That answer did not totally please Goto. It meant that Finch could be used only one time and that his fat commander would have to be induced to move rapidly, something that just wasn’t likely.
However, like Finch, Goto had no choice. He would use the tools at hand, not the ones he wished he had.
On the other side of Hilo, Lieutenant Sammy Brooks, USMC, crouched in the hole he’d dug in the side of the hill overlooking Major Shimura’s quarters. Shimura had commandeered a large and stately house on the outskirts of Hilo that must have belonged to someone with money.
It was daylight, and he had several hours more to wait. Beside him was his rifle, the ‘03 Springfield he thought of as his best friend. Brooks was an outstanding shot, and, in his opinion, the Springfield was a more accurate sniper rifle than the new Garand being issued to the army. Screw the army, he thought, he’d keep his Springfield.
As a marine, he had been well taught in the craft of stalking a prey. He would not be found except in the unlikely circumstance that someone literally stumbled onto where he was hidden. He knew that what he was doing was against Jake Novacek’s orders, but he just didn’t care. It was impossible for him to be on the same island with a pack of Japs and not strike out at them. He’d heard of Novacek’s ambush of the Jap patrol and knew that the Japs hadn’t launched any offensive against them. He was confident the same would be the case this time.
Brooks hadn’t intended an ambush. His original plans were for several days of in-depth reconnaissance of the Hilo garrison, but, when he realized how small and ineffective the Jap force was, he knew he could strike and flee into the interior with little concern.
He had lied to both his commander in California and Novacek. His brother wasn’t in a Jap prison camp. His brother was dead. Word had come from the Philippines, through a civilian who both knew his brother and had seen him die, that Captain John W. Brooks had been bayoneted for insolence en route to a prison camp after the surrender at Bataan. His insolence was begging for water. He was then buried alive in a sandpit by fellow prisoners, who would have been killed themselves had they not cooperated. When the grievously wounded man had clawed his way out of his grave, he had been reburied. John W Brooks did not escape death a second time.
Although he detested it, Sammy Brooks understood the need for patience. Already he had spent almost a day in his hole. He ate sparingly of his rations, drank sips from his canteen, and relieved himself into a hole dug in the bottom of his hideout. The waiting was agony, but he would be well paid for it.
Finally, shadows faded into a gray night. There were plenty of stars, which was both a blessing and a curse. His target would be easy to see, but so would he as he fled. He would count on confusion and a defensive reaction to his attack to enable him to get into the safety of the hills.
A car pulled up in front of Shimura’s quarters. A guard got out of the front seat and ran to his station at the rear of the house. The driver exited and opened the rear door for the fat major to get out. He then ran to the porch to open the door for Shimura, after which he would take up duty as a front sentry. Brooks knew that they changed every four hours from a guardhouse that was a couple of miles away.
In short, Shimura’s security was incredibly lax.
The major walked to the house and waited for the guard to open the door. The range was three hundred yards. Brooks squeezed the trigger, and there was a startling blast of sound and light. Shimura’s head exploded in a froth of gray and red while the sentry gaped in astonishment.
“Damn,” muttered Brooks. He’d been nervous, and his shot had ridden high. He had aimed for the Jap’s torso, not his head. It was too easy to miss the smaller skull. He had been lucky.
He worked the bolt and fired a second time, dropping the shocked guard beside his master. The second guard raced from the back, and another bullet toppled him. This was excellent. Anyone who had heard the gunfire was unlikely to investigate, and there was no one to notify the other soldiers at the guard shack. Someone in the area might phone, but it was unlikely. No one would want to get involved. The Japanese reaction would take time.
“Three for three,” Brooks exulted and laughed, and then he turned somber. “That’s for you, Johnnie,” he sobbed.
He gathered his rifle and his gear and began the lonely trot into the hills.
It never rains in sunny Southern California, at least that was what Jamie Priest had always thought. This day, however, had brought a torrential rain and a cold wind off the ocean, and neither showed any sign of letting up.
He and Suzy Dunnigan had moved their picnic from the beach to the small, two-bedroom bungalow that had belonged to her father. It was a mile away from the ocean, and, by the time they got there, parked the car, and got their things from it, both were soaking wet and cold.
No matter. While there was no furnace in her house, there was a Franklin stove, which, after only a few minutes and a handful of wood, gave off enough heat to dry their swimsuits while they dined off a blanket that was spread on the floor by the stove.
Suzy had chosen a white wine from a California vineyard he’d never heard of. Jamie’s perception of California wines was that they were cheap and bitter, and he found himself pleasantly surprised by the richness of the taste. The wine, coupled with the radiant heat, made them feel warm and mellow.
Jamie spent a couple of minutes examining the house. There were a number of pictures of Suzy’s father, along with a couple of her as a thin and serious-looking child, and the house exuded a fairly masculine air.
“Dad bought this place after the divorce. I only moved back a few months ago. I graduated from Stanford last June and always thought my dad would move back here and take possession. Then, after he was killed, I didn’t have the heart or courage to change anything.” She laughed softly. “However, I had already moved into the larger bedroom and taken over the big bed. My stuff is in his closet. Even before Pearl Harbor, I didn’t think he’d mind if I took it over.”
“I like it. What will you do with it when you leave to serve your country?”
Congress was on the verge of approving women in both the navy and the army. With Nimitz’s endorsement, Suzy was a virtual shoo-in for officers’ school or even a direct commission in what would be called the WAVES, the Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Service. She thought someone had strained hard to make the acronym work for the navy.
But it was a sore point insofar as Jamie’s request for a transfer to a combat command had again been denied.
“I’ll probably rent it out. Do you think you’d be interested?”
Jamie thought that he might. It would beat the hell out of the bachelors’ quarters he shared with several dozen close friends.
“Yeah, since I’m not going anyplace, I might just take you up on it.”
She reached over and took his hand. “Jamie, you know they can’t send you out. You may be the last of the Pennsylvania’s crew, and they can’t risk you. You’ll be promoted, and you still have a great career if you want to stay in the navy when the war’s over, but you know you won’t see any more combat in this war.”
Jamie knew it, but he didn’t have to like it. Everything she said was correct. He’d been informed that his promotion to lieutenant commander would come down any day. They both thought it was overdue and probably delayed because of uncertainty regarding his role with the doomed battleship. Privately, Jamie thought the four pissed-off admirals who’d traveled to see him had stonewalled it for as long as they could.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said and squeezed his hand. “Whatever happens, I won’t be getting shot at either. With a little luck, I’ll be back in San Diego doing what I’ve been doing, only wearing a uniform.”
“That’s important to you, isn’t it? The uniform.”
“Because of my father, yes.”
“And that’s why you like me, right? Because I look so good in a sailor suit?”
Suzy laughed and squeezed his hand harder. “Who says I like you?”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “And it doesn’t bother me at all that you won’t be in combat. You’ve seen more than enough of it. I don’t want you hurt.”
Jamie was delighted. Even though he knew she was fond of him, it was the first time she’d said it. He wondered if the fact that they were just about finished with the second bottle of wine had anything to do with it.
