1942

CHAPTER 19

Commander Joe Rochefort strode into the conference room and plopped a stack of papers on the table. As usual, he was the antithesis of a smart-looking officer. He looked like he’d slept in his uniform, which had often happened. At his own office, he frequently wore a robe and slippers.

“Morning, Jamie,” he said genially. “Catch up to me yet?”

Lieutenant Commander Jamie Priest grinned back. “Not yet, sir, but I’m working on it.”

Despite many more years of devoted service to his country, Rochefort was only one grade higher than Jamie, and very likely to stay there. If it galled him, however, he didn’t show it. Joe Rochefort had more important things to do.

“You’ll be at the meeting?” Rochefort asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Jamie had only recently been cleared to get Magic information. His new rank had nothing to do with it; a number of people with far lower rank, even enlisted men, had Magic clearance because, as Rochefort said with a sarcastic laugh, “If they didn’t, then a lot of damned admirals would actually have to do some work.”

He was right, of course, and there were many admirals and generals who hadn’t a single clue that Magic existed, while sergeants and petty officers, possessors of knowledge that could change history, passed them in the hallways.

Having the information provided by Magic had been both a blessing and a curse. It had been a blessing because Jamie now knew so much more about what was going on with the Japanese. It was fascinating to read not only their minds but their mail.

The curse part was twofold. First, it further hammered home the fact that he would never get into a position where he might be taken prisoner and the information extracted from him. Only a handful of key people with Magic clearance had been permitted to leave the States, and none into positions of danger.

The second part of the curse brought him back to the nightmare of the Pennsylvania. He’d found and read the intercepts in which Yamamoto had tried to stop the execution of the American survivors. The Japanese admiral had apparently failed, and that meant Jamie truly was the only survivor of that disaster. The knowledge brought a numbing feeling, and he wished Suzy was there for him to talk to.

But she wasn’t, and it was something he had to resolve by himself. Jamie’d received a handful of letters in the short while she’d been gone and sent some himself. They loved each other and missed each other.

He also found that Suzy had received Magic clearance. She’d never even hinted at it. It did mean that they could talk about the Pennsylvania and other things when she finally returned to him. Magic clearance also meant she wouldn’t be supervising a mess hall after she finished training.

Admiral Nimitz arrived and took a seat at the head of the table. Admiral Spruance wasn’t there, which puzzled Jamie.

Nimitz went straight to the point. “What do you have for us, Joe?”

Rochefort grinned. “In summary, the date of the Japanese arrival at Pearl and the makeup of the Japanese force.”

Rochefort went on to say that the Japanese fleet under Yamamoto was scheduled to arrive at Pearl Harbor on July 20. It would stay for two weeks while the islands were formally declared to be Japanese territory.

“There are six carriers in the First Air Fleet under Nagumo,” Rochefort said. “The Akagi, Soryu, Hiryu, Kaga, Ryujo, and one other. We don’t have the name just yet. There are two battleship divisions. The first consists of the Yamato and the Musashi, both of their giants. The Musashi is a surprise. I didn’t think she was ready, and she might not totally be. This could easily be her shakedown cruise.”

Standing in the corner of the room behind Nimitz, Jamie shuddered. Two like the Yamato’! How would the navy handle them?

Rochefort continued. “The second division consists of the old battleships Kongo, Haruna, and Kirishima.”

“I thought we sank the Haruna in the Philippines,” Nimitz said with some surprise.

“Apparently not,” Rochefort responded. “I guess we gave the Medal of Honor to a pilot for sinking the wrong ship.”

An American airman named Colin Kelly had been awarded the medal for having sunk a Japanese battleship by ramming her with his crippled plane. Either he hadn’t sunk the Haruna or he’d hit a different ship. An air force pilot could easily have mistaken a Japanese cruiser for a battleship.

Or, Jamie thought with dismay, the whole incident had been fabricated to make something heroic out of the catastrophe that had befallen the American army in the Philippines. He decided he didn’t want to know.

