"I hope none of you experience anything like that again. Y'know, maybe they'll never know what it was like, except for maybe the ones that lived through it... "You just be damned sure you don't forget the ones that Gunnery Sergeant Jack "Gunny" Lauton Medal of Honor: Rising Sun
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Confused Aircraft Carriers
Chapter 1
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
USS Enterprise
Pacific Ocean, between Hawaii and Midway Island
…..
"…And now the Brown Bomber goes in for the punch, but gets blocked again….wait, here he goes with his signature mov-"
Suddenly, the radio emitted static noises, as if someone was changing stations.
"What?! No, c'mon! Who turned it off?"
The beleaguered cry came from a young woman, appearing no older than twenty years of age. What a woman was doing on an aircraft carrier, the crew had no idea. At least, they would have no idea if they could hear her. The young girl leapt down from the top of the conning tower and stomped up the stairs, muttering curses.
It was still dark, the sun had not yet risen over the Pacific Ocean but it was morning in New York City, where the 'Brown Bomber" boxing match was being broadcasted .
The young woman herself was slightly above average in height at 5'6", with lean abs exposed in her two piece naval uniform. However, while her body was certainly impressive, it was her amber eyes that would leave an impression.
"Honestly, pulling this crap on my ship…," she hissed as she entered the Bridge of the Aircraft Carrier. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to make the radioman's ears bleed, but to the fortune of the twenty-three year old CRYPTO operator, she was interrupted.
"Pay attention to your surroundings. Keep your eyes sharp, body alert, and scan any threats. Something big is coming," came a strong yet feminine voice.
Jumping high enough to hit her head on the frame of the deck, the blonde scowled and turned. She certainly had some words lined up for the prankster, whoever it was. Namely, "Who's there? What's going on?"
It was a long pause before the voice replied. "E, I don't have time to explain. Actually, I don't have time to explain why I don't have time to explain, but things are about to go down, hard. I thought I could fix things but…"
E tilted her head, waiting for more, but it seemed that her hallucinations were over. For now, hopefully.
"That's strange," E thought. "I can't place who that voice belongs to. Certainly no one here on my ship, but vaguely familiar…"
She turned in place a few times, flipping her shoulder-length locks before she sighed and activated the radio.
"...Joe Louis has done it again, ladies and gentlemen! It's not quite the same from his Billy Conn bout, but that was still unbelievable…"
She missed the details of the match. She would not be interrupted from her sports again. Perhaps one of her crew members would have a good book to read…
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
USS Ward
Patrolling 30 miles from Pearl Harbor
….
The waters were pleasantly warm, the girl noted as the destroyer rounded the bend of Oahu. The sun was not quite above the Pacific horizon yet, but she could feel it as she stood on the stern deck, gazing into the barely noticeable wake. Today would be perfect!
It was a shame that Ward had patrol duties today but perhaps if she worked hard enough, the Admiral would give her some shore leave for the movie theatre. She loved movies, and the quality of the industry was only getting better!
The Wickes-class Destroyer was one of many '1000 ton Flush Decker' destroyers built during the Great War for the purposes of escort duty. Armed with two sets of triple torpedo tubes on each side, and four 4-inch guns arranged in a kite pattern on the deck, she was lethal enough to do her job.
The girl froze, ever so slightly slowing down. She bent low to the water at the bow of the Wickes-class hull. Tilting her head, Ward gazed outward, then gasped as she saw a wake, merely two hundred yards abreast.
"I-is that a submersible? Here, this close to Pearl?"
The girl's mind raced. Standing at a height of 5'3", she was short, but her eyes were keen. She scanned her surroundings for other submarines, her curly brown hair whipping the air as the vessel sped up to 23 knots.
"Whoever it is, they can't be American and they are brave enough to operate a sub in such shallow waters. Must be insane."
Inside the bridge, LTC William W. Outerbridge, CO of Ward, received word from his communications officer that a nearby Minesweeper, the Condor, had sighted a submersible.
He ordered anti-submarine Warfare search patterns; sirens, whistles and bells sent the crew into full alert as they rushed through decks and passageways. She nodded her head in agreeance, all the while looking around.
"If I was a submarine trying to avoid American patrols, where would I want to go?" She grinned, beating heart matching her heated boilers. "Oh, this could be fun."
Her crew, while lacking experience in hunting actual submarines, had received training from those who had fought desperately to protect the Atlantic convoys of the Great War. Thus it was no surprise that when word of an errant submarine came, the crew tightened up and prepared to fight.
There were many juicy targets in the area, so of course, she wouldn't find the enemy with ease. Giving an adorable -or downright creepy giggle, the girl who looked to be fifteen years of age continued to keep watch for periscopes as the Wickes class sailed through the warm waters.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Kido Butai
IJN Kaga
300 Northwest of Pearl Harbor
…
Sadly for the young 'girl', there would be no leave in the coming days. Several hundred miles away, over four hundred aircraft were launching from the decks of a Japanese strike force, the Kido Butai.
Akagi, Kaga, Sōryū, Hiryū, Shōkaku, and Zuikaku. These six names would soon strike fear into the hearts of Japan's enemies. The carriers of the Kido Butai represented the best the Empire of Japan has to offer…
"No, that's not true," the woman thought. "The best the world has to offer."
What they were about to accomplish would make the history books. They would prove to America, Europe, Asia, and the entire world itself that Japan was something to fear and respect, instead of the disgraceful image that the West had portrayed them as - as the so-called subhuman yellow dogs.
"First Carrier Division, launching." With those first aircraft, the other flat tops - excluding the ex-battleships Kaga and Akagi of course, they didn't quite fit the word flat - began launching their own planes. Of course, no one saw the young women repeating the same words, launching arrows from traditional Japanese longbows. No one saw them, but one man could swear he heard something. Yet, he wasn't surprised.
Isoroku Yamamoto, an aging man from a samurai family, could only salute and give a soft smile as Japan's brave and oh so young men went off to start a war. A war that would either lead to Japan's safety and prosperity, or a crippling defeat to leave the rice fields of home without anyone to work them, the children as orphans, and his girls dead. He loved his ships, the pride of his country. Like his predecessor, Admiral Togo, he felt something connecting them. It wasn't until recently that he understood the older man's final words, years ago in 1923, just after the Washington Naval Conference.
"Isoroku-kun, trust your ships and crews. Trust them, care for them, and they will do the rest."
He had not understood, but he smiled and bowed as his hero laid on his tatami mat. He had business to attend to at the naval base. "Something about an overabundance of Tea and English muffins on Kongo." The young officer was left to his thoughts as he left the Togo household.
Shaking himself from his musings, he went back in the bridge and beginning the next step in his game of Shogi. A game of death, involving so many young men….
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Between Hawaii and Midway
USS Enterprise
….
"CV-6 is to deliver VMF-216 to the island base at Midway. We feel that the Japs are planning something, and we need to be prepared. Rumor has it that negotiations are stalling. This order comes from the very top, FDR himself."
The words played over in the girl's mind. The aircraft carrier had completed that mission, of course. Now the 'Big E' was enroute back to the Hawaiian Islands at a steady pace of twenty-one knots, no faster than a standard battleship.
Her minds drifted to her friends back at the base. Ari, with her red hair, smattering of freckles, hilariously short frame, and her occasionally extreme levels of Prude. Yes, capitalized.
Still, the words from earlier crept back into her mind. She had been distinctly trying to avoid thinking about ghosts on the ship. A part of her mind shuddered; perhaps reading those ghost stories was a mistake. The other half, the realistic side, rolled its figurative eyes and muttered something about too many horror novels. And no, she did not have dual personality disorders, thank you for asking.
"E. E, please…..CV-6, listen to me!" Barked another voice from her head…wait, no. That's not right. It was the same voice from earlier. And, she was not going crazy!
Making sure that nobody on the crew was around (or perhaps hoping someone was, just to, you know, make sure she wasn't hearing voices), she tentatively said to the wind, "First earlier, now this... Who are you? Is this some hallucination? I haven't been at sea that long, after all."
