1942

CHAPTER 6

Is Captain Jake Novacek entered the small, cluttered office at Hickam Field, he started to report formally to his new commanding officer in G-2, the Intelligence Department. Before Jake could utter a word, the colonel behind the paper-strewn desk scowled and abruptly waved him to a chair.

“Novacek, you are the sorriest sack of shit I have ever seen. You are the biggest mistake West Point ever made, and you could spend an eternity with those bars on your shoulder and you still wouldn’t be a gentleman. Not only that, your reports are pure, unadulterated bullshit, and they are so barely intelligible that I wonder if you speak English at all.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Colonel. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

With that, both men laughed and shook hands. Colonel Joseph Lawton Collins was forty-six, a man of medium height and a trim, athletic build. He had a square, solid face and clear eyes that hid a wicked sense of humor. Joe Collins had been an infantry tactics instructor at the academy, where the two men had formed a close friendship. Collins had admired the grim determination of the young cadet Novacek, who would not take the easy way out by resigning and returning to his old NCO rank when things got tough.

Collins offered a cigarette, which Jake accepted. “Jake, it’s good to see a face I recognize and trust around here. I’m not an intelligence man, I’m a line officer,” he told the junior officer.

Jake understood. “I heard a rumor you actually told General Marshall that you didn’t want any more Washington desk jobs and he listened.” Putting Collins in a desk job was akin to caging a tiger.

“It’s close enough.” Unsaid was the fact that no one demanded that the army’s chief of staff do anything.

“Are you on his list for general?”

Collins smiled. “I’m supposed to get my star in March.”

“Congratulations in advance, then. I wish I could get on Marshall’s list, although with my luck, it’ll be his shit list. In a little while I’ll be the oldest captain in the army with an academy ring.”

“I know,” Collins said. “I got an earful from General Short and Colonel Phillips about your report that the local Japs were harmless. A lot of people aren’t all that happy that you were right and that you went on record about it. On the other hand, telling the truth can turn out to be a virtue.”

“What do you mean?”

Collins leaned back in his chair and grinned smugly. “Do you know Ike Eisenhower?”

“I met him once, I think. Wasn’t he MacArthur’s chief of staff?”

“Ike’s a temporary brigadier general in War Plans in Washington, and very high on Marshall’s list. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got a lot more stars before this mess is over. At any rate, just before the attack, someone on Short’s staff, maybe Phillips, sent Ike a copy of your report with a notation that this was the kind of asshole Short had to work with and could Ike help them replace you with someone who could actually think.”

“Jesus.”

“Ike got it just a day or two before the Japs attacked, remembered it, of course, and gave it to Marshall, who wondered why your assessment wasn’t believed, especially after it turned out to be correct. According to my sources, Marshall is really pissed off at Short for losing his air force by parking it close together on the ground. If the planes had been dispersed, as you and others had recommended, then the Japs wouldn’t have been able to paste them like they did. At any rate, Jake, you are not on anybody’s shit list, and both Marshall and Ike are a little intrigued about you.”

Jake laughed. “You mean I may make major before the war’s over?”

Collins gestured for Jake to close the office door. “Nothing’s official, but don’t be surprised. It might not come until Short’s relieved, but that shouldn’t be all that much longer. Short’s just being kept on until the situation stabilizes, then he’s gone. Keep this under your hat, my friend, but Major General Delos Emmons will replace Short, and I will replace Phillips as chief of staff around here. It’s not exactly a combat command, but, with the Japs just over the horizon, it’s the next best thing.”

Collins ground out his half-unsmoked cigarette. “Now, off the record, what the hell is going on around here? I’ve only been here a couple of days, and I don’t know who I can trust. Hell, I don’t even know if the Japs are going to attack or not.” He gestured angrily at the stacks of paper on his desk. “And what am I to make of all this crap?”

“First, you can trust Bicknell,” Jake said. Bicknell was a lieutenant colonel and the number two man in G-2. “Bicknell’s like me. He’s a little too rough around the edges for Short’s taste. He was a cop in civilian life and doesn’t have much military background, but he’s good. When you relieve Phillips, he can take over here. For the time being, do what Fielder did and let Bicknell do all the work.”

Collins nodded. Short had a reputation for appreciating style over substance, and it was rumored that the deposed G-2, Colonel Fielder, had been given his job because he was sophisticated, suave, and a good dancer, and that he knew little about intelligence work. The point about dancing was significant because Fielder often wound up taking Mrs. Short to social events when the general was too busy.

