Rising Sun

CHAPTER 18

DANE’S CURRENT JOB WAS TO SIT BY THE PHONE AND WAIT FOR the late Wilhelm Braun’s assistant, Krause, to call back so he could give him the answer from Washington. The FBI was ready to trace the call, but it was assumed that the call would be brief and from a pay phone, and, therefore, effectively untraceable.

Dane didn’t think Krause would be unhappy with the response. Harris had bumped upward the German’s suggestion that he be given a full pardon and freedom in return for information that would lead to the destruction of the Japanese fleet, and gotten the only possible response possible—go for it. Dane recalled that Churchill said something to the effect that he would praise the devil in Parliament if it would ensure victory against the Nazis, and this was indeed a devilish pact.

In Dane’s opinion, Krause was a saboteur and a cold-blooded murderer of Americans, and he was going to go free in return for his help. So be it. If it saved American lives, it would be worth it. If Krause was going to be punished, it would be in another life. If he cooperated, the United States would have no interest in his future. Nor did his efforts have to result in the enemy’s destruction, which was a vague and subjective term. All Krause had to do was make a good-faith effort.

Amanda had also agreed as they discussed it over dinner at a local restaurant. “I’ve seen too many wounded young men. Do whatever can be done to end it, Tim, even if it means paying such a price.” She had paused thoughtfully. “In fact, I don’t think it’s much of a price at all.”

The war had also gotten even more personal. Dane had heard from a friend that his nephew Steve had been badly wounded in the battle against the Japanese in Alaska, which the radio and newspapers were trumpeting as a great victory. It had been reported that the Japanese army assaulting Fairbanks had been annihilated. This was no surprise to Tim as he’d predicted there would be few if any prisoners taken and this had been borne out.

It had indeed been a victory but at a great price. Several hundred Americans had been killed or wounded in the final battle. He had no idea how bad Steve’s wounds were or if he would recover. If using a Nazi like Krause helped end the slaughter, so be it. Amanda’s friend Sandy had been informed that her erstwhile boyfriend had been wounded, but seemed strangely unconcerned, leaving Tim and Amanda to think that any ardor they’d felt was cooling rapidly.

It was difficult for Dane to think of either Braun or Krause as spies and saboteurs. After the shooting, Harris had taken him on a tour of the two men’s quarters above their phony engineering company, and what Dane had seen was sad and banal. The two Nazi supermen had been living in a small two-bedroom flat above a nondescript shop filled with what could only be described as junk. An old truck was in the first-level garage, while the upper living level was filled with cheap furniture, dirty laundry, unmade beds, and littered floors. Nor did it look like they did any cooking. Carry-out food containers, much of it from local Chinese restaurants, filled stinking wastebaskets to overflowing.

Both Amanda and he had laughed over the so-called glamorous and dramatic life of a spy as seen in movies and written about in novels. Comparing it with the reality of dirty underwear on the floor of a small apartment was a letdown. The two Germans were slobs, not supermen.

A bedroom closet in the Germans’ apartment was stuffed with enough detonators and dynamite to blow up a city block if improperly handled. The two Germans did know what to do with the stuff, but Dane and Harris shuddered at the thought of someone breaking in, poking around, and causing a tragic accident.

When the phone finally did ring, it surprised Dane and he jumped. “Commander Dane,” he answered a trifle pompously.

“Krause, Commander. My sources have informed me that your president has concurred with my wishes.”

“Yes, and how did you find out?”

“Because my associate in the Swiss embassy was kind enough to phone me. He has in his possession a letter agreeing with my wishes, signed by Roosevelt and General Marshall, which he will retain on my behalf. You will receive another original if you haven’t already, and you will give me a photographic copy. All I have to do is make a good-faith attempt to divert the Japanese fleet to a location of your choosing and I can live my life at peace in the United States. Perhaps I’ll even become a citizen. Since battles are unpredictable, it is accepted that there is no guarantee that you will destroy or even defeat the Japanese, but that is your concern, not mine.”

The German’s confidence annoyed Dane. “Krause, you do realize that you will be incarcerated for the duration of the war so you cannot change your mind and possibly try to contact your old Nazi buddies, don’t you?”

