I jolted awake, sitting upright quickly and almost hitting my mate Brandy’s head with my own. Alarms begin blaring before I can even ask anything. “General quarters, all hands man your battle stations. All pilots to their aircraft and prepare for take off.”

     “Are you psychic or an enemy spy?” I asked Brandy, speaking a little loudly. I got off my bunk and dropped down to the floor, hastily grabbing my flight suit and tugging it on. 

     “Neither, you were snoring,” Brandy snorted, grabbing his aviation gear as well. His iconic, small tin for alcohol fell from his pocket as he put it on. It clattered against the floor and its contents, the brandy which earned him his nickname, sloshed. He bent down and grabbed it as I left the room behind our squadron mates.

     We hastened up through the aircraft carrier, oftentimes having to stop at the base of stairs as combat personnel filed up and down the warship. Other squadrons assembled with us as we tried to reach the hangar. The carrier carried five squadrons: two fighter, two dive bomber, and one torpedo bomber. Mine was always brought up to the fly deck last, the fighters first. That was good. I could get the full story before having to take off.

     I slipped between my mates and found the squadron captain. I saluted a bit sloppily, “Sir, why are we all being woken up at…whatever the time is?”

     “Several dozen enemy bombers and fighters were sighted by a destroyer patrol. The Admiral doesn’t want to risk getting struck and losing the bombers or pilots like the RW Summer Breeze,” my captain answered, not bothering to look at me as he hugged the rail of the stairs. 

     “Understood,” I said, almost shuddering at the memory of the disaster that was the sinking of the Summer Breeze. We reached the top of the stairs and found the entrance packed with other pilots. I had to wait in the middle of the horde, nervously waiting for my chance to enter the hangar and get to my Bull torpedo bomber.

     When I finally got to the door, I was greeted by chaos. The hangar was packed with ground crews and equipment. Bombs and torpedoes were moved on carts to the bombers, where crewmen worked frantically to arm the warplanes as fast as possible, and pilots tried to wade through the personnel to reach their planes. The machinery powering the deck edge and inboard elevators was whirling furiously, elevating the rest of the first fighter squadron to the deck. I could barely make out the thunder of the idling engines. The dawn sun leaked through the opening left by the elevator, shining off the dark gray paint of the Ocelot airplanes. The skies seemed clear from where I was standing.

     A dive bomber pilot shouldered past me, cursing loudly. I thought about yelling at him for a moment before shaking my head and began trying to make my way through the maze of crewmen. The elevators began to lower again, and the twin-engine dive bombers of the second squadron began to wheel toward the platforms. I ducked under the tip of a wing and bumped into a fighter pilot. We both hastily apologized and split up. I nearly got a torpedo run into my leg and shouldered two other people, but I managed to make it to my Bull torpedo bomber.

     It was distinctly mine, despite having the same gray paint and folded up wings as the rest. Besides the two destroyers and a cruiser painted in black on its wing, I had put my name on it in cursive. 

     Jackie Bonds

     Everything needed a bit of personalization, I thought. Three men worked to put a torpedo in the bomb bay. I saluted them and climbed into the cockpit, doing my pre-flight checks. I did them once, twice, waiting for my turn to get on the elevator. The dive bombers went, then the second fighter squadron…

     Agonizing minutes had passed before someone yelled my name. I looked up and saw a ground crewman beckoning for me to taxi onto the elevator. I nodded and turned over the engine. It sputtered for a moment, the result of repeated repairs and patchworks instead of an overhaul, then roared into furious life. I followed three other torpedo bombers onto the inboard elevator, while four others made their way to the deckside elevator. 

     The elevator began to rise, but I couldn’t hear its machinery over the thunder of the engines. The sun began to filter through my cockpit glass as the platform got closer to the flight deck. Above the carrier, swarms of warplanes circled. The Ocelot fighters kept near the front of the fleet, waiting to engage the enemy as soon as visual contact was established. The bombers were off to the rear, awaiting orders. I wasn’t sure how many were up in the sky, but I knew the Third Armada’s six aircraft carriers boasted over five hundred airplanes.

