Spencer watched the flaming kamikaze pass over the bridge of the battleship. Thirty feet lower and the bridge would have been an inferno of twisted metal. The captain and staff of the Texas watched the remains of the Japanese Betty bomber create a swirling vortex as it disappeared into the ocean. There was another Japanese plane coming in - it was only later when Spencer was at the fantail talking to Pops that he could give the events some thought. "Ten yards on a football field and fifty or so of those guys on the Texas would have been dead. So why can I stand here, light a cigarette with a steady hand and act like I just saw a movie?" Pops grinned. "Because you don't think you're going to get killed." "Yeah, I suppose that's the crux of the matter. The decrees of fate will take care of me? Or will it just be serendipity?" Pops flipped his cigarette into the grey/green water as the ship rolled in the wake of the Portland. "So what's worse, having one of those bastards take aim at us or thinking about one of those bastards plowing into us?" "Oh, hell, thinking about it. When one of those red balls comes in the adrenalin takes over. No thinking involved." The men of the "little ships" lived and died as part of the largest naval armada ever assembled in the Central Pacific. The insanity of war achieved its zenith with the suicidal attacks at Okinawa. This is the story of Spencer and Elaine and many others who survived - or did not survive World War II.