They looked in horror at a car that was up on a lawn. A line of bullets had stitched holes in its top, and at least two people were slumped over inside, dead.
At the base, a grim-faced guard stopped them. “Sorry but you can’t go in.”
“My husband’s on the Oklahoma,” Alexa pleaded.
The guard’s expression softened, but he didn’t relent. “Look, ma’am, I’d like to help, but I can’t. There’s just too much happening and you’d be in danger. Go back home and wait. I’m sure everything’ll be okay.”
Reluctantly, she saw the sense of it. Like it or not, there suddenly was a war on, and Tim had more important things to do at this moment. But dark clouds of smoke were growing overhead like a malevolent and terrifying thundercloud. Something awful was happening in the harbor.
At Melissa’s suggestion, they drove slowly from the base and to a rise that overlooked the harbor. It was a favorite spot for those who wanted a good view of what was referred to as Battleship Row, and also served as a place where kids went to make out. Both women discounted the dangers from Japanese planes, which seemed to have flown off.
Hundreds of other people had had the same idea, and they had to park a ways off. Finally, they made it to where they could see the battleships. The great clouds of smoke, however, made viewing difficult.
“Oh my God,” Melissa said- “I never dreamed it could be so awful.”
Alexa didn’t answer. She was busy trying to figure out where the Oklahoma was. Normally, she had no problem spotting Tim’s ship, but everything seemed strangely out of kilter. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
First, the Nevada was missing, and behind where she had been lay the Arizona. Or, she realized grimly, what had once been the Arizona. The battleship was a mass of flames and was sinking. She wondered how something made of metal could burn so brightly.
Behind the Arizona was the West Virginia, which was also on fire. The Tennessee, anchored between the West Virginia and Ford Island, seemed to be okay.
But where the devil was the Oklahoma? Could she have escaped, as the Nevada appeared to have done? Something large, metal, and cylindrical was where the Oklahoma should have been. Alexa doubled over in nausea and sudden agony as she realized that the strange and obscene shape was Tim’s ship. The massive battleship lay far on its side, with nothing of its superstructure showing. Anyone inside had to be trapped in what was now a grotesque parody of a warship.
“Tim,” she groaned.
Melissa saw and hugged her. “He’ll be all right,” she tried to reassure her friend through her own tears. “Let’s get out of here. We can’t just stay here and stare.”,
Alexa looked around and saw many others were weeping. She wasn’t the only one with a loved one in danger. “Drive around,” she said.
“Why?”
“We’ve got to find a place where they’re taking the injured and volunteer to help. Missy, I’ve got to do something. If I just go home and wait, I’ll go crazy.”
Alexa took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Even if he was okay, it would be hours at best before Tim had a chance to call her. At least she would be able to stay active and put her first aid training to use. At least she would be able to do something. Anything.
Commander Fuchida ignored the steady drone of the Nakajima B5N2’s engine and looked down on Pearl Harbor. He would rather be piloting the three-man bomber instead of observing, but it was more important for him to be a spectator at this time. Let the others fly the plane and be on the lookout for American fighters.
It was difficult to see because of the height at which he was flying and the blankets of dark smoke that obscured much of the target area below. He considered flying lower, but that would only invite antiaircraft fire, and might even attract one of the few fighters the Americans had left.
From what he could tell, the final attack had been extremely successful. First, he had led somewhat more than the hundred planes he’d told Nagumo he wanted. It had proven impossible to stop all of the eager young pilots from joining him, and several of the more aggressive carrier captains had conspired in letting them join the attack.
Second, he’d been right in his tactics. The lead Zeros had quickly overwhelmed and obliterated the antiaircraft defenses that shielded both Hickam Field and the now burning oil storage tanks. He wasn’t certain about the extent of damage to the Pennsylvania and the adjacent cruisers, but he could see fires on the battleship. The Pennsylvania might not have been sunk, but she was damaged. More important, the dry docks appeared to be a burning shambles.
A handful of American fighters had tried to intercept the attack and been beaten off with substantial losses. As predicted, their attacks were uncoordinated and offered more proof that neither their pilots nor their tactics were up to Japanese standards. Most of the Americans had been shot down, with only a few losses to the Japanese air fleet. Fuchida now concluded the American planes were also inferior to the Japanese Zero. So much for the myth of American technology, he thought.
Predictably, Admiral Nagumo had lost his nerve and tried to cancel the attack. When Fuchida received the radio message, he’d first ignored it and then said it was too late-the attack had already begun. It had been a small lie but an effective one. The planes were only minutes away from Pearl and had doubtless been sighted.
As they flew over the burning harbor, the rear gunner took pictures, and Fuchida thought it was a shame they weren’t in color. The harshness of the contrast between the loveliness of the harbor and the cruelty of the fires would make a marvelous picture if only someone could capture the vivid colors.
Japanese losses had been even lighter than he’d hoped, with only a few planes falling from antiaircraft fire as they flew over Ford Island and turned westward. Fuchida genuinely felt the loss of American lives as well as those of his own men. He had planned and fought for Japan and would again, but the devastation upset him. The carnage below should not have happened. Why hadn’t America seen reason and avoided war?
Enough, he thought. Perhaps someday he’d know the answer. Fuchida promised himself that, when the war was over, he’d learn more about the United States and the beliefs of her people. What little he knew fascinated him. Perhaps he would even visit there.
But that was for later. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder and ordered a return to the fleet.
CHAPTER 2
Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto was the hero of the moment and had decided to take advantage of it. His was the dominant personality within the navy, despite the fact that he was merely the first among several equals. As admiral of the Combined Fleet, he had by far the largest portion of the seagoing navy, but he was supposed to coordinate with entities within the naval hierarchy, many of whom seemed to have their own agendas. Yamamoto also reported directly to the naval chief of staff, Admiral Osami Nagano. So far, Nagano had proven easy for Yamamoto to dominate.
More than once Yamamoto had thought Japan was as likely to be defeated in the new war by her own byzantine bureaucratic mazes as by American industry and military strength. Japan was run by the military, but cooperation between the army and the navy was almost nonexistent.
For that reason, Admiral Yamamoto had asked for a private audience with the prime minister, General Hideki Tojo. If he could convince Tojo of the rightness of his idea, then Tojo would convince the others. It was irregular, but he felt the circumstances required it. As the hero of the moment, he knew he could bend protocol to the extent of having a private discussion with the prime minister, who was also the army minister. He had, of course, informed Admiral Nagano, who had given his discreet blessing to the mission. If Yamamoto was turned down, Nagano could then plausibly deny having encouraged him.
Yamamoto had managed to make the appointment within hours of hearing of the totality of the victory at Pearl Harbor. His dreams of victory had always been tempered by the realistic assessment that he would lose two of their priceless carriers and much of his airpower in destroying the American fleet at Pearl Harbor. When that did not happen, he realized that a new door had opened for Japan. At fifty-seven, Isoroku Yamamoto also knew that he personally had only a few remaining opportunities to influence the course of Japan’s history.
