1945

Ikeda flew on and prayed. He could not die unfulfilled. He had to find a ship. It was difficult to stay airborne, and soon his altitude fell to under a hundred feet. He could almost feel the waves reaching out to doom his quest. Then, in the distance, he saw a slim, dark shape on the water with an even larger one behind it. American ships, but what type were they? He laughed. Whatever they were, they would have to do.

Ikeda turned his struggling plane toward the larger of the two ships. As it drew closer, the larger ship took on shape and identity as a warship. It had massive turrets and a superstructure that was now taller than the height at which he was flying. Ikeda hoped that it was a battleship. That would be a fine ending to his life.

Bullets and shells reached out toward him from both enemy warships, but it was too late and he flew through them as if protected by a magician's spell. As the American ship filled his view, he closed his eyes and thought of his family.

CHAPTER 41

Seaman 1st Class Tim Jardine felt that he was now living almost all his life within ten feet of the antiaircraft guns that pointed out into the chill night. He comforted himself by realizing that it could have been a whole lot worse. At least some of the maddening restrictions on their behavior and movement had been relaxed. In a way it was funny. The closer they got to Japan, the less edgy the brass had gotten about the possibility of enemy attacks. Maybe they were getting used to it.

It did seem that fewer Jap planes were flying, and it was logical that the Japs had to run out of suicide pilots someday. After all, a kamikaze didn't make many return flights if he set out to kill himself.

Jardine and the other men in the gun mount had also concluded that their officer, Ensign Hollowell, was a pretty good guy, even if he was an officer and young and inexperienced at that. For one thing, he had devised a better way of rotating men at the guns that kept them fresher during the night. He also wasn't a prick when it came to keeping things neat and shipshape in the area. If the navy wanted the guns manned all the time, then certain things had to be considered less important than others. The turret and its occupants may have looked a little casual, but they were ready to fight.

But the best thing about Hollowell was that he was always hungry and had a great habit of getting food and Cokes for the men. Jardine bit into a sandwich and decided that if feeding people made them like you, then Hollowell was going to be very popular.

Haverman handed Jardine his binoculars and stretched his shoulders. They ached from the strain of peering out into the darkness of the night. "Here, your turn."

"Thanks," Jardine said as he settled the straps over his helmet. "Keep an eye out for MacArthur, he was walking around a little while ago."

Haverman grunted but did not make any disparaging comments about their important guest. MacArthur's nocturnal habit of pacing the ship alone was an old story by now. Just about everyone had seen him, although no one spoke to him. MacArthur just wanted to be alone to think, and who could blame him? The invasion was a month old and the Japs were still hanging in there with no signs of their giving up. Jardine shuddered at the thought of the hell the men on Kyushu were going through. Thank God he'd been drafted into the navy.

Jardine looked through the powerful glasses. As usual, there was nothing. Then a star twinkled and went out. What the hell? He checked where the star was and it returned.

"Dammit," he muttered.

"What is it?" Ensign Hollowell asked.

"I'm not certain, but there may be something out there, just over the horizon. I'm kinda certain I saw some motion low in the sky."

Hollowell made a quick phone call. A moment later he hung up. "Lieutenant Greene says there's nothing on radar, so, if it's a plane, it's way the hell out there. The darkness may be playing tricks on you. Greene thinks it might be a bird."

"Okay, sir," Jardine said, but he didn't feel comfortable. He had that gut feeling that whatever he saw was fairly close, and it sure as hell didn't strike him as a bird. Wrong sort of motion, although he had to admit that he hadn't seen all that much. It was just a sense that it wasn't a bird.

So why hadn't radar latched onto it? If it was a plane and was close by, it should have. But where was it written that radar was perfect? The more he thought about what he hadn't quite seen, the more uncomfortable he became.