1942

CHAPTER 15

Sergeant Hawkins chuckled in the darkness. Like all of them, he was camouflaged and his face smeared with dirt, which made him almost impossible to see. “Colonel, this is getting to be like Grand Central Station. How much longer do you think we can continue landings at this place?”

“This may be the last,” Jake said as he stole a glance at the almost sheer cliffs to their rear. “Of course, the last one was supposed to be the end of it. This one is a surprise.”

The overusage of the bay where they had originally landed by flying boat was a concern to them all. So far they had been both lucky and good in that there were few people in the vicinity and even fewer Japanese patrols. It was a situation that could not last forever, and the delivery they were waiting for was unplanned.

In the preceding several weeks, the submarines had lined up almost like buses or, as Hawk preferred to think, trains. The military had not abandoned Hawaii; instead, it was apparent that the tiny force on the island was to be built up. Toward that end, subs had disgorged a platoon of well-trained and highly skilled Marine Raiders. They were commanded by First Lieutenant Sammy Brooks, a small, dark-complexioned young man with an Annapolis education and a ferocious desire to kill Japs. His brother was a prisoner in the Philippines.

The original handful of soldiers and marines had grown thanks to the infusion of navy refugees and a few selected civilian volunteers, including a handful of women. As a result, Jake gave Hawkins an unauthorized battlefield promotion to second lieutenant. Brooks had no problem with that, and, to Jake’s surprise, his superiors in California agreed and confirmed it.

Along with much-needed supplies and equipment, other subs had landed a score of army engineers under a burly, middle-aged Swede, Captain Karl Gustafson, and his job was to find a place where planes could be landed and hidden until they were needed. “Not for too many planes,” Gustafson had stressed. “Maybe a dozen or so.”

Jake had thought it would be easier to hide a herd of elephants in a small church and not be noticed by the congregation, but he was pleasantly surprised at the skill shown by Gus and his men in identifying suitable locations. It was stressed that any landing strip should not look like one until it was time to use it. They were fortunate in that the ground was rock solid and flat enough in many areas, which meant it was necessary only to keep their basic efforts hidden. This could be done by moving foliage to key spots, and Gustafson was very good at hiding things.

Additional equipment and personnel also meant an improvement in their communications with California and other places. They maintained infrequent but steady contact with other guerrilla forces, primarily those under Fertig in the Philippines.

It was good to know they were not alone. Jake was secure enough to refuse additional help. A hundred or so men and women could be dispersed and hidden, while a larger group would be that much more difficult to both hide and feed.

The marine platoon still used the 1903 Springfield, and not the M1 Garand as their rifle. However, they did use the same.30 caliber bullet, which meant the supply situation was difficult but not impossible.

So, Jake wondered as he jerked his attention back to the present, what are we doing on this beach tonight? Instead of California calling, this time the message had been from Oahu and said to expect a “package.”

At only a few minutes past the target time, he heard the quiet rumblings of a well-tuned diesel engine. After a while they saw a small fishing boat coming close to the shore. With its shallow draft, the darkened craft eased up to within a few feet of the sandy beach.

They watched as the three-man crew guided someone out of the cabin and awkwardly down into the shallow water. The fishing boat’s crew was calm even though they had to know that a score of weapons were aimed at them.

“Your package can walk,” Hawkins muttered.

“I don’t know why, but I’m surprised,” Jake said.

The “package” stood in the waist-deep water while the boat backed away. It was then that they realized the person was blindfolded and wearing an awkward and too-large cap.

Finally, hat and blindfold were removed. Jake gasped when he saw the hair and realized it was a woman, and, as she waded slowly and awkwardly toward land, he knew exactly who she was.

“Alexa,” he said, and the sound of his voice startled her. “Over here.”

“Jake? Oh, God. Is it you, Jake?”

They met where the water was knee-deep. She almost fell into his arms, and he held her tightly. Some package, he thought. He squeezed her, and she returned the embrace with that fierce strength that once had astonished him.

Finally, she broke free and looked at him. In the night he could see sadness on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I survived, Jake,” she said, and her voice cracked with sobs. “I did what you said. I survived. I did whatever I had to, and now I’m here. I had no idea it would be so awful just to go on living.” With that, she sagged on his shoulder and allowed him to lead her inland as the rest of the column formed up around them.