"No, E. You may be hearing disembodied voices, but you aren't going crazy. You need to hurry, now. Pearl needs you. I don't have time to explain, but take everyone you can and Get. To. Pearl. I won't make it in time, and I won't be here much longer…." The voice trailed off.
"What is going on?! What do you mean, I have to hurry? Was someone attacked?" The blonde desperately said into the wind.
The voice came again, only much, much more quietly, with only two words. "Kido Butai."
Wasn't that….Japanese? Quickly searching through her memories (and therefore those of the crew) she mentally watched newsreels of her Japanese rival, Zuikaku. They hadn't met, but she'd heard stories….
"E, it's too late for me."
Before the blond could shout back in frustration, final words, subdued whispers, reached her ears. The voice was barely audible this time.
"I failed, Enterprise. I'm so, so sorry."
…..
At the same time, CPT George D. Murray shook his head. He swore he had been hearing girls' voices in the whisper of the winds, but there were no girls here, out in the middle of Pacific waters between Pearl and Midway.
For some reason, he kept hearing words, mere whispers. He could hear them, but barely discern their meaning, but they felt along the line of 'Hurry. Go help them. Move!'
"Helmsman," he ordered. "How long until we get to Pearl?"
It was his chief engineer, Henry Dolcrom, who replied with "With the currents and our course, 4 hours sir."
"Let's pick up the pace at 29 knots." While this wouldn't hurt the engines, it would possibly decrease Big E's engine life. After all, 'cruising speeds' existed for a reason. Of course, Dolcrom knew his captain better. Murray had been his upperclassman at the Naval Academy, and they had been friends ever since. If he needed to go faster, Dolcrom could give faster.
"29 knots, aye sir."
"Navigator, what currents can we sail to maximize return speed? I have a bad feeling, and perhaps the crew could use some leave for the rest of the day." As the navigator replied and changed the heading ever so slightly, the Captain shook his head. Perhaps he was getting too old for this….
USS Ward
Patrolling 25 miles outside of Pearl Harbor
She was overcome by the thrill of the hunt. She had been told of the stories of her sisters, as the convoys of the Great War had been under threat from German Untersee Boots. The term used as the German Wolf packs were chased down and destroyed by a vengeful American navy.
Ward had just been laid down by the end of the Great War, but the crew certainly knew enough to fight submarines. 'And oh yes, hunting was aptly used to describe this elation,' she thought as the Destroyer made another sharp turn to throw off any incoming torpedoes.
The enemy submarines had not been identified, but boy they were small. Perhaps only a few people each. She had heard that the Brits, bless their tea and crumpets, had such midget submarines in development. Designed to launch from a mother ship and infiltrate bases. She shuddered at the thought of being victim to such surprise.
But a victim was not USS Ward, not today. Already one midget sub sunk, and another on its way.
*Fwoom*….*Kersplash*…
"Gun number 3, firing!" came the cry to the bridge. The brown haired girl leaned forward, eyes glinting as she watched the shell arc though the air.
*Kathunk*
"It's a hit! We got 'em!" shouted the crew.
Now, let's see who else wants some? She grinned a predatory smile. If one were paying attention to the teenager, sharp teeth could be seen, but of course nobody was looking.
From the crow's nest, the report came. "They are going to beach themselves!"
"Hard to starboard, make a loop and make sure we are alone before we get a close look. Send word via telegram to base that we have found and fired upon two midget submarines. Discovering identities now."
Who would be dumb enough to send submarines into the greatest naval base on this half of the Pacific?
Kido Butai
IJN Ryuujo
300 miles NW from Pearl Harbor
Fleet carrier Kaga was Elegant. While she was laid down a battleship, and only converted as a carrier later, the air about her was just Elegant, capitalized. Her pilots had trained to exhaustion, flying planes that could dance circles around their contemporaries, and they had a most pure determination in the Imperial Japanese Navy. She was the best on hand, after all. Certainly so that when she started sneezing, nobody dared question her status, at least not out loud.
The young Japanese woman standing on the deck of the next carrier over stared. Perhaps she hadn't heard right. No, there is no way Kaga could have sneezed….she was 'Elegant', after all. Not, of course, that Zuikaku wouldn't try to call her out on it. There was always something going on between those two. Honestly, the unresolved tension was usually palpable.
"Certainly not becoming of the two greatest fleet carriers in the Imperial Japanese navy! Ryuujo thought. Oh well. I just hope things work out, with this huge attack…."
CV-6, USS Enterprise
235 hundred miles from Hawaii
…...
The helmsman didn't know what to tell Captain Murray. He honestly found it hard to believe himself. After quietly sending frantic messages to the engineers throughout the ship, the reports had come back negative.
The ship is in its best possible condition. Its steering gear is fine, the hull has no distortions, the engine is working much more smoothly than possible…..It's almost like Big E wants us to hurry. But that doesn't explain why we are heading slightly north of Pearl…
Unbeknownst to the poor helmsman, the blonde girl was indeed urging the ship to move faster in the water. Why she was naturally changing course northward, she had absolutely no idea. She didn't want to think about what had just happened, but now she was overcome with a certain sense of dread.
E had whispered into the ear of her captain to go faster. But if there was some sort of hostile nearby, she should do more. Leaning down to her commander's ear, she whispered.
"CAP."
If an enemy were to attack, Enterprise would be best off increasing its Combat Air Patrols, sending them farther ahead to find anything amiss. She didn't know who, though. The US had good relations with everyone, including Germany and Japan!
Well….Perhaps not that last one…huh.
She watched as the Wildcat fighters and TBF Devastators rolled down the deck of the floating city.
Now, all I can do is wait, she thought as her boys set to the air. This had better be nothing.
Inside Pearl Harbor
Battleship Row
USS Arizona. One of the great dreadnoughts of the US Navy. Armed with twelve 14" naval rifles, and covered with enough armor to take anything an enemy threw at her. She was the pride of the US Pacific Fleet, created to stave off the terrible war's repeat that sparked her creation.
The young lady aboard her stood at attention. Straighter than a flagpole, her long red hair hanging tightly in a single ponytail, she was the epitome of Discipline. Yes, dear reader. Another capitalized adjective. An M1903 rifle slung perfectly across her back, boots polished to shine like a mirror. Yes indeed, Ari was proud of who she was, what she represented. Not to mention, her Hat. Proudly displaying her awards on her knee length navy blue jacket; she saluted from her position atop the number two turret as the flag went up the forward flagpole of the Super Dreadnought. She gave a sigh, ever so quietly, of contention.
It was the dawn of yet another fine day in the US Navy. She graced the crew with a smile, lips barely twitching. However, unlike with all the other ladies in the fleet, she was actually noticed by the crew. They saluted and waved, cheerful yet disciplined. She fought the urge to wave back; she wasn't some schoolgirl, after all. She was a Battleship, steady and graceful and…..what?
That is rather odd. Why would that plane fly so low? Granted, it's a weekend, and most people are on leave, so it might be known as acceptable for a hotshot to have fun once in a while, but that was….urgh.
She fought the urge to shout, the Prudeness reaching the edges of her visage.
No, it must be those Army children. Leave it to the army to goof arou….Wait….Those are….
She startled from her deep thoughts. For some reason, her heart was beating at a rapid pace. Who was heating up her boilers? And why were there more planes flying so low? She would have to give a very stern verbal beating.
She glanced around her. Aside from those miscreant aircraft, Battleship row was peaceful. To the old repair ship next to her, Ari spoke, "Hey, Vestal. What's going on? The aircraft from Hickam and Wheeler aren't supposed to have drills this morning!"
Before the motherly women with black hair flecked with salt grey could respond, splashes were heard.
That was when her little sister, West Virginia, screamed.
Officially, CA-38, USS San Francisco, was awaiting dry dock to receive repairs and refits. It was a decision brought on by the hissy fights between factions of the Navy, arguing over stuff like Anti-Aircraft cruisers and whatnot.
