Genre Fiction
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The Eagle's Claw: A Novel of the Battle of Midway
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • In a "riveting" (Booklist) tale that picks up where To Wake the Giant left off, Jeff Shaara transports us to the Battle of Midway in another masterpiece of military historical fiction.
Spring 1942. The United States is reeling from the blow the Japanese inflicted at Pearl Harbor. But the Americans are determined to turn the tide. The key comes from Commander Joe Rochefort, a little known "code breaker" who cracks the Japanese military encryption. With Rochefort's astonishing discovery, Admiral Chester Nimitz will know precisely what the Japanese are planning.
But the battle to counter those plans must still be fought.
From the American side, the shocking conflict is seen through the eyes of Rochefort and Admiral Nimitz, as well as fighter pilot Lieutenant Percy "Perk" Baker and Marine Gunnery Sergeant Doug Ackroyd.
On the Japanese side, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto is the mastermind. His key subordinates are Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, aging and infirm, and Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi, a firebrand who has no patience for Nagumo's hesitation. Together, these two men must play out the chess game designed by Yamamoto, without any idea that the Americans are anticipating their every move on the sea and in the air.
Jeff Shaara recounts in electrifying detail what happens when these two sides finally meet, in what will be known ever after as one of the most definitive and heroic examples of combat ever seen. In The Eagle's Claw, he recounts, with his trademark you-are-there immediacy and signature depth of research, one single battle that changed not only the outcome of a war but the course of our entire global history.
The story of Midway has been told many times, but never before like this.
Spring 1942. The United States is reeling from the blow the Japanese inflicted at Pearl Harbor. But the Americans are determined to turn the tide. The key comes from Commander Joe Rochefort, a little known "code breaker" who cracks the Japanese military encryption. With Rochefort's astonishing discovery, Admiral Chester Nimitz will know precisely what the Japanese are planning.
But the battle to counter those plans must still be fought.
From the American side, the shocking conflict is seen through the eyes of Rochefort and Admiral Nimitz, as well as fighter pilot Lieutenant Percy "Perk" Baker and Marine Gunnery Sergeant Doug Ackroyd.
On the Japanese side, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto is the mastermind. His key subordinates are Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, aging and infirm, and Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi, a firebrand who has no patience for Nagumo's hesitation. Together, these two men must play out the chess game designed by Yamamoto, without any idea that the Americans are anticipating their every move on the sea and in the air.
Jeff Shaara recounts in electrifying detail what happens when these two sides finally meet, in what will be known ever after as one of the most definitive and heroic examples of combat ever seen. In The Eagle's Claw, he recounts, with his trademark you-are-there immediacy and signature depth of research, one single battle that changed not only the outcome of a war but the course of our entire global history.
The story of Midway has been told many times, but never before like this.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for The Eagle's Claw
"An exciting blend of the big-picture strategy and intense human perspective . . . Riveting historical fiction . . . Shaara's wildly popular novels about the Civil War and WWII extend the audience for military fiction far beyond its normal range."-Booklist (starred review)
"Compelling . . . Shaara deftly digs into the minds of the major players . . . Shaara writes a well-researched and evenhanded portrayal of the event that changed the direction of the Pacific War."-Kirkus Reviews
Praise for To Wake the Giant
"An exciting war story . . . [a] deeply researched, nonjudgmental account of Pearl Harbor."-Kirkus Reviews
"A thrilling you-are-there recreation . . . Fans of military fiction will find much to enjoy."-Publishers Weekly
"[Jeff] Shaara deftly weaves a growing intensity that explodes on the pages. . . . His descriptions and explanations of the events as they unfold eerily bring to mind the old newsreel footage. His dramatic recreation of the devastation and carnage of the attack is among some of his best work."-Bookreporter
"Moving [and] masterful . . . To Wake the Giant is detailed and nuanced, gripping and breathless . . . Shaara tackles a well-known story and makes it his own."-Historical Novel Society
"An exciting blend of the big-picture strategy and intense human perspective . . . Riveting historical fiction . . . Shaara's wildly popular novels about the Civil War and WWII extend the audience for military fiction far beyond its normal range."-Booklist (starred review)
"Compelling . . . Shaara deftly digs into the minds of the major players . . . Shaara writes a well-researched and evenhanded portrayal of the event that changed the direction of the Pacific War."-Kirkus Reviews
Praise for To Wake the Giant
"An exciting war story . . . [a] deeply researched, nonjudgmental account of Pearl Harbor."-Kirkus Reviews
"A thrilling you-are-there recreation . . . Fans of military fiction will find much to enjoy."-Publishers Weekly
"[Jeff] Shaara deftly weaves a growing intensity that explodes on the pages. . . . His descriptions and explanations of the events as they unfold eerily bring to mind the old newsreel footage. His dramatic recreation of the devastation and carnage of the attack is among some of his best work."-Bookreporter
"Moving [and] masterful . . . To Wake the Giant is detailed and nuanced, gripping and breathless . . . Shaara tackles a well-known story and makes it his own."-Historical Novel Society
Readers Top Reviews
Diane Legrand Rairam
I liked everything. He is nor my most favorite writer.
