1942

by Robert Conroy

  Alexa started to cry softly. This stranger had called it rape, and, while she thought it was rape, Alexa wondered if others would think the same way. After all, Omori hadn’t beaten her, hadn’t held a knife to her throat, hadn’t even actually threatened to hurt her, although Han had said he would. Alexa knew that, in some people’s eyes, this lack of violence would make her seem a willing partner in what had occurred. She knew better, but others would judge from the smug safety of distance. But she had saved Kami, which she told the intruder.

  “No,” said the leader sadly, “you didn’t.”

  Alexa was stunned. “Omori swore he wouldn’t touch her!”

  “He didn’t. His pig of a lieutenant, Goto, did. He raped her all night and then turned her over to a couple of his men, who passed her around like a child’s toy.”

  Alexa sagged. It had all been for nothing.

  “It gets worse,” he said. “Kami managed to free herself and ran away. Some of my, ah, friends found her and drove her to a place near the ocean for safety. That was a mistake. In her shame and despair, she walked into the sea and never came back.”

  As Alexa reeled from this new blow, she caught a catch in the man’s voice. “What was she to you?” she asked.

  “My grandniece,” he gasped. “A lovely flower that had only half bloomed. She was my wife’s brother’s son’s child and the joy of my years. She was only half Japanese, and that made her inferior in some eyes but not mine. She was deeply loved and will be missed forever.”

  They were silent for a moment. “What do you want from me?” Alexa asked.

  The man sighed. “Nothing can bring Kami back, and nothing can eliminate your night with Omori. What I can do is ensure that nothing further happens to you. I wish to move you from here to one of the other islands. There you will be with friends of mine and out of Omori’s reach. There are comparatively few Japanese military in the islands, and Omori doesn’t have the resources to search for you.”

  “How much time do I have to think it over?”

  “None. I want you to leave now. You are not the only woman in Omori’s stable. There are two other Americans who’ve already been turned into opium addicts and whores by him. He will use you for a couple of weeks, and then you will be passed around to a succession of other Japanese officers. What happened to you last night was bad enough. How would you like to service half a dozen men each time? In six months, I predict you will be dead of drug usage, or dying of it, or of syphilis.”

  The hooded leader knew this wasn’t the truth. So far, Alexa Sanderson was the first woman Omori had attacked, but it was felt that she needed to be frightened into moving.

  Alexa was convinced. She would go, and right now. “Let me pack a few things. What about my friend? Will you take her?”

  The leader shrugged. “If she wishes it. However, if it is the friend we saw you with, she has a small child. I doubt that she would wish to live the life of a refugee with him.”

  And that, Alexa thought, tells me that there will be danger where he is sending me. However, she decided it would be far better than the lingering agony Omori had in store for her. He was right. Melissa was better off where she was. Alexa wanted to say good-bye to her friend but decided against it. Melissa was safer in a state of honest and plausible ignorance.

  “Now, please take off the mask,” she asked.

  He did as requested, revealing the face of a Japanese man well past middle age. She looked into his eyes and saw deep sadness that was possibly as great as her own, along with strength and more than a hint of cruelty. This man would be a terrifying enemy.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Toyoza Kaga, and I am a merchant in the area. I am Japanese born, but I have no wish to see the Japanese military succeed. Is that acceptable, or does the fact of my race offend you?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Alexa asked grimly. “How will you get me off the island without the Japs”-she caught herself and flushed while Kaga smiled slightly-”I mean, without Omori’s men finding me?”

  “That will not be difficult. Each night scores of fishing boats leave and return without the Japanese caring. Our occupiers have done nothing to hinder commerce between the islands. Quite the contrary; it is in their best interests to encourage fishing to help feed the people. You will be on one of the boats.”

  Alexa rose. She felt strength and hope returning to her. “All right, let’s get going.”

  Colonel Jimmy Doolittle thought he had seen everything in his years in the army and the air corps. Now, he knew he was wrong.

  Doolittle was forty-five and had taken a slightly unusual route toward higher rank. Instead of attending West Point, he had graduated from the University of California and later earned a doctorate at MIT. He had joined the army in 1917, resigned in 1930 to work in private aviation, then reenlisted as a major in the summer of 1940.

