To Wake the Giant

by Jeff Shaara

  He picked up a small porcelain cup, the tea already cold. He drank it anyway, and thought, So now Fukudome has been promoted. He has always disagreed with my Hawaii plan, and now he will serve alongside others who feel the same way. How much power do they have to sweep me away, or to dismiss my ideas? Like the army, they plot to make war, no matter the cost. And so, a war is inevitable, no matter what any of us try to do to prevent it. Japan has never lost a war, not in our long history. So, when we lose this one, what will happen? How will our emperor explain this to his people? How will our culture survive?

  Yes, that’s the greater purpose: survival. If we can survive by my hand for another six months, another year, that will be my service to the emperor. And, likely, he will never know. He is already leaning toward the voices who insist it is our destiny to rule all of Asia, to spread our empire across the Pacific. I cannot change that. So, I must do what I am doing now, engage our new enemies with an attack that will keep them away, that will grant us more time, so that we may become stronger, so that Japan may survive.

  YOKOSUKA HARBOR, TOKYO, JAPAN—THURSDAY, APRIL 17, 1941

  The Nagato had moved northward, closer to Tokyo, accompanied by a fleet of smaller support ships. It was the usual practice, the Naval Ministry making a show for the public in various parts of Japan where the anchorages allowed. With the government making broad pronouncements about Japan’s need for territory, with so many verbal attacks aimed at every potential enemy, the fleet’s arrival had a predictable effect, was a reassuring and inspiring spectacle. For Yamamoto, berthing close to Tokyo had another enormous advantage.

  He had made a brief visit to his home to see his wife, Reiko, and have a quick word with his four children. The visits were rarely comfortable for any of them—too much time apart, so many years, so much distance. They seemed to have very little need for him anymore; at nineteen, his oldest son, Yoshimasa, was very much the man of the family.

  Reiko was a dozen years younger than her husband, their marriage arranged, as so often was the custom. Over the many years they had been together, he had grown weary of what seemed to him to be an aloof coldness, as though she didn’t want him around. He had often described her as a powerful woman, capably managing life in his absence. But those close to her, including him, knew that she was sickly much of the time, one reason why having strong-willed children was so important to her. When Yamamoto would visit, he’d struggle to avoid the arguments, because no matter her physical problems, she often had more strength in her angry words than he could handle. And so, his visits would be short.

  But Reiko was not the only woman in his life.

  Her name was Chiyoko. When he met her nearly seven years before, she was a geisha, and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Older now, she still performed a geisha’s duties, but also helped oversee the social education of several younger women. Yamamoto was the only relationship in her life that had nothing to do with her profession.

  He was discreet, and protected her as best he could, as she protected him. It was not unheard of for a Japanese man to enjoy the company of a mistress, but Yamamoto was far too public a figure, and a highly admired one at that. Even more important to him, there were still too many nasty undercurrents running through both the army and navy high commands, and Yamamoto had plenty of enemies. Some would welcome a public embarrassment as the perfect cause for removing him from command, less messy than assassination, but just as effective.

  * * *

  —

  He wore civilian clothes, his usual routine now when leaving the ship. The restaurant was dark and quiet, a place he had taken Chiyoko before, where the owners understood the necessities of discretion. They sat in the back, Yamamoto’s favorite spot, but he faced the entrance, an old habit from being stalked by men with knives. Now, the caution was more to escape reporters and their questions about the dangerous issues in Tokyo, the conflicts between army and navy, the fragility of Prime Minister Konoye’s government, and the increasing shortages of so many commodities. The government had already issued orders for people to conserve oil, gasoline, and some basic foods, such as wheat. The newspapers were voicing noisy speculation that all the shortages might force Japan to do more than merely talk with foreign powers, especially the United States.

  Yamamoto hated reading the newspapers. It drilled hard into him that the delays and debates and arguments over his proposal for an attack on Hawaii might mean that Japan would be forced into a war it was not yet prepared to fight.

