1942

CHAPTER 13

Dear Joe,

By the time you read this, you should be well on your way to safety. I wish you the best and hope that your efforts against the Japs will be successful and end this war so we can all go home. I also want you to know that your friendship and companionship were appreciated, and I look forward to renewing them at a more congenial time and place.

Now for the hard part. I concluded fairly early on that there was more to what you were doing on Oahu than simply monitoring radio messages you couldn’t understand. Like a good soldier, I didn’t go searching for answers, but you and Lt. Holmes accidentally provided them. You navy guys seem to forget that other people have brains, and you totally ignored the possibility that I spoke Japanese. I do, although not that fluently, and it was impossible not to listen in when you and Holmes discussed your problems in what you thought was secrecy.

That means I know you’ve broken at least some of the Jap codes and are reading their mail. I believe you called the program Wizard, or Magic, or something along that line. Great work. Keep it up and we’ll nail the little yellow bastards.

You’re a good man, Joe, and I know you’ll show this letter to the right people even though it means you’ve got some egg on your face. Let the military know that Jake Novacek and his little army are alive and well on Hawaii and that I know a real important secret.

I don’t want to blackmail anybody, but these are desperate times and I don’t wish to be left out to dry. I believe that I can do important things here on the Big Island, and I believe it is equally important that I’m not captured. (Note: Joe, I have no intention of being taken alive, but things can go wrong, can’t they?)

I don’t want to leave here for the comforts of California while so many of my friends are suffering in prisons and from hunger and other privations. Pass this note on and get me some help for them.

Thanks,

Jake Novacek, Lieutenant Col., U.S. Army

General George C. Marshall placed the letter on his desk. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had a terrible headache, and this piece of news wasn’t helping at all.

Across the room, Admiral King grinned sardonically. “Helluva note, isn’t it?”

“Rochefort’s a man of honor,” Marshall said. “A lesser man might have just destroyed the letter. After all, it makes him look just a little foolish, doesn’t it?”

“True, but you’re right. Rochefort is honorable. A little embarrassed perhaps, but honorable. Fortunately, he’s damned brilliant, so he’s forgiven his sin. Holmes’s punishment for having a big mouth is that he has to continue working with Rochefort. Now, what do we do about it? We jumped through hoops to get Rochefort out because of his knowledge of Magic, and now we have your man Novacek wandering around Hawaii with it. Should I send another sub to pick him up?”

The general thought about it. It had taken several weeks for the sub carrying Rochefort to make harbor and for the offending letter to get by courier to Washington. During that time, there had been intermittent contacts with Novacek on Hawaii as he and others, like Fertig on Mindanao in the Philippines, began resistance movements. Novacek had already formed cells of sympathetic civilians and located a handful of other stray military personnel on the islands. Right now, all they were doing was observing and reporting, but who knew what their potential might be.

“No,” said Marshall. “Novacek is in too deep. If we ordered him to leave, he’d think of some reason to evade the order and stay. What Novacek appears to want is involvement in the war. What we have to do is figure out how to give him that without causing the whole Jap army to try to catch him.”

King nodded. “I was hoping you’d say that. The president wants the islands retaken, and it struck me that we may have a forward base already in place.”

“What do you want him to do?”

King stood and stretched. “I haven’t the foggiest idea yet. All it is right now is an intriguing possibility. Hell, our torpedoes are beginning to work, which means the Jap navy is looking over its shoulder at us, and now we’ve got a bunch of GIs an hour’s flying time from Pearl. I don’t know what we’re going to do, but Nimitz is working on the problem, and he’s got some bright boys on his staff. I want to know if I can work with Novacek. After all, he’s army, and that means he’s yours.”

Marshall laughed softly. “Maybe we can work with him and Doolittle. That man still wants to launch army bombers from your carriers and bomb Tokyo.”

“That,” King said thoughtfully, “is just not going to happen. There will be no carriers cruising west of Hawaii until Hawaii is retaken. However, maybe we can find a new target for the ambitious and imaginative Colonel Doolittle.”

Alexa’s second summons to Colonel Omori’s office came only a week after the first. As before, she dressed very conservatively, even shabbily, and wondered why she’d been called. After all, she had more than lived up to her part of the bargain. She had signed all the news releases they’d asked her to, and even seen drafts of what she was to record. To protect Father Monroe, she would make them and hope for the best later on.

