Up ahead, Pearl Harbor rose out of the horizon, a concentrated mass of squat buildings, giant battleships, and boxy control towers. Almost every surface had some sort of antenna on top of it or wire running from it, making the naval station look to Joe like a pile of military scrap with bits and pieces sticking out of it.
“Here we are,” said Danny. “Keep that dog’s head down.”
A metal fence stood around the naval base, with the road leading up to a red-and-white-striped bar blocking their path. The jeep pulled up at a booth where a chubby old man with a baked-in tan gave them a lazy salute.
“Morning, Danny,” he said. “How’s life?”
“Ah, can’t complain,” said Danny. “Another day in the navy.”
“I hear that.” When the man saw Joe, he squinted. “And who’s this with you?”
“This is Joe, Marcus Dean’s boy,” said Danny. “It’s his birthday today, so Joe’s going to surprise him onboard.”
“Is that right, boy?” asked the older man.
Joe felt a sting, being called “boy” for the millionth time, but decided to let it go, and he focused on leaning forward to block the old man’s view and keep Skipper out of sight.
“That’s right, sir,” he said.
The older man smiled and pressed a button. The bar lifted, and they drove into the docking area.
Joe felt a twinge of excitement as they entered the base. An actual naval base! Looking one way, he saw an airplane in a hangar, its engine being taken apart by an early-rising mechanic. Looking the other way, he saw boxes of ammunition: string after string of antiaircraft rounds, each bullet longer than his hand. All around him were the inner workings of a serious military operation. If only he had time to run around and see it all!
“This is so cool,” Joe said softly.
“You think this is cool?” Danny laughed. “Don’t forget those bad boys.”
Danny pointed. Joe followed his finger—and looked out on Battleship Row.
The ships grew bigger and bigger in front of him, until they were looming ahead of them like man-made mountains. Their surfaces were a hodgepodge of iron railings and radar dishes that all led up to huge command towers at their middles. Joe counted seven overall, and he marveled at the bow of the ship they parked in front of, noting that some of the numbers stenciled on the hulls of the ships were probably taller than he was.
“Wow,” he said, “they sure are huge.”
“Definitely,” said Danny. “The Wee Vee there is 624 feet long and weighs in at about 33,000 tons when it’s full. That big ol’ girl houses fourteen hundred sailors, so it better be big!”
“Fourteen hundred!” repeated Joe in awe.
“Oh yeah,” said Danny. “Make no mistake, if Hitler gets one look at these babies, he’s not even going to think about messing with us.” He climbed out onto the dock and held up one finger to Joe. “Wait here, give me a second.”
While Danny ran off to a small wooden shed, Joe reached down and petted Skipper. Something was up—she felt tense, and a shiver ran down her back. She kept looking back and forth from the battleship to Joe and back again. It worried Joe, so he tried to cheer her up with some scratches around the neck and chest.
“It’ll be okay, girl,” he said. “I know the ships are big and scary. But you’ll like it here. Pop’ll take good care of you.”
Skipper gave a single bothered bark—“HRFF.” She looked up at Joe and then looked away.
Danny came walking back out with a big wooden crate in his arms. Inside was a bed of straw with an imprint in it that Joe recognized as that of a torpedo. He and Joe helped Skipper into the crate, and Joe got her to lie down in the imprint.
“We’ll see you in a bit, Skipper,” said Joe, his heart twanging as he saw her sad face peering out at him.
“She’ll be fine,” said Danny, putting the lid back on over Skipper. “Come on, let’s do this quickly. First breakfast is at oh-six-hundred. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to the kitchen right before your dad does.” Joe got his hands under his side of the crate, and together he and Danny lifted and carried it toward the dock.
Danny led them to a metal platform that stretched from the dock to a large square opening right in the side of the West Virginia. The platform clanged and shook slightly under them as they made their way across it.
Joe glanced down and immediately realized he shouldn’t have. The water, which always seemed a perfect blue to him at the beach, looked slate-gray and sudsy sloshing some forty feet under him. He snapped his head back up, looked straight forward, and tried to gulp down his fear.
