1942

CHAPTER 5

One of the most endearing facts about Hawaii was that winter was nonexistent. It was late December, and the warm sun had driven the temperature into the low eighties with only moderate humidity. It was a perfect time to relax with friends and a cold drink, and that was precisely what Captain Jake Novacek found himself doing.

The invitation to attend a cookout-picnic-potluck dinner and wake for Tim Sanderson had been a surprise. He’d managed a phone call to the widow’s neighbor, the little blonde, and been told that the occasion was informal and if he could bring something to share it would be marvelous, as food rationing was making events like this difficult.

No problem. Dressed in a flower print shirt and civilian slacks, he’d been welcomed warmly, even more so when Alexa and Missy realized he’d brought several pounds of ground beef that he’d caused to disappear from the officers’ club.

In different times, such a party would have been unseemly or in bad taste, but the fact of the war made for new values. “Enjoy life while you can” was the new motto. The Japanese navy and army could be just over the horizon.

Regardless, the Lexington would be departing and, with it, Missy Wilson’s husband. The Pennsylvania was just about ready to head east to California, and Jamie Priest would be on her. Thus, the get-together was as much a going-away party as it was a wake, and one that could not be delayed for a more traditional time. That it brought a brief period of normalcy and happiness was not lost on anyone either. War was on the horizon, on everyone’s minds, and the evidence of it lay in charred abundance around Oahu.

With all the ships departing, it looked like the entire navy was bailing out and leaving the army on its own. It was disturbing and, according to Jake’s own sources, very true.

Jamie had brought a local girl named Sally. She was a little loud and had gotten drunk quickly, which caused Jamie some embarrassment. A Father Monroe was there, and he seemed to think that Jake’s Polish last name made him a fellow Catholic. Jake was too polite to refute this assumption. Although he had been baptized and confirmed a Catholic, it had been a long time since he’d been in a church for other than a wedding or a funeral.

However, Father Monroe had brought some excellent sacramental wine that, when chilled, went well over ice and eaten with hamburger. He’d also brought some of the older children from the school for poor native Hawaiians that he ran, where Alexa taught. Jake thought it was an interesting and unexpected perspective on Alexa. He also thought that one of the girls, a fourteen-year-old named Kami Ogawa, was an absolute stunner who would soon be breaking all the young male hearts in Hawaii if she wasn’t doing so already. The girl looked Hawaiian, Japanese, and God knew what else, and she and Alexa seemed to be good friends.

“Comfy?” Alexa asked as she sat down in the folding chair beside him. She was dressed in a sleeveless blouse that was drawn in a knot just below her breasts and a flowered skirt that stopped well before her knees. In any place other than Hawaii, it would have been inappropriate. In Hawaii, it was delightful. She had marvelously athletic legs, and he had a hard time not staring at them. They were lightly tanned, as was the small expanse of bare midriff that appeared above her waist.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he answered.

“This is the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she said as she swept an arm to encompass the gathering. For a minute Jake thought she was drunk, but the look in her eyes told him different. She was excited and pleased; a little brittle perhaps, but otherwise under control, and he admired her inner strength.

“There may never be another chance for something like this,” she said. “Everyone’s leaving but you. Both Missy and I are trying to get on a plane or ship back to the States, where it’ll be safer.”

“Good idea,” Jake said.

If the islands were a war zone, then civilians should be out of it. But he would miss his new friends and the chance of seeing Alexa Sanderson again. God, he thought, how could I even think that? Tim was just dead and Alexa was wealthy and so much more sophisticated than he, which meant he could never be more than a casual friend to her. It was nice that she considered him part of her military and Hawaiian family, but she would move on with her life and so would he.

“Where’s home?” Jake asked.

“Virginia. A horse farm about fifty miles outside Washington. We used to go to town on weekend trips to see how our money was being spent. Can you believe they’re actually talking about deducting income tax from people’s pay? Tim’s family came from Massachusetts. When this is over, he’ll be sent back and reburied there, along with his ancestors. Where’s home for you?”

Jake laughed. “Anywhere and everywhere. My parents went where the jobs were. Sometimes we worked farms, and sometimes the mines. I was born in Pennsylvania and spent a few years in West Virginia. I think we gave new meaning to the word poor. We were so broke we didn’t even notice when the Depression hit. If you have nothing to lose, nobody can take it from you.”

Alexa was puzzled. “But you went to West Point?”

