1942

CHAPTER 25

Lieutenant Goto was exhausted. It had been a long time since he’d been out in the field, and he was definitely out of shape. But at last they were driving the Americans before them like the animals they were.

Goto heard a noise and turned around. Captain Kashii had hacked the head off an American corpse. Kashii took the head and put it on the hood of his truck.

“Interesting hood ornament, isn’t it?” the captain asked with a cackle. “Not as exquisite as a Rolls-Royce’s, but it satisfies me.”

“Indeed,” said Goto. Kashii’s action confirmed Goto’s opinion that the disaster at Pearl Harbor had deranged the captain. Instead of being aggressive, Kashii’s actions had been wild and irrational. For instance, why did he insist on the troops returning to the trucks even for small advances? They had been ambushed while in such vulnerable columns, although the attacks seemed to have stopped since the last couple of marines had been killed.

The American marine Kashii had beheaded had been captured barely alive but had died while Goto was trying to extract information from him. From his papers, they learned that he’d been an officer. A shame he hadn’t told them anything.

They’d been able to get information from the local population fairly easily. The short trail from Hilo was littered with scores of dead and dying Hawaiians, whose agonies had motivated others to talk freely. Several villages, swollen with people who’d fled Hilo, were nearby, and the occupants had been easy to terrorize. As a result, they were closing in on the handful of Americans who remained on the loose. There weren’t more than a dozen left, and there were still more than three hundred Japanese chasing them. The end was inevitable. He only hoped that this Novacek would be captured alive, along with the woman who had so angered Colonel Omori.

Of course, some of the guerrillas would have scattered, but they would be found in short order. When it was over, Goto and Kashii could return to Hilo, although Goto wondered just what they’d be returning to. If the bad news coming from Pearl was even remotely correct, Japan was in danger of losing the Hawaiian Islands.

Goto thought this was almost beyond credibility. Japan did not go to war to be defeated. What had happened? It had to be betrayal, and it had to have come from the Americans they were chasing. If Japan was forced to quit Hawaii for a short while, it would not be the fault of the military.

Gunfire in the distance grabbed Goto’s attention. “We’ve caught them,” Kashii shrieked and waved his bloody sword in a circle around his head. “Back to the trucks, we’ll circle behind them.”

Goto wondered at the logic of the move. The Americans were only a mile or two away. They should be pressed by men on the ground, not by soldiers in trucks driving over harsh terrain that caused the column to stretch out at times and pile up at others. On the land they were traversing, men in trucks moved more slowly than men on foot. Using trucks for the pursuit would give the small American force a chance to squeeze away and delay the inevitable.

But then Goto saw the irrational glint in Kashii’s eyes. No, the lieutenant decided, he would not attempt to discuss tactical or logistical matters with a lunatic waving a sword.

In the two days since the first American attacks, wave upon wave of fighters and dive-bombers had hurled themselves at the bottled-up Japanese fleet. American bombs and bullets found a wealth of targets trapped in the harbor and unable to maneuver. And they steadily destroyed both ships and the antiaircraft defenses that remained. Thus, with each succeeding attack, the Japanese navy had less with which to defend itself.

In a frenzy, Admiral Yamamoto focused everything on moving the hulk of the Akagi. In only a short while, there would be nothing left of his fleet. He had waited too long, and now all six of his carriers were lying in the mud of Pearl Harbor. Fortunately, he thought with some irony, two had sunk upright in shallow water, which deceived the Americans into thinking they were still afloat. As a result, he still had two of his four battleships, the Yamato and the Kongo, while the Americans concentrated on re-sinking the dead carriers.

The old battleship Haruna had been sunk, and the Yamato’s sister ship, the Musashi, had suffered a truly ignominious fate. In an effort to pull the Akagi out of the channel, she had been used as a tug, and the exertions, combined with an inexperienced crew, had resulted in a blown engine plant. If and when the remainder of the Japanese fleet managed to sortie, the Musashi would be scuttled. In the meantime, she would function as a floating battery.

Along with the two battleships, there remained four heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and a dozen destroyers. All of the ships were damaged but seaworthy and would put up a fight. All he had to do was get them out of Pearl Harbor before they too were destroyed.