“There will be a number of cruisers and destroyers as escorts, and a brigade of infantry on transports who will depart after the ceremonies,” Rochefort said. “Right now it looks like the Japs will land them in the Aleutians, and then the fleet will foray down the coasts of Oregon, Washington, and California. The only thing possibly holding them back is their fear that our navy really hasn’t vacated the Pacific.”

Which they hadn’t. Jamie now knew that the American carriers had returned to the Pacific, along with other carriers and battleships. They were waiting in silence off Samoa, twenty-six hundred miles south of Hawaii.

Rochefort put down his papers and smiled like a cat. “Yamamoto is bitching that he can’t get confirmation our carriers are actually in the Atlantic and not looking over his shoulder.”

Nimitz nodded. “He will get that confirmation fairly soon.” He paused and added, “We hope.”

Jamie felt like purring. It was his idea about deception that was going to be implemented. If it worked, he would have done his best to strike back at the sons of bitches who had sunk the Pennsylvania and massacred her crew. Even if it didn’t work, he’d given it a helluva shot.

Nimitz stood. “We’ll get this to Spruance as quickly as possible.”

“What about Halsey?” Rochefort asked in surprise.

Nimitz smiled gently. “For a man who deals in secrets, you don’t know everything, do you?” he teased. “Halsey is sick and Spruance is going out to replace him.”

Jamie had heard the rumor and was not as surprised as Rochefort. He was, however, not entirely comfortable with the decision, though it wasn’t his to question. Halsey was sick, and Fletcher was missing and presumed dead. That left Spruance to command the Samoan force.

But Jamie wondered if Spruance was the right man. He’d worked for him and knew him to be extremely intelligent, and considerate of his subordinates. But were these the attributes of a battle leader? Was he aggressive enough to lead an American attack force against superior odds? Halsey wouldn’t have flinched. But Spruance?

Alexa walked the dirt path to the radio hut. It was early night, and there was no trouble seeing by the light of the myriad of stars above her. She didn’t notice the glorious display, though; she was there for a purpose.

She reached the flimsy door and knocked. “Who’s there?” came Jake’s muffled reply. She smiled. He must have been sleeping already.

“I am,” she answered and stepped in. Jake sat up in the bed and scrambled to cover himself with a sheet. He was wearing an undershirt and shorts. Poor puppy, she thought. He looks so confused.

Jake smiled and yawned. “What’s up?”

Alexa pulled the stool from beside the radio and sat down by the bed. “I want to talk. All you have to do is stay there and listen.”

“Okay.”

“Jake, do you know how evil so much of the world is, and how much of it I’ve seen?”

He reached out and took her hand. “I know what you’ve told me. I can’t begin to imagine what your ordeal was like, though. As to the rest of the world, there’s a lot of good out there too, not just evil.”

Good answer, she thought. “You remind me of Tim. He was a good man and, despite being a professional naval officer, an innocent and naive man. He saw good in the world and thought there was more of it than there was bad. He thought his job was to protect the good. I see a lot of him in you. You’re a good man, Jake, a very good man.”

Jake flushed. “Hey, Alexa, I’m far from perfect. Don’t canonize me just yet, okay?”

She laughed. “I said good, not a saint. Also, you have a sense of honor, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could have left the islands and returned to California a long time ago, couldn’t you?”

“Sure, but I thought I could do some good here, maybe even do something to defeat the Japs.”

“Honor,” Alexa repeated. “There are those who say that innocence and naiveté are essential for there to be honor. I don’t know if they’re right, but I’m glad your sense of honor required you to stay instead of taking the easy way out. If you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be sitting here alive today. If you hadn’t stayed, you wouldn’t be planning something big against the Japs, would you?”

“No secrets in this small town,” Jake said with a laugh.

