David Healey
Rising Sniper
DEDICATION
This one is for Dad. We miss you.
EPIGRAPH
“Our sights are set.”
CHAPTER ONE
Jasper Cole always did have keen eyes, which meant he was the first one to see the planes coming in.
The young man from Tennessee was among several crew members who had the bad luck to be on duty this Sunday morning, while others got to sleep in a little later in their cramped bunks in the depths of the battleship USS Arizona.
Low in the sky, the early morning sun glinted off the waters of Pearl Harbor, forcing Jasper to raise his hand and shade his eyes. Truth be told, the light felt like glittering shards hitting his eyes, and his head ached with a dull throb. That was to be expected, considering that the night before had been spent ashore, visiting the bars that sailors frequented for cheap beer and a chance at female company.
There was plenty of one and not much of the other. Of course, female company could be bought for a price, but so far Jasper had resisted the urge, having heard horror stories from his fellow sailors about being given three minutes to get the job done. Then there were the required visits to the sick bay for an embarrassing exam to prevent venereal disease.
He’d stuck with spending his money on beer, with no regrets.
One thing about Pearl Harbor — the locals had made an art of getting every last dime out of the sailors stationed there.
Despite the revelry of the night before, he had been on duty bright and early. That was just fine with him, considering that none of the senior officers would be around on a Sunday morning. There were only a few hungover petty officers and junior officers, none of them inclined to shout at the sailors because of their own aching heads.
“We almost needed a winch to get Ostrowski out of the bar last night,” said one of the sailors working alongside Jasper. “You should have seen him. Of course, he had to pick the biggest marine in the joint to pick a fight with.”
“Sounds like Ostrowski. He ain’t got no sense,” Jasper said, grinning in amusement at the story. He looked around and didn’t see Ostrowski on deck. “Where’s he at now?”
“In sick bay with a broken nose and a hell of a hangover.”
“Is that right? Some guys will do anything to miss out on a little work.”
On deck, the sailors traded a few more stories that would never appear in letters home, bragging about exploits that were typical of young men far from home and looking to blow off steam.
Listening, Jasper chuckled and bent to his task, which involved arranging large lines on the deck into neat coils. Other crews were oiling the Arizona’s vast teak deck, a space so expansive that the entire crew of more than a thousand could be assembled there. Beneath the wood lay several inches of steel decking, but the wood provided a better grip and was a throwback to the days of wooden sailing ships.
He had developed a fondness for the ship and found its sheer size, as well as the sight of the massive guns, to be more than reassuring. There wasn’t anything on the sea as mighty as a battleship.
It wasn’t hard work that he was doing, but he was already starting to sweat in the semitropical heat.
He didn’t mind. Despite the heat and the early hour, Jasper considered himself to be a lucky man. He felt grateful to be in the navy these past two years, having escaped the Depression-era hills and mountains back home, where there were no jobs and sometimes not even anything to eat. Nobody ever went hungry in the navy, even if the pay wasn’t all that great.
Two years ago, what he knew about ships and the sea wouldn’t have filled a teaspoon, but the navy had taken him on anyway. He was just grateful to have a purpose and a job, however inconsequential that job might be in the overall mechanism of the United States Navy.
Finally, he was just grateful to be alive on this December morning, watching the sunlight at play over the warm waters. As he worked, his headache faded.
Back home, the creeks would be starting to freeze over, and there might even be snow on the mountains. In the mountains, winter was a time to survive. Getting through the season was a daunting challenge that went back to the first settlers and their log cabins. Before that, the Indians who had once occupied those hills found winter to be a season that must be endured.
Here in Hawaii, things were different. The tropical warmth didn’t pose challenges to anyone except on the rare occasions when the heat and humidity got to be a bit much. Then again, Jasper supposed that he didn’t have much to complain about when he looked around at the palm trees, green lawns, and blue waters.
“Quit lollygagging and pay attention to what you’re doing,” the petty officer grumbled, probably in a bad mood because he, too, had been out on the town and was paying the price this morning. “The last thing I want to be doing right now is nursing you worms.”
Jasper redoubled his efforts, hiding a smile at the thought that the petty officer was likely suffering from a wooden head. Nearby, he could also see a grin on the face of one of his buddies, Jim Butler, who, like Jasper, had the bad luck to be on deck this morning. Neither said a word as they focused on their task. Never mind that these ropes were already neatly coiled. They had been neatly coiled yesterday, and they would be neatly coiled again tomorrow. There was never anything sloppy about the navy, that was for sure.
That was when he saw the planes.
Something caught his eye, or maybe it was a sound carrying on the morning air. He straightened his back and shaded his eyes to watch the squadron approach.
“See them planes? I reckon we ain’t the only ones out and about this morning,” Jasper said.
“Huh, looks like the flyboys are doing some kind of exercise. I’ll bet they were none too happy about it being Sunday morning.”
“That’s for sure.”
Something about the planes didn’t look right. He couldn’t say what, exactly. It was more like a feeling.
Maybe it was the way that the squadron appeared to be heading right at them. Just behind the first group of planes, he could see another squadron, and another behind that. This in itself was unusual.
What was going on? That’s a lot of planes for a Sunday morning.
Jasper raised his hand again and squinted intently into the azure bowl of the sky. He had sharp eyes like everyone in his family. In fact, he couldn’t even think of a Cole who had ever worn eyeglasses, not even Granny Cole, who was eighty years old.
He began to realize that the color of the planes was all wrong.
They were angled to come in low, awfully low. They weren’t supposed to be this close to the ships.
“Here they come. Mighty low. I guess those flyboys are showing off again,” Butler said. “There’s gonna be hell to pay for that.”
“Something ain’t right,” Jasper said.
The planes kept on coming, close enough now that they could hear the menacing whine of the engines, sweeping lower and closer.
And then a curious thing happened. He saw tiny objects begin to fall away from the aircraft and splash into the harbor.
“What in the world is going on?” Butler asked. “Are those supposed to be fuel tanks or maybe dummy torpedoes?”
They had all seen planes on training exercises drop dummy bombs, but never in the harbor itself.
Somebody laughed. “Geez, those flyboys must be really hungover. Don’t those guys know they’re not supposed to bomb our own vessels in the harbor!”