Krause chuckled. “Of course. I never thought you would be so stupid as to let me go free just now. Goodness, wouldn’t it be awful if I changed my mind and tried to warn the slanty-eyed Japs? The letter from Roosevelt said I would be kept at a residence on the naval base at San Diego where I could monitor what is happening and where you could watch my every move. Remember, it might just take more than one contact with the fools Braun and I left behind in Mexico for things to happen.”

“Are you ready to turn yourself in?”

“Do I have a choice? Of course I am.”

“I’ll arrange to get you. Where are you?”

Krause laughed hugely, further annoying Dane. “I’m downstairs in your lobby. Your security is still pathetic.”

Two days later, Harry Hopkins flew in from Washington D.C., where he observed Krause from behind a one-way window. “Calm-looking bastard, isn’t he?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? He’s lived up to the first part of his agreement,” said Spruance. “He sent a message to Mexico by shortwave. Commander Dane here watched him.”

“What did he say and how did he say it?” Hopkins asked Dane.

“Sir, the message was sent shortwave and in Morse code. He told me he usually sent the messages since the now dead Braun was poor with telegraphing the code and made a lot of mistakes. He told his men in Monterrey that, quote—The customer you wish to contact is ill and will be recuperating at a spa in the Gulf of California in about three weeks and will be there for about a month. It is anticipated that several other family members will also be present. If you wish to make contact, please make plans immediately—unquote.”

“And this went out in plain English?” Hopkins asked, bemused.

“Yes, sir,” Tim responded. “A very simple, innocuous message that no one would give a second thought to.”

“Clever. Admiral, will the Germans in Mexico be picked up?”

Spruance turned to Dane who answered. “Not just yet, sir. We may have to send and receive other messages, and, also, picking them up might alert the enemy. However, the FBI has men down there watching them.”

Dane hoped that the agents in Monterrey would be a little smarter than the local cops who’d let themselves be discovered by Braun and Krause while watching Swenson Engineering.

“Very well,” said Hopkins. “Now we can begin planning at this end.”

Admiral Yamamoto read the message from the navy’s headquarters in Tokyo with a combination of delight and concern. The Saratoga had been found and she was in bad shape. She needed significant repairs that would take several weeks. What her precise problems were and what caused them were not mentioned, nor were they particularly important. What was important was that she would be in North American waters and the message warned that an attack on her would be dangerous.

He laughed at those concerns. Dangerous? War was dangerous. So too was crossing the street in downtown Tokyo. Doing nothing was even more dangerous and could even prove fatal. Danger was a chance to be taken.

As before, he was on board the Yamato and his guests were Admirals Kurita and Nagumo. Both men had read the reports and both had serious doubts about their validity. Still, they had toasted the good news that the American carrier had been located with some of Yamamoto’s limited supply of good scotch.

“Can we believe this?” the dour and somber Nagumo asked. “How can we risk our carriers on such flimsy information?”

Kurita nodded. “And it may well be a trap to get our carriers close to American planes and guns.”

Yamamoto took a deep breath. Neither of the other admirals had ever been a gambler, yet gambles were sometimes necessary. The Japanese Navy had to do something to break what had become a stalemate in the Pacific. Granted, the Imperial Japanese Navy had been victorious in so many battles, but, as he’d said earlier, the United States was getting stronger and smarter each day. It was not the time for caution. It was the time for aggression, and yes, for taking chances. However, taking chances and being reckless were not the same thing.

Yamamoto smiled. “We will seek out and destroy that carrier and, by doing so, we will send American hopes reeling. And I believe we can do it without risking our fleet.”

“How?” asked Kurita. He commanded the battleships and these were most vulnerable to American land-based planes. They had to get close to shore for their guns to be effective. Nagumo commanded the two carrier divisions.

“It is quite simple,” Yamamoto answered. “We will attack the Americans quickly and suddenly, and with overwhelming strength. We will conserve the fleet by risking it. Nor will we take half measures. It will be an all or nothing toss of the dice, just as we did at Pearl Harbor.”

Nagumo persisted. “And if it turns out that the Americans are too formidable?”

Yamamoto smiled and took a healthy swallow of his scotch. He openly hoped that the war would end soon so he could get some more. Perhaps he could arrange for a few cases to be sent to him as war reparations from the British.

“The Americans are in disarray,” he said. “They are trying to defend far too much. While I mourn for the men lost in Alaska, their defeat was ordained and has nothing to do with what we shall accomplish in the Gulf of California. The army made a terrible mistake in landing at Anchorage. We, the navy, will make no such mistakes.”