On the positive side, the increased rations enabled her to feed herself better and get some more food to Melissa and her son. Alexa thought of asking for favored treatment for Melissa but decided against it. Why draw unneeded attention to her friend, who continued to work the fields while Alexa watched the child? Father Monroe had left Honolulu and was reportedly recuperating north of the city from his injuries, both physical and psychological. In short, the man had been broken.

When Alexa was seated in Omori’s office, she saw that the door to his room was fully open and the cover on the large American-style bed was pulled down. She knew through the grapevine that he also had a residence in a Honolulu hotel suite. The kempetei colonel did not want for creature comforts.

Omori entered, gestured for her to remain seated, sat down himself, and smiled. “As before, I’m glad you’re here.”

Alexa nodded and muttered something polite.

“Your work on amending the script drafts is very thoughtful. The changes will be accepted, of course.”

Alexa smiled inwardly. She had made a couple of apparently cosmetic changes that would make the English more halting and less correct. She hoped they would signal any listeners who knew her that she was doing the broadcasts under duress.

“At this point,” Omori continued, “I have additional uses for you. I wish you to be involved in the new social life of Hawaii to show just how well the island’s white population is being treated. I wish you to be my escort at a number of functions that are upcoming.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Alexa said with total truthfulness. The proposal stunned her.

“You will, of course, become my mistress.”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped.

“Starting tonight. You see”-he smiled-”I understand exactly how to manipulate you.”

Omori pushed a button on his desk, and the door behind Alexa opened. Lieutenant Goto stood there with a naked young girl in his grasp. Alexa gasped as she recognized Kami Ogawa, her student. Kami looked like she was in shock. When she recognized Alexa, she moaned and cried out for help.

“Other than embarrassment,” Omori said, “the girl hasn’t been harmed. Yet. Whether she is or not is totally up to you.”

As if scripted, Goto shifted Kami so that one of his hands was free. He ran it over Kami’s young breasts and down to her almost hairless crotch. Kami tried to evade his probing finger, but Goto was too strong and she cried out in pain as he penetrated her. Goto laughed, and Alexa saw his erection straining against his uniform trousers.

“Will you release her unharmed?” Alexa asked through clenched jaws.

“Of course. You have my word of honor.”

Alexa wondered just how much honor Omori had, but, as before, she had no choice. If she did not agree, Kami would be assaulted by the pig of a lieutenant, and God only knew who else.

“All right,” she said softly.

Omori smiled and signaled Goto and Kami to leave. “You will go to my room and wait. I’ll be about an hour attending to other business. My servant’s name is Han. She will assist you, and you will do precisely what she tells you. Her English, by the way, is fairly good. She is quite intelligent and educated for a Korean.”

Han was a round-faced and plump young Korean in her mid-twenties. She was pleasant and seemed slightly sympathetic as she took Alexa to Omori’s room. There she handed her a large drink of fruit juice.

“Take this,” Han commanded in accented English. “It contains a medicine that will relax you.”

Alexa refused at first, but Han was insistent and she drank. After a few minutes, a feeling of languid euphoria began to envelop her and she realized that the “medicine” had been a narcotic, probably opium or morphine.

“He will undress you himself,” Han said. “Just do what he says and you will be fine. Do not even think of arguing or complaining, and please do not struggle. He will hurt you if you do, and he will continue to hurt you until you give in. And believe me,” she said grimly, “you will give in. I saw him gouge out the eyes of a woman who resisted him and then, when he was done, turn her over to his troops. Once upon a time I did not wish to give in. He made me regret that, and I no longer argue. I would die a long and terrible death if I did, and so will you.”

A while later, Omori arrived. Without preamble or comment he stood Alexa by the side of the bed, where she swayed gently. She was still fully clothed except for her shoes and socks, which Han had removed for her. Even without them she was several inches taller than Omori.

Omori unbuttoned her dress and slid it down to her ankles. Her slip followed, and then her bra and panties. Then he examined her slowly and carefully. He ran his hands over her, caressing her breasts and buttocks, and squeezing her nipples until she whimpered.

Omori was particularly fascinated by the patch of light-colored hair at the base of her stomach, which he stroked several times. She was so much more robust than a Japanese woman. They tended to be small and dainty, not strong like this one. The Koreans also tended to be larger than Japanese women, but Omori thought the Koreans were cows. There was a statuesque sensuality to this American, and she aroused him.