The American seamen on the craggy and inhospitable island of Lanai had been fools, Charley Finch concluded. The idiots could have remained in hiding for all eternity. Living would have been uncomfortable and harsh, but it would have been better than what had happened to them and how it was likely to conclude.

The seven men had been marooned when their transport had been sunk off the coast in an attempt to flee to California. The fools had then started robbing the local people for food, and the civilians had reported them to the police. It had been only a matter of time before the kempetei picked up on the fact that Americans were running loose on Lanai and behaving like ordinary bandits.

Charley Finch’s job had been to make contact with them and pretend that he was an escapee from the camps on Oahu. He located them after only a couple of days, and they welcomed him with open arms, even allowing themselves to think that he was some kind of savior. Other than knives, they had no weapons, and, had he been part of a Jap patrol instead of a lone, unarmed American, they would have fled safely into the interior. As it was, they stayed put because he told them the area was clear. It had been a fairly simple matter to leave a trail that the kempetei could follow. Charley’s only real concern was that the Japanese might kill him by mistake.

That, it turned out, was not a problem. Colonel Omori had accompanied the combined kempetei and Japanese marine patrol, and the seven Americans had been taken into custody with barely a whimper. Now they stared at him in disbelief and horror. All had been beaten bloody in a brutal interrogation coordinated by Omori.

“I am satisfied,” the colonel concluded. “These poor creatures know absolutely nothing.”

No surprise, Charley thought. “What will you do with them, sir?”

Omori shrugged. “As I’ve told you, according to international law, they became outlaws by not surrendering.” He nodded to a kempetei sergeant, who drew a pistol, held it against the skull of one of the sailors, and casually blew his brains out. The others began to moan and cry out, but the sergeant moved quickly down the line, and all were dead within a few seconds.

“I believe that was fairly merciful, don’t you, Sergeant Finch?”

“Yes indeed, sir.”

“They are not worthy of our time and resources. I must admit, however, that you did an excellent job of finding them. We will return to Oahu and plan your next assignment.”

“May I ask what it might be?”

Omori smiled. “Lieutenant Goto has been on Hawaii for only a short while, but he has confirmed that there is a sizable American group operating in the interior. It will be a much more difficult assignment than this, but I am confident you can locate them and lead us to them.”

Charley did not share Omori’s enthusiasm. However, he was not in a position to argue. On a previous occasion, the colonel had reinforced the fact that, if Charley either balked or failed, he would be returned to the prison compound and the prisoners informed that he had been a Judas to them. Charley shuddered. The POWs would tear him to little bloody pieces. So, he thought grimly, he would do what he had to. But there was nothing wrong with making his situation more pleasant while he waited.

“May I ask a favor, Colonel?”

Omori froze him with a glare. Dogs did not ask for favors, and it was apparent from his look that Omori thought more of dogs than he did of Charley Finch. “What?”

Charley bowed. “Sir, it involves my living conditions. The food and the refreshments are excellent, sir, but I would like something other than the Korean woman you gave me.”

Omori laughed. The sergeant had been assigned one of the homeliest of the comfort women he’d brought with him. She’d spied on Charley for Omori and reported him to be harmless and not even a good lay. “Do you want a Japanese woman?”

Charley professed shock. “No, sir. I am not worthy.”

“That is right, Sergeant Finch. You are not worthy and you never will be. Only a Japanese man is worthy to screw a Japanese woman. Yet you have performed faithfully. I will get you an American, a young white woman. Would that satisfy you?”

Charley said that it would, and Omori walked away from him. It occurred to the colonel just who would be assigned to fuck Charley Finch. He had met her while questioning people regarding the disappearance of Alexa Sanderson. She was otherwise useless and would be perfect.

The engineer from Boeing was short and skinny, and had thick glasses. His 4-F draft status, which precluded him from entering the military because of physical problems, was virtually painted on his forehead. If, however, he could turn the giant flying boats into bombers, neither Colonel Doolittle nor Admiral Spruance would care about his physical appearance.

