1942 Page 15

  Colonel Shigenori Omori and his kempetei detachment landed on the second day of the invasion. By that time, the Japanese perimeter on Oahu extended several miles inland, and there was no danger from American artillery, which had been either overrun or knocked out by Japanese airplanes and the big guns from the warships.

  Omori thought that Hawaii was a beautiful place, and he briefly enjoyed the serenity of walking the beaches and watching the majestic waves as they crested on the clean white sand. He did not, however, permit himself to linger over these thoughts. The time for luxury would come later. Instead, he examined the smashed American defenses, where the dismembered and bloated bodies of the dead still lay where they’d fallen. At least they had died warriors’ deaths, he thought. Not like the prisoners who clogged the pens and clustered in numbed groups within their barbed-wire compounds.

  Omori walked to one of the pens, where he looked through the fence at the face of the enemy and was unimpressed. “If they were Japanese,” he said, “they would be considered as dead. These, however, don’t seem to care.”

  His aide, Lieutenant Goto, laughed. “The Americans aren’t warriors. They have no sense of duty or pride. These creatures remind me of Chinese beggars. They are less than human and should be treated as such.”

  Both by virtue of his position as aide and as a result of his political connections, Goto felt that he could speak more freely than a normal subordinate. Omori tolerated it, sometimes even appreciated it. Even though Goto was occasionally a brute, he was intelligent, a good aide, and not a sycophant, and his connections were a fact of life.

  Omori and Goto continued their examination of the area. The civilian population had not escaped completely. Several mangled and bloated bodies were visible in and around the blasted villages, and a number of ragged islanders, mainly native Hawaiian, watched in confusion as the Japanese army moved past them. Any American civilians in the area appeared to have escaped or been killed.

  “Schofield will fall shortly,” Omori said. “And then we will be on the threshold of taking both Pearl Harbor and Honolulu. At that point, it will become essential that we end the battle quickly. A prolonged struggle for the island is not in our interests. That being the case, what do you think General Tadoyashi will do and how might we help him?”

  The first assault waves had been Imperial marines, who had taken surprisingly heavy casualties, but they had been leapfrogged by the reinforced 38th Infantry. The marines had accomplished their purpose by establishing the beachhead; now it was the army’s task to complete the conquest. For once, cooperation between the two services had been fairly good. Neither wanted to bear the onus of failure, and both wanted the laurels of victory.

  “I don’t know,” Goto answered after some thought.

  Omori smiled. The boy had so much to learn, but at least he was honest. “Terror.”

  Colonel Collins waved Jake Novacek into his office and shut the door. “Jake, in your humble opinion, what’re our chances of winning this thing?”

  The junior officer laughed harshly. “Slim to none.” After several days of gathering their forces, the Japanese had moved. A double-pronged attack had been launched against the hastily made defensive line that ran across the middle of the island. Both American flanks were anchored on Schofield Barracks. Japanese infantry and armor had probed and, with suffocating air support, breached the line in several parts. As a result, Schofield was surrounded on three sides and was in grave danger of being cut off entirely.

  An earlier attempt at a counterattack had been launched over Collins’s and Jake’s vehement protests. Both men had stressed the fact that any forward movement was hazardous and could be countered by the Japanese. To say the attack had fizzled would have been a compliment. Very few units even reached their jump-off points, and none launched their attacks at the assigned time. Those that finally did make piecemeal attacks were cut to pieces by the Japanese. At least a third of Oahu’s garrison was dead, wounded, or missing. If the pocket at Schofield was cut off or wiped out, the casualties would be at 50 percent.

  Pearl Harbor and Honolulu were becoming a defensive perimeter with most of the garrison’s best soldiers already out of action. As in the Philippines, the Americans were fighting bravely and hard but were being overwhelmed. Within the Honolulu-Pearl perimeter, there was a great deal of confusion, with thousands of soldiers either separated from their units or, worse from Jake’s standpoint, noncombat troops who hadn’t held a rifle in years. Useless mouths was the phrase kicked around at headquarters.

  Collins nodded thoughtfully. “You think Short’ll surrender?”

