Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, 5:45 a.m.

He was sleeping soundly in that snoreless, dreamless, floating void of total relaxation when he felt the first, tentative punch on his arm. Lieutenant JG Ken Hagar pulled in a deep breath and attempted to ignore the assault on his slumber. The next punch was firmer and delivered with a "Don't you dare ignore me" implication and a whisper: "Ken, it's time!"

This time his eyes flew open and quickly turned toward his very pregnant wife, Sara. She was already moving, and as she got up from the bed, the tropical moonlight illuminated her body. Ken responded the same way he always had since she started showing five months ago: "Betty Grable has nothing on you, babe!"

Sara feigned anger and said that she felt like an old cow and it was his fault.

He responded with one word. "Guilty."

Ken had met Sara McGregor while they were both attending college at Chapel Hill. He was originally from Southport, North Carolina, and had grown up with a love and respect for the ocean and all things having anything to do with the ocean. He had been a lifeguard down at Myrtle Beach during his high school summers and had worked the slow-moving shrimpers out of Calabash, North Carolina, when he was off from college in the summer. Back then, Ken's goal had been to have his own charter fishing fleet and ply the warm waters of the Gulf Stream for deepwater game fish. The monthly stipend from the Naval ROTC helped with the tuition, and the experience he would gain with the navy after graduation would be invaluable. Besides, Sara always thought he looked dashing and ruggedly handsome in his uniform.

Sara was born and raised in Boone, North Carolina, and was a hopeless landlubber. She much preferred the rugged peaks of Grandfather Mountain and the pastoral beauty of the Blue Ridge Parkway to the ocean. When she met Ken five years earlier at Chapel Hill, he was majoring in mechanical engineering, and she in psychology. The two met at a fraternity mixer and were soon inseparable. They married right after graduation. Ken was soon commissioned as an ensign in the US Navy. His first assignment at the New York Naval Shipyards was as an aide to the naval liaison, on the completion and launch of the USS North Carolina, the first new battleship to be commissioned in twenty years. Sara loved it when Ken came home from the shipyard and told her of this fantastic new ship — how fast it was and how it bristled with guns, including the battery of nine sixteen-inch forty-five-caliber Mark 6 guns. He had hoped to be posted on the North Carolina when the ship was finally commissioned but instead got orders to report to the commander of the Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Sara was happy with the new orders but did ask whether the navy had a base closer to Boone.

In the present, in a few moments both Ken and Sara were dressed and moving toward the bus stop and the twenty-four-hour shuttle from the married officers' quarters to the base. Sara was preregistered at the base hospital, and within fifteen minutes, she was in a wheelchair and headed to Labor and Delivery. As the nurses were busily preparing her, Ken said that he was off to his ship to make sure his watch was covered and that he would be back in no more than thirty minutes. Sara waved him on and laughed that she hoped the baby would try to wait for him to return; a slight chill rippled up her spine, but she quickly dismissed it. Ken blew her a kiss, told her he loved her, and ran to the bus stop that would take him to the USS Arizona. It was 7:20 a.m.

Ken reached the docking berth of the USS Arizona at 7:41 a.m. and quickly boarded, looking for the officer of the day to report the happy news of Sara and the incoming bundle. The officer of the day was another JG — a lieutenant junior grade — and a friend since Ken's arrival at Pearl. Nathaniel Hawthorne Starbuck, or Nate to his friends, saw Ken board and sent a call for Ken to join him on the bridge of the big ship. Ken loved the view from the bridge of the Arizona — two turrets of fourteen-inch guns surrounded by multiple five-inch gun turrets and dozens of antiaircraft batteries pointing skyward. The Arizona and ships like her were the pointed edge of US foreign policy. The joke was that you pulled one of these behemoths into a hostile foreign port, and the locals would start asking, "Where do I sign up to be a Christian, boss?"

Arriving at the bridge, Ken greeted Nate with a big smile and a breathless exclamation. "Nate ... Sara ... baby!"

Nate grinned widely, grabbed Ken's hand, and started pumping it furiously.

The moment was broken by the crackle of the ship's intercom. "Officer of the deck, forward lookout."

Nate dropped Ken's hand, picked up the mic, and answered the call. "Forward lookout, officer of the deck."

"Sir, I have several dozen aircraft approaching from the west, three thousand meters altitude at two hundred knots."

Nate called out nervously, "Can you identify?"

Ken picked up a pair of binoculars and quickly located the formation. "Jesus Christ, Nate, they're Japanese bombers and torpedo planes!"

The intercom crackled again. "Confirmed ID, sir — Japanese bombers and torpedo planes with fighter support!"

Nate flipped the intercom switch to "All Ship" and screamed into the mic, "Captain to the bridge, captain to the bridge! General quarters! General quarters! Battle stations, battle stations! This is not a drill!"

Nate dropped the mic and pushed the klaxon, sounding the alarm. It was 8:00 a.m. The two friends looked quickly at each other, and then Ken broke into a run toward his battle station in turret 2. He would not use the big guns now, but he would command the nest of antiaircraft batteries surrounding the turret. Men were scrambling across the deck, preparing to defend their ship, when the first bombs fell, followed by strafing runs by the Zero fighter planes. The bombers scored three hits out of four on their first run, but the damage was minimal. Ken's antiaircraft crew numbered only five sailors because of the Sunday duty schedule, but they had already opened up on the strafing Zeros, damaging one with a vicious stream of shells from the Arizona's three-inch guns. The lightly armored Zero started smoking and limped out of range.

As the antiaircraft crew broke into a cheer, Ken heard the sickening whine of an incoming 1,700-pound armor-piercing shell bearing down on them. The shell hit close to Ken's turret, penetrating the deck, where it exploded in the forward magazine. In a matter of seconds, the forward magazine ignited with a force that lifted the 38,000-ton ship eight feet out of the water. In the cataclysm that followed, the forward turrets and conning tower collapsed, most of the ship's interior was destroyed, and the great ship sank in place, taking 1,177 men to a watery grave. At the exact moment that Lieutenant JG Ken Hager took his last breath, his newborn son took his first. It was 8:06 a.m.

Sara gave a final push, and Ken Hager Jr. was delivered into the waiting hands of the navy ob-gyn on call that morning.

Captain Russell Christenbury had delivered...