by Murray Pura
“What was that?” someone asked.
“A bomb must have hit just forward of the turret,” responded the officer.
“That’s not much of a blast.”
“It hasn’t detonated.”
Goff looked at the officer. “We’re going to feel it if it goes off below decks.”
“Right. Hold on.”
Goff held his breath. The turret suddenly vanished in a flash of white. He never heard a sound.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Harrison took a sip from his coffee and headed up the ladder to the radio room of the Taney, just behind the bridge. The air was clear but he picked up a scent of something burning. He didn’t think twice about it. The navy or the army was likely taking care of garbage somewhere.
He took over from another radioman and slipped on his earphones to monitor radio traffic and signals. On a scratch pad he penciled, Pick up Dave for band rehearsal tonight at seven. He adjusted the volume on the radio set and leaned back, coffee in hand. He checked his watch. It was five minutes to eight. He had another sip from the warm mug.
Suddenly the radio sprang to life and a signal came in uncoded and in plain English. “Air raid, Pearl Harbor! This is no drill! Air raid, Pearl Harbor! This is no drill!”
Harrison stared at the set. This has got to be a mistake. He yanked off the headphones and ran from the room and looked west toward Pearl Harbor. Plumes of thick smoke were rising into the sky and he spotted several tall splashes of water.
“Hey!” He called down to some of the sailors on deck who had gathered to stare. “What’s up?”
“Looks like a training exercise,” one of them responded. “The navy planes are doing a mock bombing run and the ships are firing their guns.”
“Can’t be,” said Harrison.
“What else would it be?”
“The smoke going up is black. Stuff is really burning. If the ships were just firing their guns it would be brown.”
Several booms overlapped one another and reached them at the same time. They watched flame soar into the sky as a battleship was hit.
“Someone screwed up!” A sailor gripped the rail with both hands. “He’ll catch it for dropping a bomb right on one of the ships!”
Harrison felt a wave of ice go through him from head to feet. “Nobody screwed up. They meant to hit that ship. We’re under attack. I just got the radio message. This is an air raid. Not a live-fire exercise.” Harrison looked at the bridge. “Is the CO back?”
“No. He stayed on shore leave overnight.”
Harrison ran onto the bridge and saluted the second in command. “Sir. I just received an urgent message. It was uncoded. The signal was, Air raid, Pearl Harbor—this is no drill.”
The second-in-command’s face filled with blood. “Are you sure, sailor?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
The second-in-command looked at the smoke boiling over Pearl Harbor. “I thought it was a training exercise.”
“No, sir. Real bombs are falling and ships are taking damage.”
“I…I…uh…I’m not sure what the CO would want me to do—”
“General quarters, sir. Every time I look over that way there are more planes diving and firing. They could hit Honolulu Harbor next.”
“I…yes…right—” He turned to a sailor standing behind him. “Sound general quarters. Pearl Harbor is under attack.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The klaxon blared and the sailor spoke loudly into the microphone. “All hands! Man battle stations! All hands! Man battle stations!”
Harrison went quickly down to the deck and helped the gunner’s mate clear the area around the three-inch gun for action.
“This won’t do much good, Harrison,” he said. “We need an AA battery to bring down aircraft.”
“It’s better than nothing, I guess, Gunny.”
“Yeah. Just. I’ll crank it to maximum elevation. Help me haul a couple of thirties out, will ya?”
Harrison hauled a thirty-caliber machine gun out of storage, and several other men brought out belts of ammunition. Gunny bolted one in place on the port side and another in place on the starboard side. He assigned two men to each gun, one to aim and fire, the other to feed the belt. Then he ordered several sailors to bring over the shells for the three-inch.
“Enemy Zero!” one man yelled.
A plane shot low over Honolulu Harbor heading west. It was olive green with large red suns.
“That’s no Zero.” Harrison squinted. “That’s a torpedo bomber. A Kate. Probably heading in to make a run at Battleship Row.”