Unofficially, she wanted them all to eat a Mark 14 torpedo. This was embarrassing! Many of her 5 inch secondary guns were removed, to be replaced with new 28mm AA guns. But until then, she was missing half her armament!
Frisco felt naked and weaponless, she wasn't in the water, and her skirt was still fouled with barnacles!
At least my crew is mostly gone; for them to see me like this… she shuddered. St. Louis -Lou, the girl insisted- was being the kind sister and pointedly avoided looking at the embarrassing display.
Between the two sat New Orleans, who did not look happy. Not, of course, that it was a new thing. She was the name ship of the class after all.
The current object of her frustration was probably the low buzzing planes. Wait, what?
"Lou, wasn't there supposed to be a flight of B-17s coming in?"
Looking up from her cookbook- "Soul food for Dummies", Frisco noted- St. Louis replied cheerily, "Yeah, why would you care about that, though? I mean, like, you hate aircraft."
''Well, she's right about that," New Orleans snorted. She shouldn't have gotten involved in those debates between the aircraft enthusiasts and battle ship cronies. It's because of those debates that she was stripped of armament in the first place! Not, of course, that the older sister said it out loud. No, she just snorted instead.
Worry in her voice, Frisco spoke. "I ask because of that." Looking up, Lou traced a line from where her sister was pointing. Promptly, her jaw dropped, body frozen in place- not that she would have moved elsewhere; they were in mooring, after all.
That was when they all heard the shrill cry, rending the air with pain. The pain that can only come in the form of an aerial bomb. West Virginia, of the Colorado class, fell to her knees, and the Heavy Cruisers could only watch in stunned silence, as more B5N Kates closed in on the helpless Battleship row.
Somewhere, a siren sounded, and the whole world erupted into flames.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Part Two
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
USS Enterprise
220 Miles from Pearl Harbor
…..
"Naval station Pearl harbor, come in. Over."
Only static graced the ears of the Bridge crew aboard USS Enterprise. The men were at great discomfort now, for when the Captain was unhappy, something was very, very wrong.
"Is there a problem with our radio?" Captain Murray asked. "Or do you think there's a problem on their end?"
"Sir, its Sunday morning. Perhaps there's just no one on station?"
Shaking his head, Murray replied, "With the Japanese acting up, that better not be true. Whoever should be there is going to be charged as negligent!" Besides, that didn't account for the multiple radio frequencies they had tried. How could it be that no one in Pearl had a high power radio turned on?
The blond woman was just as frustrated. None of her sisters would answer her own messages, and her planes were returning negative on anything unusual. "Just another patch of empty, empty, ocean," One of her pilots reported. "We did happen to spot Tambor class submarine, but those are friendly."
She knew something was out there, but nothing made sense, and she didn't know what to do. She had already whispered into her Captain's ear to hurry. Perhaps she should send out even more planes?
As if responding to the invisible woman's musings, Captain Murry barked out the orders. "Flank speed! Get us there ASAP. Send out more TBDs, and try to contact Midway Air station. Get them to send some PBYs eastward. If they protest, tell Commander Cyril T. Simard that I'm asking as a personal favor. He was on Langley, so he has good judgement."
E smiled, thinking of Simard. He was a funny man, who had worked with the girl's mother, Langley. After all, many of the Americans who worked on the first USN aircraft carrier knew the importance of aircraft. The fact that he had praised her fine American workmanship- complements of Newport News Shipbuilding- was just a plus.
But now was not the time for that, her head perking up from a scene. One of her scout planes, not far from Pearl Harbor, circling around to what appeared to be…..oh no.
280 miles northwest of Pearl
100 miles north of TF8
Kidou Butai
Zuikaku was rather upset. She couldn't place it on any particular reason. On one hand, Kaga was acting all 'cool and aloof' again. Never mind that she wasn't even a purpose built carrier!
On the other, she was feeling prickly sensations down the back of her neck. Was she being watched? Glancing around (discretely, of course. She didn't want to appear fidgety, even though they all knew something was strange. It was probably just the fact that they were attacking one of the most heavily fortified bases on this half of the Pacific), she noted the smattering rain storms. 'Nothing new in the tropical waters,' she thought. But what was that feeling?!
If someone was peeping on them, they were in a world of hurt. If it wasn't from the carrier fleet (whose planes were mostly gone, on their way to Pearl Harbor), it would be a submarine.
But just then, the carrier at the head of the strike force, Akagi, gave a quiet cheer of joy. Turning around, she repeated three simple words to the fleet.
"Tora, Tora, Tora!'"
Zuikaku knew what that meant. Total surprise, the attack will resume.
She ignored the feeling, relaxing as she focused on returning her strike safely. But why did she feel like she was being watched?
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Pacific Ocean…50 miles away from '?'
….
Silence. Peace. The sensation of floating.
The slightly tanned child was floating just below the surface. A sleek, navy blue swim suit was all she wore to protect herself from the harsh elements, but she wasn't bothered. No, they were good waters today.
Behind her was the mast of a submarine, with a hull not unlike a butchers' carving knife, long and sleek. The girl just wanted to stay there forever, listening to the quite clamor within the hull of her sea men.
But reality had to resume, and the submarine had routes to patrol. Plus, she started sneezing uncontrollably.
Why would that be? Her gas engine was fairly new, not prone to fits yet.
Opening her eyes, she started kicking through the water, her strawberry blond hair stuffed in a woolen swimming cap. She gripped the conning tower tightly as the vessel began to creep to the surface, just close enough to stick it's periscope up. Closing her eyes, she focused as her crew scanned the horizon.
She regretted the action instantly, and opened them again. Crash diving and shifting her position to attain maximum stealth, she dived deep.
That can't be right. I'm just imagining things again. I've been out to sea for a while now! S-28 warned me against that. The girl's thoughts wandered, contemplating the older submarine and her air headed tendencies.
No, I can't keep distracting myself. Hallucination or not, I need to make sure nothing's there. But why would there be a battle fleet of that size?!
Kicking up to the surface, USS Triton began the hunt.
Kido Butai
275 Miles from Pearl Harbor
IJN Akagi
If Kaga were to be described in one word, it would be Disciplined, or Cool (as the Americans would slang. Not that temperature makes sense in this regard, but it is America). But her sister, Akagi, would be something else entirely. While Kaga can be prickly at times, one could always work with Akagi.
Serenity. Yes, that's the word. Akagi was the picture of Grace and Serenity. The way she moved in the water, her sweet yet firm voice, and her perfect technique when launching and guiding her dear pilots from her wooden decks.
Closing her eyes, Akagi saw flashes of scenes before her eyes. Almost like a dream, she mused. Contrary to the scenes of death and destruction, the flames leaping across the oil slicked waters, burning the nameless sailors as they pathetically jumped overboard, she felt peace. After all, she was the leader of the Kido Butai, Japan's pride and the greatest carrier fleet to grace the oceans.
She didn't flinch as her dive bombers screeched down like the birds of prey they were, the cries of girls sitting in their moorings as they burned. She felt nothing as her A6M 'Zeros' strafed the airfields of American aircraft, parked wingtip to wingtip. She certainly felt nothing as she loosed her torpedoes at the foolish Super Dreadnoughts and aging battleships alike. Yet, when her pilots line up on one of the Super Battleships, she hesitated.
That hesitation cost her a kill, and it seemed the dive bombers had barely missed, hitting the water all around. Cursing silently, she refocused her mind, once again sharper than a katana.
Next to her, Kaga took the time to give a glance of concern to her sister. "What is it, Akagi? We can't waste the limited payloads we have, or Admiral will be upset."
Shaking her head, Akagi replied that she was fine, just a small lapse in attention. Fortunately, Kaga's attention was already turning elsewhere.
"Soryuu! Hiryuu! Why did you target that decrepit training battleship?! Find the Carriers, not useless hunks of metal."