“That’s right. And counting academy time, I’ve been in the army for twenty-two years.”

Alexa did the mental math. “But that would make you older than Tim thought.”

“Alexa, I enlisted when I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen? You were just a child!”

“At fourteen I weighed a hundred and seventy pounds and ate more than anyone could afford to feed me. My father had died in a mine accident, and my mother had tuberculosis. She’d been sent to a sanitarium, so I had the choice of enlisting, running away, or working in the mines. A friend of mine was an army recruiter, and he made a few discreet mistakes on my application to get me in. After that, I found that military life fit me. More important, I found that I could play football and played for several posts before someone decided that maybe I could play for the academy, where they were always short of big, dumb linemen. I was tutored, strings were pulled, and I wound up at West Point. I don’t think anyone thought I’d actually graduate, but I did, and now I’m an officer and a gentleman, although one who’s without connections, family, or influence.”

This was something Alexa understood quite well. Tim’s family had been navy for generations, and, with her uncle as a New Deal Democrat from Ohio who’d arrived in Washington in 1933 with Roosevelt, Tim’s future had been assured. Connections and ability were an unbeatable combination, and factors she and Tim had taken for granted.

Alexa was visibly impressed with what Jake had made of himself. “Good for you,” she said warmly. “And now you’re a captain. And won’t the war give you further opportunities for advancement, even without influence?”

Jake sighed. “I had hoped so, but I may have screwed up badly. You see, I wrote an honest report that got General Short and some others really teed off at me.”

Alexa was incredulous. “How could honesty get you in trouble?”

“Simple. About a month before the attack, Short asked my boss, Lieutenant Colonel Fielder, for a study on the likelihood of the Japanese on Oahu attempting to sabotage our war effort by doing things such as blowing up our airplanes on the ground. Since I speak a little Japanese and have contacts in the community, I got the assignment. When I submitted a report saying that sabotage was extremely unlikely, I was informed that it wasn’t what General Short, or his chief of staff, Colonel Phillips, were after. They wanted a report saying that sabotage would occur, not an analysis that it wouldn’t. They were afraid of the Japs on Hawaii and wanted to justify their plans, which were to bunch all the planes together to prevent sabotage. Later, when the Jap air force destroyed them, they wanted some evidence that they’d acted in good faith on an analysis from their intelligence department. Unfortunately, my already submitted report said just the opposite.”

“In other words, they wanted to save their skins.”

“Right. And I would have been the scapegoat. No way I could win this one.”

Alexa had to admit he was right. She’d heard of such things before. She decided to change the subject. “How well do you speak Japanese?”

“I won’t hurt myself, or get something awful in a restaurant. Actually, I seem to have a bit of a flair for languages. I speak some Spanish and a little French as well. I got into the habit of immersing myself in the culture of wherever I was stationed, and that sort of led to my getting involved in military intelligence.”

Interesting, Alexa thought. The big bear of a man really was deeper than she had first thought. “I am very glad you came today,” she told him.

“Me too,” Jake said and grinned. “Although the circumstances aren’t all that pleasant, this is one of the nicest holidays I’ve ever had. Uh, you said you and Missy were leaving here. Any idea when?”

Alexa shrugged. “Actually, nobody knows. All the outgoing planes are reserved for the wounded and important military people, and there are no ships available for civilians, not even dependents. While it could happen very shortly, I’ll probably be here for the next several months, perhaps longer.”

Jake nodded and sipped his wine. His emotions were mixed. On the one hand, he was delighted that Alexa Sanderson would be around for a while, but, on the other hand, he was concerned about what might occur should the Japs make a move toward Oahu. He was getting information about the things the Japs were doing to civilians in Hong Kong and elsewhere. The thought that barbarism could descend on the people of Hawaii was both chilling and terrifying.

Prime Minister Tojo smiled with genuine pleasure. The war was going well for Japan. “Admiral, I am pleased to inform you that final permission to seize Hawaii has been granted.”

“Thank you,” Admiral Yamamoto responded warily. He wondered just how much the prime minister and head of the army had known of his plans to go ahead, with or without permission.

Had permission been refused, the attack would have been categorized as a raid, or a reconnaissance in force, and, assuming its success, the existence of a Japanese base on Molokai would have been a means of exerting pressure on Tojo’s government to take the obvious step of attacking Oahu.