One of the thirty-calibers opened up too late. The crashing of the gun jarred everyone on deck. The Kate carried on toward Hickam and Pearl, its torpedo obvious, long and dark and sleek under its belly.
“There must be a hundred planes over Pearl now,” a sailor said. “The ships are sitting ducks. Why aren’t our fighters engaging?”
Harrison pointed. “Look at the smoke coming from the direction of Hickam. Look at the smoke on Ford Island. They’re blowing up our fighter force on the ground.”
Two planes Harrison recognized as Val dive bombers tore overhead, and Gunny cut loose with his three-inch gun, firing two shells as quickly as his men could reload. He didn’t hit anything but prepared to fire at the next plane that flew near the Taney nevertheless.
“It’s better to do something,” he growled, “than sit on our cans and watch. Hey, Harrison, I want you to spell on the port machine gun in ten.”
“Aye, aye, Gunny. I’ll have to check on the radio though.”
“Get another radioman. Maybe you’ll—”
A huge explosion of black and red smoke burst up into the air over Pearl Harbor. Everyone’s eyes were riveted even though they could not hear it. The explosion hung like a black wall against the blue sky.
“They got one of the big ships,” rumbled Gunny. “Must of hit the ammo or the fuel. That’s rough.”
“It looks like an evil genie pouring out of a lamp,” a sailor said. “Gives me the creeps.”
“You can thank the God you worship you’re not on the battlewagon and going down. That’d give you more of the creeps than anything you’re feeling now.”
The blast wave struck—the noise, the heat, the wind. Harrison cringed. It seemed like a blow to the face from someone who knew him and hated him. The pillar of black rose and rose, and fire rocketed over the water. Still the planes came like dark insects. Still the bombs and torpedoes dropped like hard stones.
“Here’s another bunch!” spat Gunny. “Open fire!”
Five torpedo bombers slipped across the mouth of Honolulu Harbor heading toward the flames. The three-inch gun barked and both thirty-caliber machine guns hammered, empty casings bouncing and pinging over the deck. The Kates didn’t alter course or spurt smoke or oil. It was as if the Taney had never fired.
Gunny’s face was like rock. “In less than a minute they’ll be putting those fish right into the side of another one of our ships. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Harrison ran up to the radio room. The height helped him see Pearl Harbor better. It was an inferno. The fire and darkness reminded him of illustrations in a volume of Dante’s Inferno he had flipped through. Pictures of hell and suffering and men crying for help as flames surrounded them.
Dear God, be with those men. I don’t know what they believe or don’t believe but be with their souls. God of all grace, be with their souls.
He rested his hands on the rail. A deep pain gathered in his stomach and pushed its way into his chest and out through his mouth. It was one name repeated again and again.
David. David.
TWENTY-NINE
Becky nursed her Piper J-3 south toward the haze of smoke that lay on the horizon. The Japanese fighters had darted away after shooting down Manuku and left her to herself. Wind whistled through the bullet holes in the canopy, and now and then oil spurted from the engine and spattered her goggles. With one hand she
used a rag to keep them clear and with the other she gripped the stick and kept the plane level and pointed in the right direction.
Lord, please help me get back to the airfield. Help those who are trying to fend off this vicious attack. Protect Christian when he takes to the air. Have mercy. It’s hard enough to lose Manuku and Kalino.
She had looked back at Kalino a second time once the Zeros were gone. Perhaps her first glance had been wrong. Perhaps she’d been confused by blood that covered Kalino’s face from a wound in the forehead. But the rigidness of her friend’s body told Becky she had not been mistaken. Her throat tight, she returned to flying the plane.
“This isn’t right!” she cried out loud. “It makes no sense!”
Japanese fighters breaking out of the clouds. Raging through a small formation of Pipers and Cadets. Blasting unarmed civilian aircraft out of the sky. Was this how Japanese aviators made war? By striking down the helpless and defenseless? How could such killings possibly make any difference to their plans to attack Hawaii from the air or sea?