He’d thought the West Virginia couldn’t look any bigger than it had from the dock, but as they entered the loading door, the side of the ship turned into a gray wall of bolted-down metal panels. Between the ocean and the battleship, Joe felt like he was surrounded by giants that bore down on him with big gray faces . . .
But when they entered the ship, the whole world reversed—the passage they walked down was narrow and twisting, with pipes hanging overhead and handles coming off every wall.
The crate was hard to move in the passageways. Joe and Danny had to narrowly scoot through several sharp turns. As they came around one corner, Joe clocked his elbow against a ladder rung. “Yow!”
“Quiet!” hissed Danny. “Jeez Louise, kid, keep it down. We’re not exactly supposed to be doing this, you know?”
The ship was full of distant voices and clanging metal. Joe worried they’d get caught before they got to the mess hall, but Danny seemed to know his way around pretty well. They entered the mess hall, a larger room with tables and benches that looked just as stark and industrial as the corridors that led to it.
Joe drank in the pipe-cluttered space with amazement and a little bit of sadness. He’d always pictured Pop serving food in a big hall with high ceilings. In here, Danny almost had to duck sometimes to avoid getting clocked with a pipe. No wonder Pop wanted to fly planes in Europe instead of spending his days cooped up in this giant tin can.
“Kitchen’s back here,” said Danny. They carried the crate into a wide room lined with metal countertops and stoves. They brought the crate to the back, where a small hall of lockers sat, and stopped in front of one with “MD” stenciled on the front.
“Okay,” whispered Danny, and they lowered the crate. “So I’m thinking we put her in his locker and then wait around until your dad shows up. Then you say ‘happy birthday,’ open the locker, and—”
“Hey!”
Joe felt something like frost in his veins. He whirled around and looked into a pair of bright, familiar eyes. His stomach sank.
It was Seaman Norman, the sailor from down by the beach yesterday.
“Well, look who it is!” he cried. “Marcus’s boy, come to visit his dad at work. What do you think of the kitchen, kiddo? Hope your dad likes working here, because it’s as far up in the ranks as he’ll ever get!”
Joe’s face burned. He opened his mouth to reply, but Danny shot Joe a glance that said, Don’t bother.
“I’m just showing the kid around, Norman,” said Danny. “He wanted to surprise his dad. It’s Marcus’s birthday today.”
“Is that right?” said Norman, nodding at the crate. “What’s the deal with the torpedo crate? That a present for him, Cunningham?”
“Yeah, exactly,” said Danny, exhaling hard. “We brought him a present, that’s all.”
“Mind if I take a peek?” asked Norman. He took a step toward the crate—
And the crate barked.
Joe jumped at the noise, its volume increased by their surroundings. The barking echoed along the walls, out of the kitchen and into the mess, along every rung and plate and ladder, bouncing through the metal maze of the West Virginia.
“What was that?” called a voice from the hallway. The sound of stomping boots got louder and louder.
Chapter 6
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941
7:35 A.M.
Joe shifted and sighed. The f
loor of the empty compartment was hard and cold. His butt was killing him.
He could almost feel the gaze of the officer who stood over him and Danny with his arms crossed. The man who’d been assigned to watch them couldn’t be more than a few years older than Danny, but his square jaw, sloped brow, and insignia-covered uniform made him look like some troll who’d lived on this ship since the dawn of time. In the hour and a half they’d been locked in this room, Joe hadn’t seen the guy move once.
All Joe could think about was Skipper, who whined and shivered across from him. He was officially worried. Skipper hadn’t seemed scared coming to his place or getting in the jeep—what on the West Virginia was frightening her? He tried petting her, shushing her, scratching her belly, but nothing worked. She just couldn’t be distracted from whatever was bugging her.
Finally, there was a loud clanking noise, and the door swung open. An older officer entered wearing a brown uniform and smoking a cigar.
