Pearl Harbor

Erle
5/9/2018
December 7th, 1943

“Dedicated to the brave Men and Women who gave their lives in the day that will live in Infamy”

A peaceful and restful day was ahead of me. My bunkmates and I had just dressed in our Sunday best, and were heading to church. A calm morning, and a sea like glass was how I remember the morning of December 7th, 1941. Little did we know it would be a day that would forever remain in our hearts as one of unmerciless perol.
Breakfast had been quick, as not to be late for the word of the Lord, and how right we were to scurry as far as we could from the base that morning, and heed God’s word. It had been a great sermon too, one of faith and heartwarming stories of the country back home, as it stayed out of the growing conflict overseas. We left with smiles on our faces, ready to enjoy the nice day it was sure to be. The sun was high above, and it was nearly 10:45, and my bunkmates were talking of shining our shoes, rifles and poker skills later when we returned to base. I was just excited to be alive, and see the shining sun, having been put through the first World War. They called it the “Great War”, and there could be nothing more unfitting than the title. Nothing about the war had been great. We had looked to it for an escape, like a big adventure. It was our time to shine, make it big, do it for our nation and maybe blast some germans out of our way in the process. How wrong we truly were dawned swiftly upon us, as we entered the trenches, covered in blood and mud, as we peeked, hoping our heads wouldn’t be taken off. Smoke curled off broken and decayed tree limbs, between the vast desolation that was No Man's Land, filled only with bodies, barbed wire, and mines. Those images were eternally seared in my mind, and I had been fortunate enough to return with my life. I can still remember my first kill, and the feeling of pure ice filling my veins as I lined up my first shot against another living, breathing human being. It was a feeling I’ll not soon forget. It was one of emptiness, desperation and fear. What right did I have to take another life from someone else? Did they consider the same to me, or did it make no difference to them? Questions such as these, alongside sympathy and empathy had no place in the trenches, as such things would surely get you killed. I shook my head, and peered around the surrounding area, tranquil and peaceful. Nothing like the trenches, filled with hate, fear and death. Today was to be a day of celebration for all of us, not only celebrating life, but the fact that we had remained sane and were strong enough to carry on. We had just gotten back to the outside of the base, and a low rumbling noise from the east side of the base caught our attention. Talk of cards and rifles had ceased, as the sky roared to life with that of Japanese Zeros. Soon after the first sighting, the bombs began to fall. The Earth itself seemed to shake, as smoke and fire raged around us, engulfing everything it touched. The roaring grew only louder as the Zeros descended closer to our base for critical strikes. The ground was jerking so hard I nearly fell over, but I managed to keep my balance, and my legs moved autonomously as I ran past fellow men and woman racing the other way. My barrack soon came into view, through the dense smoke, and I rammed my shoulder against the door. Hot as it was I forced myself inside, and stumbled quick as I could to my bunk. I peered under my bed, but there was nothing to be found. I tore apart the bed amd the sheets, as smoke grew denser and the heat intensified. Finally under a bunk to my left, I spotted the small metal canister I had been searching for. Burning to the touch, I wrapped it tightly in my shirt, and not a moment too soon, as the roaring of more planes overhead signalled the onslaught of more bombs, and I ran in what seemed like slow motion, everything creeping as it afraid to make a sound. That was ridiculous, over the shrieking of the Zeros overhead, and the crackling and popping of the destructive flames. I again, rammed myself into the back door of the barracks and fell to the ground, as the entire building was engulfed in an intense explosion. I was covered in a wall of pure radiant heat, and had I not turned away at the last moment, I would’ve been blinded in both eyes instead of one. My left eye, seared, went dark, and I fought to see from just my right. The air was heavy, breaths came slow and difficult, as my breathing staggered. I picked myself up, lest the fire catch me, making my rescue of my grandfather’s tin in vain. Some might ask, what was worth going back into the chaos for, a worthless tin? So what if had been a family heirloom? It was more than just a family belonging to me. It had never left my side, since I was a boy, fishing with my grandfather. It had severed as my tackle box, then my ammo box for my BB rifle at home. Then I keep my saved coins inside it, determined one day to buy the car in my grandfathers garage, a 1909 Sterling Elkhart Carriage. I had fallen in love with the beautiful American masterpiece the second I had laid eyes on it. My grandfather had put a hand on my shoulder, and said “ Someday, when you’re old enough, she’ll be yours, for a price”. He had chuckled to himself as he went about his day, thinking I would never save enough to pay him back. However, with World War 1 coming to fruition, I took my tin, and traded the coins in for knives and bullets. That tin had been a staple in my side since I could remember, and I was not about to lose my prized possession to some unprovoked cowardice attack from the Japanese empire. However the contents of the tin were just as important to me as the tin itself. It held the pictures of my family, my baby daughter Maria, my wife, Molly, God bless them, and a knife I had picked off my first casualty in the Great War from a fallen german soldier. To me, these items represented who I had become as a person, and through sins and triumphs it was who I had molded myself into. A father, a husband, a collector, but also a killer and a thief. Sometimes it was difficult to justify my prize, but when I looked into my daughter's eyes, it was an easy sacrifice to make, as it gave me the strength to be the man I am today. And there was no way I was going to widow my wife and daughter by dying in this God forsaken hell.
