Chapter 4
Only two of the three subs that departed Pearl Harbor made it to San Diego. The third was never heard from again. Whether an accident or a Japanese attack caused the sub’s death they would likely never know. Maybe someday the wreck would be discovered on the bottom of the ocean and the grieving families given some solace. Dane could only be thankful that it hadn’t been him on that sub. The old phrase, there but for the grace of God go I, now carried great meaning for him.
The loss of more key personnel put an additional strain of Spruance’s rebuilding staff, especially with his new job. Spruance was now chief of staff to Nimitz. It also resulted in Dane being promoted to lieutenant commander sooner than expected and his being given a more senior position in Captain Merchant’s intelligence gathering group that was now reassigned directly to Nimitz.
On arrival at San Diego, Dane swore that he’d taken two trips on a sub and that there wouldn’t be a third. After being rescued from the sinking of the Enterprise, he’d spent much of the trip in his bunk enduring the pain from his knee. Along with the claustrophobia of the second trip, there’d been another scare when, approaching San Diego, overeager American fighter pilots decided that any sub was a Jap and strafed them. There were now several holes in Torelli’s sub and he was thoroughly pissed off.
The staff officers were given fresh uniforms and assigned quarters in overcrowded facilities, and told to be in Admiral Nimitz’s conference room by eight the next morning. Admiral Ernest J. King was on the base and he was going to get an overview of what was happening in the Pacific Theater, and Spruance, who had arrived safely a day earlier in the other surviving sub, wanted all of them to hear it.
The conference room was more of an auditorium and at least fifty people were present. Dane, as a newly ordained lieutenant commander, was one of the lowest-ranking officers present. As he took a seat alongside Merchant, Dane had the nagging feeling he still smelled of diesel and shit. He’d showered several times, but he still felt unclean. Torelli, also present for the briefing and unawed by the presence of all the brass, teased him mercilessly.
Admiral William Halsey—nobody who wanted to live ever called him “Bull” to his face—ran the meeting. He’d been hospitalized with a skin infection, shingles, when the Battle of Midway took place, and he still looked awful. Painful-looking blotches and scabs covered his arms and extended under his clothing, and Dane wondered how he could refrain from scratching himself to shreds.
Halsey looked for a moment at Admirals Spruance and King, who was just in from Washington. King had been appointed Chief of Naval Operations in the spring, replacing his good friend, Admiral Harold Stark, who was one of those blamed for the disaster at Pearl Harbor. King was reputed to be a lecher, a heavy drinker, and a hater of all things English. However and despite all the rumors regarding his personal issues, he was considered a tough and highly qualified leader and, despite reservations, now supported the Europe-first strategy as the best way to win the war and ultimately get back at the Japanese.
Still, he wanted as much pressure as possible brought to bear on the Japanese as long as there were no major actions against Germany either occurring or planned for the near future. It was rumored that he was going to get his way but not for the reasons he’d anticipated. King’s normally sour expression looked even more depressed. Stark had been blamed for Pearl Harbor, but it was King who was currently in charge. He bore the responsibility for Midway and the current dismal situation in the Pacific where the Japanese fleet could strike anywhere, anytime.
Halsey began. “First let me say that those of you who piss and moan that we have no major warships in the Pacific, and that means Hawaii, California, and the rest of the West Coast, are largely correct. The cupboard is pretty Goddamned bare, especially when it comes to carriers.”
There were muted gasps and the sounds of chairs and feet shuffling. Halsey wasn’t going to be handing out dollops of happy bullshit this fine morning.
“The Japs have bombed and shelled what was left of our installations in Hawaii,” he continued, “and the islands are now of little military use. The Japanese can take them anytime they wish. However, they might just decide they aren’t worth the cost since we reinforced them after the attack on Pearl.”