Collins glared at the papers on his desk as if they were the enemy. “Is any of this important? I’ve glanced through it, and most of it seems to be from old ladies seeing Japs on their beaches or parachuting onto their roses. There are more alleged sub sightings than the Japs have got subs. What the hell’s going on?”

Jake shrugged. “Overreaction and a little panic, causing excessive imagination. When the Japs come, they’re not going to skulk around, like these reports indicate. Any Jap saboteur would have to be nuts to land now. Most of the reports you can disregard, especially the parachutes. Some of the sub sightings might be real, but nothing could be done until it’s too late, and nobody wants to waste fuel on a wild goose chase.”

“You in good enough with the Japanese community here?”

“Enough to know that nothing’s gonna happen from them and that no one’s hiding any spies. With the major radicals on their way to California, any Japs who would try to sneak in would have no place to hide. A lot of the people in the community really do prefer us over their cousins in Tokyo.”

Jake wondered just where that left Toyoza Kaga. To date his information had been perfect. Would it continue if the Japanese did attack? Kaga was a survivor, and that worried Jake. How far would he go to survive? But Toyoza Kaga was one of the real leaders in the community, and Jake would continue to depend on him. What other choice did he have?

“Okay,” Collins said. “Now, what’s your professional guess? Will the Japs attack again?”

Jake answered without hesitation. “Yes. They’d be crazy not to.”

“Can we stop them? What’s your assessment of the Hawaiian Division?”

The question surprised Jake. “You’d know that better than I, wouldn’t you?”

“First, Jake, remember that I’ve only been here a few days. Second, while I’ve read a lot of reports, I really haven’t seen the Hawaiian Division in action. I’ve got my opinions, but now I want yours.”

“Okay. The division is too much spit and polish and not well trained or equipped for this war. If this was 1917, they’d be in great shape. Nothing can be done about the equipment, which is as bad as everyone else’s, but the training deficiencies could be corrected. If they were going to France to live in trenches, they’d be okay. But that’s not going to happen. When the Japs come, the Hawaiian Division’s going to fight a superbly trained and highly maneuverable enemy army that’ll cut them to shreds, particularly since they won’t have any air cover.

“Everybody keeps underestimating the Japanese military, and it’s going to cost us dearly if and when they actually do come. Somehow, we’ve got to stop thinking of the Japs as nearsighted, buck-toothed, and stupid when they’ve proven they are anything but. As it is currently configured and trained, the Hawaiian Division will fight bravely and hard, but it will be defeated should the Japs come in force.”

Collins agreed. It had been his assessment as well. The structure of the Hawaiian Division was a relic of World War I, too unwieldy for the war of maneuver that had just occurred in France and Russia.

To compensate for the lack of mobility, the Hawaiian Division’s four infantry regiments had been dispersed across Oahu. Two were in the approximate central part of the island, at Schofield Barracks; one outside Honolulu; and one in the north of the island, near Haleiwa’s famous beaches.

“You agree with Short’s disposition of the troops?”

“Yes. Under the circumstances, there’s not much else he can do. I might be tempted to have a second regiment near Haleiwa, since that’s the most logical place for a landing and only twenty miles from Pearl Harbor, but, hell, we’ve done a bad job of outguessing the Japs lately.”

“What’s the navy doing?”

“Bailing out as fast as they can. The Pennsylvania’s the only big ship still here, and she’ll leave in a couple of days at the most. We’ve got a handful of subs and a few destroyers, but that’s it. There are a number of damaged ships, but they aren’t going anywhere. A few navy ships are passing through from the Philippines, but all they do is use up what little fuel the navy still has. Most of the navy’s shore facilities are shutting down and moving out too. It’s a mess, Colonel, and from what I hear, the navy still isn’t patrolling more than fifty miles out. The fuel problem again. Of course,” he added ruefully, “not many of our planes are in the air, either.”

“Then the Japs could be right over the horizon, and, once again, we’d know nothing about it.”

“Unless we got lucky, Joe, and we haven’t been lucky in a while.”

Collins was about to say something when an air-raid siren went off in the distance. “Another false alarm?” he asked. “Somebody spot a seagull?”

False alarms were common, and both men waited for the usual all-clear or for the grim sounds of additional sirens. There was a pause; then the chorus of sirens increased to full volume. Behind the wailing could be heard the pap-pop-pap of antiaircraft fire. The Japs had returned.

They were about to run to a shelter when Collins’s phone rang. The colonel answered, listened, and slammed the receiver down. “The Japs are landing on Molokai. Damnit, they fucked us again.”

