Task Force 18 was so named because its predecessors, TF 16 and 17, and been destroyed either in the battle of Midway or its aftermath. Using the names of the predecessor units would have been bad luck and sailors were very superstitious.
Spruance’s group crossed the crowded flight deck, where planes and pilots awaited the word to go, and went to the flag bridge. They were greeted by Halsey, who looked like hell. He appeared exhausted and what was visible of his skin was covered by scabs. His skin disorder, psoriasis, had indeed flared up and the man appeared to be in agony. In Dane’s opinion, the belligerent little admiral looked far worse than when he’d last seen him in San Diego. He wondered if the psoriasis was caused by the intense pressure and responsibilities of command. He wondered if his thoughts were unkind. Halsey was a brave and capable man. The two admirals spoke quietly for a few minutes and Halsey left, his head down.
When Spruance returned to the group, his expression was grim. “Halsey’s going to sick bay. He’s turned command over to me. Nothing, however, is changing. We are steaming toward the Japanese. We will be in range in a very short while, much sooner than I expected. As soon as radar shows them launching their planes to strike at our dummy carriers, the Saratoga and Essex will turn loose our planes and hit them with everything we have.”
Merchant asked the first question on everyone’s mind. “When will Admiral Halsey resume command?”
Spruance sighed. “Not for a while. I think this battle’s going to be mine.”
Merchant continued. “Then what about Japanese radar? Do we still assume they don’t have it on their ships?”
Spruance paused. If the Japanese did have radar on their ships, the American force could be steaming into another ambush. His men needed to know what they were up against, but they weren’t cleared to know too much.
“Just like us, Captain, very few of their ships have radar, and, just like ours, it isn’t very reliable. All indications are that their ships do not carry long-range radar if any at all. I know it’s dangerous to presume, but we have no other choice.”
A young ensign burst in on them, saw Spruance, and saluted. “Sir, we just got word that the Japs’ carriers have launched their planes. They all appear headed for the Baja.”
Spruance paused for a moment and appeared to look upward. Dane wondered if he was seeing a chance at redemption or the likelihood of losing more carriers. Or maybe he was praying. Finally, he smiled. “We will attack immediately.”
As soon as the shelling appeared to stop, rescue parties began swarming over the smoking ruins that had once been a major naval base. In most cases, the buildings had been emptied, and their occupants fled to shelters or trenches like the one that had protected Farris and Nancy Sullivan.
Not so the hospital. Originally a three-story office building located on a rise outside the base proper, it had been struck and devastated by several Japanese shells. The temporary wooden buildings and Quonset huts surrounding it had been smashed and were burning. The stench of scorched flesh filled the air, gagging rescuers.
As an officer who’d volunteered to help, Farris was given a dozen sailors and Marines who didn’t seem to notice that their commander was from the army and that he was having trouble with his left arm. There were lives to save and no time for bullshit.
Farris’s shoulder now ached and he could hardly lift his arm. So much for getting better, he thought. Worse, though, was the information from Nancy that the hospital was where Amanda worked. Since she had not shown up to help with the injured, they could only presume that she’d been in the building when the shells hit. Even though he’d only met her a couple of times, she was now family and Steve was deeply upset that she might have been buried in the hospital.
A few people, most of them badly injured, had been found alive and carted off on stretchers, and Nancy had helped carry them. When he mentioned it, she shrugged it off, explaining that she’d studied Japanese fighting methods and that leverage more than compensated for brute strength.
More frequently, though, what they found were dead bodies or, worse, parts of bodies. One of the sailors near Farris pulled on a human leg and screamed when it came out of the rubble without the rest of the body. Farris tried to calm the young man down and sent him off when he couldn’t stop shaking. Unfortunately, the finding of bodies and partial bodies was all too common. He wondered if the hospital had been targeted intentionally and then dismissed the thought. Even though there were large red crosses on the buildings, he doubted that the Japanese could even see them. No, these were more likely random shots with tragic consequences.
“Lieutenant, over here!”
Farris scrambled over to where a small cavelike opening appeared in the debris, possibly leading to the basement. He stuck his head in. His spirits sagged as he smelled dust, smoke, blood, excreta, and death. If Amanda was in there, God help her. Regardless, the tiny opening would have to be enlarged.
Nancy was beside them. “Just make it big enough for me and get me a flashlight. I’m a lot smaller than you guys and can make it where you can’t. I only wish I hadn’t worn a skirt.”
The men nodded enthusiastically and began digging. Farris noted that nobody seemed to care anymore that she was part Japanese. Hell, everyone was too busy carrying dirt from the rubble.
A few moments later and Nancy slithered in through the slightly enlarged hole. She carried a flashlight and wore a helmet that looked incongruously large. Someone had slipped her a set of fatigues that, hopefully, would provide some protection from contact with the rubble; she wasn’t concerned about modesty, saying if somebody wanted to see her skinny legs, let them look. A rope was tied around her waist. If something happened, maybe they could pull her out. At least they’d know where to find her.
Inside the cave, she turned on the flashlight and recoiled. A man’s face was staring at her. His eyes were wide open but unseeing. She checked under his chin for a pulse and found none. A few other limbs protruded from the rubble. She checked and found no signs of life. She began to think that this was a dangerous waste of time. But she continued to look and scrambled farther in. She saw an arm sticking out and she felt for life.
“Oh, Jesus,” she said and began to crawl back.
Another few moments, and her head popped up in the sunlight. She saw Farris. “Get me some canteens and begin opening that hole real fast.”
Masao howled with glee as one of the evil looking twin-tailed American fighters broke in half under the impact of his guns and plummeted into the sea. It was his third kill of the day, and, even better, it appeared he was through the American planes defending the carriers.
His was not the only plane to break through to the enemy ships that were now nothing more than fat targets anchored in the bay. Others were ahead of him and beginning their bombing runs. Large splashes rose near the American ships and a couple of bombs struck the carriers, sending debris skyward. Masao thought the carriers looked strange and the flying rubble different than what he expected. However strange, he thought, the American carriers were going to die. He noticed there was no antiaircraft fire coming from them and he wondered why as he began his run. Perhaps their guns had been removed as part of the repair process.
“Abort, abort,” came the order over his radio. “Those aren’t real ships. Pull up! Pull up!”