The Band Duel: A Short Story

Upon the decks near the rear on the Arizona, crewmen engaged in the assembly procedure to present the good old red, white, and blue and raise America’s flag. The musicians aboard the Arizona, who remained in an intensity state following seeing the Band Duel semifinal round encompassing each fleet the earlier evening, tuned their instruments upon the fantail. Tiny whines became loud with no warning. A few crewmen sought their source. Solitary planes came low, one hundred feet atop the vessel’s location. The machinery guns on its person erupted. The men upon the decks rushed over to their designated battling locations. Lieutenant Commander Vincent enjoyed a morning meal in the wardroom accompanied by his men when airy raiding sirens’ sounds caught his attention. With no hesitation, the man snatched the telephone next to him and ordered his men

Hill, glancing at a morning plate, glanced to the sky when he heard the cracks on the first explosions. A porthole in the lunchroom opened on Ford Island, wherein Naval men with many militaristic ranks and titles, decorated with multitudinous medallions, operated airy bases and hospitals.
“Ford got struck!” a lunchroom chef said.
Hill leapt from the chair he had occupied. Three among his twenty-four years went into Naval missions in Chinese territory, wherein he gave chase to piracy practitioners originating in Japan and protected commercialized vessels. Immediate culprit recognition dawned on Hill.
“Dear Lord, the bastards have arrived,” Hill said. The man ran on to the port sides on the decks, giving the sky a hasty scan. He saw the formations heading through Battleship Row.
“The bitches’ sons have arrived,” Hill said as a second notification. The man dashed pursuing the hatches and almost pressed the buttons triggering alarms. Bombs landed betwixt the Arizona and the Vestal, and Hill got thrown with immediacy backwards in the