  “He has to,” Jake answered.

  “Will you?” Collins asked and saw surprise register on Jake’s face. “Look, Jake, I know what you’ve been up to. After all, I’m intelligence too, aren’t I? You’re going to bail out of the surrender and go it alone on this island, aren’t you?”

  “True.” In the last couple of weeks, Jake had taken guns, ammunition, and rations from various storehouses and cached them in a number of places on the island. While he had given a good deal to Alexa and Melissa, much more had been buried elsewhere.

  “Were you planning to run your own war?” Collins asked with a grin.

  Jake took a deep breath. “Sort of. Joe, you ever been in jail?” Collins hadn’t. “As a young, dumb kid, I spent a few days in various smalltown jails and hated it. A POW camp is nothing more than a jail, only worse. In jail, at least you know how long your sentence is, or that you’ll be let out on Monday when you’ve sobered up. If the Japs put us in one of their camps, you’ll have no idea when you’ll get out. If ever.”

  Collins agreed. News of atrocities in Japanese-run prison camps was slowly filtering through to the rest of the world. Both men knew that an extended stay in a Jap camp was equivalent to a death sentence. An ugly, agonizing death sentence.

  “And no,” Jake said, “I wasn’t planning anything as foolish as starting a guerrilla war. The weapons and supplies are reserves in case they’re needed, but I was first planning to stay alive, and then I’d organize some kind of resistance, but not a war.”

  Collins handed Jake an envelope. “I’m leaving tonight on that big Pan Am flying boat. It’s been painted black, and it’ll be taking off with a full complement of people. You’ll be on it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s all in the envelope. The navy has a problem. They’ve lost something important, and they want us to find it, and you in particular have been chosen to do it. The fools sat on the problem until it was almost too late. Apparently some important people were on a ship that got sunk and they wound up on the Big Island. Your job is to find them and make certain they don’t fall into Jap hands. That ought to tie in with your plans to skip the surrender ceremonies.”

  “I’m damned,” Jake said.

  “Probably. The navy would have the marines do it, but they’re all gone, so it’s up to us. You’ll have a squad of infantry with you. I don’t know who these people are on Hawaii, or why they’re so damned important, but it was stressed that the Japs cannot get their hands on them under any circumstances, is that understood?”

  Jake understood. His orders were to kill them if capture appeared imminent. Good Lord, who were they?

  “One other thing,” Collins said. “These navy types may have rank on you, and that cannot be permitted to interfere with your duties. You were just promoted to the temporary rank of major, right? Well, that’s been changed to a permanent grade, and you now have the temporary rank of lieutenant colonel. Who knows, if this damned war lasts long enough, you might outrank me, although you’ll never, ever, be smarter or better looking. Oh yeah, the orders also have you reporting directly to someone in Washington so you won’t be court-martialed if you decline to honor Short’s order to surrender. It won’t mean anything to the Japs, who’ll probably chop off your head if they catch you, but it might save your tail in the future.”

  “Who’s the someone in Washington who’s now my boss?
”

  “Marshall,” Collins said and chuckled as Jake’s jaw dropped.

  Jake’s emotions were mixed. Rank and recognition were things he’d always dreamed of, but they had come during an enormous and humiliating American defeat, and he was expected to be an assassin if it became necessary.

  Collins laughed. “Like I said, we leave tonight. Get your things in order and be back here at ten.”

  “I’m a bachelor and I’m totally dedicated to the army. There’s little to put in order.”

  “Then go say good-bye to the widder woman you’ve been seeing and you think I don’t know about.”

  “Bastard,” Jake said with a grin as he left Collins.

  He didn’t want to leave Alexa alone in Honolulu, but at least he’d be free and not in a prison camp. In that case, perhaps he could help her out while attending to the rest of his plans. He would also ask a favor of Toyoza Kaga. Jake had no idea which way Kaga would leap when the Japs took over, but asking him to maintain a discreet observation of Alexa and Melissa was nonpolitical and couldn’t hurt.