Cringing in fear, Soryuu squeaked, "I'm sorry, it looked like a carrier because the turrets are gone! That's where their CVs were supposed to be." Hiryuu pouted, agreeing with her sister.
But Akagi had stopped listening, searching for the American carriers herself. The younger twins were right though. In the usual moorings of the USN CVs was a toothless battleship, Utah.
No matter, she thought. 'We must keep searching, before all our aircraft return. We can get that battleship that I missed, but during the second or third wave.'
10 Miles from Pearl Harbor…
USS Ward
USS Ward was struggling. Built two decades ago, her engines were a bit long in the teeth, barely able to make 29 knots. She looked young, but her days of going flank speed were over, and she was just realizing it.
Let it be fast enough, the brown haired teenager thought.
The crew was shouting in dismay and panic. "WHY THE HECK IS THERE SO MUCH SMOKE FROM PEARL?!" shouted the lookout. He was only 18 years old, a devout Christian out of high school. While each member of the crew had their own quirk, he was often teased for not swearing like a sailor.
He wished he could curse now, though. They saw the aircraft flying in and out. No way were those B-17s, P-40s or even P-26 Peashooters.
…..
"Engine room, sir. They say the boilers are pushing their limits. We have 20 minutes at this pace, no more." That was Ensign Jensen, Virginia boy in charge of the ship's intercoms.
"Understood," came the already tired reply of the Wickes destroyer's CO. "Sound General Quarters. Prepare any damage control equipment we can find. I imagine that smoke is coming from our ships. And find out what's going on with radio!"
Ammunition was brought from below decks to the waiting gun crews, for the 4" naval rifles and Hotchkiss machine guns alike. Damage Control Men rushed to tighten bulkheads, manning fire hoses. The Medical bay prepared to receive unwilling guests, and the Engine crew shuddered in horror at the strain the old gal's engines were showing.
The 'young' gal herself was panting, lying down on the poop deck, as if she had just sprinted a marathon. And in a way, she has; but there was more work to do.
I pray we are not too late, the girl/ship thought. Those planes are already leaving…and here I was thinking I would get leave for sinking some submarines…
Part Three
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Hickam Army Air Base, Pearl Harbor
Napoleon once said that "An Army marches on its stomach". While this was true for the rest of the United States Army, a certain exception was occurring. For the men of Hickam Army Air Base, this was the case; "An Army flies on its stomach."
Thus, when Corporal McKenrick was given yet another new recruit to babysit, the mess was the first place to go. "Welcome, Private, to Hotel Hickam. The greatest piece of Army hospitality awaits you!" Internally, he winced and snickered at the same time. Sninced? Wickered? How would that work, anyways….?
As the Universe always seems to ensure, he was quite rudely interrupted from his internal musings. He glared down at the offender, intending to give it the smoking of a lifetime. Sergeant Jones would be proud with my prepared rants. He practiced in the mirror every morning, after all.
Outside of the Corporal's private world- heheheh- the newly minted Private (E-1) glanced nervously at the Corporal, who seemed lost in thought. Perhaps if they hadn't stopped walking it wouldn't be such a problem, but he was hungry after the long ocean trip from San Francisco. With a polite cough, the foolish young Private attempted to regain the attention of his guide.
"Ah, where was I? Ohh, yes, the Hotel Hickam. Built fairly recently for over 1 million dollars, it houses thousands of us Army boys. You hungry?" Without waiting for a reply from the rather shell-shocked Private, he led the way into the main Barracks.
Three floors of noise, smell and men greeted the fresh mea- *ahem* the Private. Even at the early hours, the Army was out in force, prepping for a long day of Sunday leave. On the right side of the hallway, a Staff Sergeant was using his Absolute (Yes, yet another capitalized adjective, don't interrupt) Authority to motivate the cleaning crew that had been voluntold.
One who wishes to remain alive and relatively sane would best avoid the ire of a Staff Sergeant.
Amazingly, -or not so amazingly- McKenrick seemingly danced around the freshly loosed mops and brooms of the cleaning crew. The Private was not so lucky, barely missing the end of a broom and just barely dodging the bucket, apologizing all the way.
"Keep up Newbie. Let's get to the Mess. Don't think I didn't hear your stomach rumbling earlier!" the Corporal shouted over his shoulder. "Down the Hallway to the right, is the lower Officer's offices. To your left, the Civie offices. The second floor has the Enlisted Quarters, I'll show you the way after we get some chow. If the papers are right, you will be working as a mechanic's assistant on the aircraft. The Hangers for the B-17s will be on the far side of this building….you with me?"
Of course not, he's a new guy. Heck, I remember when I first came here in '39. Ah, he'll get used to it. He ignored the new recruits stutters, patting the poor fodder on the back as he pointed.
"Right ahead of us is the Mess hall, in the central right wing. Usually the cooks have something edible cooked up on the weekends, but…" Leaning in closer, he said in a lower voice, "…because of the expenses the Army pays for its mess buildings, the food quality is something nasty. Don't repeat this anywhere, but the Navy brats over there can afford better food since they eat on the ships."
Finally catching up, the Private nodded, catching on to the brevity of that statement. He had, of course, heard of the rivalry between the Army and the Navy. Really, he didn't care either way, but that was never to be said out loud. He learned the hard way in boot camp, after all.
Shuddering, he pushed his thoughts aside. They had finally arrived at the Mess Hall of 'Hickam Hotel'.
The crazy Corporal is at it again, he thought. Just gotta lay low for now, and stay out of trouble.
A long Sunday would indeed occur, if not for the right reasons…
200 miles west…
Task Force 8
USS Salt Lake City
…...
"Naval Station Honolulu, this is USS Enterprise. Please, for SECNAVs sake, please respond!" came the desperate call over the radio. "Task force 8 is making full speed to Pearl harbor….. What in the blazes is happening?!"
The copper haired woman grimaced at the lack of radio etiquette. While Big E's radiomen weren't exactly broadcasting over an open channel- which would completely reveal Task Force 8's location, not the best idea under an attack- they weren't holding back on the attempts at comms.
'Not that I blame them; E is probably panicking by now.'
The Task Force was steaming at 30 knots now, on the verge of a full sprint. Fortunately, the Pensacola class Cruiser was capable of keeping up. The same couldn't be said for USS Percival, the old 4 stacker Clemson. The short girl was gasping for breath, and clutching her side.
'This won't do; she'll give out if she's not careful.'
Perhaps her captain could request permission to drop back with the slower ships of the fleet. While a few Clemson destroyers would be fine on their own, having Salt Lake City's guns wouldn't hurt if ambushed.
Simultaneously, the Commanding Officer of said copper hair Cruiser, Captain Ellis M. Zacharias, mused the same things out loud. "Send a message to the Enterprise; 'Requesting permission to hang back, sir. The older gals of this fleet won't be in any fighting condition at this rate, and we can provide adequate protection.'"
They waited, with a silence that was palpable, thick in the air. Finally, "I'm afraid we can't afford to do that, Zach. If there is something going on at Pearl, we need every gun we can get. Your ship is one of our only three heavy surface ships. The stragglers will have to make land at their own pace."
"…Understood, Sir. Have we tried Telegram yet?"
A sigh, and then the reply, came over the radio, with only a shred of the wry wit that normally graced Big E's CO. "Yes, we've tried that. Not even our TBD's and their radios have gotten through, and they are barely more than 50 miles from Pearl. Sit tight, Salt Lake City."
With the obvious dismissal, Captain Zacharias nearly swore, and slammed the radio receiver down. At the same time, USS Salt Lake City kicked the base of her crow's nest.
Wait, I…kicked myself? But am I really the same as my hull? I can feel the water rushing by, but I can also breathe, and feel pain. Which I will not kick myself again. I hurt!
Kido Butai
IJN Shokaku
75 miles north of Task Force 8
275 Miles Northwest of Pearl Harbor
…...
In. Out. In, out, in, and hold it. Breathe.
