Girls and their toys…

 Here’s that new snippet I promised a few days ago…

August 20, 1942 - San Marcos Armory Main factory, San Marcos, Hays County, Republic of Texas

Secretary of War Gonzales-Alvarado sat with Brevet Field Marshals Isaac Hearns and Bob Merwin, along with a number of other senior Army and Marine Corps officers on the shooting range next door to the SMA plant. There was a covered table standing near the shooting lanes. They were soon joined by SMA’s President, George Trevor, Chief Designer Stan Hillman, and, surprisingly, Viola von Stahlberg. The men rose from their seats as she walked onto the range.

“Mister Secretary, Field Marshals, thank you for coming. Today we’re going to demonstrate the final production version of our proposed new rifle for the Texas Army and Marine Corps. We call this version the Rear-Action Short Automatic Rifle, or Razor, for short. We like to think they’ll give our country’s enemies a close shave they’ll never forget.”

“Thank you, Mister Trevor. Mrs, von Stahlberg, may I ask why you are here? Not that the company of a lady isn’t always welcome, of course.”

Viola blushed, then smiled. “Why thank you, Mister Secretary. As for why I’m here, Mister Hillman asked me to help with the shooting demonstrations. Shall we get started?”

Mr. Hillman pulled the cover off of the table, revealing piles of rifle parts. Mr. Trevor continued. “As you will recall, gentlemen, one of the major concerns your Ordnance experts had was with interchangeability of parts. We believe that we have fully resolved those issues. To demonstrate this, Mrs. von Stahlberg will select parts at random to assemble a complete rifle, then take it over to the firing line to try it out.”

Viola stepped over to the table. She began selecting parts, with Mr. Hillman assembling them as she went. He handed her the finished rifle. “Interesting. It’s not as heavy as I was expecting.”

Hillman replied “Your rifle has all the metal parts made from steel, ma’am. We have been able to make many of the non pressure bearing parts out of aluminum alloy, shaved almost a pound off of that prototype’s weight without compromising durability.”

Marshal Merwin asked “How did a civilian get hold of an experimental military rifle?”

“It wasn’t a military rifle at that time” said Mr. Trevor. “Admiral von Stahlberg contacted us a year ago with suggestions for a special rifle for his wife. After we made that one, we thought that with some refinement it might be suitable for use by soldiers or Marines. So we made more of them and sent them to the Army Ordnance office for testing. You know the rest of the story from there, sir. Would you like to try it out, ma’am?”

“Certainly, Mister Trevor.” She laid the rifle on the table and inserted a loaded magazine. She then took the rifle over to the firing line next to one of the posts holding up the roof and nodded, waiting for the rangemaster to give permission to fire.

“Ready on the firing line! Commence firing!”

Viola hooked the rifle’s charging handle on the post and pushed forward, forcing the handle back. When she pulled it away from the post, the handle and bolt snapped forward, chambering the first round from the magazine. She raised the rifle and began firing, leaning forward slightly to offset the recoil. In a moment the fifteen rounds were gone, the bolt locked open on the empty magazine. She laid it on the table after the rangemaster called cease fire.

“What do you think, ma’am?”

“Well, it has somewhat more recoil than my rifle, but I suppose that’s to be expected considering the reduced weight. Might I have another magazine? I should like to try the automatic setting. Mine doesn’t have that.”

“Certainly, ma’am” said Hillman. He handed her a 40 round magazine from a Model 1928 machine gun. She inserted it, moved the selector to the automatic position, and walked back to the firing line. The VIP guests were all staring at her.

“Ready on the firing line! Commence firing!”

She leaned forward again, raising the sights to her eye. As she had been coached to do beforehand, she fired in short bursts, the empty cases flying out from under her cheek. All too soon, she was out of ammo again.

“It can’t be that easy to use” Marshal Merwin shouted.

“But it is, Field Marshal. The rifle’s design make it so the recoil goes straight back, with only a little muzzle climb that can be handled with the proper technique, as Mrs. von Stahlberg has demonstrated. Would you like to try it?”

