As the admiral hurried off to find a boat to take him to Ford Island

and Bradley reversed the car, sailors with blistered faces and limbs, their scorched, blackened flesh hanging in strips from blood-smeared bone, were being helped out of whaleboats and carried away on stretchers to the waiting ambulances and hospital trucks. Bradley drove off to a concerto of wailing sirens, blasting ships' horns, whining planes, dementedly chattering machine guns, pounding anti-aircraft batteries, exploding bombs, and bawling or screaming men. j.a.panese Zeroes were still winging in low overhead, strafing the base, as he

drove through the streets of the officers' quarters.

Hardly believing what was happening, Bradley was further shocked

when he stopped in the driveway of Admiral Paris's house. Bullets had

smashed the concrete paving and st.i.tched a line up the front wall,

broken the windows, and peppered the roof.

Mesmerized for a moment by the sight of the broken windows,

Bradley finally raced into the house. Then stopped in his tracks when,

just inside the living room, he saw Marisa rocking Joan in her arms and

trying to wipe the blood from her soaked clothing as she wept over her. 'Oh, G.o.d!' Marisa choked out between her sobs. 'Oh, G.o.d, please!

Oh, G.o.d, Please!'

In one hideous second Bradley took in the bullet-st.i.tched walls,

smashed picture frames and furniture, gla.s.s-strewn floor, and Joan in

Marisa's arms, both covered in blood. Going down on one knee, he

saw that the blood was Joan's, heard an anguished groan, realized it

was his own, then reached out to touch Joan's forehead. It was icy

cold.

'Oh, Jesus!' he said.

Her breast and stomach were covered in blood and her breathing

was harsh.

'Call an ambulance!' he heard a woman screaming hysterically

then realized it was actually his own voice and shuddered convulsively. 'I've already called for an ambulance, Marisa said, sobbing, 'but

they're all so d.a.m.ned busy. But they're coming. They're coming!' 'Joan!' Bradley hissed despairingly. 'Joan!'

She opened her eyes. 'Oh, G.o.d,' she whispered, 'it hurts.' Her eyes

were dazed, but she gradually recognized him and gave him a weak

smile. 'My man,' she said. 'My ever-loving, handsome husband. What

a fine face you have.'

'Thanks,' Bradley said.

'I'm all right,' Joan said. 'Aren't I?'

'Sure,' Bradley lied, 'you're okay. No problem at all. It's just a

matter of '

'The children, Mike. Look after the children. And our

grandchildren too.'