Attack on Pearl Harbor Read online

  Grace nodded. She turned back to the sailor in the water. “You’re going to be all right,” she said again, quietly this time. “I’m Grace Yamada. What’s your name?”

  “Ben.” The sailor’s voice was raspy and weak.

  “Hey, Ben. I’m Paul. Take some breaths and try to relax, okay?” Paul said. “Then we’ll be able to get you into the boat.”

  Ben nodded and took a shaky breath. Ranger swam closer to him and nuzzled his shoulder.

  “Your dog sure was looking out for you,” Grace said. “He came to get us, and now we can take you to shore. Our sister is a nurse, and she’ll be able to help.”

  “Ready to come in the boat?” Paul asked. The man nodded, so Paul rowed closer. “Grab on to the side and then reach for us. Easy now …” Paul and Grace each took one of Ben’s hands. They shifted their weight to the other side of the boat so it wouldn’t tip. Then they held on as Ben pulled himself up, groaning. He flung a leg over the rail of the boat and flopped inside. Grace gave him a drink of water, and Paul wrapped a jacket around his shoulders.

  “Look!” Grace pointed to something floating in the water.

  Paul used the oar to pull it closer, then reached down to fish it out of the waves. “It’s a first aid kit.” He opened it, and water spilled out.

  Ranger barked.

  “Keep that,” Grace told Paul. “The bandages are ruined but maybe there’s ointment or something we can use to help him.” She nodded toward Ben. Then she turned to Ranger. “You’re next, dog. Come on!” She patted the side of the boat with her hand.

  Ranger swam toward the boat just as another plane buzzed overhead.

  Paul looked up. “Grace, we really need to —”

  “We can’t leave him!” Grace said, and thumped the boat again. “Here, boy!”

  Ranger paddled up, and Grace reached down to grab him under his front legs. “Come on now!” She leaned away and hauled him into the boat so fast that they both tumbled backward.

  Ranger climbed off Grace and shook himself. Then he carefully climbed over the bench to Ben. The young sailor was shivering uncontrollably in the bottom of the boat.

  Another explosion boomed out over the harbor as Paul picked up the oars and started to row.

  Ranger stayed close to Ben as the boat slipped through the smoke. Ben was out of the water, but he wasn’t out of danger. None of them were.

  Ranger sat with Grace in the back of the boat while Paul rowed. Fires still raged on the battleships. Most of Ben’s ship had already disappeared beneath the rippling waves. The others looked like ghosts in the thick black smoke. But at least the buzzing planes had finally faded away.

  Ranger’s first aid kit was tucked under the front bench of the rowboat, dripping and quiet. Ranger had found help for Ben, but he understood that it wasn’t time to go home. Not yet. He had more work to do.

  After a slow, sloshy ride, the rowboat bumped up against the rocks on shore. Paul and Grace climbed out and held their hands out to Ben. He’d been curled up in the bow of the little rowboat, shivering. Now he pressed against the bench and tried to stand. The boat wobbled under his feet, and he would have fallen if Paul hadn’t grabbed his arm to steady him.

  Ben’s shoes and clothes were coated in oil from the filthy water. He slipped on the rocks when Paul and Grace finally helped him out of the boat and onto shore. With every movement, his wet clothes brushed against his burns, and pain pulsed through his body. He didn’t know where they were going now, but he knew he couldn’t make it far. “I don’t think I can walk much more,” he said.

  “It’s all right.” Paul hurried to a clearing in the brush nearby and wheeled out a small cart. “We normally use this to carry eggs and vegetables — not people,” he explained. “It may not be very comfortable, but you won’t have to walk the mile to our house.”

  Ben leaned against the cart, hesitating. He could tell that Paul and Grace were of Japanese descent. Even before the morning attack, there had been whispers on the ship about spies. Paul and Grace were just kids, but what about their parents? And what would happen to him if he were found in a home owned by a Japanese family?

  “Wait …” Grace went back to the boat and grabbed a jacket and the first aid kit. She tucked the kit into a corner of the cart and folded the jacket over it as a sort of pillow. “It’ll help a little, at least.” She held out her hand.

