Maybe the dead were the lucky ones. Jamie knew he would join them very shortly. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time and now was experiencing delirium and hallucinations. There was a whale on the water, and it was staring at him Impossible, a rational corner of his mind said. Whales go in the water and not on it. And whales do not have holes in their sides. Okay, he thought, that made it a building and not a whale, but there aren’t any buildings in the middle of the Pacific either, so that meant it must be a whale after all.
He heard someone say “easy,” and then he felt strong hands lift him out of the water and into the belly of the whale or whatever it was. I’m Jonah, he thought and giggled silently. He tried to say something, but his lips were scabbed over and wouldn’t work.
A face looked down on him. There was a light behind the face, and he wondered if it was God talking to him. “Are you from the Pennsylvania! If you are, just nod, buddy. Don’t try to talk at all.”
Jamie nodded, and the face smiled. Damp cloths were placed on him, and he felt their cooling ecstasy. A little water was permitted to seep between his lips, and his greedy body arched to meet it.
“Relax, buddy,” said the voice. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
The refreshing water partially cleared Jamie’s mind, and he felt hands rifling the pockets of his tattered pants and shirt. He was on an airplane, a PBY, and wanted to ask about the others but couldn’t frame the words. Then he realized it didn’t matter. If he was saved, then so were they.
Jamie felt the surge of power beneath him and the roar of the engines as the plane lifted off from the water. They were airborne, and he was free from the sea and the agonies it had caused him.
The voice returned, and Jamie saw it was a naval ensign. “You ever been to California, Lieutenant?” Jamie shook his head. How did the ensign know his rank? His bars must still have been on his shirt, or there was some information in his pockets. “Well, that’s where you’re going, sir. You’re gonna be safe now. Everything’s okay.”
The ensign made a move to touch the film pouch that was hung around Jamie’s neck. “No,” Jamie rasped and jerked it away with a clawlike hand. “Important. Very important.”
The ensign nodded and departed. Jamie was satisfied. He had saved the film that Seaman Fiorini had entrusted him with before dying. It was important. Very important. If only he could remember why.
The islands of Hawaii were over the horizon, only hours away, and Colonel Shigenori Omori stared into the distance as if such actions could will the islands closer and thus end his waiting.
Omori was forty years old, five three, stockily built, and had fairly typical Japanese features and dark hair. The colonel was the commandant of the 450-man field kempei detachment, or kempetei as it was called outside Japan, that had been detailed to maintain control over the population of Hawaii once it was conquered. As he turned and looked at the mighty transport fleet, there was no doubt in his mind that the conquest would occur.
The kempetei were the Japanese secret police, considered by some to be the equivalent of Germany’s Gestapo. Omori disagreed. He had contempt for the Nazis and their Gestapo, which seemed to be populated by lunatics rather than patriots. The Nazis killed and tortured for the sake of inflicting pain, rather than for the sake of maintaining control over the population and, thus, the security of the nation. That and their fixation on Jews made them suspect in his eyes.
Omori knew there were sadists in the kempetei, any organization with such far-reaching and extralegal powers would attract such people, but using brutality and terror for their own sake was foolish and illogical.
Brutality and terror always had to have a purpose, and ensuring the well-being of Japan and her interests was more than enough purpose, without focusing on ethnic groups simply because they existed. Omori considered Hitler’s persecution of the Jews to be a mindless waste of energy that could be better spent hunting down real threats rather than a bunch of shabby misfits. Omori thought it ironic that large enclaves of Jews existed in Shanghai and other areas of China that had been conquered by Japan, and, so long as they obeyed Japan’s laws, they were left alone.
When the Hawaiian Islands were conquered, he would have 450 men to help control them. Reality said that they were too few to be everywhere, and that only Oahu would be garrisoned by Imperial marines and the bulk of his kempetei. He hoped to place a small contingent in Hilo, on the big island of Hawaii, but decided he might have to satisfy himself with locally recruited informers supported by flying columns of marines to do his work there and on the other islands.
The kempei in Japan were somewhat restrained in their actions, while the kempetei operating against often hostile foreign populations had few constraints on their actions.
There would, of course, be a substantial garrison of Imperial marines on Oahu, but they were rather ordinary soldiers and not skilled in controlling or intimidating a civilian population. No, the marines would guard the bases, prisons, and airfields, while the real work in securing the islands would be done by Omori’s kempetei detachment.
As the kempetei reported to the army minister, they normally wore army uniforms with special armbands to differentiate themselves from the regular military. In this case, he’d ordered a number of his officers and men to bring civilian clothing along so they could blend in with the many tens of thousands of Japanese who lived in Hawaii.
This fact was disturbing. Many hours of discussion had taken place over how to treat the people of the islands, who constituted three distinct ethnic groups: Japanese, Hawaiian, and American.
Dealing with the white Americans would be simple. They were untrustworthy and would feel his iron fist. He also felt that he understood their fears regarding their women and would exploit them. In particular, respectable American women did not have sex with non-whites. This meant he could use sexual terror and the threat of it as a means to an end. It also met his personal preferences, and he looked forward to it.
Omori had decided that he would let his personal aide, Lieutenant Goto, pretty much have his way with American subversives. In Omori’s opinion, Uji Goto was a true sadist, and he had taken the young man as an aide only because Goto’s uncle was a general. The lieutenant, however, could be useful, even expendable if something went wrong.
The native Hawaiians were a different situation. Some anthropologists actually felt they were descended from early Japanese who’d landed on the islands centuries before. Omori thought this was absurd, but his orders were to treat them more gently than the Americans. This would be done until someone stepped out of line, and then they would be dealt with harshly. His research told him that sexual terror among the Hawaiians would be less useful, as they were not as inhibited as the Americans.
The matter of the Japanese on Hawaii was truly unique. Some were totally loyal to Japan, while others were loyal to the United States. Trouble was, no one knew who was who. Word had reached Tokyo that potential leaders of a pro-Japanese government had been interned and shipped to California. Consequently, a puppet government would have to be developed from scratch. This would be accomplished, and very quickly. Four hundred and fifty kempetei were inadequate to govern an island like Oahu. They would need a lot of local help.
The Hawaiian-Japanese would be given preferential status and treated with utmost respect. Kid gloves, the Americans called it. They, not the whites, would be in charge. Omori, who’d endured smug patronization from Americans and British in both Washington and London, thought such a reversal of roles would be wonderful to behold. Perhaps he would even take an American mistress.