“Damn right I do, Trevor. But not that one. I want to put together a different one.”

“Certainly, sir. We have enough parts here to make a dozen rifles, enough for each of you to try one.”

Merwin, Hearns, and the senior Ordnance men all went to the table and began putting rifles together. Viola sat down next to the Secretary of War.

“That was an impressive demonstration, ma’am. Obviously you’ve done a fair bit of shooting before this.”

“Indeed I have, Mister Secretary. Something my husband taught me to enjoy. I only wish those had been Frenchmen down at the other end of the range, not mere paper targets.”

“I understand how you feel, ma’am.” He turned to face Mr. Trevor. “George, how soon can you get these things into production?”

“We’re equipped to produce a thousand rifles a week now, Mister Secretary, By the end of next month, we can boost that to three thousand a week, assuming no supply difficulties.”

Field Marshal Hearns walked up, cradling one of the rifles like it was a newborn baby and grinning like a schoolboy. “Mister Secretary, I want as many of these things as we can get. They’re perfect for the airmobile forces.”

“I agree, Isaac. How do you think the troops will react to them?”

“Well, sir, once my Marines hear that the Admiral’s wife shot a passing score with one arm, they’ll be all over them like white on rice.” He nodded to Viola. “Ma’am, that was an outstanding performance. You have a real talent for this. Would you be available for demonstrations to the troops?”

Viola beamed with pride. She really had come to enjoy shooting since coming to Texas, and the events of the last years had reinforced that. “I’m sure something can be arranged, Marshal Hearns.”

Copyright 2025 D.A. Brock

I aten’t ded

 I apologize for the lack of updates. I’ve been tied up with my day job and family issues. I have seen the posts asking if I’m ok, and I appreciate your concern.

One thing that will be happening is that I’m going to split the current book into two, so ‘The Lone Star, the Red Banner, and the Rising Sun’ will be book 4, covering 1942 - 1943, then book 5 will cover 1944 to the end of the war.

The working title for book 5 right now is ‘Texas at the Endgame’. What do y’all think of this?

Snippet coming soon.

From Russia With …

 Sorry for the delay in posting. I’m still working, slowly but surely.

Here is another snippet to ease the withdrawal symptoms. Karl is subbing for the injured copilot on a flight from Moscow…

“Does that screwball not understand that we ain’t as fast as he is?” Ames complained for about the tenth time in the past two hours. It was obvious that the screwball in question didn’t understand the speed difference between a Petlyakov PE-2 and a Packmule. Nor did the Soviet pilot understand that the Texan autogyro couldn’t fly as high as he clearly wanted it to do, thanks to the lack of an oxygen system. They were currently cruising at 130 knots indicated at 10,000 feet, just short of the Packmule’s top speed under normal conditions.

The PE-2’s gunner leaned out of his cockpit with a signal light and began flashing a message to the Texans. Karl read it out, his Morse almost as bad as the gunner’s English. “‘Must.. fly… more.. fast… Nazi… fighters… in… area… more… quickly… now…’ Well, that explains their agitation. Have you ever flown a ‘gyro with an unloaded rotor, Mister Ames?”

“Un-loaded rotor? Howinhell do you do that, sir?”

“Hmmm, I guess they’re still not teaching that in the advanced ‘gyro course. Let me show you.”

“Your bird, sir.” Ames had a doubtful look on his face.

Karl took over control of the ‘gyro, advancing the throttles to the stops. He then set the flaps on the stub wings down to 10 degrees. Finally, he reached for the rotor pitch control and began slowly flattening out the blades, reducing their lift. To Ames’ amazement, not only did they not fall out of the sky, they maintained altitude and the airspeed indicator began slowly climbing. 135… 140… 145… Finally, it topped out at 148 knots indicated, which, for the current air conditions gave them a true airspeed of nearly 160 knots.

“That can’t be, sir! Howinhell does that work?”