  As the short, trim colonel walked along the beachfront with Admiral Nimitz, he could only gawk at the array of planes floating before him. None of his experience had prepared him for what he was seeing and what he thought the admiral was going to tell him.

  Finally, he found his voice. “Admiral, what the hell am I supposed to do with these big, ugly monsters?”

  Nimitz grinned. “Bomb the Japs.”

  Lined up before them and in the waters of the bay were eight flying boats. They looked like so many gargantuan geese on parade and, from the upward cut of their bows, seemed to be mocking him. But Doolittle knew one thing: He was a bomber pilot, and flying boats were not bombers. The fact that they rested in the water precluded them from having bomb bays. They were slow, fat passenger planes, not warplanes.

  He sighed. “What do you want bombed, and why me, sir?”

  Nimitz explained in reverse. He said that Doolittle had a reputation as an intelligent, creative, and flexible commander. Doolittle’s original plan had been to bomb Tokyo using sixteen B-25 bombers that would fly from a carrier, bomb Tokyo, and land in China. Doolittle’s abilities while training for this army-navy foray had impressed the navy, which had asked for him to be seconded to their command.

  “And let’s face it, Colonel, not too many navy pilots know anything about large bombers, and these planes are going to be just about the largest bombers the world has ever seen.”

  Doolittle thought he knew the answer but had to ask. “And my target? It’s no longer Tokyo, is it?”

  “No, it’s not. Your target is the fuel depot at Pearl Harbor. According to our intelligence sources, it is nearly rebuilt now, and, when it is finished and filled, Pearl Harbor will be a viable forward base for the Japanese. As it stands, the Japs have only a scratch force in and on Oahu, and the longer we can keep things that way, the easier it will be to retake the islands once we have achieved naval superiority. Therefore, your job will be to destroy that depot just like the Japs did to us.”

  Doolittle saw the irony in the situation. “And why not launch my B-25s from a carrier?”

  Nimitz smiled. “Let’s just say we have other plans for our carriers. Besides, once launched, where would you go? Hawaii is in the middle of nowhere. Flying to China would not be an option, as it would be if you bombed Tokyo. You’d be forced to land in the sea if you used B-25s. However, with modifications and drop tanks, these flying boats can take you from California to Hawaii and back.”

  Doolittle whistled. “The Japs’ll never expect a plane that can do that trick.”

  “You will have the fullest cooperation from both army and naval engineers in reconfiguring those passenger craft into weapons. May I presume you already have some thoughts?”

  Doolittle smiled. It would be a helluva challenge, but the admiral was right. And yes, there were a few thoughts percolating in his skull.

  “Two questions, Admiral.”

  “Shoot.”

  “First, let’s say I arrive over Pearl and I see targets that may be more inviting than a fuel depot, for instance, a row of sleeping carriers. How much discretion will I have?”
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  “All you wish. That’s one of the reasons we chose you.”

  Doolittle felt like jumping in the air. “Fantastic! Now, sir, when do you want me to be ready?”

  Nimitz smiled benignly. “Yesterday.”

  Commander Mitsuo Fuchida greeted his old friend Minoru Genda with heartfelt warmth as they met in what had been the officers’ club of Wheeler Field, out by Schofield Barracks. After they’d exchanged pleasantries and treated each other to a drink, Genda brought up the reason for the meeting.

  “Fuchida, you have done a marvelous job of, first, reducing the American forces on Oahu and, second, rebuilding this devastated base. May I assume that all your planes and pilots have been transferred from Molokai?”

  “You may, indeed. The fields at Molokai have been dynamited, which makes them useless for anyone else, although they could be rebuilt fairly quickly. I must admit, I am not comfortable with so many potential airstrips so close to Oahu and no one watching over them.”

  Genda agreed. “Unfortunately, our resources are stretched thin. However, you are flying patrols over all the islands, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. But with only sixty planes at my disposal, I have only a handful on overland patrols at any given time. I am afraid that most of what goes on in the islands is unseen by my men.”