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
The Co-Pilot
Onboard USS Hornet, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean-April 18, 1942
The flight deck seemed to dive straight down into the waves, great plumes of seawater surging up and over the bow of the carrier. The wind took hold now, blowing the spray back toward them, across the wooden flight deck, and embracing the planes themselves. As daylight slowly rose through the dismal gray of the rain, the saltwater had already bathed each of the bombers with a wet sheen.
Through the blinding fog of windy spray Cole could see the lone sailor at the far end of the ship, the man disguised by foul-weather gear and gripping a checkered flag, standing as still as the waves would allow. He was the flight deck officer, and for the moment, he was the most powerful man on the carrier. The order had already come down from the bridge-the ship's captain, Pete Mitscher, sending word to the FDO, passed to Mitscher by the task force admiral Bill Halsey: Get these planes in the air.
The FDO's signal would bring each of the bombers to life, the first command given to each plane to start their engines. It could not happen all at once. The B-25s were far larger than any of the carrier's own aircraft, some with their wingtips and elevators protruding past the deck itself, with nothing below but rolling ocean. There were sixteen bombers parked together in a tight mass, a necessary arrangement to fit all of them against the stern of the ship, and the only way any of them would have the length of wooden runway to allow them the speed they would need to fly.
For now, the engines were still for another reason: the safety of the sailors still waiting beneath each plane, the ship's ground crews whose job was to pull away the wooden chocks that kept each plane's tires from moving. And so, the FDO's signal would come to each plane in turn, engines engaged one at a time, allowing the first aircraft to surge down the flight deck, clearing the way for the second, until all sixteen were in the air.
In front of Doolittle's B-25, Cole could see the flood of water washing across the deck, the ship still digging low into the waves, then up again, a stomach-churning ride for men who had rarely been at sea. He tried to ignore that, and kept his stare on the FDO, the lone officer who stared back at them. Doolittle's B-25 was the first in line. That was about not rank but Doolittle's own experience and skill. Out in front of the others, he was the closest to the far end of the carrier's flight deck, and thus the pilot with the shortest distance to put his plane in the air. The other fifteen were behind him, each one with just those few extra feet of distance, and the slight advantage of a longer runway.
"Keep your eyes on the flight officer, Lieutenant. He's in charge."
"I see him, sir. The sailor. Guy with the flag. He's gotta be miserable. Hope he don't fall off the ship."
Doolittle kept his eyes on the instruments in front of him, said, "He's tethered, a rope around him. He's an officer, Lieutenant Osborne. Ozzie, they call him. Worry about what's in here, Dick."
Cole brought his gaze back into the cockpit, nothing more to see now beyond the nose of the plane. The preflight routine had been rehearsed so many times before, but then, it was mostly on dry land and level ground. He had rarely flown in weather like this, certainly not at sea. The winds still came, blowing the sea spray over and past them, soaking the skins of the B-25s, creating a blinding fog across the windscreen, like a wet hand closing around them that made the plane feel so much smaller.
Through the earphones came the voice of the engineer, Sergeant Leonard: "Sir, we just received a brief message from the bridge. A signal flashed to Hornet from the Enterprise. Admiral Halsey, sir."
"Well? Is it a secret?"
"Um, no, sir. The admiral says, To Colonel Doolittle and Gallant Command: Good Luck and God Bless You. Halsey.
"He's got enough Gallant for all of us. Nice words."
Cole pointed to the far end of the flight deck, and with too much volume in his voice, said, "He's waving the flag, sir."