Halsey grimaced and continued. “We are not totally toothless. We still have one fleet carrier in the Pacific, the Saratoga, and for the time being she’s anchored here in San Diego. The Japs, unfortunately, have maybe a dozen carriers with several more under construction. Since the Japs aren’t telling us much, that’s only a guess; but it does mean the Sara isn’t going out alone. We do have two fleet carriers in the Atlantic along with a couple of smaller ones, but they aren’t moving out here either. FDR says they are needed in that ocean to fight Nazi U-boats and, besides, the odds against us would only be slightly reduced. Any confrontation between our carriers and the Japanese fleet at this time would be suicide. We do have a number of fleet carriers under construction and they will start coming on line next year, which won’t do us a whole lot of good today.”
Halsey paused to let harsh reality sink in. “We are outnumbered in battleships as well, although not as badly. Admiral Pye has six battleships available, seven if the Pennsylvania’s repairs are completed soon. However, they are older ships and the Japs have ten that we know of with at least two under construction and those are reported to be real monsters. The West Virginia and Nevada are still being repaired and cannot be counted on for the near future.
“However, we will soon have some new battlewagons of our own. The North Carolina will arrive shortly, and Admiral King says the Washington will be shifted here from the Atlantic Fleet. No matter how many battleships we have, they aren’t going anywhere without carrier planes to fly cover for them.”
There were murmurs of agreement with that statement. Only a few months earlier such an assertion would have been heresy. But England had lost the battleship Prince of Wales and the battlecruiser Repulse to Japanese planes the previous October when they’d steamed into the Pacific Ocean without air cover. Whereas the battleship had been queen of the seas at the beginning of the war, that title was quickly passing to the aircraft carrier.
“In effect,” Halsey continued. “We can do nothing major. We will be postponing any offensive actions, including planned moves into the Solomon Islands. That means the Japs will be free to build an airfield on Guadalcanal that can threaten Australia, which is too bad for the Aussies. It also means that the army will be pulling back on building defenses in Alaska since the navy can’t protect them, and any planes up there will be flown back here because we cannot supply or support them.”
Dane looked around. Shock was evident on many people’s faces. Not only were American forces in Australia now threatened, but so too were the people of Alaska. The Japanese had landed army detachments on the Aleutian Islands of Attu and Kiska and could possibly attack the mainland.
Halsey took a swallow of water and continued glaring. “So what will the Japs do? First, they will either invade and conquer Hawaii or leave her to starve. My money is on the latter. We also feel that they will likely strike at Alaska. It’s just too damned vulnerable. Finally, they will not invade California.”
Dane looked around and saw his own puzzlement reflected on other faces. How the hell could Halsey be so certain?
“All the same, the Japs will not leave us alone,” he continued. “We believe there will be bombing raids from their carriers and shelling from their battleships, and this will cause panic in California and elsewhere. Our army is moving a number of divisions to key spots along the West Coast to defend the cities and keep the politicians at bay.”
That brought laughter. California’s governor, Culbert Olson, had been strident in his pleas for military help. He’d called for the internment of Japanese civilians and wanted an endless wall of soldiers along the coast. The governors of Oregon and Washington weren’t much better. All politicos were being inundated by calls from people in coastal towns for a ship of their own or a regiment for their personal use to protect them from the rampaging Japs, who hadn’t arrived yet.
King interrupted. “Unfortunately, people like Governor Olson have a point. The Japs control the seas, so they can land with overwhelming force at any point they choose. If I ran their navy, that’s exactly what I’d do, and I’d stay to loot and pillage until we put enough pressure on them to leave. Fortunately for us, we do have a number of cruisers and destroyers remaining and they, along with Pye’s old battleship force, will run combat patrols along the coast. Our subs, of course, will be out scouting and patrolling.”
Merchant nudged Dane and whispered, “He’s saying the Japs will pull out from a raid if pressured. How does that square with your theory about Japanese fanaticism?”
“Withdrawing is not the same as surrendering,” Dane answered and realized King was glaring at him.
