Rising Sun (30 page)

Even though it was still fall according to the calendar, the weather was noticeably colder the farther north they went and there was wet snow on the ground. Steve wondered how the Japs liked freezing. He felt they’d gotten their reputation as jungle fighters, not winter fighters. The major reminded them that the Japs had been fighting in China for years and north China was far from tropical. No matter. He hoped they all froze their little yellow asses off before the column got to Fairbanks.

This, Farris was told, was the road that was supposed to ultimately link the U.S. with Fairbanks. Instead of building a proper highway, the engineers were now concerned only with hurriedly blasting and bulldozing a way to get troops and equipment to where the fighting would soon be.

The muddy dirt road was so narrow that pine boughs slapped against the canvas-sided trucks and they could see down valleys and ravines that could kill them if the drivers lost control and sent them tumbling over the edge. Some of the bridges over rivers and bogs were well constructed, while others looked like they’d been slapped together. Worse, they creaked and swayed when the trucks crossed over them. It didn’t help their morale to be told that construction on the road would soon shut down. The miserable weather would require it.

When they paused for periodic breaks to stretch and relieve themselves, Farris saw that the scenery was both magnificent and frightening. It looked as if they were surrounded by mountains. He no longer had any thoughts of camping and fishing.

Farris was not happy to be told that the Japanese were reported to be within fifty miles of Fairbanks. He had no idea how many of the enemy there were, but one would be too many.

After what seemed like an eternity, the trucks stopped and they all piled out, looking around in confusion. They’d run out of road and would have to hoof it.

“How much farther to Fairbanks?” Farris asked a civilian engineer who was lounging against a bulldozer. A handful of Negro soldiers clustered around him. They all looked amused at the new arrivals.

The man stopped and thought for a moment. “I reckon maybe seven hundred miles.”

Farris gasped. “What?”

The engineer roared with laughter. “Gotcha, Lieutenant. It’s ten miles or so. Unless you guys are really out of shape, you’ll make it before nightfall.”

They did, even marching into camp in decent order. The commander, Colonel Gavin, greeted them, clearly delighted to see reinforcements. He shook Major Baylor’s hand and went around encouraging the men and shaking still more hands, including Steve’s. Farris was impressed by Gavin. Maybe they did stand a chance against the Jap army.

* * *

Masao Ikeda stood on the flight deck of the
Kaga
. He did not walk to the edge like others did. He was not afraid of heights when flying twenty thousand feet or more in his Zero, but there was something about hanging over the ocean that unsettled him. Being afraid of anything was unmanly, and admitting to something as simple as fear of heights would subject him to merciless teasing from his fellow pilots if they ever discovered it. Anytime he had to be near the edge, he always made sure that an antiaircraft battery was beneath him, providing an illusion of stabililty.

The wind was cold and refreshing as the
Kaga
, her smaller sister, the
Shinyu
, and the rest of their task force headed north. Masao was tired. In the last few days, he’d spent long hours cooped up in the cockpit of his fighter practicing the skills that would enable them to kill Americans and return safely. He sensed rather than saw that his friend Toki was standing behind him.

“How was your day?” Toki asked. “How well did your new pilots perform?”

Masao laughed harshly. “Like clowns in a circus. I cry for them when I think of them going up against the Americans. Of course, I know my commanders felt the same way when I first started out and look at me now.”

“Are you saying there’s hope for them?”

Masao lit a cigarette and drew deeply. He felt that smoking made him look more mature. He grinned genially. “Yes, just not much.” One new pilot had crashed after aborting a landing and was in sick bay with a broken leg and a ruined career. “Now tell me, Toki, is it confirmed that we are heading to Alaska to rescue our men?”

“Yes, but it is not a rescue mission. The men on the ground are doomed. Our goal is to prolong their lives a little longer. Of course we’re not telling them that. We’re saying this attack is to enable them to take Fairbanks and spend the winter there until there’s either peace or they are rescued by the navy next summer. They will die before either happens.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“But it’s bushido. We are going to help them take more Americans with them when they die. Tell me, do you wish to die? Do you have a death wish?”

