1942 Read online

  The two men introduced themselves. The naval officer was Jamie Priest, and he was from the Pennsylvania. Like dogs sniffing, the two men checked each other’s rank and academy rings. Priest was a lieutenant in the navy, which was equivalent to a captain in the army. He looked several years younger than Jake, a fact that Jake had found more and more frustrating lately. Jamie Priest was also much smaller, wiry, and, when he removed his hat, showed thinning straw-colored hair.

  “I’ve got to talk to her,” Jamie said. “They found her husband’s body in the harbor.”

  “Christ,” Jake said.

  What a waste of a decent young guy, Jake thought, and what a hell of a way to destroy a young woman. But at least that meant Tim hadn’t been trapped in the Oklahoma, spending a day and a half going mad in the claustrophobic blackness. Should she be thankful for small favors?

  Missy emerged from the house, the sleeping child still on her shoulder. She had heard the conversation. “You won’t be talking to her tonight. I gave her some pills my doctor gave me after Killer here was born. Let her sleep. I’ll break the news to her when she wakes up.” Then she looked puzzled. “Shouldn’t there be a chaplain with you?”

  Jamie shrugged. “Too many dead and not enough chaplains. Since I knew Tim, I volunteered.”

  Jake made a mental note to find out when the funeral was and to check up on Tim’s wife. No, he corrected himself, Tim’s widow. The grief on Mrs. Sanderson’s face as she waited in vain for word of her husband’s fate had touched him deeply.

  As he drove away, he realized that Alexa Sanderson’s innocent plight had brought the war home to him in a way that was far different from what the rows of wounded, the anonymous dead, the planes shooting at him by Hickam, and the sight of Lieutenant Simpkins’s shredded body after the Zero had strafed them had done. At least Tim’s widow and her blond friend were far enough away from the carnage that they didn’t have to smell it, or watch as the last of the flames were put out.

  Admiral Husband Kimmel touched his chest and felt the bruise where a spent Japanese bullet had struck him during the height of the attack. At the time he had lamented that it would have been better had the bullet killed him instead of dropping harmlessly onto the floor. Since then, nothing had happened to change his mind. The spent piece of lead was now in his pocket.

  “I just received a telegram saying I’ve been relieved,” Kimmel said. “I guess no one’s surprised, although I think it’s without justification. The war-warning message from Washington was manifestly ambiguous. They did not tell me to beware of an attack on Pearl.”

  To the contrary, Kimmel thought. No one felt that any navy had the capability to do what Japan had done. And, in particular, no one felt that a semibarbaric country full of nearsighted little yellow men with buck teeth would even attempt such an enterprise.

  “No one even informed me that the Jap fleet was at sea.”

  General Walter Short nodded politely. He wondered if he too would be relieved and thought it was quite possible, although unlikely. After all, he’d lost only a few score planes, while Kimmel had lost almost the whole damned Pacific Fleet.

  Short was confident that what he’d done would hold up under the inevitable scrutiny, although he understood the navy’s screaming need for a scapegoat. Sadly, Kimmel would be it. Hell, you don’t lose a fleet without blaming someone.

  The navy had been horribly unprepared for anything remotely resembling war on the morning of December 7, 1941. The army, by contrast, had been prepared for the only type of assault deemed possible-sabotage by untrustworthy elements among the very large Japanese population on Oahu. The fact that the attack had been from the sea had been the navy’s fault, not the army’s.

  “They name a replacement for you yet?” Short asked. He scarcely knew Kimmel. Neither the two men nor their underlings met frequently. Each had his own responsibilities. Now Short wondered if they shouldn’t have coordinated their efforts more closely. It would be something to take up with Kimmel’s replacement.

  “Chester Nimitz is replacing me. He’s anticipated out here in a few days. He’s a good man. You will work well together.”

  Short smiled. Time would tell on that.

  “I’m to leave Hawaii as soon as possible,” Kimmel continued. “That means Admiral Pye will be in charge until Nimitz gets here. Along with defending Hawaii with what we have left, he will be sending his damaged ships to California for repair.”

  Short was surprised. Admiral William Pye commanded the battle line, most of which was at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. “I didn’t know any could travel.”

  “Maryland and Tennessee are relatively undamaged and will depart as soon as possible. The engineers say we may have to dynamite West Virginia to free up the Tennessee, but that’s acceptable since the West Virginia is so badly damaged she may not be salvageable. As to the others, only the Pennsylvania is capable of departing anytime soon. She survived the first two assaults fairly unscathed, but bombs from the last attack destroyed her forward turrets. Burning oil from the storage depot flowed down and around her in dry dock and caused additional damage, although not to her power plant. She will leave as soon as we can make certain she’s seaworthy.”

  The departure of the remnants of the battle fleet disturbed Short. Even though Halsey had returned with the carriers Enterprise and Yorktown, Short was not comfortable that their protective shield would be long term. Halsey wanted to cruise the Pacific and search for Japanese ships, and not use the fleet to protect Pearl Harbor, which Short felt was imperative.

  This was something else to take up with Kimmel’s replacement.

  General Short was thankful he had the Hawaiian Division to protect the island from invaders. So what if he had lost most of his airplanes? The invasion, if it came, would be fought on the ground, wouldn’t it? After all, the Japs couldn’t take Hawaii without landing on it, and he longed to come to grips with the little yellow bastards.

  Even though it hadn’t materialized, he was still concerned with the possibility of sabotage and, as military governor, had begun rounding up some of the more radical among the Japanese community. He couldn’t imprison them all, as General DeWitt was going to do in California. That wasn’t practicable, since the Japanese represented almost half the population of the islands, but he could defang any rebels among the Japs in Hawaii by arresting the leaders of any potential revolution.

  Hell, even if he were to intern all the Japs in Hawaii, he wouldn’t have enough men to guard them all.

  “Tell me, Admiral, have you uncovered any evidence of sabotage or espionage, other than the spying done by the Japs from their consulate?”

  “No,” Kimmel said. “And that’s quite a surprise, isn’t it?”

  Damn, Short thought. His intelligence people hadn’t found any either. General Marshall, the army’s chief of staff in Washington, would be second-guessing him like a son of a bitch for having focused on potential sabotage that hadn’t occurred. In hindsight, he thought he knew why nothing had happened. In order to keep the attack a secret, the Japs in Tokyo hadn’t told their cohorts in Honolulu about it. That made sense and told him that sabotage could still occur, although what was left to destroy? The fleet was gone, as were the planes, and the Hawaiian Division was armed and on guard. Hell, the soldiers almost hoped some local Jap would try something. One sergeant had said exactly that to Short and added that he’d blast the Jap’s ass back to Mount Fuji.

  Marshall would understand that he’d done his duty, wouldn’t he? Short swore silently as he agreed with Kimmel’s comment about the war warning messages being so damned ambiguous. Who would have thought the Japs, or anyone else for that matter, were capable of sailing a fleet across the Pacific and striking without any warning at all, and without anyone even noticing them? Since then he had ordered additional patrols by his remaining planes and had begun working with Kimmel on coordinating those patrols with naval planes and then sharing the information. Should they have done that sooner? Probably, he thought.<
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  “You got enough oil for your ships?” Short asked. He was well aware of the extent of the fuel loss and what it implied. He was, however, curious as to what Kimmel would admit.

  Kimmel sighed. “We’re gonna need help, and fast. Halsey’s ships are guzzling it like there’s no tomorrow, and the three movable battleships will need to have their tanks topped off before they can depart. Frankly, General, we’re suspending all but the most essential patrol operations until we get resupplied. As much as I’d like to humor Halsey, we just can’t afford to have him running around chasing Japs and burning oil at this time. Christ, we lost four and a half million gallons of it that morning, and we have no way of replacing it, or storing it even if it was replaced.”

  This confirmed to Short what his own intelligence people had found out. It did not strike him as unusual that he had used army personnel to spy on navy operations. He was disturbed because the events of Sunday had conclusively proven that a fleet anchored in Pearl Harbor wasn’t much use to anyone. Someone had better get some oil to Pearl Harbor so the navy could get out and do some fighting.

  Short considered himself fortunate that he had sufficient aviation gas for the planes he had remaining. He also had the eight B-17s that had flown in on December 7, although several had been damaged in the fighting. If the Japs came again, he would use these superweapons, the so-called Flying Fortresses. Time would tell if they were as effective as they were supposed to be.

  At least, he reminded himself, he hadn’t lost a fleet, only a few planes. Planes could be replaced fairly quickly, but battleships took years to build. Poor Kimmel. Poor bastard.

  CHAPTER 3

  There was silence in the War Room of the White House as the litany of disasters was enumerated. Guam had fallen, and it was only a matter of time before isolated and outnumbered Wake Island would be conquered. The Japanese had landed in the Philippines, and the combined American and Filipino forces were falling back in disorder in the face of the Japanese onslaught.

  Nor were the Americans alone in their agonies. The British in Malaya had been invaded, and the Japanese were driving through what had been considered impassable jungles to the city of Singapore. Hong Kong was surrounded and besieged, and, like that of Wake, its fall was inevitable. The British, in their haste to shore up the defenses of Singapore, had suffered a naval defeat almost on a level with the disaster at Pearl Harbor when the battleships Repulse and Prince of Wales were sunk by Japanese planes.

  As a result, there were no Allied capital ships in the Pacific Ocean west of Hawaii. The Japanese had at least ten carriers in that area to America’s two, although a third carrier was en route. The Japanese had a dozen battleships operating in the Pacific, while the Americans had only four, and these were in West Coast waters, nowhere near the scene of the action.

  For the time being at least, the Japanese possessed overwhelming naval strength in the western Pacific.

  To further complicate matters and drain America’s still limited resources, the Nazis had declared war on the United States and had commenced U-boat operations along America’s eastern shore. Shocked American civilians now saw oil tankers burning off the shores of New Jersey, and U-boats were rumored to be moving up the St. Lawrence and Mississippi rivers.

  That the Chinese had followed with a declaration against Japan and Germany was considered a mixed blessing at best. While China had been fighting Japan for years, her army was considered corrupt and inept. Numerous other countries had followed America’s lead and declared war against the Axis, but they were small nations and would have little impact in the coming struggle.

  Franklin Delano Roosevelt swiveled his wheelchair and looked at Admiral Ernest King. King, irascible and blunt, had just been named chief of naval operations. He replaced Admiral Harold Stark, who had been the navy’s senior officer at the time of Pearl Harbor. Stark’s reputation was in decline as some of the blame for Pearl Harbor had fallen on him.

  King paced angrily, like a bear in a cage. Roosevelt smiled slightly. “I envy you.”

  King stopped and blinked in surprise. “Envy me what, sir?”

  “Your ability to pace like that. It must help you relieve your frustrations. Me? All I can do is rock back and forth in this confounded chair. If I feel really energetic, I can sort of sway a little.”

  King flushed and sat down. “Sorry, sir.”

  Two of the three others in the room chuckled. The exception was the army chief of staff, General George C. Marshall, who made it a personal point never to laugh at Roosevelt’s jokes. Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson and Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox were the others in attendance. This was a war meeting, and there was likely to be little input from the two civilian secretaries.

  “Well,” Roosevelt said to King, “give us your opinion.”

  “Mr. President, if the Japs have any idea how weak we are in the Pacific, they will attack Hawaii. Until the fuel situation is resolved, there is very little we can do to stop them should they wish to invade. Very simply, our ships in the Pacific do not have enough fuel for combat patrols or to mount an effective campaign against the Japs. Further, the ships we now have on the Pacific coast can cruise to Hawaii and back but would also have very little in reserve for any combat patrols or other actions.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Marshall. “I thought that many of our warships had cruising ranges in excess of ten thousand miles, and Hawaii is only twenty-three hundred miles from San Francisco.”

