Rising Sun (9 page)

He made another pass and now the American ship was disgorging hundreds of people, some of whom looked like civilians. If they were, so be it. They should not have been traveling with soldiers. Besides, they were Americans and it was the Americans who’d started the war by depriving Japan of her rightful place in the world by trying to contain her with insulting restrictions.

Ikeda decided that his target transport was a burning ruin and sought out another. He fired and heard only a click. He cursed again. He was out of ammunition. The Zero carried only enough 20mm shells for seven seconds’ sustained firing and he had used up too much on the helpless transport. He turned and flew back to the carrier. Next time he would show more patience.

A thought intruded. Why the hell don’t the Americans surrender? They were cowards who did not live by bushido and had surrendered elsewhere, so why not surrender Hawaii? He had another thought and it made him laugh. Perhaps, instead of painting an American warplane insignia on his Zero, he’d have the silhouette of a ship painted instead.

* * *

The mighty new battleship
Yamato
was Admiral Yamamoto’s flagship and she, along with a couple of other older and smaller battleships and three carriers, was anchored in the waters off what had been the American base at Midway Island. The mighty
Yamato
was a floating citadel, a fortress that could cruise at nearly thirty knots. She was eight hundred feet long and displaced more than seventy thousand tons, which made her twice the size of most navies’ battleships. Anchored alongside her, destroyers and cruisers were absolutely dwarfed. While her top speed was over thirty land miles an hour, she could cruise more than seven thousand miles at a more conservative twenty miles an hour.

Her main weapons were nine massive 18.1-inch cannon and a dozen six-inch guns, and it was thought that she represented a technological leap forward that had not been seen since the British had launched their revolutionary battleship, the
Dreadnaught
, in 1906. In particular, 18.1-inch guns were thought to be so large as to be impossible to make and fire efficiently. The
Yamato
, it was hoped, would prove them all wrong. Once again the Americans would pay for underestimating Japanese technological skills.

It was firmly believed that the
Yamato
and her still-building sister-ship, the
Musashi
, could simply stand off at a distance and pound every American and British warship to pieces. Just as important, her very name,
Yamato
, was synonymous with Japan.

At least that had been the theory, but that was then and this was now, and wars, even victorious ones, never go as planned.

Admiral Yamamoto flew his flag in the great ship because it was such a symbol of power and authority, but he now believed that he’d set up his headquarters in a giant dinosaur. The recent carrier battles, fortunately all won by the superb planes and pilots of Japan, had changed the face of warfare and shaken the proponents of traditional big gun battles. American and British battleships had been destroyed by small airplanes, little more than flying gnats, and the great decisive battle Japan wanted to fight and win was unlikely to include the great ships as major players.

The admiral’s left hand throbbed, as it sometimes did. He had lost two fingers during the epic battle of Tsushima against the Russians in May of 1905. That battle had propelled Japan into the first rank of world powers, even though some of the Europeans and Americans had a difficult time dealing with yellow-skinned men as equals.

In this latest war, the victories at Pearl Harbor, Midway, and a host of other places reinforced the fact that the Imperial Japanese Navy was second to none. It was strange, he thought, how the missing fingers seemed to still be attached. Were they trying to tell him something?

Yamamoto turned to greet Prime Minister Hideki Tojo with all due pomp as he crossed the deck of the
Yamato
. He could see the minister’s look of awe as he took in the immensity of the world’s most powerful ship. Tojo had seen the ship before, but it never failed to impress, which was why Yamamoto was holding the meeting on board her and not on nearby Midway Island. The admiral smiled to himself as he recalled that Tojo was a general and knew little of the sea. The prime minister was devoted to the emperor and a strong supporter of the war against the United States.

After the obligatory review of the crew, there was a tour of the ship which included an examination of the great guns and the interior of a huge turret. This was followed by a formal dinner, after which the two men retreated to Yamamoto’s elegant wood-paneled office. The prime minister would sleep on the island and fly back the next morning in the same Kawanishi flying boat that had brought him to Midway. That the fifty-eight-year-old would deign to make such a trip showed the seriousness of concerns back in Tokyo.

“You have done wonders,” Tojo said with genuine admiration. “You have defeated the Americans at every turn and with minimal loss to Japan. Everything you’ve done has displayed an almost magical touch. The emperor is more than pleased.”