The fighting had not been totally one-sided. There were far fewer American planes in the air; Japanese gunners had exacted a heavy price before being destroyed.

The eighteen-inch guns of the Yamato and the immobile Musashi had fired over land and into the approaching American fleet. They had all gained a measure of satisfaction when the Musashi sank a Brooklyn-class light cruiser that had ventured too close. However, it did not stop the American battleships and heavy cruisers from steaming close in at night and lofting shells into the harbor as their damned planes dropped flares and called the fall of shot.

The drawn-out battle reminded Yamamoto of a prizefight where both boxers were exhausted but only one had the strength to hurl punches and the other had no means of resistance. Both had been bloodied, but only one would soon be standing.

He had been informed that there would be no attempt at relief. The decoy fleet off Australia was both too small and too far away. The Japanese in Pearl Harbor had to escape or die.

There was a knock on his office door. He was still ashore as he saw no point in being aboard his flagship, which was under frequent attack.

“Come in.”

Commander Shigura Fujii, his chief of intelligence, entered hesitantly. It should have been his friend Watanabe, Yamamoto thought, but Watanabe’s ashes were in a box awaiting shipment to Japan. That is, he thought wryly, if we are able to get out of our prison. Even if they did, the ashes of the dead trailed behind the living as a priority for escape.

“What is it?” the admiral asked.

“Some good news,” Fujii said. “At last the channel’s clear.”

Yamamoto took a deep breath. Why hadn’t this happened earlier? The towing had managed to move the Akagi a little ways, and the final clearing effort had used explosives. A few hours before, engineers had blown her to pieces. They had waited only for confirmation that some giant piece of the carrier hadn’t shifted and blocked a different part of the channel. Several engineers had died trying to jam the carrier with explosives, because hot spots still existed and there had been several small, premature detonations.

“We will sortie immediately,” Yamamoto said grimly. “What are the Americans doing?”

“Waiting for us,” Fujii answered. “Their planes have been watching, and their ships are poised to pounce on us as we emerge from the channel. The American carriers are out of sight, but we can see four battleships and at least as many heavy cruisers. There are numerous light cruisers and destroyers as well. They will be waiting to cross our T”

Of course, Yamamoto thought. Crossing the T was the classic naval maneuver that every naval commander attempted to perform. In it, all of one fleet’s guns could be brought to bear on the head of an enemy column, which could use only a portion of its own guns. The fleet that crossed the other’s T was almost always victorious.

The Americans would cross his T, and there was nothing he could do about it. His ships had to exit the channel in a single line, into the teeth of the American guns and torpedoes. Fujii had neglected to mention the likelihood of American submarines.

“The destroyers will lead,” Yamamoto said, repeating what had already been decided. “They will attack the Americans with torpedoes and scatter them. Then the battle line will emerge, with the Yamato leading and the others following. As the Yamato’s guns destroy the American ships, the cruisers will search out and destroy the American carriers. Give Admiral Abe my congratulations on the great victory that he will win. I will wait here for his return.”

Fujii gasped. It was a death sentence for Abe and his ships. “Yes, Admiral.”

Yamamoto waited until he was alone again before burying his head in his hands. One or two ships might fight their way through, but the whole effort was what the British called a forlorn hope, an effort virtually destined for failure.

Yamamoto would not be waiting for their return. A submarine was positioned just off Honolulu, and, during the distraction of the battle, he and a handful of others would be rowed out and taken aboard for their escape to Japan. A transport ship also waited off Honolulu for the opportunity to escape with the irreplaceable remaining carrier pilots. The highly skilled pilots had never fought, and, with the exception of those lost on the Akagi and a few others, all were alive. With them, the handful of new carriers Japan was building could be staffed. Without them, the carrier planes would be flown by untrained personnel who would be slaughtered by the more experienced and increasingly skilled Americans. The sortie of the Yamato and the others was nothing more than a giant distraction. The pilots had to be saved.

