1942

by Robert Conroy

  But who needed to stalk or hide when the enemy was being so cooperative? Commander Jiro Boshiro could not believe his good fortune and the stupidity of the Americans. The four freighters must have discounted the existence of the war; they still had their navigation lights on. They were more afraid of collision than of him. He did not think they had traveled together. It was more likely an unintended clustering, of the kind that frequently occurred near a major port, and they were less than fifty miles from Honolulu. Why they were together didn’t matter. The result was a fairly neat line of enemy freighters close up and inviting him to kill them.

  Under normal circumstances, it was an enemy he would have ignored. Japanese naval doctrine called for submarines to strike only at warships and, preferably, capital ships. This doctrine was in keeping with the code of bushido and the way of the samurai warrior. Orders were so specific that submariners were told how many torpedoes could be launched against each target. Freighters and transports were considered unworthy for samurai to attack, and demeaned the spirit of the offensive.

  Orders, however, had been changed. In the absence of major targets and accepting that Hawaii was under a sort of siege, submarines of the Imperial Japanese Navy had been instructed to attack supply ships heading toward the islands. Those leaving would only be taking wounded and civilians and should be left alone, thus conserving precious torpedoes. But those approaching the islands would be carrying war materials that would enable the United States to recover from Japan’s glorious victory of December 7. They must be destroyed.

  It galled Commander Boshiro to obey the orders, but they came from the revered Admiral Yamamoto and, therefore, must be right. He chuckled silently in the darkness. As if Yamamoto had ever been wrong.

  At a thousand yards from the nearest ship, Boshiro ordered the first pair of Type 95 oxygen-propelled torpedoes hurled at the lead ship. Seconds later, another pair was fired at the next freighter. The forward tubes were quickly reloaded and the firing repeated.

  The first torpedoes hit and exploded. Flashes of light were followed by plumes of white water and the crash of explosions as the four ships were hit and staggered in turn before they could flee. Two of them started to burn immediately, and the others quickly followed suit. All four began to settle as the sea rushed in to claim them.

  Boshiro was slightly disappointed when none of the four burned in a way that would signify they carried either ammunition or fuel. Regardless, these were four ships that would never again carry cargo for the Americans.

  The ships rumbled and creaked as they began to break apart and plunged to the bottom. Boshiro wondered if any sailors were trapped and screaming in their metal coffins. He shuddered. It was the submariner’s nightmare.

  The deck crew of the I-74 saw lifeboats lowered and the surviving crew members scramble to safety. Brief thought was given to killing them, but Boshiro dismissed the option. Surely they’d had time to radio for help, which meant that either airplanes or destroyers would be on them in a short while. All the time the sub had been on the surface, lookouts had ignored the one-sided battle and strained instead for the sight of a warship or an airplane. The Americans were now patrolling the approaches to Pearl Harbor and, even though badly hurt, were still a dangerous enemy. They would delight in wreaking vengeance on a Japanese sub.

  Commander Boshiro made a decision. He ordered the sub submerged. He would stay underwater until certain that his boat was safe, then he would head east, toward California. He would travel back along the route the four ships had taken from America and see if any other plums were ready to fall from the tree.

  Perhaps next time he’d get a chance to sink something truly important.

  Halsey and Nimitz had toured the harbor area and been brought up to speed on the damage to the ships. Admiral Chester W Nimitz was fifty-six, white-haired, and robust. He had an affable, easygoing personality, which hid a degree of toughness that often surprised others when it came to the surface. At first, Nimitz was not going to relieve the disgraced Admiral Kimmel until the end of the year, but realization of the scope of the fuel crisis, which threatened to cripple the Pacific Fleet, had accelerated his takeover.