“You are too thin,” he said huskily, “you must eat more.”

Alexa said nothing. He laid her on her back on the bed with her head on the pillow and her legs apart. He undressed himself and, after a few additional and perfunctory caresses, mounted her and entered her. He thrust hard for a few moments, groaned, and it was over. Alexa wondered through her mental fog, Now can I go home?

No. It was just beginning. He had claimed his ownership and now intended to enjoy it.

Han had never left the room, and she brought towels, which she used to wipe them both, along with more to drink. Omori also drank and talked about things that went over Alexa’s head. The drinks contained more of the drug, and she felt herself spinning out of control but not caring. If the drug shielded her from the degradation she was enduring, then she would be thankful for it.

In an astonishingly short while, Omori was hard again and took her a second time. This time he was far more gentle and persuasive, and Alexa felt ashamed as her body betrayed her by responding to him. When he was done, Han appeared again. Now she too was naked, and she began to caress and kiss the most intimate parts of Alexa’s body until Alexa moaned in unwanted pleasure and cried out.

Then Han showed her how to return the favor. Alexa started to protest until Han hissed a sharp reminder about Omori hurting her that reached what level of consciousness still remained. She gave in, and the two women grappled on the bed in a drug-induced passion while Omori watched and laughed, his eyes glassy from the drug. Alexa wondered if she looked like that.

Finally, the two women fell back on the bed, sweat-soaked and exhausted. Through her stupor, Alexa glanced at a clock. The night was almost over. Soon, perhaps, she could go home. Omori looked at his watch. “Once more,” he commanded and sat on the edge of the bed. He forced Alexa to kneel before him and guided her face to his crotch. “But this time in a new way.”

Alexa accepted him into her mouth and began to rock back and forth as he gurgled happily. She no longer cared. There was not even the slightest thought of resistance, only acquiescence. She no longer had any worth or dignity, only shame and humiliation. She was a piece of property owned by Omori.

In a corner of her mind, she recalled Jake saying that she should do anything to survive. Omori groaned, and she tasted him. She wondered if there was anything worse that could happen to her if she was to survive.

Jake exulted silently when he received the radio signal that told him his letter to Joe Rochefort had made its way to Washington and been accepted.

He had maintained the original camp in the hills as a base from which his patrols crept out to keep an eye on the Japanese and recruit selectively from the local population. He had followed the primary rule of not letting each small group of volunteers know of the existence of the others. They suspected, of course, but knew nothing for certain. Only Jake knew them all. As his second in command, Hawkins knew more than the others, but not everything.

The Japanese in Hilo remained quiet. The island was just over four thousand square miles, and much of the terrain was extremely rugged. Mountains on the triangular-shaped island lifted several thousand feet into the air, and there were at least two active volcanoes, Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, along with the craters of many dormant or dead ones. The eastern side of the island was more lustily overgrown than the west, which was windswept and comparatively barren. Because it was easier to hide there, they stayed in the eastern half even though that put them dangerously close to the Japanese garrison at Hilo.

There had been no repeats of the large patrols that had captured and massacred the American prisoners. Jake estimated there wasn’t more than a battalion in Hilo along with a small detachment of kempetei. Hilo had a population of nineteen thousand, second only to Honolulu. Most of the other places on the island were hamlets of several dozen to several hundred people. Thus, it was fairly easy for Jake’s command to remain undetected.

The island of Hawaii was fertile, and there was a good deal of farming and ranching in the valleys and along the coastline. This meant they had access to food growing both wild and on farms, which had alleviated the problem of hunger for the time being. Several sympathetic landowners had begun to help Jake’s small army, and he was encouraged to note that some of these good people were of Japanese descent. Obviously, the invasion was not a unanimously popular undertaking.

The Japanese army in Hilo was more interested in overseeing the distribution of food shipped in from the States via Honolulu than in exploring the countryside. Spending time in Hilo was much more pleasant to the occupying Japanese than patrolling through jungles and up volcanoes in search of rumored and elusive bands of Americans. As a result of this neglect, Jake’s patrols had found another dozen American sailors and a pair of stray marines in the near jungles of Hawaii.

Counting the civilian volunteers who did not travel with him, his army had grown to almost a hundred men. Unfortunately, more than half had no weapons, and many of the weapons they did have were civilian shotguns and rifles. They would not be taking on Imperial Japan’s finest anytime soon.

