Rising Sun

between them and Mare Island for the Kates to force entry. Now they were to bomb the city itself and then return to their carriers.

A shape flew across his nose. It was gone too quickly to fire at and Ikeda again cursed his luck. There! An American P47 was in his sights. He fired a burst and his tracers showed that the shells had fallen short. He fired again and the American plane lurched as pieces fell off. It began to smoke and headed toward the ground.

A kill, a kill! He howled with pleasure. He got his Zero on the tail of another P40 and blew it apart. A third plane, another P47, fell to his 20mm guns. He had to be careful, now. He didn’t want to run out of ammunition while surrounded by enemy wasps. He looked down and saw a number of parachutes. He thought about strafing the cowardly American pilots, but that would be a waste of ammunition.

“Break off. Return home.”

He snarled at the order, but it had to be done. A flash to his left and he saw a Zero explode. He fired a last burst at a P47, saw the shells hit but not kill the plane. Rumors said that the American plane was sturdy and the rumors, he thought ruefully, were correct. A flaming Zero fell from above him. He looked around and saw many, many American planes. The far fewer Japanese planes were all headed out to sea.

The Americans would chase the Japanese planes far to where the carriers waited along with the planes left behind to ambush any pursuit force. Ikeda tried to count the Japanese planes now flying west with him. He presumed that almost all the Kates had left the area and flown to safety, which meant there should be close to a hundred and fifty Zeros left. But where were they? Ikeda roughly counted much less than a hundred. Could the Americans have shot down so many? Nonsense, he thought. They must be scattered or following farther behind. Japan had won another great victory by bombing an American city and shooting down scores of enemy planes.

Even better, he, Masao Ikeda, was a virgin no more. Three confirmed kills and a possible fourth would tell all his comrades that he was a Japanese warrior.

* * *

Amanda cowered in the doorway of an office building while sirens continued to wail. There were many large plate-glass windows and she could visualize explosions sending knifelike splinters into the many hundreds of people running around screaming in panic. She saw a little girl knocked down and trampled. Amanda ran out and got the screaming child. Luckily she was only scared and bruised. A moment later, her sobbing mother took her and ran off. There were no bomb shelters. Of course not, she thought. San Francisco would never be a target despite all the hysteria regarding the possibility of a Japanese invasion. Damn politicians were wrong again, she thought angrily.

Explosions rocked the area. Bombs seemed to be dropping indiscriminately, which caused even more panic. Which way to run when you didn’t know what was the target? There was no safety. She saw a handful of Japanese planes fly overhead, heading west. They were low enough to see the empty bomb racks. There was a pause but no all-clear signal. After a few minutes, a large number of Japanese fighters headed west and they were followed by an even larger horde of American planes.

“Shoot the bastards down,” Grace yelled, and others joined in. How dare they bomb a helpless American city! How dare they attack civilians?

With bombs no longer falling, the panic slowed and ceased. Previously terrified people took a deep breath and regained control. Amanda realized that there appeared to have been very little real damage. She could smell smoke in the distance, but there were no massive conflagrations, and the San Francisco fire department seemed to have the situation under control.

Amanda dusted herself off. She was thankful that she’d not worn any stockings as her leg was bruised and she’d likely have torn them. Even cotton stockings were rare and nylons almost impossible to find. She shook her head at the inanity of worrying about stockings during an air raid. The sirens decided it was time to sound the all clear.

“Well, should we find a hospital and volunteer?” asked Sandy.

They did, and found that their services weren’t needed, that everything was under control. Only a small number had been killed or injured, and most of the injuries had occurred as a result of panic, not the bombing directly. A few dozen people had broken bones and bruises from being shoved and trampled, although few of the injuries seemed serious. A nurse in the emergency room was of the opinion that the bombing raid had been a bust.

“Police radio said a lot of Jap planes had been shot down. What a shame, huh?” the ER nurse said with a grin.

“What do we do now?” Grace wondered.

Amanda smiled. “We do what we planned. We cross the bay to our car and start driving south. On to San Diego!” she laughed, and thought, on to Tim Dane. Ready or not, here we come.

* * *

Masao Ikeda landed on the Akagi with empty guns and only fumes in his tanks. The engine actually sputtered as he pulled up on the flight deck. He dismounted from the cockpit to the cheers of his fellow pilots. As he walked by they congratulated him on his kills and that he was no longer a cherry. He laughed and took a moment to swallow a few mouthfuls of rice and half a gallon of water while mechanics refueled the plane and replaced ammunition. There was no time to waste. The American planes that had pursued him and his companions were overhead and fighting with the planes left behind to protect the precious carriers.

A moment later and Masao was airborne again and dodging among the American planes. He was astonished at the number and variety of Yank fighters. Models included the pitiful P40 and the very rugged P47, along with a couple of types he didn’t recognize. One, with twin tails, looked very interesting and also very lethal.

The Americans were not interested in dueling with Zeros. Their goal was the carriers, just as it had been the Japanese Navy’s goal back at Midway. They sent enough planes to skirmish with the Japanese cover force and keep them at bay, while torpedo planes and dive bombers attacked the four carriers that made up the Northern Force. The Akagi, Ryuju, Shinyu, and Soryu were arrayed in a square and their antiaircraft guns were killing Americans as they approached.

Even though Masao hoped and prayed for the best, it was inevitable that some American planes would get through. He watched in horror as a dive bomber dropped its load on the flight deck of his own Akagi, blowing a hole in it and clearly destroying the elevator. Fires erupted but were quickly brought under control. However, no planes would be landing on the Akagi for quite some time.

Another American plane strafed the Ryuju, starting fires in the bow area as poorly stored fuel ignited. Someone would be severely punished for neglect, he thought. Unless, of course, that the poor person had been immolated, and that would be poetic justice.

In the meantime, Masao had shot down two more planes, including one of the twin-tailed ones. He wondered just how much longer the Americans could linger over the Japanese fleet before they ran out of gas. The carriers were already more than a hundred and fifty miles offshore, and heading westward at top speed.

His question was answered when he suddenly realized that there were no more American planes in the air, instead they were dots fading in the distance.

He’d had a marvelous day and so, he thought, had Japan. They’d avenged the ambush of Admiral Hosogaya’s force in Cook Inlet and bombed the city of San Francisco. But at what price, he found himself wondering as the exhilaration of battle faded and cold reality set in. Had they really won a victory? Two carriers were burning and would be out of the war for months, if not longer. They had not succeeded in bombing the base at Mare Island, and he was certain that the few bombs the Kates had dropped on San Francisco had been too few and too small to be significant.

He was ordered to land on the Soryu. She and the Shinyu were undamaged. Masao wondered just where they would find room on two carriers to park the planes from four carriers when he realized to his dismay that there would be plenty of room. Victory? Where were the Japanese eagles? Where were his comrades? What kind of price had Japan just paid?

An angry and frustrated Admiral Yamamoto held court in his quarters on the massive Yamato. Was ultimate victory slipping away? Again he clutched his mangled hand. It was reminding him of his mortality.

The two men with him were his senior admirals, Takeo Kurita and Chuichi Nagumo. Kurita’s northern force