Yamamoto’s nod was almost a bow. “I have been fortunate, prime minister, that the Americans so totally underestimate our abilities. That happy situation cannot last forever. Sooner or later they will develop the leaders and the resources to fight us more evenly. We are aware that they have a monstrous fleet building and that we cannot match their productivity. And kindly recall that we have not escaped totally unscathed. One of our carriers, the
Soryu
, was badly damaged and will be out of action for at least a year. The
Shoho
, of course, was sunk at the Coral Sea. Even what you correctly refer to as minimal losses cannot be sustained for very much longer. We cannot construct ships and planes at anything resembling the rate at which the Americans can. I am afraid that they will soon overwhelm us.”

“Hence, you will smash them with this marvelous instrument,” the prime minister said, beaming.

“Indeed. As with our pilots, we must substitute excellence for quantity. Yet I am concerned that the results of our battles for Midway and in the Coral Sea, as well as our attack on Pearl Harbor, show that the age of the battleship has passed and that we must have carriers, not more
Yamatos
,” he said sadly.

Tojo sucked in his breath. “The battleship in general and the
Yamato
in particular are symbols of the Japanese Navy and our nation’s pride. Are you telling me they are obsolete after all the fervor, money, and resources we’ve showered on them?”

“Yes,” Yamamoto said, and grimaced. “I will not lie to you, prime minister. War has a nasty tradition of making its own rules as the action develops, and war leaders have a habit of planning to fight a new war with an old war’s weapons and tactics. There were no carriers in 1918, in part because planes were so crude, but there are now, and, in every confrontation carriers and planes have prevailed over battleships. Oh, there will be a role for the
Yamato
and her sisters, but it will be as support for the carriers.”

“So be it,” Tojo said glumly. “What do you need?”

“Almost everything, prime minister. Carriers, planes, pilots, food, and oil. We should consider converting some of our existing battleships and cruisers to carriers. In particular, the
Shinano
, which was intended to be a third
Yamato
-class battleship, should be converted to an aircraft carrier of immense proportions. Perhaps that will give us a tactical advantage in battle with the Americans.

“However,” he added sadly, “it will only be a temporary and tactical advantage. The Americans still have large numbers of cruisers and destroyers and, as I said, are making them at a far faster speed than we can. I believe they will produce them four times faster than is possible for us. Since they too are likely to believe that the carrier is the capital ship of this war, they will be making those in great numbers as well. Also, they are likely to be converting merchantmen to small carriers in even larger numbers.”

“What about the
Musashi
?” Tojo inquired softly.

“The
Yamato
’s sister is practically completed and about to begin her trials. We can do nothing about changing her. The
Shinano
, however, is a different story. Also, we must put an end to the draconian way of weeding out less-than-perfect pilot candidates. The Americans are beginning to turn out thousands of only slightly inferior pilots who will simply overwhelm our eagles.”

Tojo nodded agreement. He’d hoped for news of continuing victories, but now his favorite admiral was dashing those hopes. The prime minister wondered if the war against the United States was going to bog down the Japanese Navy as the war against China was sapping the strength of her army? Of course he would never admit that the Japanese Army was in trouble in China.

Nor would he criticize Yamamoto’s candor. The admiral was a hero in Japan even though his earlier prewar comments about not wishing to fight the U.S. had not been appreciated by many whose philosophies were more militaristic, and that included the prime minister himself.

Yamamoto had been dubious about Japan’s ultimate success, and fanatic militants had been so upset by his statements that he’d been sent to sea in part to prevent his being assassinated.

Nor could Tojo forget that Yamamoto knew more about the United States than most Japanese. He’d lived and traveled in America, served in Washington, and had even attended Harvard. It was said that his English was excellent and he’d developed a taste for Scotch whisky and playing poker.

Yamamoto continued. “Regarding battleships, the Americans are building at least a dozen larger and newer battleships that, while not equal to the
Yamato
, could easily overwhelm her and her sister should they get close enough. The same holds with carriers, although their superiority will be both numerical and qualitative. Simply put, the Americans make excellent battleships and carriers. Soon, also, they will produce vast numbers of planes that will at least be the equal to the Zero. Please recall that, in my travels, I was permitted to see the giant factories in Detroit and Pittsburgh that are now producing planes and tanks in great numbers, along with the shipyards whose output will consume us sooner or later. We must win decisively before all this happens.”

Tojo shook his head. This dire report was not what he’d expected. “What else do you need?”

“A forward base of operations, but I do not see that as likely. Hawaii and Midway are too far away from California to be useful, so food, oil, and reinforcements must come by a stream of ships from Japan. We have taken the islands of Attu and Kiska in the Aleutians, but they are not useable as a base.”

“That stream of ships will be vulnerable to attack.”

“Good,” the admiral said with suruprising emphasis. “Then perhaps the Americans will come out and fight and we can destroy them. Ironically, our successes seem to have made the Americans want to conserve what they have left, which is one carrier and a handful of old battleships much smaller and totally inferior to the
Yamato
.”

