1942

CHAPTER 18

Jake rubbed his eyes and squinted out into the near dark that signaled the end of one of the longest nights of his life. He had been up all night, and only anticipation was keeping him going. He longed for a cup of coffee, but that was a commodity that had been unavailable for a very long time, along with cigarettes and beer. He rarely smoked, but he craved a cigarette now.

Standing beside him, Captain Karl Gustafson fretted and worried. Gustafson was a large and rawboned man with an out-thrust jaw. An engineer for more than twenty years in civilian life, he wore what remained of his uniform in uncaring disarray. Unlike most Swedes, who were impassive and calm, he paced nervously, waiting like an expectant father to see if his idea was a good one or if it would die at birth.

Small fires staked out an area more than a hundred yards wide and half a mile deep. It was a rectangle that ran from the top of an ocean cliff and ended well inland. Both Gustafson’s and Jake’s greatest fears were that the lights would be seen by the wrong people and missed by the right ones. Farther inland, but on a line from the cliff, their radio sent out a beeping signal every minute. The radio beeps were long-range homing devices, while the rectangle outlined by the small fires was the ultimate destination.

There was a risk of detection, but, despite their apprehensions, it was deemed a small one. The Japanese knew the Americans sent messages from the interior of the island and had made little attempt to stop them. It was also routine for the Japanese not to send out patrol aircraft at night. They’d gotten used to seeing nothing and had stopped looking. What few planes they did use to patrol over Hawaii came during the light of day.

There was even less of a chance of detection from the ground.

First, no one lived in the vicinity, and, second, the Japanese didn’t send ground patrols this far west of Hilo. While they had stepped up their efforts near Hilo since the massacre, this part of the Big Island might as well not have existed.

Jake noted that the daylight was not that far off. There was a definite glow to his rear, indicating that the sun was about to rise over Hilo. He hoped the Japs had slept soundly.

“Yes!” said Gustafson exultantly. He pointed out over the darker western sky.

“Can’t see a thing, Gus,” Jake said as he stared into the gloom.

“Then clean your eyeballs and look where I’m pointing.”

A few seconds later, Jake did see the dark silhouette against the sky. Almost immediately, the plane dipped gently and landed between the rows of fires. One down. Jake felt like applauding, and a couple of the score of men with them did clap their hands.

In intervals of two to five minutes, the rest of the flight touched down. Immediately, the wings of the F4F Wildcats were folded and Gustafson’s people covered the planes with camouflage netting that resembled the barren landscape of western Hawaii.

As this was happening, other men ran with straw brooms to wipe away the tire tracks.

“Plane! Freeze!”

The yell had come from a lookout and was their worst fear. If they were detected, their efforts were doomed. They all dropped to their knees and curled up. One of the pilots was slow to respond and had to be manhandled to the ground.

“Clear,” yelled the lookout. He looked a little shamefaced. The “plane” he’d seen over the hills leading toward Hilo had been a large bird. Jake slapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d done the right thing by being cautious. Privately, Jake thought he’d aged a decade in the few minutes since the warning cry.

Eleven planes had landed. There were supposed to be twelve. The flight leader was Lieutenant Ernie Magruder, USN, who looked too young for his rank. He had a pencil-thin mustache that didn’t make him look mature. Jake guessed his age at twenty-one.

They waited awhile and then, sadly and reluctantly, gave up on the stray plane. The sky was bright and the fires were put out. “Nielson didn’t make it,” Magruder said softly. “Helluva way to go.”

“Could he have found his way back to the carrier?” Jake asked.

Magruder shook his head. “Not a chance. No way on earth he could have found an unlit carrier in the middle of the ocean, particularly since the carrier would have moved out in another direction. Nielson was a volunteer, Colonel. He knew his orders and he took his chances.” Magruder added the last statement with more bravado than Jake thought he felt. The idea of flying off to death in an endless ocean sent a chill down his spine. God bless Nielson, he thought.