Yes, that's it, feel the grace and power, and add it to the motions. Carrier Shokaku, one of the most beautiful carriers in the Kido Butai- and the world, at that- waited for the commands to launch her second strike. Her deck was filled with torpedo and Dive Bombers, the A6M Zeroes already in the air, and she was ready to go. She glanced over at Akagi, flagship of the Kido Butai, and allowed a slight smile to reach her face.
The first strike had been a success, with the complete surprise over the Americans. She felt nothing of it; she had no sympathy for the screaming sailors in the capsizing hulls of USS California, of the young men futilely setting up machine guns on Hickam Field as she strafed the many parked planes. The closest thing to such pointless emotion was a slight lance of worry, for the US Aircraft Carriers had yet to be found.
No matter, there are still more targets that I can hit.
Closing her eyes, she focused on guiding the last of her dive bombers over Hickam field.
Ah, that will do, she thought. Signaling to her wingmen from the other carriers, her pilots began the descent over a large building; Hickam Barracks, according to their intelligence reports.
This could add to the confusion, and hopefully take out yet another link in their chain of command.
Faster and faster the bomber dived, lined up to utterly destroy the large barracks below.
They won't know what hit them, she internally grinned.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Hickam Barracks, 15 minutes before
The new Private had actually done well, getting on the good side of the other soldiers in the mess hall. Perhaps it had to do with the chocolate rations he had broken up for the residents of the mess table.
"Hey Private, I like you so far. The idiotic fella to your right is Private McDonnell, E-3. This here is Sergeant Woodson, but we call him Woody," The man across the table said, on the verge of shouting due to noise levels. "What brings you here to Hickam Hotel?"
"Uh, I'm here to work as a mechanic on the new B-17s being sent here."
At that, 'Woody' grinned, for he finally would have someone else to bully- *ahem* to entrust certain tasks to.
"As for my name, it is-" The Staff Sergeant cut off.
What was that, somebody falling down a set of stairs? How peculiar, he thought. It seemed he wasn't the only one. All around, the boys in the mess hall quieted down.
None had seen any actual war, save for the older officers of Hickam. Unfortunately, this was the enlisted hall, and it wasn't until the windows rattled fiercely that anyone look outside.
"Sonuva..!" "What the…" "Hey, something's going on over the harbor." Various exclamations of shock burst like firecrackers. Standing off to the side, and by the exit, Corporal McKenrick started marching at a brisk pace.
I have to get out there and see what's happening.
More shakes, felt through the ground. Earthquake? Here? That doesn't seem likely, and it might not explain the smoke….smoke?
By now, he and several other men were sprinting outside. What awaited them could only be described as Hell, and the Devil seemed intent on taking his dues.
Planes were everywhere. Columns of smoke were starting to rise into the heavens, as if mini volcanoes were erupting everywhere. And with volcanoes came geysers of heat, seemingly bursting out of the earth.
Most of all, McKenrick took in the sights of the men in front of him being strafed by machine gun fire. An Officer, a Butter bar- 2nd Lieutenant from the uniform patches- shouted and pointed at the Corporal. "We gotta move. Get to those sandbags over there, now!"
Gone was the horror in the young soldier's mind. He had orders, and he was born to follow them. He was told what to do, and he did it. The men not down from the strafing fighters hurriedly followed suit, sprinting towards an Anti-Air emplacement.
"Grab ammo, 40 millimeter flak rounds! You, get back inside and find out what's going on, and get some more officers out here. The rest of you, go get any weapons you can find. Look for BARs and M2s. This is the real deal!"
Reaching the Bofors 40 millimeter auto canon, the men prepared the little ammo they had already gotten, aiming the gun into the air. "C'mon, triple time soldier! Get that ammo loaded, now!"
The anarchy slowly transitioned into barely controlled chaos, with orders given and tasks to carry out. Sparing a glance at the passing planes, Corporal McKenrick paled at what he realized was attacking them. Red meatball? Green paint? Those are Japanese Naval planes!
This means war, and we sure aren't gonna back down from this, he thought. So it begins. God help those who are already down.
-
Pain. It was all she knew. The heat, the intake of water, the screams of men as they burst into ashes. West Virginia screamed. Incoherently, loudly, a high pitch wail of agony bursting out of her. No longer was she the disciplined battleship of the USN. No longer was she asleep and peaceful. No, West Virginia was in hell, and there was nothing she could do about it. Clutching her sides, now bleeding lifeblood and oil into the once beautiful waters of Pearl Harbor, she fell to her knees.
Vaguely, she heard voices all around her. It didn't matter, because she was in pain, burning, sinking, dýi͜ng!҉
Beside her, Tennessee and Oklahoma started shouting. "What is going on?! Why are those planes…who are they….what-"
They both trailed off into shock.
And with that, they too were hit. An armor piercing bomb slammed onto Tennessee's number two turret, seemingly shattering everything in the ships body. Not a few seconds later, another bomb pierced her number three turret, and her vision went up in flames and tears of oil. Now she too was screaming, as debris flew everywhere. The maiden aboard her was only vaguely aware that both her arms were missing. West Virginia, her mooring partner, shuddered as some of the fragments slammed into her superstructure.
Aboard West Virginia's bridge, Mervyn S. Bennion, commanding officer aboard the superdreadnought, silently cried out as shrapnel and glass slit his throat, with the other men going down as well. The stocky brunette standing on the rangefinder deck shuddered, now missing half her face and fell to her knees.
Oklahoma only stood there, dazed as her cousins and sisters went down all around her. So entranced in the morbidly fascinating devastation, she failed to notice the torpedoes dropped into the water. Not that she could have moved anyways. She glanced towards the open waters just as the two torpedoes slammed into her between Main mast and her smoke stack.
Torpedoes, bombs, machineguns….aircraft…..an attack! The of her last incoherent thoughts were swept away as she braced herself for impact. Two torpedoes, running about 20 feet deep….My torpedo bulges can hopefully stop it!
The split second passed by, and not 5 seconds later, the straw haired gal aboard USS Oklahoma felt her sides rupture open. Clutching her gaping wound, she ignored the pain as the torpedo bulges were torn off of the hull. She wanted badly to fall, to give in to her newfound misery. Instead she cried out, proudly, as aircraft guns appeared all over her.
At the same time, some 80 men of her crew began to man AA guns, willing the Japanese naval planes to fall from the sky. And fall some did, as the little ammunition on hand was spent. However, the Armories aboard Oklahoma were locked for the weekend, and she allowed a small amount of panic to set in. Gritting her teeth, she locked the panic down and fought. She lost track of time- this could not have been more than a few minutes, due to the shortage of ammunition. It was a desperate frenzy, with each man fighting their hardest.
She did, even in her dazed state, notice the third torpedo dropped into the water. Argh….nothing…to be..done here. Get…the crew…off!
But it was not to be. The torpedo was once again well places, slamming right in between where the first two hits, and her fuel bunkers ruptured open. Men cried out, and she heard them no more.
Far away, Kaga and Akagi spared each other a glance, signifying their small success in crippling their inferior enemy. Said enemies were now screaming in pain and unable to retaliate against Japan. Sinking battleships, their mightiest weapons, would be the quickest way to shatter the resolve of their enemies; they would despair at the sight.
However, what the Kido Butai did not account for was the fact that these were Americans. They would not back down even in death.
The men aboard Oklahoma scrambled as the decks of the super dreadnought began to list, no longer parallel to the earth.
'Okie' shouted, the woman falling slowly to the deck. She shouted with tears in her eyes for them to hurry, to escape and fight another day. She cringed as her boys were strafed by fighter planes as they attempted to go overboard. She winced, and felt oil, her precious lifeblood, streaming out of her and covering her sailors.
She willed her men to board Maryland, to help fire the AA guns and defend what little must be left of the once proud Battleship Row.
There…is nothing more…..I can do….but help my sisters…
Her last thought was an image, taken of her sibling warships during a drill, each girl smiling with their crew. Then, she plunged into the bliss of unconsciousness.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Part Four: Terror and Resolve
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Pearl Harbor, Battleship Row
…
"Here they come!"