“Honor,” she said again. “Will you do something for me, with me, but following my instructions to the absolute letter? It’s very important to me. Will you honor my request? Will you honor me?”

He squeezed her hand. “Of course.”

“Jake, do you love me?”

He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said with a whisper. It was all he could manage.

She smiled gently, confidently. “Then help me. But don’t move unless I tell you to; don’t say a word unless I ask you to. I will do everything, understand? Everything.”

Jake nodded, and she pulled him to where he stood silently on the dirt floor. She looked at him for a moment, then pulled the undershirt over his head, paused, and slid his shorts off. She stared at his powerful body while his erection grew. He looked at her questioningly but made no move, no sound. Jake was a statue.

“You are going to purge me,” she finally said and touched him softly on his chest. Her fingers felt like fire to him. “You are going to remind me of how much I loved Tim, and you are going to help remove the stench of Omori from both my body and my mind. You are going to be my knight and rescue me from the dragon that eats at me. Help me, Jake.”

She undressed and stood naked in the starlight that came through the open window by the bed. Jake had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. Her breasts were firm and full, and her belly flat. The legs that he’d admired the first time he’d seen her were as magnificent as he’d dreamed.

Jake longed to tell her, but she touched his lips with her finger and reminded him to be still and unmoving. She told him to lie down on his back in the bed. He grabbed the sides of the bed to stay in control. He understood that she needed it to happen this way, and he would not betray her.

She straddled his thighs and caressed his chest, letting her hands wander down to his belly and his erect penis. When she stroked that, he groaned and thought he would explode.

“Not yet,” she said in a husky whisper and let go of him.

She slid forward so that her breasts hung down into his face. “Take them, Jake.”

She guided her aroused and full nipples to his lips, and he devoured them with hunger and tenderness. Then she slid backward over his thighs, and he entered her easily. She rocked back and forth with her eyes closed, while he gripped the sides of the bed so tightly he thought it would break.

Finally, she threw her head back and groaned; then, seconds later, Jake exploded inside her.

He caught his breath. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at him with a strange half smile. “May I hold you now?” he asked softly.

“I used you.”

Jake held out his arms. She came down to him, and he held her tightly to his chest. “It’s okay,” he said and laughed. After a second, she laughed with him.

“I thought it would be, soldier boy,” she said as she kissed his chest and shoulder.

“I love you, Alexa. Always will.”

She lifted up and kissed him on the cheek. “Then I guess I’ll have to learn to love you, won’t I? It won’t take long at all. You’re a good teacher, and I’m an easy learner.”

Alexa pulled him out of the bed, and they sat on a mat on the dirt floor. She slid the bucket over, and they took turns sponging each other with the tepid water, joyously lingering over each other’s bodies. They let the night air dry them and returned to bed, where they made love again, this time without restraints or inhibitions. They guided each other’s hands and lips over their bodies with an eagerness that surprised and delighted both of them.

Then they fell into a deep sleep. Alexa would later recall it as the best night’s sleep she’d had in months.

“Operation Wasp?” Roosevelt said with a derisive laugh. “Why not call it Operation Cheap or Operation Shoestring? This is warfare on a totally inadequate budget, and the slightest misstep will bring disaster.”

“Then we will not make any missteps,” Admiral King said firmly. “Only a few handfuls of personnel and planes will be risked. It’s sad, but they will scarcely be missed if we are defeated. The few major units we have will not move until and unless we are certain they can do so with relative safety. There is nothing in these plans that is contrary to what we agreed upon. If everything falls into place, we will defeat the Japs and even stand a chance of liberating the islands. With the resources available to me at this time, that is all that can be expected.”

“If it fails,” Roosevelt said grimly, “I want those people in the Hawaiian hills off that island.”