Now they could hear bombs exploding. “We needed more time,” Collins said angrily.

But we’re not going to get it, Jake thought sadly.

Alexa hadn’t planned to return to teaching so soon, but she had a compelling need to do something. She couldn’t dwell on Tim’s terrible death, and no amount of moping would bring him back to her. She hoped that working with the lively children would bring a degree of normalcy to her life.

Even though she now had the use of Tim’s car, she walked to the school and found that the gentle exercise made her feel good. If she didn’t walk the two miles, she rode her bike, which meant that the gas rationing had not yet affected her.

Father Monroe and the students had welcomed her. She cried just a little when the children presented her with small gifts and welcomed her with hugs.

After a couple of days back at work, she knew that her decision had been the right one. It felt good to be active, particularly with the children, who were so innocent and so very much alive.

The one-room school had only forty students, all of whom were at least partially native Hawaiian, in grades one through eight. After eighth grade, the children, most of whom came from very poor families, either dropped out or continued at McKinley High School. McKinley was so racially mixed that it was often disparagingly referred to as Tokyo High. Although most of the students at Father Monroe’s school were poor, there were a few whose families did have some money and whose children might go on to the University of Hawaii.

Alexa’s favorite student, Kami Ogawa, was one of those who did not seem to have money problems. She was helping Kami with an English essay when the sirens went off, shocking them. For an instant, Alexa froze as the memories of December 7 came flooding back. Then she shook herself free from the past and stood up. “Everybody outside,” she commanded, and her young charges obeyed. Father Monroe followed hastily, a stunned look on his face. In single file, everyone trooped out to the freshly dug trenches behind the bare dirt playground. They weren’t much in the way of an air-raid shelter, but they would have to do.

Alexa and the children squatted in the dirt and kept their heads down while guns barked in the distance. After a while, she peeked over the lip of the trench. As on December 7, the sky above Pearl Harbor was filled with planes and the dirty black dots of antiaircraft shells exploding. Although farther from the naval base, the school was higher in the hills, which gave her a better view than she’d had at her home.

From behind, she heard the sound of planes and started to cower back in the dirt. “Ours,” said Father Monroe. “Go get ‘em,” he yelled in a most unpriestly manner.

Above them flew several dozen fighters headed out to meet the Japs. “P-40s and P-36s,” one of the male students happily informed her. These were followed by six large bombers, which they all knew were B-17s, the superbombers, the Flying Fortresses that were supposed to knock the Japs silly.

“That’s the way,” Father Monroe exulted. “This’ll teach the Japs to take on the U.S. of A.”

Alexa felt good about the counterassault. For once America was striking back instead of allowing itself to be punched out. She quickly realized the incongruity of her current emotions and her deep feelings of pacifism. What had Jake Novacek said about being a pacifist himself when the war was over? She was certain Novacek had been joking, but there was more than an element of truth in his statement. Just as her life with Tim had been permanently disrupted, so too were her cherished beliefs about the evils of war. War might be evil, all right, but January 1942 was not the time to be against all wars. In particular not when someone was making a concerted effort to destroy the country she held dear. Pacifism was a luxury she could not afford at this time.

Alexa considered that her school was not likely to be the focal point of the Japanese attack, so she climbed out of the trench to get a better look at the planes. The rest of her flock and Father Monroe followed with varying degrees of difficulty as they ruefully discovered that it was much easier to get into a five-foot-deep trench than it was to get out. Alexa had worn a dress and moved carefully; she was determined not to give the male students a free show.

By now the line of American planes from Oahu’s interior had flown past and were rapidly disappearing in the distance. In growing dismay, she recalled the swarms of Japanese who’d attacked the fleet and compared it with the smaller number of American planes that had just flown overhead. The American numbers were so few. Even with the supposedly invincible B-17s, the U.S. force was pitifully small. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, those planes would be joined by others from Hickam and Ewa, and the other fields.

It also occurred to her that she would not be leaving the Hawaiian Islands anytime soon. Perhaps she would never leave, she realized with a shock.

Toyoza Kaga put down the phone and walked to the window of his office. The attack on the harbor and military installations was over. It had begun quickly and ended just as quickly. It was as if the Japanese navy wasn’t all that interested in damaging Pearl Harbor again, and he felt that he knew why. They were taunting the Americans and waiting for a reaction.