Nagumo shook his head. “I urge caution. Your plan is good, but I disagree as to the possible price. It may well be unacceptably high. One carrier for one of theirs is a fair price; even two of ours for their last one would be acceptable. But what if the price was higher? What if we lost three? And don’t forget that they don’t have to be sunk to be out of the war.”

Yamamoto squirmed inwardly. Outwardly he was his normal, composed self. “We will continue to plan for the attack. We will also, however, confirm what we have been told and attempt to evaluate the risks involved. But mark my words, I want that carrier destroyed.”

Lieutenant General John DeWitt was again trying to control his anger. Once again, he thought, this son of a bitch Hopkins was trying to tell him how to run his army, his command, and all the way from Washington, no less. Worse, he had to take it. Admirals Spruance and Nimitz were obviously trying not to laugh at his discomfiture, but he wondered how loudly they’d guffaw once they were alone. He was being mocked and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

The navy was trying to take over the army, and that was intolerable. There was a war on and DeWitt had been tasked to protect the people of the West Coast from invasion, while the navy’s assignment had been to keep the Jap fleet from our shores. In DeWitt’s opinion, the navy had failed miserably while the army had succeeded in defeating the Japs in Alaska, so why was there this rush to give the sailors even more authority?

Nimitz tried to be conciliatory. “General, I know how much you must dislike this arrangement, but I assure you it is only temporary.”

“You have no idea what I am thinking, Admiral,” DeWitt snapped with more anger than he’d intended.

“Enough,” said Hopkins. “The situation requires one commander, at least for the time being, and that one commander is going to be Admiral Nimitz. Quite seriously, General, if the command structure is that distasteful, then a replacement for you can be found.”

Bluff called, DeWitt thought, and pulled back. “Of course I will comply and obey, Mr. Hopkins, but I do wonder at the necessity of it all.”

Hopkins sighed. “It’s because the president has signed off on a risky and daring venture that requires all people to be not only on the same page, but reading the same word and understanding the same meaning. We may have an opportunity to cause great harm to the Japanese and it is essential that army and navy efforts be coordinated to the utmost. There can be no mistakes, no confusion as to who is in charge, and no missed or misunderstood communications.”

DeWitt was somewhat mollified. More than anything, he wanted the Japanese to pay for Pearl Harbor and the Philippines. At least the destruction of the Japanese force that had landed at Anchorage had been not only an army victory, but a nationwide morale booster. Of course, he had to admit that the navy’s smashing of the Japanese reinforcement force had played an important role as well.

Nimitz continued. “Simply put, General, we hope to trap at least a large part of the Japanese fleet near our shores and either defeat or destroy it. We hope we have led the Japanese to believe that the Saratoga will be in the Gulf of California in a while, and we absolutely need the army’s planes to help support the ambush we hope to spring.”

DeWitt still had his doubts. “But what you are asking, moving hundreds of planes from bases in California and elsewhere to spots where they can cover the Baja, will leave much of the West Coast naked and defenseless. Should the Japanese decide to attack other than where you think, it could be catastrophic. Not only that, but we will have to move large numbers of engineers and mechanics to bases that don’t yet exist. And will the Mexicans even cooperate, since we’ll be operating on their land?”

Hopkins sipped his coffee and made a face. It had gotten cold. There were no stewards available to get him a refill. They were all alone in the room. Secrecy had its drawbacks.

“The decision to strip other cities of their defenses was made by the president, who understands the risks involved. It is a chance that we have to take. As for the Mexicans, they will cooperate or they will regret it for a thousand years.”

“I understand,” DeWitt said.

Hopkins continued. “And if this should succeed, I guarantee you that you will get a prominent place in the historical record as well as a fourth star.”

DeWitt glared. “Do you really think I’m such a prick that all I want is another star? Of course I’d like to be promoted. I’m just as human and ambitious as the next man, but my first love is for my country and my second is for my command and the men in it. I’ve sworn to protect the West Coast and I’m damn well doing it to the best of my ability, no matter what some sob sisters think of my methods, and your inference that I can be bribed by another star is disgusting.”

Hopkins sat back, astonished by the outburst. “I apologize.”

