If the Americans did not rise to the temptation, then Molokai was secured. Either way, Japan won. But, as Fuchida had been reminded, winning could not come at too great a price.
The war was only a few weeks old, but a potentially serious problem was beginning to emerge. Japanese planes were superb and could be manufactured in sufficient numbers by Japan’s factories, but not so the pilots. Japanese naval pilots were considered the elite of the elite, the bravest of the brave, the fittest of the fit. In short, the standards for a carrier pilot were so high that they were almost impossible to fulfill and sustain.
Fuchida was a product of the system, and he had seen the vast majority of apparently highly qualified applicants fail to make the grade. Now he and others were wondering whether the standards were too high. For the moment, there were more than enough pilots to man the planes and enough replacements on hand for those lost, but the downward trend of the curve was inexorable and already unmistakable. If the coming air battles became ones of attrition, the quality of the Japanese air arm would suffer as incompletely trained pilots replaced the skilled ones.
America’s pilot standards were nowhere near as high as Japan’s, and this had already proven itself as American air-to-air casualties had been far higher than Japan’s. But the battles had not been totally one-sided. Japan had also lost planes and pilots. The Americans, with a larger population base to draw from, could simply replace their losses much more easily. Even if Japan shot down two planes for each one of her own lost, the Americans might prevail through the sheer weight of numbers.
Fuchida had a heavy responsibility. He must fight, but he must also preserve his forces. He must help defeat the Americans in Hawaii, which would bring the Americans to the conference table for a negotiated peace.
Yamamoto had walked a distance away. Fuchida had a wild urge to call after him and tell him that he understood, and that the mission would be a success. The commander laughed. After all, didn’t Admiral Yamamoto already know that?
The fleet would sail in the morning. There was time for a farewell dinner with Commander Genda, who would later be on the flagship at Nagumo’s side. Once again they would reenact the roles they had played at Pearl Harbor. Once again he was confident that there would be both surprise and overwhelming victory.
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.”