Chapter 47
"Move move move! Get your asses into a foxhole now, unless you want a Jap to shoot it off!"
Clutching his rifle tightly to his chest, a young Marine barreled out of his barrack and towards a line of trenches dug into the harsh sand of Wake Island. All around him, his fellow Marines panted and huffed as they ran to shelter. The dull
thump of naval shell fire echoed over the crunch of sand underfoot, and it was all the young man had to not look up. If he looked up, he would see shells arcing into the island behind him. He may even catch a glimpse of Wildcats struggling for altitude in the sky.
But he would probably die doing it.
Goddamnit. Fuck fuck fuck.
Diving into his foxhole, the Marine hurriedly pulled his helmet on, and stuck his head over the lip of the sandbag covering it. His dull eyes, sleep deprived and sunken, saw ripples of fire out in the Pacific. Fire that was centered on a formation of Japanese cruisers and destroyers, sleek grey hulls pumping explosives into the defiant American positions.
"Can't hit the broadside of a barn, can they?" A wisecracking voice spoke from beside the Marine, drawing his eyes away from the Japs and towards his partner in the foxhole. His annoying partner.
"Few hundred pounds of TNT doesn't care if it lands on your head, or the block over."
Smirking slightly, the other Marine shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, if that happens, at least it'll be quick eh? Lighten up, Miller."
Corporal Steven Miller resisted the urge to snark back, settling instead for rotating the bolt on his Springfield. Once he was content in the knowledge the old rifle was loaded, he sighed softly. Davidson was a smartass, only because he was as worn out and stressed as anyone and needed an outlet. He needed to remember that.
After he decked him, if they lived through this, of course. Priorities and all that.
"Do you think the Japs are actually going to try landing this time?" Davidson sobered up, somewhat, with his own rifle gently settled in its firing position. His eyes were every bit as dull as Miller's, as they looked over at him from under a dented helmet. "I mean, this is more than usual."
Miller spared a glance at the distant Japanese ships, scanning for any sign of troopships or landing craft. Hm. "Hell if I know. They didn't like the last time we did this, but they've taken out most of
our guns now."
"Too bad we didn't get 'ole
Sara's 8-inchers." The snarky marine sent back, with a grim smirk on his lips.
Doubt that would have helped much. Japs would have just hit them first.
Without replying, Miller ducked on instinct. That probably saved his life, as a shell exploded near the trench. Razor sharp shrapnel ricocheted over the heads of the Marines...and through a few unfortunate men. The beach was dyed red with blood, while Miller coughed up sand.
"Fucking Japs." He spat, as much out of frustration as to clear his mouth. "Where's our support, anyway?"
"A few days away, and you know that."
It wasn't Davidson, who was cradling his head after a piece of a shell pinged off his helmet, who said that. Miller turned his head, eyes widening ever so slightly.
Major James Devereux stared right back, seemingly nonplussed by the fire around him. "Something wrong, Marine?"
"No sir!" Miller snapped out on instinct, resisting a similar instinct to salute the officer. Devereux was popular with the Marines on Wake...it was his idea that had sunk that tin-can, the first time the Japs tried landing.
"Hmph." Devereux jumped fully into the foxhole, placing a hand on the groaning Davidson's shoulder. "I want you to get that looked at, soon as you can, Marine." As Davidson nodded an affirmative, the Major turned back to Miller. "Is your weapon loaded, Corporal?"
"It is, sir!"
With a small smile, Devereux nodded. "Good. The Japs are preparing for a landing, and I don't want them to set one foot on this island. You hear me?"
There was no need for a vocal reply this time, as a different sound echoed over the roar of gunfire. The sound of motors.
"And here they come." The Major had a grim look on his face, as he patted Miller on the shoulder this time. "Do your duty, Marine."
Nothing more was said, as Devereux moved to another foxhole, and Miller turned his attention to the Japs approaching. Landing craft were covered by two dinky little destroyers, racing ashore as quickly as they could. Black smoke belched from a single stack as the low-lying warships seemed determined to charge in, no matter what was shot at them.
