Rising Sun

plunge.

“He’s killing himself,” Merchant yelled. “You’re right about them, Dane. They’re all crazy!”

The dying Zero smashed into the flight deck near the bow of the carrier. Even though the suicide plane was almost out of fuel, there was enough to cause a large explosion.

Dane had thrown himself prone and felt heat and debris fly over him. Something heavy landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. All around him, men were yelling and screaming. Was this going to be the sinking of the Enterprise all over again? If so, where was Spruance? Wasn’t he supposed to rescue the admiral? He couldn’t think straight. Something was terribly wrong.

Tim pushed himself to his hands and knees and vomited. His body wasn’t responding and he collapsed. What was happening? He looked for Merchant and saw him lying near. A large piece of metal protruded from his chest and the expression on his face was blank and lifeless.

Tim felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Spruance. “I’ll help you again, sir,” Tim managed to say. His voice was mushy and it sounded as if it came from another room rather than from his own body.

Spruance smiled kindly. “This time it’s my turn to take care of you, Dane.”

Tim was dimly aware that he was being put on a stretcher. He knew he was hurt, but why didn’t he feel any pain? “Are we sinking?”

The admiral had gone to check on others, so the medic responded. “Sinking? Not a chance, Commander. Damage control is doing its job. There wasn’t any problem with our hull and the fires are coming under control. Like you, we’ll need some good repairs, but we’ll be all right.”

Tim wanted to ask some more questions, but the medic had jabbed him with morphine. He fought it for a moment, but decided it was far better and nicer to let it do its job.

* * *

“Abandon ship.” The command was repeated until it stopped abruptly. The electricity on the Kaga had just gone out. Toki fully understood that the flames had won. The mighty carrier was in its death throes. Explosions rocked her and flames billowed skyward. The rumblings of more explosions from below deck made the Kaga seem like she was alive, not dying.

Abandon ship or be burned alive were Toki’s choices. He had already donned his life vest, so, looking down at the ocean and hoping that he wouldn’t be sucked into the carrier’s still-spinning propellers, and praying that he’d be picked up, he jumped.

Hitting the sea felt like hitting a wall. He blacked out and came to with a number of others from the carrier, some swimming and others flailing desperately. An empty life raft floated by. He grabbed onto it and climbed in. He offered his hand to several others still in the water, but only a couple joined him. The rest shook their heads solemnly and a couple managed to say they’d rather die than live with the shame of defeat.

One of the men with him said he too would join the others in dying if it appeared they would be rescued by Americans. Toki didn’t know what he would do. Overhead, the once-invincible Zeros circled and then, one by one, crashed in the ocean. The planes soon disappeared under the water and no pilots emerged. Toki visualized this happening all over the battle area. He knew he would never see his friend Masao again and he mourned for him, but only for an instant. Now he just wanted to live and go home to his family and Masao’s little sister.

After a few hours, he and the two others were alone. But then they weren’t. A destroyer maneuvered slowly through the waters, its crew searching and looking. They were spotted and the ship came close enough for them to see that it was an American. Toki’s companions moaned and slid off the raft and into the sea. They gasped and bobbed a few times and then disappeared.

Toki made up his mind. Only fools chose death when life was at hand. They had killed themselves for no good reason. He stood and waved a handkerchief that he hoped was white enough. With the skill of a dancer, the destroyer was maneuvered beside him. A row of armed Americans stared down at him.

“I speak English,” he yelled. “I surrender.”

There was silence from the angry-looking Americans. “Why the fuck should we save you?” one of them finally asked.

“I am Admiral Nagumo’s chief aide,” he said, lying only slightly. Like most Japanese sailors, he had received no instructions regarding how to behave if he actually was taken prisoner since it was assumed he would choose death instead. Thus, there was no reason to discuss or plan for the unthinkable.

There was a quick conference and an officer leaned over. “First, you will remove all your clothes, and I mean everything. After you’ve stripped down, you will then climb up the ladder which we will lower to you. When you make it to the deck, you will lie on your belly with your legs spread apart. We will examine you and tie you up. Understand?”

Toki understood fully. He too had heard tales of Japanese soldiers trying to take Americans with them as they killed themselves. “I understand. But may I take my wallet? It has my identification and pictures of my family.”

He thought the American might have smiled for a flickering instant. “Bring your damned wallet,” was the response.

* * *

Once again Torelli felt the freight train pass over him, shaking his sub like it was a toy. Jesus, that Jap battleship was big. And fast. Worse, it was going to be moving away, which meant a stern shot and a quick one.

He ordered periscope depth and all bow tubes open. They would simply fire off all four torpedoes the first clear chance he got. He looked through the lens. The battleship was a mountain and moving rapidly. He didn’t bother to look for escorts; he just assumed they were there.

The shot was as good as it was going to get. “Fire one,” he ordered, then two and three and four. As soon as he heard the sound of the torpedoes leaving, he ordered an emergency dive.

“What now?” Crowley asked. His eyes were wide with tension and fear. They heard splashes and then depth charges exploded. They were close, but not close enough to do damage. It looked like the Japs were more interested in clearing out than in attacking him.

“We wait,” Torelli said.

They listened through the rumble of the depth charges. Finally, they heard a different sound. An explosion, but what? They all looked at each other. Had they actually managed to hit the monster? If so, what damage, if any. Maybe it was like shooting a rhinoceros with a peashooter? Probably the damn thing wouldn’t even notice.

* * *

Yamamoto felt the battleship quiver. He barely heard the explosion and saw nothing. The battleship’s massive superstructure blocked his view and insulated him from any sound.

“Torpedo,” announced a grim-faced aide a moment later. “No apparent damage, sir.”

Yamamoto nodded. It was what he expected. What else could go wrong this terrible day? He had been totally outwitted and outfought by an American Navy he had thought was, if not dead, then moribund and too frightened to take risks. Now all he could do was try and salvage something out of the burning wreckage that had once been the pride of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Four of his prized carriers were in sinking condition and were being abandoned. If they didn’t sink on their own, they would be torpedoed by their own ships, a totally inglorious and shameful end to their careers. Two other carriers were seriously damaged, burning furiously, and might also be lost. Worse, if there could possibly be a worse, the carriers lost were the largest and most powerful the Imperial Japanese Navy possessed. The only carriers remaining were the smaller ones now being categorized as escort carriers.

Nor did it matter that the American carrier they’d sought for so long, the Saratoga, had at least been very badly damaged. The few Japanese pilots who had survived the attack on her reported her burning and, in their opinion, likely to sink. Yamamoto was not so confident. The Americans were magicians at saving and repairing ships and, besides, what did it matter if the Saratoga was sunk? The Americans had many others under construction. They would join up with what was thought to be the Essex-class carrier that had accompanied the Saratoga and do so well before Japan could recover from today’s disaster.

His thoughts returned to the doomed pilots. At least four hundred of them had been lost and that toll was likely to go higher. Four hundred highly trained carrier pilots could not be replaced. At the current rate of pilot graduation, any damaged carriers were likely to be repaired and ready long before the pilots were trained according to traditional standards. Thus, those standards would have to be relaxed, which meant that new Japanese carrier