     The several large AA guns mounted on both sides of the carrier’s deck were pointed forward and upward. Men carted large boxes brimming with ammunition belts to the small machine guns manned by soldiers rubbing sleep from their eyes, their tan uniforms reminiscent of the sun’s glow on the flight deck. 

     The first half of my squadron had just lifted off the flight deck as the elevator came to a stop. Ground crew quickly signaled the order in which we were to take off as the four bombers that had come up on the deckside elevator taxied into position behind us. One warplane moved in front of the rest and lowered its wings, then began to accelerate quickly. It roared off the edge of the deck, followed by the plane that had been next to it. Then the Bull next to me, piloted by Bull, began its take-off. I flashed a thumbs up at him, which he returned.

     Just as he lifted off of the deck, I began to taxi forward, my Bull’s wings folding downward. A ground crewman motioned for me to take off, and I began accelerating. The warplane’s propeller spun furiously. It went off the deck’s edge. My plane dipped for a second before it stabilized. I smiled as nothing went wrong, and began to pull up in a spiral, trailing after my mates. Behind me, another Bull had taken off and was tailing me. I formed up with my squadron at two thousand feet, waiting for the rest to join us. When they did, our captain took us to the rear where the other bombers circled and were forming up.

     We began circling with them. By the end of the first minute of it, my blood was beginning to boil a little. We were wasting precious fuel and time. I know that the bombers hadn’t been up for long, I doubt the other squadrons were woken up before I was, but it had still been several minutes of fuel wasted. We should have been attacking the enemy! Even if we only sunk one ship at the cost of two squadrons, it would’ve been better than idling. 

     Thankfully, after only a few more minutes, captains began radioing orders received from the admiral. We were to head northwest for thirty minutes, then turn southwest. If the guesses were right, we would fly right into the enemy fleet. Without hesitation, the bombers began to follow the course designated, forming up into four plane formations with about fifty yards between squadrons and ascending. Before long, the fleet was out of sight. 

     We flew with no escorts, hoping the enemy had deployed all their fighters out of desperation rather than retain any defense. They’d done it before during the battle of the west sea. If worse came to worse, the Bull torpedo bombers had two .50 caliber machine guns mounted on each wing, but couldn’t reach the same speeds as enemy fighter planes could. It was still better than nothing, I supposed.

     The sun climbed steadily during our flight. I kept snatching glances at its rise. The wide expanse of the blue sea glittered from its light. I raised my flight glasses and looked at the glowing waves for a few seconds before looking straight ahead again. As much as I wished I could stop time, climb out of my cockpit, sit on the edge of a wing, and look at the sight for hours, undisturbed by time’s movement or hunger or any of the other plights of man, I couldn’t. I had to focus on my mission. For the people back home, for my family, for the newborn, and for the children. Mine and my mates’ lives would be ones of violence so others lives would be lives of peace, and so we had to keep our minds clear to ensure we did our duty as well as we could.

     “Bonds, you’re drifting a bit to the right,” Brandy radioed me.

     “Roger that, my bad,” I said a bit sheepishly, righting my course. I’d lost track of how long we’d been flying. It wasn’t long after that thought that the captain ordered a southwestern turn. The entire formation turned on a dime. 

      I looked down at my speedometer. We’d been flying at two hundred fifteen miles an hour for thirty minutes, so we had covered a sizable portion of the sea. Now we just had to wait until we found the enemy fleet. 

     The flight became agonizing. There was no radio chatter, only the constant roar of the engines. Its consistency bothered me for some reason. When someone finally said something, it was unwelcome news.

     “Looks like we have cloud cover up ahead, I recommend we descend a little.”

     I sighed. We had been cruising at ten thousand feet, well within the range of enemy AA guns, but it still felt safe. Descending only ever felt dangerous to me. Regardless, I followed my squadron and we dipped to about six thousand feet.

     The clouds formed a white roof above us, with little to no breaks of blue. It muffled the sunlight a bit, so I could take my glasses off, though I didn’t. I liked the feeling of the metal on my nose and ears. It was a steady flight from there on. It must’ve been an hour we spent up there. I was sure we had covered at least three hundred miles, seeing nothing but water. 

     I had forgotten my watch, so I didn’t know what time it was when the long awaited words were radioed.