Jake Novacek stifled a scream as he dragged Hawkins into the brush while his handful of other survivors covered them. It had been only a small Japanese probe, but it had been enough. Hawkins had taken a bullet in the leg that had smashed the bone, and Jake had been hit in the chest by a bullet that first ricocheted off a rock. If it had hit him squarely, he would have been dead. As it was, he had several broken ribs. Hawkins’s leg was strapped to a rough splint made out of a tree branch.

With agonizing slowness, they reached the crest of the ridge and looked down into the narrow valley. “Shit,” Jake muttered.

“That good, huh?” Hawkins managed through clenched teeth.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Out-fucking-standing.”

A thousand yards away, a long column of Japanese trucks wound slowly down a rough path. They were bunched up, but, slow as they were, they were moving behind Jake’s force. In a few minutes, they would be in position. Hundreds of Japanese soldiers would then disgorge from the trucks and climb the hill.

Hawkins had clawed himself upright by grasping a tree. “Damn, there are a lot of them. I guess it’s over, ain’t it, Colonel Jake?”

“Sure looks like it, Captain Hawk,” Jake said. They could fall back the way they’d come, but doing so would put them back where that Japanese patrol waited for them to come running. Or, in his and Hawkins’s case, come crawling.

“I guess we should stay here, then. No point in chasing around anymore, is there?” Hawkins said.

None of the Americans had any intention of being taken prisoner. After all they’d done, the Japanese would make their suffering long and horrible. They’d all decided to do what was done in the bad cowboy and Indian movies-save a last bullet for themselves.

“Colonel, if I can’t manage it, will you shoot me?” Hawkins asked.

“Only if you’ll do the same for me.”

“Deal. Christ, I wonder if this is what Custer felt like?”

“Fuck Custer,” Jake said. “I’m just glad we hurt the bastards and saved some of our people.”

The destroyers were the first Japanese ships out of the channel. Twelve had entered it, but only eight emerged. The other four had been pulverized by swarming American dive-bombers. The sinking destroyers did manage to avoid blocking the channel by beaching themselves.

When the remaining destroyers emerged, they found themselves in range of a double line of American destroyers and light cruisers, along with a half dozen submarines and still another swarm of planes. Behind them was another line of battleships and heavy cruisers, all firing on the head of the column.

Japanese torpedoes were vastly superior to their American counterparts, but only a handful of destroyers managed to launch any before they were overwhelmed by concentrated American firepower. Even so, one American destroyer and a light cruiser were hit and sunk.

After the destroyers came the battleships Yamato and the Kongo, with the remaining Japanese light and heavy cruisers trailing them. The Yamato was so huge she made the other Japanese battleship look like a toy. Overhead, newly promoted Rear Admiral Marc Mitscher watched from his seat behind the pilot of a Grumman TBF Avenger. It was his job to choreograph the deadly dance unfolding below. The U.S. Navy had total air superiority, but they’d lost about a third of their aircraft to Japanese gunners. Mitscher had to ensure that the remainder were utilized properly.

The size of the Yamato caught his breath. He’d seen her in the harbor, even watched as planes attacked her, but this was different. Now she approached the American battle line with her eighteen-inch guns blazing.

As the Yamato plowed through the sea, swarms of American planes flew about her. From his perch, Mitscher thought they looked like gnats around an angry bull elephant.

For the first time, American torpedo bombers were able to unleash their weapons while dive-bombers plunged from the sky. The Yamato took hit after hit, sometimes appearing to shudder, but she continued on.

Then the sixteen-inch shells from the North Carolina and the Washington raised mountainous splashes as they sought the range. These were quickly followed by shells from the older Colorado and Maryland. The Maryland had been damaged at Pearl Harbor, and her presence in the battle line was an inspiration to the crews of the other ships. Mitscher ordered the planes away lest they be hit or knocked down by the concussion from American shells.

Hit after hit struck the Yamato, and flames could be seen coming from her pagoda-like superstructure. One of her forward turrets was knocked out, and the other seemed damaged, with one of the great guns askew. The Yamato turned so her rear turrets could be brought to bear on her American tormentors. This meant it was impossible for her to close with her adversaries, but that no longer seemed her task.

