Suzuki and his cadre of vampyr pilots had been sitting in the black tinted cockpits of their Zeros since before dawn. They had spent so long preparing for war that none of them wanted to miss the first sortie over enemy territory. Now they were taxiing down the airstrip, waiting for the signal to accelerate into the sky. The bombers were first to take off, more than a hundred and eighty Mitsubishis ascending into the clouds before assembling into their flying formation. The Zeros were next, nearly a hundred of them, including Suzuki and his six kyuuketsuki. The fighters' principal task was escorting the bombers to their targets and engaging any enemy combatants in the sky.
Once the aerial bombardment was complete, the Zeros would have an opportunity to strafe the American facilities on the ground, causing as much damage as possible. That was where Suzuki expected his pilots to come into their own. Kyuuketsuki units were still an experiment as far as Tokyo was concerned, just another weapon in the empire's war arsenal. Suzuki knew there were already mutterings among those who controlled the naval aviation programme, complaints about him requisitioning the navy's finest planes and pilots for some ill-defined mission. It was vital that the kyuuketsuki perform well in this attack, proving their worth as pilots and weapons.
Suzuki listened as Otomo contacted the others via radio, confirming that all the vampyrs had gotten off the ground without incident. The seven black Zeros assembled into a flying V formation, with Suzuki at its head and Otomo at his right wingtip. "History awaits us all," Suzuki told his vampyr samurai on the frequency reserved for the kyuuketsuki, the signal transmitted at a pitch too high for most humans to hear.
"Our fellow fliers will be aiming to devastate the American ground facilities, destroying any planes still on the ground when we reach the target and disabling support facilities. I have a different mission in mind, brothers. Our objective is to strike horror and dread into the hearts of the Americans. We shall hunt them down and slaughter them, one by one if necessary. We shall put fear in their hearts and doubt in their souls. We will kill without mercy or remorse. Men, women and children will all die before our machine guns. Let the legend of our black fighters and our savagery begin today. Let them know fear as they've never experienced it before. Let them know terror!"
"Where the hell have you been?" Aimes folded his arms when Martinez raced across the grass to the anti-aircraft gun. The rest of the unit had been in position and running drills for ten minutes when the private arrived. To make matters worse, Martinez was out of breath and half his shirt was hanging out of his trousers. "You look like you've only just gotten out of bed!"
"That's because he has," one of the other recruits quipped, getting a cheap laugh from the others. A glare from the sergeant silenced them.
"If I wanted any comedians in my unit, I would've become an entertainment officer, not an artillery sergeant!" Aimes bellowed. "The next man who cracks wise near me can do a hundred press-ups with me sitting on his back." None of the soldiers felt the urge to demonstrate their gift for humour after that. Satisfied, Aimes turned back to Martinez. "Well?"
"Sorry, sergeant, I was on my honeymoon."
"Honeymoon's over, loverboy, we decided to have a war instead."
"Yes, sergeant, so I've been told."
"So good of you to join us for it."
"Yes, sergeant."
"Yes, sergeant," Aimes echoed, mimicking Martinez's accent. Several of the other recruits giggled, but quickly stifled their amusement, lest they be next for one of the sergeant's razor sharp tongue lashings. "Now, since Wierzbowski has chosen the most inconvenient possible moment to get hospitalised, we're a man short. But something tells me the Japanese won't pay any attention to that. We've never actually had the chance to test fire our weapons during our many, many drills, because some genius never saw fit to supply us with any ammunition fit for that purpose, but I doubt the Japanese will bother about that, either. What ammunition we do have is no use beyond an altitude of twenty thousand feet, so it'll probably be next to useless against the enemy's bombers. As a result, even if we get one of the Japanese planes in our sights, chances are our shells won't reach them. So, you might well be asking yourself, what the hell are we doing out here?"
Several recruits exchanged worried glances, but Aimes was not asking for their opinion. Instead he thundered on with his speech. "We are here because our gun is a deterrent. I've never been in a Japanese plane, but I'm guessing they won't like the taste of our flak. The more we can do to make their job difficult, the better this battle will go for our side. If we can shoot one or two of them out of the sky, that's a bonus. Our task here is to fight back and to show them we're not afraid of their sorry, yellow asses.