“Don’t bother,” DeWitt said, his anger spent. “You can have anything you want. I will cooperate more than fully. Just one thing about my future. If this fails and results in another navy disaster, just keep my name out of it.”

The crews from the movie studios in Hollywood had no idea where they were going or why. They only knew that the U.S. Navy wanted them for a special project and that was good enough for them. As a result, several hundred men had volunteered, been put on a navy transport and shipped to the east coast of Mexico, across from the Baja Peninsula. There they found a tent city waiting for them, along with a number of barges that had been lashed together just offshore. They were confused by the sight and were further disconcerted by the presence of a number of antiaircraft batteries being built along with rude airstrips in various stages of construction.

Captain Bill Merchant called the assembly to order. They’d first thought of meeting in a large tent, but the air inside was stifling. Instead, they met outside by the waters of the Gulf of California. Merchant also thought that a little morale building was in order, so he’d brought in enough bottles of beer to lubricate the citizens of a good-sized city.

After thanking them for volunteering and getting everyone a cold one, Merchant got down to business. “You people are all supposed to be the best set designers and builders on the face of the earth. You’ve made magic out of movies by convincing people that they were watching Robin Hood in a real castle, a little girl traipsing through Oz, and, maybe most dramatically, setting fire to the city of Atlanta in Gone With the Wind. Gentlemen, you have dazzled and impressed countless millions of people with your ability to make things look real.”

He paused and took a deep swallow of his beer. It was a Schlitz and he didn’t particularly like Schlitz, but it was cold and the Baja was torrid.

“We, the United States Army and Navy, want you to build a fleet out of those barges. You will have all the plywood and paint you need, and when you are done, we want anybody flying over real quickly to see a pair of aircraft carriers, a handful of cruisers, and a bunch of destroyers sitting out there in the bay. I wouldn’t mind if there were dummy models of planes on the decks of the carriers.”

A hand was raised. “You don’t want them full-sized, do you?”

“Nope. Maybe half or three quarters will do. They can’t be too small or somebody doing a flyover will notice.”

The first man rose. He had a big grin on his face. “The suckers we build are going to be lures or maybe bait, aren’t they?”

“Yep, and we’re going after real big yellow fish from the Land of the Rising Sun.”

Another hand. “When the hell do you want these mothers made?”

Merchant grinned. “I was thinking a week ago. But, since the sun is beginning to set, I think tomorrow morning is a better idea. When we start, though, we’re going to work like hell and pretty much around the clock. In the meantime, we have a bunch of dead cows that have been carved into steaks, and a whole lot more beer, and unless anybody has any objections, let’s get started.”

Bear clutched his rifle and ducked as the grenade went off not more than fifty yards away. He looked up and laughed. “Another damned Jap just went to meet his ancestors.” The other men in his group smiled appreciatively, but nervously. When would the last Jap be dead?

Almost all the Japanese Alaskan force had been killed in the suicidal attack on Fairbanks, but a few hundred had been left behind for various reasons, usually involving their inability to move because of earlier injuries or illness. Clearing them out of their nests and hidey-holes was both time-consuming and dangerous. Maybe the Japanese remnants weren’t very mobile, but they were, as he liked to say, very hostile.

Rifle fire to his left made him duck again until he recognized the sound as that coming from an American Springfield.

“Got him,” someone yelled.

Good work, Bear thought. Once they cleared out all the Japs, Ruby could head back to her home at Anchorage. She said she had some things to clean out and then added that she thought she was through with the restaurant business. She’d told him she’d had enough of waiting on a bunch of drunken lechers who tried to paw her and then left lousy tips. She would stay with Bear. She told him it would be fun hibernating with him during the cold, snowy winter. He thought he would burn up a lot of firewood keeping it warm enough so they could romp naked, but decided it would be well worth it and, besides, Alaska had a lot of trees. Come summer they would worry about making a living and other long-term stuff.

More shots and this time he dropped to the ground. He recognized the sound of a Japanese rifle, followed by a rain of shots from Springfields. A moment later came the crump sound of a grenade going off, followed by yells from American soldiers. Another Japanese fanatic had decided to swallow a grenade. Jesus, he thought, what crazy people. Who would ever prefer death to surrender and living? Then he thought about the atrocities committed by the Japanese on American POWs and captured civilians and wondered just what he would do if confronted by the choice of dying or surrendering to Japanese mercies. Damn, he thought. What a hell of a way to run a war.

