The Silver Waterfall by Kevin Miller

Author:Kevin Miller [Miller, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781640621169
Publisher: Braveship
Published: 2020-06-03T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Flight Deck, HIJMS Hiryū, 1320 June 4, 1942

Hurrying behind his mates, Maruyama burst out of the catwalk hatch into the sun. Crewmen crowded the catwalk, slapping his back, exhorting him. Maruyama was annoyed by the bottleneck they made, especially when one man stopped one of the pilots to deliver a personal message. Pushing past, he popped his head over the level of the flight deck and saw why; hundreds of crewmen had jammed the catwalks, waving their caps and lifting their arms in a banzai send-off for the pilots. Instead of the confidence of that morning, the faces of the men now showed desperation, pleading. Please avenge us!

The deep guttural sound made by the warmed up Zero-sens drowned out Maruyama’s Type 97s that belched and purred from their spots aft. He checked overhead; a number of dive-bombers had returned and circled for their turns to land. Climbing the small ladder to the flight deck, he continued to trot behind the others as they all dashed to their planes, conscious of the hundreds of eyes on them. Most searched the sky in anxious anticipation of another American attack.

The man ahead was transfixed by something behind him while running toward the spinning propellers. Maruyama stole a glance and saw why: three black pillars towered above the scattered cotton ball clouds over the Mobile Force. The dark shapes resembled tall trees in an open field, their branches intertwined, their tops sheared by winds high above any altitude Maruyama had ever flown.

The fighter pilots lowered themselves into their cockpits. As they did, the torpedo men scampered under their wings as they too entered the dangerous maze of idling airplanes parked for takeoff. Foreboding filled him as he recognized one of the Mitsubishis was from Kaga – an orphan out to avenge his family.

Maruyama found his kankō on the aftermost spot, port side. Nakao was already inside strapping in. Slung underneath was a Type 91, like the torpedo he had carried that morning. Oklahoma had been a sitting duck, groggy from sleep, but whatever was over the horizon now would be moving, alerted and escorted. As he crouched under the wing along the deck edge, he saw Hiryū’s frothy wake flare out on the water as the carrier turned to the launch heading.

Exhaust fumes filled his nostrils as Maruyama jumped onto the wing and bounded up and into the middle seat. His torpedo bomber vibrated against the chocks, and the flags above the bridge snapped and fluttered as they matched the crew’s tension on deck. Maruyama and the grim faces in the cockpits felt it. The desperation. The uncertainty. Nine hours earlier, every man in the force had experienced supreme confidence. Now, the black scars on the southern horizon served as warning. You can be beaten. Even by the hapless Americans.

Standing straight out, the flapping flags aligned down the deck, and the ship steadied up on an even keel. Nearby were the escorts, many with sailors visible as white dots on their upper works

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