"Make no mistakes, gentlemen, we are at war with the Japanese Empire. The President might not have said so yet, Congress and the Senate might still be arguing in Washington DC about whether or not to declare what everybody knows is a simple fact, but we are at war. No quarter asked and no quarter given. Everything you've ever done has been about preparing you for this day, this battle, this damn war. Prove you've got what it takes by making yourself, your family and your country proud. Chances are, some of you won't be alive by this time tomorrow. Hell, I think it'll be a miracle if any of us are still alive by the time this war is won. We are in harm's way here, and the Japanese are coming to do us that harm. Well, we've got a chance to turn them back, a chance to show them what Americans are made of: grit and determination, hellfire and vengeance. Today's the day you learn what it means to be a soldier. Today's the day you earn that uniform you wear."
The MPs transporting Paxton reached the navy yards at midday. They were forced to stop several times en route by civilian disturbances that threatened to disrupt the rule of law on Oahu. More than a third of Hawaii's population were Americans of Japanese parentage, something that gave the attack by Japanese planes on the American island an extra, unhappy dimension. One intersection was blocked by Japanese residents cheering the enemy aircraft overhead. The MPs felt obliged to put a halt to their demonstration, fearful that it would provoke retaliations by other citizens. Closer to the navy yards the MPs intervened to prevent an angry crowd that was vandalising a store run by a Japanese American family. The owner had been brutally beaten and his wife was in danger of suffering the same rough justice.
Paxton stayed in the jeep both times, not wanting to get involved. His mind was still rebelling at all he had witnessed that morning. He could picture the reaction of people across America, hell, across the whole damned world, upon hearing that Pearl Harbour had been attacked by the Japanese. Folks would be shocked that the US had been caught flat-footed, Paxton thought, stunned that a little nation like Japan could catch America cold.
How would they react if someone told them that the Japs were using vampires as spies on our territory? Nobody would believe it, of course; he could hardly believe it himself and he had seen Kissy transform into one of those monsters, seen her burned alive by exposure to nothing more harmful than sunlight. Try to warn others about this danger and he'd be thought a madman or a malingerer, acting insane to get himself discharged now that war had broken out. No, I must keep what I've seen to myself, Paxton decided. I've got enough guilty secrets, so one more will make little difference.
When the jeep delivered him to the navy yards, Paxton thanked the MPs and waited for them to drive away before approaching the gatehouse. He expected to be arrested at any moment, but was surprised to find that his return made little impact. The sentry at the gate recognised Paxton and ticked his name off a list on a clipboard. "I went absent without leave," Paxton said.
"Then count yourself lucky the Japs attacked this morning," the sentry replied. "Captain's declared a temporary amnesty on all AWOL recruits so long as they report back to barracks before sundown. He said we'd need every man we could get and military justice would have to wait awhile."
"So I'm off the hook?" Paxton asked, unable to believe he'd dodged punishment for his attack on Sergeant Hicks.
"I said a temporary amnesty. Captain's offering suspended sentences for outstanding offences. Keep your sheet clean for a year and then you'll be off the hook, assuming you live that long, of course." The sentry arched an eyebrow at the marine, intrigued by Paxton's obvious relief. "Why d'you ask? What did you do that was so bad you decided to go AWOL?" Once the marine had explained, the sentry gave a low whistle. "You're the one who laid out Hicks? I wouldn't want to be in your boots when he recovers!"
"The sarge is still alive?"
"I'd take more than a skull fracture and concussion to kill that old soldier."
Paxton was relieved to know he hadn't murdered Hicks, but didn't savour the prospect of serving under the sergeant again. "Where is he?"
"How should I know?" the sentry shrugged. "Try one of the field hospital units; they've got them set up all over the base." He walked past the marine, his attention already focused on an approaching truck.
