A story for December 7th - "Pearl"

[pauljmsn]

PEARL
By Paul E. Jamison

Part 1

June 1941

The weather was starting to get warm and the Head Skippy had his office windows open. He didn’t think he needed to fire up his oscillating fan yet, but it would only be a matter of a few weeks.

The office radio was on and KFH was playing some Glenn Miller. The Sable ferret was wearing his reading spectacles and was glancing over a bound report from the Skippy Engineering department. He took a pencil and made a note on one of the last pages and placed the report precisely on top of a pile of binders on the nearest corner of his desk.

Over the years, many of the Head Skippys had had relaxed attitudes about keeping things in order, and their desks had exhibited various degrees of messiness. This Head Skippy, however, had a bug about neatness. He never lectured others on the ills of sloppiness, but he was just… neat. The report binders on his desk were aligned exactly, as were the piles of papers and books. He had a pencil and fountain pen neatly lined up where he could reach them. He read the Wichita Eagle and the Beacon every day, and when he was done, they were still folded as neatly as when he’d received them earlier. If it weren’t for the fact that the crossword puzzles had been filled out, one could never tell if the newspapers had been opened at all.

The Head Skippy picked up a tablet—with a picture of a ferret dressed as an Indian chief on the cover—and opened it up to a blank piece of paper. He’d set it down and was beginning to write something when there was a knock at his office door. He placed his pencil down and called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, letting in the sound of a clattering typewriter. A Cinnamon ferret stuck his head in and said, “Hi, Boss. Are you busy?”

The Head Skippy closed the cover of the tablet and laid it aside. “No, I’m not. Come in and close the door.” He reached over and turned off the radio. The Second-in-Command Skippy came forward to stand in front of the desk. The Head Skippy said, “Sit down. What obtains?”

Second-in-Command Skippy sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and replied, “I’ve got the latest on the Gamma II.”

The Head Skippy leaned forward. “What’s the progress?”

“We’ve finally got the landing gear mechanism worked out. Skippy designed a system that’s simpler than the old one and lighter. I looked at his drawings and he’s worked it out just fine, I think. It’ll fold up into the pontoons without any problems.”

“Good to hear. Is the tail wheel still fixed?”

“He’s worked on that and worked on that, but he can’t come up with a good folding mechanism. I’m afraid we’ll have to keep the design as it is there.”

The head Skippy nodded. “I figured it would be like that. I suppose it still won’t be steerable.”

“Afraid so, Boss. We’ll have to depend on variable engine power to steer on land. It’ll do.”

“I know. At least we planned on it being this way, but still… I just wish we had more Skippys to put on the problem. The design and construction would go faster.”

“Yes, I know, but many of us are working at Beechcraft now. That’s drained our brainpower.”

“Yeah, anyway, if the main gear system is lighter, it ought to improve the range. Have any new calculations been done on that with this new data?”

“No. We haven’t had time. He’s not sure yet how much weight’s gonna be saved with this new design anyway.”

"Okay, we’ll stay with the original performance calculations, then. Remind me what the maximum range is again?”

“With full gas tanks, a full crew of six, reasonable amount of baggage—seven thousand nautical miles. Not too shabby.”

“Very good.” The Head Skippy swiveled his chair around. Next to his desk was his world globe. It was a foot in diameter—huge for a ferret—and incredibly detailed. He leaned over and idly spun it around. “We need to figure out a good destination for a shakedown cruise.”

“For that range it can be anywhere in the States and then some.”

“Um-hm.” The Head Skippy tapped a paw in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. “I’m thinking… here might be good.”

Second-in-Command Skippy leaned forward. “Hawaii? Say, that does sound good! It’s less than four thousand miles—we can fly from here non-stop!”

“Easily. And I’m wondering about flying on from there.” He turned the globe slightly. “Maybe to there.”

The other ferret’s eyes widened. “There? The Philippines? Boss, do you think that’s a good idea?”

“If we figured right, the Gamma II can make it between Manila and Honolulu easily enough.”

“Yeah, but the political situation in that part of the world is getting pretty rough.”

The Head Skippy sighed. “I know. I’ve been following the news. We don’t know much about what’s going on, but the Sino-Japanese War looks bad, from what little I hear.”

“And relations between Japan and us are pretty tense, too. Especially since they signed the treaty with Germany and Italy last year.”

The Head Skippy nodded. “I’ve talked about this with Rabbi Hyman. The Jewish community is not happy with the Japanese at all.”

Second-in-Command Skippy softly said, “Are we going to war, Boss?”

It was several seconds before the Head Skippy answered. “I don’t know. Congress is Isolationist, like a lot of the public, and President Roosevelt promised that our boys wouldn’t fight in a foreign war. But the people fighting the foreign war haven’t made that promise. We might be drawn into the war in Europe.”

“What about the war in Japan?”

“I don’t know about that, either. The Japanese are tearing through China, but they’re still conducting peace talks with Secretary of State Hull. We don’t hear how the talks are going, of course, but I have some hope.”

“I hope you’re right, boss.”

“Me, too. With the ferretpower we got, when will the Gamma II be ready for its first flight?”

“A few months at the rate we’re going. I figure November, maybe a bit later.”

The Head Skippy nodded. “Sounds about right. I’d still like to at least fly to Hawaii when we’re ready, and on from there. You have every right to be concerned about the situation in the Pacific. I tell you what—we’ll keep an eye on things as we get closer to flight time and we’ll decide on a final destination then. If it’s really bad around Manila, we can aim for, say, Darwin in Australia.”

“That sounds good. We could even make Sydney. I just thought of something, boss. Do you think they’ll allow private flights over the Pacific, what with things the way they are?”

The Head Skippy snapped his fingers. “That’s a good point. I know people in the State Department. I’ll contact them and ask about that.”

“Okay, Boss. I gotta get back to work. I’ll talk with you later.”

That afternoon the Head Skippy sent a telegram to a friend in State. The reply came two days later:

NO OBJECTIONS FLIGHT TO HAWAII STOP SITUATION IN SE ASIA UNSURE STOP FLIGHT TO MANILA NOT RECOMMENDED STOP

The Head Skippy shrugged his shoulders. It had been an idea, at least. He filed the telegram flimsy away and started planning for a flight to Darwin. He sent telegrams off to the Australian Consulate in Washington and directly to the Mayor’s office in Darwin.

Summer passed. The Skippys had designed a central air conditioning system, but Freon was difficult to obtain and they had other work to do. The Head Skippy made do with his office fan.

During August, the work at Beechcraft slowed down, which meant there were more ferrets available to work on the Gamma II. The landing gear mechanism was fabricated and proved to work as well as expected. It also weighed even less than anticipated. An in-depth recalculation of aircraft weight and performance indicated an increase in range of 500 miles over the preliminary estimate, and the Head Skippy was pleased. Construction proceeded swiftly and final assembly was completed at the beginning of October.

The first flight tests of the Gamma II began in the latter half of October. The pilot reported that the aircraft flew quite well. There was more good news. The Australians indicated that they were more than happy to welcome the New Ferrets to Darwin or Sydney or wherever they wanted to fly on the continent. The head Skippy was happy about this, but he wasn’t all that surprised. He’d met some Australians and had always found them to be a friendly bunch.

But the Skippys’ flight plans changed, thanks to a telephone call.

It was a pleasantly warm day, late October in Kansas. The office windows were open and the oscillating fan was still in the corner, just in case. The buzzing sound could be heard outside; the Gamma II’s engines were getting a ground test and it sounded like they were running fine. The Head Skippy was leaning back at his desk and making a few notes in his Ferret Chief tablet when his phone rang.

He picked it up and said, “Hello, Central, Head Skippy here—oh, hello, Matilda. What’s up?”

“Hello, sir. I’ve got a call for you from a Brigadier General Eisenhower. Will you accept the call?”

“Oh, yes! Send it through!”

There was a few seconds of buzzing and clicking, and a human voice said, “Hello, is this Skippy?”

“General Eisenhower! It’s good to hear from you! Congratulations on your recent promotion!”

“Thank you. I’m still in a bit of a shock over that.”

“We’ve been busy here, but some of us did follow the Louisiana Maneuvers and we weren’t surprised at your promotion. So, what can we do for you, General?”

“Well, I have a whole new set of duties spelled out for me, now, but there are some tasks that seem to be off the books for me, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m the Head Skippy. I know exactly what you mean!”

“I thought you might. Anyway, there aren’t many people in the War Department that have interacted with you folks as much as I have, so some people are thinking of me as a sort of unofficial liaison with the New Ferrets. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“I understand, sir.” The Head Skippy was all business now. “What is this about?”

“Well, the State Department has already looked over and okayed your proposed flight to Hawaii. Tell me a little about the airplane that you’ll be using.”

The Head Skippy grabbed a piece of paper from a pile on his desk. “I have the specs right here, sir. We’ve named it the Gamma II. We built the original Gamma in the early 30s and flew it to Hidalgo.”

“I’d read about that,”

“I’m sure you have. Like the original airplane, the Gamma II is amphibious. We’ve got pontoons for water landing and retractable gear for land. It’s larger than the original with a greater capacity. It looks a lot like the PBY Catalina, with three engines located on the wing instead of two. It carries enough fuel for—hmm—7,250 miles range. Top cruising speed is 425 knots, with a cruising speed for maximum fuel efficiency of 325 knots. With a full fuel load, it carries a crew of six and plenty of baggage.”

General Eisenhower whistled. “That is impressive. The aircraft industry would probably like to examine it.”

“I’m sure they would, sir. But very few of the aircraft plants take us ferrets seriously as designers. Besides, scaling the design up to human size would lose some of the advantages.”

“True. How soon before you’re ready to leave?”

“We’re aiming for the latter part of November. A tentative start date would be November 28th. We’d leave early morning and figure on a flight of ten hours, at least. We’d get there in the early afternoon.”

“I understand that you originally wanted to fly to the Philippines.”

“Yes, but we know the situation there is volatile right now, so we can accept that it was nixed by the State Department.”

“Yes, well, that was actually what I called to talk to you about. How would you feel about flying to Manila anyway?”

The Head Skippy was quiet for a few moments before he replied. “Do you want us to fly there?”

“You’re sharp. I’ve always admired that about you folks. Yes, the War Department has an assignment to you. We have some important papers that we want to send to General MacArthur in the Philippines and we don’t want to trust them to ordinary channels. Since you’re going in that direction, we want you to deliver them to him. What do you think?”

The Head Skippy placed the Gamma II specs on his desk and leaned back in his chair. He looked at the piles of reports and papers, but he didn’t really see them. The New Ferrets shared one idiosyncrasy with their cousins, the domestic ferrets. When the little wheels were turning, they would thingy their heads to one side. The Head Skippy cocked his head and thought for a few moments. Finally he said, “We follow the news, sir. Many of us go to the movies regularly and we pay attention to the newsreels. We know how unbalanced things are in that part of the world.”

“I won’t lie to you, Skippy—it’s not good over there. Not good at all. Despite the Isolationists, many of us think war with Japan is only a matter of time.”

“I agree. I don’t want to send my people into a war zone and not have them come back.”

“I understand that.”

“But you’re asking us to do this. Are those papers worth the risk?”

“I can’t tell you what they are, but I assure you that they are important.”

“I won’t ask what they’re about, but I will take your word that they’re that important.” The Head Skippy thought for a moment. He finally said, “I’ll have to talk to my staff about this.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll meet together this afternoon and we’ll get back to you afterwards, sir. Is that acceptable?”

“Certainly.”

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 2


“And that’s the proposal, gentle beings.”

There were a dozen Skippys gathered around the table in the Conference Room, the heads of the various Compound administrative departments. They had listened as the Head Skippy had laid out Brigadier General Eisenhower’s request. He continued, “Any comments? Questions? Observations?”

The Head of Security, the closest that the Compound had to a police force, said, “From what I’ve heard, it would be risky to fly into a potential war zone.”

Someone else said, “That’s putting it mildly.”

Head of Security went on. “I’m worried about defense, Boss. Would we be carrying weapons on the plane?”

“Some. Small arms and rifles, surely, and we might have room for semi-automatic weapons. But I’m wondering how much of a threat we’d be considered. Not to step on our collective egos, but we’re just not that big.”

Head of Security smiled. “That’s true. But from a distance the plane will still look like a human one. Will it be mistaken for a Catalina?”

“It might. But we won’t be in Army Drab or Navy Blue. It’s being painted now in nice, neutral colors.”

“But your point about not being big enough for a threat is a good one, Boss.”

“Thank you.”

Second-in-Command Skippy said, “The way I see it, Boss, we shouldn’t take much time in the Philippines, given the situation. We land, deliver the papers, refuel and we’re ready to leave. If things are quiet, we take in the sights but we still don’t linger.”

“Agreed. And if things are really bad in Southeast Asia—a strong possibility—we don’t go there at all. We’ll stay in Hawaii for a few days and come back.

“There’s one advantage that we have if we’re to be working with the War Department. We’ll have access to Army bases. I think we can count on them to supply us with fuel. Having friends in high places is a good thing.”

“Sure is.”

“And there’s something to consider—the War Department asked us to do this. I think it’s our duty to go through with it.” There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

There was some more small talk over details of the journey, and it wasn’t long before the Head Skippy said, “Right, I think we’ve got it worked out. This is the way I see the trip:

“We leave here early in the morning—say, 9:00 AM—on Friday, November 28th. The flight will take ten hours nonstop under ideal conditions. That will get us to Hawaii, given the time zone difference, 2:00 PM—not too bad. That’s weather permitting, of course. I originally planned us to land at a local airport around Honolulu and get the locals all excited. But with the military getting involved, we’ll be able to fly to the south of Oahu and land at Pearl Harbor—either Ford Island or Hickam Field. I’m leaning toward Hickam. We’re mainly working with the Army on this.”

“We could always land in the Harbor on the way back and park on Ford Island.”

“A good idea. We can test the plane’s amphibious qualities that way. Anyway, we land at Pearl on Friday and stay through the weekend. That will give us time to rest up from the flight.”

A Silver Mitt Skippy said, “We can do a little sightseeing around Pearl Harbor then.” He smiled; as it stood, he was going to pilot the Gamma II. “I’d love to see the battleships!”

“And you probably will. The ships are always berthed in the Harbor on weekends.

“On Monday the 1st of December we take off and head for Manila. War or not, that’s gonna be a long haul—about 15 hours if we go at economic speed.”

The Silver Mitt Skippy said, “We can fly in shifts, no problem, Boss. There’s enough room in the plane for that.”

“Excellent. Turnaround time in Manila will be minimal, as we’ve said. Once we leave, I’m proposing flying to Darwin. It would be six hours in the air, at worst. We’ve already agreed on a visit with the Aussies and we owe it to them, I think. We might even fly down to Sydney; I’ll leave that up to you, Skippy. After that, head back to Hawaii and head home. How does that sound to everyone?”

“Sounds great, Boss!” “Except for the Philippines part, it ought to go down good, Boss.”

“Very good. I’ll contact General Eisenhower this evening and tell him our plans. He said that an Army courier will deliver MacArthur’s document packet to the Compound early in the week. And we’ll be ready to go on Friday the 28th.”

But the plans changed. Diplomatic negotiations with Japan ended and on the 27th, the Navy Department issued a war warning. Admiral Harold Stark, Chief of Naval Operations, sent the message to Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Fleet, who passed it on to General Walter Short, in command of the Army installations in Hawaii. Pearl Harbor was put on alert.

To the civilian population in Hawaii, it was just another drill. They knew little of what was going on, and it was the same with the Skippys. The Head Skippy received a telephone call that evening of the 27th informing him that the trip had to be postponed.

He talked to the Second-of-Command Skippy about it later. “I guess I’m not surprised. The peace talks have gone nowhere. Things must be very bad out there.”

“That must mean that a flight to the Philippines is out of the question, huh, Boss?”

“Looks like it. We’ll see. They still may want us to try. If nothing else, flying to Pearl is still in the cards, I think. But the Philippines—it doesn’t look good.”

But days passed and nothing happened. The alert was called off, and the War Department informed the Skippys that the flight to Manila was on again. A sealed packet was delivered to the Compound on Tuesday the 2nd.

Besides the Silver Mitt Skippy, two other Skippys were to go on the flight. Three other ferrets—Gus, Tillie, and Walter—were also going along.

The Gamma II was flight-tested one more time on Wednesday, and the few problems found were corrected on Thursday. Supplies were loaded, the gas tanks were filled and a final ground checkout was performed.

The next morning, a crowd of ferrets was gathered on the Compound flight line. Sable Skippy kissed his wife and his little son goodbye. Silver Mitt Skippy said goodbye to his girlfriend.

The crew of six ferrets finally climbed aboard the amphibious craft, and Skippy taxied it down to the end of the main runway. And at precisely 9:00 AM, the Gamma II started her takeoff run. When the wheels left the ground and she lifted into the air, the crowd cheered.

Silver Mitt Skippy flew a circle around the field to give the folks one last look, and he headed west.

###########################

“How are we doing?”

The Sable Skippy looked up from his seat at the navigation station and replied, “I think we had a tailwind. We’re a bit ahead of schedule. In fact, I think we’ll be seeing San Francisco pretty soon.”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “Excellent!” They’d left Wichita three hours ago and had already flown over the Rockies and the Nevada desert. Now central California was rolling along underneath the Gamma II.

The Skippy in the copilot’s seat asked, “How’s she handling?”

“Just fine. It’s smooth flying. Granted, we’ve had good weather so far. That might change over the Pacific. We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

The Copilot Skippy was an Albino, and he was wearing dark glasses to protect his red eyes from the bright sunlight. “We can handle it. We’ve got plenty of fuel for a detour. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine. The autopilot is holding us on course and I don’t have to keep mother-henning the controls.”

“Let me know when or if you get tired and I’ll take over.”

“I’ll let you fly in a bit. Right now, no problem.”

The cabin door opened and another ferret came into the cockpit. “Hello, mind if I join you guys?”

Silver Mitt Skippy looked over his shoulder at Gus and said, “Certainly. Anything of interest going on aft?”

“Well… I figured I ought to come in here and give the other two some privacy.”

“Tillie and Walter? What are they doing that needs privacy?”

“Pitching woo.”

“Pitching—” Silver Mitt Skippy looked at Gus with raised eyebrows. “Are those two…?”

The Sable Skippy laughed and said, “Oh, yes. They’ve caught the bug, all right, though I don’t know if they know it themselves yet. I could tell. I caught it myself when I met this one jill, and it took awhile for me to figure out.” He smiled. “Not long before I married her. But the symptoms are obvious if you know how to look.”

Silver Mitt Skippy thought for a moment and then chuckled. “We’ll see what develops, then. As long as it doesn’t adversely affect our mission, I see nothing wrong.”

Gus replied, “It shouldn’t. They’re both pretty sharp. How are we doing?”

“Not too bad. Our navigator says we’re close to San Francisco.”

Sable Skippy said, “Maybe we can pick up a radio station.”

“We can try.” The Albino Skippy began fiddling with a dial, and a sharp, clear voice came through the control panel speaker.

“—Is KJBS, the Bay area’s premier radio station, broadcasting on 1100 kilocycles. Coming up, we’ll be bringing you Tommy Dorsey’s band with Frank Sinatra singing ‘In the Blue of the Evening’.”

Albino Skippy took off his dark glasses and smiled. “Sounds close enough.”

Gus nodded. “It works for me. You gonna be able to navigate this good to get us to Hawaii?”

Sable Skippy replied, “Oh, I’m sure of it. With a good gyrocompass and some old-fashioned dead reckoning, we ought to get there fine. The humans do it all the time.”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “I have no doubts we’ll make it. And I’m looking forward to seeing Pearl Harbor. I like airplanes, but I like the Navy’s battleships, too.”

Sable Skippy said, “A lot of us do. Do you have a favorite?”

“I’m rather fond of the Arizona. It’s a big one, and I like the cut of her jib.”

Albino Skippy said, “That’s fine, but I’ve got a weakness for electronic gadgets. When we get there, I hope the Army brass will let me look over one of their new radar outposts.”

Gus said, “Say, that sounds swell. If they do let you inspect their radar, do you mind if I come along?”

“You’ll be quite welcome.”

“Thanks!”

Sable Skippy said, “I’d like to wander around Hickam Field myself and look over the Army planes. I’d want to take a gander at some B-17s if there are any there.”

Silver Mitt Skippy looked out the cockpit windshield for a few moments. They were over San Francisco now and he could see the Golden Gate Bridge on the horizon. He said, “We’ll have all day Saturday and Sunday morning for sightseeing. It sounds like we’re settling down into our own little groups. That sounds okay to me.”

Silver Mitt Skippy thought for a few moments and said, “It looks like things will turn out bad in the Philippines, and soon. For now, let’s enjoy the weekend, folks.”

##############

There was a cold front with rain and squalls between San Francisco and Hawaii, and the Gamma II had to detour south for several hundred miles. The Navigator’s dead reckoning skills were up to the task of keeping the little plane from getting lost. By the time they arrived over the beaches on Oahu’s northeast shore, the ferrets were two hours behind schedule. The Albino Skippy with the dark glasses was piloting. When they cleared the Koolau Range, Silver Mitt Skippy flipped the switch on the two-way radio.

“Hickam Field Tower, this is Gamma II out of Wichita, Kansas. I presume you’ve been told to expect us. Awaiting approach instructions. Over.”

“Gamma II, we were told, but we’re not sure we believe it yet. Descend to 500 feet. Your downwind leg will be above Ford Island. Air traffic’s light for a Friday. We’ll let you know when to turn on the Base Leg. Over.”

“Roger, Hickam. Over.”

Pearl Harbor was teeming with ships—tugs, launches and other small craft were motoring across the blue waters of the harbor. Anchored in the Harbor east of Ford Island were about a dozen destroyers, cruisers and tenders, while some destroyers were in the Middle Loch northwest of the island. South of Ford could be seen the dry docks, which held submarines and cruisers. But what interested the ferrets the most, the reason that five of them were gazing out of the windows on the port side of the plane, was the group of Navy craft parked in rows along the southeast edge of Ford Island. It was informally known as Battleship Row.

It was an apt name. Of the ten craft anchored there, one was an oiler and another was a repair vessel. The remaining eight were battleships, and they made an impressive sight. The ferrets said nothing for several moments. The battleships were big, with huge conning towers reaching into the sky and exhaust stacks as big as Kansas silos, and they seemed to bristle with guns and cannons.

Tillie finally broke the silence with a rather prosaic, “Wow…”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “I agree. Those are something. It makes a person feel that his country is well-protected.”

Sable Skippy replied, “I don’t see any of the aircraft carriers, around, though.”

“Probably out on maneuvers.”

“Most likely.” Sable Skippy studied the battleships. “I think I recognize some of those. Isn’t that the Nevada at the east end? I can’t place the one on the other end, though.”

“I think that’s the California, though don’t hold me to that. Some of the others I can’t recognize, but I know the one in front of the Nevada, inboard of the smaller ship.” Silver Mitt Skippy grinned. “That has to be the Arizona. That is one beautiful ship.”

Walter said, “You must like that one a lot.”

Sable Skippy chuckled. “Good guess. He’s building a model of it back home, from scratch. He’s done a good job so far.”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “Yep. I want to make it as accurate as possible, so I’m happy to be here. I want to examine that ship close up to make sure I get my version right.”

Walter said, “Sounds nice. I might go along with you to look over the ships.”

“Feel free. Tillie, you want to come along?”

The jill replied, “Thank you, but I’m afraid battleships don’t interest me all that much.” She smiled. “Actually, I like airplanes. When we get to Hickam Field I’ll probably wander around looking at the fighters and bombers.”

Sable Skippy said, “Me, too. We can do that tomorrow.”

Walter said, “I know we’ve got permission to be on Hickam, but what about Ford Island?”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “I haven’t heard back from the Navy on that. I’ll find someone tomorrow to talk to.”

Gamma II had just passed the Naval Hospital on the port side when the Albino Skippy called from the cockpit, “Hey, Boss, Hickam just called and I’m about to turn on the Base Leg. We’ll be on a short Final approach.”

“Fine. Okay, let’s get to our seats and buckle in, folks.”

To be continued

[pauljmsn]

Part 3

Friday, December 5th, shortly after 4 PM

The sergeant stared out of the control tower window and said, “I see it, but I still don’t believe it!”

The lieutenant shook his head. “My sentiments exactly. That thing is small!”

“Yes sir. You notice something else? Whoever—whatever—is flying that, he is a very good pilot.”

The lieutenant nodded. He’d used a pair of binoculars to watch the small amphibious aircraft fly the pattern, and the turn from the Base Leg onto Final Approach had been as clean and as crisp as any he’d ever seen. He picked up the microphone. “Aircraft identified as Gamma II. You are clear for landing. Welcome to Hickam Field.”

“Roger, Hickam.” The little plane came down the glide path as if it were on a rail, and at just the right altitude above the asphalt, it flared and settled down on the numbers without a bump.

“That was a sweet landing.”

“Are you surprised, Sergeant?”

“I guess I’m not, sir.”

From the navigator’s seat, Sable Skippy said, “Good landing.”

Albino Skippy leaned back, as best he could with his harness, and replied, “Did you folks ever doubt me?”

In the copilot’s seat, Silver Mitt Skippy said “Of course not. That’s one of the reasons you were chosen for this trip.” Silver Mitt Skippy picked up his mike and said, “Hickam Tower, this is Gamma II, just touched down. Where do you want us to park?”

“Gamma II, pull off of the runway to the right and head toward the parked aircraft in the middle of the Field. There’s a troop at the far end who will guide you to a parking space.”

“Roger, Tower.—Skippy, shut down the middle engine.”

“Yessir.” On the ground, the Gamma II was steered by variable power to the two outboard engines. The middle engine was shut down and the prop rotated freely until it slowed down and stopped. Albino Skippy deftly worked the throttles on the outboard engines and the aircraft turned off of the runway onto the tarmac.

Parked in rows on the tarmac were dozens of fighters and bombers. Albino Skippy taxied the plane along one row of P-40s and said, “I think I see him up there, Boss.”

“Yeah, there he is.” At the far end of the row of planes, a soldier was waving them forward. When they had almost reached them, he stepped back and waved to his left. Albino Skippy taxied up and turned abruptly to his right and parked the Gamma II right next to the P-40 on the end.

Albino Skippy unbuckled his harness and said, “Well, here we are. Thank you for choosing Skippy Airlines and we hope you enjoyed your flight.”

Silver Mitt Skippy was undoing his own harness and stopped to look at the pilot thoughtfully. After a few moments, he shook his head and said, “Nah. Never work. We aren’t in the airline business.” He stopped again, “Still…

“Ah, never mind.” The crew stood up. Sable Skippy said, “What now, boss?”

“We need to check in with the base commander, or at least someone of authority. First order of business.”

“Yeah, they’ll surely want to talk to us. Do we take the papers from MacArthur with us?”

“No. Lock the packet in the safe. I don’t think it’ll be disturbed. But there’s a letter of introduction from the War Department. We’ll take that along.” Silver Mitt Skippy opened the door to the passenger cabin. “Okay, folks. Time to get out! We’ll all go.”

The soldier who had guided them to a parking spot was watching the plane. There were some other soldiers, armed and obviously guards, nearby who came over to watch as well. Some other soldiers and a few mechanics were running over to get a look at the small aircraft.

Soon a door in the side of the fuselage opened. It pivoted downward and became a set of steps. The crowd stared as six furry creatures stepped out. Once they all were standing on the tarmac, they stretched and arched their backs. For ferrets, this was an impressive sight.

One of the creatures yawned very wide—also an impressive sight for a ferret—and said, “Am I ever glad to be on firm ground again! That was a long flight!”

Another of the creatures smiled politely at the guiding soldier and asked, “How do you do? Who is in charge here?”

The soldier stammered for a moment and said, “Well, I guess I am. Are you in charge of your bunch?”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “Yes, I am. I’m Skippy. We need to talk with someone in command. Could you take us to them?”

“How do you, do, um, Skippy. I’m Sergeant Fitzsimons. I’ll be happy to do that. If you’ll follow me…” He started to walk off.

Sable Skippy was looking over the rows of parked planes and said, “Sergeant, I was noticing how these planes are out here in the open. I’d think they’d be better off parked around the edges of the fields. Is there a reason they’re like this?”

Sergeant Fitzsimmons stopped and replied, “General Short’s orders. He wanted to put them together so it’ll be easier to guard them.” The sergeant shrugged. “There’s around 130,000 Japanese living on Oahu and he’s worried about sabotage. He’s got a point. Who knows?”

The ferrets thought about this and looked at each other. Finally they shrugged. Albino Skippy said, “Might be safer this way, Boss.”

Silver Mitt Skippy nodded. “I’m sure we can trust the guards. It sounds safe enough. Let’s move on.”

“Right. Folks, this way to Army Headquarters.” The ferrets trotted after Sergeant Fitzsimmons. Behind them a small crowd of soldiers were oohing and aahing over the Gamma II.

########################

The ferrets didn’t get to see General Short, which was understandable, given how busy he must have been. After about an hour, they did get to see a Colonel.

Colonel Armbruster read through the letter again. He still found it hard to believe. But he’d seen the little aircraft fly into Hickam from his office window, and this document looked authentic, signed by someone high up in the War Department and all that.

And there were six of these creatures, standing on two office chairs, right in front of his desk.

Colonel Armbruster put the Letter of Introduction down and smiled at the ferrets. “Well, then, according to this, you are in the Pacific on Army business and we are to meet whatever requirements you have and to extend you every courtesy. And we will, I assure you.”

The leader of the ferrets—he’d introduced himself as Skippy—replied, “Thank you, sir. Our requirements will primarily be fuel for our airplane. Beyond that, there is the question of meals while we’re here—we don’t eat much. And we’re meat-eaters.”

“I can guess that. You can eat at the mess hall.”

“And we’d like to look around. Look over the operations here. Sightsee, to be honest.”

“I see nothing wrong with that.”

“I have a question. Do you know what the situation is in the Philippines?”

Colonel Armbruster sighed. “I don’t know for certain, but I don’t think it’s good. I can’t go into details, but I know that we’ve got people watching the Japanese fleet. They’ve not seen fit to share with me what’s going on right now. But it must be bad. I would not recommend flying into that mess.”

“I know. But we have important papers for General MacArthur. We have to fly there. I figure we’ll rest this weekend and leave Monday. Get into Manila and get out fast.”

The Colonel nodded. “If you have to go there, that sounds like the best course to me.”

One of the other ferrets, with white fur and bright red eyes, spoke up. “Sir—I know the Army operates radar here on Oahu. While we’re here, do you think some of us—well—might be allowed to take a look at one of the installations?”

The Colonel raised his eyebrows at this. The ferret went on. “I’ve read about the radar sets in Popular Science and I would really like to look one of them over!”

The Colonel said, “Popular Science?”

The leader of the ferrets said, “Yes, sir. We’re very keen on the latest technology and want to learn more about radar. We already do some limited work for the aircraft companies in Wichita and we’re always willing to work in other fields. Who knows? We might be working on your radar sets someday.”

Colonel Armbruster looked at the creatures thoughtfully. “I’ve heard some stories about the New Ferrets on the mainland, and what you’re doing. It’s hard to credit, but that aircraft of yours is sitting out on our flight line now, so—” He shrugged. “Why not radar? Very well, I’ll see what I can do.”

The ferret with the white fur grinned. “Thank you, sir!”

“We’ve got five radar stations spaced around Oahu. The operators go on duty every morning from 4 to 7, and they train until 11 afterwards, except on Sunday. There’s the Opana station on the northern tip of the Island—Kahuku Point. That might be a good one. Someone is scheduled to drive up there tomorrow morning to install a field telephone. It’s about an hour drive from here. If you’ll show up here at about 8 AM, we’ll see about you riding along and you can at least observe the training.”

Albino Skippy and Gus smiled at each other. Albino Skippy said, “Thank you very much, sir.”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “One more thing, sir. Is there some way we could go over to Ford Island? Some of us would like to look over the ships in anchor.”

Colonel Armbruster frowned and looked over the letter again. “That might be a bit more complicated. This mentions cooperation with the Army. There’s nothing about the Navy. I may have to make some inquiries. It’ll likely take time.”

The leader of the ferrets looked crestfallen, and Colonel Armbruster realized that the ferret looked more than disappointed. They all did, at that. “You folks must be tired.”

“We are, sir. We got up around 7 this morning, Kansas time, and just finished flying about twelve hours to get here. That takes a lot out of a ferret.”

“I can imagine. Look, I didn’t mean to disappoint you about the ships. We get along with the Navy pretty well here at Pearl. It may take some time to get permission from them—we’re all busy here at the moment—but I’m sure they’ll agree to it in time. You may have to cool your heels for part of the day tomorrow. Until we get the word from them, you can always look around Hickam.”

Silver Mitt Skippy smiled. “Thank you, sir. We’ll keep our fingers crossed. If you want to, you have our permission to send a copy of the Letter of Introduction over to them. For now, we want to check out the mess hall. After that, we have had a long day and we’ll turn in.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“On our plane.”

“It’s gonna be noisy here for the rest of the afternoon. Will that keep you up?”

Silver Mitt Skippy yawned. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, sir.”

And it wasn’t. They all slept like furry babies.

########################

Saturday, December 6th, approximately 7:45 AM

It was the weekend and many of the officers and enlisted men were sleeping late. The offices in Army Administration were mostly deserted and likely to be that way until Monday. There were a few people working and Colonel Armbruster was one of them. He was reading over some routine signal traffic. People were wondering what the Japs were up to, but there was simply no solid information. The Colonel’s secretary opened the office door and said, “Some… folks are here to see you, sir.”

The Colonel stood up. He knew who they were. “Send them in.” He smiled as the six ferrets trotted in to the room.

“Good morning, gentlebeings. You look rested today. Better than last night. I take it you slept well. We were moving aircraft around the field half the night. Did that disturb you?”

Silver Mitt Skippy smiled. “Not at all, sir. We of the New Ferrets are like our domestic cousins when it comes to sleeping. When we nap, it takes a lot to wake us up! We’re all rested and fit to go! What have you got for us?”

Colonel Armbruster folded his arms. “Well, I’ve already been talking to my Navy friends about you going over the Ford Island and touring the ships. They said that they’ll get back to me this afternoon, perhaps early. I hope that’s satisfactory.”

“I think it will be. That will give us this morning to go around Hickam. What we don’t see of the ships today, we can see tomorrow.”

“That should be fine. And as for the radar stations…”

Albino Skippy and Gus perked up.

“…I’ve talked with the brass and they’ve okayed it. I’ve asked the driver that’s going up to Opana to stop by here and take whoever of you wants to go up there.”

The Colonel could tell who wanted to go. One of the ferrets looked excited enough, but the one with the white fur actually rubbed the palms of his paws together. They both said, “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome—ah, here’s the driver now.”

An enlisted man came in and executed a crisp salute. “Reporting for duty, sir—” While he was still saluting, he noticed the animals.

Colonel Armbruster returned the salute and said, “At ease, soldier.” The driver looked at the animals more closely. They were standing on their hind feet, and they were wearing small packs around their hips. The one with white fur was holding a small pair of dark glasses.

The soldier and the ferrets looked at each other for a moment, until the one with white fur said, “Please don’t say ‘Pets aren’t allowed’. We get upset over that.”

The soldier wasn’t the type to let every little thing fluster him. He simply said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He turned to the Colonel and asked, “What did you want to see me about, sir?”

“Two of these fine folk want to observe the radar units and the training for the operators. I would like for you to take them with you up to Opana this morning. They’re very keen on electronics.”

The soldier looked at the ferrets. “You’re technically minded, then?”

The white-furred one replied, “Oh, very, sir.”

The soldier nodded. “Well, I’m going to deliver a field telephone unit to the Opana station. They’ve been squawking about being able to communicate with the info center at Fort Shafter, and now they’ll be able to do it. They’re still having trouble with the radar—it doesn’t work too well a lot of the time, sir.”

White Fur said, “Perhaps we can look at it.” The two soldiers looked at him. “I can assure you we won’t break it.”

The soldier shrugged. “It can’t hurt. All right, sir, I’m ready to leave now. We can head up to Opana with the telephone and head over to the training center. I’ll drop off these folks there and they’ll still have a couple of hours left to watch the fun.”

Albino Skippy said, “Boss, we talked last night about us staying overnight at Opana and coming back tomorrow. Have you thought any more about that?”

Silver Mitt Skippy nodded. “I have and it’s fine with me. Check in when you get a chance.”

“We will.”

The soldier said, “Alright, guys, I’m ready to leave when you are.”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “Go on, you two. Have fun.”

“Talk with ya later, Boss. See you!” Albino Skippy and Gus trotted out of the room after the driver.

Colonel Armbruster said, “Now that that’s taken care of, where do you folks want to start?”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “We thought we’d look through the hangars first, if you don’t mind.”

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 4

The Opana station wasn’t the ideal setup. The Army would have liked to have set it up at the top of a nearby hill, but the Park Service wouldn’t give them permission, so it was set up in as open an area as possible. Mountain peaks were all around, but there was adequate line of sight for their purposes.

It took two men to install the field telephone in the radar equipment trailer. The job was straightforward enough. The two bent over the set, connecting a wire here and flipping a switch there. The two ferrets were looking over the radar equipment trailer and the nearby antenna, and the soldiers listened to them talking. Or rather, one of them talking in his high-pitched voice. The one with white fur and dark glasses was pointing at the dials and screens, merrily chattering away about what this and what that did, and the ferret with the golden fur was just listening. One of the soldiers thought that the white-furred ferret was getting it right. But he couldn’t be sure—the talk had gone beyond his limited knowledge of radar a long time ago. He looked up once and saw the look on the golden-furred ferret. That one looked completely dazed. The poor critter was lost, too.

Finally one of the soldiers picked up the headset on the telephone and turned the crank. He waited for a few moments and said, “This is Opana Radar Station—testing the new phone setup—hearing you loud and clear—can you hear me—alright, very good. Thank you.” He put the headset back in its cradle and said, “Well, that’s that. If these guys see anything funny, at least they won’t have to walk a mile to the nearest gas station to call. Now, we need to drop you two off at the training center. You ready to go?”

The golden-furred ferret looked relieved and the white-furred one nodded. He looked over the radar set and grinned. “This is a fascinating piece of machinery. I’d love to have two or thee hours to just go over it and—I have got to see it in operation!”

“Yeah, well, that won’t be so easy. The operators only man the radar sets between 4 and 7 AM. Somebody will be up here to guard this thing this afternoon and you can probably pump them for info, but you’d have to get up pretty early tomorrow to be up here.”

Albino Skippy said, “I’ve been thinking about that and I want to come up here with the 4-to-7 morning watch.”

Gus managed to not groan too loud, but nobody was paying attention to him.

The soldier said, “You sure? I heard you just flew across the Pacific and I’d think your sleep’s still a bit wonky.”

The white-furred ferret cheerfully nodded and said, “I’m sure. In fact, I’d like it better to observe the radar operation in the early morning.” He took off his dark glasses and pointed at his red eyes. “I’m an Albino. No pigmentation. That makes the peepers weak and bright sunlight bothers me. Watching the radar before dawn suits me just fine. Now, then gentlemen, if you’re done, are we ready to head for the training center?”

##################################

Although it was Saturday morning, there was some activity going on in the hangars around Hickam. Once they got over the initial surprise, the mechanics and grease monkeys were more than happy to show the four ferrets around and talk about what they were doing. The ground crew were quite proud of the work they did on the aircraft. One of the mechanics took them around the field to look at the bombers—the B-17s, the A-20s and the old B-18s. Not all of the planes were airworthy; the mechanic was cheerfully honest about this.

“Only half of the -20s can fly right now. About half of the B-18 clunkers can fly. We’re trying to work on that, but the parts ain’t there. Only six of the -17s can get off the ground, but that’s not so bad. I hear there’s a flight of about a dozen Fortresses coming in tomorrow from the mainland.”

Tillie squeaked with excitement. “Oh, I love B-17s! I want to be here and watch them fly in!”

Sable Skippy said, “I like the Forts, too. I think I’ll join you tomorrow morning.”

The mechanic smiled. “Airplane buffs, eh? You’ll get an eyeful tomorrow, then.” He stopped by a B-17 and said, “Well, I got a date with a hydraulic system and if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you folks on your own. Someone will come along in awhile and gather you up. For now, enjoy the pretty airplane.” He waved good-bye and headed back to the hangars.

Tillie and Sable Skippy wandered off to the aft end and happily burbled about the huge bomber. Silver Mitt Skippy and Walter stayed next to one of the teardrop-shaped machine gun emplacements on the side of the fuselage. Walter paid little attention to the airplane. He was watching Tillie and the Sable ferret.

Silver Mitt Skippy was watching Walter. Oh, yes, he had it bad. Finally he leaned over and whispered, “He’s married.”

Walter almost jumped. “He is?—Uh, I mean—”

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “Yes, he is. Happily, and he’s got a son.”

If a ferret could blush, Walter would have turned bright red. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yep.”

Walter could hear Tillie’s laugh. He said, “Well… I feel…”

“I know how you feel. I think she feels the same way.”

Walter sighed. “I guess. I haven’t seen it.”

“Oh, it’ll come. You’ll see.”

Walter nodded and said nothing for a few moments. Silver Mitt Skippy decided it would be best to examine the machine gun blister. It really was an elegant design. Maybe too elegant. A flat window would cut down on the aerodynamic drag.

Walter suddenly asked, “How soon do you think it’s coming?”

“Well, that’s up to you two.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean—that. I meant the war.”

This took Skippy by completely by surprise. He thought about it for a few moments before he answered. “I don’t know. Only a few months, at most, I think. Weeks, perhaps. If I were these humans, I’d pay a lot of attention to what the Japanese do after the first of the year.”

“It looks to me like they’re pretty relaxed around here.”

“I know what you mean. They’ve had several warnings the last few months, and they step lively when that happens. You’ve seen the newsreels.”

Walter nodded. “But you can have only so many false alarms and drills before you start to get blasé.”

“That’s true. I just hope these people get their act together.”

The two ferrets strolled toward the front of the bomber. Walter finally said, “You don’t think that maybe—well—nothing will come of this?”

“Eh?”

“I mean—what if there isn’t a war? Maybe things with Japan will turn out fine.”

Skippy shook his head. “It’s a nice idea, but I don’t think so. Japan’s invaded China and we don’t like that. We’ve set up an embargo against Japan and they can’t be happy about that. They need oil and vital supplies and they’re not getting them.”

“But the diplomats are still working, aren’t they? There might be a chance!”

Under the bombardier’s station at the front, Silver Mitt Skippy stopped and looked at the other ferret sadly. He finally said, “I’m afraid not. The Japanese diplomats have walked away from the peace talks. It may be for good. I don’t know.”

Walter asked, softly, “What about us? What will war mean to us ferrets?”

Silver Mitt Skippy said nothing. He simply shook his head, and soon the two went to join the others.

#########################################

The four ferrets were eating lunch at the mess hall when a corporal came up to them and said, “You must be our visitors.”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “Yes, we are. What can we do for you?”

“I’ve got a message from Colonel Armbruster. He wants me to tell you that you’ve got permission from the Navy to tour their facilities. Someone will meet you at the dry docks after lunch and take you around there and around the submarine pens. Later in the afternoon a launch will take you over to Ford Island. You folks must have friends in high places.”

The ferrets were all smiles, and Silver Mitt Skippy said, “Yes, I guess we do. Thank you very much, soldier!”


A young Navy lieutenant had volunteered to be their guide, and he and the ferrets got along very well. He gave them a tour of the Auxiliary vessel Argonne in 1010 Dock. Most of the seamen on the ship looked with bemusement on the ferrets, except for one young man who hailed from Kansas. He was ecstatic to see New Ferrets again and it was a joyous meeting all around. They were also given a tour of the nearby submarine Cachalot. They weren’t treated to an actual dive, of course, but they looked over the instruments, the periscope and the mighty torpedoes, and they imagined.

Afterwards they rode a launch to Ford Island. The launch operator seemed to think nothing of short passengers with fur and chirpy little voices. The launch headed for the west end of the island, next to the patrol plane hangars. The ferrets loved the wonderfully quirky PBY Catalina’s and the two Skippys crawled all over them and merrily chatted away about this or that bit of design. Walter and Tillie kept up with the technical talk as best they could, but they loved the airplanes, too.

There weren’t many other planes on the Island. Normally the carrier planes were based there, but since the carriers were out to sea, only a few were around for repair work. The ferrets were shown a couple of SBD Dauntlesses, which they liked, and one lone Brewster Buffalo, which for some reason they didn’t. They weren’t about to tell their hosts that, though.

Later that afternoon the ferrets received tours of the seaplane tender Tangier and target battleship Utah on the northwest side of the Island. They watched the sailors going about their Saturday routine, cleaning the ship and making the usual niggly repairs, and they enjoyed this.

But there were still the battleships. The ferrets could easily see the tall masts and funnels across the width of the Island. When they set foot on the island again after leaving the Utah, Silver Mitt Skippy stopped to look longingly at the Arizona.

The Navy lieutenant followed the ferret’s gaze and said, “I’m sorry you can’t see the battleships today, guys. They’re awfully busy getting them in shape, what with all the alerts that’ve been going on lately.”

Silver Mitt Skippy sighed and replied, “I know. I understand. I would love to go over that one, though.”

“Tell ya what. There’s usually nothing going on on a Sunday onboard. When do you folks leave?”

“We figured a weekend’s rest was best. The next leg will be a long one, and we want to know for sure what’s going on out there. So we’ll likely leave Monday.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think someone can still take you on a tour of the battleships tomorrow. More than one, probably, but the Arizona for sure.”

A Skippy keeps his cool. Most of the time. Silver Mitt Skippy’s face lit up. “Oh, I would enjoy that immensely! Thank you!”

Walter said, “Others of us might enjoy it, too. I want to see the Nevada.”

“I don’t see why not. Maybe the California and Oklahoma if there’s time. For right now, are you guys hungry?”

The four ferrets looked at each other and nodded.

“It’s getting close to dinnertime. How about I take you to the mess hall here on the Island? The Army feed you over at Hickam?”

“Yes, quite well.”

“Well, then, we need to feed you some Navy chow and get some real food down you!”


The Navy food was good. The ferrets were, of course limited to eating meats, but the cooks prepared the food well. The four had a table off to one side to themselves. Other diners looked at them curiously, but the ferrets were used to that. As they were merrily munching away on some roast beef, Tillie spoke up.

“I’ve enjoyed touring the bases here and seeing the ships and planes, but it strikes me that we’re missing what the island has to offer.”

Silver Mitt Skippy stopped eating and looked at her. “How do you mean?”

“I mean that Oahu is beautiful. When we came in, I loved looking at the scenery out the window. All the lush tropical greenery and, oh, the mountains! I couldn’t keep my eyes off of those mountains. While we’re here I’d like the chance to explore Oahu a bit.”

Sable Skippy said, “She’s right, Boss. We’ve been looking at the hardware around us and not paying attention to the countryside.”

Walter said, “I envy Gus and the other Skippy at the radar station. The view up there must be gorgeous!”

Silver Mitt Skippy chuckled. “If I know Skippy, he’s only got eyes for the electronics stuff and never mind the scenery. But I take your point. We should take advantage of our time here to enjoy the tropics. The temperature isn’t too bad and I don’t think there’s anything dangerous in the forests. Nothing we can’t handle, anyway.”

He thought for a moment. “It depends on what goes on tomorrow. I really would like to see the battleships. I want to leave Monday, but that might be delayed. The weather out west of us might play a part in that as much as what the Japanese are doing out there. We’ll have to see.

“Come to think, we’ll be coming back through here once our business is done in Manila, and we won’t be on as tight a schedule. We could surely do some sightseeing around Oahu then.”

The others nodded and Tillie said, “That sounds like a splendid idea!”

Sable Skippy said, “Maybe we can drag Skippy away from the radar sets.” The others laughed.

At this point one of the sailors came over to their table and said, “Excuse me for interrupting. Hope you don’t mind.”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “Oh, no problem, sir. What can we do for you?”

“Well, my buddies and me were talking. We think you must be nice folks, and we were wondering what you’re doing tonight.”

“Well… we hadn’t really made plans. Why? Is something going on?”

“Sure is! We just opened up our Recreation Center here on Ford Island, and there’s usually something for folks to do—music, billiards, other games, stuff like that. You folks drink?”

The ferrets shook their heads no.

“Didn’t think so. But anyway, the big thing going on tonight is the Battle of Music.”

“Sounds interesting. What’s that?”

“It’s the finals for the competition to decide the best band in the fleet. Lots of ships have their own bands. There’s four bands competing tonight - Argonne, Pennsylvania, Detroit and Tennessee. These guys are real good and it promises to be a real swinging night! Whattya say?”

The ferrets didn’t even need to consult about it. They all nodded. Skippy said, “Sounds like fun. Count us in.”

“Great! You’ll be our special guests!”

Walter spoke up. “Which band is the favorite to win?”

The sailor held up his hands. “Too close for me to tell. I’m from the Argonne myself, so I’m loyal.” He leaned forward and his voice dropped. “But I’ll tell you this much. Everybody thinks the Arizona’s band is the best. But they’ve been eliminated. Too bad. Anyway, we’ll see you tonight.”

The Bloch Recreation Center was packed when the ferrets arrived, but they were graciously let through to the front row where they were seated on a table reserved for them. The sailor was right; the place was swinging like nobody’s business. Each band had about eight or nine members, and they were all great. Servicemen and their dates clapped and cheered through standards like “Pennsylvania 6-5000”, “Flat Foot Floogie (With a Floy Floy)”, “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” and “Beat Me Daddy, Eight to the Bar”. It was during “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” that Sable Skippy tapped Silver Mitt Skippy on the shoulder.

Silver Mitt Skippy turned around and Sable Skippy pointed to the other two ferrets.

Tillie and Walter had gotten up and were now dancing a jitterbug. Given a ferret’s naturally sinuous body, they were doing a terrific job.

The Skippys laughed and clapped, and this got the attention of a couple of sailors nearby. They hooted their approval, and then one of them stood up and shouted, “Hey! Hold it! Hold it! Stop the music for a sec!”

The band onstage came to a stop and everyone looked confused and a little displeased.

“Sorry for the interruption, folks, but I think we need to let a couple of our guests shine here tonight!”

The sailor quickly found a short stool and brought it over to the ferrets’ table. He said, quite politely, “If you fine folks will give me some room.” The ferrets did, and the sailor set the stool atop their table. The surface of the stool was now over six feet above the ground.

The sailor bowed to Tillie and Walter and said, “My lady and my gentleman, your dance floor awaits. Pardon me.” He picked up the two ferrets, not ungently, and placed them atop the stool. The couple stood there, as thoroughly confused as everyone else.

The sailor clapped his hands and said, “Now, maestro, if you’ll start over…” The bandleader was quick on the uptake and “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” started playing again.

Tillie and Walter looked at each other and immediately began to jitterbug again. The crowd, which could see the ferrets perfectly fine, roared their approval and encouraged the pair to dance their best, which was very good indeed.

The band competition was forgotten as Tillie and Walter danced to “The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy” and “In the Mood”. For the finale, the band chose “Heart and Soul”, and the two ferrets held each other close to dance slow and sweet. Even from across the room, the bandleader could tell what was up with them.

When that number was over, the applause was long and sincere. Tillie and Walter responded by taking deep bows and smiling shyly.

The stool was taken away and the contest continued. The band from Pennsylvania won, and folks sang a wonderful rendition of “God Bless America”, after which people danced. The two ferrets did not take part. They were done dancing for the night

Midnight curfew came all too soon, and people began to file out. The four ferrets walked out in the warm night air. Tillie and Walter held paws, and all were tired but happy.

Sable Skippy asked, “When we gonna get up tomorrow, boss?”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “I’ve talked with the Lieutenant and he says we ought to start early. Probably about 7:30.” Skippy smiled. “After Reveille and the raising of the flag, our first port of call will be the Arizona. After that we’ll go to the Nevada. And later—we’ll play it by ear.”

“Sounds good. I want to get up early, too. Someone said the B-17s are due in around 7:30 or 8. Tillie wants to see them come in, too.” Tillie nodded. “So I figure, Boss, the two of us will go back to Hickam tonight and sleep in the Gamma II.”

Unnoticed by the others. Walter listened to this warily. Also unnoticed by the others, Silver Mitt Skippy mouthed the word, “Married.” Aloud he said, “Sounds like a good plan. Someone here can give you a lift in the launch. Walter and I will spend the night here on Ford.”

“Where you gonna sleep, Boss?”

Silver Mitt Skippy looked up at the night sky. It was partly cloudy and warm. “It’s so nice tonight, I figured that we might find a nice wooded spot nearby and camp out under the stars. What do you think, Walter?’

“Actually, that sounds good to me. I’m worn out from the dancing and I could probably sleep anywhere halfway soft. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed.”

“Me, neither. Okay, folks, it’s late and we all need our beauty sleep.” The ferrets said their goodnights and went their separate ways.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 5

Sunday, December 7th, 7:00 AM, Opana

Like so many other times in the past, it had been an uneventful morning for Privates Joseph Lockard and George Elliott at the radar station. At least this time they had company for their three-hour shift. Once you got used to talking ferrets, they were nice folks. Skippy, the one with the white fur had been all eager since they’d arrived, asking all sorts of questions that Lockard and Elliott had tried their best to answer, given that they were learning about radar themselves on the job. The other ferret, Gus, tried to follow as best he could, but Lockard could tell he wasn’t technically minded. Still, both of the ferrets were fascinated with the scope with the rotating line of light and the occasional blip that showed up. After a couple of hours Gus lay down to take a ferret nap, but Skippy was still standing by the set, looking over Lockard’s shoulder at the screen, even if there was nothing to see.

At 6:54, the Shafter Information Center called them up and told them to close down for the day. It was time to shut the radar set down and go get breakfast.

Except that it was now 7:02 and the breakfast truck wasn’t there yet. Lockard got up from the set and walked over to look down the road. He grunted, “Figures. This ain’t the first time they’ve left us high and dry. That’s Army punctuation for you.”

Private Elliott said, “I think you mean Army punctuality, Joe.”

“That, too. Maybe we ought to shut the set down anyway. The job’s over for us today.”

“Can’t we leave it on? I want to practice operating this gizmo. I haven’t done much since I joined this outfit a couple of weeks ago.”

Private Lockard shrugged. “Sure, why not? We’ll keep it running ‘til the truck gets here. No telling how long that’ll be, anyway. I’ll teach you how.”

Skippy said, “Mind if I watch?”

“Certainly.” Private Elliott sat down in the operator’s seat and Lockard leaned over his shoulder.

“Okay, see that thing there? Just an echo. Nothing to be concerned over.”

Skippy said, “It does look weak. I’d think it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“And you’re right. Now this over here might be a plane. Or some a flock of birds. And this—what—wow.” The two soldiers and the ferret stared at what had just appeared on the screen.

Lockard said, “Holy Toledo… I’ve never seen anything as big as that before.”

Elliott stared at it for a moment and said, “Is it something wrong with the set? We’ve had trouble with this thing before.”

“Get up, George.” Elliott vacated the seat and Lockard took over. He fiddled with the controls and declared, “No, it’s not the set. Whatever it is, it’s real.”

Skippy asked, “What could it be?”

“It has to be a group of aircraft. A big group. George, get to plotting.”

“Already on it.” Private Elliott wasn’t a radar operator yet, but he was pretty good at plotting. He bent over the plotting table, drew a line with a protractor and straightedge and measured out a distance. He quickly had the answer. “137 miles north, three degrees east.”

By this time Gus had awoken and he sat up and yawned. “What’s goin’ on?”

Skippy replied. “Flight of planes coming in from the north. Looks like a big one. Come over and see.”

Gus didn’t need to be asked twice. He jumped up and trotted over to the set. Even he could tell that the blips on the scope weren’t ordinary.

Private Lockard said, “Who is that? We don’t have any planes out there. Do we?”

Elliott said, “Don’t know.” He put on the headset and cranked on the field telephone. He tried calling the Information Center.

“d**n!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Line to Shafter Info is dead. They must have quit at 7.” Elliott tried calling Shafter again by the regular Army circuit.

After what seemed like forever, Elliott was put through to the Center’s switchboard operator, who was still there. “Shafter Center, Private McDonald here. What can I do for you?”

Elliott replied, “Opana Radar. We’ve spotted a large flight of planes coming in from the north, three degrees east!”

“Well, nobody else is here. Wait a sec, I’ll write a message down. Lessee, the time is—oh, wait, somebody else is here! We’ll call you back.”

Lieutenant Kermit Tyler had been assigned as control officer in the Information Center plotting room that morning. Everyone else’s shift had ended at 7:00, but Lieutenant Tyler’s orders were until 8:00. So he was basically alone for that last hour. Private McDonald took the message to him. McDonald had never had to deal with something like this before, and he thought it must be important. He suggested calling the plotters back, but Lieutenant Tyler was unimpressed.

Private Lockard answered the field telephone when it rang back. McDonald said, “The Lieutenant said not to worry about it. Everything’s all right.”

The radar blips had been getting even bigger—by 7:15 they were 92 miles away—and Lockard was having none of it. “Hey, Mac! Everything’s NOT all right! We see about fifty planes coming toward the island at about 180 miles an hour! Let me talk to the Lieutenant!”

Lieutenant Tyler soon came on the line, and he listened patiently to Private Lockard going on and on about the big blips on his radar screen. Finally he said, “Now think about it, soldier. The carriers are out, right? So those may be Navy planes, right?”

“Well, I—”

“And I just remembered something. I came in to work at 4 this morning, and KGU was playing on the radio. Did you happen to hear them this morning?”

Lockard looked over at the others. “Was KGU playing this morning when we came to work?”

Private Elliott and the two ferrets stared goggle-eyed at him. Lockard almost shouted into the receiver, “What has that got to do with anything?!”

“Well, Private, they leave the radio station on all night when there’s a flight of B-17s coming in. To act as a homing beacon, you see. Either way, those planes you see are friendlies.”

“But—”

“Look—don’t worry about it.”

Lockard hung the field phone up and shrugged his shoulders. “He said ‘don’t worry about it’. All right, I’ve had enough. Shut ‘er down, George.”

“I still want to practice, Joe. Let’s at least keep it on until the truck finally gets here.”

“Oh… all right. It’ll give our guests here more time to get acquainted with the equipment.”

So they tracked the progress of the mysterious formation of blips. By 7:30 it was 47 miles away, and nine minutes later the distance was only 22 miles away. At that point the blips disappeared behind the nearby mountains, and the breakfast truck finally lumbered up the path.

“Okay, folks, playtime’s over.” Private Lockard flipped the switch to “off” and the hum of the radar set died away. Skippy and Gus hopped down from the trailer and Elliott locked the doors.

As they climbed into the truck, Skippy looked up at Lockard and said, “That was a large number of planes.”

“Yeah, it is. I tried to tell them.”

“Could there really be that many B-17s coming here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. We’ve done what we can. I guess we don’t worry about it, like he said.”

The truck trundled down the road to breakfast. It was 7:45.

###########################################

Ford Island, 7:30 AM

The launch pilot had over time ferried passengers of all sorts across the Harbor. He’d carried sailors of every rank from Seamen to Lieutenants to Captains to Admirals and soldiers from the Army base from privates to Generals. He’d seen his share of civilians as well. But he’d never carried passengers quite like these two.

The two ferrets were standing at the bow, holding on to the rail and watching as the launch came closer to the battleship. They were chittering away at each other in what the pilot could easily recognize as English. Well, he’d heard stories about talking ferrets and here they were. They were friendly, at least. And they seemed happy to be heading for the battleship.

Silver Mitt Skippy and Walter examined the ship as the launch approached the landing stage. It was huge, and the closer they got, the huger it got. The two ferrets craned their necks to stare up at the heavily armored side, which seemed to stretch forever upward like a Navy Grey cliff. Walter turned to Skippy and said, “What a way to start a Sunday morning!”

Skippy grinned and nodded. “Yep! Can’t think of anything much better than this.”

The launch pulled up to the ship’s gangway. The two ferrets weren’t the only passengers getting off; there was a young seaman toting a tuba on the launch as well. Walter and Skippy graciously let him go first; a human could travel up a flight of stairs faster than a ferret.

As they hopped up the staircase, Walter said, “It’s too bad that we couldn’t go to the Arizona first like we’d worked out.”

“Yeah, well, the musical instrument was a priority. There’s no real harm done. The Nevada is going to be interesting enough. We’ll go over next door later.”

When they reached the deck, they stopped to look beyond the bow. Directly southwest was the Arizona. Skippy took out a notebook and began to make rough sketches of the stern.

Walter asked, “What’s the ship on the outboard side of the Arizona?”

Skippy held up his thumb and sighted along it with one eye. “That’s the Vestal. It’s a repair ship. It’s seen a few years of service, I think.”

“Interesting that they park it outboard of the Arizona. I wonder why.”

“To protect it from torpedoes, I guess.”

“What, dropped from planes? The Harbor’s too shallow for that, isn’t it? A torpedo would jam right into the bottom.”

“Good point. Are you sure you’re not a Skippy?” Skippy shut his notebook and put it back in his pack.

Walter said, “You able to get anything for your model back home?”

“Not much from the rear end like this. I’ll do more later when we get over there. Let’s head for the stern.”

There wasn’t much going on on deck as the two ferrets walked aft. It was a lovely, quiet day. A few boats were motoring across the Harbor. A small launch from the Vestal was taking some sailors ashore for church services. The drone of planes, on some sort of exercise, could be heard. Even on a Sunday morning, aerial drills apparently still took place.

The Nevada’s band—23 in all, including the tuba player—were lining up on the fantail when the ferrets got there. Walter said, “Actually, I think it works out better coming over here first. We can listen to the Anthem now.”

“That’s true. It ought to be soon—ah.” Skippy pointed over to the Navy Yard onshore. “See the blue water tank over there? They’ve just raised that blue flag on the tower.”

“I see it.”

“That’s known as a prep flag. They raise that at 7:55 to start the morning colors ceremony.” He turned and pointed up at the Nevada’s main mast, where a similar flag was being raised. “All ships raise their own prep flag. And when it’s 8:00, the prep flags come down and a sailor at the bow of each ship will run up the jack, and someone—that fellow over there—will run the Stars and Stripes up at the stern.”

The band had been in position on the aft deck since the prep flags had gone up. Some of the musicians watched as some planes passed low over the far end of Ford Island. Leader Oden McMillan checked his watch. The time was getting close.

Skippy and Walter stood quietly and waited. Skippy spent the quiet time thinking. He was thinking about the New Ferrets and especially about their adopted country.

The ferrets couldn’t vote. They couldn’t run for office. They did work for the humans back home in Kansas, primarily for the aircraft plants and for Coleman, but not very much, and it was mostly assembly work. And the ferrets and the humans didn’t interact all that much; they mainly went their separate ways.

But all that didn’t matter. The New Ferrets thought of themselves as citizens of the United States. The ferrets knew that they were Americans, and they were very proud of their country. Skippy was looking forward to watching the American flag being raised and to hearing the National Anthem.

McMillan checked his watch again. It was 7:58.

Skippy looked around and saw some low-flying planes approaching from the southeast. Then he heard some explosions. Uh-oh. Something had gone wrong with the drill—someone must have accidentally dropped some bombs or something. The Navy brass was going to be furious. He sighed. There went the tour of the Arizona.

And then it was 8:00. A sailor onshore rang Eight Bells and the Stars and Stripes were raised quickly on the flagpole in front of Navy Administration and on the stern of the Nevada. When the flag reached the top of the Administration flagpole, a bugler blew Reveille.

Leader McMillan brought down his baton and the band began to play “The Star-Spangled Banner”. Skippy and Walter stood still and placed their right paws over their hearts. For one brief second, Skippy’s heart swelled with pride and patriotism. But only for one brief second.

Then there was another explosion nearby and a fighter plane flew low over the Nevada’s fantail. Skippy was thinking that some pilot was going to be court-martialed when a machine gun in the rear of the plane sprayed bullets over the battleship’s fantail.

And everyone realized that something was dreadfully wrong.

Miraculously, no one in the band or in the audience of two ferrets was hit. But the Stars and Stripes waving from the stern were shredded.

A person normally doesn’t get medals for playing the National Anthem and certainly not for conducting it. But Oden McMillan and his small band should have gotten some sort of recognition for what they did that morning. They only paused once from playing when the second plane strafed them and the deck around McMillan erupted in splinters. But afterwards they started playing again, this time to the final notes.

The two ferrets didn’t move while the band played, and they kept their paws over their hearts. As they listened to the rising roar of airplanes and the increasing sounds of gunfire and explosions, their dark little eyes widened with horror. But, like McMillan and the band, they stayed stock-still. And when the final notes of "The Star-Spangled Banner" were played, everyone, human and ferret, ran.

The Nevada’s alarm bell rang. Ensign Joe Taussig began shouting over the PA system, “Air raid! This is no drill! All hands to general quarters!” And over and over again, those words: “This is no drill!”

The air became noise, the noise of airplanes roaring overhead at mast level, the noise of machine-gun fire, the noise of explosions, and the noise of men shouting. It all became a single, horrendous roar.

Men rushed to get to the antiaircraft guns, and they began frantically firing, aiming at planes that were there a second ago, trying to guess where they’d be a second later. Bombs shook the battleship and men rushed to put out the fires. And men just tried to get out of the way.

The two ferrets ran in the general direction of forward, clearing the fantail as quick as they could, dodging the rushing men who had more important things to do than watch about stepping on small animals. Skippy rushed along the deck on the starboard side of the ship. Walter followed; Skippy seemed to have a definite destination in mind.

Walter shouted, “Where are we going?!”

Skippy replied, “Heading for the bow!”

“Is it safer there?”

“I don’t know! But at least it’s somewhere!”

Walter couldn’t think of a reply.

A plane came flying overhead and strafed some sailors climbing the yardarms. One was hit and fell to the deck. Walter looked back but he kept running.

The ferrets reached the bow and stopped. There wasn’t much going on in this little patch of the forward deck. Sailors were busy elsewhere. Walter and Skippy could see more from here. Airplanes were flying overhead like a swarm of bees, raining bullets and bombs on Ford Island and on the ships. Red flames and black smoke already reached up into the sky from several places.

Walter looked to the left and pointed. “What the—? What are those planes doing?”

Skippy looked at some planes flying in low from the Southeast and said, “I don’t—I think they’re torpedo planes!” He watched as a slender object dropped from one plane and hit the water. “They’re launching torpedoes!”

“What?! I thought the Harbor was too shallow!”

“So did a lot of other people! I thought so, too! It looks like we were all wrong!”

Two of the planes dropped their deadly cargo and peeled away. The two ferrets were mesmerized by the sight of the torpedoes speeding along below the surface of the Harbor.

The torpedoes sped past the Vestal and hit the Arizona just below the waterline and exploded, throwing up plumes of water and fire. Skippy and Walter paid no attention to another plane, flying above the Arizona. They couldn’t have seen what it dropped—the object was too small. The pilot’s aim had been good, and it headed straight for the deck of the Arizona.

There was a tremendous noise and some great Being slammed into the ferrets and threw them halfway across the ocean.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 6

Hickam Field

Sable Skippy and Tillie had slept well that night, weary after the big Battle of Music the night before. After they’d woken, they’d headed for the Army mess for breakfast. The cook staff liked the ferrets very much and had gone out of their way to fix a dish that was mainly meat and eggs, in small portions. The two were happily munching away now on slices of ham and chatting with some pilots at the next table. The Gamma II had served to break the ice with a lot of the flyboys.

It was a lovely morning and the mess hall windows were open to let the fresh air in. Skippy was happily talking to the pilots about some technical point on the small aircraft. Tillie was listening to the sounds that came from outside. The B-17s from the mainland were running late and she hoped to catch the sound of the large engines as one of the bombers came in for a landing. She finally said, “There seem to be a lot of airplanes flying around out there. There must be an exercise or something going on this morning.”

Skippy broke off and listened. He said, “You’re right. There are a lot of planes. And they do sound pretty busy.”

One of the human pilots frowned. “That’s strange.” He looked at the planes parked on the field. “None of our planes are up. So who could that be?”

“Might be from a satellite base, like Wheeler. Or maybe some carrier planes.”

“Maybe…” But the pilot looked worried.

That’s when someone came running into the mess hall and shouted, “Pearl’s being attacked! Lots of planes! They’re dropping bombs on the ships!”

From somewhere outside came an explosion, and all of the soldiers, and the two ferrets, ram for the windows. They had just reached the windows when something else exploded right outside.

Breakfast was forgotten and people rushed for the doors. Once outside, some had the idea to run for the armory. Others ran for the planes. Skippy and Tillie stopped and stared.

A plane flew over the field and one of the P-40s was blown to pieces, and it took a couple of others with it. The plane flew directly overhead, and Skippy could get an excellent look at it. The pilot and rear gunner, bundled up in fur-lined helmets, stared back at him. The ferret couldn’t see them well, but he could certainly see the red ball emblazoned on the aft fuselage.

“My God… Those are Japanese planes!”

Tillie’s eyes widened. “Japanese? That means…”

“Yes. Right here and right now. It’s started.”

Tillie could see plumes of black smoke rising in the distance. “Oh, no! They’re attacking the ships! The others—”

“I know.” Another plane raked the row of fighters with machine-gun fire. The planes that had been parked out in the open to guard against sabotage. Another P-40 exploded. “The Gamma!”

“Oh! What will we do?!”

Skippy was already running for the planes. “We’ve got to salvage what we can, and do it quick! Follow me!” Some men were desperately trying to push another fighter to safety, but it was no good. A Jap plane caught up with them and their P-40 exploded.

################################################

For a fraction of a second, Silver Mitt Skippy’s world was nothing but heat and noise and fire, and then it abruptly changed to nothing but water.

He swallowed a small amount of water before he clamped his mouth and nostrils shut. The explosion, whatever it had been, must have knocked him off the deck and now he was submerged in the Harbor. The noise of the attack was distant and muffled now.

Skippy couldn’t stay underwater forever, and he tried to figure which way was up. Gravity was no help; he was weightless. But there was more light in one direction than another, and he headed for it.

Skippy’s head broke the surface of the water, and the noise slammed into him again. He managed to swallow some more water, and immediately he felt nauseous. The water around him had a sharp smell, and there was something gummy sticking to his fur.

There was a skin of fuel oil on the surface of the water. A tank on the Nevada, or on a ship nearby, must have ruptured.

He looked around to try and get his bearings. The gummy stuff stung his eyes, but he didn’t dare rub at them. There, not a few feet way, was the steep metal cliff of the Nevada’s hull. And he could see the Vestal not far away. It had been hit bad and was on fire. There were flames on the surface of the water between them.

Oh, no.

Skippy had to get out of the water and get out fast, before the fire spread this far. He swam for the ship’s hull, frantically searching for something, anything, to use as a handhold to climb up. But the hull was smooth, except for the large bumps of the rivets. Could he climb them like a ladder?

There. Not two feet away from him a rope was hanging down into the water. It had to be from the deck. He swam over and grabbed it. Thankfully it was just an old rope that hadn’t been treated with oil or whatever. He got a good grip on it and began to pull himself up. His stomach cramped, but he couldn’t do anything about that now.

The only thing that had kept Walter from being blown into the water like Skippy was one of the posts for the deck railing. He’d smacked into it after sliding across the deck and had stopped. He was dazed from the impact of the explosion and the abrupt stop, and it took a moment for his senses to come back.

When they did, the noise was louder than ever. Walter sat up. He had no broken bones. Others hadn’t been so lucky. The explosion had wreaked havoc among the humans. A sailor lay screaming on the deck, his clothes on fire, until someone played an extinguisher over his back. Other sailors lay on the deck, moaning and crying for help. Others made no sound.

Walter looked around. Where was Skippy?

He jumped up and began to shout. “Skippy? SKIPPY!!” What had happened to him? Was he—?

No, he couldn’t be. Had he been blown off the deck? Walter ran for the railing and looked over the side.

There. A filthy-looking creature was climbing up a length of rope. The rope hung over the side a few feet away, and Walter ran over and began to pull as fast as he could.

It seemed to take forever, but it was only about a minute when Skippy grabbed the deck and began to lever himself up. Walter grabbed the sticky fur as best he could and pulled Skippy over the edge.

Skippy rolled over on his back and his stomach lurched. He gasped, “Get me up—get me up—”

Walter pulled him to his feet and Skippy leaned over the edge of the deck, and not a moment too soon, as he began to throw up the contents of his stomach, the water and the oil and all that he’d eaten for breakfast.

Walter held on to him and made soothing sounds. “Okay—take it easy—you’ll be fine—take it—” And he stopped talking.

Skippy’s stomach ran out of contents to discharge, and he was racked for a few moments by dry heaves. Finally his abdominal muscles settled down and he stood up straight. He noticed that Walter wasn’t saying anything. “What? What’s—”

Walter pointed to the southwest, and Skippy was stunned.

The Japanese pilot had been very lucky. His bomb had crashed through the Arizona’s forecastle and had exploded right in the middle of its forward ammunition magazines. The results had been devastating.

The Arizona was an inferno, and the black smoke cast a pall over the nearby harbor. The ferrets flinched as another explosion tore through the battleship and a fireball rose into the sky.

“My God…” Walter whispered. “How many sailors are aboard?”

Skippy mumbled, “Over a thousand.” The Arizona’s sides had been blown out and the armored deck had collapsed on what was left below. The mighty battleship had been cut in two.

“What—what do we do?”

“Help! Somebody help!” The ferrets looked around. A sailor was bending over a fallen comrade.

Skippy said, “There’s your answer. Come on!” The ferrets ran for the wounded.

Skippy headed for the one crouching over the fallen sailor. The man looked up and wailed, “He’s—he’s bleeding from his leg! Real bad! I can’t stop it! I can’t get my hands in there!”

Skippy came up and looked at the wound. The man had a deep gash in his leg and an artery had been severed. Every time his heart pumped, a stream of bright red blood gushed out.

Skippy cried, “I can!” and reached into the open wound. He got hold of the artery and pinched it shut. The flow of blood dried up. Skippy looked up at the human. “I have this! You go find someone else to help!”

The human stared at the ferret.

“Go! I have this!”

The human blurted, “Don’t let him die!”

“I won’t.” The sailor got the message and ran off.

Skippy shifted his paw around without letting go of the artery. The sailor had passed out, but he was breathing.

Someone else lay on the ground, whimpering and calling, “Mother… Mother…” Walter ran up to him and frantically looked for wounds. They were easy to spot. Bullets had left gaping holes in the man’s belly. There were so many spots where he was bleeding profusely. “Mother… Mamma…”

“Take it, um, take it easy, sir. I’ll—I’ll…” The sailor grunted once and went quiet. Walter stared down at him and listened for—anything.

“Skippy?”

“Yes?”

“I think this one is dead.”

“Well, find another one! There’s plenty of them!”

“Uh—yes! Yes!” Walter ran off.

He found another sailor down, and someone else was trying to put a compress on a shoulder wound. Walter came up and looked at the wound. The man’s flesh looked like bloody hamburger.

“Hang on! I can do that!”

The sailor looked at the small animal and snarled, “You’re not strong enough!”

“Yes, I am! We’re strong! Let me!” Walter pushed the human away and pressed down on the compress. The wounded sailor grunted with pain and his comrade was astonished to see that the ferret really was that strong. Blood seeped into the compress, but only so much and no more. Walter looked up and said, “I can do this. You—you’re needed elsewhere.”

The sailor hesitated and looked at his wounded comrade. The man looked at the animal holding the compress on his shoulder and finally said, “He can do it, Will. Go on. Help others.” The sailor finally nodded and ran off.

The wounded man looked at the ferret and said, “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?”

“Walter. What’s yours?”

“Irving. Saw you yesterday. Couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“Well, we’re real enough.”

“Good thing for me that you are. You are strong, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

An explosion shattered the glass in the windows of the Nevada’s bridge and scattered it across the forward deck. Skippy draped himself over the open wound to protect it. The sailor moaned but didn’t wake up. Planes continued to fly overhead, dropping bombs and raining down bullets. The antiaircraft guns returned fire, but nobody seemed able to hit anything.

Walter shouted, “Who are these guys?”

Skippy kept his hold on the artery. “Who do you think they are?! It has to be the Japs!”

Walter swore. “Of all the dirty, underhanded—These ships are sitting ducks! All they can do is sit here and get pounded! It’ll take hours for any of them to get any steam up and they can’t move until then!”

Skippy thought for a moment. He could feel something through his feet… “Actually, I think there’s at least one ship that can get its steam up sooner.”

“What? Which one?”

Yes, Skippy could feel it. “The one we’re on.”

“What? The Nevada has steam—? You mean we’ll be able to move?”

“I think we can. The captain can head for the open sea then.”

“What? That’ll be great!”

“Yeah…” But Skippy wasn’t sure.

#############################################

The attack on Hickam Field had just started when Sable Skippy and Tillie ran out the mess hall door. Only a few of the parked planes had been destroyed and people had only started running around every which way. A plane flew over the field and stirred up dirt and dust with machine-gun fire. The ferrets had a clear path at the moment.

It took them a few minutes to reach the Gamma II. The ferrets had been trusting enough to leave the entry door unlocked, and that trust saved them precious seconds now. Skippy threw the door open and rushed inside, followed by Tillie.

She shouted at him, “What do we do? Try and take off? Taxi someplace else?”

Skippy stared out the nearest window. A pilot had jumped into a P-40 and was taxiing to the runway. But a Jap plane was buzzing the field, and he knew what was going to happen. “I don’t think there is anyplace else that’s safe! And if we try and take off…”

Sure enough, the P-40 disintegrated in a ball of fire. “We’ve only got one option—grab what we can and abandon the plane!” He began to open storage compartments.

Tillie stared at him for one second. Then she nodded and said, “What do we take?”

“The emergency medical kits are in that cabinet over there! Take as many of them as you can!”

Tillie opened the cabinet and found boxes marked with the familiar red cross in a white circle. She began to drape them over her shoulders. “I see three here. Is that all?”

Skippy picked up three of the standard-issue Skippy portable tool kits and somehow buckled them all around his hips. “Yes. Take them all.” He took out a rucksack and began stuffing it with papers, notebooks, and journals.

Tillie opened another cabinet. “Here’s a fourth one!” She added it to the others.

“That’s one I didn’t know about!”

“What about rations? Should we any of our own food? The humans can feed us!”

“Good thinking! Leave the rations behind!” Skippy opened another cabinet and took out belts with holsters. The holsters had guns.

Skippy had no room for the holsters around his hips, so he draped them around his neck. He also opened a box and began to stuff ammo clips in his rucksack.

Skippy looked up and saw that Tillie was looking at him and at the guns. She said, “Will it come to that?”

He replied, “We have to be prepared.”

“All right. Yes. I can carry a couple.” Skippy handed over two holstered belts and Tillie managed to move the medical kits enough to get them cinched around her waist. She felt like a two-gun desperado.

Skippy took out some rifles. He tossed two to Tillie and put two under his arm. He stood in the middle of the cabin and frantically looked around. “I think—I think that’s enough. But I’m forgetting something—”

“The papers for General MacArthur? Do you have those?”

“Of course! No, I forgot them!” He dropped the rifles and waddled over to the safe. It had a combination lock and he began to turn the dial around.

Tillie heard an explosion and looked out the window. Two more fighter planes had been blown up. But what caught her attention was a Jap plane she could see in the distance. It was banking in a turn some distance away, and she knew that it was making a run on this row of planes.

Skippy fumbled with the combination lock and swore. He started turning the dial again.

“Skippy, there’s a plane coming…” Tillie stared as the fighter lined up for his run. The ferrets’ plane would be the first one he’d hit.

“Got it!” Skippy took out the leather pouch and ran over to his rucksack. The sack was stuffed full, but he managed to find room for the packet. He cinched the rucksack shut, picked it up and picked up his two rifles.

The two ferrets rushed for the door just as the rat-tat-tat of machine guns started. Skippy suddenly remembered the discussions during the design phase of the Gamma II about how wide to make the entry door. The consensus at one point was for a narrow door, but one of the engineer Skippys had made the case for a wide door, to make it easier to get some cargo in, and the Head Skippy had gone along with it. Now Tillie and Skippy were loaded down with boxes and that made them wider than most ferrets. When he made it out the door without getting jammed, he silently said thanks to that engineer Skippy.

The machine-gun fire was getting very close indeed when they ran away from the plane, and they didn’t look back. Then there was an explosion behind them, and they were pelted with ferret-sized debris.

The Japanese plane passed on, and the two ferrets slowed down and took a look back.

The Gamma II had exploded and was now a burning shell. The P-40 next to it had exploded as well.

The two ferrets stared at the burning Gamma. The rest of the noisy, burning world was gone for a few seconds.

Finally Skippy said, “We need to find the others.” Tillie nodded and they ran off.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 7

Silver mitt Skippy needed only one paw to keep the seaman’s severed artery pinched shut, so if it got tired, he’d carefully switch paws. It involved a minimum of blood loss and it certainly kept his paws from cramping. He was facing to the starboard, and when the Nevada was underway he got a close-up view of Battleship Row. It was heartbreaking.

The Vestal had been towed away by a passing tug, to be beached near the shipyards. That left the view of the Arizona unobstructed. It wasn’t how he would have wanted to see her. The fires onboard still raged, giving off a tremendous amount of smoke, and one of the masts was tilted at a steep angle. Ironically, the smoke was a help—it cast a screen over the nearby ships, making the attackers’ job that much harder.

The Nevada passed the sad hulk of the Arizona to come up alongside the West Virginia. It was seriously damaged from torpedoes and bombs itself and looked like it was going to sink pretty quickly. Something on the West Virginia caught Skippy’s attention. A black man in a white uniform—he had to be kitchen help—had commandeered one of the antiaircraft guns after its operator had been killed, and he was firing at the Japanese planes overhead, his mouth open in an unheard bellow of anger. Skippy learned later that the man had received the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions. The image of the black man firing at the attackers would remain with Skippy for the rest of his life.

After this, Skippy could no longer pay much attention to Battleship Row. The Nevada was in bad shape, with damage from a torpedo and two bombs, but things began to get worse.

“Hey, Walter?”

“Yes, Irving?”

“Your arms getting tired?”

“A little bit.” Walter lifted on arm from the cloth on Walter’s wound and pressed down harder with the other. He waved the free arm around to get the kinks out. Then he switched arms and did the same thing. “That makes things much better. How’re you doing?”

“Hurts like the hot place, little buddy, but it beats the other way. Hey, you do have arms!”

Walter laughed and said, “Yep. We’re born that way.”

“Nice. Say, is it just me, or are we getting a lot more attention?”

A Jap plane flew overhead and strafed the forward deck of the Nevada. Machine-gun fire stitched a row of splinters in a line directly between the two wounded men and the ferrets. Then it was gone, and Skippy, Walter and Irving stared at each other with wide, round eyes.

Finally Walter said, “No, it isn’t just you.”

Skippy grunted. “I was afraid of this. We’re gonna get it now.”

Walter said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the ship’s in pretty tough shape as it is, and the Japs want to make it worse. They want to sink us in the channel.”

Irving said, “d**n. That’ll block the Harbor for months!”

Walter muttered, “Oh, the hot place.”

It seemed every Japanese plane converged on the Nevada. There was a hit and an explosion that almost lifted the ship out of the water. Another hit killed one gun crew and most of the one next to it. But the Nevada kept going.

Two sailors came running up to the wounded men. One of them shouted, “We gotta get you to safety!” And they bent down to pick up Irving.

Walter shouted back. “This man is wounded! I gotta keep the pressure up!”

The two men stared at the little creature, then one of them—a very practical man—replied, “Climb up on his chest!”

Walter looked at Irving, who nodded back, and the ferret twisted himself around to climb on the man’s chest, still keeping the pressure on the wound. The two sailors grabbed Irving’s legs and shoulders, one of them said, “One… two… THREE!” They picked up the wounded man, ferret and all, and quickly carried him to an alcove next to the superstructure. They carefully set him down under the overhang and rushed over to the other man.

“Another of you guys? What’s wrong—oh.” The sailors stared at the ferret’s little paw, wrist-deep in the leg wound.

Skippy said, “Severed artery. If I let go he bleeds to death.” He managed to twist himself around and climb up on the man’s stomach without letting go. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

The sailors had laid the wounded man underneath the overhang when there was an explosion and the Nevada lurched over to port. It wasn’t a steep angle, but it was enough to start Skippy’s wounded man sliding along the deck. Skippy scrambled to keep his feet. “Hey…”

One of the sailors said, “I’m a carpenter!” He took a hammer and two nails from his pockets and deftly drove the nails through the wounded man’s shirt at the shoulders. The shirt fabric went taut and the man stopped sliding.

As Skippy stared at this interesting solution, the sailor went over to Irving and did the same thing with his shirt. The sailor stood up, flipped an offhand salute at the wounded men and the ferrets and rushed off.

Walter and Irving gazed at the nails anchoring his shirt, looked at each other and began to laugh loudly. It was that kind of moment.

At about this point the Nevada stopped listing and the deck became more or less level again. They were flooding the ballast tanks. The ship sat a little lower now in the water.

There was an explosion underneath the forward deck, the closest one yet, and it was enough to wake the unconscious man. The man grunted and feebly tried to sit up. Skippy said, “Easy, sir! You’re badly hurt! Now lie down and try not to move very much!”

The man—a young redhead that didn't look older than a boy—looked around in panic at the noise and the smoke and the flames. Some sailors with a fire hose came by and tried to put out the fires. The young man saw Skippy and stared at him.

“Who’re you?”

“My name is Skippy.”

The young man looked at the wound in his leg. “What’re you doin’?”

“You’ve got a severed artery. I’m keeping it pinched shut so you don’t bleed to death.”

The young man stared at Skippy for a few moments before he finally asked, “Where’re your wings?”

Skippy’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t expected that. “Um, sir, I’m a beast, not a bird! I don’t have wings!”

“No! You ain’t any of that! You’re an angel! Angels got wings! Where’re your wings?!”

There wasn’t much Skippy could say to this, beyond mumbling, “I left them at home.” Sometimes you had to lie.

More Japanese planes flew overhead. There were more bullets and more bombs. Many missed and threw columns of water up in the air, but many found targets on the wounded ship. Still the Nevada kept on.

The Nevada left Battleship Row behind and was passing the dry docks when it came up against another problem that had nothing to do with Japanese planes. Almost exactly halfway between Ford Island and the docks was a dredge, and a pipeline snaked out from Ford to the dredge. That left a very narrow passage between the dredge and the docks. For most quartermasters on most ships, the passage would have been too narrow. But the Nevada had Chief Quartermaster Robert Sedberry, and he was more than up to the task. It had to take nerves of steel to thread the battleship through such a narrow needle’s eye, but Sedberry did it, without scraping against the docks or the dredge.

And the Nevada kept on. But not for much longer.

The young redheaded sailor had slipped into semiconsciousness. Skippy said nothing to the others, but he knew that the battleship wasn’t going to make it. If they kept on, it would be disastrous. He tried to think of what could be done—

The bow of the Nevada began to turn to port.

Walter saw immediately that something was different. “What? What’s going on? What are they doing?”

Skippy almost crowed. “They’re beaching her! Off of Hospital Point! It’s the only thing the captain can do to keep from blocking the channel!”

Irving laughed. “Great news! Me and the kid can just step off and walk into the Hospital!”

The Nevada’s bow dug into the shore and the wind swung the ship around so that it was pointed in the other direction. The Japs weren’t done with her yet—one more wave of planes dived on her and three bombs hit near the bow. There were concussions and flying debris, but the ferrets and their charges were safe.

The Japs passed on. They finally let the beached battleship alone. Mostly.

The Nevada managed to get a gangplank down. Nurses and stretcher-bearers from the Hospital ran out to the beached ship and climbed aboard. They had to dodge raging fires and strafing from the planes passing overhead, but they began tending to the wounded men on the ship.

Before Skippy knew it, a nurse was kneeling down beside him with a leather bag. She looked at the ferret, and he looked up at her. Skippy wasn’t much on beauty as far as humans went—few ferrets are—but at that moment he thought she was the loveliest creature on earth.

Smart, at that. She took one look at the leg and said, “Severed artery?” It was almost not a question.

Skippy nodded and carefully showed her the end he was holding.

The nurse rummaged through her bag. She brought out a hemostat and said, “Right, let’s do the old switcheroo. Get ready.” She held the hemostat open and carefully brought it down next to Skippy’s paw. “On my count. One… two…

“Three!”

Skippy let go and the hemostat clamped shut. There was a small amount of blood, but only a small amount. Skippy leaned back and it seemed that all feeling went out of his paws.

Another nurse knelt down beside Walter and said, “Okay, fella, you can let up now! I’ll take over.” Walter did and quickly got out of the nurse’s way. The bloodstain on the cloth grew a little larger, but the nurse pushed down hard and it stopped.

Walter and Skippy looked at each other for a brief moment, and nodded.

Irving called out, “Thanks loads, Walter! Thanks loads to the both of you! You’ve been a big help!”

Walter smiled and replied, “You’re welcome.”

“Now, you two get off this hulk and get to shore! That’s an order!”

Skippy didn’t think Irving could give orders, but he didn’t argue. The two ferrets ran for the gangplank.

Skippy and Walter ran down to dry land and began to sprint for some sort of cover. They had to dodge rescuers heading for the ship and sailors running from the ship. They were making good time, nevertheless.

One could never say for sure if the Japanese pilot intended to strafe the running people or was just pulling up after a run over the docks. Whatever the reason, he was flying over and spraying the ground with bullets.

“Whoa!” Skippy skidded to a stop, just in time to keep from running into a wall of bullets stitching the ground right in front of him.

Walter came to a stop, too, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The fighter plane had two machine guns, one on each wing, and a second wall of bullets came close enough to brush the fur on his back.

Skippy heard a rat-tat-tat behind him, and then a ferret screamed.

Skippy turned and saw Walter lying on the ground, howling in pain. And behind him—

“Oh, God… Oh, God, no…”

The machine gun had sliced through Walter’s tail. The severed piece lay about a foot away. All Walter had left was a stump that began to bleed profusely.

Skippy quickly knelt down to wrap his paw around the stump and he squeezed hard enough to stop the bleeding. Walter wailed, “My tail… my tail…”

Skippy had stopped the bleeding, but now he frantically tried to figure out what to do next.

“I’ll help!” A sailor came running up to the ferrets and stopped. He quickly untied his tie and knelt down with it. The young man smiled at the ferrets and said, “We can use this as a tourniquet. If you’ll hold it I can tie—”

There was the whip of a bullet. The sailor’s hat was blown off and his head snapped to one side. He fell to the ground.

Skippy stared at the young man. The young man stared back, but he didn’t see Skippy.

The black tie lay on the ground. Skippy held the stump tightly and reached over to pick the tie up.

Skippy looked at the stump of Walter’s tail and he looked at the tie. He didn’t have enough hands to do it.

“Walter? I’m going to need your help.”

“My tail…”

“Yes, I know. It’s bad. We need a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. But I can’t hold your—your tail and tie this at the same time. I need you to hold the—” Skippy sighed. He had to be direct. “—Hold the stump while I tie this around it. We’ve got no choice.”

Walter twisted around to look at the stump of his tail and he moaned.

Skippy said, “I know, friend. I’m sorry. But we need to do this.” People were running by. No one else paid attention to the ferrets. Skippy could hear rapid gunfire nearby. “We can’t depend on others for help. We have to do this ourselves. C’mon, now.”

Walter stared at his stump for a moment longer, then swallowed and placed his paw around it.

“That’s it. Grab right here—good. Now squeeze real hard. How’s that?”

“It hurts.”

“It will, but we can’t help that. Now, hold on. Move your paw a little way inward—that’s it. I need room for this.”

Skippy wrapped the sailor’s tie around the stump, just outside Walter’s paw. He loosely tied a square knot in the tie and pulled it tight. “Okay, let go.”

It was a good tourniquet; there was no bleeding. “Very good. Now we need to get you to the Hospital. I can carry you fine.”

“Don’t leave my tail! Get my tail!”

“Of course. Just a moment.” Skippy went over to where the tail lay on the ground.

There was a little blood, but not much. The tail looked somehow smaller now. Skippy picked it up. It already seemed stiffer.

“Okay, I’ve got your tail. I want you to hold on to it.” Skippy placed Walter’s tail in his paws, and he clutched it to his chest.

Walter whimpered, “My tail…”

Skippy got his paws under Walter and picked him up. “Right, I can’t run too fast, but we’ll get to some shelter as fast as we can. Hang on.” Carrying his wounded friend, Skippy headed for the Hospital.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 8

It wasn’t just about running for Sable Skippy and Tillie. It was about ducking. It was about dodging, about hiding. New Ferrets are very good about those things—it’s part of their heritage—but Tillie and Skippy were put to the test.

The two ferrets had to avoid getting stepped on. Humans were frantically rushing around in every direction, and they understandably had more to worry about than ferrets beneath their feet. People were driving truck and utility vehicles around as well. The ferrets saw one vehicle get raked with machine-gun fire and crash into one of the hangars.

The humans were trying to save the fighter planes on the ground. Some had started towing and pushing some P-40s to… someplace. But the planes flew overhead and strafed them. Others were trying to get fighters to the runway and into the air. One P-40 was taxiing along and disappeared in a ball of fire. The propeller rolled away, like a wheel with three spokes and no rim.

The men were fighting back. There were machine gun emplacements scattered around the field and crews were shooting at any planes that flew overhead. The planes shot back and several gun crews were decimated.

And, always, there were the Japanese flying overhead. Dropping bombs and blowing up the planes on the field. Spraying the fighters with bullets. Spraying the men.

Tillie and Skippy were crouching beneath the wing of a B-18. It was temporary shelter at best. Other bombers were burning and the Japs would come after this one soon enough. But the ferrets had to rest.

Skippy looked at Tillie and said, “It’s no use. We can’t stay here. This place isn’t safe, especially for us. It’s like I said—we have to head for the Naval Station on the shoreline.”

Tillie nodded. “Where Skippy and Walter are.”

“Right. They must be there.”

“We have to find them.”

“We will.” Skippy looked around. The field was littered with burning aircraft and ground vehicles. And humans. “We’re real close to the runway. Once we cross that, I think we’ll be clear of the worst.”

“We’ll be out in the open. Can we make it across?”

“If there aren’t any planes taking off, yes—and that doesn’t look likely. I can only hope we’re too small for the Japs to notice us. Come on!” The two ferrets left the protection of the B-18 and ran.

They’d almost made it to the edge of the runway when Skippy looked off to the right. There were planes flying around the far edge of the field and one caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks. “What the—look at the size of that one!”

Skippy pointed at a large, four-engine aircraft that was lining up on the runway. “What are the Japs throwing at us now?!”

Tillie replied, “No, no! That’s not a Jap plane—it’s one of ours! It’s a B-17!”

“Oh, of course! The flight from the mainland! You’d think they’d go to another field!”

“After crossing the ocean, they may not have enough fuel!”

“Good point. It’s Hickam or no place else.” The two ferrets watched the bomber as it straightened out for its final approach. Several Japanese fighters were harassing it, but still it came on.

Skippy said, “Oh-oh.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s got problems. See the main landing gear? Only the left wheel is down. They must have been hit or something and the other’s stuck.”

“Oh, no! Will they make it?”

“They haven’t got a choice. If they crash on the runway…” Skippy didn’t finish. The two ferrets held their breaths as the B-17 slowly, ponderously glided in for a landing.

The pilot was very good. He came in as solid as a rock and made what was essentially a two-point landing. He manipulated the control surfaces to keep the wing up and level as long as he could, rolling along on the one main wheel and tailwheel. Then the right wing came down and contacted the tarmac.

The propeller blades on the right-hand engines were bent back by the impact and the plane skidded along the runway on the wing, creating a hideous screeching sound that forced the ferrets to cover their ears.

Then the B-17 skidded off the runway and came to a stop. It didn’t burst into flames, thankfully.

Even more thankfully, the Japs paid no more attention to the B-17. There were more planes coming in and they went after them. This end of the runway was quiet for the moment.

Skippy said, “Come on! This is our chance!” and the two ferrets ran across the runway.

Beyond the runway there were hangars and office buildings. Many of these had been hit and were burning. They offered no shelter.

Tillie and Skippy ran between two buildings that had been untouched so far and to the field beyond. Tillie shouted, “Where will we go?”

“The Naval Hospital, I think! That’ll be the closest!”

Nobody was paying any attention to this area of the Naval Station. They had over a mile to go to get to the Hospital and they made good time.

They were most of the way there when Skippy looked to the right and came to an abrupt halt. He stared and said, “No… This won’t be good.”

Tillie stopped and replied, “What?” She looked as well. “Are those...?”

“Yes. Tanks. This is a tank farm. They store oil and fuel here. I think there’s a tank farm at the far end of the Naval yards, too.”

Tillie pondered this for a few moments and her eyes widened. “This is going to be a target, isn’t it?”

Skippy nodded. “I’m afraid so. If the Japs are smart—and they planned this attack well, so they are really smart—they’ll want to take out our fuel supplies. They’ll drop bombs on this place, right enough.”

“Oh, no…”

“Nothing we can do about it right now. Come on!” The ferrets started running again.

Soon they rounded the nearest corner of the Hospital building, and they got their first full view of Battleship Row. They came to a stop and their mouths gaped open.

They’d seen the thick clouds of black smoke blanketing the sky before they left Hickam, but they still weren’t prepared. The once proud gathering of ships looked like they had been flattened by a giant hand. Many of the ships were burning. Some had sunk in the Harbor, upright or on their sides. At least one battleship had capsized. They could see fires and smoke rising from Ford Island beyond the ships.

And grotesquely, there was a battleship on the beach right in front of the hospital. It, too, was severely damaged and people were scrambling over it trying to put out the fires. A stream of medics with stretchers was coming from the ship, heading for the hospital with the wounded.

“Angels! Those angels!”

The voice shook the two ferrets out of their shock. They saw a stretcher rushing by, carrying a young redheaded man with a ton of bandages around his right thigh. He was holding his right arm out, beckoning at the ferrets.

Tillie and Skippy stared at him for a moment, and then ran after the stretcher. Two medics were carrying it and running as fast as they could, and a nurse was running alongside. The ferrets saw a hemostat sticking up from a wound in the young man’s thigh. Skippy shouted, “What did you say!?”

The young man’s voice was surprisingly strong. “Angels! You’re all angels! Saved my life! Saved my buddy’s life!” He looked like he was about to cry. “Thank you! Thank you…”

The nurse looked up at the ferrets. “He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s a bit delirious. But he’s right. One of you saved his life and kept him from bleeding to death. He’s got a chance because of you folks.” She hadn’t slowed down a bit.

Tillie looked at Skippy and said, “It has to be them!”

“Certainly—excuse me, what happened to the others? Our friends?”

“I saw them. They ran off the ship, but I think one of them received a wound. The other carried him into the Hospital.”

Tillie gasped. “Oh, no! We have to find them!”

Skippy said grimly, “Come on.” They ran ahead and left the stretcher behind.

It was no trouble getting in to the Hospital. The front doors were propped open, and people were rushing in and out. Inside it was chaos. The noise level was high, with the wounded screaming in pain, doctors shouting for bandages and supplies and for assistance. The nurses were mostly silent, running here and there to do what they could, and occasionally assuring a man in pain that things would be all right, even if they weren’t. Especially if they weren’t.

The corridors were clogged with gurneys carrying some of the wounded to makeshift operating rooms or to waiting areas. Other wounded were laid out on the floors, close to the walls; On cots, if they were lucky, stretchers, or just a few towels if they weren’t.

The two ferrets looked around at this and had no idea where to go.

Finally, Tillie cupped her paws around her mouth and shouted, “Walter! Walter, can you hear me?”

Beside her, Skippy shouted, “Boss! Boss, we’re here!”

They paused, but above the cacophony they heard nothing. So they moved along the hospital corridors as best they could and continued to shout, “Walter!” “Boss!”

About ten minutes later they got a response; it seemed like hours. From a small room several doors from the entrance, they heard, “Over here!”

Sable Skippy and Tillie entered the room—a small laboratory—and they found Silver Mitt Skippy and Walter. The two ferrets were camped out under an equipment table. Silver Mitt Skippy was sitting next to Walter, who was curled up in a ball.

“Walter!!” Tillie rushed over and tried to lean down, but all the boxes she was carrying got in her way. She quickly threw all of the stuff to one side and knelt down next to Walter.

Walter was weak and pale. He looked up at her and managed to smile. “Hi.” She placed her arms around him and gave him a gentle hug and a kiss. Then she saw his tail and let out a hiss.

Sable Skippy stared at the stump, wrapped with a black tourniquet, and said, “What happened, boss?”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “Shot off with machine-gun fire. I got the tourniquet on before he lost much blood.” He pointed at a small bundle of cloth next to Skippy, but he didn’t say what it was.

Sable Skippy knelt down and said, “What can we do about it, Boss?”

“I don’t think I can reattach the tail. I’m going to have to perform an amputation.”

Tillie was gently stroking Walter’s face. She looked up and said, “Are you sure you can’t graft a new tail on—part of one, at least? I’ll let you use mine.”

“What? We ferrets are good at surgery, but not *that* good! Not yet! It’s too risky!”

“But can you at least try? I’m willing to take that risk.”

“No…” Walter’s voice was raspy. “No, you shouldn’t lose your lovely tail for this. I can accept amputation.”

“But… no! I want to help you! This is so awful for you!”

“I can live with losing my tail. I will survive. It’s better off this way.” Walter held his paw out. “But I do appreciate your offer so much, dear one. I surely do.”

Tillie placed her paw in his, and Walter pressed it gently against his lips. He said, “Thank you so much.”

Tillie was crying as she brought Walter’s paw up and kissed it. “I love you.”

“And I love you, too.”

Tillie looked at Silver Mitt Skippy. The tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “But there must be something I can do.”

Silver Mitt Skippy stood up and pointed at the boxes that she’d brought, the ones with the red crosses. “You’ve already done a lot right here. Are these all the medical supplies from the plane?”

Sable Skippy replied, “They are, Boss. We carried all we could.” He sighed. “Boss—the Gamma II has been destroyed, like a lot of planes at Hickam. It’s a mess there now.”

Silver Mitt Skippy walked over to the boxes and looked down at them for a moment before he replied, “Yes… But we’re alive. Skippy and Gus are okay up at Opana, I hope. That’s the important thing. Airplanes can be replaced. My people can’t.”

Sable Skippy pointed to his rucksack. “I got as much of our paperwork as I could. Including the papers for MacArthur.”

“I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to deliver them, but good job.” Silver Mitt Skippy picked up a box. “More importantly, we have the medical supplies. There’s enough stuff in these containers to perform a moderately complex operation. Certainly an amputation. Suture threads, surgery tools anesthetic and antibacterial drugs—these contain all that and more.” He looked at Sable Skippy and Tillie. “And you two can do something else. We’ll need blood for a transfusion. You can help there.”

Tillie quickly said, “Take all of mine you need!”

“I figured you’d say that. Between the two of you, it’ll be plenty. First, though, I’d like some towels and some bandages. We’ve only got so much here, and I want plenty. Skippy, see what you can scrounge up, but don’t leave the humans short.”

“Yessir.” Sable Skippy ran out of the room.

Tillie asked, “Are you going to do the amputation here? Is this the best place for that sort of thing?”

Silver Mitt Skippy opened one of the boxes. “It’s not ideal, but the routine around this place went out the window when the Japs attacked. I don’t think that the humans have an ideal place for an operation anymore. It’s not sterile here, but we’ve got plenty of sulfa drugs and other stuff to fight infection. Besides, it’s out of the way so we won’t be disturbed. We’ll do the best for him, don’t worry.” He began to lay out some scalpels and a bone saw.

Shortly Sable Skippy came back with a big bundle of towels and bandages. “I asked, Boss, and the human nurses were more than happy to share. Word’s spread about us. Some folks here think the world of us now.”

Silver Mitt Skippy placed some needles and suture thread to one side. “Excellent. That looks like you brought more than enough. Place it over here.”

Silver Mitt Skippy looked at the items he’d laid out on the floor. “Good, good. I think I have everything I need…” His voice trailed off and he cocked his head to one side. “I don’t hear any planes.” He looked at the others. “Could the attack be over?”

Sable Skippy sadly shook his head. “For now, maybe, but I think they’ll be back.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“There are still targets here, Boss. The tank farms, for instance. There’s one right south of the Hospital. They’ll want to go for those.”

Silver Mitt Skippy thought for a moment and let out a low whistle. “You’re right. Our fuel would be gone and they’ll really cripple us!”

Silver Mitt Skippy looked at Tillie and Walter. She had an anxious look in here eyes, and Walter just looked tired.

Silver Mitt Skippy said, “But right now, our main concern is our friend here.” He picked up a small hypodermic needle. “First thing is to knock you out with a shot…”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 9

Albino Skippy and Gus came back to Pearl hours later. They wandered around Hickam, stunned by the devastation. Most of the fires had been put out, but the wreckage of the planes and the hangars were still smoking. The two ferrets managed to find what was left of the Gamma II and they stood there and stared at the ruin for several minutes. They finally managed to work up enough nerve to poke through the wreckage.

They were relieved to find no bodies. After that, they went to look for their friends.

That took some time. The Army folks weren’t much help, except that a few soldiers thought that they saw some rats running toward the Naval Station. Skippy and Gus let the “rat” comment pass; it had been a hard day for everyone. Then they headed for the Navy facilities.

Battleship Row was heartbreaking. Many of the ships were still burning. Rescue craft were flitting back and forth around the Harbor, doing what they could. Sometimes it wasn’t enough. Many seamen were still trapped in the sunken hulls, and some, like on the Oklahoma, would not be rescued until the next day. Others would never be rescued.

Albino Skippy and Gus asked around the Naval Yard for their friends, and a surprising number of sailors knew who they were talking about. The seamen spoke with much respect of the ferrets who had saved the lives of two sailors on the Nevada. Skippy and Gus were directed to the Naval Hospital.

Someone on the Hospital staff had gladly reserved a small corner of a quiet room for Silver Mitt Skippy and his three companions. The doctors and nurses all agreed that they deserved their privacy.

Walter was laid out on a clean towel, fast asleep, his hindquarters heavily bandaged. Tillie was curled around him, asleep as well. Off to one side, Sable Skippy was stretched out taking a nap of his own; he and Tillie had contributed more than enough blood. Silver Mitt Skippy was writing some notes in his journal when Albino Skippy and Gus walked in.

Silver Mitt Skippy placed his journal to one side and got up to greet the two. After giving them hugs, he placed his finger to his lips and pointed at the others.

Albino Skippy spoke softly. “Looks like you’ve been busy. What happened?”

Silver Mitt Skippy replied, “I had to do an amputation. Walter had a run-in with a Jap machine gun and it cost him his tail.” He indicated a small bundle off to one side. “It went well. He’ll be fine. How’d it go with you two?”

Gus said, “We didn’t know about the attack until we got to Haleiwa airstrip for breakfast—that place is way out in the boondocks. Nobody could get any kind of coherent story over the radio—”

“No surprise.”

“Nope—it wasn’t long before a couple of pilots roared up in a car and took off in some P-40s. I heard later that they brought down some Japs.”

Albino Skippy said, “It wasn’t long after that that a couple of B-17s came in to Haleiwa. That was exciting, because the strip’s only 1200 feet long. But they made perfect landings. A Jap followed them and fired a few rounds, but his heart must not’ve been in it because he flew off.”

“It was a few hours before we could find a ride to get us here. It wasn’t hard to find you folks.”

Silver Mitt Skippy nodded. “It’s been the hot place here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“We had. We saw the Gamma. That’s too bad.”

“I know. But we’re all here. And the Japs must not be coming back. We thought they might to take out the oil and gas storage tanks, but they let those alone. Same with the submarine pens.”

Sable Skippy thought for a moment and said, “Now that was a dumb mistake!”

Gus said, quietly, “So that’s it. It’s over, isn’t it?”

Silver Mitt Skippy looked out the nearest window at the Harbor, and the still-burning ships.

“No,” he said, “No. It’s just starting.”

#################################

The Skippy Compound, southwest of Wichita, Ks, Sunday, December 7th, 1941, 1:30 PM

“Momma?”

Sylvia looked up from her magazine. Her son Matthew was sitting in front of the radio, like he did every Sunday afternoon. “Yes, dear?”

“Where’s—where’s Honnahooloo?”

“That’s Honolulu, sweetie. It’s in Hawaii. Why do you ask? Is Jack Armstrong there this week?”

“No, but some man came on the radio and he’s talking about that place now.”


Second-in-Command Skippy rushed down the hallway to the Boss’s office. The Boss must have heard—his radio was always turned on—but he would’ve called him in, wouldn’t he? He would’ve called a meeting. Especially for something like this.

Second-in-Command Skippy passed several offices. Most of them were empty—it was Sunday, after all—but a few Skippys were at their desks. Some looked up in surprise to see him speed past. Others had their heads down over their paperwork, oblivious to the world around them. And some were listening to their radios.

The Head Skippy’s door was open and Second-in-Command Skippy entered the office. The radio was on, and it was turned to KFH. The World Today was on the air. That was CBS’s afternoon news program. The Boss had heard.

The Head Skippy was slumped in his office chair, staring at the floor, while a nasally sounding man on the radio was saying something about the Japanese attacking Oahu and Manila.

Second-in-Command hesitantly said, “Boss?” The Head Skippy didn’t move.

Finally the Head Skippy raised his head and looked at the other ferret. He said, “The folks on the Gamma… They’re dead. They must be. And it’s my fault. I killed them.”

“No! Boss, no! This isn’t your fault!” Second-in-Command Skippy came forward and placed his paw on the other’s shoulder. “We knew what the situation out there was like. They knew what it was like, and they went anyway. But nobody knew this was going to happen so soon! We thought it would be a few weeks at worst. This caught the humans off guard, too. Nobody expected the Japanese to move so fast!”

The head Skippy leaned forward and placed his head in his paws. “I know. Oh, I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

The radio was reporting that Honolulu firemen and policemen had been ordered to go to the Army and Navy outposts. Second-in-Command Skippy asked, “Did they say how bad it was?”

The Head Skippy sat up and shook his head. “No. I don’t think the attack’s over yet. Our folks are in the middle of that. Dear Lord…”

“Boss, don’t give up on them yet! We’re ferrets! You’ve said it yourself—we’re small but strong! We’ve had some bad times before, but we’ve come through then and our folks will come through this, whatever they’re facing now.”

Second-in-Command Skippy knelt down so he was on a level with the other ferret. “Don’t give up, Boss.”

The Head Skippy looked at his friend for a few moments and then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He sat up straighter. “We’re ferrets. They’ll survive.” He waved a paw at the radio. “It’s just… this whole thing is a shock.”

“Oh, yes. It’s a shock to everyone. The whole country’s starting to feel the shock now, and it’s gonna get worse.”

The Head Skippy paused for a moment and said, “Yes, much worse.”

“But we gotta figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Right. First order of business, I think, is to go on the Compound Radio station. We haven’t got much to tell, but we need to tell them something.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“After that… we worry about our people in the Pacific.”

“They probably didn’t make it beyond Hawaii. There’s that much.”

“That’s true. I don’t think I could bear it if they were stuck in the Philippines.”

“What can we do about them?”

The head Skippy sadly shook his head. “Not a whole lot. I can send a telegram to the State Department, but this is probably just starting to hit them right now and they’ll soon be swamped. I hate to say it but we’re not high on their list of things to worry about. The only thing we can do is wait.”

Second-in-Command Skippy thought about this. “Skippy and the rest will try and get in touch as soon as they can.”

“That’s right. Skippy would want to do that. That’s why I asked him to go on this trip. So we wait for a telegram, a phone call, even a letter—anything. But you’re right—we’ll hear from them.”

The Head Skippy stood up and went over to a small, low cabinet. “And whatever the message will be, I’m going to be here to get it.” He opened up the front of the cabinet and pulled out a folding cot.

Second-in-Command Skippy nodded. Of course the Head Skippy would do that. “Sounds good, Boss. I might roll out my own cot and join you. Maybe we ought to take shifts.”

“Good man. Thanks—for everything. For now, get hold of the Radio office and have them schedule some airtime. I’ll write a message for broadcast. Then arrange for the Commissary to send supper over for us later.”

The Head Skippy stayed in his office that afternoon, listening to the bulletins coming over the radio. The World Today ran a few minutes late, cutting into the New York Philharmonic Orchestra’s time slot, and CBS interrupted that broadcast several times with the latest news.

Later the Head Skippy broadcast a message over the Compound Radio. It was brief. All he could do was to tell the folks to keep calm and wait until they knew more. Later he called the Telephone and Telegraph Office and left instructions to call him immediately if any messages from the ferrets in the Pacific came through, now matter what time of night it was.

The Head Skippy received several visitors that afternoon. All of the Department heads dropped by at one time or another. Families, friends and girlfriends came by to ask about their loved ones in Hawaii. It was hard for the Head Skippy to sound optimistic and reassuring, but he did his best.

The hardest was Sable Skippy’s wife, Sandra. She had their little son in her arms, and the tiny kit stuck his fist in his mouth and stared up at the Head Skippy, while his mother looked at him with an almost accusatory expression.

“Please tell me that my husband will come back.”

The Head Skippy didn’t dare hesitate. He didn’t dare lie, and he didn’t dare show any uncertainty. He couldn’t destroy this family’s hopes and dreams. He said, “Your husband is a tough ferret. He’s out there with a whole crew of tough ferrets, and if there is the least chance that they can return unharmed, they will. I truly believe that you will see your husband again.”

She looked at him with that expression for a few moments, and finally said, “Thank you.” And she and her baby left.

The Commissary sent over meals for the Head Skippy and his Second-in-Command. In fact, they sent over several meals; many Department heads were in their offices now. The Head Skippy and Second-in-Command Skippy sat at his desk to eat while they listened to the radio. The news bulletins were more and more frequent now. They listened to a correspondent named Eric Sevareid as he reported about the scene at the Japanese Embassy in Washington. They listened, as more and more information about the attack—still not very much—came through. They listened to the brief statements from the White House. From time to time the Head Skippy looked at the telephone on his desk, but it didn’t ring. Finally, about 10 PM, he and Second-in-Command Skippy stretched out on their cots and tried to get some sleep.

The Head Skippy was woken from a restless sleep at around 2:30 AM by the telephone on his desk. He picked it up on the second ring and said, “Hello?” He listened for a moment and said,”Fine, send it over. Thanks,” and hung up.

Second-in-Command Skippy came in from his office next door and said, “What was that about?”

“It was the Telegraph Office. They received a telegram from Hawaii a few minutes ago. A messenger is bringing it over now.”

It wasn’t long before a ferret came to the office door with a small envelope. He handed it over and went on his way. The head Skippy tore the envelope open and took out the flimsy and started reading.

Second-in-Command Skippy didn’t say a word. He couldn’t read his Boss’s face.

Finally the Head Skippy handed the telegram to his Second-in-Command.

THIS IS SKIPPY STOP WE ALL SURVIVED ATTACK STOP WALTER LOST TAIL BUT WILL RECOVER STOP REST OF US UNHARMED STOP GAMMA DESTROYED STOP NO IDEA WHEN WE WILL GET HOME STOP the hot place IS NOW IN SESSION STOP

The two ferrets sighed. The tension was released and they were suddenly both very tired.

Second-in-Command Skippy said, “I’m going back to bed and try to get some decent sleep. And you better do the same, Boss. I suspect we won’t have very many mornings where we can sleep late for awhile.”

“I agree. First thing I’m going to do later is personally go over to Sable Skippy’s house and tell her that he’s fine. And I’ll go around to the other friends and relatives.”

“I can handle some of that, Boss. Any ideas what we’ll do later?”

“We’ll wait and see what President Roosevelt has to say. I think a lot of things will depend on that.”

To be concluded...

[pauljmsn]

Part 10

Monday, December 8th

The Head Skippy had risen early and driven over to call on Sandra. She answered the door with her baby son in her arms and said nothing when she saw who it was.

The Head Skippy smiled and said, “Your husband’s fine.” He handed her the telegram he’d received that morning and Sandra still said nothing as she read it.

Finally she looked up at him and smiled. She began to cry when she said “Thank you,” and she reached forward and gave the Head Skippy a hug. The baby was trapped between the two of them and squeaked a protest.

The Head Skippy visited some of the other families with the reassuring news. Walter’s parents sat down and cried when they heard about their son’s injuries, but when the Head Skippy assured them that Walter was getting the best of care and would fully recover, they believed him. They knew the Skippys. Walter’s mother wiped at her tears and said, “It’s dreadful that our son lost his tail, but he’s alive, and he’ll come home to us. Bless you.”

Walter’s father cleared his throat and said, “We’re proud of our son, you know. Very proud.”

Second-in-Command Skippy visited other families, and the news traveled through the Compound grapevine fast. Soon everyone rejoiced that their own had survived the ordeal.

But the rejoicing was low-key, because of what had happened at Pearl Harbor. Most of the ferrets knew that the ordeal was far from over.

Work in the Compound factories was suspended that morning, and everyone stayed home, sharing time with their families and listening to the news bulletins. The full extent of the disaster at Pearl Harbor was reported by Mr. Sevareid that morning, and it shocked them all deeply. Sandra, Sable Skippy’s wife, did not want to be on her own. She spent the day with her neighbor, snuggling her baby and listening to the radio.

The Compound Offices were fully manned—or ferreted—that morning. Some paperwork was being done, but most of the Skippys were there just to be there.

Some ferrets tuned into KFBI and others into KANS. But the most popular radio station in the Compound was KFH. Everyone had his or her radio on. They were waiting for one special broadcast.

11:30 AM

The head Skippy’s office was crowded. Second-in-Command Skippy was there. So were the Head of Security and the Chief Surgeon and five other Department heads. They made no sound, because they were listening to the man on the Head Skippy’s radio.

The Head Skippy knew the voice well. He’d heard the speeches and the Fireside chats, and he’d met and spoken with the man several times. Even during idle conversation, the man’s voice had a deep roundness, a bit of drama and a hint of the bombast to it. Right now, the Head Skippy thought that that round bombast was just what this speech needed.

“Mr. Vice President, and Mr. Speaker, and Members of the Senate and House of Representatives:

“Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan…”

President Roosevelt proceeded to give details of the attack the previous day and listed other attacks that had taken place later. The Head Skippy was not surprised to learn the Japanese had attacked the Philippines as well—he thanked the Creator that his crew had not flown on from Pearl—but he was shocked to hear about Malaya, about Hong Kong, Guam, Wake and Midway Islands. That went beyond anything that he’d imagined.

The speech before the Joint Session of Congress lasted a little over seven minutes. At that, the President was interrupted several times by applause from the gathered Congressmen. In the end, President Roosevelt asked Congress for a declaration of war with Japan, beginning on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, and the response was thunderous. It had to be a standing ovation.

After the speech, the radio played the National Anthem. All across the Skippy Compound, ferrets stood with their paws over their hearts.

When the Anthem was over, the Head Skippy turned off the radio and said, “Get the Radio and Television Stations to schedule me some broadcast time. I’ve got a special message for all of our folks in the Compound.”

Later that afternoon, those ferrets in the Skippy Compound and in the city of Wichita who owned television sets switched them on and let them warm up. Those who didn’t yet own television sets switched on their radios. Every New Ferret in the vicinity would have the opportunity to see or hear what the Head Skippy would say.

The television model that the Skippys’ had developed and manufactured was generally better than what the humans had achieved so far—that was to be expected—but there were still limitations. The picture resolution was excellent but the tube was available in black and white only, so far. Large, bright, hot lights were required in the studio to get a bright enough picture, and it could be sweltering in the summer. On this cold December day, the studio windows were open and fans blew in the outside air.

At 2:30 PM, a picture of a Sable ferret sitting behind a desk appeared on the small glowing television screens. The Head Skippy looked into the camera and began to speak.

“Gentle beings, as you heard from President Roosevelt three hours ago, we are now at war. I do not say ‘the humans are at war’. I deliberately use the word ‘we’. Because this war isn’t going be like the Great War three decades ago, the so-called War to End All Wars, which the humans fought on their own with little or no help from us. No, this time, in this Great War, the New Ferrets will be fighting, too. We will be involved in this war. We have already become involved in this war, because yesterday, six of our own were there at the beginning, at the attack by the Japanese on Pearl Harbor.

“Most of you by now have heard from friends and from friends of friends about that attack and about the ferrets’ presence there. I have been in contact with the leader of that group of six ferrets in Hawaii. I am happy to inform you that all of them survived that terrible attack. One ferret did sustain serious physical injuries, but he is being cared for now and I am confident that those injuries will heal. Healing injuries to the soul will be harder. But he has friends, family, people that love him, and they will help him all that they can, and I know that we all will.

“The situation in the south Pacific is volatile now, as you can understand, and I do not know when the six ferrets in Hawaii will be able to leave for the mainland, but we will make sure that they return to us as soon as possible. For now we will keep them in our thoughts and in our hearts.

“For now, we must prepare for war. I do not believe that any ferrets will actually go into combat. Compared to humans, we are just too small and will not be effective soldiers. But we are not helpless. In the past the humans have employed us in the aircraft factories, and I believe that we will be called on to do that again. We can fabricate small parts; we can assemble small mechanisms and systems; and we can get into small locations that humans can’t. The humans know this. They will call on us to do all this as we have before, and it is possible that they might ask us to do more, far more. They have taken advantage of our paws in the past; they may take advantage of our brains this time. And we will answer the call.

“I want us to be ready. So, beginning today and for the indefinite future, I am suspending all work in the Compound’s fabricating and manufacturing plants. All new aircraft and automobile designs will be put aside for the duration of this new war or until such time that we decide that they can be resumed. All of our designers and workferrets will be available for whatever the humans will need from us. And I believe that they will need as many of us as they can get. Because I believe that this war will not only involve the Japanese, but that the United States will become involved in the war in Europe. I believe that this will be a true World War.

“Gentle beings, I want to remind you again that this will be our war as well as the humans’. Because, and this is important, we are not just ferrets living in this country. We New Ferrets are Americans. We are citizens of the United States. This is our country and our country’s ideals that we will be fighting for.

“We will fight, and we will fight proudly.

“Please spare a thought for our comrades in Hawaii, and for the humans, and for all of us.

“Thank you, Gentle beings, and good afternoon.”

The big television camera in front of the Head Skippy was switched off. The cameraman gave him a paws up, and the studio lights overhead went dark. The Head Skippy leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the cool breeze from the fans.

Second-in-Command Skippy stuck his head through the studio door and said, “Hey, Boss, the Telephone Office rang up. They just received an outside phone call.”

The Head Skippy stood up and asked, “Who’s it from?”

“A representative at Cessna. They say it’s urgent.”

“Of course it is. It won’t be the first, I reckon. Have them put it through to my office.” The Head Skippy walked out of the studio.

THE END

References

Bernstein, Mark, and Lubertozzi, Alec, World War II on the Air: Edward R. Murrow and the Broadcasts That Riveted a Nation, Illinois, Sourcebooks, Inc., 2003
Lord, Walter, Day of Infamy, New York, Henry Holt and Company, 1957. Highly recommended
Nalty, Bernard C., Pearl harbor and the War in the Pacific, London, Salamander Books, Ltd., 1991
Stone, Scott C.S., Pearl Harbor, The Way It Was—December 7th, 1941, Hawaii, Island Heritage Limited, 1977
Tanaka, Shelley, Attack on Pearl Harbor, Canada, Madison Press Books, 2001

(Film) Tora! Tora! Tora!, 1970. Highly recommended.

[dookcitygang]

Fantastic as always.

[Lily]

Paul, I am so jazzed to see this. I'm going to find time to relax with coffee and read your wonderful work. Thank you.