1942

A B-17 appeared in front of him. Astonishingly large, the bomber was also badly hurt and flying alone. One of its four engines was smoking, and its propellers were stilled. Even so, the three remaining engines kept it on course toward Oahu. The pilot and crew had seen the futility of their efforts and were attempting to flee back to Pearl Harbor.

Fuchida was paired with another Zero, who attacked the tail gun with a quick strafing pass. When this distracted the American gunner, Fuchida swept in and destroyed the gun along with much of the bomber’s tail.

The American plowed on through the air, and Fuchida felt a grudging degree of respect. The bomber was a true warrior, and so were the men who flew it.

Warrior or not, the bomber must die. With the bomber’s rear vulnerable, Fuchida banked and again attacked from behind. Another stream of shells ripped into the remaining right engine and sent pieces of it into the sky as the machinery disintegrated.

That was enough. The bomber banked to its left and began to glide toward the ocean. Fuchida would get a portion of a kill for this one.

As he watched, the surviving crew members bailed out. Fuchida was sadly confident that the overmatched tail gunner was not among them. The plane was his coffin, and he would ride it to his grave.

A couple of his planes signaled that they were going to strafe the men in the parachutes. “No,” Fuchida commanded. “Let them live if they can. They can tell their brothers how good we are.”

The commander checked the skies. There were absolutely no American planes in sight. Had the massacre been that complete? Had none of the Americans escaped? He checked with his commanders and was told that ten of his planes had been shot down and another dozen damaged in the brawl. Since Japanese pilots despised parachutes as cowardly, he’d lost at least ten pilots in the overwhelming victory. He wondered where the replacements would come from.

Now the buildup on Molokai could commence without interruption. He was fairly confident the Americans had little left to throw at them. With absolute control of the skies, the Japanese planes could commence taking the American military facilities on Oahu apart piece by piece.

Fuchida radioed that he was returning to the Akagi, where there would be a conference with Commander Genda and Admiral Nagumo. Tomorrow he would ferry himself to Molokai and launch and command operations against Oahu. They would continue until the Americans were destroyed and Oahu occupied. He felt a moment of pity for the enemy. They were unquestionably brave, but they were so poorly equipped, and, if the last few weeks were any indication, they were terribly led. He hoped it would stay that way. For Japan’s sake, it had to.

“You’ve got to be kidding” was Lieutenant Jamie Priest’s first comment on hearing the orders.

Another of his fellow lieutenants had just informed him that the damaged battleship Pennsylvania would slip out that night and, under the cover of darkness, try to make it to the United States.

Jamie had also been informed that he would accompany her on her escape.

Grudgingly, Jamie acknowledged that it made sense. The Pennsylvania was useless where she was and, as the day’s air raid had proven, would be a prime target for the Japanese planes. She hadn’t been hit in this last attack, but further damage was inevitable if she remained. The battlewagon had to get to a California shipyard, where her two forward turrets could be replaced and her ruptured hull plates repaired.

It also made sense to sneak out at night while the Japanese navy was preoccupied with protecting the landing site on Molokai. When Molokai was secured, the Japanese fleet was certain to take up station outside Pearl Harbor’s narrow entrance and dare any ships to try to escape.

Yes, there was some danger from submarines and other, smaller, warships, but it was a chance that had to be taken. If they stayed where they were, the Jap planes would surely sink the Pennsylvania. If she fled now, there was at least a chance she would make it. It was a lousy choice, but, Jamie thought ruefully, it was the only one they had.

Jamie’s position on the Pennsylvania was undefined. Normally, he would have been directing fire control for one of the destroyed turrets. Instead, he was given a damage control party even though he had little experience at that grim task. The Pennsylvania would depart with only a little more than half of her normal crew and supplies, and her fuel tanks would not be full.

“Perhaps she’ll go faster because she’s lighter,” he heard one of the crew joke.