The engineer’s name was Bart Howell, and he was as pompous as he was frail. They were gathered outside an immense hangar, and Howell began to speak. “As I saw it, the problem was the hull of the flying boat. In a conventional bomber, the bombs are stored in racks in the belly of the plane and released more or less simultaneously through a large bomb bay. This is impossible since the watertight integrity of the flying boat must be maintained. A bomb bay would be an invitation to a sinking.”

“We understand that,” Spruance said with mild impatience. “Have you come up with a solution?”

Doolittle stifled a grin. If the little prick hadn’t, then they’d wasted a trip out to the desert and someone would get his butt ripped. Spruance was mild-mannered and polite to a fault, but he didn’t suffer fools.

Howell took out a handkerchief and wiped his glasses. “Yes, sir, we have.”

The blunt statement startled both men, even though it wasn’t totally unexpected. Howell led them into the cavernous hangar, where a series of wooden struts resembling the skeleton of a giant whale had been constructed. “Gentlemen,” Howell said, “this is a mock-up of the hull of a Boeing 314 flying boat.”

Doolittle pointed to a series of short metal chutes in the interior of the plane that canted toward the back and ended in the hull.

Howell smiled. “That, Colonel, is the solution. A large bomb-bay door would collapse from the pressure of the water both on landing and on takeoff. However, we concluded that a dozen or so small holes wouldn’t result in enough seepage to cause a problem. The metal chutes are bomb racks designed to hold one 250-pound bomb each, or a large number of four-pound incendiaries. With the holes in the hull angled toward the tail, the pressure on the hull is minimized and, prior to landing and takeoff, a series of dead bolts will be used to secure the hatches. There will no doubt be leakage, but nothing you can’t control with some pumping while on the water, and it will simply drain out when airborne.”

Doolittle walked around the skeleton craft. The solution was so simple and so elegant.

Howell continued, “Someone must remove all the dead bolts so that a trigger mechanism in the cockpit can actually open the hatches and release the bombs.”

“How accurate will the bombing spread be?” Spruance asked.

“Not very,” Howell admitted. “In a way it would be like firing buckshot from a shotgun. The higher up the plane is, the wider the spread. I strongly recommend low-level bombing to ensure any semblance of accuracy.”

Doolittle couldn’t imagine the tiny engineer ever firing a shotgun, but he agreed with Howell’s estimate. High-level bombing was extremely inaccurate with conventional bombers, and this would be far worse. Nevertheless, it was now evident that the giant flying boat could be transformed into a weapon that could fly to Hawaii and back.

“Mr. Howell, when can you have these racks made and ready for installation?” Spruance asked.

Howell smiled proudly. “I presumed you’d like them, so I’ve had the machine shops working on them day and night. We now have enough for three planes and will have the rest in a week. Then we can begin installation and practice.”

“Excellent, Mr. Howell,” Spruance said and then added somberly, “I know I don’t have to tell you how important it is that no one finds out about your work.”

Howell wiped his glasses again and shook his head tolerantly. “I assure you of my discretion, Admiral. However, even a nearsighted idiot like me understands that you are not configuring a long-range plane like this as a bomber so you can attack Seattle. I hope you destroy all the Japs on Hawaii.”

Doolittle smiled. He was beginning to like the little man. Perhaps the guy would like a drink? “So do we, Mr. Howell,” he said. “So do we.”

Lieutenant Jamie Priest looked across to where Suzy Dunnigan sat taking notes. He tried to catch her eye, but she didn’t look up and he dared not move. He was by far the most junior officer in the room, and his job was to make like wallpaper until and unless someone asked him to do something.

Admiral King and General Marshall had arrived in San Diego the day before via a grueling ride in a bomber. Now, after a night’s rest, they and their small staffs were more than eager for the briefing Admiral Nimitz had prepared. As usual, Admiral Spruance was with Nimitz. Admiral Halsey was out with his carriers off Australia.

This was the first time Jamie had seen either King or Marshall in person, and he was a little awed. He’d been introduced and gotten a perfunctory handshake from King, who seemed more interested in Suzy’s legs-her skirt was very short as a result of cloth shortages- and a kind comment from Marshall about the Pennsylvania. It made him wonder if everyone knew about his ordeal.