“Good message from home, Colonel Jake?” Sergeant Hawkins asked as he plopped on the ground by Jake.

“Y’know, when we get back to the States, Sergeant Hawk, you’re going to have to quit calling me Colonel Jake.”

Hawkins grinned. An easy form of camaraderie had grown among the handful of men who formed the nucleus of Jake’s force, and he and Hawkins were now close friends. “You get us back to the States, and I’ll call you anything you want. So what’s the message, sir?”

“It’s interesting. They’re going to send us some more men, but they specified that some would not be combat types. We now report directly to Nimitz in San Diego, and he’s very interested in our keeping our cover and not being found by the Japs.”

“I like the man already,” said Hawkins. “I just can’t believe we’re working for the navy.”

“Don’t worry, Hawk; we’re still in the army. Let’s just say we’re coordinating real closely with the sailors. One of the things they told us to watch out for was stretches of level and solid ground. What does that mean to you?”

Hawkins thought for a second and laughed. “Planes. The sons of bitches want us to look for places to land planes. Damn, this could begin to get real interesting.”

“Is this going to be the end of our litany of defeats?” asked Roosevelt.

“There are no guarantees, sir,” said General Marshall. “But it is the right thing to do. The longer our forces in the Philippines hang on, the weaker they get and the more casualties they take.”

“Japanese prison camps are brutal, aren’t they? Our boys will be terribly mistreated if they surrender.”

“Yes, they will, Mr. President,” Marshall said glumly. Beside him, Admiral King kept silent. The bulk of the men on Bataan and Corregidor were army, not navy, and it was the navy that was unable to relieve them.

Roosevelt was visibly upset by the news that General Jonathan Wainwright, now commanding the Philippines, wished to offer to surrender his command to the Japanese. Wainwright saw the obvious- that there would be no reinforcements or relief, only prolonged agony. He had said that he felt he could hold out for several weeks more, even a couple of months, but for what purpose? The longer the siege went on, the more weakened the men would become. Thus, when the inevitable occurred and the Americans in the Philippines did surrender, they would have even less ability to withstand the privations of Japanese camps.

The time to surrender and save lives was now. The president knew he would be castigated for it, and accepted that as a fact of political life. “Is there no good news anywhere?” he asked.

King answered. “Intelligence says the Japs are gathering for a thrust into the Coral Sea as a prelude to taking Port Moresby. Warned as we are, we hope to ambush them.”

Roosevelt nodded. Again he felt exhausted. His strength seemed to ebb so much earlier each day. “See that you do.”

The sun-drenched beach south of San Diego was far from a solitary place. Even so, both Jamie Priest and Sue Dunnigan were in their own private worlds and able to ignore the several dozen people who were in view. Even the sounds of a foursome of drunken sailors and their dates failed to penetrate their shells. If it had been the weekend, the place would have been packed with humanity. But this was a work evening; the many thousands of military personnel were at their bases, and the tens of thousands of civilians in the area were working overtime producing bombers and the other materials of war that were just beginning to pour out of American factories.

Sue pried the top from a bottle of beer with an opener and handed the bottle to Jamie. “Was it that bad?”

He had been quiet since he’d picked her up and driven the short distance to the beach. The area was so lovely, so calm, that it was almost possible to forget there was a war on.

“I had to dredge up some memories I’d been trying to forget,” he replied.

She tucked her legs under her knees and took a bottle for herself from the cooler. Going to the beach had been her idea; the inquest had been the navy’s. Jamie looked so drawn and forlorn that she wanted to hold him to her and rock him like a baby. He was so thin and frail in his swimming trunks, she found it difficult to think of him as an officer, and a hero who’d survived both the Japanese and the ocean. At least the burns from the sun had gone and the cut on his back was a barely noticeable scar. He was pale, and the early evening in the sun would do them both some good.

When it came to thinness, she wryly thought that she matched him, bony limb for bony limb. Sue considered herself slender to the point of skinny and bemoaned what to her was an almost total lack of a bosom. At least she didn’t look foolish in her two-piece bathing suit like so many plump women did. She saw that the waist of her suit had ridden low and her navel was almost exposed. She pulled it up while thinking that, if she had better hips, it wouldn’t slide down so much.