  Ben’s eyes burned. Not from the smoke now, but from her kindness. All she wanted was to help him. Ben lowered himself into the cart and tucked his long legs inside. He couldn’t think right now about what the attack would mean for families like Paul and Grace’s. He needed medical attention. He had to find Jerry and Chow and his other fellow sailors. But first, he had to survive the long, bumpy ride to the Yamadas’ house. Every rut in the road made him cry out with pain.

  “Sorry!” Paul called. He was doing his best, but Ben was heavy, and the road was a mess. When he’d been out in the rowboat, Paul had figured the Japanese planes were only attacking the military base. But there was also smoke coming from the neighborhood up ahead — his neighborhood.

  “Stay with him while I find Helen,” Paul told Grace when they finally reached their family’s home. He ran inside, but his sister and father were gone. His mother was gathering up books in her arms and arguing with his grandmother.

  “Mama, where are Papa and Helen?” Paul asked.

  “They’ve gone out to offer help,” she said, snatching another book from the shelf.

  “What are you doing?” Paul asked.

  “She is burning our history,” Obaachan said. Tears streamed down her face.

  Paul stared at the stack in his mother’s arms. They were all of the family’s Japanese books. He looked at the bare living room wall, where there used to be a fancy Japanese scroll — a gift from the governor of the district where his grandfather once lived in Japan.

  His mother saw him staring. “I burned it,” she whispered. “And these must go, too!” She nodded down at the books. “Anything the Americans find here could be dangerous for us.”

  Paul’s head was spinning. The Yamadas were Americans! Ojiichan and Obaachan had been born in Japan. But Paul’s parents and all of his siblings had been born here in Hawaii. How could his mother think the government would blame them for the Japanese attack? For the explosions and the fires on the ships?

  The whole morning at the harbor flashed through Paul’s mind. When it did, he remembered Ben in the cart outside. He put a hand on his mother’s arm. “Mama,” he said. “Grace and I have brought a sailor who needs help. He’s hurt.”

  His mother’s eyes grew wide. She dropped the books and followed him outside. When she saw Ben in the cart, she sucked in her breath. He was barely conscious, and his breathing was shallow. The shaggy, wet dog sat by the cart, nuzzling the sailor’s arm and licking his hand.

  “He needs to get to a hospital.” Mrs. Yamada glanced back at the house. Then she looked at Paul and Grace. “Helen and Papa are already on the way there to help. Take this man to them. And then come straight home. Do you hear me?” Her eyes shined with tears. “For our family, I fear the worst of this is yet to come.”

  It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet when Paul and Grace set out for the hospital. They each took a handle of the cart and pushed it up the bumpy street.

  Ranger trotted along beside them. His fur was wet and matted with oil. He wanted to go home. But his first aid kit was tucked alongside Ben in the cart. Still quiet. His work here wasn’t done. They had to get Ben to someone who could care for him.

  Ranger was also worried about Paul and Grace. Even though the buzzing planes were gone, few people were in the streets. The warm wind crackled with danger. It smelled of hot metal, seawater, and smoke. Radio news reports drifted out living room windows. “Stay in your homes,” the announcers said. “Keep your radios on.”

  Paul walked past the grocery store, the soda fountain, and the barbershop in a daze. He was almost to his friend Jimmy’s house when he hea
rd a sound that made him stop walking.

  Ranger heard it, too. A high buzzing that came from above. It made the fur on his neck prickle. Ranger barked. He pawed at Paul’s leg.

  “Easy, dog,” Paul said, searching the sky. He looked at Grace. “Do you hear that?”

  She nodded. Then the planes soared into view. The attack wasn’t over.

  Another fleet of Japanese bombers swooped in over the city, heading for the harbor. Paul looked around, but there was no place to take cover.

  “Get low!” Paul shouted to Grace, and they both crouched down next to the cart.

  Ranger huddled beside them. He could feel Paul’s heart thumping through the boy’s thin shirt as the planes buzzed overhead.

  Boom!

  An explosion shook the street. It was close. Too close!

  Ranger barked, but there was nothing he could do to stop the planes, and nothing he could do to keep the bombs from falling.