“Well, at speeds over a hundred knots or so, the stub wings are actually providing a fair bit of the overall lift. Enough so that it’s possible to reduce the pitch on the rotor, which, of course, reduces its lift. And if it’s not producing as much lift…”

Ames smiled as the idea got through to him. “It’s not producing as much drag, meaning we can go faster. And by adding a little flap on the stub wings, that boosts their lift without much of a drag increase. Giving equivalent overall lift for less overall drag. Damn, why don’t they teach that in the flight schools, sir?”

“Because it’s too easy to unload the rotor too much, causing it to flap and lose RPM. I’m riding the ragged edge right now. Another few degrees of pitch and bad things will start happening. It also cuts way down on our maneuverability. But we seem to be keeping up with our escort, for the moment anyways.”

“Looks like it. Damn, Admiral, where’d you learn that trick?”

“The owners of Brazos River Aeronautics were my roommates in college. I did a lot of test flying on their early prototypes between Navy assignments. Tell your loadmaster to have everyone in the back start keeping an eye on the outside. If there really are Kraut fighters snooping around, that could be big trouble.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Ames waved to the loadmaster and shouted Karl’s instructions to him. The loadmaster nodded and went back to the passengers.

It wasn’t long at all before the Soviet’s fears were realized. “Bogies eight o’clock high!” The loadmaster shouted.

“How many? Are they attacking?” Karl shouted back.

“Looks like three… NO, four of ‘em. Turning toward us now!”

********************

Aboard the lead German fighter

The flight was actually a pair of Bf-109s escorting a pair of Ju-87 dive bombers. They were returning from a strike mission on a road junction. The flight leader spotted the unusual formation below.

“Achtung! Enemy aircraft two o’clock low! One bomber, probably a PE-2, and one… Gott in Himmel, was ist das?”

The other 109 pilot, who had recently transferred from the Mediterranean, replied. “It’s an autogyro, Herr Major! The Texans use them to carry troops and supplies. But why is one here in the middle of Russia?”

“It doesn’t matter, they are enemy aircraft, so they are targets. Willi, you and I will take the bomber. Leutnant Harz, you and your wingman will take the strange thing.”

The other pilots acknowledged their orders, and the four planes split into pairs to pursue their chosen game.

********************

Aboard the Packmule

Ames shouted “The bogies are splitting up! Two going after the Russkies, and two after us!”

“Let me know when they’re about in firing position” Karl shouted back.

The loadmaster called out “Permission to drop the rear ramp and break out the tail guns?”

“Not just yet, Mickey. I think the Admiral has some maneuvers planned. Y’all better strap in!”

“Got it, boss!”

Ames looked out his side windows at the diving Germans. “They’re Stukas, Admiral! Almost there…NOW!”

Karl chopped the throttles, then brought the rotor back to full flight pitch. The effect was like slamming on the brakes. The ‘gyro pitched nose up and slowed down rapidly, causing the Stukas to overshoot. He stomped on the left rudder pedal, causing the whole aircraft to pivot underneath the rotor, reversing direction in less than a heartbeat. The rapid turn caused the German pilots to lose track of their prey.

“Ames! Is there ammo in the nose guns?”

“Yessir! I had a full load put aboard, just in case!”

“Bless you, my son! Have the loadmaster drop the ramp now!”

“Aye, sir!”

Karl continued the turn, ending up on the tail of a by now quite confused Stuka. Normally this wouldn’t have been a very useful place to be. However, after the introduction of the Wasp showed the way, it had become popular among Packmule crews to mount a pair of guns, usually .50’s, on the noses of their ‘gyros. After all, why should the attack pilots have all the fun. Unfortunately, this field modification usually didn’t include mounting a gunsight for them, the pilots relying on tracers to walk their fire into the target.

When the angle looked right, Karl fired a burst, missing the German low and to the right. He quickly corrected his aim and tried again. Too much rudder. A final adjustment was rewarded with flashes marking hits on the wing root and fuselage of the hapless Stuka. It rolled over to the left and dove toward the ground below. It never pulled out.

