1942

by Robert Conroy

  The military portion of the surrender was complete. The Japanese occupied Pearl Harbor and other facilities, and the American prisoners of war had been marched off in long, grim lines to camps that were being built near Wheeler and Schofield, in the center of the island.

  Now it remained for the Japanese to take possession of the civilian portions of the city.

  By the time the parade reached Honolulu’s McKinley High School, the crowd of spectators had grown to several thousand people of all ethnic backgrounds. Alexa estimated the Japanese military contingent at several hundred small and grim-faced men with bayoneted rifles on their shoulders. The rifles were long and looked like oversize toys being held by children. But the soldiers weren’t children. They were the conquerors. Despite everyone’s fears, the Japanese had lived up to at least one part of their bargain: They had not turned their army loose. Discipline had been good, and fears of atrocities were diminishing. So far.

  “They don’t look so great, do they?” Melissa said softly. “Kind of like houseboys in uniforms.”

  Alexa agreed that they did not look frightening at all. How had they defeated the American army on Hawaii so completely and with such apparent ease?

  An English-speaking officer came forward and announced that this was one of several flag-raising ceremonies that were taking place and would signify the Japanese occupation of the islands. The flagpole in front of the school was empty. The American flag had long since disappeared. The Japanese would not be able to stomp on it and desecrate it.

  The Japanese officer stated that newspapers would soon publish a complete list of rules and regulations, but he would summarize some of the more important ones.

  First, all adult males over the age of sixteen were to report to special locations for the purpose of forming work gangs to repair the damage caused by the fighting. Failure to show, he added, was punishable by death. Alexa thought this order would help the Japanese round up strays from the military who were trying to hide in the civilian population. She wondered if that included Jake.

  Second, all women and children were to be occupied in the growing of food. With that, Alexa agreed heartily. Food shortages were getting worse.

  Third, hoarding was punishable by death. Alexa gasped. Did that include the cache of rations under her house?

  Fourth, all civilians would bow to Japanese soldiers regardless of rank. There would be instructions on how to bow correctly, but it would be at a fifteen-degree angle and would be held to a count of five. When a man in the front of the crowd laughed, the officer made a quick signal and soldiers dragged him away and, while a woman screamed, ran a bayonet through the meat of each of his thighs.

  “Next person who laughs, dies!” the Japanese officer yelled while the man writhed in bloody agony on the ground. With a nod he allowed the man to be taken away by his friends, leaving behind a bright red pool of blood and a throng of people shocked to silence.

  At another signal, the band began playing a slow, stately melody. To Alexa’s surprise, the Japanese soldiers joined in and sang with enthusiasm and reverence. When it was over the officer told them that this was the Japanese anthem, the Kimigayo.

  “In the future,” the officer concluded, “you will stand and show reverence when you hear this melody as you did for ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ This is your new anthem. You will respect it.”

  The climb through the thickly shrubbed and heavily wooded hills of the island of Hawaii was more tedious than arduous, and it took Jake and his men a couple of days to reach their objective.

  When they did, a handful of tattered sailors greeted them with enthusiasm and relief. It was obvious they’d never expected to be found by anyone. After checking on those who were lightly wounded, Jake got on with his task.

  “Now, where’s your boss?” he asked, and several sailors directed him to a path that led up a hill.

  “But no one’s allowed up there, sir,” one young ensign said and stood before him, blocking the path.

  Jake grunted something vulgar and pushed past the man. He had gone only a couple of hundred yards when he came to a decrepit shack. Thinking that the situation was totally incongruous, he knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened and a disheveled and exhausted looking man Jake guessed to be in his mid-forties stood before him.

  “I told you people to stay away,” the man said and stopped as he realized this was somebody new. “Who are you?”

  “Raven,” Jake said.

  “Nevermore,” the man said after a moment’s hesitation. “Next time we get more original call signs.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Commander Joe Rochefort, and you must be the cavalry.”

