Zacktar
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Joined: 6/23/2009
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This isn't so much an AAR as an incident from my current game vs. the AI, which inspired the little anecdote below. It refused to go away until I wrote it down, and having gone to all that effort I thought I might as well sling it up here.
Field Headquarters, 27th Division, Cagayan de Oro, Mindanao. September 22, 1944.
Major General Ralph Smith was no great fan of staff meetings, but on occasion, he was prepared to make an exception. Today, with mud on his fatigues and a well-earned exhaustion pervading his body, even a nearly-constant stream of bad news couldn’t spoil his mood. After the usual chaos of an amphibious landing, Smith’s division had engaged in a short, sharp battle in the heart of Cagayan. In less than a day and a half, the Japanese garrison had been either destroyed or chased off into the jungle outside the city.
But right behind the satisfaction of a quick, professional victory a parade of headaches was rapidly marching his way. The first one of them was more than enough all by itself: having taken the city well ahead of schedule, Smith and his division would now need to run it until the base forces could be landed, and at last report their convoy was still nearly a week away.
Plenty of time for all that later, Smith thought. We kicked some ass here, and I’m damned well going to enjoy it, at least for the rest of the morning, no matter what the staff has to say. He lit up a Lucky Strike as a young Major from the G-4 shop recited the dreadful state of the city’s services.
“Now that the fires have mostly died down since the bombardment, we’ve been able to get out and have a closer look. There’s precious little good news to report, I’m afraid. The port is completely out of service, and it’s not going to be reopened any time soon. The piers that aren't destroyed have some serious structural damage, the warehouse spaces have been bombed out, shelled out, burned out, or all three, and there’s not a functioning crane or derrick in the entire city. We’ve got engineers on the way, but we’re going to have to try to unload their equipment over the beach, just like we did with the arty, and we all know how much fun that was. That’s a pretty lousy way to do things, but it’s the only option we’ve got.
“The airfield is nearly as bad . . .” Smith tuned out again and took another drag on his cigarette, as he noticed Captain Salinas from the Headquarters MP detachment making his way into the tent.
Salinas knows better than to come in here without a damned good reason, thought Smith. He stood up, cutting off the Major mid-disaster. “Take a break in place, everyone; the city will still be a wreck when I get back.” A moment’s eye contact with Salinas was enough to signal the MP officer to back out of the HQ tent without being noticed. The General quickly made his own way outside.
“All right Lon, what’s so important that you needed to rescue me from my staff?” asked the General.
“Well, sir, there’s this local officer says he needs to see you,” said the MP officer.
“Local officer? I thought I’ve already met all the guerilla leaders.”
“I think you have, sir, but the thing is -- I think this one’s more of a regular.”
“A regular? You’re telling me that there’s a regular officer of the Philippine Army here to see me?”
“Not exactly sir, it’s more like . . . Well, I think you really need to see this for yourself, General.”
Smith eyed the younger man’s face, and saw only confusion – the last thing he expected from a seasoned combat veteran. Anything that’s got Lon Salinas this flummoxed is something I probably should go and see, he thought. “All right then, Lon. Let’s have a look-see,” he said, and the two of them hopped into the Captain’s waiting jeep.
The jeep ride passed quickly, and very nearly in silence. We’re getting close to the airstrip, the General thought. What the hell is he planning on showing me? Salinas, looking even more uncertain, simply stared straight ahead.
“We’re here, sir,” said Salinas, as his driver halted the jeep by the ruins of the airfield. A tall Filipino saw them and strode briskly over, looking for all the world like a regular officer in full uniform. And carrying . . . was that a swagger stick?
“Sir!” said the Filipino officer, snapping smartly to attention and rendering a flawless salute. Smith returned it, not quite managing to disguise the incredulous expression on his face. “Captain Salvador Sanchez, Philippines Army Air Corps, reporting!”
Smith opened his mouth, but realized he had no idea what he meant to say. Finally, he started with the obvious. “Did – did you say ‘air corps’, Captain?” Sure enough, Sanchez had a set of wings pinned to his tunic, looking as pristine as the rest of his gear.
“Yes indeed, sir. My squadron and I are delighted to congratulate you on the liberation of Cagayan de Oro, and hope that the rest of Mindanao and indeed the Philippines will soon be free of the invaders. We are, of course, at your service, General.”
Squadron? He’s got a squadron? thought Smith, really foundering now. He noticed the vein at his temple throbbing for the first time all day.
“That's . . . just splendid, Captain. And, ah, what type of squadron do you command?”
“My men and I comprise the 9th Observation Squadron, General.”
“I see,” lied the General, who wasn’t sure he saw much of anything right now. “And where are your aircraft?”
“General,” said the Captain, “I extremely regret to report we have no aircraft at the moment.”
No aircraft. OK, thought Smith, I can handle that. The only thing less sensible than a squadron of Philippine Air Corps regulars appearing out of thin air on a barely-secured battlefield would be the same squadron appearing with their aircraft. But how the hell did they get here, the General started to wonder, before deciding very quickly that he'd be better off not asking.
“Well, things are a bit chaotic right now, Captain, but I’m sure that once we get our logistics sorted out we’ll be able to equip you and your men. What sort of planes do you need? F-5’s, PBY’s? Hell, once we really get our supply services up and running, we’ll could maybe even scrounge up a few recon Liberators if those would suit you.” That handled it nicely, Smith thought. Back on a safe, solid footing.
“Oh no, sir, not at all. Proper observation is not possible from such aircraft.”
Smith suddenly felt his safe, solid footing turning somehow into quicksand. “But what . . . what do you fly, then?” he asked, unable to bite off the question before it escaped.
“Why, the only aircraft suitable for an observation squadron, General,” replied the Captain. “The Stearman 75. Could your staff please be so kind as to supply us with 12 of them, at your earliest convenience?”
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Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinder is in the room.
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