  “That’s correct,” King answered. “But our ships must keep enough in reserve to return for more fuel, and that’s California until our Hawaiian facilities are repaired. Thus, almost half a ship’s fuel is going to be used just coming and going. Also, that ten-thousand-mile range is at a ship’s most effective speed, which is usually far below a combat speed. Under even the best of circumstances, a ship cannot count on its range as being a real indicator. Other variables, such as weather, can affect it adversely.”

  King smiled slightly as he warmed to his lecture. It wasn’t often he got a chance to educate his army counterpart, and he relished it. And, last, while on patrol, the larger warships, like the battleships and carriers, often act as tankers for the smaller ships, such as the destroyers, which further erodes any range figures.”

  “Well then, what about sending tankers with the fleet?” Marshall asked.

  King had been promoted from commanding the Atlantic Fleet, where he had been primarily concerned with running the undeclared war against Nazi Germany that had just become a fully declared war with Japan. As a result, he had to pause and recall before he answered.

  “A simple answer, General. We do not have enough tankers to support major fleet operations. That can and will be rectified by requisitioning tankers from the merchant fleet, but it will still take months before we have enough to make a difference.”

  “Are you suggesting the fleet should abandon Pearl?” Roosevelt asked.

  “I’ve told Nimitz it’s his call. I will support whatever he recommends. But yes, I do think he will recommend that we pull what’s left of the fleet back to California, where it was until last summer, and lick our wounds. If the oil depot can be repaired and replenished without Jap interference, then we can move back fairly quickly. Until then, we are just too vulnerable at Pearl Harbor.

  “Let’s face it,” King added. “Without the ability to mount effective patrols, the navy is almost as blind as it was on December 7. If the Japs launch a force and hold to radio silence, any warning would be counted in hours, not days. Even our Magic intercepts were useless, remember.”

  The mention of Magic intercepts referred to the fact that the United States had been deciphering Japan’s diplomatic code for some time, and had been making progress in unlocking the secrets of the military codes. Even so, those abilities had not helped to prevent the attack on Pearl Harbor. The Japanese diplomatic codes had made no reference to any specific action, and the Japanese fleet had kept remarkably tight radio silence as it steamed towa
rd Hawaii. There were times when technology was ineffective and old-fashioned methods proved best.

  Marshall nodded grimly. “Then I will make no effort to reinforce General Short until the situation is resolved. Until we can establish naval and air parity, it won’t matter how many soldiers I ship over. Short will have to make do with the resources he has.”

  Marshall paused and then added, “I’ve also directed Short to put on hold the reorganization of the Hawaiian Division into the 24th and 25th Infantry Divisions.”

  The general briefly explained that the Hawaiian Division was a large World War I-type division that had been organized for trench warfare in Europe in 1917. He had been reorganizing all the army’s divisions into smaller and more mobile units, and the Hawaiian Division was one of the few left to make over.

  “It also makes no sense,” Marshall continued, “to have the division in the middle of a reorganization should the Japs invade. Let them keep their current structure and leaders for the time being.”

  There was no argument from Roosevelt or the others. “There’s another reason for deferring the change,” Marshall said grimly, “and it’s a psychological one. If the Japs invade and are successful, the American public won’t be too distressed if something called the Hawaiian Division is lost. Let’s face it, it sounds like a bunch of people in flowered shirts and sarongs. But if the 24th and 25th Infantry Divisions are forced to surrender, the scope of the loss will be apparent.”

  The president looked at him in astonishment. Admiral King’s jaw dropped and it took him a moment to find his voice. “Jesus Christ, General, that’s just about the most coldhearted and devious thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  Marshall eyed him with apparent dispassion. Only he knew the internal agony he was feeling at the thought of losing any of his soldiers. “Do you approve?”

  King nodded. “Yes, General, I do.”

  Alexa Sanderson stood by the edge of the newly dug grave and half listened to the chaplain intone some prayer or other. From what she was able to gather, she should be overjoyed that Tim was in heaven with the angels, instead of lying in a wooden box that was about to be covered with dirt. She did not accept that assessment. She missed Tim terribly, and her whole body ached with the loss.