  Although three years older, Admiral William “Bull” Halsey was subordinate to Nimitz. Halsey was colorful, aggressive, energetic, and he made good press copy. Upon receipt of the pre-Pearl Harbor war warning, Halsey had not dallied. He had ordered his ships and planes to shoot any nearby Japanese and the hell with the consequences. While he wished nothing more than to have his two carriers unleashed against the Japanese, he accepted the logic that it was not possible until the supply situation was resolved and the fleet beefed up by reinforcements from the Atlantic.

  It was for this reason that the two admirals met in Kimmel’s old office, overlooking the submarine pens. General Short had been invited to attend, and he was expected momentarily. In the meantime, the two admirals reviewed the catastrophe.

  Of the eight battleships so neatly anchored off Ford Island at the time of the attack, two, perhaps three, would be of use by the end of 1942. For the others, it would take longer, perhaps forever.

  The Arizona and the Utah were sunk and likely unsalvageable. The Arizona, in particular, was a charred hulk in which more than a thousand men were entombed, while the Utah had partially capsized.

  The Oklahoma had also capsized and had been prevented from rolling completely over only when her masts snagged themselves in the harbor’s muddy bottom. The Oklahoma would be out of commission for years at best. It was very likely she would never be salvaged.

  The California had also been sunk, but engineers had declared it was possible that she could be refloated by spring and sent to the mainland for repairs. So too would the heroic Nevada, the only battleship that had tried to escape the carnage at Pearl.

  The West Virginia had sustained extensive damage and, like the Arizona, was a burned-out hulk. However, engineers were confident they could raise her in about a year and send her back for refitting. Nimitz and Halsey wondered if they would have a year to work with.

  Not all the news was bad. The Tennessee had sustained damage to her number 2 and number 3 turrets but was otherwise unhurt. She had already departed for California. The Maryland, even though hulled by a bomb, had also departed for the States. During the attack, she’d had the ghoulish good fortune to be protected from Japanese attackers by the corpse of the Oklahoma, just as the Tennessee had been covered by the West Virginia.

  That left the Pennsylvania. The battleship had been in dry dock and not anchored off Ford Island; thus, she had emerged relatively unscathed from the first attacks. The last one, however, had hurt her badly. Bombs had knocked out her forward fourteen-inch turrets, and a near miss had sprung her hull. Flames from the burning oil and fuel cascading from the storage tanks had caused additional damage, but her engineering plant was still intact and she could make headway.

  “Get her the hell out of here,” snapped Halsey. “If the Japs come, they’d get the present of a nearly usable battleship. Send her to California just as fast as she can get there.”

  Nimitz agreed and gave the orders for the Pennsylvania to depart as soon as she was minimally ready. With the departures of the Tennessee and the Maryland, along with escorting destroyers, the fleet anchorage was beginning to look empty and forlorn. Many other ships had been sunk or damaged, but they were replaceable, while battleships were not. The Colorado was on the West Coast, and additional help was arriving there in the form of the New Mexico, the Mississippi, and the Idaho from the Atlantic Fleet.

  More important, in both admirals’ estimation, was the arrival in the Pacific of the carrier Yorktown. Nimitz and Halsey were convinced that the day of the battleship had passed and that the carrier was the new queen of the seas.

  Until the damaged ships were repaired and new ones delivered, the balance of power in the Pacific still lay with the Japanese: ten carriers to three; and maybe a dozen Jap battleships to America’s four. The United States still had a numb
er of cruisers, destroyers, and subs in the area, but these were more than matched by the Japanese. With the war raging in the Atlantic as well, it was unlikely that very many more reinforcements would be forthcoming from that arena.

  General Walter Short entered the room and sat down. “I hear you’ve routed ships back to the States after yesterday’s attack on those freighters.”

  “Yes,” said Nimitz while Halsey glared at the general, who, in his opinion, had been as negligent as Kimmel during the December 7 attack. Both admirals considered it hideously unfair that Kimmel had been sacked while Short retained his position. “Six civilian ships were sunk yesterday, and we believe four of them by the same sub. We have to prepare for convoy and escort duty just like we are doing in the Atlantic against Nazi U-boats. I decided that any ship that could be sent back to the mainland should be returned there. In the future, priority will be given to escorting ships carrying material that can repair the ships and the fuel depot. Anything else will have to wait.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Short. “Those ships contained more than supplies. They contained food.”