Considering the Marines only had one five-inch gun operational, they didn't need to worry about that.
"Hold your fire, Marines!" Devereux's voice echoed over the trenches. The voice of a commander who was willing to be among his men, in their darkest hour. "Wait until you see a Jap to shoot. We aren't wasting ammo on things we can't kill, are we?"
"No sir!" A chorus of voices answered.
"Remember, we're United States Marines. We shoot to kill. We train to be the best shots in the entire goddamn world. We will not miss, if we have a target!"
"Ooh rah!"
Miller let a smirk cross his lips, while Davidson finally crawled back up next to him. With a nasty haymaker crossing his forehead, maybe, but the Marine was lucid when he grabbed his rifle. And his eyes were grim and determined when he looked out at the Jap destroyers. "You ready for this, Miller?"
"Always was, Davidson." Miller replied calmly, looking down the sights of his old Springfield.
Both of the Marines, along with the rest of Wake's defenders, prepared for the Japanese. If they wanted to run those boats ashore, they could damn well do it. They'd just be rushing into a nest of
very angry Marines.
He almost pitied the poor bastards.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
High above the island, Wildcats zoomed among Japanese bombers, searching for targets. The chubby little fighters struggled for altitude, and to avoid the relatively few escorts the Japanese had to defend their bombers. But, then, did
relatively few matter when only five Marines were in the air? One of the Wildcat pilots didn't think so, as he threw his bird into a wild dive, narrowly avoiding fire from a nimble Japanese fighter.
"Fuck! These guys know what they're doing!"
Ensign Jacobs would admit he wasn't the best pilot in the world, but the Japanese seemed to be everywhere at once. When he pulled out of the dive, G-forces pressing him down into his seat, he immediately saw a two-engined bomber in front of his eyes. Instinct had him firing the moment he saw the plane. Four fifty-caliber machine guns barked out a two second burst, smoke billowing from the Jap bomber as it spun away.
To promptly be replaced by one of the annoyingly nimble fighters, 7.7mm bullets pinging off the Wildcat's tough hide.
Damnit! Where are they all coming from?!
Twisting away from the Jap fighter, Jacobs snapped his head around, trying to catch sight of his wingman. Where was...there! A deep blue Wildcat was smoking as it attempted to turn with a bright silver Jap fighter, the stubby American barely keeping pace with the other bird. In fact, the Jap was--
"Turn McPherson! Get outta there!" Jacobs barked into his radio, hoping that the other man would hear him. If he did, he didn't make any sign of it...perhaps his radio was damaged. Perhaps he just didn't hear. Either way, Jacobs could only watch as the other plane continued to fall behind. "Get out of there, you bastard!"
The other Wildcat didn't have a chance. The Jap fighter suddenly made a sharp turn, a turn the Wildcat couldn't hope to match. As McPherson's fighter seemingly hung in place, the Jap was now on his tail, cannon and machine gun fire ripping into the already damaged fighter. With nary a scream, the American burst into flames, spiraling down into the surf below.
Jacobs bit his lip, and gunned the engine of his own fighter. The Japs were faster, but he'd be
damned if he let them get away with that. If he had to go after them alone, he'd do it. A Marine
never backed down from a fight!
"Come on..." With a grim frown on his face, the young Marine pilot dove out of the sun. Light glinted off the fuselage of his fighter, as he scythed down from above on a Japanese bomber. "Let's see how you like this!"
The cigar-shaped bomber never even knew what hit it. Bullets riddled the fuselage as Jacobs' fighter zoomed right past it. Behind him, the enemy bomber burst into flames like the cigar it resembled. These Japanese planes were fast...but they caught fire like nothing else. If he could just land a hit on them, they'd die. But then, landing a hit was always the issue.
As bullets impacted his own plane, Jacobs cursed sharply. "Fuck! Where is---"
Before he could find the Japanese pilot, a
whoop of exhilaration echoed over his radio. A burning Jap fighter spun into the sea past his cockpit, as a Wildcat dove past it.
