He returned his attention to the history book, A Just and Necessary War. Its author took a very pro-American viewpoint, attacking the Japanese at every opportunity – surely even the army would not put Americans though a thousand mile march of death – but there was too much in the tome for Yamamoto to dismiss it out of hand. Of particular interest was the conclusion, written in 2010.
In hindsight, Japan was doomed by the mere act of going to war against one superpower and several powers that, while weak, still possessed considerable opportunity to inflict pain upon the Japanese. Although the Japanese concluded – incorrectly – that the destruction of the American fleet at Midway would secure victory, it should have been clear that Japan had no real way of forcing the war to its conclusion. The industries of almost all of the enemy powers were well outside Japan’s reach – and the Japanese lacked the ability to defeat the enemies without destroying their industries.
Although Japanese politicians spoke of the need for a decisive engagement, the Kessen Kantai, the outcome of one such battle, or even a score such battles, would not have altered the outcome. In order to win, Japanese warriors would have to defeat American forces at least nine times their own strength, repeatedly. Japanese superiority in training did not – could not – compensate for sheer weight of numbers, and as American experience grew, the Japanese edge faded rapidly. By 1945, Japan was sending empty carriers and untrained pilots against a massive American force that was preparing the invasion of Japan itself.
The atomic bomb has often been called the weapon that ended the war, but in effect Japan had lost from day one. Once Admiral Yamamoto, one of the greatest strategic minds in World War Two, had been killed…
Yamamoto slammed the book closed. Reading about his own death was grotesquely fascinating, even as the implications rolled out through his mind. The report from Himmler’s oracle, including the little detail that Japanese navy codes could be read by the Americans, washed through his mind. The final implication was clear; Japan could not – dared not – go to war against the Western Powers.
Unfortunately, the Japanese War Cabinet had ordered precisely that.
The meeting had been brutal. The ‘doves,’ the faction that wanted to avoid a war, were weakening. The Japanese had been subjected to intolerable provocation over the last month, from embargos on trade goods to attacks on its citizens. No Japanese vessel was allowed within one hundred miles of Pearl Harbour, and Japanese ships visiting the Philippines and Australia were thoroughly and humiliatingly searched. Already, the Japanese economy was in serious trouble; the constant war with China and the need to get the Navy reorganised was draining resources.
The ‘hawks,’ on the other hand, were growing stronger, swaying the Emperor to their views. Even if the Japanese conceded the American demands – which would be difficult as the Americans themselves weren’t certain what they wanted the Japanese to do – the Americans had offered no guarantee of resuming trade. Indeed, they claimed, the American President might find it hard to resume trade, given that the election in under three weeks would determine if he would serve again. If he won, he might be more flexible, but the history documents meditated against it; Roosevelt had clearly prepared to fight a war with Japan.
Yamamoto had attempted to convince Premier Konoe Fumimaro that the war was suicide. “I have currently six fleet carriers and I may have the next two in service by early next year,” he’d said. “I may be able to defeat the Americans in a stand-up battle, in fact I am certain that we can do that, but they will rebuild and rebuild again until they grind us down.”
He quoted himself; the irony was not lost on him. “If I am told to fight,” he said, “I shall run wild for the first six months… but I have utterly no confidence for the second or third year. By then, the British will have moved more of their superweapons into the Pacific, and the Americans will have built the ships to carry them. At that point… the matter will be decided.”
He’d meant that Japan would lose. The War Cabinet hadn’t been convinced, and he had to admit that all the options were bad. Strike north, against the USSR, and be defeated. Strike west, into China, and use up scarce resources fighting a slippery foe. Strike east, or south, and be crushed by the monstrous American industry, or British superweapons.
And, if they surrendered, if they begged for mercy, Japan’s attempt to prove that yellow men were as good as white men would be doomed forever. How much more would they have to give up, if they surrendered now, if they proved that squeezing Japan’s lifeline of vital resources would force them to change their behaviour? Yamamoto thought of the new brigades, dispatched to Formosa and half a dozen other little islands, and shuddered. The Chinese would never have a chance to revolt against the Japanese in the new future.
Yamamoto felt his hand gently. He’d lost two fingers and it still troubled him, but in that war Japan had taken on a vastly superior foe and won. The precedent had been discussed openly by the hawks; Japanese military skill would defeat the West, particularly with the offers from Germany, who had taught the Army its trade. Other information had been helpful; the future ships were powerful, but they were also weak; a single well-placed bomb or torpedo could destroy one when its defences were swarmed. The future Britain had only two observed carriers – although some British prisoners had spoken of three carriers – and apparently a limited number of freighters. They had some of the older Britain’s ships, but only a handful – and history said that they were doomed to be sunk anyway.
The genesis of an idea began to swarm through Yamamoto’s mind, even as he listened to Ambassador Yurina Sako. The woman was shamefully dressed, in a low-cut blouse and skirt that showed off her legs to best advantage. Some of the hawks were eyeing her, perhaps wondering what she would be like in the bedchamber, and others had already dismissed her as a whore.
“This war is folly,” she said, and the men glared at her. Even the Crown Prince seemed astonished; people didn’t speak like that to the Japanese Cabinet. “We lost the war and suffered the impact of two nuclear weapons on our soil, and now…”
“And now you had the opportunity to bring us the information on how to win the war, and didn’t,” an Army officer said. The Army Minister didn’t react; the surest sign that he agreed with his subordinate. “You have failed in your duty to His Majesty and…”
“I’m trying to save you from repeating a mistake,” Yurina snapped. “The Emperor doesn’t even understand what’s happening and…”
There was uproar. Three of the army officers reached for their swords, preparing to cut Yurina down for imprudence. No one questioned the Emperor; at least where anyone else could hear. Yamamoto used all of his prestige to hold them back, warning them that she would be needed, before ordering one of his subordinates to take Yurina out of the room and to the Yamato. The battleship would be the only safe place for her.
After the confusion had died down, the vote for war had passed by a wide margin. Japan had no other choice, they reasoned, and the only hope was to seize the resources of the Dutch East Indies before any new superweapons could arrive. Yamamoto headed back to his ship and summoned Minoru Genda. They had a war to plan.
Minoru Genda smiled cheerfully as he picked up the reports that his commanding officer had sent him. Ten minutes later, he was no longer smiling. His career as one of the newest strategists of the Japanese Navy was in danger; the new threat was completely unprecedented. If the reports from Germany were true, ships in ‘secured’ harbours were anything, but safe. Japan, like Britain, depended on her navy far more than Germany; Germany could survive without her navy, Japan could not. Without her trading fleet, Japan was doomed.