  Jake introduced himself and was pleasantly surprised that Rochefort’s grip was firm and strong. Maybe he always looked like a frazzled college professor? At least his target now had a name. His orders had denied him even that basic piece of information, and he wondered why.

  “We’re the infantry, Commander, not the cavalry. We had to walk here, and you’ll have to walk out.”

  “Name’s Joe, Jake. I’m not big on rank. Besides, I think we’re equal.”

  Jake grinned. “And we’re on land and not a ship. Since I’m in charge of getting you out of here, I’m supposed to command this part of the enterprise.”

  Rochefort shrugged. “Makes sense. Do me a favor, though, don’t come up here unless it’s a real emergency.”

  “Fine.”

  There was no opportunity for further talk as Jake found that Rochefort’s sailors hadn’t eaten much in several days. Hawaii may have been paradise in some people’s eyes, but food did not grow on trees. It had to be searched for and found.

  The hungry sailors ate army rations with a gusto that amused some of the soldiers, who didn’t think that anyone, even a sailor, would be dumb enough to like them. Jake made a mental note that their rations were limited and the addition of eight healthy appetites would reduce their limited inventory in a big hurry.

  Also, the eight men had only two pistols among them. Jake’s twelve had ten brand-new M1 Garands with a number of clips of ammunition each, along with two Thompson submachine guns. Jake had a. 45 automatic pistol. When he’d mentioned to Hawkins that it would be good for close-in combat, the sergeant had spat on the ground and said he had no intentions of fighting anyone close in.

  “I’m glad you came,” Rochefort said after the men were fed. “After the surrender, I was afraid we’d been forgotten.”

  Jake blinked. He’d stayed off his radio since landing for security purposes. “Then it’s official.”

  “Over and done. Short surrendered everyone on every island, and that includes us. I can’t, of course, but what about you?”

  Jake wondered about the “of course,” but didn’t ask. “I never planned on it, so this is a godsend in a way.” Then he told Rochefort of his orders that the commander was never to fall into Japanese hands.

  “No surprise,” Rochefort said solemnly. “Do you wonder why?”

  “Of course, but I’m under orders not to ask.”

  “Then let me clarify something for you. Back on Oahu, I ran a radio listening post. We would sit back and wait for the Japs to talk. With a big enough antenna, we could listen to what they were talking about in Tokyo. Most of the time, they didn’t bother to use code for the mundane and routine reports and such, and this gave us excellent insights into the Jap mind.

  “When they did use code, we were stumped, but we could still extrapolate much of their intentions from the number and frequency of their messages. We could also determine that, when senders and receivers moved, the Jap fleet was at sea and where it was headed. I’ve established a crude listening post at the top of that hill, which is why I keep it secured. The receiver’s in that abominable shack, and the antenna is strung up to a tree. Other than letting the navy know we’re here, we’ve only listened and not sent. The Japs, by the way, have announced that anyone with shortwave radio equipment will be shot.”

  Jake nodde
d politely. The story was interesting but intriguingly incomplete. What Rochefort did for the navy was great, but hardly worth killing him for. Listening to unencoded messages was something that anyone could do, and guessing movements from unreadable coded data was also not that special. Commander Joe Rochefort wasn’t telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  CHAPTER 11

  Admiral Raymond Spruance glanced up at the interruption and smiled tolerantly. “Gentlemen, now that we are all here, we can begin.”

  Lieutenant Jamie Priest winced and took a seat at the end of the long table. Even though Spruance seemed to be a pretty easygoing and regular guy, it did not behoove junior officers to piss off admirals by being late for meetings, no matter what the reason.

  Nor was Spruance the only admiral at this meeting. Rear Admiral Charles A. Lockwood was present. Lockwood commanded the American submarine forces in the Pacific, and his presence at the meeting was a surprise to Jamie as he was supposed to be in Australia. Lockwood, a belligerent man on the best of days, looked angry and glared at Jamie, probably because Jamie didn’t wear the insignia of a submarine officer.

