1942

Jake did not like planning operations on the fly, but this was an exception. To the best of Lani’s knowledge, no Japanese soldiers had escaped her people’s attack; thus, whatever garrison remained in Hilo was ignorant of events.

The American planes had done almost too good a job on the Japanese vehicles. Only three of the trucks were drivable. On the plus side, they were able to find a number of Japanese uniforms.

Jake’s ribs had been taped but still hurt like the devil. Hawkins would come along, but his broken leg needed expert care. He would lie prone on the back of a truck, although he insisted he could move with crutches.

Thus, a column of Japanese trucks returning to Hilo and carrying Japanese soldiers would likely be taken at face value by the handful of Japanese soldiers who remained at Kashii’s combination police station, military headquarters, and jail. They had to hit the place before the Japanese realized that Kashii and Goto were dead or captured, along with the vast majority of Hilo’s garrison. They were about fifty miles from Hilo, and it was late afternoon. With luck, they would arrive when light was fading.

Lani permitted her bandage to be removed. The eye hadn’t been gouged out, but it was bloodied and the flesh around it badly sliced. One of Jake’s surviving soldiers was a medic, and he told Lani that she might not see out of that eye again. She sat still while the medic stitched her cuts and replaced the filthy rag with a clean bandage.

“Another reason to kill them,” she spat.

“Hasn’t there been enough killing?” Jake said.

Lani stared at him. “Not quite.”

In a short while, the three trucks were rolling down the road toward” Hilo. A handful of civilian vehicles followed. Hawaiians in Japanese uniforms rode the trucks along with Jake and a couple of other American soldiers. The Americans were lightly trussed to the truck and, to the casual observer, appeared to be prisoners of the triumphant Japanese. Jake had traded his rifle for a submachine gun now hidden under the seat, and the other Americans were similarly armed. The Hawaiians carried Japanese rifles, and Jake wondered how many knew how to use them.

As they drove, Jake had several fears. First, that there would be roadblocks, which would either delay or stop them; second, that Japanese warships would be off Hilo; and, last, that they’d be too late.

Luck was with them. There were no roadblocks. However, they could hear loud explosions coming from the bay. As they approached Hilo, now slowly and cautiously, they saw a Japanese destroyer moving away as fast as it could. One of her turrets was burning, and she was listing to starboard. In the distance, they could make out American fighter planes also leaving.

They stopped, and Hawkins was helped into the bed of Jake’s truck. “Y’know,” he said, “our planes might have mistook us for real Japs and killed us.”

“Timing is real important,” Jake said solemnly. “So are copious quantities of luck.”

They approached the Japanese headquarters cautiously. It was late in the afternoon, and Jake hoped the fading light would hide their real identities for a few moments.

Very few of the city’s remaining civilian population were to be seen, and these quickly disappeared at the sight of what appeared to be a Japanese column rumbling down their clean, neat streets. Only a handful of soldiers were visible at Kashii’s headquarters, and they were busy watching the damaged destroyer. Clusters of civilians were gathered just outside the compound.

Finally, one soldier turned and gestured excitedly at the approaching trucks. Seeing what they thought was a victorious return, the soldiers began to wave and cheer until a noncom yelled at them. He snapped orders, and they started to fall into line.

“Some sergeants are real pricks,” Hawkins said as they drove closer. The “prisoners” gathered their weapons, careful to keep them out of sight. The trucks drove quickly to the headquarters and through the formation, causing the Japanese soldiers to scatter. The noncom looked at them, puzzled. They braked sharply, and the American soldiers and Hawaiians inside jumped down, firing rapidly and killing Japanese at close range. Only a couple of Japanese soldiers managed to fire their weapons, but they were quickly eliminated. Jake jumped down, and the impact sent waves of pain from his ribs, nearly causing him to black out.

“The jail,” he gasped. Only seconds had elapsed, and all the Japanese outside were dead or dying.

Jake led the surge into the jail. Another Japanese NCO stood behind a desk, a look of shock was on his face, and he was drawing his pistol. Jake cut him down with a burst from his Thompson. Two more soldiers emerged from the cell area and were gunned down by others who’d followed Jake.