“Good God,” said Mitscher, “won’t anything stop her?”

The Yamato had endured more punishment than could be imagined, much less survived. He wondered what kind of hell was going on within her. So far, nothing had touched the giant battleship’s power plant, but, one by one, her guns were put out of action and she became a flaming wreck. Admiral Oldendorf commanded the battle line, and he sent the Maryland and the light cruisers to finish off the Yamato with torpedoes. The Colorado had been hit by the Yamato and was burning and dead in the water.

The North Carolina and the Washington, along with the heavy cruisers, soon bracketed the Kongo with their shells and killed her. While this went on, Mitscher’s planes continued to savage the remaining Japanese ships until there were none.

Mitscher looked for the Yamato. American ships continued to fire shells and torpedoes at almost point-blank range, and the Japanese ship was listing to starboard. Finally, the beast was dead and sinking.

“That’s for the boys on the Pennsylvania,” Mitscher said, and his pilot laughed harshly. Both had friends who’d died on the Pennsylvania.

It was over. The ocean outside the entrance to Pearl Harbor was littered with the smoking ruins of dead ships. Mitscher wondered how much fuel remained in their plane and was astonished at the amount. He checked his watch. The battle had taken less than an hour.

Lieutenant Goto nearly embarrassed himself as he half jumped and half fell out of the front of the truck. His sword had gotten tangled up in his legs, nearly causing him to land in the soft dirt by the side of the miserable road.

Behind him, the other trucks disgorged their passengers. It would take but a few moments for Captain Kashii to organize the men and begin their climb up the hill. Goto was confident it would be all over quickly. Then he could get back to the relative comforts of Hilo. He never thought he’d actually long to return to that squalid and abandoned town.

With the noise of the trucks and the shouting of his troops drowning out everything else, Goto’s first realization that something was dreadfully wrong came when the trucks behind his began to explode and the men started to scream.

Another ambush, he thought, and a major one. Then a dark shadow swooped overhead, and it was followed by another and another. “Planes,” he shrieked, and dived into the bush. Others in Kashii’s command had already beaten him to what they hoped was safety.

The ground around Goto was churned by bullets as another plane swept by. He glanced skyward and saw the Americans who’d already struck turning and preparing for another attack while others strafed and bombed at will.

There was a deafening explosion as a bomb ripped through just behind him, sending pieces of vehicles and soldiers flying into the sky. Within moments, every truck in the column was burning and bodies lay everywhere. The Americans understood where the surviving Japanese were attempting to hide and strafed the ground to either side of the trucks. Goto fought back his fear as bullets impacted within a few feet of him, showering him with dirt.

Then it was over. The planes were gone. Almost disbelieving, Goto realized he was unhurt. Oh, a few bumps and scratches, but nothing serious. He stood, and several others did as well, but few had been as fortunate as he. A soldier stood by Goto. One of his arms had been ripped off, and he was bleeding profusely. He groped for assistance with his remaining arm, and Goto pushed him away. The soldier fell over a legless corpse and didn’t get up.

“Where’s Kashii?” Goto yelled. At first, no one seemed to notice or care. Then a soldier gestured, and Goto lurched over on legs unsteady from fear. Kashii lay just outside his truck. He had caught several bullets in the chest, which was a bloody mass of red meat and white bone.

“What do we do, Lieutenant?” It was a young corporal, and Goto realized he was now in command of the decimated column. He doubted he had one in five unhurt, and even many of those were in shock from the suddenness of the assault. The corporal who’d asked the question was literally shaking with shock and fear. These were garrison soldiers, not shock troops, and they’d never been subjected to anything like what had happened to them.

“Gather everyone,” Goto said. “We will return to Hilo.” He did not think that the code of bushido required him to die this day. Japanese forces were permitted to retreat so they could fight again, and that was what he planned to do.

Goto noticed people moving through the rear of the shattered column. What the hell? he wondered. Then he realized. They were Hawaiians from the nearby villages and camps. Some had guns, and they methodically shot any Japanese who was standing. He watched in shock as axes and clubs were brought down on the wounded Japanese, while other Hawaiians picked up fallen rifles and turned them on the men who’d been their tormentors just a short while ago.

Goto turned to flee. He had gotten only a few steps when he was overwhelmed by a half dozen Hawaiians who pinned him to the ground. They relieved him of his sword and pistol and stripped him naked. He heard a voice and tried to turn his head. He recognized a woman he’d interrogated the day before. There was a bandage where he’d slashed one of her eyes after raping her.

The woman said something, and the men around her yanked Goto to his feet. The woman approached him and spat in his face. A man grabbed Goto’s face as others steadied him with his arms held outright. They tied a rope around each of his arms, and he wondered why. The ropes were so tight he was in pain.

Then he realized. He screamed as they hacked off his hands with his own sword. The ropes would function as tourniquets and keep him from bleeding to death. Numb with pain and fear, he watched as a Hawaiian tied a string at the base of his penis and scrotum.

The woman appeared in front of him with a knife. With one smooth motion, she sliced off his testicles, and his screams reached an even higher crescendo.

Goto’s body was a sea of red agony, and he could barely comprehend what was happening to him. When would they kill him? A rope was looped around his neck, and he thought they were going to hang him. A cloth bag was put over his head, and he heard laughter as someone jerked on the rope, pulling him forward.

After a few halting, lurching steps, he realized he wasn’t going to die, at least not yet.

Will Hawkins looked in disbelief at the carnage in the valley, the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten as a result of the sudden change in events. Only a handful of Japanese remained, and they were being run to ground. “Colonel Jake, did you know that was going to happen?”

“Not entirely,” Jake said. “At least I wasn’t confident enough that I thought I should tell you.”

“Uh, you gonna tell me now?”

“Sure. Magruder landed on Maui with two other planes. All three were nearly out of fuel and had no bombs or ammo. Gustafson siphoned what remained out of the other two and put it into Magruder’s, along with some stuff they found at a farmer’s personal strip. Magruder contacted our carriers by radio, and he flew out to them with enough fuel to land.

“It was a helluva thing to do, because Magruder really wasn’t certain where the carriers were. He had one chance to find them and one pass to land; otherwise, he’d have been lucky to be picked up by anyone anytime. Anyhow, we’d agreed by radio that I’d pull us back to this hill and that Magruder would lead planes to it. The whole thing was a little shaky. After all, Magruder’d never flown over here and only hoped he could find this hill among all the others. He had coordinates and all that, but this is still a small hill on a big island full of small hills.”

“Shit,” Hawkins said softly. “Shaky, my ass. What if he didn’t find the carriers or couldn’t land? What if he couldn’t convince the carrier jocks to send the cavalry? Then what if he couldn’t find this fucking hill? I’m glad you didn’t tell me. I would’ve said you were crazy.”

Jake smiled. “A fella’s gotta take chances sometimes, although it sure helped when the Jap patrols stuck with the trucks. They stood out like a sore thumb, I’ll bet.” And it had worked, he thought. “Of course, I had no idea the local population would rise up like they have. That’s frosting on the cake.”

“What do we do now?” Hawkins asked.

Behind the hill, the surge of Hawaiian civilians was routing the small patrol that had been waiting for Jake and his handful of men to be chased back to them. Jake wondered how the Japs liked being the hunted instead of the hunters.

The woman with the bandaged eye approached him. Now what the hell did she want?

The woman was named Lani, and she was of native Hawaiian ancestry. She told Jake that Kashii and Goto’s thugs had taken a number of prisoners, including her husband and brother. They were now lodged in Hilo, in a bay-front store that served as Kashii’s headquarters. Hilo was not an incorporated city, but it was the county seat. It had government buildings, including a federal building, but Kashii had avoided using them.

“We saved you, now you save them,” she said simply. She admitted she had no idea if her family was alive, but she had to rescue them if she possibly could. How to do it was the only question.

“We had a choice,” she added. “We could try to save our people while Kashii and Goto were out chasing you, but if we did, they would have returned and destroyed this little force, along with our families and others in and around Hilo. We decided to help you by ambushing Kashii and Goto and then imploring you to help us. I have to admit, we had no idea there were so few of you. Still, you must help us. You owe us.”

“Agreed,” Jake said, and others nodded.

Jake did not like planning operations on the fly, but this was an exception. To the best of Lani’s knowledge, no Japanese soldiers had escaped her people’s attack; thus, whatever garrison remained in Hilo was ignorant of events.

The American planes had done almost too good a job on the Japanese vehicles. Only three of the trucks were drivable. On the plus side, they were able to find a number of Japanese uniforms.

Jake’s ribs had been taped but still hurt like the devil. Hawkins would come along, but his broken leg needed expert care. He would lie prone on the back of a truck, although he insisted he could move with crutches.

Thus, a column of Japanese trucks returning to Hilo and carrying Japanese soldiers would likely be taken at face value by the handful of Japanese soldiers who remained at Kashii’s combination police station, military headquarters, and jail. They had to hit the place before the Japanese realized that Kashii and Goto were dead or captured, along with the vast majority of Hilo’s garrison. They were about fifty miles from Hilo, and it was late afternoon. With luck, they would arrive when light was fading.

Lani permitted her bandage to be removed. The eye hadn’t been gouged out, but it was bloodied and the flesh around it badly sliced. One of Jake’s surviving soldiers was a medic, and he told Lani that she might not see out of that eye again. She sat still while the medic stitched her cuts and replaced the filthy rag with a clean bandage.

“Another reason to kill them,” she spat.

“Hasn’t there been enough killing?” Jake said.

Lani stared at him. “Not quite.”

In a short while, the three trucks were rolling down the road toward” Hilo. A handful of civilian vehicles followed. Hawaiians in Japanese uniforms rode the trucks along with Jake and a couple of other American soldiers. The Americans were lightly trussed to the truck and, to the casual observer, appeared to be prisoners of the triumphant Japanese. Jake had traded his rifle for a submachine gun now hidden under the seat, and the other Americans were similarly armed. The Hawaiians carried Japanese rifles, and Jake wondered how many knew how to use them.

As they drove, Jake had several fears. First, that there would be roadblocks, which would either delay or stop them; second, that Japanese warships would be off Hilo; and, last, that they’d be too late.

Luck was with them. There were no roadblocks. However, they could hear loud explosions coming from the bay. As they approached Hilo, now slowly and cautiously, they saw a Japanese destroyer moving away as fast as it could. One of her turrets was burning, and she was listing to starboard. In the distance, they could make out American fighter planes also leaving.

They stopped, and Hawkins was helped into the bed of Jake’s truck. “Y’know,” he said, “our planes might have mistook us for real Japs and killed us.”

“Timing is real important,” Jake said solemnly. “So are copious quantities of luck.”

They approached the Japanese headquarters cautiously. It was late in the afternoon, and Jake hoped the fading light would hide their real identities for a few moments.

Very few of the city’s remaining civilian population were to be seen, and these quickly disappeared at the sight of what appeared to be a Japanese column rumbling down their clean, neat streets. Only a handful of soldiers were visible at Kashii’s headquarters, and they were busy watching the damaged destroyer. Clusters of civilians were gathered just outside the compound.

Finally, one soldier turned and gestured excitedly at the approaching trucks. Seeing what they thought was a victorious return, the soldiers began to wave and cheer until a noncom yelled at them. He snapped orders, and they started to fall into line.

“Some sergeants are real pricks,” Hawkins said as they drove closer. The “prisoners” gathered their weapons, careful to keep them out of sight. The trucks drove quickly to the headquarters and through the formation, causing the Japanese soldiers to scatter. The noncom looked at them, puzzled. They braked sharply, and the American soldiers and Hawaiians inside jumped down, firing rapidly and killing Japanese at close range. Only a couple of Japanese soldiers managed to fire their weapons, but they were quickly eliminated. Jake jumped down, and the impact sent waves of pain from his ribs, nearly causing him to black out.

“The jail,” he gasped. Only seconds had elapsed, and all the Japanese outside were dead or dying.

