1942 Page 7

  “I’m dying,” said the leader, his voice distorted by his smashed face and the blood running from his mouth.

  A squad car with one cop arrived seconds later, and the store owner, now shakily on his feet, quickly explained the situation. Equally quickly, Jake had wiped any blood off his pistol and put it back in its holster.

  He recognized the officer as one of the good guys, a cop named Malone, who wasn’t stick-happy when it came to arresting drunken military types. Mr. Matsuo told Malone that the three louts had tried to rob him and that Jake had saved him.

  Officer Malone looked at the three men and then at Jake. “They’re pretty messed up, Captain. Any idea what happened to them?”

  Jake shrugged. “They may have run into each other while trying to run out of the store.”

  “Yeah,” the cop said solemnly. “They look like clumsy types.”

  Air-raid sirens went off again. Japs or another false alarm? Odds were a false alarm. There’d been scores of them since the attack. Malone swore, pushed the three drunks into his squad car, and sped off down the road, his own siren wailing. Jake looked around. It all had happened so quickly. He shook his head. Now more than ever he needed to clean up and rest.

  Mr. Matsuo ran up to Jake and shoved a bag in his arms. “Thank you, Captain. And here.”

  Jake grinned. He now had another six bottles of Budweiser.

  The northern Pacific was bleak and windswept, but this was no deterrent to the men who loaded their precious cargo onto the decks of the Imperial Navy’s carriers. Victory was a fever, and the crews were flush with it.

  Standing on the dock and looking at the ships a half-mile away, Commander Fuchida thought that the carriers looked top-heavy with the extra planes they carried and that they would capsize in the first strong wind or wave. He knew better, but the sight was unsettling.

  Unseen, but even more congested, were the lower decks, where spare parts, ammunition, and additional fuel had been jammed into every available space. The men of the Imperial Japanese Navy would be damned uncomfortable for this crossing, but Fuchida was certain they’d all applaud the results. Japan was again going to punish the arrogant Americans, and Uncle Sam’s white beard would be singed by flames.

  As strong as the task force that had destroyed the American battle fleet, this new incarnation of the Kido Butai was again commanded by Admiral Nagumo, and this was one of Fuchida’s few worries. Although Nagumo was again protected by two battleships along with numerous other cruisers and destroyers, Fuchida feared that the admiral might flee in the event the Americans were sighted before they reached their target, the island of Molokai.

  Fuchida feared that the bold stroke might be too bold for Nagumo, but he dared not voice the complaint. He was too junior to take the risk, although the outspoken Commander Genda had sent whispers through the corridors of the high command.

  The plan was marvelous in its simplicity. The fleet also included a regiment of Imperial marines, a battalion of engineers, and sufficient supplies to build and sustain airfields on Molokai.

  Molokai had been chosen because it had a number of private airstrips that could be utilized until larger fields were constructed. Thus, immediately after the marines secured the area, the extra planes could be flown in from the carriers and operations against Oahu begun immediately.

  Little resistance was expected; intelligence said there were no military units on Molokai, and any civilian opposition could be brushed aside. Molokai was large, but the marines could hold it and protect the air arm. When the planes landed, Fuchida was proud that he would command them and the subsequent softening-up assaults against the Americans. The carriers would linger only as long as necessary. They would depart and leave a handful of smaller ships to protect the new Japanese base. It was clearly understood that the Americans did not have the ability to launch a naval counterattack from Oahu, although Fuchida and most of the other officers wished they’d try. It was presumed, however, that air assaults would commence quickly, thus the need for the carriers to stay in the area until the base was fully operational.

  Molokai had been chosen instead of Lanai for two additional reasons. First, Molokai was less rugged than Lanai, which meant more fields could be constructed, and, second, Lanai was considered entirely too close to Oahu. Even though the Americans had very few planes, any American counterattack against Lanai would be overhead before a warning could be made and countermeasures taken. No, Molokai was the perfect distance, although no one ruled out occupying Lanai at a later time.