The admiral sipped his tea and paused for effect. “We have perhaps a year, two at the most, before already growing American strength will, like I said, overwhelm and crush us.”

“The emperor,” Tojo said and nodded his head reverentially, “is also concerned about that. He said that ‘The fruits of war are tumbling into our mouths almost too quickly.’ He too wishes an end to the war with the United States as soon as possible.”

Yamamoto nodded agreement. “While you pursue a diplomatic end to this war, I will continue to harass, sting, and destroy Americans everywhere I can. We will raid their cities and wreak havoc. This will occur as soon as I can get the campaign organized and supplied. We did not expect such an overwhelming victory so soon and were not prepared to exploit it.”

Tojo smiled grimly. “Such are the unintended consequences of unexpected victory.”

“Hopefully, the Americans will be so demoralized by our assaults that they will seek a negotiated end to the war and a return of the many thousands of prisoners we now hold. Those prisoners are a great concern to them. I was dismayed to hear that so many died in what the Americans are calling atrocities and death marches. As bargaining chips they should be kept in good shape.”

Tojo sighed. “You are right, of course, and I will give the necessary orders. However, many of the men guarding the prison camps are inferior soldiers and it will be difficult to control them insofar as they consider surrendered soldiers to be less than human.”

“But we must try, prime minister.”

“Indeed. Will your forces invade Hawaii or Australia?”

“No. My intent is to let the Hawaiian Islands starve, and perhaps their lamentations will provoke the Americans to try and relieve them. We will do much the same with Australia and New Zealand. They would be a distraction. We must focus on the real enemy, the United States. A number of transports recently tried to escape Hawaii in a desperate venture and were slaughtered.”

Tojo brightened. “Then they will not try it again. What else do you require?”

Yamamoto smiled, “Diplomatic help from our erstwhile allies, the Germans. Our victories have doubtless caused the Americans to send hundreds of thousands of soldiers and thousands of planes to their west coast to forestall an invasion that will never come. That relieves significant pressure on Germany, does it not?”

Tojo nodded. “It does.”

“Then I would like German saboteurs to destroy American installations like our brave men did to the Panama Canal. I would prefer to use Japanese soldiers, but they cannot hide in the American population, while a white-skinned German could, especially since local Japanese in California are being imprisoned by their army. Give me well-trained Germans who speak excellent English and let them raise havoc with their shore installations.”

CHAPTER 5

DANE WAS SICKENED BY THE RESULTS OF THE CARNAGE. A DOZEN ships in all had departed Hawaiian waters and all but two had been sunk by Japanese planes flying from an unexpected carrier.

Approximately ten thousand people, most of them civilians and the rest wounded military personnel, had been killed along with the crews of the escorting warships. Only a few hundred survivors, many of them badly wounded, had been picked up by fishing boats and other ships whose captains were brave enough to help. So far, news of the slaughter had been kept from the civilian population, which was still reeling from the litany of disasters since the initial attack on Pearl Harbor. That couldn’t last and soon the American public would find out about this latest round of bloodletting.

He couldn’t help but wonder if one of the dead was Amanda Mallard. She’d said that she would try to get out of Hawaii, hadn’t she? Worse, he might never know her fate. There were no accurate lists of those who’d been on the ships, so she and so many others might be listed as missing forever. Nobody should ever be “missing,” he thought angrily. Family and friends and lovers should know what happened to the ones they cared for. Even as he thought that, he knew there were thousands of such missing from previous wars, so many that nations had tombs dedicated to them. There was a tomb in Washington for an American unknown from the First World War, and there would certainly be one from this conflagration as well. He wondered if they’d put up a separate tomb or just add another body. What a hell of a happy thought, he concluded.

“Captain, when the devil are we going to start winning?” he asked Merchant as he passed by Dane’s desk.

“Possibly when we stop underestimating the damned Japs and realize that they are extremely smart and dedicated people. A number of senior officers still think that Nazi Germany both made their planes and are flying them because little yellow-skinned Japs can’t possibly be that good. The same people don’t think it’s possible that the Japs have giant battleships, either. Or even better torpedoes than we do. Christ, the stubbornness of some people in command is enough to make you want to punch someone, but you didn’t hear that from me, did you?”

Dane grinned. “Not a word.”

“Good. I submitted your paper regarding their suicidal tendencies, and the reaction around the fleet and the Marine Corps has been less than overwhelming. Some of those I talked to don’t believe humans would do that. One of our admirals actually said it wasn’t Christian. He got a little annoyed when I reminded him that very few Japanese were Christians. Well, fuck him. The Marines said they weren’t planning on taking prisoners anyway, which is good thinking.”

