proof of the tail is in the existence of these two men.”

The admiral proceeded to give the crew a history lesson involving the U.S. Navy and the Imperial Japanese Navy battling over a small island called Midway. He ended with the crash landing of the SBD Dauntless on their ship two weeks ago. When he finished, there wasn’t a sound anywhere on the ship save for the ever-present drone of machinery. There was something that the admiral didn’t tell his crew. He didn’t tell them that the doctor had advised him the two men were aging at an incredible rate. Men who had landed on the flight deck of the Enterprise in their twenties had recovered from their wounds and were now in their sixties. How they had gotten to the Enterprise and what was happening to them were questions that as of his speech still had no answers.

The monitors went black once more and then clicked onto the ship’s regularly scheduled programming, but the admiral was still standing at the dais. He was just staring into a dead camera trying to comprehend what he had just said. He expected his crew to accept as fact what he had told them, and he couldn’t believe it himself. Slowly, he turned from the dais heading for the hatch that would take him to sickbay; the doctor had to have some ideas. Somebody had to have some ideas after all this wasn’t a sci-fi movie, or was it?

As the admiral walked down the corridor, he met the doctor and two Navy seamen standing outside the sickbay. The doctor was giving each of the men specific instructions for the care of four seamen with measles, and the two special SBD men. “A-ten-hut,” barked the corpsman that noticed the admiral’s approach.

The doctor turned around and joined the two other men coming to attention in recognition of the mans superior rant, and the admiral said, “At ease men. Doctor, might I have a word?”

“Yes admiral. Gentleman give us a minute and we will conclude our briefing later.”

“Doctor, I’m not interrupting something important, am I?”

“No sir, nothing that can’t be taken care of later.” Then turning to the corpsmen, the doctor said, “You have your assignments. We’ll pick up later, dismissed.”

Both men said, “Aye aye sir,” saluted, turned and left to take up their duties for their four-hour shift.

“Sir what can I do for you,” asked the doctor. The admiral stood looking at the doctor trying to frame his questions so that he didn’t appear a complete idiot in the eyes of the doctor. But, reading between the lines, the doctor said, “Sir, you’re waiting for answers I don’t have.” I don’t understand what’s happening any more than anyone else. I can tell you that if you believe in God, this is a miracle. And, if you don’t, then it’s a worm hold connecting our past to their future.”

“Damn it doctor, what the hell can you tell me? You’re a man of science; give me something even if it’s only a guess!”

“How or why, they got here, I don’t know. I can tell you they seem to be catching up with the present.”

“Doctor, can you make some sense, please?”

“Yes sir. When these men came onboard, they were nineteen and twenty-one, right,” which was more a statement of fact then a question that the doctor didn’t expect the admiral to answer. After a moment of silence, the doctor continued, “Forty-seven years ago these two men were young, in the prime of life. That was forty-seven years ago. Now they are sixty-eight and sixty-six, or at least they will be in hours, days no more than a week at their present rate of aging.”

“And” asked the admiral hoping for more.

“And” said the doctor, repeating the admiral’s question. “Well that I don’t know. Will they keep aging? Will they peak and then start to age like normal people? I don’t have a clue. At the present time it looks like they may live out their lives like normal sixty-year-olds with all the normal problems that sixty-year-olds have.”

The doctor’s diagnosis was not on the mark, both men continued to age at an accelerated pace. In a matter of weeks both men were well into their eighties and both men’s health began failing just as rapidly.

“Admiral,” said the admiral’s EX-O.

“Yes John, what is it?”

“Our guests are asking to see you, sir.”

The mood in sickbay was somber when the admiral arrived. “It doesn’t look good, sir,” said the doctor. “Their condition is getting worse. I give them just a few days at the outside.”

“Admiral,” said the SBD pilot. “Marcs and I know what’s going on. We have talked it over and we know what we are in for and what we want to happen. We are where we belong. We are where we should have been for the last forty-seven years, and we want you to leave us here with our shipmates…”

“What are you saying,” interpreted the admiral.

“Sir, we can see what’s happening to us. We weren’t born yesterday. Just about five weeks ago we landed on your deck, I was twenty-one then. Now look at me. When Marcs and I pass away, we want to be buried here at sea, our shipmates are out here and we what to be with them.”

“I don’t understand, what about your families,” asked the admiral.

“If any of them are still alive, they were told years ago that we were dead, and they learned to live with that. Telling them now that we are alive, and then that we died would be too much for them to go through again. No sir, here is where we should be and where we want to be;”

Three days later, the admiral was standing on the flight deck of the USS Enterprise. The ships company dressed in class A uniforms stood at attention in company formations. A trumpet softly blew taps. A rifle solute was fired, and a 1942 vintage SBD Dauntless with two US Navy crewmen aboard took one last trip to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean one hundred and fifty miles South-South-East of Midway.