Harry Turtledove - End of the Beginning

He also had no idea whether he would live long enough for the question to be anything but academic to him. The Americans were hitting the strike force with everything they had, and they had more than he’d ever imagined. He felt like a man who’d stuck his hand into a meat grinder.

Being an experienced fighter pilot had drilled the habit of checking six into him. That let him spot an onrushing American plane in time to pull up and roll away. The enemy zoomed by without being able to open fire on him. Had this fellow flown a Wildcat, Shindo would have gone after him in turn. But the Yankee had one of the new fighters. Chasing them in a Zero was like trying to fly up to the sun. You could try, sure, but it wouldn’t do you any good.

“Banzai!” The victory shout made Shindo look around. He hadn’t heard it nearly often enough in this fight. He felt like cheering himself when he saw a U.S. carrier on fire and listing to starboard. Something had gone right. About time, too.

But how many carriers formed the core of this fleet? However many there were, they far outnumbered the half dozen Japan had used to open the war against the USA. His own country had been prepared to lose a third of that force if it meant a successful attack. Would the Americans be any less ruthless in their counterattack? It seemed unlikely.

“Shindo- san ! Are you still there? This is Fuchida.”

“Yes, sir. I’m still here. What are your orders?”

“We’ve done everything we can here, I think-and the Americans will have done what they can do to us,” Fuchida answered; Shindo wished he’d left out the second part of the observation, no matter how true it was. The strike-force commander went on, “Time to return to our ships.”

“Yes, sir,” Shindo repeated stolidly. Whether the Japanese carriers were still there was anybody’s guess. Shindo knew as much, and no doubt Fuchida did, too. That didn’t mean the senior officer was wrong. They had to try.

ALL OF AKAGI ’S antiaircraft guns seemed to be going off at once, the heavy and the light together. The din on the bridge was indescribable. Genda and the other officers had to shout to make themselves heard. Admiral Kaku had the conn himself. Genda could do things the skipper couldn’t. His strategic grasp reached from Hawaii into the Indian Ocean, while he doubted Tomeo Kaku cared a sen’s worth about anything that happened beyond the ends of Akagi ’s flight deck. But Kaku handled the carrier the way a fighter ace flew his Zero: as if the craft were an extension of his own body. Genda admired his skill and knew he would never be able to match it himself, not if he lived to be ninety.

Machine guns blazing, an American fighter raked the flight deck from no higher than the top of the island. Despite the bellowing antiaircraft guns, the enemy escaped. “That is a brave man,” Genda said.

“Zakennayo!” somebody else replied. “How many of our brave men did he just shoot up?” Genda had no answer for that.

“Helldivers!” someone screeched. Genda involuntarily looked up, though steel armor kept him from seeing the sky. But then, he didn’t need to see to imagine dive bombers racing down towards Akagi. He was one of the men who’d brought the technique to Japan, and he’d brought it from the USA.

Rear Admiral Kaku swung the wheel hard to port, then even harder to starboard. Muscles in his shoulders bunched as he tried to force the carrier to respond to his will at once. Bombs splashed into the sea all around Akagi, but the first few missed. So far, so good, Genda thought.

Then another shout pierced the racket on the bridge: “Torpedo! Torpedo to port!”

This isn’t fair was what went through Genda’s mind. Too much happening all at once. He and his countrymen had kept the Americans off-balance through the first two fights in Hawaiian waters. Now the shoe was on the other foot, and much less comfortable this way.

Cursing horribly, Kaku yanked the wheel to port again, intending to turn into the torpedo’s path. But either that took him into the path of the dive bombers overhead or the Yankee pilots simply guessed with him and outguessed him. Three bombs hit Akagi : near the stern, amidships, and right at the bow.

The next thing Genda knew, he was on the floor. One of his ankles screamed at him when he tried to put weight on it. He hauled himself upright anyhow-duty shouted louder than pain. Several men were down and wouldn’t get up again; the steel beneath his feet had twisted like cardboard and was awash in blood.

Kaku still wrestled with the wheel. He went on cursing for a few seconds, then said something worse than the blackest of oaths: “She doesn’t answer her helm.” If Akagi couldn’t steer… Kaku turned to the speaking tube to shout down to the engine room. A ship could be guided, crudely, by her engines. It wasn’t much, but it was what they had.

The torpedo hit then, as near amidships as made no difference.

Akagi had taken a torpedo, from a plane off the Lexington, during the first strike against Hawaii. That fish, like a lot of the ones the Americans used in the first months of the war, proved a dud. This one-wasn’t.

Genda found himself on the floor again. Getting up a second time hurt even more than it had the first. All the same, he did it. Once he was on his feet, he wondered why he’d bothered. For a moment, he also wondered if he could stand straight. Then he realized the problem wasn’t his but Akagi ’s: the ship had a list, one that worsened every minute.

Flames were shooting up through holes in the flight deck, too. Men with hoses fought them, but they weren’t having much luck.

“My apologies, Commander,” Admiral Kaku said, as if he’d accidentally bumped into Genda.

“Sir, we’ve got to abandon ship,” Genda blurted. As if to underscore his words, an explosion shook Akagi. Maybe that was aviation gasoline going up, or maybe it was the carrier’s munitions starting to cook off.

Calmly, Tomeo Kaku nodded. “You are correct, of course. I will give the order.” He spoke into the intercom, which by some miracle still functioned: “All hands, prepare to abandon ship! This is the captain speaking! All hands, prepare to abandon ship!” Bowing politely to Genda, he went on, “You should head for the flight deck now, Commander. I see you have an injured leg. Give yourself all the time you need.”

“Yes, sir.” Genda took one lurching stride towards a doorway twisted open. “What about you, sir?”

“What about me?” Kaku smiled a sweet, sad smile. “This is my ship, Commander.”

Genda couldn’t very well misunderstand that. He did protest: “Sir, you should save yourself so you can go on serving the Emperor. Japan needs all the capable senior officers she can find.”

“I know you younger men feel that way,” Kaku said, smiling still. “If that course seems right and proper to you, then you should follow it. As for me… I have made mistakes here. If I had not made mistakes, I would not be losing Akagi. The least I can do is atone to his Majesty for my failure. Sayonara, Commander.”

After that, nothing would change his mind. Recognizing as much, Genda bowed and limped away. The last he saw of Rear Admiral Kaku, Akagi ’s skipper was fastening his belt to a chair so he would be sure to go down with his ship.

When Genda got to the flight deck, he saw more flames leaping up from the bomb hit at the stern. “Come on, boys, over the side!” a petty officer shouted, sounding absurdly cheerful. “Swim away from the hull as fast as you can, mind, so the undertow doesn’t drag you down when she sinks!”