“Do you have anything to add, Commander?” the CNO asked.
Dane swallowed. It was like being a kid in school who’d been caught talking in class. “Sir, I was wondering what the current status of the Panama Canal is and when we’re going to get reinforcements through it?”
Halsey took back the floor. “Good question, Commander. As you’re all aware, a Japanese commando force landed and destroyed the locks on the Pacific side. This caused much of Lake Gatun, which is needed to float ships, to flow down to the ocean. As the lake receded, it left a number of ships in transit literally stuck in the mud or damaged by the sudden flood of water downstream. Work’s already begun on repairs, but God only knows how long it’ll take. At least we’ve stopped the flow of water from Gatun by pushing dirt into the cut and making a rude dam. The rough estimate is at least several months and maybe up to a year before the canal will be back in operation.”
This brought more gasps. Any naval reinforcements would now have to go either around Africa and across the now-hostile Pacific, or around South America and up to California. In either case, the time for the trip had more than doubled and been made significantly more dangerous.
“The attack was made by a company strength contingent of Japanese Marines,” Halsey added. “They succeeded, but all were killed after inflicting heavy casualties on our troops. Their commanding officer took out two of our men with a grenade while he was dying.” Dane looked at Merchant and the captain nodded. They would request a copy of the report from Panama.
“Furthermore, they came in a tramp freighter which the Coast Guard only belatedly identified. The freighter tried to run away, but was shot up by a Coast Guard cutter and one of our old gunboats that was in the canal area. The enemy ship then rammed the cutter. The gunboat continued to pound the freighter and, when they thought she was dead, sent over a boarding party. At that instant, the ship exploded, killing everyone on the cutter and most of the people on the gunboat. Needless to say, everyone on the freighter was killed. We don’t know if the explosion was accidental or not.”
“Let me give you some reassurance, gentlemen,” Admiral King said. “The situation Admiral Halsey has described is totally accurate, but you are not going to be hung out to dry. We know you need carriers and more carriers. I’ve spoken with Secretary Knox and he assures me that warship production will be shifted from cruisers and destroyers to carriers. Thus, we will be able to accelerate the completion of the Essex by at least several months, even if her shakedown cruise is truncated and she sails with a couple of hundred civilian workers still finishing her. She will be done early and she will be sent to the Pacific. So too will other carriers, such as the smaller Independence, when she is completed.”
After a few more questions, the meeting broke up. Merchant grabbed Dane’s arm. “How’s that report on Jap fanaticism coming?”
“Haven’t started, sir.”
“Start.”
* * *
Steve Farris had reluctantly come to the conclusion that Captain Lytle might be more of a danger to the American army than the Japs were. His platoon had been issued helmets and rifles and now at least looked like soldiers. The helmets were the new bowl type and not the World War I pie tins. The new models were said to provide more protection for the occupant’s skull. Farris was in no hurry to check out the hypothesis.
The rifles, however, were the venerable but still lethal 1903 model Springfields, and not the new Garands that were just beginning to be produced. The Springfield was a .30 caliber bolt-action weapon that took a five-shot clip. It might be old, but in the right hands, the Springfield was a deadly weapon. The next day, Lytle took them to the rifle range where the company largely succeeded in hitting the ground, much to the amusement of their Marine instructors. Farris, who considered himself a good to excellent shot, had lost any edge he might have had and was as bad as anybody.
To Steve’s astonishment, Lytle had appeared satisfied and announced that the next day they would head ten miles north and build a post near the small village of Bridger. Bridger was located a mile inland and had a population of two hundred, some of whom farmed and others fished.
Along with being satisfied with the company’s miserable shooting, Lytle was preoccupied with building what Farris considered a resort for himself and his men after they arrived at their destination. Patrolling and recon work were not on his agenda. Instead, a comfortable tent village was constructed with the largest and most luxurious tent going to the captain.