Farris had spent much of the time since he’d been wounded floating in and out of consciousness. He’d dreamed sometimes, and the dreams were often terrible. He kept seeing Stecher being blown up and then a montage of Japanese faces, their mouths open and all of them screaming that he should die. What was worse was that he couldn’t force himself to wake up, as he could as a kid with a nightmare. He’d heard people’s voices saying that they were keeping him sedated until his injuries had healed enough.

Injuries? What the hell were they talking about? He felt like he was underwater and trying to reach the surface. His mind strained and reached for the light. He opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dimly lit and he had trouble focusing. He looked around and saw another bed, but it was empty. The room was stark and sterile and obviously a hospital.

Then he realized he was looking through only his right eye. Oh Christ, he wondered, have I lost an eye?

He mumbled something and a man appeared and stuffed a drinking straw in his mouth. “Drink this. You’ve got to get yourself lubricated before you can talk properly.”

Farris did as he was told and the cold water was an elixir. “Drink all you want, buddy, just take it slowly. I don’t want to have to clean up your puke.”

With each successive swallow, he felt his strength returning. A distant memory recalled his aunt watering her potted plants and how some of them would perk up almost immediately. He decided that’s what he was, a house plant, a house plant with one eye.

Shit and double shit.

He tried to move and realized that his left arm wasn’t responding. He reached over with his right and found his left side was swathed in bandages. He gingerly checked his head and the left side of his face was also bandaged. Damn it, was anything working? He groped between his legs and was relieved to find that everything seemed at least present and accounted for in that department.

Another face appeared and this was clearly a doctor. His nametag said so. “I’m Doctor Greeley and you’re in a military hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia. You were wounded a couple of weeks ago and were flown down here for treatment once your wounds had stabilized. You are very lucky.”

“Am I blind?” Farris managed to say. His voice came out raspy and he wondered if he could be understood.

The doctor took a deep breath. “Not really and maybe not at all. Obviously you can see out of your right eye, but we are a little concerned about your left. We are also concerned about your left arm. We’re not totally certain what happened, but you may have lost some use of your left side as a result of being buried under a pile of bodies. Maybe you were pinned for too long and there was some nerve damage or other problems resulting from oxygen deprivation or something else we don’t quite understand. Tell me, do you recall what happened to you?”

Farris closed his eyes and tried to remember. At first it was snapshots, then he saw Japanese, like in a movie, screaming and yelling, and coming straight at him. Only this time it wasn’t a nightmare. Then he was inundated and buried under a pile of flesh.

“I remember,” he said. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”

“Good reasoning. But it does tell me that your mind is working and that is a very good sign.”

“If my mind worked all that well in the first place, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this stupid situation. By the way, Doc, what am I doing in Canada?”

“Kindly recall, Lieutenant Farris, that Canada and the United States are allies, and that we Canadians have pretty good doctors and hospitals. We use anesthetics and some of us have been known to clean our hands and our surgical tools before operating, even though we’re not sure why,” he said with obvious sarcasm.

“Either that or we could have left you up north in the care of some well-meaning medics who would have called on an Eskimo shaman if they needed a second opinion. Which would you prefer?”

“I think I like it here. What happens next?”

“That’s somewhat up to you. Now that you are fully conscious and likely to stay that way, we are going to wean you off of morphine and then arrange for you to be flown south, either to San Francisco or San Diego. Not that it matters to the military, but do you have a preference?”

“San Diego, if you can arrange it. I have an uncle down there and maybe a girlfriend, a nurse, and she can maybe take care of me.”

Jesus, he thought. Would Sandy even want to see him if his arm was crippled and he had only one eye?

“Excellent choice. I’ll put you in for Kansas City and see what the army comes up with.”

“Doc, when I get out of this bed, you know I am going to have to kill you.”

Greeley smiled. “Ah, but you’ll have to catch me first, which would mean you are quite well indeed. By the way, you have some mail.” He handed Steve a thin bundle of letters and left.

After Greeley left, a male nurse took pity on his fumbling one-handed attempts to pry open the envelopes and did it for him. The first letter was from Colonel Gavin praising him for his bravery and hoping he would recover quickly. He was also being put in for a medal. Stecher was getting the Silver Star, posthumously, of course.

