1942

Mitscher visualized Jap ships erupting from Pearl Harbor like angry bees or wasps from a hive. The Japanese had enough power to overwhelm the entire task force, not to mention a divided one. Spruance was going to divide an inferior force in the face of a superior enemy. Who the hell said he was too cautious? If events didn’t work out, Spruance would have put the entire fleet at risk of being sunk.

But what if the Japs couldn’t get out of their hive? Mitscher thought that would be the irony of Operation Wasp. Spruance was right. Brave men were going to put their lives on the line in an outrageous attempt to stop the Japs. Being prepared for the results of their efforts was the least they could do.

The captain’s wrinkled face split wide with a grin. “Then let’s us get this fleet moving.”

Lieutenant Goto felt like spitting in the face of Sergeant Charley Finch. Goto believed that using turncoats and traitors like Finch brought dishonor to Japan’s warrior race. He sometimes thought that defeat with honor would be preferable to victory aided by scum like Finch.

However, Finch had brought important news. Goto and Captain Kashii had been surprised and impressed by the audacious American plan to attack Hilo. Now they would be prepared and would inflict a stinging defeat on the Americans. Along with being prepared to repulse the minor aerial attack, Kashii would send two companies of infantry on trucks to where the plane or planes were based.

For his part, Finch considered his work done. He had no desire to return to the American base camp. He wished to get laid and get rich, in that order. He made it clear that both Omori and Goto owed him a lot.

“That disgusting snail,” Kashii snarled after Finch had left them. “He expects to be treated like a lord when he should have his head cut off and shoved up his ass.”

Goto laughed. “I wonder how he’d like the view.”

Both men had been drinking homemade liquor to pass an otherwise dull afternoon and had added a couple more drinks to celebrate their new find. They weren’t drunk, but the raw booze had loosened many of their inhibitions. Finch was out getting screwed by one of the local whores. He’d wanted a white woman but decided to settle for what was available, which wasn’t much.

“I am quite certain that Colonel Omori has an interesting end in store for Sergeant Finch,” Goto said. “Perhaps even something like what you have in mind. Personally, I would like to see him cut to little pieces and forced to watch while pigs eat his living flesh.”

“I like that idea,” Kashii said and lumbered to his feet.

Outside, Sergeant Charley Finch stood frozen in horror. His hand was scant inches from the knob. He’d gotten his ashes hauled real fast by an ugly whore and wanted to talk some more with Goto. He still wasn’t fluent in Japanese, but he understood what Goto and Kashii were saying well enough to get that he was going to be betrayed by the Japs. Any thoughts of a reward were now gone. He had to be concerned with his survival.

Finch thought quickly. Now what? There was no other choice. He would leave Hilo and return to the Americans. On his way, he would alert the farmers, just like he was supposed to do. He would return to Novacek’s band with his mission completed and be in good standing with them. Kashii and Goto would doubtless send troops against the air base, but that could be blamed on something else. He knew he was clutching at straws, but that was all that was available. Damn! How could things have gotten so fucked up so quickly?

He would be in tremendous danger if the Americans got hold of Jap records and found out he’d been a spy. But that was a bridge to be crossed in the future. Right now, Charley Finch was concerned about staying alive for the next few days.

Maybe he could destroy the records. No, that was unlikely. Maybe he could convince the Americans that he was playing a double game and doing it for America.

Yeah. He grinned as he slipped off into the darkness and out of Hilo. That was it. He could still come out of this mess a hero.

August 1, 1942, had been an emotional drain for Colonel Omori. On his head rested the security of the island of Oahu during the visit by the fleet and Japan’s dignitaries. He was exhausted by the need to keep his emotions under control. It wasn’t every day that Japan annexed a new province and declared a new land to be a part of Nippon. But it had happened, and the ceremony had gone off without a hitch. After hours of boring speeches, several thousand native Japanese and Hawaiians who had gathered for them had applauded tepidly and wandered off. Several hundred had been invited to a lavish reception that featured foods unseen on the islands for several months. Most showed up, but many others did not bother to attend, which disturbed both Omori and Admiral Iwabachi. Admiral Yamamoto, the guest of honor, apparently did not notice or chose to ignore the slight.