“So once again we’re doomed to learn the hard way.”

“Looks like it, Dane. You going to watch the
Saratoga
leave?”

The Pacific Fleet’s one remaining carrier, along with three of Admiral Pye’s old battleships and a handful of cruisers, would be departing San Diego that night. It had been determined that she was just too vulnerable in the narrow confines of the bay and, since there was a civilian population of more than a hundred thousand in the area, there was little possibility of keeping her presence a secret. Once upon a time, this particular incarnation of Task Force 16 would have been a powerful force. Now, her ships were going to run for their lives and hide from the overwhelmingly strong enemy. The battleships were there not because they were strong, but because they might delay or distract a Japanese assault, and possibly pay with their lives, permitting the carrier to get away. Dane wondered if their crews understood that.

How the hell did the United States Navy ever get itself into this position? Dane wondered. Where the
Sara
and her sisters would go, neither Dane nor Merchant knew. Perhaps Halsey, sick but still commanding America’s one remaining carrier force in the Pacific, didn’t know either. Maybe he’d make it up as he went along. With a touch of whimsy, Nimitz had told the staffers and newspaper reporters that the
Sara
was headed for Shangri-la, the mythical takeoff point for Doolittle’s raiders for their attack on Tokyo.

Later that day, as Dane and a number of others looked on the empty anchorage, he realized that Amanda must have felt much the same sense of loss when the three submarines left Pearl Harbor. At least he hoped she had, he thought, and wondered if he was being greedy. Sometimes the depth of his feelings for a woman he’d known for such a short time surprised him, but she had moved him and he thought he’d at least gotten a little bit to her too.

He laughed harshly. Maybe someday the gods of chance would smile on them and they’d be reunited only to find out that they didn’t care for each other at all. He realized that he desperately wanted to know one way or another.

Damn it to hell, he felt like a lost kid.

* * *

Tonight they would leave. To Amanda and the other two women it was both exhilarating and frightening. It was a long way from Hawaii to California, and so much could go wrong on a journey that was dangerous to begin with and could easily prove fatal. Granted, they had all learned a lot about sailing and each other in the last few weeks, but did they know enough to make it across the Pacific? There was only one way to find out.

Every spare inch of the catamaran was packed with food and water. Each person was allowed one small suitcase, which meant that a lot of personal treasures would be left behind. Amanda was fortunate in that all her really important possessions were still at her parents’ house back in Maryland.

Mack had decided to leave this night because of still more rumors of Japanese ships in the area, coupled with the fact that their preparations were beginning to attract attention. He said he was afraid that a panicky mob might storm the boat and either steal it or destroy it while trying to get away. They had guns, but shooting other islanders was not part of the plan, at least not yet. Mack said he’d chased away a couple of scrawny local would-be tough guys who seemed far too interested in the
Bitch
. Their names were Ace and Mickey and they seemed interested in the three women as well as the cat.

Amanda was back at the car, which was parked a good hundred yards from the boat. She’d gone there for one last check to see if she’d left anything important behind. She hadn’t. On a whim, she decided to leave the keys on the front seat. She sure as hell wasn’t going to be driving it any longer. Let some islander enjoy it and the half tank of precious gas, along with tires that still had some tread life on them.

Screams and shouts pierced the air, paralyzing her for an instant. She got control of herself and moved slowly and stealthily toward where the catamaran was anchored in shallow water. It was just off the beach and in water that was barely knee deep. As she got closer, she saw two men whom she quickly identified as Ace and Mickey. They were struggling with Sandy and Grace, while Mack was down on his hands and knees and apparently unable to get up.

Ace and Mickey were obviously hellbent on hurting her friends and stealing the
Bitch
. It was what Mack had feared. People were so afraid of what might happen that they would take desperate measures to get off the island. Amanda and the others were ready to leave; however, it looked as if they might have waited too long.

The attackers had their backs to the water and the sailboat, which presented Amanda with an opportunity, however slim. The two men had knives, but apparently no guns. Mack looked badly hurt, but there was nothing she could do for him right now. The men were wrestling with Sandy and Grace and pulling at their clothes. They would be raped before the men departed, and possibly killed. They knew it and were fighting back desperately, clawing and screaming, despite the unlikelihood of anyone hearing them.

Keep up the noise, Amanda prayed as she slipped into the shallow, warm water. She crawled silently to the cat and hauled herself on deck. She slid on her belly to the cabin where Mack had stored the weapons. Of the three, she liked the Winchester the best and quietly took it from the container. She checked and found it loaded.