  Next in rank was a Captain Winters, and Jamie knew nothing about him. Nor did he know about a Lieutenant Fargo, who wore the badge of a submariner and who looked at Jamie with an expression that asked: Why the hell are we all here? A young but thin and plain-looking civilian woman with glasses was present to take notes.

  “Gentlemen,” Spruance began, “this is an informal meeting to discuss the situation with our submarines and our torpedoes. Our discussions will be preliminary, anecdotal, and nonscientific. All of you are here because you have had unique experiences that may help shed some light on the problem. For that reason, I want this discussion to be free from any concerns about rank.”

  Jamie wondered just how freely junior officers could actually speak in front of seniors. Unfortunately, he felt he was going to find out fairly shortly.

  Spruance continued. “Admiral Lockwood is here because he commands our subs. Captain Winters is here because, as an engineer with the Bureau of Ordnance, he helped design and build the Mark 14 torpedo. Lieutenant Fargo is here because his sub, the Monkfish, unsuccessfully used Mark 14s to attack a Jap destroyer with results that were almost tragic. Lieutenant Priest is here because, as an officer on the Pennsylvania, he saw the other side of the coin. That is, he saw Japanese torpedoes at work, and there are few around who can lay claim to that dubious honor.”

  Jamie flushed as the others looked at him with expressions ranging from surprise to respect. Even Lockwood stopped glaring at him.

  “Lieutenant Priest is now a member of our staff,” Spruance added, and Jamie noticed that the young woman had looked up from her reading glasses and smiled tentatively at him. The smile made her look far more attractive than he’d first thought.

  The mention of Japanese torpedoes brought forth several frank comments. Spruance, Lockwood, and Winters all admitted that at first they had doubted the range and speed of the Jap torpedoes and felt that the Pennsylvania and her escorts had been hit by an enemy sub that had actually been much closer than the Japanese surface ships. Jamie admitted he’d had his doubts as well.

  “But now we know better,” Spruance said. “The Japs have a torpedo they fire from surface vessels. It’s called the ‘Long Lance’ and with good reason. It has a range of more than ten miles compared with the Mark 14’s two and a quarter, and leaves no wake, which means it’s oxygen-powered. I might add that it has a helluva lot greater hitting power than ours as well.”

  “It also works,” Lockwood snapped, which earned him a glare from Winters. “There’s a smaller version for their subs that is also better than the Mark 14.”

  Spruance gestured for peace. “We know we have a problem. What Admiral King, Admiral Nimitz, and I want is a solution, or at least the beginning of a solution. Gentlemen, there are very few submarine targets in the Atlantic; therefore the bulk of our torpedo targets will be here in the Pacific. This is our problem, and we must move to solve it.”

  Spruance reprised the situation as he understood it. Torpedoes were being fired at Japanese shipping, but many of them were either malfunctioning or missing. No one was entirely certain which. He then invited Captain Winters to describe the torpedo.

  Winters had the no-nonsense look of an engineer, and he also seemed put out that the worth of the Mark 14 torpedo was being questioned. “We built the best torpedo in the world,” he said firmly.

  “At least until the Japs showed up with theirs,” Lockwood interjected.

  Less subjectively, Winters went on to describe the Mark 14. It had a magnetic trigger that was designed to explode when it was affected by the earth’s magnetic field as a ship passed overhead. The torpedoes were to be set at depths that would ensure this would occur. When it worked, the explosion would break a ship’s keel and sink her more efficiently than a contact torpedo.

  The Mark 14 could also be used as an impact torpedo. It had a sophisticated detonator that was supposed to explode the torpedo when it hit an enemy’s hull.

  Problem was, as Admiral Lockwood growled, it didn’t work out that way. He turned the floor over to Lieutenant Fargo, who described the Monkfish’s attack on the Japanese destroyer.

  “Our new commanding officer, Commander Griddle, was an experienced submariner. The targeting was good, but not one of our four torpedoes hit. As directed, they were all set to run under a target, and we believe they did. But not one exploded.”

