Robert Conroy - Rising Sun

Dane glared at him. “Is this all we’re going to do, rehash old arguments? If so, I’m going to leave you to feel sorry for yourself.”

“Of course not, Commander, and I assure you I am not feeling sorry for myself. I have a suggestion that will help expedite the process of drawing the Japanese into your trap. Are you interested?”

“Of course.”

“You are building a mock carrier task force down in the Gulf of California, are you not?”

Somebody has a big mouth, Dane thought, and then realized that maintaining such secrecy on a huge base was virtually impossible. Besides, who could Krause tell, and, more important, what would encourage him to? Information was his lifeline to a life of freedom.

“Of course we would be interested in any ideas you might have.”

Krause smiled, looking almost pleasant. “I knew you would. So, here is my idea. You had me tell the Japanese that one of your carriers, the Saratoga , would be in the Gulf. Well, they say that Yamamoto is a gambler. Therefore, why not make it double or nothing?”

AMANDA LOOKED STERNLY AT HER FRIEND. “WELL, MAKE UP YOUR mind. Are you in love with him or not?”

Sandy grimaced and wiped away a tear. Her eyes were red from crying. “I don’t know. We only went out a couple of times and now he’s badly wounded.”

Grace inhaled deeply on her cigarette and smiled as she exhaled a perfect smoke ring. “Let’s face it, Sandy dearest, you are afraid that you’re going to wind up with a war hero who’s a cripple and so badly mangled that you won’t want to be seen with him, much less wind up screwing him, even with the lights off.”

Amanda smiled. “You do have a marvelously tactful way with words, Gracie.”

“The hell with tact,” Grace said. “I think it’s time to be blunt. When young Mister Farris went north, Sandy moped and then did what she does best at a time of crisis, she ate. Sandy, did anyone ever tell you you’re getting fat again?”

“I am not getting fat,” Sandy said loud enough for the handful of the others in the restaurant to hear. They stifled grins and turned away.

“All right,” Sandy said and wiped away another tear. “You’re right, I am gaining. I’ll stop eating, so don’t call me a baby.”

“Good,” said Amanda. “Now what are you going to do about Steve Farris? If he’s coming down here, you are going to have to meet with him and deal with whatever problems he has. That is, if you want to have a future with him. Even though you two aren’t married and maybe never will be, that for better or worse thing still counts. Maybe it’s even more important before you get married, or even begin to take each other seriously. And, by the way, if he’s on his way down here, he can’t be all that badly wounded, can he?”

Sandy had gotten a brief note from Steve, written with obvious difficulty and just delivered. In it he said he was having trouble with his left arm and eye, but was otherwise okay and looked forward to seeing Sandy. All of this said that he wasn’t an amputee and strongly implied that he wasn’t confined to a wheelchair. But was she really looking forward to seeing him? He would be coming down by train in a few days and said he was delighted that a wounded army officer was being sent to recuperate in what was essentially a navy town.

Amanda pressed her. “Sandy, you are a nurse, remember? You’ve seen some sights that nobody should ever have to see. You’ve worked on patients so badly mangled it’s a miracle that they’re still alive. You’ve seen men missing limbs and eyes and faces, and you’ve seen relatives who’ve sucked it up and decided that they would take care of their son, their brother, their husband as best they could. You’ve heard grown men cry for their mothers and dying boys say they didn’t want to die a virgin. Steve got a medal for what he did, but those people are heroes too.”

Grace laughed. “And don’t think it was such a big thrill making love to Mack’s old and withered body.”

“It wasn’t?” Sandy said angrily. “I would have thought otherwise from all the noise you two made.”

“Well, actually it was. Not as good as Captain Billy Merchant, mind you, but quite nice.”

Sandy took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. I’ll be a big girl and deal with it as it happens. And I’ll skip dessert, thank you.”

Amanda smiled and turned away. Sandy’s situation had brought out her own unspoken fears. What would she do if Tim was badly wounded, crippled, blinded? He’d seen so much action it was a wonder he was still alive. Sometimes she thought it would be easier dealing with someone’s death. Then, when she thought that way, she realized her thoughts were stupid.

The two Australian cruisers were a mass of flames. So too were the pair of transports the fools had been escorting. Masao Ikeda turned his plane for another strafing run on the almost helpless targets. An antiaircraft crew on one of the cruisers was still firing at them. He dropped his Zero’s nose and his guns obliterated the response.

Aichi E13A seaplanes had spotted the ships earlier in the day. The cruisers were tentatively identified as the heavy cruiser Canberra , ten thousand tons and four turrets each with two eight-inch guns, and the light cruiser Hobart , seventy-one hundred tons and eight six-inch guns, and they were now burning and sinking. Australia’s navy had been small and now, he thought happily, it was even smaller. Rumor had it that Australia’s food situation was becoming as desperate as Hawaii’s, so maybe this setback would cause Australia to think twice about continuing to fight the Japanese Empire.

A number of lifeboats and rafts were in the water and some of the other Zero pilots, mainly the newer ones, thought it was great sport to strafe the helpless little boats. He watched in disgust as bullets ripped through the flimsy craft, sending men into water that was rapidly turning blood red around their floating bodies. He heard the pilots exulting on their radios and contemplated telling them to shut up. He didn’t, though. Let them have their way for a little while. Besides, even though he now had a dozen kills to his credit, they might not obey him. Their blood lust was up.

In earlier times, Masao had thought that way as well, but not now. He had seen far too many men die to think kindly on the idea of slaughter as a sport. Killing the helpless was not the way of the warrior. Nor was it right for the gunners on the cruiser to have kept firing, forcing Masao to kill again. There was no shame in retreating to fight again another day. The Australian gunners had been fools and it would be justice if they were dead.

The newer Japanese pilots were not the same quality as the men they were replacing, the men who had fought and died for Nippon, the men he mourned as lost companions. The men replacing them were children in comparison, a point he’d frequently made to his good friend Toki.

The Canberra rolled on its side and then on its back. Australian sailors tried to cling to the slippery hull but it bounced obscenely in the water and they were thrown off. God help anyone trapped inside, Masao thought and permitted himself a shudder since no one could see him show weakness in the cockpit of his plane. When I die, he thought, let it be fast.