After a restless night Luke finally climbed out of his bunk at 0730, exhausted and irritable. He tripped over a pair of shoes that had been left in the middle of the room and grabbed hold of a chair for balance. The chair tipped, and Luke followed it to the floor.
“Hey, keep it quiet!” one of his bunkmates grumbled. “Can't a guy get any sleep around here?”
“Sorry,” Luke muttered, standing and righting the chair. After dressing in a pair of blue dungarees and a pale blue work shirt, he set his cap on his head. Quietly he opened the door, stepped into the corridor, and headed for an upper deck. Fresh air will feel good, he thought.
Once on deck, he leaned on the railing and stared at nearby mountains bordering the east end of the harbor. Plump clouds rested on their peaks and dappled the sky. The air was still, the world serene. Luke breathed in deeply, hoping to capture the peace and quiet his restlessness.
A small boat motored across the bay, accompanied by the echo of church bells drifting across the water. Luke wondered which church Kekili attended. I ought to be at church, he thought. Focusing on God might settle my edginess.
He scanned the skies. What was he expecting? Why the unease? There was nothing out of the ordinary; life was tranquil.
He sniffed and caught the aroma of coffee. “That'll help,” he said and headed for the mess hall. There were only a handful of men ahead of him. It was still early. Pouring a cup of black brew, he sipped. It was strong, as usual, and no one had bothered to set out sugar.
Luke headed for the galley in search of sweetener. While the chief cook barked orders and checked food for doneness and quality, sailors flipped eggs and pancakes, others stirred hot cereal or watched over sizzling bacon, and some filled warming trays. A cluster of men worked at the sink, washing and drying pots, pans, and dishes. No one paid attention to the young petty officer searching for something to sweeten his coffee.
When Luke didn't find any sugar, he decided it was time he learned to enjoy his coffee black. Cup in hand, he returned to the deck. Other than those on duty, only a smattering of men were up and about.
The color guard and twenty-three-member band, wearing dress-whites, assembled. It was time to raise the colors. Eight bells signaled 0800 hours, a whistle blew, and the flags climbed. The band played the “National Anthem.” Careful not to spill his coffee, Luke straightened and saluted.
A buzzing sound cut into his consciousness. Unwilling to be disrespectful, he kept his gaze on the flag. The buzzing became droning. The band played. Finally Luke looked to find the source.
Planes? Where did they come from? He squinted, trying to distinguish the markings on the approaching aircraft.
Must be ours on maneuvers, he decided, then spotted a red circle on the wing of a plane heading directly for the Nevada. His mind didn't comprehend immediately, then he realized the planes were coming in at an attack angle. A torpedo was released. Adrenaline shot through him. His heart thumped. “Japs! Japs!”
machine-gun fire clattered against the fantail, and the first bombs exploded. Absurdly, while bullets shredded the American flag, the band continued playing, hurrying to reach the end of the “National Anthem.” A siren called men to battle stations. Sailors, like ants scurrying from a burning mound, spilled out of doorways from lower decks. Some were half dressed. Others, running for their posts, pulled on clothing.
Ducking machine-gun fire, Luke sprinted for cover. Antiaircraft blasts answered, echoing in his ears. The pings of flying bullets and shrapnel were all around. He crouched behind a gun mount to catch his breath and get his bearings. With a sense of triumph, he watched a smoking Zero plummet toward the bay like a dying hawk. We'll beat 'em, he thought.
“Fish in the water!” someone shouted.
Luke gazed at the tracing in the water as a torpedo rushed at the Nevada. He braced for an explosion. The ship shuddered and listed to port. Smoke boiled up from below. His eyes and throat burning, Luke yelled, “We need men on the hoses!”
Moving toward the nearest hose, he tripped over a fallen sailor. “You all right?” he asked, kneeling beside the seaman. There was no answer. He grabbed the man's shoulders and lifted him slightly. The stranger's head dropped back, and blood flowed from his mouth. Dark fluid soaked the front of his blue shirt.
“There's nothing you can do for him!” someone shouted from behind Luke.
Realizing the truth, Luke lowered his shipmate to the deck. Suddenly panicked, he glanced all around. Men moved like shadows in the heavy smoke. There was yelling and screaming, and sailors were falling all around him. A sharp pain seared his thigh. Luke looked down to see a dark stain soak into his pants.
“Come on! Get on the hoses!” the man shouted and yanked Luke to his feet.
Dazed, Luke stumbled after him. “The hoses. Right,” he said, staring at another Zero trailing smoke as it dropped toward the bay.
“Get with it!” The sailor ducked through a door and disappeared.
A thunderous explosion and roaring ball of fire erupted from the Arizona, which was anchored alongside the Nevada. The power of the blast catapulted men on the nearby ship into the air and over the side. Screaming sailors floundered in the bay where a burning oil slick spread across the top of the water.
The Nevada's list worsened. We're going down! Luke thought, watching as more explosions ripped the Arizona apart. It burned fiercely, and Luke could feel its heat and hear the crackle of flames from where he stood. How could this be happening? He felt firm hands on his shoulders.
“Come on, we've got fires to fight,” Barry shouted, then glanced at Luke's leg. “You all right?”
“Yeah. It's nothing. I'm fine.” Luke clapped his buddy on the back. “Let's keep this ship afloat.”
“I'm with you,” Barry shouted over the din of machine-gun fire, booming guns, and explosions from nearby ships. Wailing sirens echoed over the bay.
The two men headed for the bow where the ship had taken a heavy hit. Grabbing a hose and directing it at blistering flames, Luke waited for the water. When it didn't come, he shouted, “Turn it on!”
“I did!” Barry turned the nozzle again—no water. He threw the hose down and ran for another, getting the same response.
“How're we gonna' fight a fire with no water?” Luke asked.
“They can't all be busted.”
The fires burned and spread, and the smoke thickened as men searched for undamaged hoses.
Ducking as bullets strafed the deck, Luke glanced at the widening oil slick. Another bomb shook the ship, and the jolt hurled Luke over the railing. Gripping the metal handrail, he dangled above the bay. Glancing at the oil-laden water below, he scrambled to climb aboard.
Barry grabbed his arm and hoisted him back on deck. The ship's engines fired, and with a groan it moved out of its berth and headed into the channel. “We're making a run for it!” Barry shouted.
Men struggling to stay afloat in the oil and water swam toward the moving ship. A line was tossed, and two men grabbed hold. Luke and Barry got on the other end and helped haul sailors aboard. Hanging out over the water, Luke reached for a man's hand. Their eyes met. Gasping for air, the stranger's eyes were fiery red, his face and body black with oil. Luke managed to grasp his hand, but his skin completely separated from his body, and the sailor dropped back into the water. Stunned and powerless, Luke watched the man disappear into the burning sea. He knew the image would be forever etched in his mind.
They moved past the Arizona. Heat from the blazing ship radiated so intensely it threatened the shells on the Nevada. Using their bodies as shields, men stepped in front of the bombs. Choking on smoke, Luke prayed they would have sufficient protection and forced his mind to turn from the horrifying possibilities. Instead, he concentrated on hope. If they could make it to open sea, they'd have a chance. Almighty God, we need your help. Protect us. You are more powerful than any Japs. Help us now.
They steamed past the West Virginia. She'd taken several hits and had settled in the bay mud. The Oklahoma had heeled over, leaving her underside exposed. Screams of the drowning resonated through Luke. Although the Tennessee and Maryland smoked, they seemed intact. The last ship at the end of Battleship Row was the California; it was engulfed in flames and sinking.
“I can't believe this is happening,” Luke said. “We've no navy left.”