"Those bastards are back! Man the guns!"
"We need more ammunition! Where are the officers?!"
All around Pearl Harbor, men cried out. Anger, desperation, and an air of resignation fell over them as the second wave of the Kido Butai's aircraft swarmed above them. Giving in to their fates, the Americans hardened their resolve; Fight now, grieve later.
What little remained of the Army Air Corps attempted to get off the ground as the flak guns started firing at long range.
It had only been half an hour after the first Japanese planes had left, but that was more than enough to prepare ammunition and begin treatment of the wounded.
The Americans had been caught off guard, the first wave striking with the Rising Sun at their backs. Now, though, it was as if Mother Nature herself was trying to defend the beleaguered soldiers; an overcast had swept in just a few minutes before, meaning the Japanese would struggle to find any target.
However, none of this crossed anyone's mind. For the Kido Butai, destroying the enemy was the only function, the single purpose to exist, in that moment. For the Americans, the only thoughts were of grim resolve as High level Bombers swarmed over the skies.
Like green and white locusts, Arizona thought. Swooping and stripping bare everything I love…
She knew she was in shock. Part of her mind was panicking, urging her to hide, while the rational and dutiful side was screaming for her to fight back.
From the moment she was laid down, her purpose was not to fight wars, but to prevent them. Indeed, rigorous training and exercises aside, she sailed in the hopes that the Great War would never be repeated. In addition, she secretly acknowledged the Passing of the Mantle to the aircraft carriers, like her friend Enterprise. The battleship was no longer the queen of the sea, despite the hefty firepower available. Still powerful, but their time had come.
England, America, Japan….the whole world knew it, even if most of it was begrudging respect for air power. But there was one thing that the Japanese had forgotten.
At the end of the day, she was still a soldier, and more importantly….they dared to hurt her sisters!
Her split second of hesitation was gone, replaced with a cold fury that exceeded even her prudeness around skimpy attire. No, she was a Battleship, and she would be damned if she didn't show it!
Anchors and moorings were cut. Her boilers, which for reasons still unknown to Arizona, were now heating up at record speeds. Now was not the time to think; she had somewhere to be, and it certainly wasn't at the bottom of the Harbor!
"Vestal! Nevada! Are you unharmed?" she barked, voice on par with the deepest of Marine drill sergeants.
Vestal, the ex-collier repair ship mooring right next to her, gazed at Ari with clinical eyes, as if searching into Ari's mind.
"I'm fine, kid. Your older sis got hit, but she seems ready to go."
Upon hearing this, Nevada spared the younger battleship a thumbs up. "Let's rock!"
Normally, Arizona would ponder upon the strange phrases that Nevada came up with, but obviously not this time. "We should get underway. Are your boilers lit?" she inquired.
Nodding, Nevada grinned again, seemingly oblivious to her torpedo wound.
"Nevada, pull ahead first, Vestal, you follow. I will bring up the rear and cover you both. We need to get clear of the Harbor and make for open sea." Beyond that….she would have to think about it when she actually got there.
Aboard Arizona officers barked orders, the enlisted following orders with drilled precision. A surprise attack could break their will, but this was something they could do in their sleep. Ammunition lockers were fully opened, bequeathing the lethal ordinances within. Firemen and DamCons worked to tighten bulkheads. The sick bays prepared their berths, tools laid out for access.
Vestal watched as Arizona steeled herself; there she stood at the Bow of her hull, glaring into the oncoming swarm of aircraft. If looks could kill...
Battleship Arizona, BB-39, burned bright with the righteous fury of an enraged colossus, and the world would know her wrath.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Kido Butai, 250 miles Northwest from Pearl Harbor
Zuikaku let out a surprised grunt- which would have been cute if not for the situation- but quickly refocused.
Her second wave of planes, comprised of 27 torpedo bombers and 17 dive bombers, had finally reached the outskirts of Pearl Harbor. Closing her eyes, she took in the sight, assessing the current state of the Americans. What she saw had surprised her.
She, and the other Japanese Fleet carriers, knew that the second wave would meet quite a bit more resistance. So far, there were hardly any American planes in the air; no, those were taken care of from the start, being foolishly parked by the wingtips across their tarmacs.
No, the shocking sight was that of American battleships moving. Her first wave wasn't responsible for the battleships, but there was no way the others would miss so badly that there were seaworthy warships.
However, that's why she was charged with bombing opportune targets, like California and Maryland.
The initial first wave was devastating. She knew that. According to the planners behind the complex operation, there shouldn't be any moving battleships. They had sent dozens of torpedo planes, spread evenly among Battleship Row, and complete surprise ensured that no warships had time to heat their boilers. So how were there two Battleships and a support vessel pulling away?
To make things worse, the harbor was now obscured with a hazy overcast, with only the raging fires and columns of smoke easily visible.
Other than that, the attack seemed to be shaping out quite nicely. An entire Air Force of planes was slaughtered while earthbound, and they were in disarray. Well, aside from some AA batteries by the new barracks….
Searching her memories and intel reports, the large structure was the Hickam Army barracks. Smoke was already rising from the area, her sisters had done their job of demolishing the hangars nearby.
So what happens if I use my 17 bombers to destroy that central structure?
Likely, whatever resistance they have pulled together is commanded from it. So why not...disrupt...their chain of command?
Her fighters swooped in, strafing at high speeds and low altitudes. This served two purposes. One, draw the increasingly frustrating AA fire away from her bombers, and two, chase down the pitiful planes the Americans somehow got into the air.
Are those B-17s? No matter.
As her planes forced the lumbering bombers into a crash landing, she spotted yet another threat.
Her eyes opened, confident forwarding a message to Akagi, the current flagship. "Switching targets; large military barracks. Moderate resistance."
The beauty standing aboard the deck of Akagi nodded ever so slightly, also busy with controlling her attacks. "Ikkō-sen (First Carrier Div) acknowledges. Commence bombing."
Zuikaku huffed, blowing evergreen hair out of her eyes as she focused.
Target sighted. Begin dive. Weapons release in 10 seconds. 5 seconds. 3, 2, 1, NOW!
There was no time to admire the fireworks; repressing the urge to shout 'Tamaya!', she focused on maneuvering out of the AA fire.
She had some poor battleships to sink, and she wouldn't be outdone by Kaga-baka.
Above the airfields, her bombers finally pulled out of their gut-wrenching dive, allowing her to see the results of her marksmanship. What she saw...no, what she felt, was intense heat.
"CarDiv 5, bomb run successful," she signaled to the others. Not, of course, that their human crews would find out until later. The legends told of Mikasa appearing to Admiral Tojo, amidst the fires of Tsushima, the duo working side-by-side to coordinate their efforts. For now, the ship's spirits could only communicate with each other.
But that was ages ago, and what are the chances of a man bonding with their ship like that ever again? Hmph, it's impossible, just wishful thinking. There's no way a ship can speak to a human, right?
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
250 miles east
Pearl Harbor, Hickam Field
…..
"Sir, we are low on shells!"
"Change the barrel, quick!"
Get down, Private! Bandits are strafing us!"
Everywhere, planes buzzed by. A6M Zeros flew overhead, men falling to the ground like marionettes with cut strings. All round the 40mm Bofors guns were sandbags, strewn haphazardly; the Americans were taking cover with anything available.
McKenrick and a nameless Lance Corporal worked together on the Bofors, changing barrels as fast as possible. This was an older model, prone to warping after about 300 rounds, and in the Pacific, it's air cooling was next to useless. It can still kill planes though.
The soldiers not occupied with the AA gun were busy as well. To the right, a marine was dragging a twitching soldier to the side, screaming and gushing from his thigh. An artery wound, McKenrick saw as he spared a split second to look.
'Extremely lethal; if not stopped within a few minutes, zero chance for survival'. Funny, he joined the Army to get away from hospital work, yet here he was wanting to help.
Others used small arms, from M1911 handguns to BARs and Thompson submachine guns.
