Cripple Creek Press
The deep Pacific waters already littered with destroyed enemy aircraft, Kusaka wondered at the Americans’ tenacity. We slaughter them with ease, yet still they come, he thought. Seemingly oblivious to the certain death awaiting them. Almost contemptuous in their disregard for our defense. Are they arrogant? Stubborn? Fools? What kind of men are these? The lead aircraft closed to within a thousand meters before releasing its torpedo. It splashed down and disappeared from view, running toward its intended target. The unburdened plane skittered away across the wave tops with enraged Zeroes hounding its tail. Kusaka’s eyesight remained locked in place, waiting for the weapon to reappear when it neared Akagi. His vision returned to the attacking aircraft. Impressed with the pilot’s skill, Kusaka knew somehow that this man dared to waltz among tigers. He’s making a much closer approach before dropping his weapon. He has no fear. Intent on his deadly purpose. Ears and body pounding from the riotous noise, Kusaka opened his mouth, trying to relieve the pressure. He thought, how could anything or anyone survive such relentless fire? It’s not humanly possible. Are the Americans resorting to suicide attacks in desperation? Does their martial spirit allow for such acts? Within five hundred meters of Akagi, the torpedo fell free, skipped once, and then started its run. Kusaka reached out to grab the wall, bracing himself against another sudden turn. Slight motion in the corner of his vision lured his eyesight to a pair of dividers skidding across the small chart table. They fell to the floor in silence, the soft clatter absorbed by the racket of battle. The airplane’s nose lifted, and it screamed down Akagi’s flight deck. The screening vessels’ and pursuing Zeroes’ guns fell silent as it flashed by the island structure. The brief pause proved deadly. The bomber’s rear gunner cut loose a spray of large caliber bullets. Tracers cut a fiery path into an anti-aircraft gun mount. Unprotected flesh splattered in crimson spray as rivets of lead mowed men down. Excerpt from Vengeance Strikes the Blow, published by Cripple Creek Press. All rights reserved.
Kusaka staggered a few steps as Akagi turned toward the approaching enemy aircraft presenting a smaller target. He watched as three of the battered, tattered medium bombers continued winging toward the carriers intent on launching their torpedoes. Frantic Zeroes, having retreated earlier from the tremendous volume of friendly gunfire belching forth from the screening vessels, now ignored the threat. They dove in, blasting away at the deadly intruders.
The huge ship made another hard turn, veering away from the oncoming torpedo. Kusaka lurched sideways into Genda, releasing a groan of pain from the young officer. The torpedo chugged past, missing the carrier and leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake. Cheers and clapping drifted on the combat-torn wind, falling silent as the second enemy plane bore in. The defensive gunfire increased in volume. A mountain of shot and steel sought to destroy the attacking aircraft. Amidst the panicked frenzy and close quarters, friendly fire struck neighboring vessels. Kusaka winced at the number of stray rounds zipping between the ships. This is utter madness, he thought. We could be wounded or killed at the hands of our fellow countrymen.
With one hand, he hoisted the binoculars, focused on the cockpit of the now accelerating aircraft, and plainly saw the pilot straining at the controls. That answers my question about suicide attacks, he thought. This man wants to live. Muffled cheers rose to the bridge. Kusaka knew without looking that the enemy had missed again. Their weapons are unworthy of their courage. Wish that they never gain the swords equal with their desire to use them.