Southern Makassar Strait, 1608 January 2, 1943
The last Avenger had landed aboard USS Saratoga. The deck was crowded, the hangers even more so. A dozen aircraft were busily being stripped for anything useful before they were heaved over the side. Destroyers were spread out over a thirty mile trail picking up aircrews from the planes that had to ditch due to battle damage. The carrier was packed. Most of Lexington’s airgroup had landed on the big ship. Some of the Wildcats had diverted to Enterprise and Constellation, while somehow a trio of Dauntlesses landed on Furious despite the pilots never having trained on the bat signals that the British used.
The CAG looked down and counted the aircraft that would be available tomorrow as reinforcements for TF-16. He looked at the sheet of paper that kept track of the known dead, missing and wounded. He would soon leave PriFly and head down to the ready rooms to hear the debriefs. After that, he would be in sick bay to talk with the wounded men. He would authorize medicinal brandy for any man who had been on the strike. And then after night fell, he would start writing letters for the men whom he would never see again.
Losses were “light” for the damage that was being claimed but the light losses included men whom he had gone to Pensacola and flew with for the first time. They included men who had 2,000 hours in the air. They included men who had been aboard Saratoga since before the war started. They included men who had shipped aboard fresh from advanced training and whom he barely knew as all of the twenty two year olds looked and sounded the same to him. They included men who had dreams and hopes and families who would be broken when they received the telegram from Western Union. Light losses, yes, but painful losses to the man who would be writing letters for the next week.