The pilots’ orders had been to make no effort to survive in the event of engine failure, getting lost, or some other problem. They all knew the success of their mission would be compromised if they were taken alive, or even if their remains or the wreckage of their planes were found. If they were unable to complete their mission, they were to dive straight into the sea. Death would be quick, and the plane would sink to the bottom of the ocean, where both plane and pilot would be lost forever.

Magruder took a deep breath. “Eleven out of twelve ain’t too bad, now, is it?”

“It’s outstanding,” Jake said fervently.

He turned and found he already had a hard time seeing the planes through the netting and the dirt that had been piled against them. They would be invisible from the sky, and no one ever came along this stretch of harsh ground. When night fell again, they would be moved a little farther inland, to where they would be half buried. There, the pilots would double as mechanics to prepare their planes for their mission.

“This is Hawaii, isn’t it?” Magruder asked, surprising Jake.

“You didn’t know?”

Magruder grinned. “Hell no, sir. We volunteered for a mission to kick some Jap ass. Then we were shipped out to Africa and flown to a British carrier off India. We’ve been virtual prisoners for a couple of weeks and never let out on deck or had any casual contact with the Brits. When we launched, we were told what direction to go and how long to fly. Other than that, this could be Ohio for all I know.” He laughed. “After we arrived, they said we’d be filled in on the details, although, if this is Hawaii, I’ll bet you two bits we’re gonna hit Pearl Harbor.”

Jake hid his surprise. American planes launched off a British carrier and without any real idea where they were going? Incredible. But now he had an air force.

“Yeah,” Jake said, “this is Hawaii, and you’re the Hawaiian Air Force. And yeah, you’re gonna get a chance to kick some Jap ass.”

Magruder nodded. “Great. Only let’s call this Nielson Force, after the poor guy who didn’t make it.”

Jamie Priest held tightly to the slender body of Suzy Dunnigan. “This is wrong, you know,” he managed to say. They were both choked up with emotion brought on by the reality of her imminent departure. It was harder than either realized to let go of what had been a marvelous time together.

“I know,” Suzy said, wiping a tear off her cheek. “Here I’m going off to war while you wait at home. It’s supposed to be the other way around, isn’t it? I have to go, but don’t be too sad. After all, it’s not like I’m going very far or for very long.”

Congress had finally authorized women in the military, and Suzy’s nomination had been endorsed by both Nimitz and Spruance, which made for immediate acceptance. She would spend a month or two in training, which would begin sometime in August, and then be commissioned an ensign in the WAVES. She hoped she would be stationed back in San Diego, but they acknowledged that anything was possible when it came to the navy.

“I’m glad you’re taking care of the house,” she said. “That’s a big worry off my mind. I never really cared for the place until my dad was killed. Now, it’s all I have left of him.” Jamie felt honored by her trust and hugged her again.

Jamie had begun by regularly spending the nights with her and then, after a few weeks, had officially changed his residence to hers. Some on Nimitz’s staff were shocked, but the two lovers didn’t care. Jamie and Suzy had ignored the world and spent every waking moment reveling in the pleasure of each other. A previous remark about clothes referred to the fact that, on weekends, they spent all possible time as naked as the day they were born. The weather was balmy, and nudity simplified and expedited their lovemaking. Suzy had even managed to initiate the fairly conservative Jamie into the delights of swimming naked in the ocean at night and making love in the sand.

He would miss all that. More important, he would miss Suzy Dunnigan. He had told her, even brought up the subject of marriage, but she had demurred. She had to wait until her tour of duty was completed. She owed that to her father, and Jamie could not argue the point. Both hoped they would not have to wait until the war was over and life was more settled. Forecasts put the end of the conflict as far out as 1950, which depressed them both. She loved him, but she had a duty to perform that was as strong as his.

Outside, a cab pulled up and honked. They embraced once more, and she departed, walking briskly and not looking back.

