1942

CHAPTER 8

Colonel Joseph Lawton Collins glared at the two men across the table from him. General Short was unaffected by it, but Colonel Walter C. Phillips appeared upset. It struck Collins as mildly amusing that both men would be named Walter C. He hoped they didn’t have the same middle name. Or the same father.

As a lieutenant general, Short could afford to disregard Collins’s opinions, but news of Collins’s pending promotion to brigadier made people like Phillips uncomfortable. Phillips was widely considered to be only barely competent and would likely rise no further. Therefore, the last thing he wanted to do was anger someone who was going to pass him very quickly, and who someday might be his boss.

Worse for Phillips, he had hitched his star to Short’s, and the general’s star was fading rapidly. It was easy to feel sorry for both officers. They were honest men who were products of a career in a peacetime army, and were not faring well in the shock of combat. Short, for instance, had a lifelong reputation as a highly moral man and a hard worker. Now he would be remembered, if at all, for not being prepared on December 7.

Phillips’s presence at the meeting in Short’s office was somewhat of a surprise. He was rarely included in anything important, and it occurred to Collins that General Short wanted a witness.

“Colonel Collins,” said Phillips. “We all agree that Captain Novacek’s assessment of the situation is excellent, but we disagree as to where it points. His feeling that the Japanese will invade at Haleiwa is only that, a feeling. We know that a Japanese force is heading here and we must be prepared for every contingency. We feel that the Japanese may be softening up the southern half of Oahu for an attack at either Barbers Point, at the west of the harbor entrance, or Bellows Field, which is to the east.”

Collins knew precisely where both locations were and took the geography lesson as an insult. “Why not Waikiki? Hell, they could surf in and register at a hotel. No, landings at those sites would put them in the teeth of our field guns and shore batteries. They will land north and get organized. Then they’ll ram their army down our throats. At least two of our regiments must be at Haleiwa, not one.”

Phillips shrugged. “Look, I know you think a lot of this Novacek. His trip to Haleiwa while under fire was bravely done, and, yes, in hindsight he was right about the local Japanese not being saboteurs, but that doesn’t make him right in this instance. We simply have to protect everything.”

“And wind up protecting nothing,” Collins said, paraphrasing the old military dictum. “What the Japs have proven is that it will be extremely difficult to reinforce any area on the island without air cover. That means we must be dug in close to the point of attack if we are going to stand any chance of stopping them. If they do land at Haleiwa, they will brush our one regiment aside, and reinforcements will be cut to pieces trying to shuttle men north.”

“It’s seductive,” said Phillips, “and we’d stand a good chance of smashing them, but it is too big a chance.”

“I agree with Phillips,” Short said. He hadn’t spoken in a while, and his comment came as a mild surprise. “I don’t agree that our northern regiment will be brushed aside so quickly. The Japs may have pulled a fast one on the navy but they haven’t fought our army yet, and I’m confident our boys can handle the little yellow bastards.”

Collins shook his head in disbelief. “But look what’s happening to the British in Malaya and to MacArthur’s boys in the Philippines.”

Short smiled grimly. “That’s because the Brits have too many Indians and other Asiatics, and Mac has all those Filipinos. No, the Hawaiian Division is made up of real Americans, and they will hold the Japs until reinforcements reach them wherever the Japs try to land.”

Short rose and went to a map of the island tacked to the wall. “We have four regiments. The command will be divided into two ad hoc brigades. General Wilson will command the ones at Haleiwa and at Schofield. General Murray will command the remaining two, and they will be placed to guard Barbers Point and Bellows Field.”

Collins admitted to himself that this command breakdown did make some sense. Had the reorganization of the Hawaiian Division gone into effect, Major General Durward Wilson would have commanded the 24th Division, while Major General Maxwell Murray would have taken over the 25th.

Short smiled benignly. “Look, Colonel, I know you mean well, but you’ve only been here a short time and you’ll be leaving us in just a little while.”

“I’ll be what?” Collins said in surprise.

Short permitted himself a chuckle. “Finally, something I know and you don’t. Colonel, I’ve just gotten orders to send you and a handful of others back to the mainland. I gather that General Marshall doesn’t want to take a chance on you becoming prisoners.”

“When do I leave?” Collins asked softly. This was not what he’d had in mind. He didn’t like to leave jobs unfinished, and that was precisely what was going to happen. He didn’t know what plans Marshall had for him and, although intrigued, thought he would rather stay and take part in the fighting.

“We’re making arrangements to sneak out a few planes,” Phillips said. There was no smugness in his voice. Instead, Collins picked up a hint of regret. He would not be leaving Oahu. “We have a handful of PBYs and a Pan American Clipper that had to make a landing here a couple of days ago. They are hidden and will be used at the proper time.”