Only a moment earlier, he’d received a phone call from an associate on Molokai, who’d informed him that the Japanese soldiers were landing at the midpoint of that narrow island. Thanks to his business sources, Kaga knew as much about the situation as anyone in the American military. He also knew that Molokai was undefended. The Japanese would own it in a matter of hours. He hoped that no one in the local police or national guard was foolish enough to resist and precipitate a massacre.

“A tragedy,” he muttered. But it was an event he was prepared for. Now it was time to convene a series of meetings with trusted associates who agreed with him that this could be the beginning of a period of agonies for Hawaii’s Japanese population.

Unless Kaga’s efforts bore fruit, his people could easily find themselves between two fires and with no friends, only enemies. It could easily mean the destruction of everything he had worked for over the past decades. His family, his businesses, everything was now at great risk.

However, he thought as he smiled grimly, it could just as easily mean a time of tremendous opportunity. But first, he had to survive long enough to find out who would ultimately win this conflict.

Within an hour of the attacks on Molokai, Japanese planes began landing on private airstrips near the coast while the marines pushed inland so quickly that astonished and terrified civilians had no chance to flee and were left in bypassed groups.

Mechanics, fuel, ammunition, and other supplies would be ferried out later, and engineers would quickly enlarge the primitive fields, but the effort freed the overcrowded decks of the carriers for normal operations against the American forces.

It had been assumed that the Americans would react quickly to the Japanese presence, and they had. The landing and the swift raid on Pearl Harbor had provoked an immediate reaction. Like angry bees from a threatened hive, the Americans had flown to Molokai with everything that Japanese intelligence said they had.

Commander Mitsuo Fuchida thought it incredible that the American patrols had not found them until Admiral Nagumo’s forces were almost under their nose. How could the Americans have been so inept a second time? Had the loss of their fuel hampered them so badly? The Japanese good fortune was incredible.

Fuchida quickly concluded that his presence was not required to assist in the ferrying operations. Instead, he took the opportunity to fly a Zero from the carrier and take part in the battle with the Americans. Actual combat had been denied him for much of the Pearl Harbor battle because of the need for him to observe. Now there was nothing to observe, only the need to destroy the Americans.

The Japanese Zero was simply the best fighter in the Pacific. Fuchida thought it might have an equal in the British Spitfire, but it didn’t matter. There were no Spitfires over Hawaii, only American P-36s, which paled in comparison with the darting swiftness and maneuverability of the Zero.

The plane was a Mitsubishi A6M2, Zero-sen, navy Type-O carrier fighter Model 21. It could fly at speeds in excess of 330 miles per hour and could stay airborne for eight hours when supplied with external fuel tanks. It had two 20 mm cannons, one on each wing, and could be configured to carry bombs.

Made of an aluminum alloy, the plane was lightweight, remarkably agile, and it could outclimb anything anyone else had. Worse for the Americans, the Zero had come as yet another Japanese surprise, and the Japanese high command was confident that no American had ever seen it before, much less examined it or fought against it.

It did cause Fuchida and his comrades some concern that, in order to cut weight and emphasize speed, there was no armor plating to protect the pilot, and the fuel tanks were not self-sealing. When that potential problem was discussed, some pilots replied with morbid humor that their best protection was not to get shot.

And all the Americans who saw a Zero now, he exulted, were dying. An American P-36 was in his sights, and he squeezed the trigger, sending a stream of 20 mm shells into the plane’s body. A plume of smoke appeared by its tail, then a bright flame, and the P-36 rolled into a death spiral. There was no parachute.

It was his second victory that day. Not only were the Americans inferior pilots flying inferior planes but they were vastly outnumbered.

Over his radio, Fuchida heard one of his pilots jokingly complain about the necessity of Japanese planes’ queuing up to take a turn at one of the few remaining American targets. This had brought laughter from the other pilots, and Fuchida did not order them to stop chattering. Let them laugh now, he decided; the hard fighting would come later, when the Americans gathered their forces for a real battle.

A B-17 appeared in front of him. Astonishingly large, the bomber was also badly hurt and flying alone. One of its four engines was smoking, and its propellers were stilled. Even so, the three remaining engines kept it on course toward Oahu. The pilot and crew had seen the futility of their efforts and were attempting to flee back to Pearl Harbor.

Fuchida was paired with another Zero, who attacked the tail gun with a quick strafing pass. When this distracted the American gunner, Fuchida swept in and destroyed the gun along with much of the bomber’s tail.

The American plowed on through the air, and Fuchida felt a grudging degree of respect. The bomber was a true warrior, and so were the men who flew it.