Farris and Lytle soon had a number of arguments regarding this and other matters, but to no avail. Steve once again worked up the nerve to protest and did so in Lytle’s tent when the two of them were alone.
“Sir, when are we going to start doing our job of scouting?”
Lytle laughed mirthlessly. “For what? Do you really think there are Japs coming? Hell, there are thousands of miles of coastline. The odds of the Japs landing here are astronomically small.”
Farris had to admit his lush of a commanding officer had a point. But they had their orders and there was such a thing as doing their duty. “I think we should be doing at least a little recon work instead of painting the rocks white.”
“I think it makes the base look good,” Lytle replied, not catching the sarcasm. Several paths were outlined by brightly painted rocks. Lytle’s breath reeked of booze. Away from San Diego and the sobering presence of more senior officers, he’d again been drinking heavily.
“Regardless, I think it’s a waste and I also believe we should have built elsewhere.”
“Nonsense, we have a great view of the ocean.”
“And that’s the point, Captain. We can see for miles which means we would stick out like a sore thumb to lookouts on any enemy ship. We should have built behind the hill where we can’t be seen and have lookouts watching the ocean. I agree with you that it’s a long shot that any Jap will show up, but any enemy ship that might happen by would know right away that this is a military post and shell it from a distance, and we’d be unable to do a damn thing about it.”
He declined to say anything about white rocks serving as aiming points. Lytle sat down in a camp chair and leaned back, clearly off balance. For a moment it looked as if he would fall over and Steve relished the thought.
“Farris, just because you had a year of college, it doesn’t mean you’re smarter than I am. I am the captain and in command of this company, and you are a lieutenant and you are rapidly becoming a pain in the ass. If I could, I would send you back and get someone more reasonable, but I can’t.”
Farris was undeterred. “And instead of painting the damn rocks, we should be training. Our men are out of shape and, like you saw on the range, can’t shoot worth squat. Sir, I would like to start patrolling and training instead of just sitting here and admiring the scenery.”
“Lieutenant, instead of wasting our time patrolling, I would like to either relieve you of your command or have your worthless ass court-martialed. Like I said, though, I can’t do much about you. Instead, I am going to do you a big favor. You can take your platoon and your grumpy fucking Sergeant Stecher the hell out of here and build your own little castle a couple of miles up the coast where you can hide behind hills to your little heart’s content. I’ll replace your platoon with Sawyer’s.”
Farris had mixed emotions. Sawyer was the youngest and least experienced officer in the company and was totally intimidated by Lytle. They would do a marvelous job of painting rocks and anything else the company commander wanted, except prepare for war.
There was, however, a good side to Lytle’s orders. Away from Lytle, Farris would indeed be able to get his men as close to fighting trim as circumstances would permit.
Outside, Stecher asked how it went. “Well, we get a little independence,” Farris said and explained that they’d be moving.
“Half a loaf is better than nothing,” Stecher said. He was impressed that his lieutenant had a pair of balls and had stood up to their sot of a CO. He also had a sense of duty.
Farris smiled. “Lytle may be right, and the only Japs we’ll ever see will be running a laundry or something, but if the worst should happen, we’ll be as ready as we possibly can be.”
Stecher laughed. “Chinese run laundries, not the Japs. No Pearl Harbor on our watch then?”
“Not if I can help it. If anybody dies on my watch, it won’t be because I didn’t do the best I could.”
“Uh, Lieutenant, I know you don’t approve of our captain’s drinking, but I hope you agree there’s a time and place for everything.”
“Of course.”
“Then you might like to know that a case of beer has appeared as if by magic in my tent, perhaps sent by the beer fairy, and I’d enjoy sharing one or three with you.”
Farris grinned. “I’d be honored. Tomorrow we move this hot dog stand to a new location.”
* * *
“Any of you ladies own a gun?” Mack asked.
Amanda, Sandy and Grace shook their heads in surprise at the question. Sandy said she hated guns.