“The 38th Division suffered about fifteen hundred casualties in taking Hong Kong,” Tojo said. “A small number. These will be replaced, and the division will be ready to depart China in a matter of days. The other regiments that will fill it out are already at ports and ready to embark. I trust you have found enough transports to support this operation?”

Yamamoto smiled. “Just barely, Prime Minister. Quarters will be cramped and living conditions miserable, but that will only serve to make the soldiers more fierce.”

Tojo laughed. The idea of a commanding officer being concerned about the comfort of his soldiers was ludicrous. Japanese soldiers were trained with extreme harshness and expected to live in conditions of privation that would cause lesser men to collapse.

“Admiral, I have addressed your concerns about civilians with General Tadoyashi. To the extent that it is possible, there will be no repeat of what occurred in Hong Kong. I agree that it would be counterproductive for there to be wholesale massacres and rapes of those people whom we would wish to utilize as hostages, or even allies. It could be a political and diplomatic disaster.”

Yamamoto was relieved. Although the bulk of the terror in Hong Kong had been directed at the indigenous and despised Chinese population, it would be too easy for the troops of the 38th to run amok. Anything resembling a massacre would polarize resentment and make the conquest and occupation more difficult.

“However,” Tojo continued, “there is always the possibility of incidents occurring during the heat of battle, and the army always has permission to utilize terror against the military population to induce surrender.”

This time Yamamoto’s concurrence was more reluctant. Tadoyashi’s troops had butchered British prisoners, then raped and murdered the female military nurses they’d captured and threatened the entire garrison with death if they didn’t surrender. The horrified, outnumbered, and outgunned British had immediately pulled down the Union Jack. After that had come the reign of terror against the civilian population.

“I can only trust in the army’s best efforts,” the admiral said warily.

“Indeed,” Tojo responded. “On another matter, it now appears that we could have given you one of the better trained divisions from the Siberian border. Our embassy in Moscow is quite convinced that the Soviets will make no move toward Manchukuo. They are far too involved in their counterthrust against the Nazis to entertain any thought of opening a second front against us.”

Yamamoto shrugged it off. “No matter. Between what the army is providing and the brigade of marines under Admiral Iwabachi, the forces will be more than sufficient.”

“Very good. And Iwabachi will be the military governor of Hawaii?”

“Yes.”

“Again a good decision. Iwabachi is a very stern man who will maintain tight discipline and brook no interference from the Americans under his control. There will be a kempetei field detachment under Colonel Omori to support him.”

The kempetei were the Japanese version of a secret police. They had wide jurisdiction and powers, and Yamamoto acknowledged that Admiral Iwabachi would be controlled in significant matters by Omori. It was not unusual. The governor would govern the islands, while police and security matters fell under the jurisdiction of the kempetei.

“Does Colonel Omori speak English?” Yamamoto asked.

“Fluently. Even more important, he understands the need to pacify the three races that exist in Hawaii. The white Americans will be tightly controlled, while the native Hawaiians will be given every opportunity to support us. The Japanese in Hawaii will be expected to be loyal to us from the first moment.”

When Yamamoto raised an eyebrow in a silent query, Tojo continued. “We acknowledge and respect that many Japanese in Hawaii have been away from pure Japanese culture for years, even generations, and that some of them might have to be reeducated. We are confident that, with Colonel Omori’s wise assistance, the overwhelming majority of the Japanese in Hawaii will see the wisdom of rediscovering the worth of being Japanese.”

The meeting ended. When Yamamoto had departed, Tojo yawned. He was tired and under a great deal of strain. Yamamoto was a brave and wise man, and one he greatly respected. Tojo, of course, had his own spies in the navy’s camp and was well aware of the continuing plans for a landing on Molokai. If it succeeded, then more glory would come to Japan and the government headed by Hideki Tojo.

If it failed, then it was on Yamamoto’s head, and it would be Yamamoto, along with the rest of the naval coterie, who would lose face.

Tojo chuckled. There were those who thought the lack of cooperation between the army and navy a deplorable state of affairs. But that was not true. Divide and conquer was a fundamental rule of war, whether the enemies were foreign or domestic.

Tojo was confident the attacks on Hawaii would succeed. Along with Yamamoto and others, he shared concern over what the future might bring to Japan. In a brief while, the Philippines would fall, and they would be followed by the myriad of islands of the southern Pacific. Australia might be intimidated and coerced into a surrender, or at least a peace treaty that would be most favorable to Japan. The future of Japan was bright.

The stink of the Philippine jungle was almost as bad as the stench of defeat. The crew of the submarine Monkfish thought they could smell both jungle rot and defeat as she cruised slowly eastward from the doomed Philippines. They were incorrect, of course; the fetid land smell was overwhelmed by the combined odors of diesel, sweat, and urine as the cramped sub progressed underwater. The odor of defeat, however, was pervasive.

Only a few weeks earlier, the naval base near Manila had been home to more than a score of American submarines. It had been the largest concentration of submarines anywhere, and it had been presumed that the subs, along with General MacArthur’s American-Philippine army, would be able to take on anything the Japs had thrown at them.

It hadn’t worked out that way.

First, the American army’s air arm in the Philippines had been wiped out a few hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor, despite having had warning of the attacks on Pearl several hours earlier. For reasons that might forever be unknown, the news had paralyzed the American command, and they did nothing. Thus, when the Japanese planes finally did attack, they found a situation much like that at Pearl. The vast majority of American planes had been destroyed on the ground, where the Jap fighters had found them parked in neat rows.

This total aerial superiority enabled the Japanese to attack other American army and naval facilities with impunity. It also meant that the numerous subsequent Japanese landings on the Philippines were largely unopposed.

Admiral Thomas C. Hart, the senior naval officer and commander of the United States Asiatic Fleet, had been appalled. The Japanese army quickly pushed the small American army and the larger, but poorly trained, Philippine army backward.

MacArthur’s defenses had proven to be without substance. Manila would fall shortly and the American presence on Luzon now mainly consisted of the peninsula of Bataan and the fortified island of Corregidor.

Earlier, Admiral Hart had evacuated all major surface ships from Philippine waters, and only the subs and their support craft had remained. Now, even they had departed, and it was conceded that the Philippines were doomed unless a relief force came from the United States. While some believed that an American fleet was always just over the horizon, the clearer thinkers realized that the islands were going to be conquered by the Japanese.

Commander Frank Griddle despised himself for being in the position of retreating and for being so relieved that he would not be in the Philippines when the Japs did march through. He thought of himself as a reasonably brave man, but he wanted no part of a Jap occupation and prison camp.

The Monkfish was an unfamiliar sub to Griddle. He commanded because her regular captain had been felled by some wretched Asian fever. The second in command, Lieutenant Willis Fargo, was inexperienced, and it was decided that Griddle would take the Monk, as she was known, out to sea and retreat to Pearl. Griddle had been on Hart’s staff and had previously commanded a sub. It was a logical choice.

This had not made him popular with his crew, who both had liked Jacobs and didn’t wish to leave the Philippines without striking back at the Japanese. To date, the Monk had accomplished absolutely nothing to that effect, and their failure was grating on the crew.

The Monkfish was a reasonably new boat. She had been completed in the latter half of 1939 and was one of the Sargo class of submarines. She displaced 1,425 tons and had a crew of sixty-two. For weapons, she had eight torpedo tubes, four each in the bow and in the stern, and a four-inch deck gun. A pair of 20 mm Oerlikon antiaircraft guns completed her armament.

Griddle squinted through the periscope and didn’t care for what he saw. Steaming insolently in front of him was a Kagero-class Japanese destroyer, one of the newest in their navy. She was traveling quickly through the water and in apparent ignorance of the existence of the Monk, which was gaining on her.

At first Griddle had been torn with indecision. His orders were to get to Pearl Harbor as quickly as possible, but how did one not attack an enemy warship? Besides, both he and his crew felt a compelling need to do something, anything, to strike back at the Japs. If he were to do nothing, he might also lose what little respect his crew had for him. Other forays had resulted in no attacks by the Monk, because no Japs had been sighted or because they’d been in shoal water, where a sub couldn’t go, or because the Jap ships had been too well protected. The Monk had not yet fired a shot in anger. Thus, they could not pass up an attack on a lone destroyer in deep water, and one where a converging course would put the destroyer in range within moments.

Yet another nagging possibility haunted Griddle and the crew. Was there something wrong with their torpedoes, or was it something else? No one knew, but one thing was certain-far too many torpedo attacks by other subs had been fruitless. Good, solid targets had been inexplicably missed, and often at great danger to the attacking subs.

While a few sinkings had been achieved, it was common knowledge that elite, well-trained crews with first-class subs were accomplishing far less than they should, and that left the torpedo as the reason for failure.

