Omori smiled and nodded. He was not as impressed with Iwabachi’s efforts as the admiral was. While the fuel tanks had been reconstructed, only half of them were full. Nothing had been done regarding clearing the wrecked American ships from where they’d been sunk, and the antisubmarine boom had not been repaired. Shore batteries that had been smashed by the bombardment remained that way, and the antiaircraft batteries were less than half effective. Pearl Harbor had a long way to go before it could be considered a fortress.
Of course, there were reasons for this situation. Iwabachi’s orders had been to concentrate on the fuel storage tanks and, when that task was complete, to develop the defenses. It had been stressed that Oahu without fuel was useless. Iwabachi had not been given adequate resources to do much more than the first job, and the remaining tasks had been pushed further and further back. Omori did not think Yamamoto would be pleased, regardless of what Iwabachi thought.
He and the admiral ate in what had been the American officers’ club, and it still disturbed Omori to see American Negroes moving about in the kitchen and cleaning the tables. This was another area in which he and the admiral disagreed. Despite the fact that the Americans were technically civilians and certainly not white, Omori considered them a possible threat. Iwabachi had laughed at him and asked him how a handful of shambling, ignorant people with black faces could ever threaten Japan.
After the meal was over, Omori returned by car to his office. With the removal of the remaining American prisoners to Japan, he had moved his operations to Honolulu. Only the Japanese naval air section remained at Wheeler Field. That consisted of two score Zeros and a handful of reconnaissance craft, along with their pilots, mechanics, and a small number of guards. This was something else that Omori felt was inadequately done. The islands needed more planes and more soldiers. Perhaps that lack would be corrected after Yamamoto arrived.
He sighed as his car neared the hotel where he kept a suite. There would be liquor and the pleasure of watching the Korean woman, Han, perform with another American woman. The hell with it. If Iwabachi wasn’t concerned, why was he?
CHAPTER 20
Reinhard Hardegen had commanded the sequentially numbered U-123 before the start of hostilities between Germany and the United States. His and a handful of other boats had been sent to American East Coast waters in what was called Operation Paukenschlag, or Drumbeat. They’d launched themselves furiously against unprotected and unsuspecting American shipping. The drum they had beaten was the American merchant fleet.
It had been what Hardegen and his comrades referred to as yet another “happy time,” as ship after ship was sunk off the American coast. U-boats boldly went up the Mississippi, the St. Lawrence, and into the port of New York. Hardegen himself had seen the city’s skyline and marveled at it. The Americans had been totally inept in their antisubmarine defenses. It was as if they never thought war would come to them. The Germans exulted as the idiots had even kept their city lights on, which enabled tankers to be silhouetted against them in the night.
Hardegen had been ruthlessly efficient, although not unnecessarily cruel. He had not shelled lifeboats; slaughtering the innocent was not in him. Once, he had positioned the U-123 between the shore and a burning tanker that he was shelling with his deck gun. He did not want to accidentally send shells from the gun over the tanker and into the crowds of Americans gathered on the nearby beach to watch the show. He wondered what they’d thought when the U-123 had emerged before them, almost literally a stone’s throw away.
The American defenses still weren’t particularly good, although they were improving. There was just too much shoreline for the Yanks to patrol, and they had too many bad habits to break. The Americans were likable, but so undisciplined, Hardegen thought.
And discipline was what made Hardegen a good member of the Kriegsmarine, the German navy. He had spent the last few months as a training commander, but the navy had been asked to find out what the American fleet was up to. In short, where were the carriers? Despite lingering injuries, he would do his duty to the best of his now limited abilities.
Hardegen had been at the U-boat base at Lorient, on the western coast of France, when the call came in. The U-123 with its new skipper had been the only sub in port, and her captain had just suffered an attack of appendicitis. With mixed emotions, Hardegen had essentially commandeered his old boat and taken her north.
Her crew had been looking forward to more leave time in France, where they had been celebrating cheating death one more time in the riotous manner that was traditional with submariners. There’d been tons of food, copious amounts of liquor, and eager French whores. Still, the command from Admiral Doenitz would be obeyed.
Hardegen’s orders had been to cruise north and try to find a suspected American task force off Iceland. He was to locate and observe and not commit any rash acts. Confirmation of the presence of the American fleet was deemed more important than another kill.
This suited Hardegen for two reasons: his sub had left suddenly and without torpedoes, and he had no death wish.
Thus, Hardegen squinted through the periscope and tried to make sense of what he saw anchored in the mist. American destroyers formed a protective outer screen, and it was difficult to see clearly because of the weather. He would make no attempt to penetrate further.
He made a notation and turned the periscope over to his executive officer. “You make a tally, and we’ll compare,” he said.
The other officer nodded and began his observations. Finally, he stepped back. “I make it five large carriers with a possible sixth in the distance. There are three battleships and a number of heavy cruisers. From their silhouettes, I believe they are all Americans.”
Hardegen nodded. “I counted only five carriers and no sixth one in the distance. However, I defer to your younger eyes. Please signal that we have located the American fleet and give its probable disposition.”
“Five carriers or six?”
Hardegen thought for a moment. How marvelous that Berlin had even thought to look in Iceland for the Americans. And what were they doing there? Obviously there were big plans afoot, and his discovery would be a major part of upsetting them.
“Let discretion be our guide. Tell them six.”
At the secret codebreaking complex at Bletchley Park, England, the codebreakers exulted. Hardegen didn’t know it, but he was as safe as a baby in its crib. They had recorded both his orders sending him to Iceland and his brief report. He’d been allowed to exit Lorient without interference, and his return trip would likewise be uninterrupted; thus allowing him to amplify on the American armada he thought he’d seen off Iceland.
Lieutenant Commander Fargo knew the totality of overwhelming, shuddering fear. The ocean outside the thin hull of the Monkfish throbbed as immense, angry, and fearsome life vibrated through the water and resonated within the submarine.
Like his German counterpart half a world away, he was close to a massive fleet. In this case, the term close to meant feet and not miles.
“Jesus Christ,” Fargo muttered. “How many of the fuckers are there?”
He had spotted the approaching Japanese armada on a routine periscope sweep. Along with two of the largest battleships he’d ever imagined possible, he had noted a number of carriers before prudence told him to down periscope and lie on the floor of the harbor entrance and act like a piece of mud. Even though one of his men had tied debris to the periscope to make it less visible, he wasn’t going to chance it with the entire Japanese navy cruising past him.
Instead, he and his men tried to identify the type of ship by the sound of its screws as it rumbled by. Assuming that the first two were the battleships and the carriers had followed, they were comfortable in estimating that at least a dozen major warships, heavy cruisers or larger, had entered the confines of Pearl Harbor, with still more coming. The enemy fleet was at least as large as the entire U.S. naval force that had been assigned to Pearl Harbor on December 7.
But they’d had to enter through the channel single file, and they’d have to leave the same way. The channel
