Robert Conroy - Rising Sun

“Greene, how far can an eighteen-inch gun fire?”

Commander Mickey Greene rubbed his still-raw jaw. It was a hell of a question and nobody really knew the answer. Nobody had ever seen an eighteen-inch gun and had no idea of its range or velocity. A really good gun of that size had been considered an impossibility. Once again, the Japanese had been underestimated.

“I’ve got to guess at least twenty-five miles, sir, maybe closer to thirty.”

The admiral turned to the rest of his staff. “All of which means we’ll be within range of her guns before we can hit her. Assuming, of course, that the monster has any guns left that can fire after all the punishment she’s been taking.”

Greene swallowed. Of course the Yamato would have weapons left. No matter how many times the ship had been hit by bombs and torpedoes, she was still afloat and moving and had to be presumed dangerous.

Oldendorff gave the orders. “We will concentrate on finishing off the Kongo . The Mississippi and Colorado will go to port and we will go to starboard. She’ll be between us and we’ll bracket her quickly.”

It almost wasn’t necessary. The American ships opened fire on the badly damaged Kongo at just under twenty miles. Colored dye showed which splashes came from which ship and within only a few minutes, the battleships’ fourteen- and sixteen-inch shells began smashing what was left of the Kongo . Several explosions ripped through the Japanese battleship and she began to list to port. There was no return fire and no sign of lifeboats being lowered. Nor were any Japanese sailors jumping from the doomed vessel into the ocean. If there were any living souls on the Kongo , they had determined to go down with her.

Or maybe their officers wouldn’t let them run, Greene thought. The Japanese were all nuts, so their sailors would likely obey such an order and die at their stations. He saluted their bravery, but not their common sense. Why the hell would anybody want to die when they could live? At first he had wanted to die when he saw the mess the fires had made of his face, but that went away. Yeah, he would be scarred and they would remind him of his ordeal every day, but most of the worst had faded and he would live a reasonably normal life.

The Yamato was nearly forty miles away from the destruction of the Kongo . Even though over the horizon, smoke from the numerous fires slowly destroying her was plainly visible. Vectored in by the pall and the guidance of the floatplanes, the three battleships again began their dance. At twenty miles, they opened fire. Again the brightly colored splashes guided the shells until they too smashed into what had been the massive symbol of Japanese might.

There was no response and the American ships continued to move in closer until they were firing at only a few miles, point-blank range. The three American ships formed a line so their shells wouldn’t hit each other, and prepared to launch torpedoes.

“The damn thing won’t sink, won’t stop,” muttered Green.

Oldendorff heard and nodded. “We may be pumping shells into a corpse. If the torpedoes don’t kill her, we’ll just pull back and let her steam in circles for all eternity. For all we know, her engines are so well protected we haven’t done a thing to them.”

They moved closer, now only a couple of miles away. Through binoculars, Green and others could see the utter destruction on her deck.

Wait! Was that motion? Green stared at the sternmost turret on the ship, the “D” turret. Yes, it was slowly turning and her guns were rising. The sons of bitches had been lying low. The three guns pointed directly at the Pennsylvania like three massive eyes and then fired.

All three giant shells slammed into the Pennsylvania . The American battleship was well-armored but not against this. Two shells penetrated her hull and a third struck her superstructure. The ship reeled from the titanic shock. One, the shell that struck her superstructure, obliterated all traces of life there, while one of the shells that pierced her hull found one of her magazines. A few seconds later, the Pennsylvania exploded. She broke in half with the two pieces floating briefly before slipping beneath the waves and taking her entire crew with her.

In a vengeful fury, the crews of the two remaining American battleships ships first pounded the surviving turret into rubble and then fired every shell and torpedo they had, reducing the Yamato to a burning hulk. After an eternity, she rolled on her side and sank.

They had redeemed the Pennsylvania and sunk the mightiest battleship in the world. But at what cost?

FARRIS FOUND IT DIFFICULT TO PUSH THE WHEELCHAIR WITH HIS left arm in a sling, so he let Nancy Sullivan help out, enjoying the slightly erotic feel of her body against his as they pushed along the long corridor.

Once again the hospitals were full. What the newspapers were calling the Battle of the Baja or the Miracle of the Baja had been a complete American victory, but there still had been many casualties. Farris pushed past wards full of heavily bandaged men, some of whom were terribly maimed. Farris could not help but think of his good fortune in surviving so much fighting with nothing more than a bum shoulder that was going to keep him out of combat. Instead, he would be assigned to a training command in the Fourth Army, an assignment that he’d requested instead of a discharge and was fine by him. He’d had enough combat for several lifetimes. Besides, he’d just found Nancy and didn’t want to leave her.

All of America was enjoying the incredible, almost miraculous victory. Five Japanese carriers were confirmed sunk and two more were badly damaged and probably out of the war for good. The battleships Yamato and Kongo had been found and sunk, at the cost of the Pennsylvania . A huge relief convoy was en route to Hawaii stuffed with supplies and medicine. Was the end of the war in sight? Based on his firsthand experiences with Japanese fanaticism, he thought it unlikely.

“Would you mind hurrying?” Dane asked.

Farris declined to answer. This had been a daily ritual for a couple of weeks now, complaints and all. Dane was still in a brace while his broken back and fractured ribs healed, but at least he was no longer in that massive and ugly-looking cast that had confined him to bed. He’d been informed that his war was over too, and that he would be given a medical discharge. Numerous doctors said he was damned lucky he wasn’t paralyzed. The debris that had hit him on the Saratoga had broken his back. Just as the army couldn’t take a chance on someone with a bad shoulder going into combat, the navy couldn’t do the same for a man whose back would take a very long time to return to normal.

“Are we there yet?” Dane mockingly whined in a kid’s voice.

Farris laughed. “Be still.”

“In a couple of weeks I’ll be able to walk and then I’m going to kick your ass.”

“I look forward to it,” Farris said, meaning it.

“I still outrank you.”

“Screw your rank,” Farris said genially while Nancy giggled.

They pushed open the double doors to the cafeteria. It was between meals and only a handful of people were present. Dane took control and pushed his wheelchair toward another one. He parked alongside, and he and Amanda embraced as best they could under the circumstances. Both her legs were in casts from foot to mid-thigh. They kissed and others in the cafeteria either watched approvingly or turned away to give them a semblance of privacy.