“Where’s that other Stuka” Karl shouted, mentally cursing his missing eye.

“Five o’clock low, the loadmaster’s lighting him up now!”

That was indeed what was happening at the rear of the autogyro. The loadmaster had unlocked and lowered the loading ramp, which allowed the Model 1928A light machine guns that were mounted to either side to be pointed out the back. The Loadmaster was on one gun, while CWO O’Donnell had grabbed the other one. They took turns lining up and firing at the trailing Stuka.

They were unlikely to do any real damage to the German plane since the Texan’s rifle round, an offshoot of the civilian .300 Savage hunting cartridge, was less powerful than the ones used in German, British, or American rifles. However, the tracers would likely make the enemy pilot cautious about trying to attack the rear of the fleeing ‘gyro.

While this was happening the two 109s had gone after the PE-2, which was maneuvering wildly to evade their fire. The radio operator on that plane was also calling for help as loudly as he could, the plane’s transmitter turned up to maximum power.

Karl continued his deadly dance with the remaining Stuka, dodging its fire while never quite getting into position for a return shot. It should have been over quickly, as the Stuka was much faster than the Packmule. The ‘gyro’s extreme maneuverability and Karl’s skill were evening things out. But unless help came soon, there was only one ending for this battle. Even if the other Stuka was somehow knocked out, there were still the two 109s to worry about. Not to mention the possibility of more Krauts showing up.

Fortunately, It was the Soviet reinforcements that arrived first, in the form of a pair of Yak-1 fighters from a nearby fighter base. These dove on the unsuspecting Messerschmitts, catching them both by surprise at about the same time that Karl had finally managed to turn the tables on his pursuer. The Stuka, trailing smoke from its engine, turned and ran west, toward the German lines.

“Is everybody alright back there?”

“Checking now, Admiral.” Ames unlatched his seat belts and went to the passenger compartment. He returned a few moments later. “All secure for the moment, sir. No major damage, and only one casualty.”

“Who was it?”

“Chief Petty Officer Diaz. He caught a round through his head, dead instantly.”

“Damn. Can you take over, Ames? I’m ‘bout worn out.”

Ames buckled himself back into the left seat. “My bird, sir.”

Karl nodded and released his death grip on the control yoke. “Your bird. I guess put us back onto our base course to Arkhangelsk. Hopefully we have enough fuel to get there.”

Copyright 2025 D.A. Brock

… To Boldly Go Where No Texan has Gone Before…

 Sorry for the long silence. I’m doing a lot better health-wise, but the day job and family issues are still being a pain.

Nevertheless, writing continues. I submit the following snippet for your approval…

June 27, 1942 - Off Western Iceland

The time between Karl’s return to the fleet in Sardinia and today had mostly been spent in meetings with his British and American counterparts, working out the last minute details of the operation. After reviewing the existing plan, Karl had agreed that no changes were necessary other then those needed to integrate the Texas forces into the three escort groups and to allow for the fact that he would be commanding at sea instead of from Whitehall, as Admiral Pound had planned on doing.

After adjustments for ships in need of maintenance or repair of combat damage, and a shortage of cold weather gear for the crews going north, the Texas Navy’s contribution started with eight T-200 class subchasers, two Fayette County class destroyers, and the light cruisers Odessa and Texarkana, which would be assigned to the close escort under Cmdr. Jack Broome, RN. This was the actual escort of the convoy, and would stay with the merchant ships all the way to Arkhangelsk, at the base of the White Sea in the Russian part of the Soviet Union.

Next was the Covering Force, under Rear Admiral Louis Hamilton, RN. Karl had assigned the Dallas class cruisers Houston and San Antonio to that force, along with another pair of Fayette Counties and the light cruisers New Braunfels and Beaumont. Dallas herself was still in the Med, replacing the lost Albuquerque as Vice Admiral Frank Buchanan’s flagship, along with all four of the Martiniques, which would have been of no use on this mission as Karl had no intention of launching any amphibious landings.