Doolittle said, "Easy, Dick. I see him. Time to go to work." Doolittle put a hand on his mic and said, "Navigator. Switches in on position?"
Cole heard the response in his earphones.
"On position, roger that, sir."
Doolittle glanced toward Cole now with a sharp nod, and Cole knew the meaning. He began his own routine, priming the number one engine, then a slow mental count, four long seconds, then engaging the pressure and energizing switch, another few seconds, the prop t...
The Co-Pilot
Onboard USS Hornet, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean-April 18, 1942
The flight deck seemed to dive straight down into the waves, great plumes of seawater surging up and over the bow of the carrier. The wind took hold now, blowing the spray back toward them, across the wooden flight deck, and embracing the planes themselves. As daylight slowly rose through the dismal gray of the rain, the saltwater had already bathed each of the bombers with a wet sheen.
Through the blinding fog of windy spray Cole could see the lone sailor at the far end of the ship, the man disguised by foul-weather gear and gripping a checkered flag, standing as still as the waves would allow. He was the flight deck officer, and for the moment, he was the most powerful man on the carrier. The order had already come down from the bridge-the ship's captain, Pete Mitscher, sending word to the FDO, passed to Mitscher by the task force admiral Bill Halsey: Get these planes in the air.
The FDO's signal would bring each of the bombers to life, the first command given to each plane to start their engines. It could not happen all at once. The B-25s were far larger than any of the carrier's own aircraft, some with their wingtips and elevators protruding past the deck itself, with nothing below but rolling ocean. There were sixteen bombers parked together in a tight mass, a necessary arrangement to fit all of them against the stern of the ship, and the only way any of them would have the length of wooden runway to allow them the speed they would need to fly.
For now, the engines were still for another reason: the safety of the sailors still waiting beneath each plane, the ship's ground crews whose job was to pull away the wooden chocks that kept each plane's tires from moving. And so, the FDO's signal would come to each plane in turn, engines engaged one at a time, allowing the first aircraft to surge down the flight deck, clearing the way for the second, until all sixteen were in the air.
In front of Doolittle's B-25, Cole could see the flood of water washing across the deck, the ship still digging low into the waves, then up again, a stomach-churning ride for men who had rarely been at sea. He tried to ignore that, and kept his stare on the FDO, the lone officer who stared back at them. Doolittle's B-25 was the first in line. That was about not rank but Doolittle's own experience and skill. Out in front of the others, he was the closest to the far end of the carrier's flight deck, and thus the pilot with the shortest distance to put his plane in the air. The other fifteen were behind him, each one with just those few extra feet of distance, and the slight advantage of a longer runway.
"Keep your eyes on the flight officer, Lieutenant. He's in charge."
"I see him, sir. The sailor. Guy with the flag. He's gotta be miserable. Hope he don't fall off the ship."
Doolittle kept his eyes on the instruments in front of him, said, "He's tethered, a rope around him. He's an officer, Lieutenant Osborne. Ozzie, they call him. Worry about what's in here, Dick."
Cole brought his gaze back into the cockpit, nothing more to see now beyond the nose of the plane. The preflight routine had been rehearsed so many times before, but then, it was mostly on dry land and level ground. He had rarely flown in weather like this, certainly not at sea. The winds still came, blowing the sea spray over and past them, soaking the skins of the B-25s, creating a blinding fog across the windscreen, like a wet hand closing around them that made the plane feel so much smaller.
Through the earphones came the voice of the engineer, Sergeant Leonard: "Sir, we just received a brief message from the bridge. A signal flashed to Hornet from the Enterprise. Admiral Halsey, sir."
"Well? Is it a secret?"
"Um, no, sir. The admiral says, To Colonel Doolittle and Gallant Command: Good Luck and God Bless You. Halsey.
"He's got enough Gallant for all of us. Nice words."
Cole pointed to the far end of the flight deck, and with too much volume in his voice, said, "He's waving the flag, sir."
Doolittle said, "Easy, Dick. I see him. Time to go to work." Doolittle put a hand on his mic and said, "Navigator. Switches in on position?"
Cole heard the response in his earphones.
"On position, roger that, sir."
Doolittle glanced toward Cole now with a sharp nod, and Cole knew the meaning. He began his own routine, priming the number one engine, then a slow mental count, four long seconds, then engaging the pressure and energizing switch, another few seconds, the prop t...