“At ease, Sailor,” said the old officer to the guard. The guard grunted and didn’t move. The officer cocked an eyebrow and shrugged at them. Joe felt a little relieved—hopefully this guy wouldn’t be all bad.
“Cunningham? Dean?” said the officer. “Let’s go. On deck, on the double. Captain wants a word with you.”
“Aw nuts,” said Danny, climbing unsteadily to his feet.
Joe followed the older officer, Skipper at his side. As they walked down the hall, he noticed sailors peeking out of doors and hallways, laughing and calling out to Skipper, reaching out to pet her as they passed. Word must have gotten around that they’d brought a dog on board.
Joe felt like he might throw up. Pop probably knew. Meaning Pop had had to stand there and be filled in by a superior officer in front of his coworkers. Meaning when they got home, Joe was going to get a serious talking to. He might even get grounded. No more bike, no more beach trips, no more surfing . . . and most likely no more Skipper.
They followed the officer up a steep metal staircase and onto the deck. After being cooped up inside the West Virginia for so long, Joe had to put a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the early-morning sun. But as they adjusted, he saw the scene around him . . . and his breath caught in his throat.
The deck of the USS West Virginia was a vast expanse of gray metal, ready for war. Huge .50 caliber guns lined its deck, all leading up to two pairs of giant barrels jutting from the front. The towers stood overhead like skyscrapers, throwing shadows across them. All around them, sailors ran this way and that, loading gun magazines, checking knots, and mopping down the deck. On either side of the West Virginia, other huge battleships sat in the water, loaded with guns, towers, equipment, and sailors yelling at one another.
Joe spun and took it all in, his eyes widening as he saw the sheer size of the ship . . .
“Atteeen-tion,” growled the old officer.
Joe turned back around and faced an officer in a white uniform covered with pins and badges, his lip bearing a thin, fashionable mustache. Beside Joe, Danny snapped up straight and saluted rigidly. At his feet, Skipper did the same, sitting stiffly with her head upright.
“Captain Bennion,” said the older officer, “I present our smugglers . . . and their cargo.”
Joe felt himself start to shake under the eyes of the highly decorated officer. His father had mentioned Captain Mervyn Bennion before, calling him a true American, a real son of the sea. Pop always talked about him with respect in his voice.
Well, thought Joe, this is some way to meet him.
Captain Bennion regarded them both, and then he looked to Danny. “Name and rank, Sailor.”
“Seaman Apprentice Daniel Cunningham, sir,” said Danny, a little quiver in his voice. “Construction and Engineering.”
“Sneaking a minor and a stray dog on board a US battleship is a bad look, Cunningham,” snapped Captain Bennion. “If you’d read the newspaper lately, you’d see that the US military has no time for tomfoolery. Too much is at stake. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Danny.
“And you, Mr. Dean,” said Captain Bennion, looking down at Joe with just a hint of a smile. “Perhaps I should speak to your father about this when breakfast is over. Then he can decide your punishment.”
“Oh no,” said Joe, and without thinking he stepped forward and put his hand on the captain’s arm. “Please, Captain Bennion, sir, please. It’s his birthday, sir. I don’t want him to spend it getting chewed out by his captain. He’ll take my dog away.”
Captain Bennion patted Joe’s hand and nodded reassuringly. “All right, son. You just can’t be bringing dogs on board behind a captain’s back, even good dogs like . . . ?”
“Skipper, sir,” said Joe.
Captain Bennion smiled wider. “A fine name for a dog.” He crouched and reached a hand for Skipper’s head.
All at once, Skipper went berserk! The dog began barking her head off and jumping around. Captain Bennion’s hand shot back, and Joe felt struck with embarrassment—but then he heard her bark, really heard it. It was unlike any of her other barks: loud, full-throated, maybe even angry. He noticed the hair on her back standing up. Something was wrong.
“What is it, girl?” asked Joe.