  He kept his gaze on the curtained doorway, felt impatient. Chiyoko leaned closer, one hand on his arm.

  “Be calm, Iso. Admiral Hori is always pleased to visit with you. And he can eat more than you, so he will be happy to try all the specialties.”

  He looked at her, the low light reflected by the silver threads in her kimono. “Where did you get that? It is beautiful.”

  “You finally noticed? It was a gift from Minister Kiro.”

  Yamamoto sniffed. “Don’t know him. But if he wishes to dress you in finery, I cannot object.”

  He fought against jealousy, knew that her job was only that. She could always read him, and did now.

  “He is a foolish little man who enjoys making speeches to geishas, since they will not walk out on him. He is generous, so I listen.”

  Yamamoto wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth, but he knew she was trying to reassure him. “Thank you, my beautiful flower. Perhaps he will buy me a new pair of shoes.”

  She smiled, and he absorbed the beauty in her, thought, No man is more fortunate.

  He saw motion at the curtain, the man bending low, slipping inside, a hand on the brim of his hat, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Yamamoto did not wave, knew he was seen, couldn’t hold back the smile. He pulled himself to his feet, a bow, the other man moving close, a bow of his own, matching the smile.

  Taikichi Hori had been Yamamoto’s closest friend for most of their lives. They had attended the Naval Academy together, had moved up through the ranks in lockstep. But Hori had stumbled through the war of hostility that infected both wings of the military in the early 1930s. As moderate in his views as Yamamoto, Hori had suffered from the plotting of some of the same enemies who pursued Yamamoto. However, the assassins didn’t attack Hori with knives, but with a more insidious tactic: They assaulted his character and his reputation, until the Ministry had no choice, so they said, but to place Hori on the naval reserve list. Regardless of the rank he continued to hold, there could be no active command in the field. His career was over.

  The two men sat, and Hori gave Chiyoko a polite smile. He seemed uncomfortable, and Yamamoto knew why.

  “It is all right, my friend. I will not keep secrets from her. And, I did not ask you here to discuss classified matters. Have you tried the blowfish?”

  Hori relaxed, and gave Chiyoko a more genuine smile. He said, “No, I have not. Have you?”

  Yamamoto said, “She enjoys it. She is trusting, because the chef here is her uncle.”

  Chiyoko said, “Cousin, actually. Yes, I trust him. You should try everything here, Admiral Hori. It is very good.”

  Hori nodded approvingly at her use of his title, said to Yamamoto, “She is still charming, Iso. A talent for flattery. Does she always know exactly what to say?”

  “To me.”

  She said to Hori, “I suggest the blowfish, and the octopus. But it is all excellent.”

  Yamamoto said, “I just cannot bring myself to eat the blowfish. But the boiled eel is rather good.”

  Hori laughed. “So, I have come halfway across Tokyo to discuss the menu?”

  The server was there now, and Yamamoto said, “Boiled eel, sea bream, salted. She of the great courage will attack your blowfish. And let us all hope it does not attack her in return. And for my friend?”

  Hori said, “Same as him. I too am a coward.”

 
; Yamamoto smiled as the server moved away. “You have no imagination.”

  Hori said, “From everything I hear, you have enough imagination for all of us. Pure fantasy, I am told. You believe a small airplane can best a mighty battleship. How can that be?”

  He knew Hori’s sarcasm, but he also knew that Hori’s skepticism was commonplace in the Naval Ministry.

  “We shall learn soon enough. I have a crew of young men exploring that very subject.”

  “I am intrigued, Iso.”

  Yamamoto saw the server coming. “A conversation for another time. There isn’t much I can tell you anyway. Work is being done. I am eager to see how that work progresses.”

  The server put his food down in front of him, and he tried to feel hungry, saw Chiyoko pick up the blowfish with her chopsticks. He couldn’t avoid concern, the stories coming out at least once a week, the deadly poison in the blowfish claiming another customer, some incompetent chef jailed for carelessness in its preparation.

