1942

The three men lunged forward. Jake quickly reversed the pistol and smashed the leader in the face with the butt, turning his nose into a bloody mess and knocking out several teeth. He then wheeled on the second man and hit him alongside the head with the pistol. The man screamed and dropped to his knees. Jake kicked him in the ribs, and he fell over. The third man stopped and lay down on the ground, his eyes wide with terror.

“I’m dying,” said the leader, his voice distorted by his smashed face and the blood running from his mouth.

A squad car with one cop arrived seconds later, and the store owner, now shakily on his feet, quickly explained the situation. Equally quickly, Jake had wiped any blood off his pistol and put it back in its holster.

He recognized the officer as one of the good guys, a cop named Malone, who wasn’t stick-happy when it came to arresting drunken military types. Mr. Matsuo told Malone that the three louts had tried to rob him and that Jake had saved him.

Officer Malone looked at the three men and then at Jake. “They’re pretty messed up, Captain. Any idea what happened to them?”

Jake shrugged. “They may have run into each other while trying to run out of the store.”

“Yeah,” the cop said solemnly. “They look like clumsy types.”

Air-raid sirens went off again. Japs or another false alarm? Odds were a false alarm. There’d been scores of them since the attack. Malone swore, pushed the three drunks into his squad car, and sped off down the road, his own siren wailing. Jake looked around. It all had happened so quickly. He shook his head. Now more than ever he needed to clean up and rest.

Mr. Matsuo ran up to Jake and shoved a bag in his arms. “Thank you, Captain. And here.”

Jake grinned. He now had another six bottles of Budweiser.

The northern Pacific was bleak and windswept, but this was no deterrent to the men who loaded their precious cargo onto the decks of the Imperial Navy’s carriers. Victory was a fever, and the crews were flush with it.

Standing on the dock and looking at the ships a half-mile away, Commander Fuchida thought that the carriers looked top-heavy with the extra planes they carried and that they would capsize in the first strong wind or wave. He knew better, but the sight was unsettling.

Unseen, but even more congested, were the lower decks, where spare parts, ammunition, and additional fuel had been jammed into every available space. The men of the Imperial Japanese Navy would be damned uncomfortable for this crossing, but Fuchida was certain they’d all applaud the results. Japan was again going to punish the arrogant Americans, and Uncle Sam’s white beard would be singed by flames.

As strong as the task force that had destroyed the American battle fleet, this new incarnation of the Kido Butai was again commanded by Admiral Nagumo, and this was one of Fuchida’s few worries. Although Nagumo was again protected by two battleships along with numerous other cruisers and destroyers, Fuchida feared that the admiral might flee in the event the Americans were sighted before they reached their target, the island of Molokai.

Fuchida feared that the bold stroke might be too bold for Nagumo, but he dared not voice the complaint. He was too junior to take the risk, although the outspoken Commander Genda had sent whispers through the corridors of the high command.

The plan was marvelous in its simplicity. The fleet also included a regiment of Imperial marines, a battalion of engineers, and sufficient supplies to build and sustain airfields on Molokai.

Molokai had been chosen because it had a number of private airstrips that could be utilized until larger fields were constructed. Thus, immediately after the marines secured the area, the extra planes could be flown in from the carriers and operations against Oahu begun immediately.

Little resistance was expected; intelligence said there were no military units on Molokai, and any civilian opposition could be brushed aside. Molokai was large, but the marines could hold it and protect the air arm. When the planes landed, Fuchida was proud that he would command them and the subsequent softening-up assaults against the Americans. The carriers would linger only as long as necessary. They would depart and leave a handful of smaller ships to protect the new Japanese base. It was clearly understood that the Americans did not have the ability to launch a naval counterattack from Oahu, although Fuchida and most of the other officers wished they’d try. It was presumed, however, that air assaults would commence quickly, thus the need for the carriers to stay in the area until the base was fully operational.