by Roger Jewett
“You’re a bastard!” she exclaimed, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the night table.
“You weren’t a virgin when we met.”
“What am I going to do?” she asked, suddenly crying.
Glen was completely dressed. “Find a doctor and get rid of it,” he said.
“If I had known you were married —”
“I’ll pay for the doctor,” he said, going to the door.
“You’re a son-of-a-bitch!” she screamed. “A real son-of-a-bitch!”
Glen shrugged, then squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, and without answering or looking back at her, he left the room. He was sorry he was married to one woman. He wasn’t going to be sorrier by far and divorce her to marry a second.
CHAPTER 34
At 0430 on the fourth of June, the pilots of the Big E and the Gettysburg answered the call to general quarters. Jacob and Yancy sat close together in the fighter ready room and listened carefully to the briefing on the weather conditions and tactics. Then as they sat around and waited for the order to man their planes, some of them talked about the Japanese strike on Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians and the 1200 RAF bombers that had attacked Cologne.
Jacob had written to his parents the night before. Though he said nothing about the impending battle, he knew his father and mother were wise enough to read between the tines. He looked at Yancy and then at some of the other men nearby. Most were his age. Some would not be there by the time night fell.
“Okay.” Yancy suddenly boomed, “I’m willin’ to bet any sucker that I get me at least two meatballs before today is over. Do I have any takers?”
“Hey, Reb,” one of the other pilots answered, “what odds?”
Yancy looked at Jacob. “What odds, Jake?”
“Don’t bet him,” Jacob answered.
“What you talkin’ about? I can’t back down now.”
“Okay, okay… Make it even money. He won’t take it.”
“Even money?” Yancy whispered.
“Reb, I’m waiting on your offer,” the pilot said.
“Just hold your cotton-pickin’ horses,” Yancy answered. “I’m talkin’ to my banker… Jake, you sure?”
Jacob nodded. He didn’t like the bet.
“I was hoping to make a few bucks to spend next time we’re in Pearl,” Yancy explained.
“Even money,” Jacob repeated.
“Even money,” Yancy called out.
“Shit, that’s no bet at all,” the other man responded.
“Take it or leave it,” Yancy said, feigning a total lack of interest.
“Hell, just to show you that I don’t believe you’ll get one meatball, I’ll put up a C,” the pilot said.
“You said he wouldn’t take it,” Yancy whispered.
Jacob shrugged. He wanted to say, He’s dumber than you are, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Do I take it?” Yancy asked.
“You don’t have a choice, unless you want to be the laughingstock of the week.”
“All right,” Yancy said, “you’re on. Pony up the C-note and my banker here will hold it.”
“What happens if your banker doesn’t make it back?” the pilot asked, standing over Jacob.
“Hey, you gotta be jokin’,” Yancy said. “He’s one of God’s Chosen. He’ll make it back all right.”
Jacob folded each of the 100-dollar bills and inserted one in his right shoe and the other in his left; then he said, “If I don’t make it back, I owe each of you 100 dollars.”
Yancy gave him a questioning look; then he roared with laughter. “By Christ, I love this son-of-a-bitch!”
Troost was on the flag bridge of the Appalachia. At 0657 the sun came up over the eastern horizon. It was a clear, balmy day with a stiff southeast breeze and a few scattered clouds at 4- to 5000 feet.
According to the last position check given to him by a member of his staff, they were 290 miles to the north and a bit to the east of Midway. They were within perhaps a couple of hundred miles of where the Japanese carriers were steaming. If they found the Japanese ships first — Troost suddenly remembered the lines from Shakespeare’s Henry the Fifth — The game’s afoot: Follow your spirit; and upon this charge cry “God for Harry! England and Saint George!” He did not allow himself to think what would happen if the Japanese found them first.
At 0734 word came from the staff communications officer that a PBY patrol aircraft from Pearl had sighted enemy aircraft.
Troost made a visual check of the destroyer screen and cruisers supporting the carriers Endeavor and Bee. Every ship was in its assigned station around the carriers.
