Second, all women and children were to be occupied in the growing of food. With that, Alexa agreed heartily. Food shortages were getting worse.
Third, hoarding was punishable by death. Alexa gasped. Did that include the cache of rations under her house?
Fourth, all civilians would bow to Japanese soldiers regardless of rank. There would be instructions on how to bow correctly, but it would be at a fifteen-degree angle and would be held to a count of five. When a man in the front of the crowd laughed, the officer made a quick signal and soldiers dragged him away and, while a woman screamed, ran a bayonet through the meat of each of his thighs.
“Next person who laughs, dies!” the Japanese officer yelled while the man writhed in bloody agony on the ground. With a nod he allowed the man to be taken away by his friends, leaving behind a bright red pool of blood and a throng of people shocked to silence.
At another signal, the band began playing a slow, stately melody. To Alexa’s surprise, the Japanese soldiers joined in and sang with enthusiasm and reverence. When it was over the officer told them that this was the Japanese anthem, the Kimigayo.
“In the future,” the officer concluded, “you will stand and show reverence when you hear this melody as you did for ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ This is your new anthem. You will respect it.”
The climb through the thickly shrubbed and heavily wooded hills of the island of Hawaii was more tedious than arduous, and it took Jake and his men a couple of days to reach their objective.
When they did, a handful of tattered sailors greeted them with enthusiasm and relief. It was obvious they’d never expected to be found by anyone. After checking on those who were lightly wounded, Jake got on with his task.
“Now, where’s your boss?” he asked, and several sailors directed him to a path that led up a hill.
“But no one’s allowed up there, sir,” one young ensign said and stood before him, blocking the path.
Jake grunted something vulgar and pushed past the man. He had gone only a couple of hundred yards when he came to a decrepit shack. Thinking that the situation was totally incongruous, he knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened and a disheveled and exhausted looking man Jake guessed to be in his mid-forties stood before him.
“I told you people to stay away,” the man said and stopped as he realized this was somebody new. “Who are you?”
“Raven,” Jake said.
“Nevermore,” the man said after a moment’s hesitation. “Next time we get more original call signs.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Commander Joe Rochefort, and you must be the cavalry.”
Jake introduced himself and was pleasantly surprised that Rochefort’s grip was firm and strong. Maybe he always looked like a frazzled college professor? At least his target now had a name. His orders had denied him even that basic piece of information, and he wondered why.
“We’re the infantry, Commander, not the cavalry. We had to walk here, and you’ll have to walk out.”
“Name’s Joe, Jake. I’m not big on rank. Besides, I think we’re equal.”
Jake grinned. “And we’re on land and not a ship. Since I’m in charge of getting you out of here, I’m supposed to command this part of the enterprise.”
Rochefort shrugged. “Makes sense. Do me a favor, though, don’t come up here unless it’s a real emergency.”
“Fine.”
There was no opportunity for further talk as Jake found that Rochefort’s sailors hadn’t eaten much in several days. Hawaii may have been paradise in some people’s eyes, but food did not grow on trees. It had to be searched for and found.
The hungry sailors ate army rations with a gusto that amused some of the soldiers, who didn’t think that anyone, even a sailor, would be dumb enough to like them. Jake made a mental note that their rations were limited and the addition of eight healthy appetites would reduce their limited inventory in a big hurry.
Also, the eight men had only two pistols among them. Jake’s twelve had ten brand-new M1 Garands with a number of clips of ammunition each, along with two Thompson submachine guns. Jake had a.45 automatic pistol. When he’d mentioned to Hawkins that it would be good for close-in combat, the sergeant had spat on the ground and said he had no intentions of fighting anyone close in.
“I’m glad you came,” Rochefort said after the men were fed. “After the surrender, I was afraid we’d been forgotten.”
Jake blinked. He’d stayed off his radio since landing for security purposes. “Then it’s official.”
“Over and done. Short surrendered everyone on every island, and that includes us. I can’t, of course, but what about you?”
Jake wondered about the “of course,” but didn’t ask. “I never planned on it, so this is a godsend in a way.” Then he told Rochefort of his orders that the commander was never to fall into Japanese hands.
“No surprise,” Rochefort said solemnly. “Do you wonder why?”
“Of course, but I’m under orders not to ask.”
“Then let me clarify something for you. Back on Oahu, I ran a radio listening post. We would sit back and wait for the Japs to talk. With a big enough antenna, we could listen to what they were talking about in Tokyo. Most of the time, they didn’t bother to use code for the mundane and routine reports and such, and this gave us excellent insights into the Jap mind.
“When they did use code, we were stumped, but we could still extrapolate much of their intentions from the number and frequency of their messages. We could also determine that, when senders and receivers moved, the Jap fleet was at sea and where it was headed. I’ve established a crude listening post at the top of that hill, which is why I keep it secured. The receiver’s in that abominable shack, and the antenna is strung up to a tree. Other than letting the navy know we’re here, we’ve only listened and not sent. The Japs, by the way, have announced that anyone with shortwave radio equipment will be shot.”
Jake nodded politely. The story was interesting but intriguingly incomplete. What Rochefort did for the navy was great, but hardly worth killing him for. Listening to unencoded messages was something that anyone could do, and guessing movements from unreadable coded data was also not that special. Commander Joe Rochefort wasn’t telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
CHAPTER 11
Admiral Raymond Spruance glanced up at the interruption and smiled tolerantly. “Gentlemen, now that we are all here, we can begin.”
Lieutenant Jamie Priest winced and took a seat at the end of the long table. Even though Spruance seemed to be a pretty easygoing and regular guy, it did not behoove junior officers to piss off admirals by being late for meetings, no matter what the reason.
Nor was Spruance the only admiral at this meeting. Rear Admiral Charles A. Lockwood was present. Lockwood commanded the American submarine forces in the Pacific, and his presence at the meeting was a surprise to Jamie as he was supposed to be in Australia. Lockwood, a belligerent man on the best of days, looked angry and glared at Jamie, probably because Jamie didn’t wear the insignia of a submarine officer.
Next in rank was a Captain Winters, and Jamie knew nothing about him. Nor did he know about a Lieutenant Fargo, who wore the badge of a submariner and who looked at Jamie with an expression that asked: Why the hell are we all here? A young but thin and plain-looking civilian woman with glasses was present to take notes.
“Gentlemen,” Spruance began, “this is an informal meeting to discuss the situation with our submarines and our torpedoes. Our discussions will be preliminary, anecdotal, and nonscientific. All of you are here because you have had unique experiences that may help shed some light on the problem. For that reason, I want this discussion to be free from any concerns about rank.”