'And so am I,' Joan said.

'Then stay indoors,' Admiral Paris said. 'And you better stay with

them, Mike.'

'I'll drive you down to the fleet landing,' Bradley said, 'then come

straight back. Marisa might need your car.'

'Right,' Paris replied. He hurried into the house and came back out

with his naval jacket, still b.u.t.toning it even as he kissed his wife's

cheek and slipped into the car. Bradley also kissed Joan, then got into

the driver's seat, turned on the ignition, and screeched away from the

house.

The j.a.panese planes were still attacking, whining above the

explosions and gunfire. Bradley drove past men and women,

sometimes even children, who were standing on their lawns or porches,

wearing only pyjamas, dressing gowns, or even underwear, gazing up

in disbelief at the boiling, black, flame-filled smoke and diving

j.a.panese aircraft.

'Christ!' Paris exclaimed. 'They even caught us with our aircraft on

the ground. Ford Island must be a sc.r.a.pyard!'

Certainly the fleet landing was a nightmare.

Even before he had braked to a squealing halt, Bradley saw the

columns of water spewing up between the boats and ships of the fleet,

many of which were on fire, pouring black oily smoke, breaking apart

and sinking, while the barrels of the guns of the anti-aircraft batteries

and surviving ships spat yellow flames. b.a.l.l.s of fire ballooned

brilliantly over sinking ships. Sailors in flames were jumping

overboard. j.a.panese Zeroes were bursting into flames and falling into

the sea between the ships and boats, where in a haze of gray, black and

crimson-tinged smoke more sailors were trying to clamber into

lifeboats or swimming or drowning.

Admiral Paris jumped out of the car as it shuddered to a stop,

slammed the door behind him, looked, appalled, at what was

happening, then leaned back down to the window and said, 'Thanks,

Mike. Now get the h.e.l.l back to the house and look after our women.' 'Will do,' Bradley said.