But by the time they’d returned and loaded their guns, it looked like the fighting was over. The dose-packed planes on Hickam’s runways were charred ruins, and some of the hangars and other buildings were burning. The dead and wounded lay on the ground, and other soldiers had begun to tend to them. Behind their position, they saw numerous churning clouds of black smoke that came from the warships in the harbor itself. A lot of good people had died this December 7, many of them his friends. Many of them guys he’d played football with the day before.

A staff car pulled up behind his guns, and a neatly dressed young lieutenant jumped out and ran over. On seeing the bars on Jake’s collar, he stopped and saluted.

Jake returned it briskly. “Are you supposed to be in charge here?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Lieutenant Simpkins.”

Jake didn’t recognize him. Pearl was a large base, and he’d been back for only a couple of months. “Where the hell’ve you been?”

Simpkins grimaced. “I was off base, sir, and the bombing woke me up. It took some time for me to get here.”

That made sense, Jake thought. If he hadn’t stayed late at the club the night before, he’d have been several miles away in his own apartment. Sunday was a sleep-in and goof-off day unless it was your turn to draw duty at a base located in the most beautiful spot on the earth. It was only luck that he’d been on base this awful morning. Then he noticed something and drew Simpkins away from the group, where they could talk in private.

“Lieutenant, you shaved after you got up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered.