1942

Yamamoto was particularly distressed by the failures in leadership that had occurred, although he fully understood that he had only himself to blame for much of what had happened.

The admiral now flew his flag on the superbattleship Yamato, and, along with the additional battleships and heavy cruisers that constituted the heart of an exceptionally strong strike force, held station about fifty miles west of the bombardment force and the transports. They lay silently and waited for the arrival of an American relief force. Then they would pounce and destroy.

To the best of his knowledge, the existence and strength of the Yamato remained a secret. His problem was that he didn’t know this for certain. It had been a mistake on his part to send the Yamato along with two smaller, older battleships against the Pennsylvania. He had thought that the three would dispose of the damaged American battleship in short order and provide the raw crew of the Yamato with invaluable combat experience. Instead, the crippled American ship had fought with a ferocity reminiscent of a wounded, cornered animal.

While the Yamato had emerged unscathed, the Fuso and the Ise had been damaged, with the Ise forced to depart for Japan for repairs and modifications. There was talk of putting a short flight deck on the Ise’s stern and making her a hybrid: half battleship, half carrier. Yamamoto thought it was nonsense and showed what problems lurked beneath the surface of Japan’s successes.

When the American warship finally sank and efforts were being made to recover survivors, a periscope had been reported, which caused all the ships to flee the area in haste. American torpedoes might be inconsistent, but no one wanted to test them. When the facts were in, it appeared that the “periscope” had been nothing more than floating debris. The captain of the Yamato had reported the possibility of other American survivors in the area but assured Yamamoto that he had shelled them and that they must all be dead.

Admiral Yamamoto was not totally confident. Nor was he thrilled when an officer on the Yamato misunderstood his directive that all efforts be taken to ensure that the existence of the great ship remain secret. As a result, he had taken it on himself to execute all seventy-odd survivors from the Pennsylvania who had been taken aboard before the periscope fiasco. The young officers who’d carried out the deed were fanatical believers in the code of bushido and felt that anyone who surrendered, regardless of the circumstances, was beneath contempt and unworthy of being allowed to live.

In a scathing tongue-lashing, Yamamoto had reminded them that the rest of the world would consider their actions war crimes and be a possible hindrance in negotiating peace with the United States if the story got out. He did not think he’d converted the officers, and, not for the first time, Yamamoto concluded that rigid adherence to bushido would spell doom for the Japanese Empire.

The admiral conceded that the giant ship might yet be seen by a sub or a patrol plane, but he was confident that any sightings would be inconclusive, and that the immense strength of the Yamato would remain cloaked until her fury could be unleashed against an unsuspecting American relief force.

The Americans had not reacted to the landings on Molokai, which had surprised him, but they had to send a battle force to try to save Oahu. It was inconceivable that the United States would permit 400,000 of her people to be conquered, even if a third of them were Japanese. In order that the invasion portion of his fleet be detected in advance, he had ordered the normal flow of radio transmissions to occur and even concurred in the sending of some messages in the clear that would ordinarily have been encoded.

He checked his watch. Off in the distance, the predawn bombardment would be just beginning. In only a few hours, Japanese soldiers and marines would commence landing on the northern beaches of Oahu. With more than a hundred planes on Molokai and the planes of four supporting carriers, the Japanese air forces would smother the Americans.

“Now,” he muttered, “if only their fleet would come.”

CHAPTER 9

Jamie Priest found it difficult to wear a regulation uniform. The multitude of sores on his body, along with a gash on his back that he’d gotten from a piece of metal, caused him to wince every time something rubbed against his raw flesh. He was also still gaunt and haggard from his time in the water, and his head had been shaved in order to treat other cuts and sores.

“Lieutenant, you look like hell,” Admiral Nimitz said in a gentle, joking voice. Beside him, Admiral Spruance smiled.

“Thank you, sir. I have to admit it’s pretty much the way I feel.”

“You were very fortunate,” Spruance said. “The boys in that PBY had just about given up and were going to head for home when they spotted you. No one had any idea you would have drifted that far to the east.”