At 0745 the communications officer reported intercepting another contact report from the patrol plane.
“Many planes,” the pilot of the PBY said. “Heading toward Midway, bearing three two zero, distance one five zero from the island.”
“Captain Haines,” Troost called on the squawk box, “did you receive that word?”
“Yes, sir, Admiral,” Haines answered. “We are ready if they come our way.”
Troost quickly checked the chart.
“Puts them about here,” Troost said to his staff watch officer, “some 130 miles west of us. But where are the carriers?” He moved away from the chart table and, though his insides were churning, he forced himself to look calm.
At 0830 another message came in from the PBY: “Two enemy carriers and battleships… Bearing three zero… Distance one eight zero from Midway… Course one three five… Speed two five.”
Four minutes later, Admiral Sprat ordered the task group carriers to launch torpedo aircraft and turned the group into the wind.
Troost moved outside, picked up his glasses, and watched his ships make the turn, even while keeping their stations relative to the Endeavor and the Gettysburg. The game was afoot and they had been lucky. For the moment, they had the advantage.
“Pilots, man your planes… Pilots, man your planes,” came over the ready room squawk box. It was the third time since 0400 hundred that they had gone to their planes, and each of the previous commands was a dry run.
On the way out, Jacob heard one of the pilots say, “We’re going to kill the Japs by running back and forth to our planes.”
Jacob climbed into the cockpit of his F4F, settled in the seat, slipped into his chute easily, adjusted the safety harness, and buckled up. There was activity all around him.
The Bee was on the Endeavor’s port side 1000 yards away. She too was preparing to launch. The group increased speed to 30 knots. On the flight deck of the Big E, Devastators loaded with torpedoes and SDB dive bombers with 1000-pound bombs were lining up to be catapulted into the air. The fighters would go off first; some to relieve the CAP, others to cover the attack aircraft.
The Flight Leader of Jacob’s fighter group was taxied into take-off position. The fighter group was assigned to fly high cover on the dive bombers.
The plane captain pushed the starting cartridge into the starter of Jacob’s Wildcat and gave the signal to fire it, as the words “start engines” sounded across the flight deck.
Jacob pressed the button. The engine coughed. The prop began to turn. Smoke came from the exhaust. The prop made several slow revolutions, then rumbled into life. He unlocked the wings.
The handlers spread and locked them.
Jacob taxied to his take-off position.
The signal came!
At full throttle the Wildcat raced down the deck, lifted off, and started to climb. In a matter of moments, he was in formation alongside Yancy, who grinned and gave him a thumbs-up sign.
By now, the TBs were boring in on the Kaga. Jacob heard the voices of the various pilots as they swooped down on the wildly twisting and turning carrier to get a shot at her and were themselves shot to pieces.
Four planes survived and were on their way back to the Gettysburg.
“Okay,” the flight leader said over the radio, “those Jap bastards got first round, but there’
s more coming up.”
Jacob’s flight was flying at 20,000 feet, high enough to drop down on the more maneuverable Zeros, should they attack the SBDs below them.
“Skipper,” one of the pilots called to the flight leader, “I’m having some trouble with my oxygen supply.”
“Anyone else?” the Flight Leader asked.
Two other pilots reported having similar problems.
“We’re going down to 15,” the Flight Leader said.
Jacob eased the stick forward. The nose of his plane dipped. Below were scattered cumulus and, below that, the dark blue of the Pacific.
At 15,000 feet, Jacob’s flight leveled off and he checked the fuel gage. It was getting low. They were rapidly reaching the point of no return, as the SBD flight leader searched for the Japanese Carrier Force in the direction of Midway.
Jacob turned his head to the port side and glanced down. There was the white furrow of a ship plowing through the water. “Skipper,” Jacob radioed, “look down to your left. A ship is moving toward the northeast.”
“Got it!” Jacob’s flight leader answered.
“See it,” the SBD skipper said, without having to be called. “I now see four carriers.”