"Barrel changed!"
"Keep firing boys! Don't let up. Where is that blasted ammunition?!" Shouted an officer. 'Probably the battery officer'. "Fighters inbound, fast and low! Focus those fighters."
McKenrick and the Lance Corporal complied, cranking as fast as humanly possible to adjust the weapon.
*KA-FWOOM FWOOM FWOOM FWOOM FWOOOOM!*
By now, even the men with ear protection were going deaf. But no one really cared. Everyone was terrified, angry, nauseous, and just a bit bloodthirsty. Most importantly, they were soldiers doing what they did best.
The adrenaline was coursing through McKenrick and the others. A minute, 10 minutes, an hour, it made no difference. Suddenly, there were no more fighters.
"BOMBERS! UP TH-" The battery officer cut off as 'Hickam Hotel" erupted in flames and debris.
::::::::::::::::
Part Five
Kido Butai, 300 miles from Pearl Harbor
"1st CarDiv, this is 5th CarDiv reporting. CAP is low on fuel, and Bombers should be coming in soon. Requesting priority objective, over."
It had been a long, torturous morning. The men aboard the ships of The Striking Force were anxious, the commanding officer included.
Were the Americans defeated? Did they have reinforcements? Were they crippled, or could they expect a retaliatory air strike this very hour?
If so, that would be very bad, mused Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto. Despite his best efforts, the Combat Air Patrol was low on fuel, and the timing was very bad indeed. Either his strike planes stay in the air longer, without sufficient fighter support, or have the risk of his fighter planes ditching. If he didn't rearm and refuel his bombers though, he would possibly lose his chance at a third strike
Planes can be replaced, but not the pilots. Even then, our limited industrial capacity is the very reason we started this battle, and we can never hope to match the Americans for it. Thus, his plan to take the Americans down before they have a chance to shift industrial gears, losing moral from the start.
They should have gotten the telegrams of our ceased diplomatic relations, and if our intelligence was right, their carriers should be dead and their fighting capacity crippled.
It was these last two points that worried his aging face, the salty winds of the sea fresh against his nearly bald scalp. He stood aboard the bridge of Akagi, flagship of the Kido Butai. In the distance, rumbling planes could be heard, as if growling for the shelter and resupply offered by the carriers.
Behind him, a rustle of cloth. No doubt an aide or lower officer giving a salute. Turning around, he returned the salute to Captain Kiichi Hasegawa, commanding officer of Akagi.
"Teitoku-dono, a report from our scout planes. No sight of the American Carriers. This has also been reported by our attack squadrons returning from Pearl Harbor. If it pleases you, I can have the lead pilots give their reports on what they have seen."
"No need, I can gather enough from the situation. Correct me if I'm wrong, but while we have not found their carriers, we have crippled their land-based aircraft? They are the largest threat, at least during our vulnerability of rearming. What was the encountered level of air resistance?"
In the end, it was a squadron of long range, land-based B-17s, a handful of P26s, P-40s, and most importantly, four carrier launched SBDs – of which were shot down by American AA fire amidst the confusion of the attack. Shameful, but understandable. Everything else was destroyed on the ground, the planes lined in rows just as Intelligence said.
Now, what will happen next? Tactically, his attack was hugely successful, given these early reports, but a critical situation was just waiting to happen. Where were the carriers?! Like birds being indicators of land, those four SBDs were evidence that an American carrier was near.
Coming to a decision, he snapped to his adjutants and officers of the bridge.
"Prepare the third strike, and get the fighters prepared afterward. Time is of the essence, gentlemen. The Americans are flat-footed, and we must not waste this gift from the Gods. Relay that to the fleet, please, but maintain radio silence. That is all."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Pearl Harbor, Battleship row(?)
…..
West Virginia was confused. And in pain, yes, but mostly confused.
She heard voices, loud and too fast to comprehend, jabbering incoherently. Just stop talking, let me sleep. Why was she tired? Why did her head hurt so much?
Sighing, she mentally prepared herself to glare at the source of noise….-was that sobbing?- but she just couldn't do it. Strange. Perhaps it would get better if she just slept, after all, she had just been dive bombed. Would she be able to sleep that off?
Bombed? What? No, that's not possible. She was resting at Pearl Harbor, the strongest Naval Base in the hemisphere! Nobody would be dumb enough to….to…..
The voices had stopped, muffled. Like she was underwater, or had cotton stuffed into her ears.
Splashing. Groaning metal, like razors across an angry USS Utah's chalkboard. She shuddered, finally opening her eyes to glare at the perpetrator, only to see…..
Nothing. She saw nothing. Why was it so dark? But…no, there was a hint of light. Huh, so this is what it's like to be underwater. How do submarines deal with this darkness?
Far off into the distance, crimson lights danced through the oily surface. Beautiful, but also menacing at the same time.
She stretched forth her hands, as if hoping to grab the light, but she was so tired. Why not rest?
N̪̝o̻t̠͙̰͈̪̝̮h͕̲͙͉͓i̩͓̗̤̲̗̻n͎g̭̥͔͎͍̯̙ ̯c̭a̭n̩͉ͅ b̖̤͙o̦̣͉̩͎th̯̫̗͓̦̳̥e̟̘̲̱͎r͇ ̯̰̩̻̬͚y͉͔̱o̖̘̘u̖͉̜ ̺̺͎͖̳̦n͖͖̩̟̺̮o̻͇̭̰̞w,͉̝͓̘̻̮̗ ̘̝̰͈̖̲j̝̳u̼s̥̞t̰̭͙ ̮̺̥r̝e̻l͕̖̫͓͎̮a̱x̘̗̩.̥̪̣̖ͅ ̖͕̭̲S͈̞̭͍l͙̫e̹̮̜e̪̲͖͖̪͖p̞͈̘̠̩̖.̖͇͔̲̹ S͔̱̦͕̰le͇̭̜e̤̪͇̲ͅp̳̳̟͖ͅ.̗͙̖̮ ͓͚͇̪͇ͅS̟̤̰͖͚͇l͉e̲̪̯̭̮ͅe̞̼p̩̻͔,̝̳̝ͅ ͎͉̘g͇̘̰o̞̫̜͇̦̭̝ ͈͓̗̯̯t͉̘o̪͕̥͎ ̞̬͉̘̫S̟̼̻l͖̻ͅe̦e̥̫p͚̙͎ͅ.͕̦̥
West Virginia felt something wrong, so very wrong, and deemed to argue; surely she had to perform her duties, like the morning inspection; she had worked all night to open her bulkheads and prepare for it! Arizona would also be playing the National Anthem at this time every morning, right?
Yǫų a͠r̷e ti̴r̨ed.̨ Ar͡izona͟ will s҉ee̶ y͠o͟ú ag͏ain̕ late͏r,̶ ͡I'̀m ͘s̕ure.̷ ͟Y͡o͘u ca͜n͠ se̵e͠ a͜ĺl͠ ̵o͜f yo҉ųr̸ si͠ster̸s̵ s̶oon͢,́ but ̛ŗe͠st ͢f́or͢ n҉o͏w.҉
She wanted to disagree. Badly. And….counterpoint; she shouldn't fall asleep in the water. She could barely even open her eyes, let alone swim to the surface! What…..why was she underwater?
Mentally arguing with the voice in her head just made her more frustrated. Darn it, she has stuff to do! Military discipline was important- not that she would ever match Ari, the epitome of Super Prudenoughts- and no doubt something was going on. Something about planes?
Planes. Noises, splashes, buzzing. Explosions. Bombs! Slowly but surely, her hands began to claw their ways upwards, reaching once more for the light. Behind her, an annoyed sigh came, but she ignored whoever it was.
