The Eagle's Claw by Jeff Shaara

Author:Jeff Shaara [Shaara, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2021-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

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He knelt low in the slit trench, watched the PT boats moving slowly through the lagoon. Targets, he thought. Guess they know what the hell they’re doing. If it was me, I’d be headed out to sea at full bore. More room to maneuver. I’d kinda like bigger guns too.

The sounds came now, faint, increasing, and Ackroyd scanned the skies to the west. Holy crap, there they are. A pot load of ’em. He called out, loud, no need for discretion. “Keep your heads down. Let the AA boys do what they do best.”

Behind him, the anti-aircraft guns began firing, streaks of fire toward the formations of bombers. Ackroyd pulled the straps on his helmet, clamping it hard on his head, his eyes on the V formations high above. The puffs of smoke blossomed around the planes, flak from the AA guns, and almost immediately, one of the planes burst into flames, falling loosely from the formation. Ackroyd felt his hands shaking, watched the plane coming close, fiery impact back in the dunes. He wanted to shout, cheer, but there were too many planes still coming. High above, he caught the streaking fighters, unsure if they were…Another bomber fell now, a fighter on its tail. Yes! It’s ours. Our fighter. We’re there too. Let’s go, do it. Another plane came down now, tumbling black smoke. It impacted in the lagoon, close to one of the PT boats, and Ackroyd disobeyed his own order, peered up and over the sandbags, saw the PT boat move close, men in the water. Well, he thought. Seems they do know what the hell they’re doing. Check him out, boys. Maybe secrets to be found. Maybe he’s just a stupid unlucky Jap whose number was up.

The fighters high above the formations seemed completely separate from the action below them, weaving their patterns, ignoring the bombers. He stared, but had no idea what he saw, and had no explanation for what was happening. The V formations were nearly overhead now, and he saw something new, the bombers unleashing their best weapon. To one side, voices called out, the men seeing what he saw now. Black dots fell closer, spreading out all back behind them, the first one impacting, then more, thunder and smoke, a great fiery blast, too loud, too much fire. Ackroyd ducked low into the sand, and thought, Fuel tanks. Jesus. Bastards made a good shot. More impacts erupted closer behind them, a direct hit on an AA battery, but many more came down just in soft sand, harmless blasts, except for the terrified gooney birds scrambling to escape.

A new sound came now, men shouting, fear and wonder, the next wave, Japanese dive bombers seeming to fall from the sky, the awful shriek, the bombs released at the last second, more targets hit and more missed, heavy blasts, shrapnel, small buildings leveled, more anti-aircraft guns disabled.

As the bombers pulled away, Ackroyd stood, a hard shout, cursing, realized he had his forty-five in his hand.

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