But what they did in Manchuria ten years ago made no sense, did it? What they did when they invaded China in 1937 made no sense. The murders and barbarities they committed in Nanking in 1938 made no sense. What’s the death of a few flight instructors and their students over Oahu in 1941?
“God. My mother and father will be worried because they know I’m in the air. Christian will be worried because he’ll fly in circles and won’t find me. Nate will be panicking because the Japanese may put troops ashore this afternoon or tonight and ring Honolulu with bayonets and fire. Ruth will be praying desperately, but she doesn’t know she has lost Manuku—how will you comfort her? How is it possible to comfort her?”
The closer she got to Honolulu the more smoke she could see choking the water and ships of Pearl Harbor. There were no Japanese planes in sight but she knew they had caused the destruction. While she was still miles away she had seen them diving and swooping over the battleships. Now they were gone. She glanced at her wristwatch and was surprised to see there was a tear in her flight jacket and a dark clot of blood on the skin that was exposed. The watch face was smashed but the hands were still moving. It was a quarter to eight.
The Wheeler airfield was churning with flame and smoke as Becky flew past. She clenched her fists. P-40s and P-36s were burning. Hangars were burning. She was low enough to see bodies on the tarmac.
Not him. Not Christian. Please, God. I can’t go through that again.
Peterson’s Air Service was just as much a wreck. She circled the airfield and saw three broken Pipers scattered on the runway. She also saw canvas tarps covering two bodies. The office was untouched. No one waved to her. But she prepared to land.
The Piper shook and swung wildly from side to side as if it were being struck by rock and stones. Becky shot a look over her shoulder. A Zero had latched onto her tail. Tracers zipped past her canopy. She pulled up sharply and rolled to the right. The fighter howled by underneath her. It strafed two untouched Pipers parked at the end of the field near the office. Both exploded.
Becky climbed, stick jammed frantically into her stomach. She saw wave after wave of planes slashing through the smoke south of her and diving on Pearl Harbor. Another attack. It convinced her that Japanese troops were only hours from landing on Hawaiian beaches, with few American warships or fighters to threaten them. The black fear that caught in her throat hardened into stone as she saw a strip of fabric tear free of the Piper’s wing and felt the plane shake and begin to fall. It couldn’t complete the climb. The bullets had caused too much damage.
Help me!
She fought to bring the plane under control so she could level out and attempt some kind of landing. Three or four Zeros tore past, ignoring her. Oil began to gush from the Piper’s engine, and the needles on her gauges either spun wildly or refused to work. The wing dipped left and then sharply right. It was impossible to see out of her goggles and she ripped them from her face. Wrestling with the stick she finally achieved a balance she felt she could hold until she touched down. Suddenly a Zero hurtled at her head on and its wings began to flash. The Piper began to break apart.
This is not how I die. This is not how I die.
The plane went into a spin she couldn’t break. The stick was wrenched from her grasp as if by a giant. The force of the spin slammed her back against her seat.
This is how I die.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Her eyes were closed and her face spattered with oil and grease. “I wanted to make it home to you. I wanted to hold you in my arms. But I can’t do it, my love. I can’t get there.”
THIRTY
Thunderbird!”
“Got you!”
“Port wing! Now!”
Raven glanced to his left and down. Four Zeros had opened their throttles and were racing for Pearl Harbor.
Lockjaw’s voice was clear. “That’s the same group that did a strafing run on Wheeler as we were getting up. I recognize the numbers on two of them. Get one for me, will you?”
“Right after you, Lockjaw.”
Raven banked his P-36 and followed Lockjaw into a steep dive. Smoke suddenly streamed from the wings of the P-40 and Raven knew Lockjaw had opened fire with a long sustained burst. The Zeros swiftly split up, but not before one broke into bright blue flames and began to fall. Raven tracked it as the pilot struggled to control his burning plane, dropping down with the stricken fighter. It tumbled from the sky near Peterson’s airfield and blew up when it hit the grass.
“You scratched your Zero,” Raven announced.
“Good riddance. Heading to Pearl. You with me?”