  Fuchida saw Admiral Yamamoto approach as he stood on the dock. He snapped to attention. Yamamoto greeted him warmly. “I am very pleased with your plans and your efforts,” he told Fuchida.

  Fuchida bowed. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Yours will be a brave endeavor, and one that will be instrumental in the conquest of Hawaii. Everyone is thoroughly aware of the importance of this mission. Everyone will support it to the utmost.”

  Fuchida’s heart surged. Yamamoto would never criticize Nagumo in the presence of a junior officer, but he had just told Fuchida that Nagumo had been forcefully informed that he had better succeed or face dire consequences.

  Yamamoto chuckled. “So many planes. Are you sure there’s room on the flight decks to get them airborne?”

  Fuchida smiled, glad to change the topic. “Just barely, sir. Thank God we won’t have to land them back on the carriers.”

  “Just remember,” Yamamoto said sternly, “pilots are more important than planes. We can replace planes from our warehouses and factories, but our brave pilots are irreplaceable.”

  Fuchida understood. In the unlikely event that major American forces were located and did attack, the extra planes would simply be pushed into the sea to enable the others to return safely. It would be more necessary that the carrier pilots be preserved than that a landing be effected on Molokai. Many officers wished such an American attack would occur. It would give the navy an opportunity to smash the Americans again.

  Japanese strategy called for such a battle, even planned on it. The navy’s ultimate goal was to lure large American forces away from their bases and toward Japan, where they would be ambushed by the overwhelming might of the Combined Fleet. It was for this reason that Nagumo had been given a strong force but not an overwhelming one. If the Americans took the bait, he was to inflict damage and withdraw in apparent retreat toward Japan, where Yamamoto waited with a force that included the secret superbattleship Yamato. The Yamato was twice the size of any other battleship, had eighteen-inch guns, and had been plucked from her sea trials to join the fleet. Yamamoto would keep his flag on the Yamishiro, but the Yamato would be the iron fist of the supporting fleet.

  If the Americans did not rise to the temptation, then Molokai was secured. Either way, Japan won. But, as Fuchida had been reminded, winning could not come at too great a price.

  The war was only a few weeks old, but a potentially serious problem was beginning to emerge. Japanese planes were superb and could be manufactured in sufficient numbers by Japan’s factories, but not so the pilots. Japanese naval pilots were considered the elite of the elite, the bravest of the brave, the fittest of the fit. In short, the standards for a carrier pilot were so high that they were almost impossible to fulfill and sustain.

  Fuchida was a product of the system, and he had seen the vast majority of apparently highly qualified applicants fail to make the grade. Now he and others were wondering whether the standards were too high. For the moment, there were more than enough pilots to man the planes and enough replacements on hand for those lost, but the downward trend of the curve was inexorable and already unmistakable. If the coming air battles became ones of attrition, the quality of the Japanese air arm would suffer as incompletely trained pilots replaced the skilled ones.

  America’s pilot standards were nowhere near as high as Japan’s, and this had already proven itself as American air-to-air casualties had been far higher than Japan’s. But the battles had not been to
tally one-sided. Japan had also lost planes and pilots. The Americans, with a larger population base to draw from, could simply replace their losses much more easily. Even if Japan shot down two planes for each one of her own lost, the Americans might prevail through the sheer weight of numbers.

  Fuchida had a heavy responsibility. He must fight, but he must also preserve his forces. He must help defeat the Americans in Hawaii, which would bring the Americans to the conference table for a negotiated peace.

  Yamamoto had walked a distance away. Fuchida had a wild urge to call after him and tell him that he understood, and that the mission would be a success. The commander laughed. After all, didn’t Admiral Yamamoto already know that?

  The fleet would sail in the morning. There was time for a farewell dinner with Commander Genda, who would later be on the flagship at Nagumo’s side. Once again they would reenact the roles they had played at Pearl Harbor. Once again he was confident that there would be both surprise and overwhelming victory.