The torpedo in question was the brand-new Mark 14. That it could go more than two miles at forty-six knots was not an issue. What happened when it got to the target was. The Mark 14 was designed to focus on a target ship’s magnetic field, streak under the ship, and then explode, which, according to theory, would break the back of the target ship and sink it more efficiently than a normal, old-fashioned impact torpedo.

It was elegant in theory, but it didn’t seem to work out in practice, and this concerned Griddle. If they missed the Kagero-class destroyer, they’d have one pissed-off Jap warship to contend with. Not too much was known about the Kagero class, but Griddle’s periscope view confirmed that she had what appeared to be five-inch guns, torpedoes of her own, and a clustering of depth charges at her stern. A miss or a malfunction by a torpedo could become extremely uncomfortable.

It was now or never.

“Range?” Griddle asked.

“Two thousand yards” was the reply from Lieutenant Fargo.

Seconds later, four torpedoes were streaking toward the Kagero-class. The target was clear, and they could not miss, not all four of them.

Griddle ordered the Monk deeper. They would wait it out under periscope depth. Several stopwatches clicked off the seconds to impact. Now they could clearly hear the screws of the destroyer as she churned the water ever closer to them.

And then the watches were past impact time. Griddle paled. The torpedoes had missed. It was impossible! Not all four of them!

To their horror, they heard the destroyer coming even closer. She had seen the torpedo wakes and was following them to their source. Griddle didn’t have to see the destroyer to visualize her slicing through the waves toward them at more than thirty knots per hour.

Then the men of the Monkfish heard splashes. “Depth charges,” Griddle hollered, and the men prepared to hang on for their lives.

An explosion rocked the Monk, sending equipment and men flying in the narrow confines. There were screams of pain as men caromed off the pipes and deck. Another explosion, this time much closer, hurled Griddle against a bulkhead and then onto the floor. The lights flickered, went out, and returned.

Griddle had landed on something soft, and he felt his hand go into the mush of a crewman’s skull. The commander couldn’t see out of his left eye, and blood was pouring down his face. Waves of pain flowed over him, and he wondered if he could talk.

Another depth charge exploded, this one almost on top of the Monk. Griddle felt himself losing consciousness. As he slipped in and out, he wondered if he was going to die. He didn’t want to. There was so much to live for. For one thing, he wanted to kill the son of a bitch who’d invented the Mark 14 torpedo.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt lit the cigarette he’d just placed in the long holder that was as much his trademark as Winston Churchill’s cigar was his. The British prime minister was en route, and much had to be decided before the two allies conferred and planned for the continuation of the war that was now raging on two oceans.

But first, there were some unpleasant specifics to clear up. Roosevelt smiled disarmingly at General Marshall and Admiral King. “Gentlemen, just what are the Japanese up to this time?” he asked.

“We’re not certain,” King admitted. “All indications are that a reconnaissance in force is going to occur, but exactly what the target is, we don’t yet know.”

Roosevelt inhaled and blew out a perfect smoke ring. He watched it ascend to the ceiling of the Oval Office. “Why don’t you know?”

“Sir,” King continued, “we can read many of their messages, but not all of them. Part of the problem is manpower, while the other is the fact that their military codes have not been totally broken. A month ago, we had only a couple of score men and women doing this, and they were totally inundated by Japanese communications traffic.”

“Which may be why we didn’t know about the attack on Pearl Harbor?” Roosevelt mused hopefully. His political enemies were still raking him over the coals for that failure, and he knew it would be a sore point for future generations. He’d been shocked to hear that some Americans were claiming he’d intentionally permitted the slaughter of Americans to get the United States into the war.

“Yes,” King answered. “Although there were other factors, not the least of which was that the Jap fleet steamed in total silence, which meant there were no messages to intercept. But, getting back to the people working on the Japanese messages, we now have several hundred and will doubtless have more as soon as we can find them and hire them, but they are still learning their job. We have listening posts on Hawaii and the Philippines as well as here in the States, but the situation is still far from perfect.”

“Not in the Philippines?” Roosevelt asked with alarm. MacArthur’s command had been reduced to a perimeter that was bound to fall.

King corrected himself. “The Philippine operation has been shut down and the personnel evacuated. Only Hawaii remains operational outside the United States.”

“Good. We cannot have anyone with knowledge of Magic falling into Japanese hands. So, where is this Japanese fleet headed?”

