"Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date that shall live in infamy, the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan." - President Franklin Delano Roosevelt
Michael Donowitz awoke with a jolt. It was morning in Hawaii where he was stationed and it was supposed to be his day off. His day of relaxation was viciously cut short when he heard explosions all around him. He was still in bed when the emergency sirens sounded. He jolted out of bed and ran out of his bunker, desperate to get out. He ran down hallways with his platoon and went up the stairs towards the daylight. That would be the stupidest mistake of his life.
When the platoon exited out of the protected bunker, half of them were immediately eliminated by the fighter planes. Michael was a lucky survivor of that one bomb out of many. He signaled to the rest of his platoon to follow him and run like hell off of this bunker. They ran for what seemed forever; dodging bullets, bombs, and the holes that appeared in the wooden planks of the pier. They were almost to the end of the pier when another fighter plane fired another missile at them. It missed slightly but it was on target enough to destroy the rest of the pier.
The small platoon stopped in their tracks and stared in horror at the destroyed pier to the mainland. Then they heard silence. The planes stopped. The platoon breathed a sigh of relief…except Michael. He knew that this wasn't the end. No. It didn't even begin yet.
"ALL OF YA NEED TO SHUT UP. THIS PEOPLE AIN'T DONE WITH US Michael commanded. The platoon instantly straightened up and waited for orders.
"Commander," one timid soldier started, "what are your orders?" Commander Donowitz turned towards the soldier.
"My orders, Aircraftman Lewis, are to get to the mainland before the second wave starts. Get to the mainland and call for backup. There ain't nothin' we can do here. NOW MOVE BEFORE THE SECOND WAVE COMES! MOVE, DAMMIT!" And with that, the platoon jumped into the ocean that the destroyed pier exposed, and swam desperately to shore. The second wave came sooner than the Commander thought it would. The platoon tried dodging missiles in the water, but only 4 remained; Commander Donowitz and Aircraftmen Lewis, Hayes, and Griffin.
The four lucky men reached the shore before another missile could touch the water. The soaking, scared soldiers ran towards the garages where they kept their Jeeps. They quickly piled onto one, with Donowitz driving, backed out, and peeled away on the dirt road. The engine revved as the Commander pressed on the gas, trying to get as far away from the explosions as possible. The Commander screeched to a stop as they approached the nearest Army medical facility. Donowitz brought the vehicle to a screeching stop and jumped out along with the rest of his men.
They all burst through the door and stared in horror and shock at what they saw. Hundreds of their comrades on gurneys with blood on their heads, faces, and limbs. The majority had been shot and the rest had been caught in an aftershock of the missiles blowing up behind them. Donowitz and his crew were clearly not the first platoon to reach this hospital. A few nurses ran to them and had given them a quick check; a few minor burns on the lot of them and Aircraftman Hayes had been shot in the left arm. Hayes stared at the bullet wound, wondering why he didn't feel it shoot through his skin.
"The adrenaline can have that effect," a nurse said to him. "When you're running for your life, the adrenaline starts pumping and you can barely feel any pain that's inflicted on you." Hayes could only nod in agreement as the nurses rushed him into an examination room to extract the bullet from his arm. The rest of the platoon stood quietly against the wall, getting ointments rubbed on their burns. It was only about twenty minutes until Hayes came out with gauze wrappings on his arm and a sling around his neck. In the background of the bustling burses and screaming patients, all of them could hear the explosions going on a few miles away from them.
Donowitz silently thanked his good fortune that they were only in there for the first wave. If he and his crew had been there for the entire second wave of attack they would never had made it to the hospital alive. About half an hour later, the bombing stopped. No more planes were buzzing in the sky. Donowitz carefully pushed his nurse away and cautiously walked to the door and looked around outside. The planes were no longer there in the sky. They were either in the water or retreating. Michael slowly backed up and closed the door. The entire hospital was silent as the Commander returned inside.
"I think they're gone. I think it stopped," he said in a low whisper. He checked the clock on the wall as nurses and patients hobbled to the door to take a look for themselves. It was 9:45 A.M. when Donowitz looked at the clock. "It's 2:45 at home. I wonder if they know what happened," he thought to himself. Donowitz turned and walked over to the main desk of the hospital. "Excuse me," he asked the receptionist politely. "Do you think we can leave here soon?" The receptionist just shook her head.
"No. I don't think so," she said to him sadly. "The Air Marshal sent out an urgent telegram to all hospitals in this area stating not to let the patients leave until further notice." The Commander sighed and solemnly nodded. He turned away from her and went to find an empty chair to sit down in and collect his thoughts. "What am I doing here? I'm supposed to be in Alabama…not here in this," he thought to himself. Donowitz hailed from Boston and was supposed to be transferred to Selma, Alabama for training at the Craig Air Force base. But the base would only take newcomers and since he was a Commander already, they shipped him off to the big leagues in Hawaii. He never even got to say goodbye to his brother.