  Yamamoto said to her, “You get along with your cousin? Good friends?”

  She had been through this before, both men now watching her eat.

  She shook her head. “Actually, he despises me. And he owes me a lot of money. He told me he wished I would just go away. Other than that, we are very close.”

  Yamamoto looked at Hori, who said, “You ask idiotic questions, you get appropriate answers.”

  Yamamoto poked at the eel on his plate. “She’s used to it. It’s an old habit of mine.” He paused, more serious now. “With her I can be playful. But there is no play elsewhere. How many more times can I offer my suggestions, how many times can I tell them they are wrong? It makes me tired, my friend. How do I know when I am so tired it is time to stop all this, time to walk away?”

  Hori looked at Chiyoko. “How often does he do this?”

  “Every time I see him.”

  Hori said, “My good friend, I have heard doubts from you for years. And so has she. It is not time for you to walk away. You still have work to do. There are good people, good young people who require you to lead them. When they can lead as you do, then it will be time to walk away.” He paused. “Besides, I know what is happening behind your closed doors, in your wardrooms.”

  “No you don’t.”

  Hori smiled. “I cannot play poker with you. All right, I don’t know. But I know you are developing a grand strategy, and when you have done the work, you will find a way to make it happen. There are doubts about you in the Ministry, and there is fear. But I would not bet against you, Iso. And neither would most of the navy. That’s why they’re afraid. You are punching a hole in their perfect view of the world.”

  Yamamoto put down the chopsticks. “Their perfect view of the world?” He looked at Chiyoko. “Do you know how they make decisions, form their plans about strategy? If they make a plan, it must be a good plan, because it is the plan. If they believe it, it must be true, and it is true because they believe it. Right now, their plan is that the Americans are to make an enormous blunder, and sail straight into our trap. And it will work, because they say it will work.”

  Hori leaned closer, lowered his voice. “It is who they are, my friend. Japan does not make mistakes. We are invincible. I have listened to that kind of reasoning for years.”

  Yamamoto poked again at his food. “I wonder if the Spanish believed they were invincible, when their armada sailed off to fight the English.”

  Hori sniffed. “They were the Spanish. They were not the Japanese.”

  Yamamoto knew his friend’s sarcasm. “It doesn’t matter to me what their ‘reasoning’ is. I am offering them the only chance we have to hold the Americans back. I do not pretend this will win us a war. Only the army is so foolish as to think we can rule our part of the world. They listen to Hitler’s speeches, and believe that we are destined for such things. It is madness.”

  Hori leaned closer again. “Careful, my friend. That kind of talk is unhealthy.” He looked at Chiyoko. “Enjoying the blowfish?”

  She seemed to welcome the break in the tension, gave him a smiling nod, then glanced at Yamamoto, a show of concern. Yamamoto looked down at his plate, was finally hungry. He stabbed at the eel with his chopsticks, stuffed his mouth.

  “I am seeking ways to curb my outrage. Sometimes I am better at it than at others.” He dug into his rice with his chopsticks. “As I’ve grown older, I find I have less tolerance for those whose brains are made of this rice. It amazes me how so many of those people end up in the Naval Ministry. As for my unhealthy talk, it is why I value friends such as you.” He looked at Chiyoko. “At least you know that I am not always such a grouchy beast. Oh, and you may tell your cousin he has excellent eel. But I’m still not trying the blowfish.”

  Hori cleaned the last bit of food from his plate, said, “Now that you have grown calm, I need to offer you a suggestion. I am not under instructions to do this, I promise you. But the talk is growing stronger.”

  Yamamoto looked at him, felt a sudden sense of dread. “What talk?”

  “It has been suggested, by those who know such things, that your career in the navy might best be terminated. It has been suggested that you take a different course.”

  Yamamoto sat back, arms folded. “Go on.”