  Boom!

  Rat-a-tat-a-tat!

  This time, the Americans must have been ready. Antiaircraft fire exploded in the sky. Paul covered his head with his hands.

  Ben stirred in the cart. He was so hurt, so weak, and barely awake. Now the very air seemed to be exploding around him. This wasn’t the USS Arizona. Where was he? And why was the sky on fire?

  All at once, Ben remembered the planes and the explosions. He remembered his struggle to get the hoses working, the fireball that blasted him off the ship, the sea that wanted to swallow him up, and his fight to the surface. He remembered swimming and swimming through the fiery, oil-covered waves until he couldn’t keep his head above water anymore. He remembered reaching for his pocket … his mother’s poem …

  Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed …

  He remembered fighting to stay afloat, swimming … swimming …

  And then … had there been a dog?

  Ben turned his head and saw Ranger huddled by the cart with Paul and Grace. He put his hand out over the edge of the cart. Soon, he felt a wet nose nuzzling it.

  Ranger licked Ben’s fingers. When Ben moved his hand onto Ranger’s head, Ranger leaned into it. Sometimes at home, Luke would keep his hand on Ranger’s head that way, too, when Luke was feeling scared or sad. When that happened, Ranger always stayed right there beside him. He did that for Ben, too, even as the planes roared overhead. There was nothing he could do to stop them. But he could be there for Ben.

  Finally, the planes tipped their wings and flew away. Paul’s heart pounded and his black hair dripped with sweat. His hands clenched the cart handle so hard that the grain of the wood was imprinted on his palms. He looked at Grace, who was still staring into the sky, eyes wide. “We’re okay,” he said. “Come on … let’s go.”

  “But the hospital is so far!” Grace’s voice trembled. “What if the planes come back?”

  Paul looked at the sky. The planes were gone. For now. But that didn’t mean the battle was over. “We’re close to Jimmy Abe’s house,” he said. It was just around the corner, and his mother was a nurse. “Maybe Mrs. Abe can help.” Paul wanted to believe she would. He wanted to believe they’d all be safe. He took a shaky breath. They had to keep going. They had to make sure Ben was all right. They’d promised him that when they hauled him out of the oily sea. They had to get him help. It was only one more block …

  But when Paul turned the corner, he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Jimmy Abe’s house was engulfed in flames.

  “No!” Paul dropped the cart handle and ran to the front porch. Black smoke poured from the open door. It filled his nose and mouth. “Jimmy!” He choked out the name and waited. But there was no answer. “Mrs. Abe! Mr. Abe!”

  Ranger ran onto the porch beside Paul. The boy was too close to the burning building. It wasn’t safe! Ranger barked and pawed at Paul’s leg.

  “Get down, dog!” Paul pushed him away and banged on a window. “Jimmy!” he shouted again, peering through the glass. All he could see was smoke and darkness. But then a muffled, choked voice cried out from inside.

  “Help!”

  “Jimmy!” Paul shouted into the darkness. He took a step inside and tried to call out again, but the awful smoke filled his mouth and his nose. He stumbled backward, coughing.

  Ranger ran to Paul and nuzzled his hand. Paul sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around the wet dog’s neck. “My friend is in there.” His voice broke, and tears streamed down his face. “Someone has to find him!”

  Find? Ranger barked.

  Paul stood up and swiped at his tears with the back of his hand. He stared down at Ranger. “Can you find him?” He pointed into the house. “Find Jimmy!”

  Find!

  Ranger was good at finding people. During his search-and-rescue training, he’d practiced finding Luke in all kinds of places. He’d found Luke in thick woods and in wintry fields, buried in the snow. He’d found him hiding in barrels and tucked into corners of old, run-down buildings. But this building was more than run-down. It was smoky and unstable, and its roof was on fire.

  Ranger stepped toward the door. He could hear someone coughing inside. He could smell burning wood, charred furniture, and hot, hot metal. But he could smell something else, too — a person smell. Maybe it was the Jimmy person Paul was calling.

  Ranger crouched low to the floor, where the smoke wasn’t so thick, and crept into the house. The entry was dark and smoky. There were stairs going up, but a beam had fallen across them. That’s not where the smell was, anyway.