Both types of planes were flying boats that could land and take off in the water. That trait made them invaluable, as every good-size landing field had been attacked by the Japs.

‘Who’ll replace me?” Collins asked.

Short appeared to wince. It had been his earlier decision to appoint the incompetent Fielder to the position now held by Collins that had caused so many problems. “Bicknell,” the general said. “Novacek will be his second.

“Are you promoting Novacek? He sure as hell deserves it.”

Short looked at the ceiling. An explosion rumbled in the distance. If he had listened to Novacek in the first place, he thought, perhaps the situation wouldn’t be quite so grave. Perhaps he’d even have a reputation left.

“Yeah,” the general said softly. “Promote the SOB.”

Jamie Priest had no idea which source of his suffering was the worst. Was it the fire from the sun that baked the bare portions of his skin, causing it to blister and resulting in agonies of the damned? Or was it the salt water as it washed over his body and over those blisters and increased his torments?

No, Jamie decided, it was the thirst. In comparison with thirst, anything else was trivial. The thirst was killing him and driving him mad. Had driven him mad? Was he already insane?

He had been at least two days without water, probably longer- he’d lost track of time. Already several of his companions had died or just given up and let themselves slide into the sea to end their pain. All of those who’d been more than slightly wounded in the tragic encounter with the Japanese fleet were dead, and he wasn’t certain about the rest. It’d been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone, or heard a voice call out.

At first Jamie and the others had hoped that the ocean currents would push them east toward the mainland, but the winds had been contrary, which meant they’d likely not gone far at all. Floating to California had been a forlorn and ludicrous hope anyhow. Without food or water, they’d have been dead for weeks before they got near the place.

But at least the thought had given them some faint whisper of hope. That hope had vanished when reality set in as time passed. They were adrift in the Pacific without food, water, or shelter, and, while the temperatures weren’t at all difficult to endure, the constant exposure to salt water, wind, and sun had scraped them raw.

Maybe the dead were the lucky ones. Jamie knew he would join them very shortly. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time and now was experiencing delirium and hallucinations. There was a whale on the water, and it was staring at him Impossible, a rational corner of his mind said. Whales go in the water and not on it. And whales do not have holes in their sides. Okay, he thought, that made it a building and not a whale, but there aren’t any buildings in the middle of the Pacific either, so that meant it must be a whale after all.

He heard someone say “easy,” and then he felt strong hands lift him out of the water and into the belly of the whale or whatever it was. I’m Jonah, he thought and giggled silently. He tried to say something, but his lips were scabbed over and wouldn’t work.

A face looked down on him. There was a light behind the face, and he wondered if it was God talking to him. “Are you from the Pennsylvania! If you are, just nod, buddy. Don’t try to talk at all.”

Jamie nodded, and the face smiled. Damp cloths were placed on him, and he felt their cooling ecstasy. A little water was permitted to seep between his lips, and his greedy body arched to meet it.

“Relax, buddy,” said the voice. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

The refreshing water partially cleared Jamie’s mind, and he felt hands rifling the pockets of his tattered pants and shirt. He was on an airplane, a PBY, and wanted to ask about the others but couldn’t frame the words. Then he realized it didn’t matter. If he was saved, then so were they.

Jamie felt the surge of power beneath him and the roar of the engines as the plane lifted off from the water. They were airborne, and he was free from the sea and the agonies it had caused him.

The voice returned, and Jamie saw it was a naval ensign. “You ever been to California, Lieutenant?” Jamie shook his head. How did the ensign know his rank? His bars must still have been on his shirt, or there was some information in his pockets. “Well, that’s where you’re going, sir. You’re gonna be safe now. Everything’s okay.”

The ensign made a move to touch the film pouch that was hung around Jamie’s neck. “No,” Jamie rasped and jerked it away with a clawlike hand. “Important. Very important.”

The ensign nodded and departed. Jamie was satisfied. He had saved the film that Seaman Fiorini had entrusted him with before dying. It was important. Very important. If only he could remember why.

The islands of Hawaii were over the horizon, only hours away, and Colonel Shigenori Omori stared into the distance as if such actions could will the islands closer and thus end his waiting.

Omori was forty years old, five three, stockily built, and had fairly typical Japanese features and dark hair. The colonel was the commandant of the 450-man field kempei detachment, or kempetei as it was called outside Japan, that had been detailed to maintain control over the population of Hawaii once it was conquered. As he turned and looked at the mighty transport fleet, there was no doubt in his mind that the conquest would occur.