She couldn’t see Mack, but Ace and Mickey were still ripping the clothes off Sandy and Grace, who were screaming and wrestling while their attackers yelled and laughed. She couldn’t shoot at them because they were all twisted up together. Amanda took a deep breath and fired one shot in the air. The noise stunned everyone.

“Drop them!” she yelled, wondering if that was quite the thing to say.

“Bullshit,” yelled Ace, the one holding Sandy. She was already naked from the waist down and one of his hands was between her legs. Grace was totally nude and being held by Mickey. He threw her aside and pulled out a knife.

Amanda fired and hit him in the leg. He fell screaming as blood began to gush from his wound. Ace twisted Sandy to use her as a human shield.

“Drop the gun or I’ll kill her.”

Amanda wavered. Once again, she didn’t have a clear shot. The man she’d shot had stopped moving and was glaring at her. His blood-covered hands clutched his wound and it didn’t look like she’d hit an artery.

“Don’t believe me?” Ace snarled. “Watch.”

Before Sandy’s attacker could move his knife into position, he flinched and a look of disbelief crossed his face. He staggered and reached behind him only to find Mack was pulling his own knife out of the man’s back. Mack quickly sliced it across Ace’s throat. Ace fell forward as blood pumped out. His arms and legs flopped for a moment and then he stopped moving.

Mack walked across to Mickey, the man Amanda had shot. He was whimpering and trying to crawl away. Mack reversed the knife and hit him hard on the back of the head. Mickey quivered and lay still. His leg wound continued to bleed.

Mack looked around coldly. “Good job, Amanda. Always knew you were the strong one. Now, the two of you get dressed and get all your shit onto the
Bitch
. We’re leaving right this minute, and anything we don’t have we don’t need. I don’t know if that shot and all the other noise is gonna scare anybody up or not, but I really don’t feel like explaining any of this to the police or the army.”

Grace had put on her torn blouse and panties and pointed to the unconscious attacker. “You’re not going to kill him?”

“You want me to?”

“He wanted to rape me, so yeah, I do.”

Mack nodded. “What about you?” he asked Sandy, who had managed to put on her shorts.

“I don’t want you to kill anybody on my behalf.”

Grace sagged. “I don’t either, I guess. Why don’t we just get the hell out of here?”

“I’ve got the gun and I don’t want any more killing, either,” said Amanda.

Mack laughed. “You got all the votes, then.” He walked over and checked the wounded man’s pulse. “Not that it matters, Amanda, but you didn’t kill him.”

In the distance they heard sirens. Someone had heard the shooting and the screams and called the cops. “Now it’s really time to go,” Mack said, “unless you want to spend the next several days or longer explaining what we’re up to, and maybe having all our stuff confiscated because we might be hoarding.”

“But we’ve done nothing wrong,” Amanda said.

Mack laughed harshly. “Maybe you haven’t, but let’s just say that maybe I’m not a virgin and my past might not stand up to a serious investigation. They do a little digging and find out what I used to do and we’ll all be in jail while they sort things out.”

Shit, thought Amanda. Why hadn’t they realized that Mack really was a crook? Too late now. “Then let’s get going,” she said.

Headlights were visible on the road leading to the shore. They climbed aboard, hauled up the anchor, pushed off, and set the sail. The catamaran moved slowly at first and they tried to help out by paddling. She soon picked up speed as her large square sail filled with the wind. The surf was wondrously calm and they made deep water quickly. Amanda looked back and saw several people walking around where they’d just left. She wondered if the police could even see the cat as they sailed away.

“Don’t worry about the cops,” Mack said. “They’ll probably think those two jerks hurt each other fighting, and the living one won’t disagree. He’ll claim it was self-defense and maybe even get away with it. Can you even imagine him telling the cops they were trying to steal the cat and were going to rape you ladies as an explanation for getting shot and stabbed? Not a chance.”

Amanda had to agree with Mack’s logic. But what had he done in the past that made him afraid to talk to cops?

Mack laughed. “Ladies, we are on our way. California, here we come!”

* * *

Farris thought his little command was shaping up fairly well, especially with Stecher around to yell at his platoon of rank amateurs. While one squad patrolled the beach and the dirt road leading to it, the others worked on being soldiers and that included plenty of marching and running. The men were losing a lot of fat and getting into shape. Stecher had set up a firing range and they’d used a few clips of ammo each until they could at least get close to hitting the target. Nor did Captain Lytle seem to mind when Farris asked for more ammunition. Just as long as Farris’s military exercises kept him away, the captain was happy.