  Alexa tried not to cry. With Tim gone, Jake had become her friend and her anchor. That and the fact that she was genuinely fond of him made the thought of his leaving all the more upsetting.

  Damn the military and its secrets, she raged inwardly. All Jake had been able to tell her was that he was departing for someplace that night. But if he had been going stateside, she realized, there would have been no need for secrecy. He hadn’t said he was going to the mainland, which meant he would still be someplace on or near the islands. Interesting.

  On the plus side, Jake had brought some more supplies and a bottle of white wine, which she, Melissa, and Jake had finished. They’d had to drink it warm, but it still tasted good.

  Melissa said she heard the baby crying and left the two of them sitting on the couch. Jake’s large hand was enfolded by Alexa’s two.

  “The last time you left me,” she said, “I told you to be careful. I should have waited until this.”

  “It worked once, say it again.”

  She smiled and kneaded his hand. “Be careful. Now, what words of wisdom do you have for me?”

  Jake took a deep breath. Life was already awful on Oahu, and it was going to get much worse. He had arrived during the day and been faintly surprised at the lack of Japanese air activity. The ruined buildings, charred vehicles, and cratered fields he took as a matter of course. The Japanese were all focused on the area around Schofield and the dissolving defense line north of the Honolulu perimeter. The result was that Honolulu enjoyed a temporary reprieve, although the rumblings of bombs and shells echoed in the distance while clearly visible fingers of smoke reached skyward.

  “Last time I told you to survive. Just do that, Alexa-survive. Do whatever you have to do, pay any price, just survive. Cheat, lie, steal, anything; it doesn’t matter what you have to do as long as you survive. Stay alive and I can look for you. If you don’t, I can’t.”

  She squeezed his hand harder. “When will the army surrender?”

  “A few days, maybe a week. In the meantime, you and Melissa get into the city and stay in the crowds. You don’t want to be two women alone out here when the Jap army comes through.”

  “But will it be that much safer in Honolulu?”

  “Who knows? But it can’t be worse than here. Maybe after the surrender you can come back, but not until then. Stay with crowds. There’s always safety in numbers. Dress ugly and don’t wear makeup or wash your hair. Tell Melissa to dye her hair back to its normal color, whatever that was. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself or make yourself attractive. If that fails, then there’s nothing left but to endure what you must and do what you can to survive.”

  Survive, Alexa thought. Survive was today’s vocabulary word. Jake had said he’d look for her, and that gave her some hope. “When should we leave?”

  “The sooner the better. Pack now and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.” He checked his watch. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Light was fading as they walked to the motorcycle. I’m going to be more alone than I have ever been in my life, Alexa thought. Melissa was a good friend, but she had her own priorities, a son and a departed husband.

  Alexa put her hand on Jake’s arm and felt the strength of his muscles. “Jake, I will do everything I must to get through this, and I want you to survive as well.” She then put both her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. “And then I want you to find me, understand? Please find me.”

  Jake was shocked speechless. She was just about as tall as he, and he was almost as frightened by the intensity in her eyes as he was delighted by the feel of her body against his.

  “I understand,” he finally managed to gasp. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get back from the big island of Hawaii to Oahu with only the Jap army and navy in the way.

  Admiral Yamamoto pounded his desk in frustration. His plans were falling apart. Where were the Americans? Why hadn’t they sent a fleet to relieve Oahu? How could the Japanese navy fight the climactic and decisive battle that would knock the Americans out of the war if the Americans didn’t cooperate?

  Since when, he reminded himself wryly, did the enemy cooperate during a war? It was a lesson that was continually learned and re-learned by admirals and generals everywhere.

  Commander Yasuji Watanabe nodded tolerantly. He was as close to a friend as Yamamoto permitted himself while on duty, and only he was privileged to see such rare displays of uncontrolled temper. Technically, Watanabe was Yamamoto’s aide, responsible for coordinating logistics, but Yamamoto used him as a sounding board when circumstances directed.

  The admiral rose and paced his office. The battleship Yamato was in calm waters, and there was very little motion as she knifed through the sea. That and the sheer size of the ship made for a stable platform.