̵͡I҉͟f̵̵̷ ̧͢͜y͟͝o̴u҉͘ ̨d͏ó͢ ̴͟t́h̨͞is̛҉,̨́ ҉s͝o̢̕͢r̨̡ŕo̸͘w̸̸ ̴á͠nd̢͠ ̸p͜a̕͠͡i̷͜͢n̢ ̧̧͡w̨͝į͞l̢͢l̢ ͠b͟͟e ̢͡͞y͘our o̵͟͢nl҉y̸̛҉ ̢̛t͝r̴u̡̧é̕͞ ̴̵̷c҉͘͜o̢m͟p͜҉͟án̛͝͡y̷.̸... ̛I͝ ̢̕o̕҉͏nl͜y̸̵͘ ̸̡́want͡ ̶͠t̸͞o ̡pr͟o͞t̨́͠è̵c̛͞͡ţ̕ ҉҉ỳ͢͝ơu̵̢,҉ ̷an̶d ̸͝m̛͟ar̵͏k ͘͠m̢y͘͏ ̴wó̡͘r̢͜͟d͏̷s.̢ Yò̵͞ų̴̀.̡ ͠҉̨Wi̕͞l̨l.̕ ̢̡͘R̨͏҉égr̡͢͠e̶͠t̵͠.͢͞ ͢Th̛͟iś͏.
The voice spoke those last words tersely, like a mother warning her child about playing on railroads.
She had to ignore it, push it aside to ponder later. The surface was just at her fingertips... Closer, closer, there!
…..
Her head broke the surface, mouth gasping for air like a grounded fish. What welcomed her was something from a nightmare.
Battleship Row was a pillar of flames and smoke, reaching into the sky like some sickening beast. Her sisters and cousins, some clinging each other, some simply face down. Oh, Okie….Virginia, a-and Tennessee….!
In her head, she heard boys dying, far too loud to block out.
"Get out of the engine room, too much fire! We can't man enough pumps!"
"Aughhhh, m-mommaaaa!"
"Requesting more Oxygen tanks and masks, get to the guys below decks…"
"Man down, get a medic!"
"Focus your fire, Marine. Have at em!"
She too cried out, pain evident in her voice, she tried to crawl to her sisters-in-arms. This time, she truly couldn't move, at all. Focusing, she turned her head, gazing up at her bridge, engulfed in smoke. How did I end up in the water-….oh.
The deck of USS West Virginia was now partially submerged, covering most of the deck. Oil, her precious lifeblood, swirled around her lazily, some of it aflame. Suddenly, shouts of surprise came from behind her.
"A girl! She's alive! She's wounded too, someone get her to safety!"
Rough hands reached from behind her, and another sailor came in front of her. Grabbing her legs, he nodded to the one behind the girl.
"3, 2, 1, lift! Easy, easy now. Let's try and get a boat over here. The sickbay is full." She winced as they heaved her.
"She's bleeding badly, someone grab bandages." This hurts! Ow, owowowowow!
"How is her arm still on? Her sides are bleeding heavily too."
Why won't they just stop it? It hurts too much, just put̢ ̨m̢e ̕dow͘n͏!̛
"Keep an eye on the sky, keep watching for those Japs!"
She barely heard them, voices going past her like chaotic winds. Why did she feel so heavy, like a sponge soaked with too much water and unable to squeeze?
Engines roared in from the water. A patrol boat? "Donny, help them out, that woman is wounded! Grif, stay on that turret!" Vaguely, her blurred vision saw the designation PT-41. Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Three, huh?
I suppose there would be some left here, but weren't they supposed to be in the Philippines? Why do I think about that at times like this? Delirious, probably. I'm going Delirious. Now I can have my own capitalized adjective to describe me, just like Arizona…..
Her eyes closed, mind no longer capable of working. 'Zona….Okie….Tennessee! Don't leave…don't go…Don't leave me al̶o͠ne̡…
"We're losing her! H-hey, miss! Stay with us! Hey….!"
80 miles West of Pearl Harbor, 1200 hours
"****ing H**! Sonuva-"
Chief Engineer Dolcrom winced as his CO, Captain George Murray, swore hard enough to make the most experienced of sailors blush like schoolgirls. Not, of course, that he resented his captain for doing so. He himself was tempted to share his skull's weight with the instrument panels on the Bridge. The Captain's Mood was bad, and the situation worse.
"Sir, we lost contact with our scouts at Pearl. We think they were shot down. No one is reporting in, yet."
"What do we know, then? Surely, with half of our scouts flying around, we can find something?"
"No, sir. Nothing at all. Wait…one of our forward planes reports seeing massive amounts of smoke from Pearl, but says his radio is too cluttered to hear any traffic, sir.
If there were no ships spotted, it must be by air attack. Surely Pearl would have warning if it was by sea, so that's gotta be it. The enemy can't be far.
"Get me LCDR McClusky, have VF-6 take to the air. Four of his Wildcats will supplement our CAP, the other fourteen will head to Pearl. Whoever hit them must pack a serious punch if they can disrupt the entire island. We can't count on friendly air support, so I leave the rest up to him."
Orders given, the crew finally had something to do, to cover the feeling of helplessness.
Atop the highest deck, by the radio vane, the Blond Girl of USS Enterprise stood. Worry, fear, anticipation, and a touch of rage dancing across her face. She tensed as the fighter planes began to prep for takeoff on deck, elevators and crews working fast.
Dozens of yards to port, Salt Lake City was on the verge of tears, copper hair blowing in the wind. Another destroyer, Balch, had dropped back, little legs unable to keep up with the raging boilers of the more significant ships. Salt Lake called to her, commanding the destroyer to rendezvous with USS Percival, who had fallen much farther behind the squadron.
Enterprise felt pity, but shrugged it off. She was the head of the fleet, and she would find the enemy soon, she felt it deep within her. But the way things were going…..
She jerked, giving an embarrassingly feminine shriek, as her SBD was shot down, only 100 miles north. Had the pilot…no, he had obeyed radio silence to the end, not wanting to allow the Japanese trace the communication back to her. And she knew that they were Japanese; her boys had put up a good fight, with the tail gunner nearly shooting one down, but the graceful, lethal turns….yes, Japanese A6M Zeros, among the best naval planes in the world.
This should have chilled her. She should be scared, sad, or angry. Anything but excited. Yet here she was, grinning like a cat backed into a corner by mice. Strike hard, strike fast.
But…..there was just one problem. Her crew, her captain, didn't know. They hadn't felt the bullets tear through her body, the rush of wind as the pilot parachuted out.
Jumping 40 or 50 feet would normally cripple, if not kill, any human being, but she was no human being- at least, she didn't think so. Landing on the flight deck, she sprinted towards the bridge- which was also her head…and what would her engine room be? T-that's not something I want to think about!
She was the spirit of USS Enterprise, one of the three American carriers. She had the best pilots available, the most modern technology, and an amazing crew….a crew that probably wouldn't even hear her voice. Well, she had whispered to her Captain before, she could do it again.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Author's Note: Sorry guys, for the wait. I've got the next content written, but I just couldn't bring myself to publish until I fixed the eyesores from my quickly and poorly made chapters. There's still supposed to be confusion, things happening all at once, etc, but now there is no crappy spelling. I've added some...interesting effects and clarified other things. This would be longer, but I'll end with some thank yous: Fortunate Son, this would not have seen the light of day if you had not reviewed, given me kindly insights and corrections, and most of all, the encouragement. It also gave me ideas on how far I want to take this story.
This story will not necessarily be linear: I'm considering doing more than the Pacific theatre, and probably out of Chronological order. Graf Spee, Bismarck and Hipper, Taffy 3 (duh) and more. This will come as it may, I really don't want to rush/ruin things like I did before this update.
College (West Point) has summer classes starting up, which I need to take as I've missed out on a whole semester and a half. I look forward to it, as I'll get access to the best of Military Historians (IF I can get them past the 'shipgirl' thing, as others can find it...odd to say the least), in addition to a huge library with details you don't find easily. So, this story will be my 'cooldown' from schoolwork.
Okay, now I'm ending it; thank you for reviewing, following/favoriting, and taking the time out of your day to read the work of a mediocre historian. I do see how many of you view this ;)