     “Enemy fleet, dead ahead!”

     I squinted and saw a myriad of gray shapes on the horizon. My squadron was near the rear, so it made sense I didn’t see them first. I thought I could feel the excitement of my fellow pilots. Hundreds of miles covered and we had finally found the enemy. We’d give them hell. The captains radioed back and forth for a while before orders were passed on.

     There were fifteen squadrons, with only five being torpedo bombers, so we’d attack in three waves. Half of the dive bombers would go first and land the first strike, the rest would follow and finish off any wounded ships, then me and the rest of the Bulls would savage the survivors. Battleships and aircraft carriers had priority, as always. 

     We flew nearer. Once the ship types could be vaguely distinguished, my squadron and the others began circling while eighty dive bombers soared toward the fleet. They ascended as they advanced. The warships began turning in evasive maneuvers and fired their AA batteries. Tracer rounds flew at the warplanes, all of them missing.

     The warplanes kept a steady course, dividing into smaller groups. I watched a bit nervously, my eyes flicking forward every now and again to ensure I wasn’t about to collide. Rounds kept flying upward, stopping only in small bursts in some areas as the enemy reloaded. Their continued use of magazine fed AA guns was laughable. 

     Finally, the moment came. 

     The dive bombers turned their noses downward, flying through the storm of tracers toward their targets without wavering in the face of enemy fire, only doing the slightest maneuvers to evade a burst here and a burst there or reaffirm their aim. A few of the warplanes were struck, but most managed to avoid destruction. They had split into six groups, targeting three of the four carriers and all three battleships.

     I was in awe of the sight. Though I believed torpedo bombers to be superior, I respected the bravery of the dive bomber pilots. They flew straight down at the enemy, looking death into the eye. I was able to maneuver so that only half of a carrier’s AA guns could target me, but the dive bombers had to face the full force of guns on both sides of the deck. Not to mention they had to strike the thin top, while I attacked the long side. 

     Another dive bomber was shot down. It wasn’t enough. The warplanes got closer…closer…their bomb bay doors opened…

     They dropped their one thousand pound bombs and rapidly pulled up, flying as fast as they could to escape the enemy’s AA guns. I watched the bombs fall toward the warships. Two carriers were struck in the flight deck. One erupted into a fireball, the ammo hidden in the hangars must’ve been struck, while the other had a plume of smoke rise from it. Even if the second wasn’t destroyed, it couldn’t accept or launch planes. 

     The third ship managed to avoid getting hit, though three great plumes of water splashed the deck. The second wave would fix that, and if they didn’t, then we of the third wave would. The battleships fared very poorly. One took three hits and was listing badly, despite the desperate attempts the crew were likely making to balance out the ship. Another’s turret had been struck and its bow was severely damaged. The third was on fire, though was not crippled in any way I could see.

     Captains from the first wave radioed in, and the second wave broke from their circling and began to fly at the enemy. The warships began firing much earlier this time. The damaged ships began evasive maneuvers earlier, while the untouched destroyers and cruisers moved to provide a better cordon of tracers to protect the prized carriers and battleships. They managed to hit two dive bombers on their approach, but the formations kept going.

     They targeted the three carriers left, the two battleships, and a heavy cruiser. Again they dived straight straight into the storm of fire. The cruiser’s AA crews were very skilled, downing all but two of the warplanes coming at them. The bombs dropped by the survivors both missed narrowly, pillars of water erupting from the sea they struck.

     The battleship that had lost a turret was struck in the bow again. The ammunition stored under the turret erupted violently, and the ship began to sink rapidly. I couldn’t quite see but I knew that crewmen were jumping off the ship, hoping to avoid its fate. It was a bit sad. Rescue was unlikely, they were probably going to all die. I curbed my thoughts by remembering that it was them who had started the war. We were merely retaliating. 

     Explosions erupted next to the burning battleship. No hits scored at the cost of seven dive bombers. The warship had swung hard to port at the last second, dodging the bombs by a decent margin. The listing one had begun to capsize, its doom accelerated by a warplane who had strayed from its attack run on a carrier to ensure the ship’s demise. 