A Wildcat with
Navy markings.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
"Good job, Butch! Now get your ass back up here before they shoot it off!"
Jimmy Thach had a wide grin on his face, as his wingman pulled back up after saving the Marine fighter. All around him, the fighters from
Saratoga took up position over Wake Island. The Japanese had scattered, seemingly caught off-guard by the sudden attack. That served Thach quite well, as the Marine flyers he had escorted moved to land and refuel. His own planes were hovering over the battlefield, looking for good attack vectors on the scattered Japanese.
"Captain Thach, I see several Japanese fighters coming from 2'o clock. Can you handle them?" A soothing female voice came over the radio, drawing the pilot's attention away from where he had been scanning.
"Roger that, Sara." Thach replied, unable to stop a small chuckle at the ludicrousness of the situation. Here he was, talking to what amounted to the soul of his ship. That was
still strange. Well, whatever, bigger fish to fry. "Hey, Butch, want to go after some Zekes?"
"Lead the way, Jimmy."
Nosing his Wildcat over into a turn to port, Thach began to zoom towards the distant Japanese fighters. The Japs did the same, coming directly at him. Six of them, four of the Americans- counting himself. Maybe it would be a fair fight, then! Grimly smiling, the American aviator sighted in on the first of the Japanese planes, while his wingmen formed up in their own parts of the formation.
As the two formations rapidly approached one another...Thach could almost see the eyes of the Japanese pilot across from him. Hidden behind goggles, staring at the American who dared to attack him head on. And beneath him, a flash of light as weapons fired from the nose of the Zeke.
"Break!"
Thach's formation scattered, Japanese cannon and machine gun fire flying through where they had previously been. Wildcats zoomed past Zekes, the Japanese planes already pulling into sharp turns to set up behind the Americans. Thach clicked his tongue, recognizing immediately what they were doing.
They're more maneuverable, and they know it. Don't think we can win a turning fight.
It was a good thing that he didn't have to win a turning fight then, wasn't it? Without bothering to click his radio this time, Thach sent the predetermined hand-signal to Butch. His wingman nodded, and pulled into a shallow turn, throttling down his engine as he did so. Just as planned, one of the Zekes pulled onto Butch's tail and began to fire at the Wildcat.
And just as planned, Butch pulled his fighter into a sharper turn, dragging the Jap along with him. With a focus the envy of his Samurai ancestors, the enemy pilot continued to fire on his target without breaking his turn. Too bad for him, then, that it was the exact wrong thing to do. With all his attention on O'Hare, he didn't realize that Thach was pulling right into his turn.
Until it was too late.
"Gotcha, ya little bastard." Thach smirked as he pressed down on his firing stick, bullets lancing out from his wings. The Japanese fighter was riddled with holes, more than a few shattering the glass of the cockpit. Stained blood red, it caught fire and trailed smoke...as the plane fell from view.
Giving a little whoop at that, the Captain keyed his radio and got back in contact with
Saratoga. "Tell Admiral Thompson that his Weave works. Jap didn't know what hit him!"
"I'll be sure to let him know," that soft voice replied, a little bit of humor carrying along the signal.
"Wake reports that the bombers are pulling back. Are there any fighters left?"
Twisting his head around the cockpit, Thach scanned the horizon. Plumes of smoke were everywhere, from downed Japs and downed Wildcats. A Japanese patrol boat was belching fire from where she was beached on Wake, with men scrambling into firing positions all around it. As for the sky, well, Butch was on his wing. His other wing pair was coming back into sight.
And not a single silver fighter was in sight. As if they had vanished like something out of a movie.
"Negative on that,
Saratoga." Thach replied, a little
hmm of thought rumbling in his throat. "How in the world...Butch, you see where they went?"
"Negative. I think I saw them heading off to the west, but I can't be sure."