King thought this would be virtually impossible in the event of defeat, but he kept silent. Congressman Cordelli must have been talking to him again about the plight of his niece. King felt sorry for the man, and for FDR too, but he was not going to jeopardize a number of warships and planes to rescue some debutante who’d managed to find herself in a war zone. Hell, he thought, there were thousands more in even worse shape in the Philippines, China, and Hawaii. At least Cordelli’s niece had a sort of freedom in the hills, which was vastly preferable to a prison camp. As to Novacek and the rest of them, well, they were soldiers or marines and they were all volunteers who understood the risks. No, rescue in case of failure was not likely at all.

Roosevelt’s hand twitched nervously. “And I don’t want any prisoners paraded through the streets of Honolulu and then executed. What have you done to ensure the safety of any of the men shot down?”

“We’ve taken steps,” King assured him. “I cannot guarantee perfection, but the navy’ll do its best to rescue our boys should it prove necessary.”

“Do what you can,” the president said wearily. “And do what you have to. We need a victory, Admiral, and we need a big one.”

The return of the Monkfish to hostile waters had been something that freshly promoted Lieutenant Commander Willis Fargo had been wishing for. This, however, was not quite what he had reckoned on. He’d hoped for a patrol in the vastness of the open sea, and the chance to catch unsuspecting Japanese ships. Instead, he felt he and his crew were almost literally in the mouth of a very angry dragon.

Shit.

The Monkfish had been sent on a solitary and extremely dangerous mission to Hawaii. If there were any other American subs in the area, Fargo hadn’t been told of them and they hadn’t made themselves known to him. He was alone in a little boat in the middle of a gigantic ocean.

Actually, he wasn’t in the middle of the ocean anymore. Land was very close and clearly visible through the periscope, which was raised scant inches above the water. He squinted and swiveled the scope until he was confident that no enemy ships or planes were in sight. It was early evening, and he could see lights on in some of the buildings and even see people moving around.

The absence of major shipping was puzzling. After all, he was only feet off the coast of Oahu and staring at the entrance to Pearl Harbor. En route, he had taken a look at the port of Honolulu as it nestled under the promontory called Diamond Head. Both the city and the island looked deceptively normal. He could almost imagine that the war hadn’t occurred and that he could spend the night getting his ashes hauled in one of the more elegant sin spots of Honolulu. It was a facade, of course. Horrors were taking place in a gentle land that once had been thought of as the nearest thing to paradise in this life.

If the lack of Japanese shipping was a puzzle, so too were his orders. He had been specifically forbidden to attack anything en route to the Hawaiian Islands from San Diego, no matter how tempting it might be. Rounding the southern tip of the Big Island and heading north to Oahu, he had seen a couple of Japanese merchant ships but had withstood the urge to sink them. Now, off Pearl, the anchorage was noteworthy for its emptiness. He couldn’t see far into it, of course, but no major ships had come and gone in the time the Monkfish had carefully approached and then lay in wait.

And then there was the second portion of his orders. He had been told to penetrate as far as possible into the mouth of the anchorage and stay there, hidden, until an entire Japanese fleet steamed in. Again, he was not to attack. He wondered if the top brass had any idea just how well he’d done in penetrating the Japanese defenses of Pearl. He’d have a helluva tale to tell when he got back. If he got back, he corrected himself somberly.

He could, however, attack when the Japanese fleet attempted to exit. However-God, how he hated that damned weasel-word-he must make certain that it was the fleet trying to leave and not just a ship or two heading out on routine patrol. When he’d asked Admiral Lockwood for a clarification, the admiral hadn’t bitten off his head, as was his normal practice with junior officers who asked questions. Instead he’d been quietly sympathetic with Fargo’s predicament.

“You’ll know, son, you’ll know. If the Jap fleet starts to come out in a big-ass rush, then it’ll be your time to act.”

So what the hell was going on, Fargo wondered. He wouldn’t run out of fuel or food; extra quantities of both had been stuffed into his already cramped vessel, but how long was he supposed to sit there like a bump on an extremely dangerous log?

