Robert Conroy: Rising Sun

He had radioed his location and his successes and had received an acknowledgment. His life could now be measured in minutes as American destroyers were converging on him like sharks to blood. He laughed. “Sharks to blood” was a wonderful phrase considering all the American blood he’d spilled today. With each hit, his crew had shouted banzai until they were now hoarse. He could ask for no better companions to die with. Two American carriers were either dead or badly wounded thanks to his efforts and those of the other two subs who had also attacked. Planes from the Japanese carrier force would soon find the wounded carriers and kill the American ships if they hadn’t already sunk by the time they arrived. By that time it would be too late for him.

Depth charges exploded nearby and the sub shook violently. Glass on dials broke and small leaks spouted high pressure darts of water. Crewmen tumbled and fell, sometimes unable to stifle the screams and groans caused by their broken bones. There was no way they could escape their fate.

“Surface,” Shigata ordered. “I have no wish to die skulking underwater.”

Once he’d had doubts about Emperor Hirohito, a man who seemed more interested in marine biology than the ways of the warrior, but the God-Emperor had proven himself. He had taken Japan on the road to victory. “Now we will die for our emperor!”

His ninety-odd men cheered as he said that. There was no greater honor for a Japanese warrior. The sub surged upward, broaching and exploding onto the surface. She slammed back onto the water, raising a huge wave.

Astonished sailors from American destroyers watched incredulously as the sub’s deck gun was quickly crewed and opened fire on the surrounding ships. At the same time, the sub launched her fresh load of torpedoes in the general direction of the American ships.

The destroyers returned fire, killing the gunners and sweeping their bodies into the sea. More shells shredded the conning tower and pierced the sub’s hull with multiple hits. Moments later, the sub exploded and broke in two as a shell from a destroyer hit a remaining torpedo. The pieces rolled over and sank. There were no survivors. None of the Japanese wished to survive. Therefore, none of the dying Japanese were able to see that one of the indiscriminately fired torpedoes had struck the badly damaged Enterprise , killing any chance of saving her.

Once again, Dane found himself prone and stunned on the gore-covered flight deck. He lurched to his feet. There was something wrong with his left leg. It hurt like hell and it was difficult to stand. He looked for his friend Greene for guidance, but couldn’t find him. Many of the men of the damage control parties who’d been trying to douse the flames were also strewn about. Unmanned hoses whipped and snapped, sometimes hitting and injuring sailors who were trying to grab them. Most of the sailors lying on the deck weren’t moving, and some of the bodies were smoldering. He assumed one of the bodies was Greene’s and others were the sailors he’d been working with just a moment before. He felt sick as he realized the flames were going to win.

Another violent shudder and the ship listed farther to port. We’re going over, Dane thought. What do I do now? Men were hollering, “Abandon ship!” But was this an order or were the sailors panicking? Hell, he was panicking. Someone yelled that Captain Murray was dead and that it was every man for himself.

An older man with blood streaming down his face grabbed Tim’s arm in a strong grip. “Help me,” he said.

Dane was shocked. It was Admiral Spruance. He grabbed the admiral’s arm to steady him. Spruance’s eyes were glazed and he stared intently at Dane. “I know you,” he said with a slurred voice. “You’re on my staff.”

Still another shudder rumbled from an explosion below the deck, and Dane had to hold up the admiral who was quite likely concussed. “Admiral, I think we’ve got to get out of here.”

Spruance mumbled something, but didn’t protest as Dane took charge and guided him. The list was so pronounced that people and planes were tumbling off the flight deck like so many toys, falling into the ocean that was, while still quite a drop, much closer than it had been.

“Hang on,” Dane said as he half pushed Spruance off the deck and into the sea, hoping that they wouldn’t land on anything or that nothing would fall on top of them.

Dane had been holding the admiral’s arm, but the impact drove him under water and separated them for a moment. He came up spluttering and choking from spilled oil, but only a few feet away from the now even more thoroughly shaken and confused Spruance. Oil was burning on the water and they had to get away before they were burned alive. Dane’s leg hurt and the salt water stung the cuts and burns in his scalp, face, and hands.

Dane grabbed the admiral. He started to look around for a life-raft or even some debris. He flailed his arms frantically until he realized his life jacket would not let him sink, at least not for a while. Other swimmers were doing the same thing as the Enterprise , now almost on her side, slowly and mindlessly plowed on, propelled by the energy produced from her dying engines, and escorted by the cruisers who were still pouring water on the fires. He was horribly aware that there were very few men swimming in the water, although a number floated lifelessly. He reminded himself that the carrier had a crew of more than two thousand. Where were they?

An hour later, the two men lay awkwardly and alone on a damaged liferaft that was half filled with water. Dane was afraid that the raft would disintegrate, leaving them with nothing but their life jackets. Getting onto it had proven extremely difficult. Dane’s leg wasn’t responding and he wondered if it was broken, and the shocked and stunned admiral was little help. Still, they somehow managed.

Far in the distance, the Enterprise lay on her side, while the Hornet burned furiously and began to settle by the bow. American cruisers and destroyers raced around, plucking sailors from the water. As yet, they hadn’t found Dane and his high-ranking companion even though he’d waved his arms in a fruitless attempt to get attention.

A shrieking sound and a plane flew low overhead, bullets spitting from its guns. It was a Japanese Zero and a host of other enemy fighters and bombers followed. The Japanese carriers had found them.

Bombs exploded on and about the helpless and ruined carrier hulks, while still more planes attacked the escorting destroyers and cruisers. It was a massacre. Some enemy pilots amused themselves by strafing sailors in the water. Bullets kicked up spray a few feet from Dane and Spruance, but none hit them.

“Do you have a gun?” Spruance’s eyes were clearing, but his voice was still a little slurred.

“No, sir.”

Spruance shook his head in an attempt to focus his thoughts. “Of course not. Carrying a heavy sidearm into the ocean is a dumb idea. Forget I asked. Do you have a weapon of any kind?”

“A pocket knife,” Dane answered, wondering just what the hell Spruance had in mind.

“Don’t lose it. If it becomes necessary, I want you to kill me with it.”

“What?”

“You heard me and that’s an order. If it looks like we’re going to be taken prisoner, you must kill me. If it’s a small knife, you’ll have to slice my throat. I’ll resist instinctively, but you are doubtless stronger and must prevail. I know too many things that would endanger our country’s security. Whatever happens, you must kill me. Do you acknowledge that order?”

Dane gulped. This couldn’t be happening. Was Spruance even sane or had the blow to his head made him crazy? “I understand and I will obey, but tell me, sir, did you ever read Ben Hur or see the movie with Bushman and Navarro?”