Holding my hand over my left eye, smoke and pain causing it to tear up, I stumbled through the dark air, trying to find my way and make sense of the deafening noise and shaking ground underfoot. I spotted one of our anti aircraft cannons, somehow untouched by the immense destruction. As hopeless as it might have seemed I was determined to not give these bastards a free meal. I was going to fight back anyway I could. We were the United States of America, and by God we were not to be toyed with, under any circumstances. Ground still moving, I tripped and crept my way to the turret, and threw myself in the seat. I forced myself to let go of my eye so I could move and turn the cannon at the same time. I loaded a shell into the chamber, and sealed it. I peered down the long sight of the gun, and made out a trio of Japanese Zeros heading directly for another barrack over the harbor. I clenched my eye tighter to see better and blackness ate at my remaining eye, fading in and out. But I held it together, and moved the cannon quickly to follow the planes, and let a shell go. The sound was incredibly loud, and it nearly knocked my out of the seat. It wised by the first plane and narrowly missed the other two. The planes were now within striking distance, and I hastily punched open the chamber, pulled the empty cartridge out with a metallic clank, and jammed another inside. I jumped back in the seat, or more slid in it as to not blackout. My skin was searing now as the flames around me crept ever closer. However, I was not going to let my friends and fellow soldiers death be in vain. I took aim once again and moved the tip of the turret slightly ahead of their oncoming plane. I saw the blast doors underneath open up, and I lost feeling in my body. I watched the shell I had firered come closer and closer to the plane. Bombs began to fall out and the shell hit the third to fall, and a massive explosion filled the air around the Zeros. To my dismay, all three of the planes flew through the smoke, bombs fell and the ground shook as though the biggest earthquake had suddenly been let loose under the harbor. All I could do was slink from the turret to the ground and watch as my fellow soldiers barracks went up in flames. A rage began to bubble inside me, a rage so pure and clean, I stood and moved as quick as I could to the smoking debris. Stumbling, falling and tripping were just a few of the things I did as I made my way over to the burning rubble. I fell to my knees as the flames once again licked at me. However I did not fell the heat on my skin. A familiar and frightening sensation had begun to rush through my body. It was the very same icy feeling that had engulfed me during my first day in the trench during the Great War. Tears filled my eyes from desperation, sorrow and smoke irritation. The Japanese Zeros had started to retreat, and the shrieking was replaced by the sound of the screams from my fellow soldiers, drowning, burning alive, and being crushed by falling debris. I carefully picked myself up, and began a slow and tedious walk out of the flames. I had made it nearly to the front gate, when I finally collapsed from exhaustion and shock. The sounds ringing in my head drained my energy as I laid there, fighting to keep my eyes open. Briefly I saw flashing lights, stretchers and paramedics rushing the harbor. And then it was all over.
I gingerly opened my eyes, and unfortunately was still blind in my left eye. It was to be permanent. I sat up and felt discomfort in my back and lower thighs. A nurse rested her hand on my chest and sternly but gently pushed me back down into my bed. She placed another pillow behind my head and looked into my eyes. She had explained to me what happened and asked if I remembered anything as many of the other patients had nearly no memory of what had occured. I asked her for a glass of water, and if my tin had made it with me. As she lifted my head to help me sip, and gestured over to a nearby nightstand, and there was my tin, a little dirtier, but still intact. I grabbed for the tin, and opened it to find the pictures and knife had survived the fires. I placed it back down and covered my eyes with my hands and began to sob. I remembered everything about that day, and it is one I will never forget. After that day, I was discharged for my severe wounds and awarded a purple heart for my acts of courageousness. Not a day goes by that I don’t think back to those few hours. The entirety of not only my life, but every life in America was forever changed by those few hours. A terrorist attack on an unimaginable scale, rocking the nation to its core. I, Luitenant Jason Cross, am proud to be an American, and I always will be. God bless the U.S.A…