At least he’d found what he hoped was a fairly safe place to hide the Monkfish. He was off to the side of the entrance of the harbor and opposite Hickam Field and Fort Kamehameha, about where the antisubmarine boom had been. The boom had been destroyed and not yet repaired, which surprised Fargo. So much for the myth of Japanese industriousness, he thought.

The ruined hulk of an American destroyer jutted out of the water by the shore. In the channel, the water was more than forty feet deep, but, alongside the entrance, it sloped upward to well under that. Thus, it was fairly simple to lie alongside the wreck and stay submerged during the day, only rarely raising the periscope for a look-see. At night, he cautiously raised the Monkfish to where he could open the conning tower hatches, let in some fresh air, and recharge the batteries. His only fear was that a Jap officer would come and inspect the hulk, or some kid would use it as a fishing pier. Otherwise, he was confident that his boat merged with the background.

The wait was unnerving to both him and his crew in the crowded and stifling submarine, but they gradually got used to it. What the hell, Fargo thought, what choice did they have? He allowed normal conversation but forbade any loud or sudden noises. His crew called this “Fargo’s Don’t Fart Rule.”

Fargo’d gotten command of the Monkfish because he was familiar with her and her crew, and had taken her safely from Hawaii to California. Commander Griddle had never fully recovered from his wounds and had been given a medical discharge. This was Fargo’s opportunity, and he wasn’t going to screw it up. If Admiral King wanted him to penetrate the harbor and lie in wait, then he would do it. Hell, he’d taken the Monkfish right up the Japs’ asses.

He chuckled as he decided he didn’t really like that analogy.

Jake Novacek met his unexpected allies in a small dilapidated house outside the village of Kahuku, just off the northernmost point of Oahu. It was, he thought, about as far from Honolulu as you could get and still be on Oahu.

He had arrived in one of Toyoza Kaga’s fishing boats, hidden in a false compartment in the hull. It stank of old fish, and now so did he. Jake was sure Alexa would love this.

He’d landed at night and been hustled off to the house where Kaga and his son, Akira, were waiting.

“You give off a delicious scent,” Toyoza said, grinning. “Try not to get near any cats.”

“After the war, I’ll never eat fish again,” Jake said, then got to the point. Every minute on Oahu was fraught with potential danger, and he wanted to get back to Hawaii and Alexa as quickly as possible. “I understand your dilemma, Toyoza. You have men but no weapons.”

“Correct.”

“And we have Japanese uniforms,” his son added. Akira paced the small room with a pronounced limp. He was still trying to adjust to an artificial leg.

“What will you do with weapons if I get them for you?” Jake asked both men.

“Kill our common enemy,” Akira responded.

“They will be Japanese,” Jake persisted.

“I know,” Akira said sadly. “But that is how it must be. We will kill Japanese soldiers just as many white people must kill their German and Italian cousins. Japan is now our enemy. It may have taken some of us a while to realize it,” he said with irony, “but we understand it now.”

“How many are you?”

“Just under fifty,” Akira answered, and Jake noted that the older man was deferring to the younger.

“If I were to question their loyalty,” Jake said, “you would tell me that they are all totally committed to your cause. However, I have to tell you that a solid cadre that was smaller in numbers would be better than a more dubious larger group.”

“I understand,” said Akira, “but I am certain of them. They have all been initiated, shall we say.”

Akira explained that the group had kidnapped two Japanese soldiers when they were drunk and off duty. Each conspirator had plunged his knife into the body of one of the soldiers and, therefore, had shared in the murder. The corpses were then dumped into the ocean and, according to Toyoza Kaga, were considered to have deserted. Foul play was not suspected by the military police or kempetei.

Jake was both shocked and impressed by the cold-blooded callousness of the act. He decided he wanted neither Toyoza nor Akira as his enemy. “If I get you weapons, you must swear to follow my orders. I don’t know exactly what is going to happen or when, but it will be soon, and whatever you do must not be premature and jeopardize it.”