  “It is a certainty that you would be extremely popular with the civilian public, that you could easily be elected to a prominent political office. It has also been suggested that you could, in short order, become prime minister.”

  Yamamoto waited for the smile, then realized the man was serious. “Suggested? By whom? I am supposed to embrace this idea, that somehow becoming a politician is more fulfilling than commanding the fleet? That I can talk to reporters and make great speeches, and accomplish nothing at all? So that I might become one of the great mass of useless politicians in this country who cower before the power of the military? Who fed you this nonsense?”

  Hori laughed. “Because I am nobody now, I often hear more than I’m supposed to. I learn things, I talk to people. I might be out of favor in the official buildings of the navy, but I still have some very good friends. There is concern about you, concern for what lies ahead.”

  “I have concern about me as well. It drives me toward retiring every day. But I am here for one reason. I am concerned about the future of our country. I cannot prevent the insanity of war. But I can try to provide us with some advantages.” He paused. “Very soon, there will be very bright and very innovative young men accepting the challenges I have offered them, young men who understand and appreciate the value of the airplane, even more than I do. Their job will be to iron out the problems, the riddles. My job will be to patiently wait for them to complete their tasks, so that finally, I can take those details to those ‘people’ who ‘suggest’ things, and convince them that my young men are right, and that the old ways are simply wrong.”

  “And if you cannot convince them?”

  “Then Japan will go down in flames much sooner than any of those fools can comprehend.”

  NINE

  Hull

  THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.—MONDAY, APRIL 14, 1941

  “Who are the authors of this thing?”

  Stimson was prepared for Roosevelt’s question, had no need to consult any paper. “Mr. President, Rear Admiral Patrick Bellinger is a decorated naval pilot, saw considerable action in the Great War. Major General Frederick Martin commands the Hawaiian Air Force, the aviation unit under the overall command of General Short. Both men are considered to be experts in the area of military aviation.”

  “So, Mr. Secretary of War, do you take this seriously?”

  Stimson shook his head. “Never said that. I respect these men. But I’m not taking this as seriously as some might hope. As they might hope. This report was ordered by Admiral Kimmel; thus, when it was completed, as a matter of protocol, it was sent to General Marsha
ll, Mr. Knox, and me.”

  Roosevelt shuffled the papers, read aloud. “ ‘The aircraft at present available in Hawaii are inadequate to maintain, for any extended period, from bases on Oahu, a patrol extensive enough to ensure that an air attack from orange…’ ” He paused. “ ‘Orange’ is Japan, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “ ‘To ensure that an air attack from a Japanese carrier cannot arrive over Oahu as a complete surprise.’ ” Roosevelt picked up another paper. “Oh yes, this one’s a real gem. They insist any Japanese declaration of war against us shall be preceded by a surprise attack on oceangoing ships from submarines, plus a surprise attack on Oahu itself, including our ships and installations. They further insist that the most likely and dangerous form of attack on Oahu would be from the air, from aircraft carriers, who will, I presume, sneak up on us, perhaps in the middle of the night?”

  Roosevelt’s secretary of the navy, Frank Knox, spoke up now. “Mr. President, there is one accurate statement of which we are well aware. We do not possess adequate numbers of aircraft on Hawaii to effectively patrol a three-hundred-sixty-degree circumference, twenty-four hours a day.”

  Stimson said, “Overall, I feel that Martin and Bellinger have done a bang-up job spelling out our weaknesses in Hawaii. But those weaknesses cannot be repaired at the drop of a hat, nor are they likely to become a priority as long as the Germans are winning their particular war.”

  Knox said, “Sir, I must respectfully disagree on one point. Eliminating weaknesses must always be a priority. We have established a powerful naval presence in Hawaii, as a deterrent to Japanese incursions in the central and south Pacific. But that deterrent is only as effective as the strength behind it. This report tells us that there are weaknesses which we must address.”