Chapter 8

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941

8:10 A.M.

Joe blinked away the spots filling his vision and tried to think.

The deck was hard and hot on his back. His ears were ringing. His head hurt. All he could see was the sky, filled with clouds of smoke and dotted with the black shapes of oncoming planes.

Slowly, he sat up and took in the scene around him.

The battleship across from the West Virginia had exploded, like someone had punched a hole through its middle. Flames jetted up into the sky out of its gutted belly, sending a column of pitch-black smoke into the air. Slowly, with the sea frothing around it, the back end of the ruined ship began leaning into the water.

Something landed on the deck next to Joe, making him start. It was a clipboard, the edge still on fire. The head of the paper clipped to it read: USS Arizona—Morning Assignments. Then the fire blackened it into a piece of fluttering ash.

All around Joe, sailors were climbing to their feet, some looking glassy-eyed and dazed, others scrambling in panic. But Joe was frozen in horror, watching the Arizona’s tail sink deeper and deeper into the ocean. Weren’t these ships meant to be unsinkable? What sort of bomb could destroy a battleship like that?

Who was bombing them? What was happening?

All Joe knew was that everything had gone horribly, unbelievably wrong. His face, nostrils, eyes, every part of him stung and burned. He remembered his grandmother’s Bible stories, about the world being plunged into a lake of fire and brimstone. This must be what it was like—the end of the world.

Out of nowhere, Skipper appeared before him. She was barking her head off and nuzzling Joe’s face. It broke Joe out of his stunned gaze, and he threw his arms around Skipper’s neck and shook with fear.

“Oh, Skipper,” he cried, his body shaking against hers. “What’s going on? Who’s attacking us, girl? How did this happen?”

Skipper pulled away from him and barked, moving her head from Joe to the ship and back again. Joe felt grit biting his arm as a line of machine gun fire cracked against the deck to his left.

Skipper was right—he had to get inside the ship, out of the line of fire.

Panic kicked in, and Joe jumped to his feet and ran blindly, Skipper at his side. Around him, sailors were trying to get to their battle stations while the planes overheard kept firing on the decks of the battleships. Joe caught quick glimpses of some sailors being blown off their feet or knocked into the water by the gunfire. He tried not to think about what had just happened to them. He tried to remember where the entrance was that they’d used to get on the deck of the ship.

Suddenly, a terrible crunching noise rang out above him. Joe looked up to see one of the towers of the West Virginia smashed inward by a heavy black shape—a bomb. Not detonated but taller than he was, and probably twice as heavy.

With a groan, a huge chunk of the turret split off around the bomb. Joe was frozen in terror, only able to watch as it came falling toward him—

WHACK! Skipper threw her whole body into Joe’s butt, knocking him forward just in time. Behind them, the hunk of tower crashed to the deck with a massive crunch. Bits of glass, wood, and metal scattered all around them.

Joe sat up, gasping, barely able to breathe. His heart pounded and sweat poured down his face. He stared at the settling pile of wreckage and thought about how if it hadn’t been for Skipper, he would be under that pile of metal and glass right now, his body broken into a million pieces.

“Thanks, girl,” he said, and climbed to his feet.

“HEY, JOE!”

Who was calling him? Joe followed the voice and saw Danny leaning out of a doorway that led into the ship. He waved for Joe while a bunch of other sailors yelled and tried to snatch the door out of his hand.

“Get over here!” screamed Danny. “I need to get you inside before we take serious damage!”

Joe leaped to his feet and ran toward the door. He was just about to step into the hatch when something in the distance caught his eye.

Toward the front of the ship, a broad figure sat behind one of the West Virginia’s .50 caliber machine guns, empty shells the size of cucumbers tumbling to the deck next to it. In quick bursts, he fired into the air, his body heaving with the kick of the gun. But it was the shape of his frame and the way he pumped his fist when one of the planes overhead exploded in flames that sent a flash of recognition through Joe’s mind.

It was Pop!

Joe couldn’t believe his eyes, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. Pop, who the navy said could never be anything other than a cook, shooting down enemy planes with a gun he’d never used before!

Joe watched his father’s body shake as his machine gun lit up with fireballs and spat shells from its sides. Another plane disappeared in a smoky explosion.

“Pop!” he screamed. “Pop, it’s me!”

“He can’t hear you over the guns!” screamed Danny. He grabbed ahold of Joe’s arm. “Inside, now!”

“We can’t leave him out here!” yelled Joe. “What if something happens? We can’t—”

Just then, Skipper turned to the side of the ship and started her panicked barking again. This time Joe recognized it for what it was—her warning bark—and looked to where she faced. Off in the ocean at their side, a huge shape was making the water ripple in a line—heading right for them!

“Look!” shouted Joe, pointing.

“What the— Oh no,” said Danny. “Torpedo! Torpedo off the port side! Prepare for impact—”

The deck under Joe kicked with a horrible rumble as the shape beneath the water hit the bow alongside them.

Joe was bounced into the air and dropped onto his back. White flashed across his vision, and then he felt the whole world lurch forward, tossing him toward the port railing of the battleship.

Before he could catch himself, Joe was sliding down the deck toward the edge. He scrambled at the deck with his fingernails and the heels of his shoes, but it was no use—he was going down!

The railing collided with Joe’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. For a brief moment, he thought of Mama and Pop, of Baby Kathy, of how sorry he was to have snuck on here and gotten mixed up in all of this. Then he lurched over the edge—

And froze in midair!

Joe stared down at the churning water below him, sloshing hard against the side of the West Virginia. He could see flaming slicks of oil moving up and down along the surface and sailors swimming for shore.

Why wasn’t he falling toward them? How was he still alive?

He heard a growl and the scrape of nails and felt a tug at the back of his pants.

Skipper! Joe looked over his shoulder. Skipper had the back of his belt in her mouth and was leaning all the way back on her legs to pull Joe back up on the railing!

Joe reached back, felt for the railing, and grabbed it. He pulled himself back on the slopping deck and threw his arms around Skipper.

“Thank you, girl!” he cried. “You saved my life! Again!”

The ground kicked and rumbled beneath them, making Joe jump and Skipper whine.

“There’ll be time to thank her later!” screamed Danny from the door. “We’re getting torpedoed, kid! Get in here!”

Joe looked again for Pop. He thought he could just make him out through the smoke, collapsed but climbing to his feet, but he wasn’t sure. What had happened to Pop when that torpedo hit? Had he been thrown over the edge without a Skipper to save him?

“JOE!”

Joe fought back tears. There was no time. More than anything, Pop would want him to be okay. He had to go.

Joe scrambled up the tilted deck and grabbed Danny’s hand, Skipper hot on his heels. Once the sailors had pulled Joe and Skipper into the ship, Danny yanked the door shut.

Just as he did, two more kicks hit the West Virginia, sending them all reeling around the passageway of the battleship.

A deep groan echoed through the ship around them as the hallway leaned even deeper to the port side. All of the sailors around Joe shared wide-eyed glances, their faces slick with sweat. Among them, Joe saw Seaman Norman, shaking like a leaf and clutching the collar of his uniform.

“They’re going to sink us!” shouted Norman. “They’re going to sink us just like they sank the Arizona!”

“No, they won’t,” said Danny. To Joe, he looked as pale and sweaty as any of the other sailors, but there was a wild gleam in his eye that none of the others had. “Not if we can help it.”