With that ship, there would be no disaster at Midway. No. With what I can find out and know about the outcome of this war, every mistake and misstep could be avoided. And the Americans… I always liked them back at home base, and they make damn good equipment. But realizing they have been sitting there for the last 80 years only because of the destruction and humiliation of our nation is too much to leave alone now. It was something to be borne, inwardly, silently, hidden away, because there was nothing we could really do about it. It was all in the past, an old ancestral shame that we all preferred to forget, though for me it has always been a part of my shadow. But now that’s exactly where I am, right in the middle of this damn war, and with a ship that can change everything.
And whether Captain Harada knows it or not, that is what we must do now, even if it means I have to take matters here into my own hands.
Chapter 24
“Gentlemen,” said Yamamoto, taking a place behind his work desk. “Please be seated. General Imamura speaks highly of you, and it was fortunate that you and your ship came across him. As to your ship…” He paused, looking at them both as if he were trying to see some clue or sign that revealed who they really might be, for they were certainly not officers in his Imperial Japanese Navy, nor was that ship like any he had ever seen before. He knew every ship in his fleet, and it’s design was most unusual.
“I am told by the General that you are the senior officers aboard the Takami. You are undoubtedly aware that there is no ship by that name in the navy, and even though you pose as officers here, uniforms and all, nothing will convince me you are who you claim to be. The question now is why? Explain yourselves.” He folded his hands, waiting.
Fukada looked at the Captain, seeing him hesitate, wondering what they could say. They had determined to come here, but had not really sorted out exactly how they would convince the Admiral of their story. Fukada made one suggestion, yet the thought of actually carrying it out set the Captain’s heart thumping.
“Sir, I know that our appearance, and that of our ship, may raise these questions, but I am afraid I have no easy answer for you. In fact, we have not yet determined what really happened to us. We had just transited the Sunda Strait, en route to Singapore, when we heard that enormous roar—the volcano. To answer you directly, we realize our ship will not be familiar to you.”
“Then you admit you are not regular Japanese Navy? Yet you pose as such. You even fly the naval ensign of our nation. What shall I do now, have you and your crew hauled off as spies? Is that what you are, and why you are here on that vessel? You think you can just blithely sail about in our midst like this and not be found out? I should have you executed! Now who are you?”
The Admiral allowed just the right touch of anger in his voice, though his curiosity about these men and their ship was very great. He had spent some time studying the vessel closely from the port hole of his stateroom. It was very curious, its mainmast angled back and bristling with odd antennae. The single deck gun forward was most unusual, but he could see no other weapons. When he learned from General Imamura that the ship’s Captain and Executive Officer were waiting right outside his door, and asking to speak with him, he decided he simply had to get to the bottom of this little mystery.
“Sir,” said the Captain. “I am Captain Takechi Harada, and this is my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Kenji Fukada. We may not look the part, but we are indeed commissioned officers in the Japanese Navy, only not the force you now command.”
“Not the force I command? Whatever do you mean… Captain? If you were going to pose as such, you might have taken the time to see to the details of the insignia you put on that uniform! I take a very dim view of a man who has not earned the stripes he wears. Too many others have sacrificed their lives and honor to wear that uniform.”
“Sir, I have been in the service of our nation, in the navy, for ten years, and I assure you, I have earned the position I now hold. Yet we must explain something now that may be difficult for you to understand, or even comprehend. I was not sure how we could do so, or even if it was wise for us to request this meeting, but we find ourselves here, and… we are Japanese, every member of my crew, and sworn to the defense of our nation.”
“If I may, sir,” said Fukada. “We knew these would be your first questions, Admiral, and rightfully so. We will give answer, but I must ask you to please grant us the benefit of every doubt as we proceed. To answer you, our actions will speak louder than words. Yes. It is understandable that you would think we are imposters, or that our ship also flies that ensign to deceive. But I assure you, as my Captain has said, we are Japanese, and honorable men, sworn to the service of our nation just as you are. Allow us to prove this to you.”
“Prove it?”
“Yes sir. If you will grant us your forbearance, then all will be made clear.” He glanced at the Captain, an expectant look in his eyes, and Yamamoto thought he perceived a silent accord pass between the two men. They were in different bodies, but clearly of one mind, and though his suspicion darkened somewhat with this observation, the accusation he had just leveled at these men was a very serious one. This was, in fact, a life or death situation for them now, for if it were proved that they were imposters, they would certainly meet with swift and unfriendly justice.
“Admiral,” said the Captain. “Is there a weather deck convenient where we can have a view of our ship? We have something aboard that will be of great interest to you—something that can be seen and immediately understood, where a thousand words might fail to convey the meaning.”
Yamamoto frowned. “You seem to be spending a good many words here, and end up saying nothing. Yet given the consequences of your actions, which I hope you both understand, I will indulge you. He called for his orderly. “Lieutenant Saito. Summon the Marine Guard, and then escort these men to the upper weather deck off the main bridge. I will join them in a moment.”
The Captain and First Officer knew implicitly that they had just been granted a great boon, but they also knew that their lives may now depend on the outcome. Earlier, they had gone round and round as to how they might convince Yamamoto to give them a fair hearing. The notion of simply telling him what they themselves still saw as an impossible truth, seemed fruitless. They would be taken for lunatics if they were to say they had come here from a far off future, on a ship built in the Japan of the 21st Century. Yet, Fukada had come up with the only solution that might work—seeing was believing. They had stared at Mogami class cruisers, seen Imamura in the flesh, the very image of the man in every photograph they could find in their ship’s library data. Without some similar shock to the senses, they could never get this man to believe their story, or have any credibility.
So they had devised this simple plan. Stand there on the deck of Yamato and show the Admiral something that even his mighty ship could not do. Both men were wired with small transmitters, which could be activated by merely pinching the gold pip on their collar. They both stood up, facing Yamamoto, and making a respectful bow, Futsurei, that they then extended even further, beyond the normal 45 degrees to Saikeirei. The former was expected with anyone in rank or authority above you, the latter reserved for rare and special occasions, for it conveyed profound respect or the deepest regret.