“One of three places,” King said. “Midway, Samoa, or one of the lesser islands in Hawaii. We think it might be Molokai.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

King’s always stern face clouded. “Nothing. Until you release ships from the Atlantic, Nimitz’s Pacific Fleet is a shadow. The Japs can come and go as they please, and there’s damned little we can do about it.”

Roosevelt glared at him. “You know I cannot give you more ships at this time. We are committed to a Europe-first war. You don’t have to like it, Admiral, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

King could only glower. Well before the attack on Pearl Harbor, plans had been drawn up to cover a number of contingencies. Rainbow 5 was the plan that covered a war with Germany and Italy, and a simultaneous war with Japan. It was predicated on fighting an aggressive but defensive war with Japan until the defeat of the other Axis countries was assured. It accepted the painful reality that the United States could not fight a two-front war at that time. This meant that the Philippines were on their own, as was Hawaii, at least until the harbor facilities could be repaired.

Rainbow 5 also realized that ultimate victory was linked to the survival of the Soviet Union and Great Britain as allies. At this time, both were on the verge of collapse. Should either fall, the other would likely follow or sue for a separate peace. Thus, the fall of either Russia or Great Britain would leave Nazi Germany dominant in Europe and invulnerable.

“I know,” King muttered.

The truly great fear was the collapse or defeat of Great Britain. If that occurred, Spain would likely join the Axis, who would conquer neutral but pro-American Portugal and then overwhelm Gibraltar, thus isolating the Mediterranean. Should that occur, the Germans would swiftly mop up Egypt, the Suez, and Palestine. They would then link up with Japanese armies attacking Europe. On the way, it was conceivable that they would take the vast oil reserves of the Arabian Peninsula.

The fall of Great Britain might also result in the Nazis’ taking possession of the Royal Navy, while a treaty between Germany and England could conceivably result in a pro-German Canada sharing a common border with the United States. It was a nightmare scenario in which the United States would be totally isolated.

Great Britain and the Soviet Union must not be permitted to fall. It was as simple as that, Roosevelt thought. Why didn’t King and the others understand? Why didn’t the American people understand?

“You know,” the president said to the admiral with a forced calmness, “there were those who said I shouldn’t appoint you to head the navy. They said that, along with irrationally hating the British, you were an alcoholic and a womanizing lecher. I said I could accept all your faults because you were a tremendous fighter. However, you must work with us to win the war in the way that is most beneficial to the United States in the long run. Admit it, Admiral, even if you wished, you couldn’t mount a relief expedition to either the Philippines or the Hawaiian islands at this time. While you may have a number of ships remaining, General Marshall still doesn’t have an army. Isn’t that true, General?”

“It is,” Marshall said.

The American army now consisted of more than two million men, but they were as yet untrained and ill equipped. What newspapers were calling the Arsenal of Democracy existed largely on paper and in people’s imaginations. Factories were still being converted to wartime production, and it would be the better part of a year before the newly forming army was ready for offensive operations; what trained units there were had been shipped off to England and Australia.

Australia had been an unexpected problem. With the Australian army off fighting the Nazis in North Africa, the Aussies had quickly realized that they were defenseless against the Japanese. Thus, they had presented England and the United States with a choice: Either American troops would be sent to Australia or the Australian army would be pulled out of North Africa. In response, American troops were landing to defend Australia.

Ironically, the navy was better off than the army despite the disaster at Pearl Harbor. Since it took years to construct a warship, it was almost providential that the buildup of the American navy had commenced nearly two years earlier. Thus, while King fretted over the limited resources presently available, he knew that the fleet under construction was larger than the fleet currently in the water. If only the Japanese would have waited, he thought bitterly, the American navy would have kicked their asses from Hawaii to Tokyo in record time. What really teed him and others off was the nagging feeling that the Japanese were really a second-rate power hiding behind the skirts of a first-rate power, Nazi Germany. The Japs had some good leaders and some good weapons, but nowhere near enough of either.

As if to punctuate that fact, German subs were wreaking havoc along the Atlantic coast in what the Nazis called Operation Drumbeat, while a handful of Japanese subs lurked off Puget Sound, San Francisco, San Diego, and Los Angeles. Flaming war had come to the coasts of America. Burning ships could be seen sinking off both coasts while people stood on the sands and watched.

“The resupply convoy?” Roosevelt asked, interrupting King’s thoughts. “When will it depart for Honolulu?”