At 1150 the SBD flight leader’s voice again came over the radio. “Attack… Aim good!” he exclaimed, already rolling into his steep dive-bombing run.
The other SBDs opened into a long line and followed him down.
Jacob watched the SBDs hurtle down toward their targets. Almost instantly small puffs of antiaircraft bursts surrounded the diving SBDs. As the bombs were released, he saw huge flames burst out of the turning carriers below.
In a matter of minutes, the Kaga and Akagi were in flames, and dive bombers from the Gettysburg wrecked the Soryu.
A dozen Zeros managed to get into the air.
“Go get them,” Jacob’s flight leader said, peeling off into a dive.
Jacob charged the guns, flipped the “Master Arming” switch on, and rolling over to the starboard, followed Yancy down.
Yancy broke out of the dive and picked up one of the Zeros. “Son-of-a-bitch, my guns jammed… Stay with me, Jake,” Yancy shouted.
Jacob turned to close in on Yancy. A Zero suddenly swung into his sights. He pressed the trigger. His tracers left smoke trails from the wings of his plane to the target… One second … two … three… The Japanese plane exploded. He kicked his plane over to the right. Where was Yancy?
In the melee, another red meatball zoomed by him and he suddenly found another Japanese in his gun sight reticle. He fired a quick burst.
Flames gushed from the enemy’s starboard wing. “I’m hit, skipper,” one of the pilots yelled. “I’m going down.”
Jacob saw the pilot leap from the burning plane. “Open,” Jacob shouted. “Open the fucking chute!”
The man fell into the sea.
“Jake, you got one coming in on your port side,” Yancy called out. “I got my guns cleared. I’m coming in.”
“See him, Reb,” Jacob answered and threw his fighter over in a tight turn to the left until he was closing head on with the Japanese plane. He pressed the trigger button; his guns chattered and he pulled back the stick as the Zero flashed below him.
“He’s smoking, Jake,” Yancy yelled. “You’re hot today.”
Jacob rolled to his right and saw the smoking plane smash into the sea.
The remaining Zeros broke away. The engagement was suddenly over.
“Let’s head home,” Jacob’s flight leader said. “Join on me.”
Jacob was wet with sweat and, raising his goggles, he drew his arm across his eyes to wipe them clear. Suddenly, he felt the adrenaline flowing, as if he could run for miles and miles.
Almost before he realized it they were over the American ships. Down below, the Gettysburg was burning.
Suddenly Yancy’s voice came over the radio. “Jake, you see anything wrong with my plane?” he asked.
“Nothing on your left side,” Jacob reported. He dropped behind and below. “Looks good from down here,” he said; then he eased away and came up on Yancy’s starboard wing. “Looks like you took a hit in the right side of your engine cowling, Reb.”
“My engine is running rough,” Yancy said.
“I hear you,” the skipper said. “Yance, are you going to ditch?”
“Negative,” Yancy answered. “I’ll bring her in.”
Jacob saw a thin fan of fluid trace its way along the fuselage, coming from the edge of the engine cowling. “You’re losing hydraulic fluid,” he told Yancy.
They were at 500 feet and parallel to the carrier.
“Comin’ in with a bad engine,” Yancy radioed, talking to the air boss on the ship.
“Crash equipment standing by,” came the answer. “Take it nice and easy… The LSO knows about your problem.”
Jacob was the next aircraft behind Yancy. He checked his altimeter: he was 100 feet above the sea. He saw Yancy’s Wildcat over the stern and saw the LSO signal “Cut.”
Yancy flared for a landing and engaged an arresting wire. Then suddenly his landing gear collapsed. The plane skidded to the port side. One of the wings was sheared off. It hung suspended over the side of the ship by the still attached arresting wire.
Frantically the LSO waved Jacob off, and as he passed close over the carrier’s port side, he saw Yancy’s plane burning and teams of rescue personnel and fire fighters swarming over it.
The air boss came on the radio. “Jake, we know you’re low on fuel. Stretch out your approach pattern ahead. We’ll clear the deck by pushing the plane over the side… Do you read?”
