“We cannot go to war against America,” Genda said finally. Yamamoto relaxed slightly; had he suspected that Genda, who’d planned a number of strikes against the Americans, would insist on such a strike? “With this… information, we know that it would be suicide.”
“I agree with your conclusions,” Yamamoto said finally, after a pause, just long enough to make Genda uncomfortable. “Carry on.”
Genda took a breath. “We also cannot go to war against the Russians,” he said, gathering his confidence. Yamamoto wasn’t like other admirals; Yamamoto listened. “Even if we won, a doubtful proposition…”
Yamamoto nodded; the Army had tried hard to cover up the disaster at Nomonhan, but the future history books revealed it in all its gruesome glory. Nearly ten thousand Japanese dead, wounded or imprisoned in Gulags.
“Even if we won, we would gain nothing, but empty territory. According to this summery of the war, the Germans would have attacked the Soviets in the front, but we can no longer count on that happening. Waging war against the Soviets would lead to our defeat; I’m certain of it.”
“And,” Yamamoto purred, “what do you propose?”
Genda fought hard to keep any trace of his feelings from his face. He understood Yamamoto’s concerns, but it had only been ten minutes since he had started to read. “We need the resources of the south,” he said. “At the moment, the cornerstone of the British Empire is gone, replaced by this… otherworldly nation that apparently abandoned the Empire. Will they leap to the defence of their former dominions? Without their support, neither India nor Australia can hope to withstand us laying claim to the Dutch East Indies, or the handful of French territory in Tahiti. Indeed, we could take Australia and have unlimited living room and resources for a very long time indeed, enough, perhaps, to match the Americans.
“But what if they do intervene?” He continued. “How much can they ship here quickly? They are ten thousand miles away; their ships will have to pass though hostile waters to reach us. Should they intervene, we would have a good chance of securing footholds on Australia, as well as the main targets of Singapore, Malaya, Burma and even India itself. Will the Raj resist the knock we will give it?”
He smiled. “They have wonder-weapons,” he said. “The Germans have already detailed ways of circumventing their effectiveness; they have low numbers and a reluctance to cause civilian casualties. How many of their planes can operate without preparation first; how many missiles can they carry on each ship? If we have to, we can force them to expand their weapons and then close in to finish them off.”
Yamamoto was silent for a long moment, studying the map. “It is a remarkable plan,” he said finally. “The one flaw I see is that the Americans will probably supply the British with materials.”
“Irrelevant,” Genda said. “The Americans cannot supply weapons to non-existent troops. They will also have to worry about their colonies in the Philippines; we won’t go after them, but they don’t know that.”
“They could slice us in half if they mounted an attack from the Philippines,” Yamamoto said softly. “Still, they will be reluctant to start a fight, and we will be careful to avoid… provoking them. We will not issue further protests over the treatment of Japanese in America; we will even avoid interdicting their shipping.” He smiled. “I think that this plan offers us the last best chance for victory.”
Genda bowed. “I am pleased that you consider my humble words worth listening to,” he said.
Yamamoto picked up the laptop, the one that Ambassador Yurina had brought with her, along with an advanced power converter. “You will take this,” he said, passing over the laptop and the instruction manual. “Go back to the office onshore and start drawing up a deployment plan for implementing the strike plan at the soonest possible date. Once you have done so, have it copied and sent to me by hand-courier, not be radio, understand?”
Genda bowed. “In addition, I want you to go through the files and highlight anything, no matter the ramifications, that might affect our ability to fight the war,” Yamamoto continued thoughtfully. “Brave personnel, incompetent personnel, any new tactics… anything that might be helpful. You will discuss that with no one, but myself. Understand?”
“Hai,” Genda said, bowed again, and took his leave. Despite the sudden shock of knowing the future, there was something about the chance to change the course of history that appealed to him. He loved challenges by nature, and changing history was the greatest challenge of all.
Ambassador Yurina Sako felt like crying, but she refused to cry, summoning up all the determination of thirty-seven years in the diplomatic service to hold back the tears. She rubbed the side of her body, sore where one of the barbarians had hit her, and winced; she knew now that she’d made a mistake.
All of her life, she’d watched as Japan had had to eat humble pie for its actions, seventy-five years ago. She hadn’t been born in the war years, like some of the British; she’d been born into a world where Japan was starting to chafe at some of the restrictions placed upon it following the humiliating defeat of 1945. Slowly, steadily, the Japanese were starting to question the American view of the war – Yurina herself had questioned it.
She understood now. She hadn’t expected to be received with any eagerness – she was a woman in an era where Japanese women had no public role – but to have been dismissed so calivrly had been a shock. These Japanese didn’t know, or didn’t care, about the future; one of them was even talking about deploying biological weapons against the Chinese, wiping them out before they became a problem. After all, Yurina’s own history notes had included details of a successful germ warfare attack in 2009 – on Japan.
She felt a sense of gratitude to the little Admiral, the man who many Japanese still revered. He was both a war hero, and a man who’d opposed the war with America. She knew that if he hadn’t intervened she would have been murdered outright, or raped and then murdered. She cursed her decision to wear the clothes she had; she’d noticed some of the men looking at her with lust in their eyes.
They deserved what they got, Yurina thought, and shuddered. The Japanese would discover how badly their leadership had misjudged the situation in 1945, but now, with her knowledge of the future, they might well escape the war – and learn nothing from it. She knew little of the effects on the United States, but if Roosevelt lost the war for re-election, would his successor still attempt to fight the war?
There was a knock on the door. Yurina froze; she half-expected it to be one of the guards, coming to have a little fun with her. “Come in,” she called, and the door opened. Yamamoto stepped though.
“I apologise for disturbing you,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I trust that your accommodations are acceptable?”
Yurina laughed. “Admiral, I know the future,” she said. “You and yours will lead Japan on the path to ruin. What is there to be happy about?”
Yamamoto took a seat on the bed. She took the chair. Yamamoto’s eyes didn’t follow her legs; he seemed to be looking into her very soul. “The War Cabinet has voted to attack the British Empire,” he said finally.