     The damaged carrier took hits to its flight deck and was burning. The two undamaged ships had worked together and fired a dense wall of tracers, destroying half of the dive bombers coming at them. One took a hit to the side, but wasn’t listing. The other had nearly been struck, but survived again. 

     Four ships sunk, two damaged. The second wave flew off as well, getting out of range before turning and returning to the fleet. It was up to us to finish off the carriers. We all radioed back and forth for a bit before confirming what we would do. We’d primarily target the battleship and two remaining carriers. They had to be sunk, the destroyers and cruisers were not as important. A plan was formed. One squadron would target the battleship, another would target the damaged carrier, a third would target the undamaged carrier, the fourth would attack the cruisers, and the fifth would wait in reserve in case any capital ships survived.

     The order came. We all banked out of our spirals and headed toward our assigned targets. We dove, unlike the previous waves, and leveled out about two dozen feet above the water. The enemy delayed a bit before opening fire, probably reloading all their guns. When the tracers came, it was like hell. A huge blanket of fire zipped around my Bull. Two of my mates were struck immediately, going down into the sea in balls of fire. 

     The warships all began trying to present their front or rear to us. The damaged carrier turned as fast as it could, but it seemed to be old and couldn’t manage as fast a turn as its sister ship. I was unsure if we would be able to get its flank or not. The distance closed rapidly, my plane’s engine roaring violently as it propelled my Bull to its top speed of two hundred eighty miles an hour. The sea became an unbroken blue wall beneath me. I couldn’t see the waves anymore. It was all blurred together.

     I couldn’t focus on that. I kept my thumb near the release button as I neared the carrier. It turned desperately, leaving a white path in its wake. I reached three thousand meters. I opened my bomb bay doors…

     I cursed and pulled up rapidly, closing the doors. The carrier had turned too much, I didn’t think I could hit it. I flew over the deck, the AA crews trying to hit my plane’s belly without success. Of my sixteen mates, seven had been shot down in a failed bombing run. I cursed again. The other torpedo bombers of my wing had followed my example. I ascended rapidly, twisting and turning my warplane to avoid enemy fire. It took me a moment to realize Brandy was missing. 

     I turned hard, just in time to see the rear of the carrier suffer an explosion and see a Bull torpedo bomber crash into the sea. It took me a second to piece together what had happened. Brandy had struck the warship’s rudder. It was no longer turning, only going straight. I closed my eyes for a moment and offered up a prayer for Brandy’s soul, then dove again. My remaining mates did the same. We streaked down through enemy fire again, bent on the destruction of our target. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other carrier listing and the last battleship vanish beneath the waves. All the other squadrons had retreated, it was just us eight left. 

     All the AA fire was focused on us as the remaining warships desperately tried to defend their last capital ship. I noticed that the heavy cruiser earlier had vanished, likely sunk. 

     One of my mates was shot down.

     Another.

     A third.

     I couldn’t pay them more than a passing glance as I bore down on the stricken carrier’s side. I would give them prayers later, or meet them in the afterlife. I didn’t care which. I could almost make out the desperate AA crews. I could see the leader screaming orders in a desperate tone, all the steel usually in his voice abandoned; the men behind the gun waiting to take out spent magazines and replace them, hoping  the rounds would strike home; the gunners turning the gun as fast as they could to try to hit the encroaching warplanes, images of what would happen if they failed flashing through their heads. I tightened my grip on the stick, keeping my course steady.

     I opened the bomb bay again. Four thousand meters…

     Three thousand…

     I released the torpedo and banked up quickly. I nearly hit the bridge of the aircraft carrier. I pulled up as hard as I could, ascending rapidly. My mates were in tow. I dared a look over my shoulder, and was greeted with the sight of a rapidly listing warship…

     And the sight of a swarm of tracers hitting my wing, breaking it off. I cursed and pulled the ejection lever. The plane exploded, and shrapnel caught my gut. It hurt like hell. I was bleeding badly. I sighed as I drifted downward. No one was gonna pick me up. I closed my eyes and settled into prayer. I prayed for the souls of my dead fellows, and those of my dead enemies. By the time I hit the water and began sinking, I was at peace. I didn’t even notice when I died.