“Then we will not make any missteps,” Admiral King said firmly. “Only a few handfuls of personnel and planes will be risked. It’s sad, but they will scarcely be missed if we are defeated. The few major units we have will not move until and unless we are certain they can do so with relative safety. There is nothing in these plans that is contrary to what we agreed upon. If everything falls into place, we will defeat the Japs and even stand a chance of liberating the islands. With the resources available to me at this time, that is all that can be expected.”
“If it fails,” Roosevelt said grimly, “I want those people in the Hawaiian hills off that island.”
King thought this would be virtually impossible in the event of defeat, but he kept silent. Congressman Cordelli must have been talking to him again about the plight of his niece. King felt sorry for the man, and for FDR too, but he was not going to jeopardize a number of warships and planes to rescue some debutante who’d managed to find herself in a war zone. Hell, he thought, there were thousands more in even worse shape in the Philippines, China, and Hawaii. At least Cordelli’s niece had a sort of freedom in the hills, which was vastly preferable to a prison camp. As to Novacek and the rest of them, well, they were soldiers or marines and they were all volunteers who understood the risks. No, rescue in case of failure was not likely at all.
Roosevelt’s hand twitched nervously. “And I don’t want any prisoners paraded through the streets of Honolulu and then executed. What have you done to ensure the safety of any of the men shot down?”
“We’ve taken steps,” King assured him. “I cannot guarantee perfection, but the navy’ll do its best to rescue our boys should it prove necessary.”
“Do what you can,” the president said wearily. “And do what you have to. We need a victory, Admiral, and we need a big one.”
The return of the Monkfish to hostile waters had been something that freshly promoted Lieutenant Commander Willis Fargo had been wishing for. This, however, was not quite what he had reckoned on. He’d hoped for a patrol in the vastness of the open sea, and the chance to catch unsuspecting Japanese ships. Instead, he felt he and his crew were almost literally in the mouth of a very angry dragon.
Shit.
The Monkfish had been sent on a solitary and extremely dangerous mission to Hawaii. If there were any other American subs in the area, Fargo hadn’t been told of them and they hadn’t made themselves known to him. He was alone in a little boat in the middle of a gigantic ocean.
Actually, he wasn’t in the middle of the ocean anymore. Land was very close and clearly visible through the periscope, which was raised scant inches above the water. He squinted and swiveled the scope until he was confident that no enemy ships or planes were in sight. It was early evening, and he could see lights on in some of the buildings and even see people moving around.
The absence of major shipping was puzzling. After all, he was only feet off the coast of Oahu and staring at the entrance to Pearl Harbor. En route, he had taken a look at the port of Honolulu as it nestled under the promontory called Diamond Head. Both the city and the island looked deceptively normal. He could almost imagine that the war hadn’t occurred and that he could spend the night getting his ashes hauled in one of the more elegant sin spots of Honolulu. It was a facade, of course. Horrors were taking place in a gentle land that once had been thought of as the nearest thing to paradise in this life.
If the lack of Japanese shipping was a puzzle, so too were his orders. He had been specifically forbidden to attack anything en route to the Hawaiian Islands from San Diego, no matter how tempting it might be. Rounding the southern tip of the Big Island and heading north to Oahu, he had seen a couple of Japanese merchant ships but had withstood the urge to sink them. Now, off Pearl, the anchorage was noteworthy for its emptiness. He couldn’t see far into it, of course, but no major ships had come and gone in the time the Monkfish had carefully approached and then lay in wait.
And then there was the second portion of his orders. He had been told to penetrate as far as possible into the mouth of the anchorage and stay there, hidden, until an entire Japanese fleet steamed in. Again, he was not to attack. He wondered if the top brass had any idea just how well he’d done in penetrating the Japanese defenses of Pearl. He’d have a helluva tale to tell when he got back. If he got back, he corrected himself somberly.
He could, however, attack when the Japanese fleet attempted to exit. However-God, how he hated that damned weasel-word-he must make certain that it was the fleet trying to leave and not just a ship or two heading out on routine patrol. When he’d asked Admiral Lockwood for a clarification, the admiral hadn’t bitten off his head, as was his normal practice with junior officers who asked questions. Instead he’d been quietly sympathetic with Fargo’s predicament.
“You’ll know, son, you’ll know. If the Jap fleet starts to come out in a big-ass rush, then it’ll be your time to act.”
So what the hell was going on, Fargo wondered. He wouldn’t run out of fuel or food; extra quantities of both had been stuffed into his already cramped vessel, but how long was he supposed to sit there like a bump on an extremely dangerous log?
At least he’d found what he hoped was a fairly safe place to hide the Monkfish. He was off to the side of the entrance of the harbor and opposite Hickam Field and Fort Kamehameha, about where the antisubmarine boom had been. The boom had been destroyed and not yet repaired, which surprised Fargo. So much for the myth of Japanese industriousness, he thought.
The ruined hulk of an American destroyer jutted out of the water by the shore. In the channel, the water was more than forty feet deep, but, alongside the entrance, it sloped upward to well under that. Thus, it was fairly simple to lie alongside the wreck and stay submerged during the day, only rarely raising the periscope for a look-see. At night, he cautiously raised the Monkfish to where he could open the conning tower hatches, let in some fresh air, and recharge the batteries. His only fear was that a Jap officer would come and inspect the hulk, or some kid would use it as a fishing pier. Otherwise, he was confident that his boat merged with the background.
The wait was unnerving to both him and his crew in the crowded and stifling submarine, but they gradually got used to it. What the hell, Fargo thought, what choice did they have? He allowed normal conversation but forbade any loud or sudden noises. His crew called this “Fargo’s Don’t Fart Rule.”
Fargo’d gotten command of the Monkfish because he was familiar with her and her crew, and had taken her safely from Hawaii to California. Commander Griddle had never fully recovered from his wounds and had been given a medical discharge. This was Fargo’s opportunity, and he wasn’t going to screw it up. If Admiral King wanted him to penetrate the harbor and lie in wait, then he would do it. Hell, he’d taken the Monkfish right up the Japs’ asses.
He chuckled as he decided he didn’t really like that analogy.
Jake Novacek met his unexpected allies in a small dilapidated house outside the village of Kahuku, just off the northernmost point of Oahu. It was, he thought, about as far from Honolulu as you could get and still be on Oahu.
He had arrived in one of Toyoza Kaga’s fishing boats, hidden in a false compartment in the hull. It stank of old fish, and now so did he. Jake was sure Alexa would love this.
He’d landed at night and been hustled off to the house where Kaga and his son, Akira, were waiting.
“You give off a delicious scent,” Toyoza said, grinning. “Try not to get near any cats.”