The kempetei were the Japanese secret police, considered by some to be the equivalent of Germany’s Gestapo. Omori disagreed. He had contempt for the Nazis and their Gestapo, which seemed to be populated by lunatics rather than patriots. The Nazis killed and tortured for the sake of inflicting pain, rather than for the sake of maintaining control over the population and, thus, the security of the nation. That and their fixation on Jews made them suspect in his eyes.

Omori knew there were sadists in the kempetei, any organization with such far-reaching and extralegal powers would attract such people, but using brutality and terror for their own sake was foolish and illogical.

Brutality and terror always had to have a purpose, and ensuring the well-being of Japan and her interests was more than enough purpose, without focusing on ethnic groups simply because they existed. Omori considered Hitler’s persecution of the Jews to be a mindless waste of energy that could be better spent hunting down real threats rather than a bunch of shabby misfits. Omori thought it ironic that large enclaves of Jews existed in Shanghai and other areas of China that had been conquered by Japan, and, so long as they obeyed Japan’s laws, they were left alone.

When the Hawaiian Islands were conquered, he would have 450 men to help control them. Reality said that they were too few to be everywhere, and that only Oahu would be garrisoned by Imperial marines and the bulk of his kempetei. He hoped to place a small contingent in Hilo, on the big island of Hawaii, but decided he might have to satisfy himself with locally recruited informers supported by flying columns of marines to do his work there and on the other islands.

The kempei in Japan were somewhat restrained in their actions, while the kempetei operating against often hostile foreign populations had few constraints on their actions.

There would, of course, be a substantial garrison of Imperial marines on Oahu, but they were rather ordinary soldiers and not skilled in controlling or intimidating a civilian population. No, the marines would guard the bases, prisons, and airfields, while the real work in securing the islands would be done by Omori’s kempetei detachment.

As the kempetei reported to the army minister, they normally wore army uniforms with special armbands to differentiate themselves from the regular military. In this case, he’d ordered a number of his officers and men to bring civilian clothing along so they could blend in with the many tens of thousands of Japanese who lived in Hawaii.

This fact was disturbing. Many hours of discussion had taken place over how to treat the people of the islands, who constituted three distinct ethnic groups: Japanese, Hawaiian, and American.

Dealing with the white Americans would be simple. They were untrustworthy and would feel his iron fist. He also felt that he understood their fears regarding their women and would exploit them. In particular, respectable American women did not have sex with non-whites. This meant he could use sexual terror and the threat of it as a means to an end. It also met his personal preferences, and he looked forward to it.

Omori had decided that he would let his personal aide, Lieutenant Goto, pretty much have his way with American subversives. In Omori’s opinion, Uji Goto was a true sadist, and he had taken the young man as an aide only because Goto’s uncle was a general. The lieutenant, however, could be useful, even expendable if something went wrong.

The native Hawaiians were a different situation. Some anthropologists actually felt they were descended from early Japanese who’d landed on the islands centuries before. Omori thought this was absurd, but his orders were to treat them more gently than the Americans. This would be done until someone stepped out of line, and then they would be dealt with harshly. His research told him that sexual terror among the Hawaiians would be less useful, as they were not as inhibited as the Americans.

The matter of the Japanese on Hawaii was truly unique. Some were totally loyal to Japan, while others were loyal to the United States. Trouble was, no one knew who was who. Word had reached Tokyo that potential leaders of a pro-Japanese government had been interned and shipped to California. Consequently, a puppet government would have to be developed from scratch. This would be accomplished, and very quickly. Four hundred and fifty kempetei were inadequate to govern an island like Oahu. They would need a lot of local help.

The Hawaiian-Japanese would be given preferential status and treated with utmost respect. Kid gloves, the Americans called it. They, not the whites, would be in charge. Omori, who’d endured smug patronization from Americans and British in both Washington and London, thought such a reversal of roles would be wonderful to behold. Perhaps he would even take an American mistress.

Along with the kempetei detachment, he’d brought a score of Korean women as ianfu, or “comfort girls,” to satisfy his men and himself. He thought it would be interesting to have American comfort girls in his stable.

Omori sighed. In a few hours the battle would begin. Ahead of the stinking transport on which he and his men were stuffed was an armada of battleships, cruisers, and carriers. The Americans didn’t stand a chance.

Missy Wilson delved into the C-ration pack and stuffed something in her mouth. “Kind of bland, but not too bad,” she said. “What is it?”

“I think you’re eating the toilet paper,” Alexa said with a laugh.

“I hope not. There’s none left in the stores.”