This was the first time she and Jamie had done anything social. Their relationship had been very cordial but based entirely on work. Even the times they’d had lunch together had been because of the pressures of work, not because they wished to enjoy each other’s company. She hadn’t planned on suggesting anything like this evening at the beach, but he had looked so distraught after the inquest that she thought it was a good idea.

The Navy Department had finally commenced an investigation into the loss of the Pennsylvania. The sinking of a single ship, even a battleship, had largely been lost in the immensity of the disasters that had befallen the U.S. Navy since December 7. It seemed unlikely anyone even cared anymore.

Finally, however, four elderly and unimportant admirals had made the journey from Washington to interview Jamie Priest, the only known survivor of the sinking. In Jamie’s words, the admirals had been more than a little pissed that they had to travel to California instead of Jamie coming to them, but Admiral Nimitz had made it clear that he wanted Jamie to remain in San Diego. Thus, the four admirals trekked across the nation on a series of trains and buses, suffering through the inconsistencies and delays of a transportation system still paralyzed by the impact of war. They took the opportunity to loose their anger when they interrogated Jamie.

Now he shook his head in frustration. “I didn’t have the answers they wanted. They couldn’t get it through their heads that I was just a lonely and lowly officer who wasn’t assigned to anything in particular, who didn’t know squat about the battle, and who spent the entire time scared to death. They wanted to know what was happening on the bridge and got angry when I told them I never got on the bridge. I thought one of them would have a fit when I said I wasn’t certain where the bridge was. They didn’t even care how those guys died in the water, although I got the hint they thought I could have done something better to save them. The bastards.”

He finished his beer and took another one from Sue, who let him know she liked being called Suzy by her friends and he now qualified. “I guess they felt they wasted a trip, and they’re right. I don’t know what they wanted, but they should have known they wouldn’t get it from me. They’ll just have to wait until the war’s over and they talk to the other survivors.”

If there are any, Suzy thought. She’d caught snatches of conversation between senior officers that told her otherwise.

She decided to redirect his thoughts and pointed out the glories of the sun reflecting off the waves. It didn’t work.

“Japan’s out there,” Jamie said.

“So’s Hawaii,” she answered softly.

Jamie bit his lip. “God, I’m sorry. I haven’t given a thought about you losing your father. I must sound like a spoiled child.”

“Just a little,” she teased. She was gratified that he did seem genuinely contrite. A lot of guys wouldn’t have cared.

“Tell me about your dad,” Jamie said.

She leaned back on her elbows and drank in the sun. She took off her glasses, and the world beyond a dozen feet away became a pleasant blur. She wished she was naked and could let the sun play over her entire body as she liked to do on some of the more private beaches in the area. She wondered what Jamie’s reaction would be. Shock? Dismay? Delight? Maybe someday she’d find out.

“Not much to say. He was a good man, a good father, and a good sailor, and I loved him very much. He encouraged me to get an education, which I did. He served with Spruance, which is how I got this job as his clerk at the tender age of twenty-four. Being a sailor, Dad was gone for long stretches of time, so I got used to him not being there. My mother lives in Oakland. They got divorced a few years ago, and she remarried some guy who works in a factory. The guy’s a jerk, and I’m really disappointed in Mom, but I guess she needed the security.”

Suzy took another beer for herself and snapped off the top with more force than was necessary. She’s hiding her anger too, Jamie thought, but not very well.

“Dad died on his battleship,” she went on. “Now they’re saying the Arizona will be a permanent tomb or memorial when we retake Hawaii. I’d like that, and I know he’d like that. I could visit there and know where he is and that he’s finally safe.”

“In the meantime, we do what we can,” Jamie said.

He was proud of his work. Already a partial solution had been found for the problem of the torpedoes running deeper than set. The weight difference between the test warheads and a real warhead was significant enough to cause a torpedo to run ten feet deeper than expected. Adjusting the settings was all that was needed, although there was concern that the earth’s magnetic field was producing variances that also affected the settings.

The situation with the impact detonators was still not totally resolved. It was now a given that they were too sensitive, and there was talk of copying a more reliable British design. In the meantime, mechanics onboard submarines tinkered with each torpedo to make them all more effective.

“When you write your book, put me in it,” Suzy said with a grin.

“My what?”

“You heard me. After the war, you will write a book about your experiences, and I want to be in it. As the heroine, of course.”

Write a book? Funny, but the thought intrigued him. “Okay, I’ll write a book. And I’ll put those four admirals in it in all their glory.”