Finally, there was the Distant Force, under Admiral Sir John Tovey, RN, aboard the battleship HMS Duke of York. This consisted of a task force from the Royal Navy’s Home Fleet, which Tovey commanded, along with the U.S.Navy’s Task Force 39, which included the battleship USS Washington. To this, Karl added the remainder of his forces, the carriers San Jacinto and Tampico, armored cruisers Galveston, Brownsville, and Laredo, with four more Fayette County class destroyers. El Paso had finally completed her repairs and modernization and was sailing to Britain as fast as she could but would not take part in this operation. She would remain in Scapa Flow and work with the rest of the Home Fleet.

In all, Karl had at his command, two battleships, three aircraft carriers, three armored cruisers, eight heavy cruisers, five light cruisers, three minesweepers, and a nearly uncountable number of destroyers, subchasers, corvettes, ASW trawlers, and anti-aircraft ships. Oh, and two British P-611 class submarines.

All of that to protect the 35 merchant ships carrying just over 78,000 standard tons of desperately needed war materials to the Soviet Union. Convoy PQ-17 began the journey north.

Copyright 2025, D.A. Brock

Two apologies and an announcement

 Hi everybody,

Apology Number One: Getting right to the point, I want to apologize for not posting very often. Unfortunately, between my day job and family emergencies, I haven’t been able to post as often as I would like. This leads to…

Apology Number Two: ‘The Lone Star, the Red Banner, and the Rising Sun’ will not be released by the end of the year as I had anticipated. I apologize for this. The same work and family issues that have prevented blog posts have also been interfering with my writing in general. Frankly, I have been writing so much for my day job that by the time the weekend comes, I don’t even want to look at a keyboard.

I want to get this done and out the door as much as y’all want to read it. But, since this will have my name on it, I want it done RIGHT. I’m planning for this to be the final book of the WW2 story arc, so I want to give it a good, plausible ending that also lays the groundwork for the next story arc. Unfortunately, at the moment it’s not even close to being done. I will continue to work on it as much as I can, and I will also continue to post snippets to demonstrate that I am working on it.

I can’t give any sort of realistic estimate of when it will be finished. Again, I apologize. 

Finally, I would like to announce that all of my books will be on sale starting on December 25th, 2024 at 8:00 AM EST, running through January 1st, 2025 8:00 AM EST. If you have any friends or family members that you think might be interested in my work, this would be a very good time for them to buy it.

Thank you for your patience and your continued support.

D.A. Brock

Snippet time - Karl goes looking for help

 March 20, 1942 - Galveston Naval Base, Galveston, Galveston County, Republic of Texas

The day of departure had finally come. A month ago, Karl had hoisted his flag aboard TNS San Jacinto and set about arranging the final details of his fleet’s structure and mission. Now he looked out from San Jacinto’s flag bridge into the pre-dawn gloom as the leading destroyer division filed out of the harbor entrance.

Standing nearby was his new Chief of Staff, Rear Admiral James Richardson, USN. Richardson, like Karl’s friend Chester Nimitz, had been a Texas Navy cadet attending the U.S. Naval Academy in the early 1900’s when the Social Progress Party gained a majority in the Texas Congress and cancelled the exchange program. Like Nimitz, he had requested and received a transfer to the U.S. Navy, earning his commission upon graduating and eventually becoming a naturalized U.S. citizen.

Knowing that he was likely going to be working closely with the Americans throughout the course of the war, Karl had asked Nimitz to recommend someone to serve as a liaison officer. Nimitz unhesitatingly recommended Richardson. “The man got canned over the fleet’s deployment to Pearl Harbor, Karl. He told the President and Admiral Stark it wasn’t safe to base the fleet at Pearl, and I understand the argument got more than a little heated. Then not even a year later, exactly what he predicted happened.”

Karl liked what he saw when they met at the von Stahlberg ranch. Richardson had impressed him with his knowledge of Japanese military culture and doctrine. He had identified the swords displayed behind Karl’s desk as genuine antiques, something that had surprised Karl.