  “Food?” Halsey asked harshly. “Who the hell cares about food on a tropical island?”

  Short met Halsey’s anger with his own. “You will in a little while, Admiral. This place may be tropical, but it grows everything except food. Much of what we eat is imported. No food ships and the people of Hawaii starve. Maybe you boys on your floating palaces have enough to eat, but the people of Honolulu are going to be hurting in a couple of weeks if the food ships stop coming in.”

  Nimitz rubbed his eyes. It was another unexpected problem. “How many shiploads do you need?”

  “Maybe fifty a month, depending on the size,” Short said. “More, of course, if the place is going to be reinforced. More construction workers and more soldiers mean more mouths to feed. It’s just that simple, gentlemen. And don’t forget that everything from razor blades to toilet paper has to come from the mainland. Counting military personnel, there are about half a million people who need the navy to keep them fed, clothed, and their asses wiped.”

  Nimitz accepted the obvious. Precious resources would have to be allocated to feed and sustain the military and civilian population of the islands.

  Short managed a tight smile. “Contrary to what’s being said about me, I am taking steps to alleviate the situation. As military governor, I am ordering the confiscation of all foodstuffs from stores and warehouses, and will institute a food rationing program within a couple of days. We’ll stretch what we have for as long as we can, but the civilians aren’t going to like it one bit. For one thing, I am going to give priority to my soldiers and the men working to repair the facilities.”

  “I understand,” Nimitz said. “We’ll do what we can.”

  “I’m also gathering all the gas and oil I can to keep my trucks and what planes I have left operational. We’ll be rationing civilian gas, and a lot of people are going to be walking or riding bikes. Without shipping, these islands are a goddamned mess. Look, I can’t even replace the planes I’ve lost without ships. Not a fighter in my air force or your navy has the range to fly from California to here. They all have to be ferried, along with the fuel to get them in the air when they finally do get here.”

  With that, an angry Short left as abruptly as he had arrived.

  “Now what?” Halsey asked. He still strained to go after the Japanese, although he would have loved to have vented his frustrations on General Short.

  When Nimitz responded, it was in a voice filled with gloom. “You will take the Lexington and Enterprise to Australia.”

  “Australia?” Halsey was incredulous. “The Japs are coming here!”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Nimitz knew that Halsey was more than right. As a recipient of Magic information that was denied Halsey, Nimitz had been told of troop movements in and around Japan, as well as another gathering of the Japanese fleet. Logic said that Hawaii was a possible destination. Under the circumstances, Nimitz had reluctantly concluded that the situation in the islands was temporarily hopeless.

  “Oh my God,” Halsey said. “You’re abandoning Pearl, aren’t you?”

  “Not entirely. But I cannot justify attempting to defend the place at this time. If the Japs don’t come and the repairs are made, we can return just as quickly as we left. The remainder of the fleet will protect our West Coast, while your carriers protect Australia. You might not like that directive, but it comes directly from Roosevelt.”

  “But if the Japs do come here, the army’ll be overwhelmed.”

  Nimitz nodded sadly. “The way things are, that’ll happen even if we stay. I’m returning to San Francisco by air and taking Kimmel’s staff with me. From there we’ll plot our next steps.”

  “Chester,” Halsey said softly, “what about the dependents? There are thousands of wives and children of army and navy personnel here, not to mention ordinary civilians. Should we try to take some of them with us?”

  Nimitz took a deep breath. It was the most agonizing decision he would ever have to make. “No. I have authorized the removal of the sick, the very old, and the very young, and that’s it. We cannot take them all, and I am not in a mood to play Solomon over who stays and who goes. Further, any attempt to evacuate other civilians will cause a panic. No, we’ll simply say that our actions in moving our ships from here are being taken to fight the Japanese, which is true. We’ll leave enough smaller ships to placate the civilians, and just maybe deter the Japanese, but the heart of the fleet must leave.”

