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“They had 5th Carrier Division all set to move that way after Java, but then that volcano popped off and that was that.”

“I don’t blame them,” said Rochefort. He leaned back, taking a short drag on his pipe.

“Sir,” said Holmes. “We know what they want. It’s either Milne Bay and Moresby in the Coral Sea, the lower Solomons—probably the anchorage at Tulagi, and then something big has been in the works after that, and for a good long while.”

“Right,” said Rochefort. “Marines are already working up plans for Tulagi. But these carrier movements are another thing altogether. You figure they’d move with only three?”

“I’m watching the light stuff too, sir. I’ve got a line on Zuiho, Shoho, and Ryujo—that’s the CVE they used in the Sumatra-Java invasion. They pulled that ship east to Rabaul, and whatever was left of that covering force off Java. Everything is shifting that way, and the buildup at Truk is looking pretty mean.”

“Nothing on Fiji?”

“Not a peep. Not a whisper. That would be a third of fourth down objective for any drive they run now.”

“Alright. Get me the intercepts. I want to look things over before we go to Nimitz with this, but we’ll have to move soon. Enterprise and Hornet made it back to Pearl, and they’ll have to get to sea fast if you’re right about this.”

“Leave it to me sir!” Holmes snapped off a quick salute and then hurried off through the archipelago of desks and file boxes, destination unknown.

Rochefort settled back in his chair, his eye on a map. Big Five was already at Truk with Zuikaku and Shokaku. Now Nagumo was shipping in on the Akagi, and with the number one fleet tanker in the mix. Yamato was at Davao, and coast watchers there said there was quite a show put on there—something about rockets being fired off. Probably flares or signal rockets, he thought. You had to be careful with some of these native coastwatcher types. You’d get in a report that sounded crazy at first—a large bird reportedly landing on a ship at sea, which immediately sunk from the heavy weight. That nonsense soon became the landing of a seaplane rendezvousing with a Japanese submarine, which then submerged.

Well, we thought Yamato was heading home, but that ship turned for Truk last week as well. Holmes says the Japs fell for his little ruse hook, line and sinker, but who’s the real fisherman here? Yamamoto doesn’t fool around when it comes to big ship movements like this. I’ll tell you what, there are two types of fisherman—those who fish for sport, and those who fish for fish. Yamamoto is looking to land something real big here. Yes, something is up… something real big.

Part V

Developments

“I have added these principles to the law of chess: get the Knights into action before both Bishops are developed.”

― Emanuel Lasker

Chapter 13

Warrant Flying Officer Nobuo Fujita had been a very busy man of late, rightfully claiming the undisputed title of Kantai no me, the ‘Eyes of the Fleet.’ He was first called ‘the other Fujita,’ though he was no relation to the now famous Mitsuo Fujita who led the attack at Pearl Harbor. Nobuo had been in on that operation, assigned as the float plane pilot for the submarine I-25, though he had been disappointed when his plane failed to start on the eve of that momentous day. So only one Fujita claimed any laurels on the opening day of the war, but the other Fujita had been feverishly busy ever since, as if he was out to write his name in the history of these events, come what may.

The I-25 was a curious boat, with a canopy that enclosed a watertight “hanger” of sorts just forward of the conning tower. It was just big enough to house a slightly disassembled Yokosuka E14Y float plane, which was mainly used at night for search and reconnaissance operations. The sub would lurk submerged by day, creeping about at the sedate speed of eight or nine knots, but after sunset, it could surface and speed off at up to 23 knots to perform its primary role as a fleet scouting unit.

After the disappointment of Pearl Harbor, the sub tussled with shipping off the coast of Oregon before returning to Kwajalein. Then, on its second wartime patrol, it was sent to the deep South Pacific to take a look at the buildup that might be underway in Allied controlled ports. Fujita had brazenly scouted Sidney, Melbourne, Hobart, and then I-25 cruised over to have a look at New Zealand. There he carefully noted the buildup of troops arriving at Wellington and Aukland, some of the first ports to receive the new arrivals from the United States. Word then came that one final stop was to be added to the mission—Fiji.

Out on the exposed deck just after sunset, he worked with two other men to quickly get the wings mounted properly, and check the undercarriage. The engine had been running smoothly in all these recon operations, and he had every hope that his mission over Suva Bay would be routine. At that time, Fujita did not know of the big operation planned for Fiji. The stratospheric clouds of high level strategy seldom rained on his pay grade. He was simply out to conduct one of his stealthy night recon sweeps, and see what the Allies might have cooking in the harbor there.

What he saw instead that night came as quite an unexpected surprise. He had been drifting through a roll of low clouds, emerging over a wide swath of moonlit water, when he clearly saw the dark shapes of ships off his three o’clock heading. And these were not just any ships, the long flat decks and characteristic island superstructures immediately told him they were aircraft carriers—two of them, surrounded by several cruiser class ships and a gaggle of destroyers.

Nobuo Fujita had just spotted TF-11 under Admiral Fletcher, and the two carriers he was eyeing were the Yorktown and Saratoga. The latter was not yet present in Fedorov’s history. Its sister ship, the Lexington, would have taken this watch, but that ship was already deep in Davey Jones Locker. Fletcher had come in with the Yorktown as TF-17, and Saratoga was in TF-11, but now, after refueling from tankers on site, both TFs were about to unite into one battlegroup—Taffy 11.

Fujita got quite an eyeful that night, lingering just long enough to take careful note of probable ship types. He counted two carriers, at least seven cruisers, and eight destroyers before sliding away into those clouds, grateful they were there to mask his retreat to the I-25. The signal he would sent out that day would bounce from that sub, to the 4th Fleet Headquarters in Rabaul, and then to Combined Fleet Headquarters in Truk. The American carriers had been found, and Fujita had the first real feather of the war in his cap as he walked in his namesake’s shadow.

He would later do one more thing that would get him some ink in the ledger of these events. Operating off the US coast in a later patrol, Fujita would fly deep into the Cascades of Oregon, and drop a pair of incendiary bombs with the intention of starting a forest fire. That plan would fail, though the bombing raid itself would be the first, and perhaps the last aerial raid ever mounted on the Continental United States during the war. That distinction would go to Nobuo Fujita, but in the overall scheme of things, the sighting he had just made would weigh far heavier on the scales of time and fate, and for a very odd reason. A Warrant Officer on a sub that had been at sea for over a month might be one of the last people in the long chain of command to get notice of things like the order to move to Naval Code Book C, effective April 10, 1942. They didn’t have a copy of that new book yet on the I-25, so the signal Fujita would send went out using the old code, Book B.