  “We cannot win a war of attrition,” Yamamoto continued, “and we cannot permit the Americans time to rearm. Have you seen the reports from Fuchida on Molokai? He’s already lost half his planes. The Americans may not have any fighters, but they do have antiaircraft guns and they use them quite well. Add those to the pilots we are now losing from the carriers and we may have a serious problem to resolve. Damn their foolishness anyhow!”

  Watanabe concurred. The foolishness referred to was the Japanese pilots’ continuing resistance to wearing parachutes. Flouting direct orders, the carrier pilots either didn’t take them, or didn’t hook them up when in their planes. Their excuse was that sitting on a parachute made flying awkward. Everyone knew better. A parachute was a violation of bushido. A warrior dies in battle; he does not parachute away from the foe. That this attitude took the lives of highly skilled and virtually irreplaceable carrier pilots didn’t faze them one bit.

  It did, however, faze Yamamoto, Nagumo, and Fuchida. Carrier pilots were excessively trained in Yamamoto’s opinion, and there were too few of them to use as reinforcements after lives were thrown away. Planes could be built by the thousands, but where would the pilots come from? He had tried to get modifications to the rigorous training program but had so far been unsuccessful. Even Commanders Fuchida and Genda, both products of the system, concurred that changes had to be made or Japan would run out of carrier pilots long before the Americans did.

  As a result of casualties already taken, Yamamoto had made the decision not to send Nagumo’s carriers on a raid through the Indian Ocean to Ceylon after Oahu fell. No, they would need time to regroup before striking toward Australia. The Royal Navy bases at Trincomalee and elsewhere would keep for another day. Fortunately, the Royal Navy contingent in the Indian Ocean was not a great threat. At least not yet.

  “Watanabe?”

  “Sir?”

  “If the Americans are not going to rise to the bait, then we must end this as soon as possible. Please inform General Tadoyashi that there is no need for him to hold anything back. The Americans simply are not coming. Please tell him that I would appreciate i
t greatly if he would use whatever force is necessary to bring this campaign to a quick and decisive halt.”

  Part of the plan was that Tadoyashi’s army would strengthen itself and mark time for a few days as a lure for the American fleet. It was now obvious that the gambit had failed and was to be discarded.

  After Watanabe left, Yamamoto regretted the part of the bargain with Tojo that had compelled him to use carrier pilots on Molokai, instead of asking for more expendable army pilots. Army pilots would have been at least as effective, but no, he’d had to promise that naval personnel would fly from Molokai. As a result, Fuchida had lost more than fifty planes and pilots, an entire carrier’s worth of irreplaceable pilots. Anyone, Yamamoto angrily reminded himself, even a half-trained army pilot, can land on a field. It takes great skill and training first to find and then to land on a moving carrier in an angry and tossing sea.

  At least General Tadoyashi could now proceed without any constraints. This meant that terrible things would occur on Oahu if the Americans didn’t surrender. Yamamoto wondered if this was another decision he’d regret.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.” The voice sounded tinny over the intercom, but it got everyone’s attention. “Weather and the Japanese permitting, we will be departing momentarily. The smoking lamp is off and will not be lit. We will be flying at two hundred miles an hour, at a height of six inches, and this is the first time I’ve ever flown anything this large.”

  Joe Collins shifted uncomfortably. “Another unemployed comedian. I’ll have him shot when we get to California.”

  The voice on the intercom was unperturbed. “Seriously, folks, my name is Lieutenant Commander Meagher, and I’ve flown this plane for years for Pan Am as well as being part of the Navy Reserve. You’re on a Boeing Model 314 flying boat, and we have a range of just under four thousand miles, which should get us to California with no fuel problems. Under civilian conditions, we could carry a crew of eight and seventy-four passengers, and even sleep forty of them in bunks. As we are no longer civilians and have been designated the C-98, we now have a crew of only four, which means you can get your own damned coffee. We have fifty-one passengers plus all their equipment. Our cruising speed is 184 miles an hour, and we are 2,300 miles from San Francisco, so you can do your own math and determine the length of the flight. Oh yeah, the heads don’t work.”