  Ranger sniffed the air close to the wood floor. It smelled like ash and dust and shoes, but there was a person smell, too. Ranger followed that scent down a hallway to the kitchen, where part of the roof had collapsed onto the table. The fire smell was stronger here. Smoke burned Ranger’s eyes and stung his nose, but he kept searching. When he crept closer to the table, the person smell got stronger.

  There!

  A boy around Luke and Paul’s age was crouched under the table, wheezing and holding his knee.

  Ranger barked and ran up to the boy. He had to get out of there! Some of the roof shingles that had fallen into the kitchen were on fire. Now the flames were licking at the cabinets.

  The boy coughed, but he didn’t come out from under the table. Ranger crouched low and crawled next to him. Ranger nuzzled the boy’s cheek, and the boy reached out to pat his head.

  Ranger stepped back and barked. He loved pats and ear scratches, but there was no time for that now. The boy had to get out! Ranger barked again. He went back and pawed at the boy’s leg.

  The boy winced, and then Ranger understood. He was hurt. The bottom part of his leg was trapped under some sort of beam that had fallen. Every time the boy tried to move it, he cried out in pain and then coughed again.

  The smoke was getting thicker. Once the fire from the shingles reached the curtains, the whole kitchen would go up in flames! The boy couldn’t stay here. But Ranger couldn’t get him out.

  Ranger nuzzled the boy’s hand and hoped he would understand that Ranger wasn’t leaving him. Not for long, anyway.

  Ranger had to go get help. That’s what he had learned in search-and-rescue training with Dad and Luke. Usually, when Ranger found a person, it was his job to stay with the person and bark until someone came to help. But sometimes that wasn’t enough.

  Ranger crouched low and climbed out from under the table. He made his way through the smoke to the door and bounded down the porch steps. Paul and Grace were still there with Ben, but neither was big enough to move the beam and help the boy inside. Ranger looked up and down the street until he spotted a man walking toward them from down the block. He raced up to him, barking, and jumped on him.

  “Down!” The man swatted at Ranger. He had black hair like Paul and Grace’s. Ranger barked and jumped up on him again. Then Ranger ran toward Paul and Grace and the house with the trapped boy. He ran back to the man and barked again. The man stared up ahead. Then he started running, too.

  “Papa!” Paul crie
d out, and ran into his father’s arms. But right away he pulled back and blurted out all that had happened — the rowboat and the planes and the bombs, the injured sailor and the dog and now this. Paul pointed to the house. “Jimmy is in there! I heard him, and the dog went in, but …”

  Ranger barked and pawed at Mr. Yamada’s leg. Then Ranger climbed onto the porch. Mr. Yamada stepped up, too. When Ranger went inside, Mr. Yamada followed him. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled down the hallway.

  The smoke was even thicker now. Ranger couldn’t hear the Jimmy boy anymore. But when they reached the kitchen, Ranger crouched under the table and barked.

  “Hold on, son!” Mr. Yamada moved the table. He crouched low and lifted the heavy beam from Jimmy’s leg. “You have to move!” he grunted, straining under the weight of the beam.

  Ranger barked at Jimmy, but the boy seemed frozen in place. The flames from the shingles were licking at the kitchen curtains now. They had to get out! Mr. Yamada couldn’t hold up the beam for long.

  Ranger barked again. He licked the boy’s face and pawed at his chest until Jimmy leaned forward onto his arms and dragged himself out from under the beam. Mr. Yamada dropped it, rushed to Jimmy’s side, and pulled him up to stand. “Come on, now,” he said, and helped the boy through the smoky hallway and outside.

  “Jimmy!” Paul ran to his father’s side and took his friend’s other arm.

  “Is anyone else inside?” Mr. Yamada asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. “My mother went to the hospital to help, and my father …” He hesitated. “The soldiers came to our house and took him away.”

  “What?” Paul stared at his friend. “Why?” Mr. Abe taught Japanese language and culture in classes Paul and Grace took after school. But Mr. Abe was an American. He’d been born in Hawaii, just like Paul’s family. “How can they do that?”