As the cab pulled away, Jamie felt a desperate loneliness. So this is what it’s like, he thought, for wives and mothers to send their men off to war. At least Suzy would be spared the likelihood, of combat, although many places that would have been considered “safe” in previous conflicts were well within the range of bombers, and transit across the ocean was subject to attack by submarines. He hoped that she would be assigned stateside.

He still chafed at the restrictions on his going back to combat but had come to terms with them. Nimitz had been explicit-no combat. With so much time now on his hands, Jamie would work harder and longer on his duties on Nimitz’s staff, and on Operation Wasp in particular.

Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto paced the stern of the giant battleship Yamato. He was alone except for Commander Watanabe, his confidant and sounding board. All others knew enough not to interrupt him while he walked and thought.

Around him in Hiroshima harbor lay the bulk of the fleet preparing for its foray to Hawaii. He would command a mighty armada of carriers, battleships, and cruisers that would overwhelm the American navy; that is, if only the Americans would cooperate.

Yamamoto was confounded by the inconsistencies in intelligence-gathering capabilities. Intelligence gathering had never been a Japanese strong point, and its weaknesses were now glaringly apparent and irreparable. It was far too late to develop a force of operatives and observers who could operate behind enemy lines.

The first problem was the recently concluded battle of the Coral Sea. Just what had happened, and who had won? The Japanese navy had proclaimed a victory, which, in tactical terms, was correct. But the Japanese fleet had been forced to withdraw without accomplishing its objective, a landing at Port Moresby on New Guinea. Didn’t that failure constitute a defeat of sorts? It was very likely that sober analysis in future years would declare the battle a draw, and that disturbed the admiral. The modern Japanese navy had a string of victories that stretched back almost a hundred years. Had it ended with a draw in the Coral Sea?

A draw? Japan could not be victorious if they only fought draws. The preponderance of arms, real and potential, lay with the United States and her primary ally, Great Britain. If Japan continually fought draws, she would run out of ships and men well before the Allies did. There could be no more draws. There could only be victories.

Tactically, though, the battle had been a Japanese victory. The United States admitted to the loss of the carrier Lexington, and there had been no information regarding the Yorktown since then. Pilots had reported the Yorktown to be severely damaged; thus, she’d had to go someplace for major repairs.

Even though there were only a handful of intelligence sources on the American West Coast, it was difficult to hide a carrier in the few port facilities where the Yorktown could be repaired. She had not been seen in any of them, nor had other observers seen her go through the Panama Canal to a place on the East Coast. It was conceivable that she had taken the long way around South America, but it made no sense to risk a damaged ship in such an arduous journey.

No, he concluded, the Yorktown had sunk and the Americans had not yet admitted it. Even if she were suddenly and magically to appear in an Allied port, she was likely too badly damaged to fight again for a long while.

Japanese losses in the Coral Sea had been minimal in comparison. The light carrier Shoho had been sunk, along with a destroyer, and two fleet carriers, the Shokaku and the Zuikaku, had been damaged and had returned to Japan for repairs. They would not take part in the coming campaign, so each side had lost the use of two fleet carriers for the immediate duration. Japan, however, would get her fleet carriers back in a matter of months, while the Yorktown and Lexington were lost forever to the Americans. Yamamoto had to ensure Japanese victory before they were replaced by the massive American building effort.

Of most serious concern was the loss of nearly eighty experienced pilots. The deaths of so many at one stroke meant that the reserve pool of qualified carrier pilots was severely depleted. If the Coral Sea had been a victory, it occurred to the admiral that it had been a Pyrrhic one and, to paraphrase the ancient general, how many more could Japan sustain?

There were other concerns gnawing at the admiral.

“Watanabe, where are the remaining American carriers?”

“According to intelligence sources, sir, they are in the Atlantic.”

Observers along the Panama Canal had spotted the Enterprise and the Saratoga moving through the canal and into the Atlantic. The report meant that there were no American carriers in the Pacific Ocean. Why? Again, intelligence had speculated that the Americans were gathering their forces for a strike against the Germans, and that it would involve a landing either in Africa or in France.

