P was the most dreaded signal. It meant that Joe Rochefort was in Japanese hands.
The one-letter signal was sent three times, at one-minute intervals. Jake wondered what would happen if the soldier entrusted to listening had gone to the can at that exact moment. He would know in just under two days, when he would receive an alphanumeric response that would give him further directions.
As a precaution, Jake had moved the radio several miles from what they now referred to as their base camp when he transmitted. It was considered extremely unlikely that the Japanese would be able to pick up such a quick message, and even less likely that they would be able to act on it, but no one wanted to take chances. They would, however, wait at the base camp for the return transmission as receiving the message was a passive action. The station in California could be broadcasting to the moon for all the Japanese would know.
Rochefort and his assistant, Holmes, spent most of their time up at his shack, listening, or doing whatever they did, and this left Jake time to work with his little army. He also interrogated the other sailors as to whether or not they were the only survivors of the sinking of the St. Louis. The cruiser could have had a complement of over a thousand men, and it seemed highly unlikely that only these eight had been spared.
Jake was able to confirm that the sinking had taken place out of sight of land, and that many hundreds had taken to lifeboats. It could be presumed that others had made land safely, but the sailors told Jake that Rochefort had forbidden them to try to search their fellow crewmen out or make contact with them.
They also mentioned that they didn’t know Rochefort was even on the St. Louis until he came ashore with them, and that they still didn’t know who the hell he was.
Good, Jake thought. The fewer who knew, the better.
Forty-seven hours after sending the message that all was well, they received the response. The first two digits were numeric and represented the number of days in the future when the pickup would be made. The next four digits were the time, and the final two were the location. The value of three was subtracted from each number or letter to give the true message.
“Jesus, Colonel”-Hawkins laughed-”they sure do make something complicated when given half a chance, don’t they?”
“I don’t know about you, Sergeant, but I kind of like it that way. The more careful they are, the more likely we are to pull this off.”
“Ah, sir. When the naval people leave, will you be going with them?”
Jake had been cleaning his rifle and squinted down the barrel. The question made him think of Alexa and so many others he knew. At least Alexa was likely safe, but the army people were in prison camps. It would be an easy call to say, yeah, he was going with Rochefort, and back to a land of hot coffee, doughnuts, warm beds, and clean uniforms, but somehow it wasn’t all that easy.
“No, I think I’ll stay here. The navy’ll be back sooner or later, and they’ll need some army help to get untracked.”
Hawkins grinned. “Thought you were going to do that. We’ve been talking it over, and we’d like to stay with you. Maybe we can really start our own little army, sir.”
Jake suddenly found it difficult to talk and nodded his thanks. Hawkins and his men were willing to follow him and put their lives in his hands. It was overwhelming and reminded him just what he found good about being in the military. Now all he had to do was make sure their efforts and risks weren’t wasted.
Toyoza Kaga wasn’t surprised when he was summoned to meet with the already infamous Colonel Omori. As one of the remaining important Japanese whose loyalty might lie with Tokyo, he considered the meeting almost inevitable.
They met in Omori’s headquarters at Schofield, and the colonel came right to the point. “We are forming a provisional government, and you will be an informal part of it.”
Kaga bowed. “I’m honored.” He did not miss the fact that he had been ordered to serve and not asked to volunteer.
Omori waved at a stack of papers. “One of my tasks here is to go over the records held by the American military and the FBI. They make for interesting reading. In some quarters you would be considered undesirable and disreputable, but you are successful and discreet as well as pragmatic. It is also true that you have a son in the service of Japan. You must be very proud of him.”
“Very much so,” Kaga replied.
“I believe I can use you as a liaison between myself and the remainder of the Japanese community, who, I am sad to say, have not entirely welcomed us. This, while not completely surprising, is perplexing and disappointing.”
“Give them time, Colonel. They are terribly confused. Many of them have family on the American mainland, as well as back on the Home Islands, and some even have sons in the American military. Others are waiting and wondering when there will be an official annexation of Hawaii as a province of Japan.”
Omori looked surprised. “That will happen soon. Haven’t we made it perfectly clear?”
“Forgive me, Colonel, but most people, myself included, recognize your sincerity but do not believe you are in a position to speak for Tokyo. In short, we are afraid of supporting Japan and then being bargained back to the United States, where we will be subject to American justice that will be extremely harsh.”
Omori glared at him as he recognized both the truth of what Kaga was saying and the fact that he had said it. Such an argumentative response in Japan would have merited at least a sharp slap across the face. Here it simply pointed out the differences between the Japanese of the Home Islands and the Japanese of Hawaii.
“Then we will be patient,” Omori finally said and dismissed Kaga.
As Kaga left, he had his driver pass the crude prison camps where thousands of American soldiers lived almost without shelter. Already they looked gaunt from lack of food and sunburned from exposure. Then, as he drove back to Honolulu, he passed long columns of men, American civilians, who were going to work assignments. Most would work as laborers in grueling circumstances.
Kaga leaned back in his seat and pondered. The distribution of wealth was in its early stages, but what was going to occur was obvious. All those with white skin were being deprived of their jobs and livelihoods, and put to work as a heavy labor force. The hard work, coupled with short rations, was already taking its toll, and many of the workers in the columns looked like they were scarcely able to shuffle along. Omori didn’t seem to care if civilians under his jurisdiction died, and Kaga wondered if that was part of a plan. He would have to discuss this with some of his closest and most trustworthy friends.
Closer to the city, life was far less brutal. There, almost every field and vacant spot of land had been turned into a garden, and the crops were starting to come in. Perhaps that, he thought, would alleviate most of the now pervasive hunger problem. Kaga had to admit that the Japanese idea of turning those parts of Oahu that had been sugar or pineapple plantations into rice paddies was potentially a good one. The work was backbreaking, but the Japanese government insisted that younger, stronger American women work at least two days each week in the paddies.
He passed one such project and ordered his driver to slow down. Close to a hundred American women were knee-deep in brown water. They wore either shorts or skirts with the hems tucked up into their waists, and were hunched over as they did something to the little plants that peeked out of the muddy water. That had been the first problem to be solved-the retention of water. Without any lakes or rivers of consequence, Hawaiian agriculture was dependent on the abundant rainfall and the water that percolated just below the volcanic surface of the land.