“Well, thank God I own a few,” Mack said. “I’ll be bringing a twelve-gauge shotgun, a thirty-two caliber revolver, and an 1873 model Winchester carbine that I was told was used by the Sioux against Custer. That’s probably a lie, but it shoots straight. Oh yeah, there’ll be a box of ammo for each.”
“But why,” Sandy asked. She was tired. They all were. They’d managed time off from the hospital and had spent the last several days learning how to improve their handling of the catamaran. Sandy had started as the plump one, but was now slimming down. Mack thought she looked good, but not as good as Grace, who had just unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse which gave him a good view of her ample cleavage. Regardless, all three were becoming skilled sailors.
When the nurses weren’t there, Mack had worked hard to improve the sailboat. The decking connecting the twin hulls had been reinforced and compartments made to store food, water, and other supplies, including a spare set of sails and an extra mast. The cabin just behind the single mast in the middle of the boat had been enlarged so they could fit inside in case of bad weather, although sleeping would be difficult for more than two people at a time.
“We need guns because of sharks,” he answered, “and I don’t necessarily mean the ones that swim in the sea. I’m thinking of the two-legged ones who might try to take the Bitch from us before we can leave, or jump us at sea. Tell me, does anyone in your real world know what we’re up to?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Amanda said. “You told us to keep it under our hats and that’s what we’ve done. If anybody’s followed us here or figured things out, I don’t know. What about here? Any of the locals suspect anything?”
Mack nodded. He’d already decided that Amanda, the quiet-looking one, was the smartest of the three and the leader. He wondered if she knew it yet.
“I don’t think any of my neighbors have noticed anything,” Mack said. “Fixing up the cat isn’t unusual, and I’ve been storing stuff at night so nobody should suspect that we’re preparing for the end of the world. As to the guns, I’ll be teaching you how to handle them just in case.”
“I hate guns,” Sandy said again with a shudder.
“You don’t have to like them,” Mack said, “just respect them and learn how to use them. It might just save your life.”
Amanda looked at him stonily. “Are you also suggesting that we save a bullet each for ourselves?”
Well, Mack thought, you figured it out. You are indeed the smart one. “If we’re about to be captured by a Jap warship, or if we’re dying of thirst or starvation, the choice’ll be yours, now won’t it.”
“When are we leaving?” Grace asked.
“Next Saturday’d be good. No sense waiting here any longer than we have to. Wait too long and the Japs’ll be crawling all over the beaches.”
* * *
The Japanese Zero was simply the finest plane in the world and it was flown by the finest pilots in the world. This was not only the opinion of twenty-four-year-old Ensign Masao Ikeda, but of everyone else who had half a brain, and that included the deluded Americans who’d been dying in large numbers because they’d underestimated Japan.
The official designation of the Zero was the A6M. The letter A indicated it was a carrier plane, the number 6 said it was the sixth model, and the M said it had been made by the Mitsubishi corporation. The Zero was a one-man fighter that could fly more than three hundred miles an hour, soar to more than thirty thousand feet in the sky, and maneuver on the proverbial dime. Ikeda’s plane had two 20mm Type 99 cannon and often carried a pair of 132 pound bombs slung under her wings.
The Zero simply outclassed anything the Americans had sent against them so far, but there were rumors that the Yanks had newer and better planes coming into play. Let them, Ikeda thought. None would be better than the Zero. Let the arrogant Americans learn to die. They’d tried so hard to humiliate Japan and her revered emperor they deserved nothing less.
Ikeda was proud beyond words to be a fighter pilot in the service of the emperor. Training had been more than grueling. Ninety percent of the pilot candidates had flunked out. The ones who made it through were the best of the best, the elite of the elite.
He’d heard some officers complain that too many good pilots were being dismissed because they weren’t quite excellent enough. Ikeda scoffed at that idea. The successful pilot candidates, like him, would be more than enough to slaughter the larger number of poorly trained Americans who thought that Japanese were ignorant, buck-toothed, and too nearsighted to fly a plane effectively. The Americans and British also thought that Japan could only produce junk, and both were paying terrible prices for their hubris.