His brother, Donny (or Donald if you really wanted to piss him off), got dropped in Europe right before Michael arrived in Oahu. They had gotten into a fight before Michael got sent away and they didn't speak to each other. It was one of Michael's biggest regrets; not saying goodbye to his brother. He was even sorrier because he had almost just been killed. Michael desperately wanted to call home and tell his family that he was alright since this incident was probably all over the newspapers, TV, and radios by now. He knew that his poor mother was hysterical by now. Just then, the sound of the intercom snapped him out of his thoughts and a woman's voice rang out from it.
"Your attention please. The time is now 12:45 P.M. The Air Marshal has informed us that the Japanese were the ones who attack our harbor. The Marshal has also informed us that if we deem you healthy enough, you may fly back home; to a safer place. We have 2,400 military and civilians killed. 1,143 military and 35 civilians wounded. Four battleships sunk. Four battleships damaged. Three cruisers damaged. Three destroyers sunk. Two other ships sunk. 188 planes destroyed. 155 planes damaged. 55 airmen killed. Nine submariners killed and one captured. 29 planes destroyed. And four mini-submarines sunk." The hospital was in an uproar by then. The majority of them were infuriated by the attack and the rest were excited that they got to go back home. Michael breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of going back home and telling his mother he was alright. When the announcement on the overhead was over, Michael went to the nearest phone, and called home.
"Hello," an old female voice asked. She sounded as though she had been crying.
"Ma? It's Mike," he said smiling.
"OH MY GOD. MICHAEL! YOU'RE OKAY," she screamed into the phone. Michael winced at the volume but, continued smiling anyways.
"Ma? Guess what? I'm coming home." The voice on the other end let out screams of joy. He informed her that he would be coming home within the week. She let out weeps of relief and joy.
"Thank God…thank God you're okay. I heard what happened and I just couldn't stop thinking that if you had…" Michael cut her off before she could say anything that might upset his mother even more.
"Ma. It's okay. I'm fine and you'll see me soon. Alright? I gotta get going, alright?" She sighed again and told her baby that she loved him. He smiled and hung up the phone. He was going home.
In Boston, Mrs. Donowitz was so excited that her baby was coming back. She ran to the nearest post office to send a telegram to her son Donny in Europe:
Dear Donald STOP I'm sure you've heard about what happened to your brother in Hawaii STOP I just wanted to let you know that he's okay and he'll be coming home soon STOP I wish you could be here to see him again STOP I love and miss you, Son STOP Come back to us soon; alive and intact STOP Love mom STOP
"Yo, Donny," Aldo called out from their makeshift HQ at the bar, La Louisianne, in Nadine, France. "You got a telegram here. It's from yer Ma." Aldo handed the burly man sitting on the sofa the envelope and watched him as he tore it open with confusion on his face.
"How the hell did she get the address? Aw well," Donny sighed as he tore open the envelope. As he read over the message, his eyes grew wider ad he jumped up from where he was sitting. "What happened in Hawaii, now?" He looked at Aldo suspiciously. Aldo must've known. Lieutenants are supposed to know everything that goes down in any part of the military. How come he didn't tell Donny anything? Aldo sighed in defeat.
"Donny," Aldo started. "Now, I don't want you to panic or kick my ass or nuthin' for not tellin' you, but," Aldo stopped for a moment, trying to phrase this delicately. "I got an urgent telegram today in the mornin', that Pearl Harbor in Hawaii was bombed by a couple Japs." Aldo just stared at Donny as he jumped up and started cussing at him.
"AND WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS? IF THIS SHIT CONCERNS MY FAMILY, I WANNA FUCKING KNOW," Donny screamed. Donny kept up his cussing until Aldo had just about enough of him.
"Now listen here, Sergeant," Aldo began with rage dripping from every word. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get distracted like this. You see how're acting? It might blow this here mission right now, do you understand? First of all, a soldier like you shouldn't even be concerned with emotions or family right now. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is here. Second of all, you can't do shit about the situation. So stop yellin' at me and do yer damn job. You ain't with yer brother flying toy planes; you're here killin' Nat-zees." And with that Aldo walked out of the room and away from Donny.
Donny clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He'd never been this mad at his Lieutenant before. In rage, he kicked a nearby stool and threw himself back on the couch.
"GOD DAMMIT," he yelled into the cushions. Aldo came back with such speed into the room that the wind blew the curtains on the other side of the room.
"Shut the fuck up! I told you to stop yellin' and here ya are; belly achin' like a littke shit-headed kid! Act your age, dammit! Yer ma said that he's fine! So shut the hell up and act like a soldier!" Aldo stormed out of the room and left Donny alone to let his words sink in. Donny slowly sat up into a proper sitting position and collected himself. Aldo was right. Michael was okay. And that's all that really mattered. Michael was a survivor. And Donny would fight for his life over here in Europe to be a survivor as well.