Nimitz stood. “Gentlemen, what we have prepared for the Japs is what my staff has started calling Operation Cork. In the absence of something more stirring, I suggest we keep the name. It was selected because the idea is to cork up the Japanese fleet in a spot where we can get at them, and that spot is Pearl Harbor.”

Nimitz stepped to a wall chart of the Hawaiian Islands. “Admittedly, Cork violates virtually every military principle, particularly since it is predicated on the enemy doing precisely what we wish them to do, rather than what they have the ability to do. However, I believe it is inevitable that the Japs will take their main fleet to Hawaii, and do so shortly after the base becomes viable to them as a result of the completion of repairs to the fuel storage depot. When that occurs, they can use Pearl as a base for striking at the West Coast or, more likely, Alaska.

“We do not believe they will attempt a landing in California, Washington, or Oregon, but we do consider it strongly possible that they will send a bombardment force to California, or land troops at points in Alaska. If they do, the terrain and distance will make them very difficult to dislodge.”

There was a shuffling as that statement was digested. Shelling of American cities had not yet occurred and would cause panic when it did. Even worse was the thought of the Japanese in Alaska, parts of which were closer to Japan than they were to the forty-eight American states.

King swore under his breath, while Marshall was silent. Japanese assaults on the West Coast might spell an end to the Germany First strategy. The shelling of San Francisco or Los Angeles would result in political pressure to concentrate efforts on Japan that could not be ignored. The results would be tragic. King might like the idea of Japan first, but Marshall knew that strategy could cost the United States the war.

Nimitz was satisfied that he had their undivided attention. “As you’ve informed me,” he continued, “neutral diplomats in Tokyo are picking up hints that Hawaii will be formally annexed by Japan in either July or early August. We feel that a ceremonial showing of their fleet will occur to reinforce Japan’s intentions.”

“The fucking bastards,” King said. Jamie looked at Suzy and saw her quick grin. The daughter of a sailor had heard far worse. “Their annexing Hawaii would be a taunt for us to come and get it. So what’re we gonna do to stop it?”

“At the very least,” Nimitz responded, “we have to destroy Pearl as a base. Toward that end, you know of our plans to send Colonel Doolittle on a raid to destroy the fuel depot.”

“A waste of his efforts,” King grumped. “Almost as nonsensical as his original idea to bomb Tokyo from a carrier.”

Nimitz smiled. He had been chosen by King to command in the Pacific and wasn’t affected by his boss’s surly attitude. “Agreed. Even Doolittle would rather attack juicier targets than fuel tanks. If the Jap fleet presents itself, he will attack it. If the Japs don’t come, of course, he will still hit the fuel. At the very worst, it would delay their ceremony.”

Marshall was incredulous. “But he’d attack with only a handful of converted flying boats? It would be suicide.”

“It is not intended to be suicidal. Risky, yes, but not suicidal,” Nimitz said. “There are other plans afoot to hit the Japs and to keep their planes on the ground, or”-he smiled almost impishly-”safe on their carriers. Also, now that the torpedo problem has been largely solved, we will swarm the islands with our subs once the Japs arrive.”

“And our carriers?” Marshall asked.

“One of my staff,” Nimitz said and nodded toward Jamie, who flushed as he realized why he was there, “pointed out that a light carrier escorted by destroyers looks from a distance just like a fleet carrier escorted by cruisers. We are preparing a decoy force of escort carriers and destroyers to cruise at a distance off Spain and Portugal and then turn north. Along with a few discreet leaks at cocktail parties in Madrid, we hope the information will be passed on to the Japs that we have conceded the Pacific to them while we take on the Germans. In the meantime, our fleet carriers and their escorts will rendezvous around Samoa. They will wait for the signal that the Japs are corked and then attack. If a landing is feasible, we have a division of infantry, the newly constituted 24th, ready to depart at almost a moment’s notice.”

“Jesus.” King sighed. “It would be great to pay the bastards back for what they did to us at Pearl Harbor by killing them right there at Pearl Harbor.”

Nimitz agreed. “They tricked us because we were overconfident.

We hope they are just as overconfident and can be tricked just like we were.”

