The Battle of Midway

June 6, 1942. The aircraft carrier USS Enterprise.

I stand on the deck, feeling the ship gently rock on the waves. The air smells of the sea, kerosene, and hot metal. The footsteps of mechanics rushing under my feet echo loudly. They are preparing the Dauntlesses and Devastators for takeoff. In the distance, at the other end of the deck, an engine roars as another Wildcat shoots into the sky.

“Lieutenant Cady!” the mechanic calls out, pointing at my plane. “The machine is ready, you can start it!”

I take a deep breath, nod, and run to the cockpit. The radio crackles in my headphones, broadcasting the latest orders:

“Enemy carriers detected. 320 degrees, 180 miles from Midway. Torpedo group, take off.” The rest of you, wait for the signal.

I settle into the cockpit and buckle up. My hands tighten on the control stick. One of the most dangerous flights of my life lies ahead.

"God, protect us."

The signal to take off comes in a minute.