The fragile Hawaiian economy was in danger of shattering. It had been weeks since any ships had come from the mainland, and even the most ordinary items were in short supply. Rationing had helped, but it had reached the point where there was little left to ration. While food was the highest priority, other items, like toilet paper or soap, were running out as well.

At least you could grow food, Alexa thought. How the hell did one grow toilet paper? Or sanitary napkins? All over the islands, fields and lawns had been turned into gardens with edible plants thrusting through the surface. In a while, much of the food problem would have solved itself, but vegetables were so maddeningly slow growing, or at least it seemed like it.

“Thank God for Jake,” Alexa muttered.

“You think he’ll get in trouble?”

Jake had made several deliveries of “surplus” materials. He’d even helped dig an earth-walled basement under Alexa’s house to store the supplies. Jake had insisted that all the items, treasures to the two women, were being discarded by the military for a number of shortsighted reasons. Neither Alexa nor Melissa quite believed him. It was easy to say he was showing them favoritism, but it also seemed that he was stockpiling goods for some unknown need in the future.

“Do you like him?” Missy asked.

“Jake?”

“No, the man in the moon.”

“Of course I like him. He’s a very good and strong man. Don’t you like him as well?”

“Yes.” Melissa grinned. “But I think you like him a little differently.”

Alexa flushed. “Don’t you think it’s a little early for such speculations?”

“No. Haven’t we all said that times are moving more rapidly than ever and that the old rules don’t apply?”

“Are you suggesting that I should marry Jake Novacek? For one thing, he hasn’t asked and probably won’t.”

“All you have to do is encourage him. Besides, Lexy, you don’t necessarily have to marry him, just get involved.”

“As a protector? Are you suggesting I should be his mistress?”

Melissa shrugged and laughed. “Could be worse. What’d he tell us about surviving? He’s a survivor, Lexy. My bet is he’ll even prosper in this war. Look, he got himself promoted, didn’t he?”

Alexa commented that any thoughts of marriage, or even an affair, were terribly premature with Tim less than two months in his grave. She was going to add that Jake Novacek wasn’t her type when she asked herself, Just what was her type?

Jake was strong, intelligent, educated, compassionate, and he respected her. These were all traits that Tim had had in abundance and that she missed terribly.

It was fairly evident that Jake had an almost adolescent crush on her, which was very flattering but was hardly grounds for marriage. Or an affair.

Jake had indeed been promoted and had shown her his new oak leaves with almost childish joy. Funny how a war brought out certain qualities in people while others were left behind. Melissa was right. If Jake survived, he would prosper.

That raised another point. Alexa had just lost one husband to the war, and Jake was a member of the military on an island that was going to be invaded. Did she want to go through all that again? Perhaps events were moving very quickly, but maybe it was time to slow down a little. No, she would keep Jake Novacek as a dear and trusted friend, at least for the time being.

However, the thought of bringing someone like Jake home to her family and friends in Virginia made her smile. He would eat them alive. Not for the first time did she wonder how Jake would be in bed. With guilt she’d found herself thinking more of sleeping with Jake than of being with Tim. She’d justified such behavior by reminding herself that Jake was alive, her husband was not.

“Is he coming by tonight?” Melissa asked.

“Don’t know.” I hope so, she didn’t add. No need to set Melissa off again.

Then the sirens wailed again, and distant explosions made the ground tremble. The two women looked at each other in dismay. In the time since the Japs had taken Molokai, everyone had become expert in the sounds of war. They realized with a sickening clarity that they weren’t hearing bombs. It was a naval bombardment.

“No,” Alexa said grimly. “I don’t think he’ll be coming tonight.”

Jake reviewed the reports as they came in. A line of Japanese warships was shelling the defenses on the level ground around Bellows Field while dive-bombers hit anything that moved beyond it.

Colonel Collins burst into Jake’s office. “General Short has already decided this is the real thing. One of our subs spotted transports behind the warships. He’s ordered the units at Schofield and Barbers Point to move toward part of the Koolau Range that overlooks Bellows.”

“It’s a feint, and they’ll be cut to pieces while on the move,” Jake said. “Besides, aren’t you leaving? Shouldn’t you be packing?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Everything’s up in the air now and you know it. Short thinks Barbers is the target, and Phillips is happier than a clam that his leader’s been proven right. Now they’re saying the Japs’ll shell today and land tomorrow, then attempt a quick thrust up the Koolau to where they can dominate Honolulu and where their long-range field guns can hit Pearl. Both of them are confident the Japs can be stopped.”