But could it also presage a sneak attack against the Japanese? After all, it would be a fairly simple matter for the two carriers to disappear into the ocean, head south, and return to the Pacific by way of South America. A damaged carrier might not be able to make the harsh transit, but undamaged ones could do so with relative ease. The American carriers could also transit into the Indian Ocean by way of South Africa and then into the Pacific. Either way, it was unlikely they would be seen until they wanted to be. The South American route was almost totally uninhabited, while the British controlled the horn of South Africa. It occurred to him that two or more American carriers could be sneaking up on him in much the same manner as the Kido Butai had snuck up on Pearl Harbor. On the other hand, if the American carriers had truly departed for the Atlantic, the Pacific was a Japanese ocean.

“We need confirmation,” Yamamoto said to Watanabe. “If the Americans have abandoned the Pacific, then we have an opportunity to do great damage to them, and possibly bring an end to this war. We can land troops in Alaska unopposed, as well as bomb and shell the cities of California. After annexing Hawaii, we can humiliate the United States and bring her to the negotiating table. It doesn’t matter if they won’t come out and fight. We will have our victory.”

Following the attacks along the American West Coast, Yamamoto hoped that the postponed operation to put a landing strip on Guadalcanal would be reconstituted. A Japanese air base on Guadalcanal would threaten New Zealand and Australia and, coupled with additional victories against the American West Coast, might just knock those two semi-independent nations out of the war. He acknowledged that it was far more important to defeat the United States and sign a treaty with her. If America left the war, Great Britain and her minions would collapse. Guadalcanal would have to wait.

Watanabe had said nothing. He was there to listen, not to speak unless specifically asked.

“Confirmation,” Yamamoto repeated and pounded his mangled hand against the railing. “We must confirm that the Americans are in the Atlantic.”

Alexa Sanderson smiled down at Sergeant Charley Finch, who returned the smile uncertainly. The woman who generally stayed so close to Colonel Novacek had scarcely acknowledged his existence until this moment.

“Sergeant Finch, I haven’t had a chance to welcome you. I’ve been preoccupied with other things, and that’s rude of me.”

Charley smiled tentatively. “That’s quite all right, ma’am. I guess there are a lot of things going on that’re more important than me.”

She sat on the ground beside him. “Jake-I mean Colonel Novacek- is away for a few days, so that gives me a chance to check up on things. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?”

“Go right ahead,” he answered with a certainty that he didn’t feel. What the hell did she want? Maybe she was attracted to him. He changed his mind about her attractiveness. Even though she was dressed in men’s clothing, there was no doubt she was damned good-looking. He felt a stirring in his groin. It had been a helluva long time. He wondered if Novacek was screwing her.

“I want to know what’s happening in Honolulu,” she said. “I know it’s been a while since you were there, but your information is probably better than anybody else’s.”

Charley was both relieved and disappointed. “I spent most of my time in hiding, ma’am. From what I could tell, and from what people told me, it’s a pretty miserable place. The Japanese military is everywhere, and their secret police are the nastiest people on the face of the earth.”

He watched as her eyes clouded. The comment about Omori’s secret police had struck home. Alexa waited a moment, then continued. “How are the people getting on? What are they eating?”

Charley shrugged. “I can only tell you what I heard, and that’s that anyone who’s white is having a rough time, while anyone who isn’t is doing okay. There’s enough food to go around now, but nobody’s gonna get too fat from it.”

She laughed softly and glanced at his still prominent paunch. Thanks to their Spartan rations, it was disappearing, but far from gone. “I got this”-he grinned-”while hiding out with that old lady. She must’ve thought she was going to feed an army for a hundred years. It might’ve been illegal to hoard, but I’m kinda glad she did.”

“You know I lost my husband, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. A lot of good people died that day.”

“Did you have family in Hawaii? Friends?”

