while Major General Maxwell Murray would have taken over the 25th.
Short smiled benignly. “Look, Colonel, I know you mean well, but you’ve only been here a short time and you’ll be leaving us in just a little while.”
“I’ll be what?” Collins said in surprise.
Short permitted himself a chuckle. “Finally, something I know and you don’t. Colonel, I’ve just gotten orders to send you and a handful of others back to the mainland. I gather that General Marshall doesn’t want to take a chance on you becoming prisoners.”
“When do I leave?” Collins asked softly. This was not what he’d had in mind. He didn’t like to leave jobs unfinished, and that was precisely what was going to happen. He didn’t know what plans Marshall had for him and, although intrigued, thought he would rather stay and take part in the fighting.
“We’re making arrangements to sneak out a few planes,” Phillips said. There was no smugness in his voice. Instead, Collins picked up a hint of regret. He would not be leaving Oahu. “We have a handful of PBYs and a Pan American Clipper that had to make a landing here a couple of days ago. They are hidden and will be used at the proper time.”
Both types of planes were flying boats that could land and take off in the water. That trait made them invaluable, as every good-size landing field had been attacked by the Japs.
‘Who’ll replace me?” Collins asked.
Short appeared to wince. It had been his earlier decision to appoint the incompetent Fielder to the position now held by Collins that had caused so many problems. “Bicknell,” the general said. “Novacek will be his second.
“Are you promoting Novacek? He sure as hell deserves it.”
Short looked at the ceiling. An explosion rumbled in the distance. If he had listened to Novacek in the first place, he thought, perhaps the situation wouldn’t be quite so grave. Perhaps he’d even have a reputation left.
“Yeah,” the general said softly. “Promote the SOB.”
Jamie Priest had no idea which source of his suffering was the worst. Was it the fire from the sun that baked the bare portions of his skin, causing it to blister and resulting in agonies of the damned? Or was it the salt water as it washed over his body and over those blisters and increased his torments?
No, Jamie decided, it was the thirst. In comparison with thirst, anything else was trivial. The thirst was killing him and driving him mad. Had driven him mad? Was he already insane?
He had been at least two days without water, probably longer- he’d lost track of time. Already several of his companions had died or just given up and let themselves slide into the sea to end their pain. All of those who’d been more than slightly wounded in the tragic encounter with the Japanese fleet were dead, and he wasn’t certain about the rest. It’d been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone, or heard a voice call out.
At first Jamie and the others had hoped that the ocean currents would push them east toward the mainland, but the winds had been contrary, which meant they’d likely not gone far at all. Floating to California had been a forlorn and ludicrous hope anyhow. Without food or water, they’d have been dead for weeks before they got near the place.
But at least the thought had given them some faint whisper of hope. That hope had vanished when reality set in as time passed. They were adrift in the Pacific without food, water, or shelter, and, while the temperatures weren’t at all difficult to endure, the constant exposure to salt water, wind, and sun had scraped them raw.
Maybe the dead were the lucky ones. Jamie knew he would join them very shortly. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time and now was experiencing delirium and hallucinations. There was a whale on the water, and it was staring at him Impossible, a rational corner of his mind said. Whales go in the water and not on it. And whales do not have holes in their sides. Okay, he thought, that made it a building and not a whale, but there aren’t any buildings in the middle of the Pacific either, so that meant it must be a whale after all.
He heard someone say “easy,” and then he felt strong hands lift him out of the water and into the belly of the whale or whatever it was. I’m Jonah, he thought and giggled silently. He tried to say something, but his lips were scabbed over and wouldn’t work.
A face looked down on him. There was a light behind the face, and he wondered if it was God talking to him. “Are you from the Pennsylvania! If you are, just nod, buddy. Don’t try to talk at all.”
Jamie nodded, and the face smiled. Damp cloths were placed on him, and he felt their cooling ecstasy. A little water was permitted to seep between his lips, and his greedy body arched to meet it.
“Relax, buddy,” said the voice. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
The refreshing water partially cleared Jamie’s mind, and he felt hands rifling the pockets of his tattered pants and shirt. He was on an airplane, a PBY, and wanted to ask about the others but couldn’t frame the words. Then he realized it didn’t matter. If he was saved, then so were they.
Jamie felt the surge of power beneath him and the roar of the engines as the plane lifted off from the water. They were airborne, and he was free from the sea and the agonies it had caused him.
The voice returned, and Jamie saw it was a naval ensign. “You ever been to California, Lieutenant?” Jamie shook his head. How did the ensign know his rank? His bars must still have been on his shirt, or there was some information in his pockets. “Well, that’s where you’re going, sir. You’re gonna be safe now. Everything’s okay.”
The ensign made a move to touch the film pouch that was hung around Jamie’s neck. “No,” Jamie rasped and jerked it away with a clawlike hand. “Important. Very important.”
The ensign nodded and departed. Jamie was satisfied. He had saved the film that Seaman Fiorini had entrusted him with before dying. It was important. Very important. If only he could remember why.
The islands of Hawaii were over the horizon, only hours away, and Colonel Shigenori Omori stared into the distance as if such actions could will the islands closer and thus end his waiting.
Omori was forty years old, five three, stockily built, and had fairly typical Japanese features and dark hair. The colonel was the commandant of the 450-man field kempei detachment, or kempetei as it was called outside Japan, that had been detailed to maintain control over the population of Hawaii once it was conquered. As he turned and looked at the mighty transport fleet, there was no doubt in his mind that the conquest would occur.
The kempetei were the Japanese secret police, considered by some to be the equivalent of Germany’s Gestapo. Omori disagreed. He had contempt for the Nazis and their Gestapo, which seemed to be populated by lunatics rather than patriots. The Nazis killed and tortured for the sake of inflicting pain, rather than for the sake of maintaining control over the population and, thus, the security of the nation. That and their fixation on Jews made them suspect in his eyes.
Omori knew there were sadists in the kempetei, any organization with such far-reaching and extralegal powers would attract such people, but using brutality and terror for their own sake was foolish and illogical.
Brutality and terror always had to have a purpose, and ensuring the well-being of Japan and her interests was more than enough purpose, without focusing on ethnic groups simply because they existed. Omori considered Hitler’s persecution of the Jews to be a mindless waste of energy that could be better spent hunting down real threats rather than a bunch of shabby misfits. Omori thought it ironic that large enclaves of Jews existed in Shanghai and other areas of China that had been conquered by Japan, and, so long as they obeyed Japan’s laws, they were left alone.
When the Hawaiian Islands were conquered, he would have 450 men to help control them. Reality said that they were too few to be everywhere, and that only Oahu would be garrisoned by Imperial marines and the bulk of his kempetei. He hoped to place a small contingent in Hilo, on the big island of Hawaii, but decided he might have to satisfy himself with locally recruited informers supported by flying columns of marines to do his work there and on the other islands.
The kempei in Japan were somewhat restrained in their actions, while the kempetei operating against often hostile foreign populations had few constraints on their actions.
There would, of course, be a substantial garrison of Imperial marines on Oahu, but they were rather ordinary soldiers and not skilled in controlling or intimidating a civilian population. No, the marines would guard the bases, prisons, and airfields, while the real work in securing the islands would be done by Omori’s kempetei detachment.
As the kempetei reported to the army minister, they normally wore army uniforms with special armbands to differentiate themselves from the regular military. In this case, he’d ordered a number of his officers and men to