The second was from Dane, also hoping he’d get well and come down to San Diego. He added that there was a surplus of beer and steaks. Well, Farris thought, that was a plan.

The third was from Sandy and he looked at it hesitantly. She hoped he was well. Hell, if he was well he wouldn’t be in a hospital. She wanted him to come down to see her. She was friendly but curiously noncommittal. She said they’d started something very nice, kind of like Amanda and Tim, and she wanted to know where it would end. Well, so did he, but he wondered just what lay under the bandages. Did he have an eye? If not, would he get a glass eye? He’s seen people with glass eyes and they looked so terrible and out of sync with the rest of a person’s face. Maybe he’d just wear a patch. Or was he so scarred under the bandages that he’d scare her away? Tim had mentioned a buddy of his who’d been burned when the Enterprise sank and whose scars were very slowly disappearing. Was he going to be like that or would his situation be even worse?

Damn it to hell. First, though, he had to get out of the hospital and out of Vancouver, no matter how friendly the natives were, and go south. In order to do that, though, he had to quit feeling sorry for himself and start working what was left of his body into shape.

Krause was bored to tears. But, he consoled himself, at least he was alive. He had been billeted in a rather pleasant two-bedroom bungalow on an American naval base and he was being treated with at least a small level of respect. The Yanks had made a promise and he was relatively confident they’d live up to it. He had decent food, comfortable furniture, and even a small garden that he found surprisingly pleasant to work in. The house had once belonged to an officer who’d been killed in the Midway debacle. A shame, he thought, but at least he could put the house to good use.

Of course, the Americans didn’t trust him any farther than they could throw him. He’d done his part and now wanted to be released from this genteel captivity as soon as possible. He was guarded by military police under instructions to keep conversation to a minimum, although he was permitted a radio and local newspapers that kept him abreast of the course of the war.

The news reinforced his decision to throw in with the Americans. Germany was not succeeding against the Soviets and had not expelled the Americans and the British from North Africa. He was convinced that Hitler had not succeeded on either front because the German army simply didn’t have the numbers or resources to fight both the Soviets and the Americans. It would take a while, but Germany would be defeated. So too would Japan. Yes, he thought, he had definitely made the right choice.

Every day either Harris or Dane would come and visit. The occasions were not social. Today was Dane’s turn.

“Commander, I’m bored.”

“Forgive me for not caring,” said Dane. “At least you’re still alive. There are those who feel you should be hanged.”

“For what?” Krause said incredulously, even though they’d had this conversation several times. “Are your people angry because I helped derail a couple of trains? Please, those were all acts of war. What do you think British and now your bombers are doing to trains and other targets in Germany? Trust me, they are not making distinctions between freight trains and passenger trains. Nor are they avoiding civilian areas when you and the British bomb German cities. Luebeck, Rostock, and Cologne have been severely damaged and many civilians have been killed or maimed. Even Berlin itself has been bombed.

“And don’t bring up the issue of those poor Mexican boys. They were criminals and they would have betrayed Braun and me. They were unfortunate casualties of a cruel war. Wasn’t it an American who said that war was hell?”

“You weren’t in uniform, which is a violation of the Geneva Convention.”

“And you are not a signatory to that ridiculous document, even though you did agree to abide by it, a distinction that confuses me. I also have it on good authority that you and your so-called Allies are sending saboteurs in to France and elsewhere and I am quite certain that they would not be so stupid as to wear American or British uniforms.”

Dane glared at him. “Is this all we’re going to do, rehash old arguments? If so, I’m going to leave you to feel sorry for yourself.”

“Of course not, Commander, and I assure you I am not feeling sorry for myself. I have a suggestion that will help expedite the process of drawing the Japanese into your trap. Are you interested?”

“Of course.”

“You are building a mock carrier task force down in the Gulf of California, are you not?”

Somebody has a big mouth, Dane thought, and then realized that maintaining such secrecy on a huge base was virtually impossible. Besides, who could Krause tell, and, more important, what would encourage him to? Information was his lifeline to a life of freedom.

“Of course we would be interested in any ideas you might have.”

Krause smiled, looking almost pleasant. “I knew you would. So, here is my idea. You had me tell the Japanese that one of your carriers, the Saratoga, would be in the Gulf. Well, they say that Yamamoto is a gambler. Therefore, why not make it double or nothing?”