What should he tell her? he wondered. “No, ma’am, although I do have a girlfriend in San Francisco. Want to see her picture?” It was a spur-of-the-moment comment but seemed logical.

Alexa nodded and Finch pulled a snapshot out of his wallet. Alexa’s eyes widened as she saw it. “She’s very pretty,” she finally said. “What’s her name?”

“Nancy Winfield,” he said, improvising quickly. Nancy Winfield was somebody he’d known back in the States. He wasn’t certain what the name of the person in the picture was. “And she is prettier than I deserve. I sure know that, and I remind myself about it a hundred times a day. At least,” he said sadly, “I used to. God only knows what’s happening to her now. She probably thinks I’m dead.”

Alexa put her hand on his arm. “Perhaps we can send a message that you’re all right.”

“That would be great,” Charley said sincerely. Even if they did send a message, it would be to an address where no one named Nancy Winfield lived. They would assume she’d moved and forget about it. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Alexa stood and brushed the dirt off her khaki slacks. She smiled at the sergeant and walked off. When she was far enough away, she allowed her eyes to well up with tears.

“You’re going to die,” she whispered angrily. “You’re going to fucking die, Charley Finch.”

Their main radio was in a hut near the top of a hill. It was large, and Jake’s soldiers had quipped that the radio was about as portable as a dead elephant. The antenna was on a tall tree a little ways away. Unless you were close and knew what to look for, it was invisible.

The Japs were looking for it, so Jake hadn’t had the set and antenna placed on the highest hill in the area. That would have been too obvious. Instead, the tree-covered hill was one of scores like it that jutted up in the rugged terrain and were otherwise not significant.

Someone always stayed by the radio in case a message came in. There was a planned schedule, but you could never tell when something important might arrive, especially now that it looked like big things were about to happen. So far, only a handful in the main area knew of the planes’ arrival, but it was only a matter of time before the secret became common knowledge. They had to be used fairly soon or any element of surprise might be lost.

Jake didn’t have to take a turn in the radio hut, but he rather liked doing so. It felt good to have a roof over his head, and the privacy he insisted on while up there was a splendid relief. His Morse code skills had improved to where he could receive a message without screwing up.

He might be alone, but he was safe. The shack was protected by Hawk’s soldiers, who kept out of sight and gave him the illusion of privacy.

The isolation gave him a chance to think without the distractions of routine command. He stripped off his uniform and relaxed in his army shorts and sleeveless undershirt. He was filthy, but so was everyone else. Back home, people might have bathed once a week or more, but not here. There was sufficient water, but it was primarily for drinking and cooking, not bathing and showering. Crude containers had been devised to hold rainwater and springwater so that some washing and showering did occur, but it wasn’t on a frequent basis. Jake sniffed. He hadn’t had a chance to clean up in more than a week. Hawk had made the comment that it was part of their camouflage. “If you smell like a jungle, you’ll be mistaken for one,” he’d said.

Small quantities of soap were made from ashes and sand, and were strictly rationed. As a result, everyone, even the women, kept their hair very short. Jake thought Alexa looked very attractive in a haircut that would have seemed short on a man only a few months ago.

Maybe it would rain and he could let Mother Nature hose him down. But even rain wouldn’t help the tattered condition of his clothing. Like everyone else’s, it had been reduced to little more than rags. His underwear was so bad it reminded him of the type old ladies said you should never wear in case you got in an accident.

He stepped outside and looked up at the star-filled sky. No rain in sight, but there was a breeze that was comfortable on his bare skin. Although he was not a stickler for discipline, he insisted that his men- and women-be suitably dressed, rags or not. States of undress were tolerated only in situations such as this, where there was a degree of privacy.

Jake sighed and went back inside the shack. When would the radio open up and tell him when and how he was to use the pilots and planes? The obvious target was Pearl and its rebuilt fuel depots. If that was the case, what were they waiting for? The British carrier and the American pilots had run tremendous risks to get to him, and those efforts should not be wasted.

