Free Days of Infamy by Newt Gingrich

clear against the blazing skyline of Oahu. Each bursting salvo on the all but defenseless base and city was a nightmare to watch.
    How he had managed to slip out unnoticed was still a mystery to him. He had tried to sortie with every available ship that could turn screws, but after getting but three destroyers out to rendezvous with
Minneapolis
, his cruiser,
Detroit
, hung up on the wreckage in the main channel, blocking it off.
    Ward
had come in to pick him up. He was a bit surprised the young commander had risked this until he was piped aboard and recognized him as one of his cadets from the Academy, the young man grinning as he welcomed him. Together they had set off at flank speed to rendezvous with
Minneapolis
, which had remained twenty miles out to sea. He had planned to transfer his flag over to
Minneapolis
, but there was no time now. He’d use
Ward
for his flagship in this fight.
    What an agonizing wait it had become once the Japanese bombardment started. Turn and go in for a straight-on encounter off of Diamond Head, or wait out here? The bastards were not just going to bombard the east coast, he reasoned, but then again, they just might. Several scenarios postulated an initial landing there to gain aland-based airfield so the carriers could offload and then put farther out to sea. The bombardment over there could be the opening move for an invasion.
    No, to bombard Pearl at night would be too much of a temptation. Let them come in, let them sink their teeth into it, and maybe, just maybe, he could slip in and deliver his punch. Try to meet them head on, their guard will be up and they’ll start clobbering us at twenty thousand yards. Let them focus on the other target, though it would be devastating to sit back while they clobbered Pearl, and then slip in for the kill.
    So for the last hour and a half that was exactly what he had been doing, slipping in at just under twelve knots, trying to keep the wakes of his ships down at slower speed. At high speed, the wake boiling up astern of a destroyer could easily be spotted by a scout plane. In tropical waters, it would actually glow from the phosphorescence of the plankton stirred up. What was equally nerve-racking was the moon, now high in the southern sky. How could they not have been seen by now? Spotters aloft on the battleships were most likely half blinded by the flash of the big guns, and naturally, nearly all attention was focused on their target.
    But still, by God, they should have a scout plane out to sea, and at least one destroyer!
    The tension was overwhelming. He’d kill for a cigarette, but they were under strict light security.
    He stood silent, listening to the litany of his spotters.
    “Range, nine thousand two hundred yards, closing… range nine thousand yards, closing …”
    They were now within easy gunnery range, the popgun turrets forward, a single four-incher ever so slowly adjusting, lowering barrels an inch at a time.
    “Range… eight thousand, eight hundred yards, closing …”
    He looked quickly to port and starboard. Damn if it was not like Nelson’s battle line closing in at Trafalgar, or a cavalry charge of old, the nine destroyers and destroyer escorts in line abreast, four hundred yards separating each vessel, while
Minneapolis
approached from twomiles astern, ready to come about and open with all guns once they were spotted, staying farther back due to her higher silhouette. He felt a knot in his stomach looking at the moonlight glinting off the churning wake astern. He could actually see the outline of the heavy cruiser.
    For God’s sake, can’t they see us?
    “We are well within torpedo range, sir.”
    It was the captain of the
Ward
, a damn good lad. It had taken guts doing what he did this morning, actually firing off the first shot of the war, nailing a Jap sub at the entry to the harbor a full hour before the bombs began to fall. Though he would not curse the name of a dead comrade, nevertheless, Kimmel should have