Little more of substance was said before the meeting adjourned. There would be further discussions after lunch. Neither Jamie nor any of the other junior officers would attend. The afternoon would be free. He finally caught Suzy’s eye, and she nodded.

King turned toward Nimitz as they left the room. “God damn, I hope it works. Operation Cork? Not exactly heroic, but I hope history records that we shoved a cork right up their asses.”

Shortly after arriving at Jake’s base camp, Alexa informed him that she needed time alone. He didn’t ask for a reason and permitted her to go into the interior with a couple of local women as companions and protectors. While it tore at him to see her so tormented, he accepted that there were times when people had to be alone with their thoughts before they could share them.

When she returned after several days, Alexa smiled tentatively at him and suggested they go for a walk after dinner. It was still light when they got to a spot that Jake thought she would like. There was a small pond, and they could sit on a flat rock that looked down on the clear water, where fish about the size of minnows flitted in apparent joy in their search for food. The place was almost totally hidden by sheer cliffs, and, without being ordered, Sergeant Hawkins had discreetly placed guards around the tops. Jake knew this and was glad that they were out of sight.

Carefully and completely, Alexa told him everything that had happened to her and to Melissa. She spoke of the backbreaking work in the fields, of watching Father Monroe being tortured, and of her finally agreeing to speak treason for the Japanese. She told him in detail of her night of sex and drugs with Omori and Han, and then of Kami’s rape and suicide. “Somehow I will get over it. I’m not certain how, just yet, but I will,” she concluded.

When she was finished, he held her hand tightly. “You didn’t have to tell me this. Omori used you and raped you, and then you got away from him. You did what you had to, and I’m glad, really glad, because that means you’re here. You’re with me and you’re safe. And I’m glad you tried to save Kami. You’re not responsible for her death, Goto and Omori are.”

She smiled tentatively. “I did have to tell you. If I didn’t, you’d always wonder just what happened, and I think it would eat at you. Now you know, and you can judge for yourself whether I did the right things or not.”

“There was nothing else you could have done, Alexa. Everything was out of your control. You were his pawn. If you hadn’t done what he wanted, you’d be dead or wishing you were. Life is too precious; I’m glad you didn’t give it up.”

“I know. Did you know the women you sent with me while I was out thinking were also assaulted by the Japs?”

“No,” he said. “Frankly, I never gave it a thought.”

“We talked about it. One of them was raped only once, the other by a dozen soldiers. We told each other everything, and then we cried. It helped to realize I haven’t been alone. In fact, I may have been fortunate. I wonder if there will be any women in Hawaii who weren’t attacked by the time this all ends. If it ever ends,” she added. “The Japs use sex as a weapon, a tool, to achieve their ends. And we’re supposed to respect them?”

Alexa took a deep breath and looked up at the darkening sky. Some of the larger stars were already visible. “Just think. In six months, I’ve gone from a docile, wealthy, college graduate navy wife to a widow who’s been assaulted by a Jap officer, who’s betrayed her country, and who’s now a refugee in a guerrilla camp. What’s the saying? That which doesn’t kill me, strengthens me? I guess I must be getting terribly strong.”

She allowed him to put his arm around her shoulders, although he made no effort to draw her closer. He understood and sympathized far better than she realized. Someday, he thought, he’d tell her of the terrible and sometimes drunken assaults some men had made on him when he was a boy, in particular those weekends he’d spent in county jails for minor offenses. Growing strong enough to resist them had been a marvelous revelation.

She shuddered. “I’ll never be as strong as you are. My life was always so sheltered. Damn the Japs. Damn Omori and Goto.”

“Goto’s here on the island, Alexa. We’d heard about Kami’s death, although I didn’t connect it to you. Goto’s been banished until it blows over and is stationed in Hilo.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

The ease with which she asked the question surprised him. If her ordeal hadn’t strengthened her, it had apparently hardened her. “If the opportunity presents itself. I’m not going to risk what we have here for personal revenge.”

“And what do you have here, Jake?”

He explained about the secret base the engineers were building. “Our first priority is to stay alive and undiscovered by the Japs in Hilo, or by their planes. I’m glad they don’t seem to have too many planes to look for us. Whether we can build an airstrip and keep it quiet or not is another point, but we’re doing our best.”