Father Kelly didn't hear about the attack on Pearl Harbour until he made his daily visit to the base hospital shortly before noon. He had been praying at the chapel most of the morning, after a sleepless night haunted by a vision of Catherine. The priest knew she was dead, he was the one who had found her body and led her funeral service, but the beautiful young women in his dreams seemed more alive than ever. She spoke to him, asking the same question over and over again, the same question she'd been asking him in his sleep every night since she died: why?
The priest still didn't have an answer, despite spending two hours on his knees in the chapel, praying for guidance or an enlightenment that never came. Father Kelly said five novenas without interruption before giving up for another day. If he kept busy tending to the needs of others, it helped him forget the numbing hollowness in his own soul, if only for a while. That was better than the constant memory of how he'd failed Catherine.
He was surprised to see Wierzbowski in the ward and approached the private, ready to make light of whatever was ailing the soldier. "What's it this time? Another dislocated knee, or did you bruise your knuckles teaching Arnold Buntz a much deserved lesson?" Not that I condone violence, of course."
"Hello, father," Wierzbowski responded, his voice thin and weak. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought they might have shipped you out."
"Really? Why?"
"You haven't heard? About what's happened at Pearl?"
Father Kelly shook his head. He was soon shaking it in disbelief after Wierzbowski described the reports he'd heard over the armed forces radio. "But that's terrible! And you say the Japanese gave no warning of their attack?"
"Seems they didn't."
"That's appalling," the priest whispered. "Declaring war is bad enough in a world already ravaged by so much fighting, but to attack an island populated by so many innocent women and children..." He thought back to his brief time at Oahu, en route to this posting. "You're sure this isn't some kind of hoax, like when that Welles fellow made his broadcast about Martians?"
"It's no hoax, father." The newly married Nurse Martinez came over to check Wierzbowski's chart and temperature. "Radio says President Roosevelt is expected to declare war in the next day or so, if not sooner."
"My God," Father Kelly said, making the sign of the cross and offering up a silent prayer for all those killed or injured back in Hawaii. As he did so, the priest was all too aware of the inherent contradiction. His own faith might be in question, but the habits of a lifetime died hard. Besides, even if I'm not sure I believe in God, Father Kelly thought, that doesn't mean He's stopped existing. Once his prayer was finished, a new and worrying fact occurred to him. "Pearl Harbour is between here and mainland America, isn't it?"
The nurse nodded, eyes fixed on her watch as she checked the pulse in Wierzbowski's left arm. "And we're between Pearl and Japan."
"Exactly," Father Kelly agreed, "so why did the enemy bypass us to attack Hawaii first? That doesn't make any sense to me."
"The whole Pacific fleet is stationed at Pearl," she replied. "Take that out of action and life gets a lot easier for the Japs. Besides, the sun rises five hours earlier at Oahu, and bombing's probably easier in daylight."
"Then it's only a matter of time before this base is attacked."
"That's what the doctors reckon," Nurse Martinez said. "Wierzbowski, I've got good news and bad news. What do you want first?"
The patient shrugged. "Good news, I guess."
"The treatments have worked, you're getting better."
"And the bad news?"
She grimaced. "Another few days and you can go back to your unit. Right now, I'm not sure that's the safest place to be."
"I'm not sure anywhere's safe now," Father Kelly observed.
The nurse nodded. "You're probably right." She noticed the priest staring at her. "Is there something wrong, father?"
For a moment Father Kelly believed he was looking not at her but at Catherine, as she would have been if still alive. So often she had talked about her dreams of becoming a nurse, helping people by easing their pain, making a difference to their lives. She saw it as a noble calling, a vocation like the priesthood. She saw him as noble, not as a man but as a healer of souls, and he had taken advantage of that naivety, had used his position of trust to-
"Father Kelly, are you all right?"
The priest shook his head, pushing away the images in his mind, the memories of what had happened back in Chicago. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Sorry, my thoughts wandered there for a minute."
She walked around Wierzbowski's bed to put a comforting hand on Father Kelly's arm. "I know how you feel. Yesterday I was getting married and today we're all standing on the edge of war, with no way of knowing where it will lead us or what effect it'll have on our lives, or the people we love."