January 1943, South Pacific

Lieutenant Miller squinted through the bomber's open hatch, the relentless sun baking his neck. Below, a Japanese convoy plodded through the endless blue - a fat, juicy target. Today wasn't shaping up to be your typical "Tin Can Tuesday," where they pounded on rusty Japanese freighters escorted by glorified fishing boats. This one had a surprise.

"Skipper," Miller yelled over the roar of the engine, "looks like they got a carrier with them. A small one, looks like a converted freighter by the looks of it."

Captain Jackson, a grizzled veteran with a perpetual two-day beard, peered down. "Probably one of thoseCVE knock-offs they're throwing at the wall these days. Makes our job easier, wouldn't you say, Miller?"

Miller wasn't so sure. A carrier, even a makeshift one, meant Zeros. And Zeros meant a fight. He gripped the controls tighter, willing the lumbering Dauntless dive bomber forward. Five SBDs roared in formation, a dagger poised to strike the heart of the Japanese convoy.

The meager puffs of anti-aircraft fire that erupted from the freighters and the two escorting destroyers were more comical than threatening. But as they neared the carrier, Miller saw a flicker of movement on its deck. A glint of metal - Zeros!

"Damn it!" he swore. "They're scrambling them!"

"Level out, Miller," Jackson barked. "We take out that carrier first. The rest can wait."

Miller pulled the bomber into a shallow dive, the world compressing into a terrifying rush of wind and churning water. Below, the carrier, a rickety contraption with a wooden flight deck, seemed to crawl beneath them. The Zeros, thankfully still sluggish on takeoff, were easy targets.

A curtain of fire erupted from the carrier's meager anti-aircraft guns, peppering the sky with black puffs. One bomber sputtered and dipped, trailing smoke. Miller gritted his teeth, ignoring the primal scream clawing at his throat. He had to make this count.

He lined up the sight, the carrier filling his vision. A split second later, the world went white. The bomb released, a silent promise of destruction.

The explosion rocked the Dauntless. Miller fought to regain control, his vision swimming. Through the haze, he saw the carrier shudder, a plume of black smoke erupting from its midsection. Two more bombs found their mark, the wooden deck splintering like a matchstick.

The remaining Zeros, their takeoff aborted, were easy pickings for his wingmen. Cheers erupted over the intercom as fiery blossoms dotted the sky. The carrier, mortally wounded, heeled over, listing badly in the water.

Miller pulled the bomber out of the dive, his heart pounding a victory march. Another Japanese warship sent to the bottom. Another blow to the Empire. But as he watched the carrier wallow, a flicker of unease sparked within him. Something about the way it went down, so easily, almost… pathetically, felt wrong.

Later, on board the carrier Wasp, debriefing the mission, a somber mood settled over the victorious flyers. Recon reports confirmed the carrier was a converted transport ship, barely more than a glorified barge. It likely carried raw recruits, men barely out of training, thrown into the meat grinder of the Pacific War.

Miller stared out at the endless ocean, the elation of the mission replaced by a cold, metallic taste in his mouth. Today's victory felt hollow, a win against a ghost. The war, he realized with a sickening certainty, was a machine that devoured lives, indiscriminately, on both sides. And he was just a cog in its bloody gears.