A yellow Piper trailing smoke and oil careened wildly above the airstrip. Its pilot tried to land but a Zero swooped, spraying the Piper, the building below it, and a pair of jeeps that were driving up. The Piper crashed, skidding over the tarmac spewing sparks. It snapped in half. One part of the wing folded over, exposing the number eleven.
“Yo, Thunderbird. You with me?”
Raven felt completely empty. His mind was white. The Zero was pulling up and heading after him. He did not dodge or bank or roll. Feeling nothing but distance from everything that was taking place he put his nose down and went straight at the Japanese fighter. The machine guns housed in the engine cowling of the P-36 flamed as Raven fired. And fired. And fired. The canopy of the Zero shattered and red flames wrapped the front end of the plane. It exploded and the P-36 flew straight over the debris and began to climb.
“What was all that about?” asked Lockjaw.
“I got my Zero.”
“I see that. Do you think you have any ammo left?”
“I’ll ram the next one.”
“Easy, cowboy. Mind telling me what’s up?”
“He shot down Becky. She’s dead.”
Raven watched as Lockjaw dropped low over Peterson’s Air Service. The P-40 circled the runway and climbed, drawing level with Raven.
“Take it easy, Bird. A bunch of people came out of one of the jeeps. They’re at the Piper.”
“Did you see her?”
“Bird—”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Kalino was in that airplane.”
“She wasn’t going up for her lesson till oh-nine-hundred,” Lockjaw protested.
“They went up at seven, Lockjaw. Becky told me last night.”
“No, Bird, her lesson was scheduled for oh-nine-hundred hours.”
Raven opened up the throttle, still feeling removed from what was happening. “Let’s go to Pearl.”
The harbor was engulfed by smoke and flame. Flak ripped open a sky where Zeros circled like sharks. His eyes scanned Battleship Row and he saw that the Arizona had sunk and the Oklahoma had capsized. All the big ships were burning and Val dive bombers were attacking the Pennsylvania. The Nevada, streaming fire, was trying to leave the harbor for open sea. It was just about at Hospital Point, where the naval hospital was located, when Vals began to snarl
around it like wasps.
“Going after the Vals bombing Nevada,” said Lockjaw.
“I’ll cover,” replied Raven. “Watch out for the flak from our boats.”
Lockjaw went into a dive. Immediately two Zeros swung down after him. He lit one Val like a match and it staggered out to sea pouring purple smoke. The Zeros got on Lockjaw’s tail and peppered him with machine-gun fire. But Raven got on theirs and sent long strings of tracers into both. They scattered, one banking left and climbing swiftly, the other accelerating and racing straight ahead. Raven went after him.
“Zeke on your tail! On your tail, Thunderbird!” It was Batman’s voice.
Raven felt his P-36 shake as tracers hit. “I’ll run straight.”
“He’ll catch you.”
“I’ll climb and do some rolls.”
“His plane is better at those tricks than yours.”
The P-36 took more hits.
“What do you want me to do, Batman? Just sit still and let him take me apart?”
A low whistling came over the radio. It was a tune Raven did not recognize. He never recognized it.
“Whistler! Where are you?”
“Right behind the Zero that’s right behind you. Hold steady now, please. Don’t blink or fidget.” The whistling began again.
“Whistler—”
“Steady, man, steady. Hold for the picture.”
A loud boom was followed by a Zero plummeting into the water of the harbor just off Raven’s left wing. He pulled up and could see Whistler behind him and Batman just above Whistler. Both were in their P-40s.
“What is that tune anyway?” Raven asked.
“Never tell. Family secret.”
“Thanks for the straight shooting.”
“My pleasure. Let’s get back to work. Lockjaw is still chasing Vals.”
Raven planted himself above and behind Lockjaw as swiftly as he could. Nevada had been rocked by explosions but not enough to sink her and block the channel. She took aim for Hospital Point and ran ashore. Vals were still falling on her like hawks. Lockjaw burst into the midst of them, sending another limping away boiling with smoke. A huge explosion shattered a ship close to the Nevada. The vivid flash of light made Raven blink.