“We understand,” Akira said. “Now, what and where are the weapons?”

Jake grinned. During the Japanese siege and invasion, he’d cached away quantities of army supplies in the wild hope that they’d someday be useful. Now his foresight was going to be rewarded.

“I can get you several dozen Springfield rifles and several hundred rounds of ammunition. There are a couple of crates of grenades and a dozen.45 automatics and ammunition. You’ll have to clean the weapons because they’re in the ground, and I’m sure they’re rusted pretty badly. If that’s not enough, you’ll have to get other guns from what you referred to as our common enemy.”

“Magnificent,” Akira said. “How far away are they?”

“They’re in several places,” Jake said, “one of which is only a mile from here. Now”-he paused-”I would like a favor from you, Toyoza.”

“What is it?”

“When you sent the woman, Alexa Sanderson, to me, she left a close friend behind. The friend’s name is Melissa Wilson, and Alexa is concerned about her and her small son. Can you check on her?”

Jake thought he caught a wariness in Toyoza’s eyes. It passed in an instant, if it had existed at all.

“I will do that,” Toyoza said and stood up. “Now let us get to the rifles.”

Colonel Shigenori Omori was repelled by the utter lack of secrecy in Admiral Iwabachi’s headquarters. Everyone and his proverbial brother appeared to know the timetable for the arrival of the great fleet and Admiral Yamamoto. How could they keep the Americans from finding out?

Iwabachi was unimpressed by his concern. “Let them find out, Colonel. Let the Americans come and we will defeat them. Let their sympathizers here rise up, and we will squash them like the insects they are. I am confident that our navy can handle theirs, and I am doubly confident that you know everything that is going on in the islands. Surely you can’t be afraid the little band of Americans on Hawaii will try something.”

Omori had to concede the point. He knew of absolutely nothing amiss on Oahu, and the situation on Hawaii, while an aggravation, was contained. So why did he feel uneasy?

Iwabachi laughed. “Yamamoto will see what we have accomplished in so short a time and be pleased. Perhaps it will even mean a promotion for us.”

Omori smiled and nodded. He was not as impressed with Iwabachi’s efforts as the admiral was. While the fuel tanks had been reconstructed, only half of them were full. Nothing had been done regarding clearing the wrecked American ships from where they’d been sunk, and the antisubmarine boom had not been repaired. Shore batteries that had been smashed by the bombardment remained that way, and the antiaircraft batteries were less than half effective. Pearl Harbor had a long way to go before it could be considered a fortress.

Of course, there were reasons for this situation. Iwabachi’s orders had been to concentrate on the fuel storage tanks and, when that task was complete, to develop the defenses. It had been stressed that Oahu without fuel was useless. Iwabachi had not been given adequate resources to do much more than the first job, and the remaining tasks had been pushed further and further back. Omori did not think Yamamoto would be pleased, regardless of what Iwabachi thought.

He and the admiral ate in what had been the American officers’ club, and it still disturbed Omori to see American Negroes moving about in the kitchen and cleaning the tables. This was another area in which he and the admiral disagreed. Despite the fact that the Americans were technically civilians and certainly not white, Omori considered them a possible threat. Iwabachi had laughed at him and asked him how a handful of shambling, ignorant people with black faces could ever threaten Japan.

After the meal was over, Omori returned by car to his office. With the removal of the remaining American prisoners to Japan, he had moved his operations to Honolulu. Only the Japanese naval air section remained at Wheeler Field. That consisted of two score Zeros and a handful of reconnaissance craft, along with their pilots, mechanics, and a small number of guards. This was something else that Omori felt was inadequately done. The islands needed more planes and more soldiers. Perhaps that lack would be corrected after Yamamoto arrived.

He sighed as his car neared the hotel where he kept a suite. There would be liquor and the pleasure of watching the Korean woman, Han, perform with another American woman. The hell with it. If Iwabachi wasn’t concerned, why was he?