“Loud and clear,” he answered.
Jacob made two more approaches before he was taken aboard. As soon as he was parked, he scrambled out of the cockpit, climbed out on the wing, and jumping to the deck, raced down the ladders and through a maze of passageways to the deck below the hangar deck, where the sick bay was located.
A doctor and several corpsmen were working on Yancy.
Jacob moved close to the bed.
Yancy’s face, arms, and chest were burned. In some places the skin was charred. A ribbon of blood streamed from the right side of his lips.
Jacob looked questioningly at the doctor.
The man shook his head.
“Hey, Yance?” Jacob said, fighting the tightness in his throat.
Yancy’s eyelids fluttered.
“It’s me, Jake.”
“Can’t see,” he said softly. “Can’t see.”
Jacob fought back the tears.
“Hold me, Jew boy… Hold me tight!”
Jacob reached down and gathered Yancy in his arms.
“Tell my daddy I tried,” Yancy whispered. “Will ya tell him that?”
“Yes, I’ll tell him,” Jacob answered.
Yancy nodded. “You’re best there is,” he said. “The best!”
“He’s gone,” one of the corpsmen said.
Jacob nodded and gently put Yancy’s body down in the bed. “He was my friend,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “He was my friend…” Jacob stood up and, rocking slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet, intoned the Kaddish, the Hebrew prayer for the dead.
CHAPTER 35
Jacob was in the fighter ready room. One by one the men of the fighter group came over to him and either grabbed his shoulder or mumbled something about Yance being a good guy.
Then suddenly the squawk box blared, “Incoming enemy planes… Incoming enemy planes… Range, 60 miles.” Moments later the same voice ordered, “Pilots, man your planes… Pilots, man your planes…”
Jacob raced from the ready room with the others, and within minutes he was in the air circling the ship.
The flight director in the carrier’s CIC radioed Jake, “Vector three two zero… Buster!” Other sections of fighters were being vectored to meet the incoming enemy.
At full throttle, Jacob turned into heading and immediately spotted his target, a Kate, low on the wa
ter, carrying a torpedo. He turned toward the Japanese and attacked.
The rear gunner blazed away at him.
He pressed the trigger in a long burst and saw the gunner slump forward. He pulled up, turned, and came head-on at the Kate. A short burst turned the plane into a ball of flames. Immediately, Jacob sighted another Kate, this one somewhat higher than the first.
The Japanese pilot dived toward the water.
But Jacob was on his tail. His guns blazed.
The plane dropped into the sea, cartwheeled twice, and exploded.
Jacob climbed rapidly back to 5000 feet and called his flight director to report he was ready for another vector. Suddenly, smoke started to pour out of his engine. “Shit! That fucking gunner got me before I got him!” His mind raced. He had to abandon his Wildcat. He jettisoned the canopy, unbuckled his harness, and rolled the burning plane upside down. Then he dropped from the seat, and in the next instant he was clear of the plane.
Everything was quiet. Jacob didn’t feel as if he was falling, though he knew he was. He wrenched the ripcord. Moments became links in a long chain of time…
The pilot chute suddenly billowed open and he was jerked violently upright; then he began to drift silently down toward the sea.
Jacob watched his Wildcat crash into the ocean and vanish in a burst of flame.
The Gettysburg was burning and listing to port.
Glen’s ship, the Harium, was alongside to aid the salvage parties. During the attack, the guns of the support ships shot down two of the attacking dive bombers. But many made it through the intense antiaircraft fire and managed to score two direct hits on the carrier. She was so badly damaged that Admiral Floyde gave the order to abandon ship. But now salvage and repair parties indicated she could be saved and towed back to Pearl Harbor.
Glen was at the phone bank on the bridge. “Number one mount,” he called.
“Number one —”
Suddenly the 1MC blared. “Torpedo … torpedo … coming in on starboard beam.”
The Klaxon screamed.
Two explosions rocked the Gettysburg, and a third lifted the Harium out of the water, mortally damaging her.