With nothing else to work on, Thach sent that along to the carrier. There was silence, save for the dull rumble of his Twin Wasp engine. Sara was probably talking it over with the Admiral and the Captain, to figure out their next move. That was what Thach assumed at least, while his squadron formed back up and covered the landing of the Marine flyers.
It was only after a few minutes, that the female voice returned.
"The Captain wants you to return to the ships, Captain Thach." Prim and proper,
Saratoga was clearly taking this very seriously. There wasn't a hint of the gentle ribbing she had given the Admiral when he introduced her to the pilots.
"The current assumption is that the Japanese are going to try and attack us. Enterprise is routing some of her fighters to take your place over Wake."
"Roger that."
With a look of determination crossing his face, Thach waved at his squadron and directed them back towards the fleet. Who knew if the Japs had found them...but he wasn't about to take that risk.
He rather liked having a home to return to, after all.
Far away from Wake Island, though close enough to understand what was happening, two members of the
Kido Butai floated together. The older and larger
Kaga, gently swaying in the waves. And the younger and smaller
Hiryuu, currently seeing the last of her bombers take to the sky. Atop her flight deck, a black haired woman waved at the departing planes, excellently mimicking the men lining the deck. Those men, and the woman, were substantially less cheerful than before, however.
Where they had cheered the pilots on during the attack on Pearl Harbor, now there was grim determination. Many of the men had lost friends, when the Americans fought back so effectively. Many of them were filled with righteous anger.
And what her crew felt, Hiryuu felt.
"Go!" She shouted at the planes, taking off to bomb the American carrier that a scout had happened upon while patrolling around Wake. "Make sure you don't miss anything!"
She didn't really notice that no one heard her. Why would she? She was more concerned with her attack anyway. As Tamon-maru always said, they needed to hit the enemy hard and without mercy.
"Don't miss anything!" Hiryuu repeated herself, her hands gesturing wildly into the distance. "If we hit them first, we will win. That's the first rule of carrier warfare!"
In fact, the only one
to hear her, was probably
Kaga. Though Hiryuu wouldn't know if she had, considering that particular carrier was...very quiet. Even if they could talk to each other, Kaga wasn't really the type. At least from what Hiryuu knew, which wasn't much.
She'd probably say something like 'don't be cocky' or 'Why am I with the Second CarDiv?'. Hiryuu couldn't help but smile a bit at the thought.
I hope that she is alright over there, though. She isn't Soryuu, but I need all the help I can get!
Hiryuu had fully embraced the doctrine of her beloved Tamon-maru, of course. And for that, she needed help. If the enemy wanted to come and fight them, they would suffer for it. Sure, she lost planes at Pearl, but her aircrew had come out better than any of the others! And if she had her way, she'd sink every single American ship out there. Every single one of them.
After all, it was the samurai way. Never let an enemy escape and always defeat them in detail. She couldn't do it herself, but she would cheer her men on as they did it for her.
"Tamon-maru, I hope that everyone does their duty." Hiryuu grinned up at her island, ignoring the wind blowing through her hair or the taste of salt on her lips. All that she cared about was
breaking the enemy in one fell swoop, just like the
Kantai Kessen. "You trained them all well, after all!"
And as she watched her planes disappear on the horizon, Hiryuu knew that they would kill many Americans. Just like they were all expected to do.
Still rusty on battles, TBH. I prefer writing character pieces.
This aside, part one of the Wake battle is done. Part Two will be the next chapter and we'll start from the Japanese perspective that time. On and on that note, Hiryuu is also fairly similar- yet darker -compared to her canon character. All about first strikes, training, hitting the enemy hard...but now it's about killing as many of them as possible, because obviously, that's what she needs to do.
This does translate somewhat to someone who is...rather happy to destroy anything in front of her. Also slightly yandere for her commander.
(I'll develop her more later, this was an introduction more than anything else. Also, fun times with Kaga soon)
As for the rest...well, who said having someone who can talk with every pilot on a whim isn't useful?
Also, since I'm spoiling my readers today:
This,
Holding the Line and a new
GuP fic. All at once
