Cotter spun the wheel hard to port, and once again I hung on, grasping the handrail and hoping that if I got tossed over, I’d make it clear of the boat’s propellers.
The Zero lost more altitude, one wing dipping drunkenly, the pilot by now likely a dead hand on the stick. The wingtip brushed the surface of the waves, tossing up a delicate plume of water, a glimmering, incongruous spray against the trailing flames. The wingtip of the Zero seemed to balance on the water perfectly, until the aircraft cartwheeled and slammed hard on its back, the sea around it burning with aviation fuel.
Cotter turned, slowed the engines, and circled the wreck, but there was nothing to see but flames, nothing to feel but intense heat rolling off the water, nothing to care about but being alive.
For most of us, anyway.
The gunner’s torso lay against the bulwark, his life’s blood drenching the deck, the top half of his head nowhere to be seen. His lower jaw hung down, ribbons of muscle and flesh flung back above it, his tongue obscenely huge and pink against a dark, red space of nothingness. Shattered bone and brain were strewn against the steel bulkhead, splashed with blood. A single twenty-millimeter shell can do a hell of a lot of damage, taking only a split second to turn a living, breathing man into a riven carcass.
I had to tear my gaze away, the butchery of war as compelling as it was ugly and brutal. Deep inside, I knew why I had to look-not out of pity for the dead man, or the guilty thrill of carnage avoided, but to consider the possibility that I was no more than blood and gristle myself, that it could as well have been my own body cast asunder, revealing no visible soul, no humanity, no memories, nothing but cooling pink flesh.
I checked the damage to the boat, not interested in having it sink out from under us just as the fight had been won. The bow was pretty chewed up, and bullet holes decorated the bridge as well.
“Anyone else hurt?” Cotter asked, leaning over the bridge, wincing as he took in the scene below. No one spoke. I couldn’t get a word out, not even a grunt. I gave him a wave, trying to look like I was just fine. I saw flecks of blood on my hand and felt more running down the side of my face. I looked at Kaz, who had the presence of mind, if not the courage, to step into the gunner’s post and man the cannon. His face was spotted in blood as well-a fine, delicate red mist. Cotter increased throttle, and water soon broke over the bow, turning the pooled and darkening blood into a pink foam as it washed back over the side.
I leaned over the rail and vomited.
“I hope that pilot made it back,” Kaz said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “Otherwise his maneuver held little merit.”
“And we could still be in trouble, if either of those pilots radioed our position,” I said, wiping my face with my sleeve. “Do you know how to work that thing?”
“I watched him,” Kaz said, his hands on the grip, his eye peering through the sight. “It seemed straightforward enough, but I hope for a more long-distance duel if we are attacked once again.”
Not for the first time, I marveled at Kaz’s ability to deal with any situation he found himself in. I guess after losing everyone you loved in the world, there was little surprise left in it. I went back to my binoculars, watching the sky for approaching fighters. Contrails drifted high above, thinning out as the planes dove to lower altitudes to bomb and strafe.
A few minutes later, I heard Archer shout from the rear of the boat. “Formation at two o’clock high! Twelve bandits!”
“On a course for Tulagi,” Gordie added.
I found them. Betties, it looked like.
“Fighters behind them,” Archer said calmly.
Cotter barked orders for the information to be radioed to Henderson Field, and then turned the boat to starboard.
“We’ll make for Russell Island and hide out until nightfall,” he told us. “We can’t get caught out in the open again. Those Betties might give us a working over on their return trip.”
We kept eyes on the aircraft as they passed by, intent on delivering their deadly loads to our home base. Lower and far behind, I made out a ragged formation of Wildcats, probably the squadron that had been scrambled to intercept the first group over Rendova. I hoped they had enough fuel and ammo left in case the Japs were headed for Henderson Field.
Cotter slowed as he approached one of the outlying islands. Crewman came forward to wrap the dead gunner-I never did catch his name-in weighted canvas for interment at sea.
“There’s no burying ground at Rendova. The base is on a small island, Lumbari, that’s basically a swamp surrounded by ocean,” Cotter explained, looking glum at the prospect of having to dump one of his men overboard with little time for ceremony. But he had the living to think of. A few words, bowed heads, a splash, and it was over. But some in this war had even less homage in death.
He took the boat past the small island, under cover of overhanging palms on the shore of Russell proper. The water was gentle here and slapped at the side of the hidden boat, rocking it like grandpa’s chair on the porch. Kaz and I rinsed ourselves with saltwater until all traces of blood were gone. Then we sat in the shade, a quiet, peaceful, drowsy rest as we waited for daylight and the war in the air to pass us by.
“You’re both lucky to be alive,” Gordie observed as we all relaxed amidships. “That was a damn close-run thing, as Wellington said at Waterloo.”
“I don’t know about Wellington, but if I were really lucky, I wouldn’t be wringing a dead man’s blood out of my socks,” I said, laying the pair of them out to dry and rolling up my trouser legs.
“Can’t say I appreciate that pilot bringing the Zeroes down on us,” Archer said, his voice an angry snarl. “Nearly got us all killed, the selfish bastard.”
“We had the firepower, and he was in trouble,” Cotter said, rising to go below. “It was a risk, and he took it. I’m going to check in with Rendova.”
“Calculated with the odds in his favor,” Archer said to Cotter’s back. “I’ve managed to keep myself alive so far. I don’t need a crazy Yank giving the Japs a leg up on doing me in.”
“Steady on,” Gordie said. “No need to blame the Yanks.”
“Steady on yourself,” Archer growled. “There’s blame enough to go around. First we lose Daniel, and it’s that Yank Kennedy who’s first on the scene. Then the Chinaman, and lo and behold, friend Jack was there, too. Poor Deanna gets knifed in Chinatown, and what do you know, she was his girlfriend when it suited him. I’ve had my fill of Yanks for a while. The bush is sounding like a safe place for a change.” He stalked off to the stern as the sound of aircraft droned overhead. We all ducked, as if that might make a difference.
“Don’t mind him,” Gordie said. “Nerves, that’s all. The past few weeks have been hectic, and with the killings, it’s been hard to relax and prepare mentally for the hard road ahead.”
“What’s the current situation on Ranongga?” Kaz asked. Gordie and Archer were headed back to their previous station.
“We don’t know,” he said. “The good news is that the invasion of New Georgia is bringing the war closer, and the island could be taken in the next few months, if I read the tea leaves correctly.”
“What’s the bad news?” I asked.
“That the Japs understand that as well, and may have established a garrison there. They have a small base at Emu harbor at the northern end of the island. They’d occasionally send patrols out, but by the time they got anywhere near us, the natives would have given us ample warning.”
“It is not a very large island,” Kaz said. “It must be hard to hide.”
“Easy enough if you have time to take the radio down and go off into the bush or up into the mountain. But if the Japs have established other bases since we left and manage to coordinate against us, it’ll be a different matter altogether. We’ve had our share of good luck so far, but since we came out, luck seems to have eluded us. I think that’s what got Archer spooked. Me, too, for that matter.”