  “I hope it works,” said Halsey.

  “So do I,” Nimitz answered in a voice that was almost a groan. “So do I.”

  Jake Novacek drove his ‘38 Buick carefully down the darkened streets of Honolulu. There were very few cars on the road as a strict curfew was in effect. He’d been stopped several times, and only the fact that he was an armed army officer in uniform had kept the local police or Military Police from taking him in.

  His apartment was across the street from a couple of stores. One was a grocery owned by an old Japanese man who also owned Jake’s apartment building. Jake wondered just how he’d fare with the nation at war with Japan. To his chagrin, Jake realized that, even though he’d shopped there often enough, he didn’t know whether the old man was a citizen or not. Jake just bought food and beer, and paid his rent. The old man was named Matsuo, and Jake didn’t know if that was his first or last name.

  Jake was dirty, bloody, and exhausted. A bed, he thought, my kingdom for a bed. Oh, yeah, and a shower. He’d seen so much death and so much grief. He just wanted to get the hell away from anything military, if only for a few hours. His apartment was his oasis.

  He was haunted by the faces of the families who’d lost loved ones, in particular the pain shown on the face of Alexa Sanderson. Such a beautiful lady in so much agony, he thought, and no possible way for him to help her, or all the others whose loved ones were still being pulled from the dirty waters of Pearl Harbor. He wondered if the funeral had provided any solace for her.

  He pulled into his parking spot and wondered just how much longer he’d be able to drive his car, since gas rationing was inevitable. He made a mental note to get a lock for his gas cap. He wondered if somebody might someday steal his tires and what the hell he could do about it. Then he’d be reduced to riding a bicycle. He’d been reliably informed that he looked stupid on a bike. Of course, he’d been drunk the last time he’d attempted to ride.

  Food rationing was inevitable too. Thank God nobody’d thought to ration beer. He had a dozen bottles of Budweiser in the fridge that he would cherish after drinking two of them tonight. Then another thought hit him. What would he do if the power went out? He disliked warm beer, but, he thought with a chuckle, he would drink it in the service of his country.

  “Get out, you bums!”

  “Fucking Jap!”

  Jake turned quickly at the sounds. They came from Mr. Matsuo’s store across t
he street. Three young white men spilled out of the store, followed by an outraged Matsuo. The men were carrying food and beer.

  “You pay, you pay,” yelled Matsuo. “Thieves, you thieves!”

  The leader of the three, a tall, rangy man in his thirties, stopped and kicked the old man in the gut, dropping him to the ground, where he groaned and writhed.

  Shit, Jake thought as he trotted across the street. His sidearm, a venerable but reliable. 45 automatic, was already in his hand. “Enough, children,” he snarled. “Drop everything and get your hands up.”

  “What the fuck?” said the leader. “Hey, you’re a soldier. You should be on our side. This is a fucking Jap, just like the bastards who killed our men.”

  Jake held the pistol steady. The three were drunk. No surprise. “Yeah, and what branch of the service are you in?”

  “Registered civilian,” said the leader, smirking. “Now, what are you going to do? You can’t arrest us. You ain’t no cop.”

  “Don’t have to be,” Jake said. “There’s a curfew on, you’re robbing this guy, you’re drunk, you assaulted him, and, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a gun pointed right at your empty heads.”

  Sirens could be heard in the distance, and they were approaching. Somebody had called the real cops. The would-be thieves heard them too.

  “You ain’t gonna shoot us and you know it. We’re all white men and this is a yellow-skinned, slanty-eyed Jap,” the tall one said. “And we’re leaving right now.”

  “No,” Jake said and pointed the weapon at the leader’s chest. “What you’re going to do is lie down on the ground and wait.”

  “Bullshit,” the leader said. “Take him, boys.”

  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.