Jake led the surge into the jail. Another Japanese NCO stood behind a desk, a look of shock was on his face, and he was drawing his pistol. Jake cut him down with a burst from his Thompson. Two more soldiers emerged from the cell area and were gunned down by others who’d followed Jake.

There were no more Japanese, and silence was sudden. The Americans moved gingerly into the prison area. A handful of gaunt and bloody specters stared at them, disbelief on their faces. They were naked and chained to the bars, their bodies covered with burns and scabs.

Lani pushed her way through. She screamed when she saw her husband and brother. They had been horribly brutalized, but they were alive. Freed from their shackles, they were barely able to walk. Helping hands took them and the others out into the sunshine.

Jake looked around. In the distance, the damaged Japanese destroyer was disappearing over the horizon, black smoke pointing the way for more American planes to find and kill her.

Armed men pushed the civilians who’d been gathered around the Japanese HQ toward him. Lani had an ancient revolver in her hand and waved it. “They are collaborators. We are going to kill them.”

Jake limped up and calmly took the pistol from her hand. “No,” he said. “Enough. You told me the killing wasn’t over, but now it is.”

Lani glared at him, then softened. The fire went out of her eyes. “You’re right. It is enough.”

Jake continued. “First, we’re going to investigate, and then we’ll punish the truly guilty, and not just somebody who sold groceries to the Japs and would have been shot if they hadn’t.”

Lani nodded reluctantly and turned away. The suspected collaborators ran. It didn’t matter what they did. They had nowhere to go.

Jake shook his head. He was so sick and tired of the fighting and the killing. When Lani was truly calmed down, she could begin interrogating the so-called collaborators.

Hawkins hobbled over. “What now?” he asked.

Jake took a deep breath. Was it over? Was it all truly over? His ribs hurt, and he had a host of other bruises to contend with.

“Captain Hawk, we’re gonna wait up here for things to settle down. Then we get you and the other wounded taken care of by our new best friends down here in beautiful Hilo. After that, I’m going to radio Nimitz and tell him we’ve taken the town and I’ve declared myself the military governor of the island of Hawaii. Then we’ll see what we can do about driving out any other Japs running around in the countryside. Can’t be too many of them left, and they’re leaderless and probably scared shitless. I’ll bet I can get some planes to help root them out. Sound good?”

“Sounds great, Colonel. After that, can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. Only thing, he wondered just what and where home was, and what part of it included Alexa. Did she really want her life to include him?

With only one torpedo left, Lieutenant Commander Fargo had considered taking the Monkfish back to California. However, he decided to wait a couple of days in case a good target turned up. A good submarine never returned with unspent ammo.

But no target did show up, and he was about to head east when he picked up a distant shape through his periscope. He waited as it drew closer and identified it as a typical merchant ship, one of hundreds like her. But she was Japanese and heading away from Hawaii, toward Japan. She was fair game, and he had one torpedo left.

“The hell with it,” he said and ordered a firing plot. If the torpedo worked, they might sink her. If it didn’t, they’d head for home with nothing lost.

At just under a mile, he fired. At just the right time, the torpedo exploded against the hull of the transport. Not bad, Fargo thought. He chuckled as he realized he was getting blasé. What fun was it to sink a transport in an open ocean after having braved the narrow channel of Pearl Harbor to sink a carrier?

Something strange was happening on the transport, though. She was belching people. What the hell? Fargo thought. She was definitely sinking, there were literally hundreds of people trying to get off her, and it quickly became apparent that there were nowhere near enough lifeboats or rafts. Shades of the Titanic, he thought, and fuck the Japs for not planning ahead.

But were these civilians or military personnel? When submarine warfare had started, a sub had been expected to give a ship a fair amount of time to disembark those aboard before torpedoing, or even to radio in the location of the sinking. Nobody did that anymore, of course. It was just too dangerous.

But he was curious. Still submerged, he eased the Monkfish to where he could see the dying transport better. Now most of her human cargo was in the water, and few would last more than a little while.

The ship was going down by the bow, with her stern high in the air. Fargo was able to read her name: the Wichita Maru. Hell, he thought. Why did the Japs name a ship after a town in Kansas? He noted it in the log and wondered just who was on the Wichita Maru.