  Winters shook his head in disbelief. “First of all, four is far too many for one target. You just cannot fire torpedoes so wastefully. Second, you must have done something wrong. I would like to talk to Mr. Griddle.”

  “He’s in a San Francisco hospital,” Fargo said stiffly. “He lost one eye during the depth charge attack that took place right after we missed, and may lose the other. As to what we did, I double-checked everything that Commander Griddle ordered, and while he was doing it. I even saw the destroyer through the periscope and confirmed range, course, and targeting plot. There were no mistakes. The torpedoes were set to detonate at the proper depth and they didn’t do it.”

  “And this is just one incident out of many,” Lockwood said. “There are reports like this coming from all over the place.”

  “I can only add,” Winters said, “that the torpedoes should be exploding. We’ve checked the ones remaining on the Monkfish, and there’s nothing wrong with them. Is it possible, Admiral Lockwood, either that your officers are not following regulations in the heat of battle or they don’t know enough about engineering?”

  Fargo bristled. “Sir, we followed all directions. I would also add that, as a Naval Academy graduate, I have a damned solid knowledge of engineering.”

  Lockwood leaned forward and glowered at Winters. “Look, I know everyone at BuOrd thinks my boys are a bunch of undisciplined, raggedy-assed pirates, but that’s not so! They’re brave, yes, even reckless, but they’re not stupid. Every one of them wants to make a kill and get his ass home in one piece.”

  Jamie turned to see how the woman was taking the dialogue. She looked up at him, and he saw sadness in her eyes.

  “We’re getting nowhere,” Spruance said with a touch of exasperation.

  Now, Jamie thought. “Sir, may I ask a question of Captain Winters?”

  “Of course.”

  “Captain Winters, I was late for this meeting because of a phone call I got from a friend. He too worked on the Mark 14 and said something that disturbed me. Sir, was the Mark 14 ever live-fired with a warhead at a target?”

  Winters nodded. “I know where you’re coming from, son. The Mark 14 was thoroughly tested.”

  Jamie persisted. “With respect, sir, that isn’t what I asked. Was a live torpedo ever fired at a target ship, and, if so, what were the results?”

  “I don’t want to bore you with the scientific details, but rest assured that the Mark 14 was thoroughly tested.”

  Spruance stepped in
, his curiosity piqued by Winters’s evasion. “Captain, answer the young man’s question. Yes or no?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, perhaps once. Perhaps not at all.”

  There were gasps of surprise, and Jamie thought that Lockwood’s jaw was going to hit the table as it dropped.

  “Why not?” Spruance asked.

  “Admiral, the Mark 14 is a very sophisticated and complex weapon. That translates into expensive. Each one of them costs ten thousand dollars, which is why I’m upset that four were fired at one small target. It’s unnecessary. To further answer your question, test firing was done with dummy warheads at targets in large pools. That way the torpedo could be recovered and used again. The torpedoes passed under dummy hulls and would have exploded had they contained warheads.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Lockwood said in disbelief. “You mean that no one ever saw one of these bastards explode on a target?”

  “If you put it that way, that’s true. However, it was the opinion of BuOrd that test firing would be both expensive and redundant. The torpedo works.”

  “Except when it doesn’t,” Lieutenant Fargo said with ill-concealed disbelief.

  Spruance called for silence. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll hold live-fire testing here and now.”

  “I protest,” said Winters.

  “Noted. Now, we have the Monkfish in port and she has a dozen Mark 14s left. Captain Winters, you will again confirm that the torpedoes are in working order and you will oversee their being fired at targets.”

  Winters nodded sullenly.

  “Lieutenant Priest, your job is to organize the shoot. Find a couple of relics we can tow out to sea and fire at, along with ships and planes for observation. I don’t think it’ll be necessary to fire all twelve of Lieutenant Fargo’s expensive torpedoes. Four strikes me as sufficient.”

  “I’d like to fire a couple more to test the impact trigger,” Lockwood requested. “Remember, it doesn’t work too well either. Personally, I think it’s just too damned fragile.”