“I’ve enlisted in your army, haven’t I?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I want to do what I can to help. Will you get me a gun and teach me to shoot?”

He decided not to tell her that the military used rifles and not guns. “I will. Gladly.”

“Good,” she said and tucked her head under his chin. “Now just hold me very strongly. I need strength, Jake. I don’t have all that much myself, although I’m working on it.”

Jake did as he was told and reveled in the feel of her body next to his and the fact that she had so much implicit faith in him. She smelled clean and good, and her breath was hot on his chest.

Jake counted his blessings. Alexa was here and safe, and considered him a part of her future. Despite the pain she’d endured, he liked that. Whatever wounds she still felt, he would help her heal them.

Then a pragmatic thought intruded. By helping Alexa escape, Toyoza Kaga had totally and completely decided whether he was Japanese or American.

After a while, Jake grinned into the night. Alexa was sound asleep and snoring slightly. Maybe the healing had begun.

Colonel Omori nodded as Toyoza Kaga entered his office and took a seat. “The people still hate us, don’t they, Kaga?”

“It will take time, Colonel. Wounds do not heal overnight. It would have been far better for Goto to have been tried, either here or in Japan. Then people would know that justice was being done and not deferred.”

Omori shook his head angrily. “Impossible.”

Kaga knew it would have been difficult to prove a crime, even under normal circumstances. Kami had committed suicide, and could not testify against Goto for the rape. And it was highly unlikely that the enlisted men who had also raped the child would ever come forward. In Kaga’s opinion, they were headed toward Japan if they were not there already.

“Then you will just have to live with the circumstances until the emotions fade.”

Omori accepted that. He had expected as much. “And your son, is he doing well?”

Kaga’s only son, Akira, had been brought by ship to Oahu. Kaga had been told that Akira’s return was a gift from the Japanese government for his presumed loyalty. His son had lost a leg in the fighting in China and was no longer of any use to the Japanese army. Kaga’s heart ached at the pain his son was feeling, but, as usual, he masked his emotions. “He is improving, thank you,” he replied.

Akira had volunteered for the Japanese army while he was a student in Tokyo, a fact that made his father loyal in the eyes of Omori. He had become an officer and been assigned to duty in China. What Omori didn’t know was that Akira had quickly become disillusioned, even horrified, by what was occurring there. On returning home, Akira had filled his father’s ears with tales of the Japanese army’s butchery. In particular, he told of the incident called the Rape of Nanking, in which tens of thousands of civilians had been raped, tortured, and murdered.

Now Kaga knew there was no honor in Japan’s enterprise or in its intentions for the people of Asia. Both Toyoza and his son had begun to meet with a small circle of friends who shared this view. A number of them were young and of military age, and several had even served in the Hawaiian National Guard. This fact had begun to give both men interesting thoughts.

Kaga feigned a proud smile. “My son has served his emperor well. Even so, I am glad he is home.”

“As am I. Perhaps your son will speak to the people of Oahu of his experiences. It might help our cause.”

My, my, Kaga thought. The man will actually help us recruit followers. Akira could meet openly with the people of Oahu and selectively with others without attracting attention.

“We will need gasoline to travel,” he said, as a merchant would. “And a vehicle. I can supply a driver.”

“No problem at all,” Omori responded loftily.

“Then I am sure we would both wish to help.”

As Kaga departed for his home and his son, he wondered how he could have been so infatuated by Japanese successes. He had served in the Japanese army against the Russians at Port Arthur in 1905. There he had seen the ruling military caste’s excesses, brutality, and contempt for life. He had been an enlisted man and treated with scorn at best by his superiors, and seen the lives of his comrades wasted in desperate assaults on Russian barbed wire. The Japanese army had succeeded, but only after crawling over the piled corpses of its soldiers.

Following the war, Kaga had deserted and, with assistance from relatives, found passage to Hawaii. How could he have been so stupid as to think only a few decades could change the minds of the masters in Tokyo? Worse, if Omori probed deep enough, he would find that Toy-oza Kaga was a felon because of his desertion.

Kaga had thought that his past was well behind him. Now he knew better.