Robert Conroy - Rising Sun

Thunder boomed in the distance. “Our shore batteries,” the captain said. Amanda recalled that Tim had told her there were eight- and ten-inch guns in batteries on Point Lomas overlooking the entrance to the bay. More distant thunder told her that the Japs were within range. This was confirmed by giant splashes in the harbor, some frighteningly close to the fleeing warships.

“They must have spotter planes up,” the captain said.

“So why don’t we shoot them down?”

“Good question. I don’t know where the hell our planes are. It’s as if we don’t have any.”

A massive shell hit a destroyer. The explosion lifted it out of the water. It landed and capsized. Amanda watched in horror as men tumbled into the water. A new sound intruded. Planes, Jap planes. Antiaircraft guns began firing and adding to the din.

Amanda was no fool. Her place was with her patients, not where bombs and shells might be falling. She ran downstairs where most of them waited stolidly. She gave them all the information she had, which seemed to please them. Nobody liked to be kept in the dark.

“Thank you, Nurse Dane,” a sailor with his arm in a cast said, grinning. The announcement that she was married had caused great amusement. A couple said they were heartbroken and wondered why she’d dumped them, and she’d replied that she still loved them all.

Something exploded nearby, and the building shook. The lights went out, but they’d brought some flashlights. Another sailor laughed nervously. “This place wasn’t built on a low-bid contract, was it, ma’am?”

Another explosion and pieces of the false ceiling began to tumble down. “Get under something,” she hollered.

Half the men had done that already, but it did motivate the rest to take cover under anything they could find. Desks and tables were the favorites. She looked around for something to hide under.

She was already flying across the room when she realized that another explosion had occurred, and this one terribly close. She hit the wall with enough force to knock the wind from her. She gasped for breath and felt pain surging through her body. Debris was falling on her and she couldn’t move. As she felt consciousness ebb, she heard screams and realized at least one voice was hers. Then it became dusty and dark.

Farris and Nancy cowered in a long slit trench. It was filled with men and women, civilians and military, and even a few children. The Japanese were pounding the base. A shell landed nearby and showered them with dirt and debris. A child began to scream in stark terror.

Antiaircraft batteries nearby began to fire. Farris risked looking up and saw a pair of Japanese planes, the damned Zeroes, fly low overhead. It was obvious that Jap carriers as well as their warships were very close.

A Zero streaked across the bay, only a few feet above the water. The antiaircraft battery opened up with its twin 20mm guns. The plane flew through the shells and fired its machine guns, riddling the battery. Men staggered out and fell, some quivering.

“Where the hell are our planes?” a Marine sergeant asked. Then he saw Nancy. “Hey, she’s a fucking Jap.”

The enraged Marine threw a punch that Nancy ducked. Farris grabbed the man and pushed him against the wall of the trench. “Do that again and I’ll kill you.”

Nancy grabbed his arm and pointed to the destroyed antiaircraft guns. “Some of those men are still alive.”

Farris climbed out of the trench and ran to the ruined battery, with Nancy right behind him. While most of the gunners were shredded meat, two men were still alive. He grabbed one and she grabbed the other. The two men moaned at being roughly manhandled, but there wasn’t time to be gentle.

Farris pulled at his wounded man. He was too big to carry, so he dragged him. The pain to his damaged shoulder was excruciating, and he felt it pop. Incredulously, he saw Nancy managing to drag the other man the few dozen yards to safety. Halfway there, the Marine sergeant and another enlisted man arrived to help them with their burdens.

They managed to get the two wounded men into the trench. People moved away to give them room. “How’s your first aid?” Nancy asked. Farris and the Marine sergeant admitted theirs was okay but that was about it. Even in combat, Farris hadn’t had to treat wounds.

“Then my skills are better,” she said. “Living in a place like Bridger made us all very independent. Let’s get organized; start helping me.”

Steve’s left arm was again limp and useless. All he could do was watch while Nancy and another woman did what they could for the wounded men.

“Sorry about being such a jerk, sir,” the Marine sergeant said. “I didn’t realize she was an American.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I think your shoulder’s been dislocated.”

Farris agreed with the diagnosis. The Marine pushed him against the wall of the trench, grabbed his wrist, and jerked. The pain was excruciating and he nearly fainted, but the shoulder popped back in.

The Marine offered Steve a cigarette. “That woman is something else.”

“Yeah. She sure is.”

The explosions in and around the base represented both fear and an opportunity for Gunther Krause. For a while he had been having second thoughts as to whether the Americans would honor their agreement or, once he was no longer useful, discard it and him as well. Now, as the shells fell on the base and in the city, he knew the answer. The government would need a scapegoat for the burning mess that was the San Diego Naval Base and that person’s name would be Gunther Krause. The Americans would manage to blame him for the devastation and the slaughter.

When he agreed to help the Yanks lure the Japanese, he had no idea it would result in so much destruction to an American city. No, he thought ruefully, there would be no freedom for him. If he managed to escape the firing squad or noose, they would put him in a place where he’d never even see the light of day.

When the shelling started, his two guards had left the house and run to a slit trench, assuming that he would follow. If he was smart, that is where he would be. But if he was really smart, he thought, he would take advantage of the chaos and confusion. Maybe he didn’t like the idea of spending the rest of his life on the run, but it beat a firing squad by a lot. He quickly packed the suitcase they’d allowed him to bring with him and ran outside. He was dressed in civilian clothes. The American military didn’t want him defiling their uniforms and that suited him well this morning.

His two guards had left their jeep in the street. He got in and drove off. As he approached the gate to the base, he saw people in uniform running in and trying to get to their posts, while others, mainly civilians, streamed out. The guards weren’t in the least bit interested in who was leaving and only looked quickly at those entering. As long as you were white, in uniform, and not Japanese, you were okay. He parked the jeep and simply trotted out and into San Diego. Crowds were headed out of the city and he joined them.

Krause had only gone a few blocks when he saw that, incredibly, his bank was open. He entered and asked to open his safe deposit box. A Hispanic female clerk named Maria helped him. She explained, angrily, that their idiot of a manager wouldn’t let them close the place, not even for a Japanese bombardment. If she didn’t need the job so much, she’d walk out. She added that the pay was lousy and she was thinking about quitting and going to work in a nearby factory like her husband did. She said they’d lived in the town of Grover, a ways north of San Diego, and had been shelled out of their homes by the Japanese. It looked like it was going to happen again. Krause wanted to strangle her.