Jake shook his head. “Whoever holds that part of the Koolau Range dominates the field, and right now that’s us. Our guns already overlook the Bellows area and can hit their ships and landing craft, and, no matter how hard they try, they can’t knock out all of them. That is why they won’t land there. Did you tell him that those Jap transports can slip away under cover of darkness and be off Haleiwa in a couple of hours at most? Did you remind him that those are only light cruisers and destroyers out there off Bellows? Where are the heavies and the battleships? Joe, this is only a feint! The Japs are making us move potential reinforcements away from Haleiwa, which is where they’ll be tomorrow morning and we won’t be able to do jack-shit about it.”

“I told General Short everything, Jake, and he insisted that he’d made a decision and he’d stick with it.”

Jake took a deep breath. “Then let me go to Haleiwa and observe.”

“Now?”

“Now, Joe. Let me slip away under the cover of night and see what’s happening up there.”

Collins hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of sending one of his most capable officers, and a good friend to boot, off on a possible wild goose chase. But, with Short’s mind made up and all decisions made, there wasn’t anything more to be done at G-2 for the time being.

“Go ahead, Major Novacek,” Collins said. “And I hope you’re wrong.”

“So do I, Joe. So do I.”

The Japanese landing and bombardment forces were out of sight as they prepared to launch the assault. Admiral Yamamoto paced the bridge of his mighty flagship and felt that he had again been taught the lesson that nothing goes according to plan.

Yamamoto was particularly distressed by the failures in leadership that had occurred, although he fully understood that he had only himself to blame for much of what had happened.

The admiral now flew his flag on the superbattleship Yamato, and, along with the additional battleships and heavy cruisers that constituted the heart of an exceptionally strong strike force, held station about fifty miles west of the bombardment force and the transports. They lay silently and waited for the arrival of an American relief force. Then they would pounce and destroy.

To the best of his knowledge, the existence and strength of the Yamato remained a secret. His problem was that he didn’t know this for certain. It had been a mistake on his part to send the Yamato along with two smaller, older battleships against the Pennsylvania. He had thought that the three would dispose of the damaged American battleship in short order and provide the raw crew of the Yamato with invaluable combat experience. Instead, the crippled American ship had fought with a ferocity reminiscent of a wounded, cornered animal.

While the Yamato had emerged unscathed, the Fuso and the Ise had been damaged, with the Ise forced to depart for Japan for repairs and modifications. There was talk of putting a short flight deck on the Ise’s stern and making her a hybrid: half battleship, half carrier. Yamamoto thought it was nonsense and showed what problems lurked beneath the surface of Japan’s successes.

When the American warship finally sank and efforts were being made to recover survivors, a periscope had been reported, which caused all the ships to flee the area in haste. American torpedoes might be inconsistent, but no one wanted to test them. When the facts were in, it appeared that the “periscope” had been nothing more than floating debris. The captain of the Yamato had reported the possibility of other American survivors in the area but assured Yamamoto that he had shelled them and that they must all be dead.

Admiral Yamamoto was not totally confident. Nor was he thrilled when an officer on the Yamato misunderstood his directive that all efforts be taken to ensure that the existence of the great ship remain secret. As a result, he had taken it on himself to execute all seventy-odd survivors from the Pennsylvania who had been taken aboard before the periscope fiasco. The young officers who’d carried out the deed were fanatical believers in the code of bushido and felt that anyone who surrendered, regardless of the circumstances, was beneath contempt and unworthy of being allowed to live.

In a scathing tongue-lashing, Yamamoto had reminded them that the rest of the world would consider their actions war crimes and be a possible hindrance in negotiating peace with the United States if the story got out. He did not think he’d converted the officers, and, not for the first time, Yamamoto concluded that rigid adherence to bushido would spell doom for the Japanese Empire.

The admiral conceded that the giant ship might yet be seen by a sub or a patrol plane, but he was confident that any sightings would be inconclusive, and that the immense strength of the Yamato would remain cloaked until her fury could be unleashed against an unsuspecting American relief force.

The Americans had not reacted to the landings on Molokai, which had surprised him, but they had to send a battle force to try to save Oahu. It was inconceivable that the United States would permit 400,000 of her people to be conquered, even if a third of them were Japanese. In order that the invasion portion of his fleet be detected in advance, he had ordered the normal flow of radio transmissions to occur and even concurred in the sending of some messages in the clear that would ordinarily have been encoded.

He checked his watch. Off in the distance, the predawn bombardment would be just beginning. In only a few hours, Japanese soldiers and marines would commence landing on the northern beaches of Oahu. With more than a hundred planes on Molokai and the planes of four supporting carriers, the Japanese air forces would smother the Americans.

“Now,” he muttered, “if only their fleet would come.”