1942

The two senior military men stole quick glances at each other. Under FDR, security in the White House was not the best in the world. At one time they had even restricted the president’s access to Magic information because of his maddening tendency to leave papers lying around, or to share the information with advisers who had no clearance to receive it. In particular, this applied to his friend and military adviser Major General Edwin “Pa” Watson, who was garrulous and sloppy with the documents he received.

“There are plans in the development state,” Marshall answered cautiously. “But there is nothing we can or should discuss at this time.”

“So I should say nothing in response to these attacks?” Roosevelt asked, and both men nodded. “This is so much more difficult than I ever thought it would be,” the president said sadly. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, I’m not feeling well and am going to take a nap.”

Marshall and King watched as the president wheeled himself out of the office. He was gaunt and gray, and had difficulty maneuvering the chair.

“If he feels as bad as he looks,” King said as they were leaving, “then he is in really bad shape.”

Marshall did not comment. He was deeply disturbed by the state of the president’s health and what that portended. His worst nightmare was that Vice President Henry A. Wallace would accede to the presidency.

CHAPTER 15

Sergeant Hawkins chuckled in the darkness. Like all of them, he was camouflaged and his face smeared with dirt, which made him almost impossible to see. “Colonel, this is getting to be like Grand Central Station. How much longer do you think we can continue landings at this place?”

“This may be the last,” Jake said as he stole a glance at the almost sheer cliffs to their rear. “Of course, the last one was supposed to be the end of it. This one is a surprise.”

The overusage of the bay where they had originally landed by flying boat was a concern to them all. So far they had been both lucky and good in that there were few people in the vicinity and even fewer Japanese patrols. It was a situation that could not last forever, and the delivery they were waiting for was unplanned.

In the preceding several weeks, the submarines had lined up almost like buses or, as Hawk preferred to think, trains. The military had not abandoned Hawaii; instead, it was apparent that the tiny force on the island was to be built up. Toward that end, subs had disgorged a platoon of well-trained and highly skilled Marine Raiders. They were commanded by First Lieutenant Sammy Brooks, a small, dark-complexioned young man with an Annapolis education and a ferocious desire to kill Japs. His brother was a prisoner in the Philippines.

The original handful of soldiers and marines had grown thanks to the infusion of navy refugees and a few selected civilian volunteers, including a handful of women. As a result, Jake gave Hawkins an unauthorized battlefield promotion to second lieutenant. Brooks had no problem with that, and, to Jake’s surprise, his superiors in California agreed and confirmed it.

Along with much-needed supplies and equipment, other subs had landed a score of army engineers under a burly, middle-aged Swede, Captain Karl Gustafson, and his job was to find a place where planes could be landed and hidden until they were needed. “Not for too many planes,” Gustafson had stressed. “Maybe a dozen or so.”

Jake had thought it would be easier to hide a herd of elephants in a small church and not be noticed by the congregation, but he was pleasantly surprised at the skill shown by Gus and his men in identifying suitable locations. It was stressed that any landing strip should not look like one until it was time to use it. They were fortunate in that the ground was rock solid and flat enough in many areas, which meant it was necessary only to keep their basic efforts hidden. This could be done by moving foliage to key spots, and Gustafson was very good at hiding things.

Additional equipment and personnel also meant an improvement in their communications with California and other places. They maintained infrequent but steady contact with other guerrilla forces, primarily those under Fertig in the Philippines.

It was good to know they were not alone. Jake was secure enough to refuse additional help. A hundred or so men and women could be dispersed and hidden, while a larger group would be that much more difficult to both hide and feed.

The marine platoon still used the 1903 Springfield, and not the M1 Garand as their rifle. However, they did use the same. 30 caliber bullet, which meant the supply situation was difficult but not impossible.

So, Jake wondered as he jerked his attention back to the present, what are we doing on this beach tonight? Instead of California calling, this time the message had been from Oahu and said to expect a “package.”