Perhaps a book would be a way of telling the world about the quiet courage of people like Seaman Fiorini, and about his photos, which might have influenced the course of the war.

They finished their beers, and Suzy broke out sandwiches. As they ate, she couldn’t help but think that her father would have liked Lieutenant Jamie Priest.

Charley Finch had never intended to be a traitor. All he ever wanted was a little peace and comfort for himself and a way out of the prison camp. If it meant ratting on a couple of his buddies, well, so what? He’d done it before, and he’d do it again if the situation was right.

All he thought the Japs would do about the POWs’ command situation in the camp was to smack the guys involved around a few times, maybe put them in solitary for a while, and everything would get back to business as usual. Hell, everything had been fine so far. His “duty” outside the compound was now considered normal by his fellow prisoners, who actually awaited his returns with eagerness. Along with the others who worked outside the barbed wire, he had become a font of information regarding the outside world and even “smuggled” in excess food. His buddies in no way begrudged him the fact that he ate his fill from Jap leftovers and brought only what he could hide and carry. What the hell was he to do-they’d all laughed-push a handcart or wheelbarrow full of Jap goodies in each day? Only Jake knew that Colonel Omori made Charley take the food. It made him more valuable and trusted by his fellow prisoners.

All this was now threatened, even destroyed, by the punishment Omori was inflicting on the four American prisoners, which Finch was forced to watch. He was behind a screen and the POWs were blindfolded, but he had the nagging, crawling feeling they knew he was there.

Goto was clad in only a loincloth, and his short, muscular body glistened with sweat and the prisoners’ blood. He had worked the men over with his pliers as they hung from the rafters by ropes tied under their armpits. All their fingers and toes had been smashed, as had their noses and teeth. Now Goto was finishing the job by battering each man’s chest and back with a baseball bat. As another blow landed, a soldier groaned and Charley heard the nauseating sound of a rib snapping.

Goto laughed and pounded the kidney area of another man. Blood had begun to ooze from their bowels. At least they were through screaming. The first few hours had been terrible with their howls of agony.

Goto shifted and began a series of savage uppercuts with the bat on the prisoners’ testicles. He had done this earlier, and their balls were swollen like purple grapefruits that looked like they would burst.

“Enough,” Omori said, and his lieutenant looked disappointed. “Cut them down and have the other prisoners retrieve them.”

Charley was surprised. Earlier, Omori had said he would have them executed. The colonel looked fatigued. Charley had picked up enough Japanese to overhear that the colonel had spent the night drinking and fucking some white woman. Lucky bastard. It also looked like the colonel had been using drugs, and Charley found that intriguing.

The soldiers whispered that Goto had been dipping his wick in some local pussy all night as well.

“Don’t worry, Sergeant Finch,” Omori said, “they will die. Only it will be in full view of their comrades and over a great period of agonizing time as the prisoner medics try to save them. Since they don’t have the resources to do any such thing, their efforts will simply prolong the men’s death agonies.”

Charley shuddered. Jesus, what a sadistic bastard.

“You have kept your bargain,” Omori said. “And I will keep mine. We have captured two FBI agents and now have the two men who commanded the prisoners. You will not return to the camp. You will be reported as killed for insolence. Instead, you will be installed in a cottage just off the base and out of sight of the other prisoners. You will be fed and have liquor and the services of one of the Korean whores.”

Charley thought he’d been promised a white woman like the one Omori was screwing, but he didn’t press it. “Thank you, sir.”

“When the time comes, I will have other duties for you.”

Charley was again surprised. He had thought this was a one-shot deal. Of course, he realized ruefully, he’d also thought the four men would be relatively unharmed.

“There are Americans loose on several islands,” Omori continued, “and I believe you would be perfect in flushing them out.”

“What will you do with them, sir?”

Omori glared at him angrily. The question was impertinent. “They are outlaws, Sergeant; what do you think we do with outlaws?”

Charley Finch bowed deeply in apology. “I understand fully, Colonel Omori.” And he did understand. If a few more died so he could stay alive and well, that was just tough shit. It would be years at the earliest before the United States returned, and Charley Finch had best look out for Charley Finch. He knew it would be difficult to explain his prosperous survival when so many others were dead and dying, but that was something he would resolve when the time came. Maybe he would move to Japan? Hell, after he’d helped them, the Japs would welcome him with open arms, wouldn’t they?