“Of course not. I have to get home to prevent you from marrying my sister. If you live a hundred years you will never be worthy of her even if she is a snotty, argumentative little brat. However,” he said, turning serious, “I will gladly forfeit my life for Japan if I have to. Well, maybe not gladly, but I will anyhow.”

“Would you be willing to die if the situation was hopeless and surrender was an option?”

“Surrender is shameful.”

Toki smiled. His friend had not answered the question. “Do you think the soldiers in Alaska should surrender rather than face death for no reason? They cannot be rescued and their deaths will not bring victory to Japan.”

“I don’t know,” Masao reluctantly admitted. “Tell me, do you have any good news to cheer me up?”

“Not really. The
Akagi
was sunk.”

Masao gasped. “Your information is wrong. The mighty
Akagi
was damaged, but was sent to Japan for repairs. She will soon return to the fleet.”

Toki shook his head. His expression was grim. “American submarines found her and finished her off. There were few survivors.”

Masao felt like he’d been punched in the gut. At thirty-seven thousand tons, the
Akagi
had been one of the largest carriers in the Japanese fleet, which meant that almost all the remaining Japanese carriers were of the smaller classes. Only his current ship, the
Kaga
, was anywhere near the
Akagi
’s size. Yes, the Japanese Navy had a number of carriers, but they were smaller than the American fleet carriers, and did not carry the number of planes the larger Japanese ships could.

Far more important, so many of the lost carrier’s crew had been his friends. He’d never experienced anything like this painful and personal sense of loss before.

“She was sunk in Tokyo Bay,” Toki added. “Our navy thinks they got the sub, but they aren’t certain and it really doesn’t matter at all. The Americans will trade a sub for a carrier every day. Who wouldn’t? A few more disastrous trades and the war will be over.”

Masao sagged. The implications were obvious. If American subs could enter the hitherto safe waters off Tokyo and sink Japan’s ships, then his beloved nation truly was in dire straits. But were they actually losing the war or was this just a temporary setback? He wished he could talk to Yamamoto, but that was clearly impossible. The admiral was almost a god.

Toki lit his cigarette and offered one to Masao, who had finished his. Masao took it if only to give himself a chance to think.

Toki took a deep drag and exhaled. “There is extreme pressure on Yamamoto to end the war by winning a great victory, which is one of the reasons for this foray to Alaska. When we attack, it is hoped that the Americans will come out and chase us. When they do we will ambush them again.”

“Do you think that’s possible?” Masao said hopefully. He realized that he was fully acknowledging the accuracy of what Toki was telling him, however depressing it was.

“I think it is no more likely than that we will win a great victory in China.”

Masao stifled a groan, drew deeply on his cigarette and choked. The Japanese army had been fighting the corrupt, disreputable, but enormous Chinese army for what seemed an eternity. It had been a source of jokes for the pilots and others in the navy. The army had started the war and now weren’t competent enough to finish off poorly armed and even more poorly trained and led Chinese hordes.

“Masao, I will now speak treason. If given half a chance, I will surrender rather than die for no good reason, and I hope our leaders will as well. Admiral Kurita has talked with Yamamoto and others and is hopeful that negotiations will bring an end to this war, even if it means that we will have to give back much of what we have conquered. In short, we might have to admit defeat in order to preserve Japan.”

Masao said quietly, “I have a better idea. The situation means that we must create a victory so that talks can begin.”

* * *

When the Nazis came to power, one of the first things they did was strongly encourage those of the minor nobility in Germany to stop using “von” in front of their last names. It was an attempt at egalitarianism that annoyed the erstwhile Johann von Klaas and it was one of the first things he reinstated when he defected to the Americans. Of course, important people in the Nazi hierarchy, such as von Runstedt and von Ribbentrop and von Papen, were powerful enough to simply ignore Hitler’s pressure. Klaas’s usage of the title seemed to amuse the Americans. More important, they had accepted him as well as his minor title.