  CHAPTER 5

  One of the most endearing facts about Hawaii was that winter was nonexistent. It was late December, and the warm sun had driven the temperature into the low eighties with only moderate humidity. It was a perfect time to relax with friends and a cold drink, and that was precisely what Captain Jake Novacek found himself doing.

  The invitation to attend a cookout-picnic-potluck dinner and wake for Tim Sanderson had been a surprise. He’d managed a phone call to the widow’s neighbor, the little blonde, and been told that the occasion was informal and if he could bring something to share it would be marvelous, as food rationing was making events like this difficult.

  No problem. Dressed in a flower print shirt and civilian slacks, he’d been welcomed warmly, even more so when Alexa and Missy realized he’d brought several pounds of ground beef that he’d caused to disappear from the officers’ club.

  In different times, such a party would have been unseemly or in bad taste, but the fact of the war made for new values. “Enjoy life while you can” was the new motto. The Japanese navy and army could be just over the horizon.

  Regardless, the Lexington would be departing and, with it, Missy Wilson’s husband. The Pennsylvania was just about ready to head east to California, and Jamie Priest would be on her. Thus, the get-together was as much a going-away party as it was a wake, and one that could not be delayed for a more traditional time. That it brought a brief period of normalcy and happiness was not lost on anyone either. War was on the horizon, on everyone’s minds, and the evidence of it lay in charred abundance around Oahu.

  With all the ships departing, it looked like the entire navy was bailing out and leaving the army on its own. It was disturbing and, according to Jake’s own sources, very true.

  Jamie had brought a local girl named Sally. She was a little loud and had gotten drunk quickly, which caused Jamie some embarrassment. A Father Monroe was there, and he seemed to think that Jake’s Polish last name made him a fellow Catholic. Jake was too polite to refute this assumption. Although he had been baptized and confirmed a Catholic, it had been a long time since he’d been in a church for other than a wedding or a funeral.

  However, Father Monroe had brought some excellent sacramental wine that, when chilled, went well over ice and eaten with hamburger. He’d also brought some of the older children from the school for poor native Hawaiians that he ran, where Alexa taught. Jake thought it was an interesting and unexpected perspective on Alexa. He also thought that one of the girls, a fourteen-year-old named Kami Ogawa, was an absolute stunner who would soon be breaking all the young male hearts in Hawaii if she wasn’t doing so already. The girl looked Hawaiian, Japanese, and God knew what else, and she and Alexa seemed to be good friends.

  “Comfy?” Alexa asked as she sat down in the folding chair beside him. She was dressed in a sleeveless blouse that was drawn in a knot just below her breasts and a flowered skirt that stopped well before her knees. In any place other than Hawaii, it would have been inappropriate. In Hawaii, it was delightful. She had marvelously athletic legs, and he had a hard time not staring at them. They were lightly tanned, as was the small expanse of bare midriff that appeared above her waist.

  “Everything’s just perfect,” he answered.

  “This is the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she said as she swept an arm to encompass the gathering. For a minute Jake thought she was drunk, but the look in her eyes told him different. She was excited and pleased; a little brittle perhaps, but otherwise under control, and he admired her inner strength.

  “There may never be another chance for something like this,” she said. “Everyone’s leaving but you. Both Missy and I are trying to get on a plane or ship back to the States, where it’ll be safer.”

  “Good idea,” Jake said.

  If the islands were a war zone, then civilians should be out of it. But he would miss his new friends and the chance of seeing Alexa Sanderson again. God, he thought, how could I even think that? Tim was just dead and Alexa was wealthy and so much more sophisticated than he, which meant he could never be more than a casual friend to her. It was nice that she considered him part of her military and Hawaiian family, but she would move on with her life and so would he.

  “Where’s home?” Jake asked.

  “Virginia. A horse farm about fifty miles outside Washington. We used to go to town on weekend trips to see how our money was being spent. Can you believe they’re actually talking about deducting income tax from people’s pay? Tim’s family came from Massachusetts. When this is over, he’ll be sent back and reburied there, along with his ancestors. Where’s home for you?”