Rigorous training had continued after his commissioning as a officer three years earlier so that now he and his plane were almost as one. The same was true of his comrades. No one could stand against them. They were modern samurai. They could not be beaten. They would bring honor and glory to Japan and the emperor.
Masao was not afraid to die, although he would not recklessly seek it out. Should it come to him in the course of battle then he would be at peace with his honor. He would have fulfilled his obligations to the code of bushido. Before leaving Japan, he’d left fingernail clippings and a lock of hair with his parents. Should he be killed and his body not returned, they and his little sister could honor him and themselves by enshrining his scant remains at the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo. He planned to live a long and prosperous life. However, death in war was a real possibility. He would not, of course, allow himself to be taken prisoner. The shame would be unendurable and his family would disown him. Should that remote possibility arise, he would endeavor to take as many Americans with him as he possibly could.
If the Zero did have a fault, it was a minor one in Ikeda’s opinion. There was no armor. It had been sacrificed for speed and agility. If hit, the plane was prone to burst into flames. Therefore, his fellow pilots all joked, don’t get hit. Avoiding enemy guns was not all that difficult as both the American planes and pilots were slow and awkward.
Nor did the pilots have parachutes. They’d been issued and their commanders had ordered the young Japanese eagles to wear them, but no true warrior would even think of it. If the plane was too badly damaged to make it back to base or be rescued, they would simply seek a target of opportunity and crash into it. Again, sceptics said that was a waste of highly trained pilots, but those who said that didn’t understand the code of bushido.
Ikeda longed for the chance to shoot an American out of the sky. He’d strafed a couple of planes on the ground at Pearl Harbor’s Hickam Field, along with trucks and fleeing personnel, but those did not count as true kills in his mind. His thinking was that he might as well have shot up as many parked cars.
This day he and a dozen others flying from the aircraft carrier Kaga were searching for ships that a scout plane reported had departed Honolulu at night. These were transports and freighters escorted by a cruiser and a pair of destroyers. Killing the three warships was a goal, but attacking the other ships was something that would usually be beneath him. However, he’d been informed that they were full of soldiers trying to flee Hawaii, which made them marginally worthwhile targets. He’d also been given specific orders and, while he could get away with not wearing a parachute, he could not refuse an assignment, however lowly. He and his fellow pilots would sink the lowly transports.
His radio crackled. Directions and orders were given. There were no American planes flying cover for the transports, which further frustrated Ikeda. At least a few Americans had attempted to stop them when they’d attacked Honolulu a couple of weeks earlier, but other Japanese pilots had destroyed them before Ikeda’s chance had come. Back on the Kaga, they’d boasted about how easy it had been, laughing that there weren’t enough Americans to go around, unintentionally humiliating the young ensign.
But now they were over the convoy. The American ships were in no formation to speak of. They were simply running away, now scattering in all directions as they spotted their attackers. Nor did the escorts have much in the way of antiaircraft guns. Only a few streams of tracers searched for them. Ikeda aimed at a transport and dropped his bombs. He cursed when splashes that hit near the ship’s hull told him he’d missed. One bomb might have been close enough to cause internal damage from the pressure of the explosion, but he doubted it. He would have to work on his bombing technique. It wasn’t easy for one moving object to hit another moving object unless they were very close to each other, which he now intended to do.
He swung his nimble plane around and lined up his cannon at a destroyer. He flew lower. He opened fire and walked the 20mm shells up to it and they ripped along the hull. He laughed and returned to attack the transport.
Ikeda exulted. This one is mine. He swung about and launched another deadly attack. The transport began burning and he could see scores of men jumping overboard. It was a sight being repeated throughout the fleeing enemy ships as the Americans were again being slaughtered.
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.”