FBI Special Agent Harris looked up from his desk. “Found them, Herr von Klaas?”

Von Klaas almost bowed before forgetting that Americans didn’t do that. At least he hadn’t started to give the Hitler salute. It was something he’d avoided as much as possible in Mexico and would have been more embarrassing than bowing.

“Sorry, but no. The messages were in English, not German, which makes sense. Anything in German would have attracted undue attention.”

Harris smiled. “It also means I don’t need you to translate, Herr von Klaas.”

“Then send me to Brazil, Agent Harris.”

“Soon,” Harris replied. “Now, what was in the messages?”

“First, let me say that Braun and his comrades are very clever. Like I said, they transmitted in English, which would not have attracted any attention unless we were looking, and the messages were not coded. They are hiding in plain sight. The messages are extremely short and we’ve been unable to track them to any specific location.”

“No surprise.”

“The messages contained symbols and vague terms like objectives and resources, which would mean nothing to somebody not looking. If we weren’t looking at that frequency and those times, the verbiage would be totally innocuous and appear to be conversations between the representatives of a couple of businesses. However, we are looking and I believe Braun and whoever might be with him north of the border are beginning to run out of money.”

Harris laughed. “Bloody marvelous. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of Nazi swine.”

“Although Braun is clever, I think that the men Braun left behind in Monterrey and Mexico City may have pretty well spent all they were given, which was about fifty thousand dollars. Perhaps it was too much money and too much temptation for them to resist. Braun was lamenting that things were getting tight where he was, and that they should send him more of what he referred to as resources. Their response was that things were tight for them as well and reminded him that he had not fulfilled his end of the contract, whatever that was, and that he shouldn’t expect more until he does.”

Harris nodded thoughtfully. “Either more sabotage or, more likely, he’s to provide information on the location of the
Saratoga
’s task force. Do you really think they’ve run out of money?”

Von Klaas shrugged. “Braun is a very smart man and I believe he took at least one other man, likely Krause, with him. Krause is not stupid and he would not be profligate. As to the ones he likely left behind in Mexico, as I said, they are idiots and could easily have gone through the money I gave them.”

“Then what will they do to get more?” Harris enquired.

“Agent Harris, I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

* * *

The five sailors were engrossed in their game, high-stakes poker. The pot was at several hundred dollars and might go higher, which fixated them. A couple of them had never seen that much money all at one time.

What they were doing was illegal and might get them court-martialed if caught, but the chance at heavy action was worth more than what they considered the remote risk of punishment. If the police or shore patrol burst in on their basement room, they could expect time in jail or the brig, and be busted in rank, but that was a chance they were willing to take. It was also why they’d posted a guard outside the door.

Thus, they were stunned when two masked and armed men burst in, guns pointed at them.

“Put your hands on your heads and stand up.”

It was awkward, but they complied, almost too shocked to speak. One, a sailor whose cousin had been standing guard, was worried and asked about him.

“Your friend at the door is taking a nap. Whether he wakes up or not is largely up to you. Now, turn and face the wall and disrobe completely.”

“What?” one of the gamblers exclaimed.

“Shut up and do as you’re told. We could kill you all here and leave you and no one would notice for days, but we won’t unless you force us to.”

Sullenly, the men stripped down. They were told to stand naked and facing the wall with their hands stretched up as high as they could. While one robber held a gun on them, the other scooped up the money and stuffed it into a cloth laundry bag. The second man then rifled through their clothing and found a little more money along with a small cache of weapons.

“I guess you don’t trust anybody,” the first man cackled. “Can’t say as I blame you.”

“We’ll get you, you prick,” snarled one of the gamblers.

“Actually, you won’t. First, you have no idea who we are and where we’re going and, second, you were performing an illegal act. What are you going to do, run to the police and admit that you got robbed while committing a crime? What do you think they might say when you asked them to get you your money back? That would not be smart. No, you will write this off as a cost of doing business. You might want to get a better man as a guard. It was very easy to take him down, although I don’t think he’s badly hurt.”