Before any of them could stop her, Skipper ran to the edge of the carrier and began barking again . . . only it wasn’t at the battleship across the water from them, it was in the air. She was defensively crouched, leaning back on her haunches, but barking straight up into the air.
Joe followed her gaze . . . and saw black shapes through the clouds in the distance.
“What do you make of that, Captain?” asked the older officer.
“Not sure, Harper.” Bennion laughed. “I suppose she saw a seagull and it—”
“Look,” cried Joe, pointing into the air.
All four of them went silent, watching the black shapes grow bigger . . . quickly. Slowly, a buzz could be heard over Skipper’s barking. Around Joe, all the sailors on the deck of the West Virginia stopped in their tasks and looked up.
“Lieutenant Commander Harper,” said Captain Bennion, “whose planes are those?”
“Not ours,” said Harper. “Looks like . . .”
Just then, the black shapes swooped overhead, and tiny black packages dropped off of them. Joe only had a second to register them before they hit the deck of the battleship across from them and a deafening roar filled the sky.
The crew of the West Virginia cried out in terror. Blasts of orange fire and black smoke burst into the air from the deck of the other carrier.
Joe felt heat on his face and smelled burning rubber. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Battle stations!” shouted Captain Bennion over the roar. “The Arizona’s been hit! We’re under attack!”
Chapter 7
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941
7:55 A.M.
They were coming!
Skipper leaped wildly around as energy surged through her. She whimpered at the violent sounds now filling her ears and the smoke that was burning the inside of her sensitive nostrils. The masters had finally noticed, too, and they were running around trying to get ready for the enemy, but already the flying machines were raining fire on them.
She’d tried to warn them, but it was no use. The humans’ ears and noses just weren’t powerful enough. Now the flying machines were attacking, and the humans were hopelessly unprepared.
Skipper wasn’t surprised—she’d always known the flying machines weren’t their friends. Whenever they’d come roaring overhead or buzzing down near the docks, Skipper couldn’t help but feel fear that drove her to hide under the dock or make her body small and low in the sand of the beach. The masters thought it was funny at the time, watching her get frightened, and they’d make their “aww” sounds whenever the flying machines passed overhead.
Well, they weren’t laughing now.
All around her were running, screaming humans and more explosions, more bursts of smoke and fire, bits
of grit and metal flying everywhere. The man in the shiny coat who had made Joe and Danny smell so scared was shouting orders.
Skipper tried to get her bearings, but it was nearly impossible. Between the flying machines, the fire, and the human chaos, she couldn’t calm down! She wanted to fight back and stop the flying machines. She wanted to make it all stop.
Then, over the burning smell, she caught Joe’s scent and whirled, looking for him. She had to find him. Had to protect him. She didn’t know why, it was just in her mind.
There!
Joe and Danny were crouched on the deck, Joe’s eyes wide with disbelief. Skipper tried to run toward them, but there were too many humans in the way, too much noise and excitement. Every time she went for them, a new pair of legs hit her in the snout.
Skipper barked her emergency bark, hoping they’d hear her. Get up! she barked. Get inside! Danny, get Joe home to his family! It was no use. Her bark was swallowed by the noise, and Joe’s attention was swallowed by fear.
Skipper darted this way and that, trying to find a break in the running humans. She needed to get to Joe. She wouldn’t rest until she did.
That’s when it hit her: this was why she was here. There had been something about Joe that she’d liked, something about his scent and his smile that had drawn her out of the alley. She’d told herself it was just the smell of the shells in his basket, but deep down she’d sensed something else. Now she understood it perfectly. She was always meant to protect him. He was her pup, her Joe.
Overhead, the flying machines buzzed low again, and other ships around them began lighting up with balls of fire and billows of smoke. Tiny bursts cracked, sending grit into to the air and knocking down some of the other humans. She needed to get Joe out of here, back on land and out of sight of the flying machines. She could hear other things in the sea besides the bubbling of water—strange beepings and whirrings, far off and powerful. She sensed other strange things approaching. If they were anything like the flying machines, then she had to get Joe out of their way.
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