He shuddered when he thought of the danger. Not only had the pilots run the risk of getting lost or being discovered but they had made the trip with extra fuel and bombs strapped to the lower sides of the wings of their F4Fs. Like most people who don’t fly warplanes, he hadn’t given a thought to how the bombs would arrive. He hadn’t known that no pilot in his right mind-which was damned few of them-would try to land a plane with the bombs hanging below the wings. The smallest bump as they landed and they would have blown up, taking plane and pilot with them. No, bombs were always ditched in the ocean before landing.

Instead, Ernie Magruder and his cohorts had flown their lethally dangerous devices across the ocean in the night and had landed safely-bombs, fuel, and all. Now the pilots were hiding near their planes, doubtless playing cards and drinking the homemade booze that Jake tolerated for those off duty.

Another plus was the fact that they’d not yet been detected. Despite an apparent change in attitude, Japanese foot patrols still hadn’t come close to them. It was as if the Japanese garrison in Hilo was holding back and waiting for something to happen. Jake wondered if this Japanese reluctance to act had anything to do with the arrival of the planes. He had no idea what it might be, but he did feel there was a pattern of activity developing.

This stalemate could go on forever unless the Japs at Hilo were heavily reinforced, which Jake concluded was inevitable. The American presence would have to be eradicated sometime.

If the Japanese did begin sizable sweeps of the island, it would be a disaster for Jake’s men and women. They would be on the move in a harsh land and separated from their food sources. Death or capture would be only a matter of time. They could run and hide, but they had to eat. They would have to abandon the radio, which would leave them alone as well. It was a miserable thought.

He lay back on the twin bed that someone had found and put in the shack. The bed, mattress, and pillow were other reasons to take a turn waiting for the radio to hum. It was a strong and honored tradition that whoever slept in it was responsible for cleaning the sheets and pillowcase. Jake thought that was getting off cheaply.

So what would happen if their efforts failed and they were discovered? He would have to kill himself to keep the secret of Magic from falling into Japanese hands. He also felt that a number of others, Alexa included, would take their own lives as an alternative to what would happen if they were captured. After all, hadn’t the men on Lanai been prisoners who’d been executed because they were considered outlaws? As more and more was found out about conditions in Japanese prison camps, there were those who thought the victims of the Lanai massacre had been the lucky ones.

On the positive side, Brooks and Hawkins ran their respective units well enough, while the new guy, Charley Finch, seemed competent enough to help out coordinating supplies. Hawkins was a jewel, and Brooks had shaken off his depression caused by the massacre in Hilo.

Jake didn’t quite trust Finch yet, and Alexa seemed to dislike him, but there was nothing they could hang the guy for. Maybe he was one of those unlovable people who just did their jobs. After all, since when had this become a popularity contest?

Alexa had volunteered to observe Finch, and Jake had accepted her offer. This was something she could do without being obvious because she was a civilian, and because she was in charge of those supplies unique to women problems. Jake chuckled when he thought that his command had to be concerned with sanitary napkins. There were only a dozen women in his group, but they had to be cared for, Alexa was perfect for the job, and it got her close to Finch. Sergeant Finch got his ass all puckered up when either Jake or Brooks came by, and he almost ignored Hawkins. Alexa watching Finch removed one problem from Jake’s plateful.

Jake was satisfied that the Charley Finch problem would resolve itself, presuming that there even was a Charley Finch problem.

I’m getting paranoid, he thought with a yawn. He pulled the top sheet over his body and closed his eyes. If anything came in over the radio, a bell had been rigged to ring and wake him. The mattress felt like the lap of luxury and reminded him of a world long gone. It was so comfortable he wondered if he would be able to sleep.

He grinned in the night. If he did fall asleep, maybe he would dream of Alexa. She and he had grown remarkably close since her arrival, and he wondered what direction the relationship would ultimately take. He hoped to find out before too long. Or too late, he thought grimly. Damnit, let something happen.