Warrior or not, the bomber must die. With the bomber’s rear vulnerable, Fuchida banked and again attacked from behind. Another stream of shells ripped into the remaining right engine and sent pieces of it into the sky as the machinery disintegrated.

That was enough. The bomber banked to its left and began to glide toward the ocean. Fuchida would get a portion of a kill for this one.

As he watched, the surviving crew members bailed out. Fuchida was sadly confident that the overmatched tail gunner was not among them. The plane was his coffin, and he would ride it to his grave.

A couple of his planes signaled that they were going to strafe the men in the parachutes. “No,” Fuchida commanded. “Let them live if they can. They can tell their brothers how good we are.”

The commander checked the skies. There were absolutely no American planes in sight. Had the massacre been that complete? Had none of the Americans escaped? He checked with his commanders and was told that ten of his planes had been shot down and another dozen damaged in the brawl. Since Japanese pilots despised parachutes as cowardly, he’d lost at least ten pilots in the overwhelming victory. He wondered where the replacements would come from.

Now the buildup on Molokai could commence without interruption. He was fairly confident the Americans had little left to throw at them. With absolute control of the skies, the Japanese planes could commence taking the American military facilities on Oahu apart piece by piece.

Fuchida radioed that he was returning to the Akagi, where there would be a conference with Commander Genda and Admiral Nagumo. Tomorrow he would ferry himself to Molokai and launch and command operations against Oahu. They would continue until the Americans were destroyed and Oahu occupied. He felt a moment of pity for the enemy. They were unquestionably brave, but they were so poorly equipped, and, if the last few weeks were any indication, they were terribly led. He hoped it would stay that way. For Japan’s sake, it had to.

“You’ve got to be kidding” was Lieutenant Jamie Priest’s first comment on hearing the orders.

Another of his fellow lieutenants had just informed him that the damaged battleship Pennsylvania would slip out that night and, under the cover of darkness, try to make it to the United States.

Jamie had also been informed that he would accompany her on her escape.

Grudgingly, Jamie acknowledged that it made sense. The Pennsylvania was useless where she was and, as the day’s air raid had proven, would be a prime target for the Japanese planes. She hadn’t been hit in this last attack, but further damage was inevitable if she remained. The battlewagon had to get to a California shipyard, where her two forward turrets could be replaced and her ruptured hull plates repaired.

It also made sense to sneak out at night while the Japanese navy was preoccupied with protecting the landing site on Molokai. When Molokai was secured, the Japanese fleet was certain to take up station outside Pearl Harbor’s narrow entrance and dare any ships to try to escape.

Yes, there was some danger from submarines and other, smaller, warships, but it was a chance that had to be taken. If they stayed where they were, the Jap planes would surely sink the Pennsylvania. If she fled now, there was at least a chance she would make it. It was a lousy choice, but, Jamie thought ruefully, it was the only one they had.

Jamie’s position on the Pennsylvania was undefined. Normally, he would have been directing fire control for one of the destroyed turrets. Instead, he was given a damage control party even though he had little experience at that grim task. The Pennsylvania would depart with only a little more than half of her normal crew and supplies, and her fuel tanks would not be full.

“Perhaps she’ll go faster because she’s lighter,” he heard one of the crew joke.

Not funny, Jamie thought. He also didn’t think much of the idea of heading west when they left Pearl and taking the long northern way around the island before turning toward the United States. The idea was to confuse any Japs who might be lurking east of Pearl’s entrance and get behind them before making the homeward dash. He hoped the Pennsylvania’s commander, Captain C. M. Cooke, knew what the hell he was doing. Jamie didn’t know Cooke at all well. Naval captains rarely discussed matters with lieutenants.

“A dash,” they were calling it, and he laughed. Now there was a joke. Because of the hull damage, it was unlikely that the Pennsylvania would get anywhere near her top speed of twenty-one knots. No, he would have preferred to get as far away from Oahu as fast as they could and the hell with any Japs in the way. If they were caught, they weren’t going to get away anyhow.

While they made frantic, last-minute attempts to make the battleship more survivable, the sun slowly went down and darkness covered the harbor. Jamie could see the shapes of the four destroyers that would be their escort to America. They looked terribly small and vulnerable.

The Pennsylvania raised her anchor and moved slowly toward the ocean. Their departure wouldn’t be at all heroic. They were sneaking out. Jamie looked around at others in the night and saw the same expressions on their faces. They all thought this might be their last night on earth.