“As soon as we determine the exact target of the Jap raiding force. It’s actually three convoys totaling more than a hundred merchant ships, and they will be escorted by twenty destroyers and light cruisers. Along with military stores, they will carry foodstuffs for the civilian population and as much fuel as we can provide. The fuel situation is causing difficulties, because we had to ensure that the ships in the convoy would be able to go to Hawaii and back without refueling from island stores. There was no point in sending fuel to Hawaii and then having the ships that brought it there guzzle it.”

Marshall made a wry comment about a Civil War wagon train that was supposed to bring fodder to Grant’s cavalry. By the time the wagons arrived, the horses pulling the wagons had eaten it all. Roosevelt thought it amusing and ironic. King did not.

“Then the fuel situation is truly acute?” the president asked.

“It is,” said King. “We lost four and a half million gallons on December 7, when the Japs hit the fuel storage area. A normal shipment from the States gives the islands less than two weeks’ supply. At the rate they’ve been using up what they have left, we don’t think there’s enough to sustain operations for more than a week or ten days.”

“Neither the army nor the navy has sufficient fuel to patrol efficiently and still have enough to fight a battle,” Marshall added. “Although, for once, the two services are cooperating in their efforts.”

About time, Roosevelt thought. Germany and Japan were the enemy, not the other American services. The president wheeled over to where his cigarettes lay on a table. He made a show of lighting one to hide his concerns. King’s comment disturbed him deeply. A week or ten days was all the fuel they had? The convoy had to get through, and the buildup had to begin immediately.

But, of course, nothing could happen until the Japanese raiding force came and went. “What about Hawaii, Admiral?” Roosevelt asked. “Have they been warned?”

All potential targets have been warned in such a manner as not to betray that the information came from Magic. Fortunately, the Japanese are not all that concerned about radio silence at this time, so we’re able to report on their buildup in a general and logical manner. We’ve said nothing about any infantry being onboard; that would be too much detail and could give away the game. We hope that can be inferred by our people. At any rate, it is far more important that the secret of Magic be kept.”

“What arrogance,” Roosevelt hissed. “The Japs will pay for this.” He then dismissed Marshall. King remained alone with him.

“Tell me, Admiral, are you with us or against us?”

King flushed. “With you. You’ve given me an opportunity, and I will not fail you.”

“Good. While I respect your opinions and wish to hear them, I desire and require your utmost cooperation. You must understand that the decision to implement Rainbow 5 has been made and is no longer an issue.”

“Yes, Mr. President. You are aware that everything you said about me, the drinking and the skirt chasing, is all true, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Rest assured, Admiral, I do not promote people on their worthiness for sainthood. If I did that”-he chuckled-”we’d never get anything done around here.”

As the admiral exited the White House, he saw General Marshall standing by King’s staff car.

“Did you notice how he looked?” Marshall asked.

King had. “He looked fatigued, almost exhausted. This whole thing must be a terrible strain on him,” he replied.

“Yes, although I fear it may be more than that. He is not a well man. The effects of the polio have weakened his body, and the pressures of running a war are starting to pile up on him. I point this out so you will know how important it is to not aggravate him unduly. If you think he is wrong, speak it, but don’t push for a Pacific-first war when he cannot give it to you, even though he wants nothing more than to exact revenge on Japan for Pearl Harbor.”

“I know.” King sighed. He then told Marshall of his brief conversation alone with the president.

“Good. Think about something else. If something happens to FDR, then who becomes president?”

King paled. “Henry Wallace. Good God, General, the man’s almost a Communist.”

Marshall smiled. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, but he is quite a liberal, and he does seem to think that the sun rises and sets on Joe Stalin and the Soviet Union. Let’s face it, under a President Henry A. Wallace, it is unlikely that you would get a rowboat for the Pacific while the Soviets were in any danger whatsoever.”

“True enough,” King admitted. Roosevelt had earlier agreed to an aggressive defense and had also sent a few additional warships to the Pacific. Not enough to take on the Jap fleet, but at least it was something. This conversation with Marshall was the second lecture he’d received this day on the need to be a team player. He would do it. He would swallow the bile of having to let the Pacific wait and to aid the British and Soviets instead.

God help the Philippines and Hawaii, he thought. On the other hand, God help the United States if Henry Wallace ever became president. Why the hell hadn’t Roosevelt taken more care in selecting someone who was only a heartbeat away from the presidency?