  Jake laughed. “Anywhere and everywhere. My parents went where the jobs were. Sometimes we worked farms, and sometimes the mines. I was born in Pennsylvania and spent a few years in West Virginia. I think we gave new meaning to the word poor. We were so broke we didn’t even notice when the Depression hit. If you have nothing to lose, nobody can take it from you.”

  Alexa was puzzled. “But you went to West Point?”

  “That’s right. And counting academy time, I’ve been in the army for twenty-two years.”

  Alexa did the mental math. “But that would make you older than Tim thought.”

  “Alexa, I enlisted when I was fourteen.”

  “Fourteen? You were just a child!”

  “At fourteen I weighed a hundred and seventy pounds and ate more than anyone could afford to feed me. My father had died in a mine accident, and my mother had tuberculosis. She’d been sent to a sanitarium, so I had the choice of enlisting, running away, or working in the mines. A friend of mine was an army recruiter, and he made a few discreet mistakes on my application to get me in. After that, I found that military life fit me. More important, I found that I could play football and played for several posts before someone decided that maybe I could play for the academy, where they were always short of big, dumb linemen. I was tutored, strings were pulled, and I wound up at West Point. I don’t think anyone thought I’d actually graduate, but I did, and now I’m an officer and a gentleman, although one who’s without connections, family, or influence.”

  This was something Alexa understood quite well. Tim’s family had been navy for generations, and, with her uncle as a New Deal Democrat from Ohio who’d arrived in Washington in 1933 with Roosevelt, Tim’s future had been assured. Connections and ability were an unbeatable combination, and factors she and Tim had taken for granted.

  Alexa was visibly impressed with what Jake had made of himself. “Good for you,” she said warmly. “And now you’re a captain. And won’t the war give you further opportunities for advancement, even without influence?”

  Jake sighed. “I had hoped so, but I may have screwed up badly. You see, I wrote an honest report that got General Short and some others really teed off at me.”

  Alexa was incredulous. “How could honesty get you in trouble?”

  “Simple. About a month before the attack, Short asked my boss, Lieutenant Colonel Fiel
der, for a study on the likelihood of the Japanese on Oahu attempting to sabotage our war effort by doing things such as blowing up our airplanes on the ground. Since I speak a little Japanese and have contacts in the community, I got the assignment. When I submitted a report saying that sabotage was extremely unlikely, I was informed that it wasn’t what General Short, or his chief of staff, Colonel Phillips, were after. They wanted a report saying that sabotage would occur, not an analysis that it wouldn’t. They were afraid of the Japs on Hawaii and wanted to justify their plans, which were to bunch all the planes together to prevent sabotage. Later, when the Jap air force destroyed them, they wanted some evidence that they’d acted in good faith on an analysis from their intelligence department. Unfortunately, my already submitted report said just the opposite.”

  “In other words, they wanted to save their skins.”

  “Right. And I would have been the scapegoat. No way I could win this one.”

  Alexa had to admit he was right. She’d heard of such things before. She decided to change the subject. “How well do you speak Japanese?”

  “I won’t hurt myself, or get something awful in a restaurant. Actually, I seem to have a bit of a flair for languages. I speak some Spanish and a little French as well. I got into the habit of immersing myself in the culture of wherever I was stationed, and that sort of led to my getting involved in military intelligence.”

  Interesting, Alexa thought. The big bear of a man really was deeper than she had first thought. “I am very glad you came today,” she told him.

  “Me too,” Jake said and grinned. “Although the circumstances aren’t all that pleasant, this is one of the nicest holidays I’ve ever had. Uh, you said you and Missy were leaving here. Any idea when?”

  Alexa shrugged. “Actually, nobody knows. All the outgoing planes are reserved for the wounded and important military people, and there are no ships available for civilians, not even dependents. While it could happen very shortly, I’ll probably be here for the next several months, perhaps longer.”