********************

“You do realize those swords are antiques, don’t you, sir? From the look of them, they pre-date the Meiji Restoration by at least two hundred years.”

“No, I didn’t know that. Captain Takeda sent them to me in reciprocation for the silver-plated spurs I had made and sent to him as a thank you gift for his help off France in ‘37. Same with the bullwhip, that came from Captain Godoy of the Argentinian battleship Moreno. There’s a note that came with the swords, but I never got around to having it translated.” Karl handed the note to Richardson, who looked it over, translating in his head.

“That’s exactly what this says. ‘These swords came into my possession when I was asked to close the estate of a distant relative who had died without heirs. As there was no-one in my own family who needed them, I was given leave to dispose of them as I saw fit. I was pleased to find a home for them with a brave and skilled warrior.’ It’s signed, ‘Takeda Moriji, Captain, His Imperial Japanese Majesty’s Ship Ashigara.’ The rest of this,” he waved the pages, “are instructions on how to care for the swords. If you’d like, I’d be happy to translate that for you as well.”

“Thank you, Admiral, I’d appreciate that. So, tell me what happened when you were relieved as Commander in Chief U.S. Fleet. Just in general terms, I wouldn’t expect you to reveal anything said in confidence.”

“Ah, Pearl Harbor, sir. The President, CNO, and Secretary of the Navy had all agreed that the Pacific Fleet should be moved to Hawaii so it was closer to the Philippines. After inspecting the available facilities there, I recommended against this as the defenses were nowhere near adequate.”

“That’s all, Admiral? That in itself doesn’t seem to be a good reason for firing you.”

Richardson hung his head. “Well, being perfectly honest, sir, I let myself get carried away arguing against the idea. While I still think I was correct in my reasoning, I was wrong in how I presented my arguments. I said things I really shouldn’t have, and I torpedoed my career in the process.”

Karl nodded his head, holding his best poker face. What Richardson had said agreed with what Nimitz had told him. “I see. While I can understand vigorously debating an idea, once the civilian authorities have made the decision, it’s time for men like us to say ‘Aye aye, sir’ and carry out our orders.”

“Yes, sir. I understand that now. Unfortunately, it’s not likely I’ll ever be trusted with any serious duty again.”

“Well, as it turns out, you were right about what would happen in Hawaii. But you’re wrong about never being trusted again.” Karl’s poker face turned into a grin. “I’d like for you to be my new Chief of Staff. For some reason, every time I get a Chief of Staff broken in, or they get me broken in, however it works, they keep getting promoted. My last one, Jonathan Black Horse, is now a Commodore commanding one of my cruiser divisions. I seem to lose Sailing Masters and Flag Captains the same way. Strange.”

Richardson returned the grin, surprised at Karl’s offer. He had only expected to be a liaison officer. “Thank you, sir. And please, call me Jim.”

“Welcome aboard, Jim. I’ll warn you though, while I expect you to give your honest opinions, I also expect you to avoid letting your mouth run away on you.”

“Aye aye, sir.” 

Copyright 2024 D.A. Brock

State of the author and a small retcon

 Hi everybody,

I’m doing a LOT better health-wise, but my day job is still being somewhat chaotic. I’m getting back to work on Book 4, I hope to have more snippets soon. At this point it’s looking like the end of the year for release, assuming nothing else unpleasant crops up.

I went to P-Con 2024 in Fort Worth last week. Had a lot of fun, met some very cool people, including someone who may be able to help with some long term plans I’ve had for this series. Not gonna say anything more than that for now.

Finally, the retcon. I made a small boo-boo in ‘Texas in the Med’, saying that the PB-4 bomber would have eight 2,000 hp engines. I had intended to change that to 4, since 16,000 hp is a bit much for a plane from that time period, even for one the size of a B-29 or B-32. Unfortunately, that edit missed making it into the published version. I have uploaded a corrected version of the manuscript, which should be available for download from Amazon in 24 - 72 hours.

Thank you all for your continued patience and for the enthusiasm you have shown for my writing.

D.A. Brock