  Fuchida was forced to divide his air resources among ocean patrols, which were deemed more critical because they looked for carriers; anti-sub duty off the entrance to Pearl Harbor; overland patrols; and the maintenance required to keep the planes in the air. At least a third of his planes were being serviced at all times. In the event of an attack, he was confident almost all of them would rise to fight, but the situation stretched his current overland patrols thin, too thin, in his estimation. “You know, Genda, I lost nearly a hundred pilots taking Oahu,” he said.

  “A high price,” Genda said solemnly. The hundred pilots were equivalent to the flying crews of two carriers. Replacements were arriving, but they did not appear to be of the same quality as those killed, and this fact made both men uncomfortable.

  Genda brightened. “At any rate, I have good news for you. Your work here is done. You are needed with the fleet.”

  “Marvelous.” Fuchida could barely contain his enthusiasm.

  “Nagumo is taking the carriers south through the Coral Sea to Port Moresby. He hopes to lure the Americans to battle and inflict a crushing defeat. He has been told that you are the best man to command all the fighters.”

  Fuchida inhaled deeply. It was an enormous honor. “I will do my best.”

  Genda clapped his friend on the shoulder, a most un-Japanese gesture of camaraderie. “Your best will be more than sufficient, my friend. We hope, a thrust toward Australia will knock both them and New Zealand out of the war and secure our southern flank. After that, we can destroy the British in the Indian Ocean if the remainder of the Americans won’t fight. Perhaps,” he said solemnly, “it will end the war.”

  Fuchida shook his head. Perhaps had been said too many times. “I am not that confident. I saw how desperately the Americans fought to keep this place, and I do not think they will let the loss of Australia, or even several of their carriers, deter them. Do you know there are still Americans active and fighting on the other islands?”

  Genda was surprised. “I had no idea.”

  Fuchida laughed harshly. “It’s not something that either Admiral Iwabachi or Colonel Omori wants publicized. Just the other day a patrol was ambushed and wiped out on Hawaii, only a few hours away from Hilo, and we can do nothing about it. We know that there is a great deal of clandestine radio activity, which we cannot pin down, and every third sailor on the food ships must be a spy, regardless of nationality. Frankly, my friend, I would not doubt that our conversation will be reported to Washington tomorrow.”

  Genda laughed nervously. Was the man serious? They were virtually alone in a large room. Native Hawaiians made up the serving staff, and there was a sprinkling of American Negroes working in the kitchens along with other Hawaiians. These were civilians who had worked at the base before the war and professed no love for the United States, which had treated them harshly. No, Fuchida had to be kidding. “It can’t be that bad,” Genda said.

  “It isn’t,” Fuchida responded, “but it’s bad enough. You do know that we are not getting the full support of the Japanese community here, don’t you, and the Hawaiians are almost totally unresponsive? We’ve been here for almost five months, and there’s been no official clarification of our long-term policy regarding the islands, and the Japanese and Hawaiian people who would be our allies are beginning to worry and wonder.”

  The two men rose and stepped outside. The Hawaiian sun had bathed the lush green land in brightness. Even the scars of the recent battles looked cleansed and unthreatening. With the low mountains as a backdrop, it should have been a vision evocative of the grace and elegance of Japan itself. Instead, it had taken on a sinister, hostile appearance, with the mountains looking like so many rows of sharks’ teeth.

  “You ask about our policies? I sometimes wonder if we have one,” Genda said.

  “We are a long way from making this place our own,” Fuchida responded. “I sometimes wonder if we will have the time.”

  Lieutenant Goto stood at attention before Colonel Omori and Admiral Iwabachi, and looked at his two superiors with studied insolence. He knew he was the son of an important man and had far more political pull than either of the senior officers who glowered at him. He had nothing to fear.

  Omori shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe you would be so stupid, Goto, as to perpetuate what is a near uprising among the Japanese community. I gave my word that the girl would not be harmed and you went and fucked her and, worse, turned her over to your men. Now she is dead, the woman I wanted to serve as my mistress has disappeared, and the Japanese community is outraged. Is it possible that you are incapable of thinking beyond your prick?”

  “I only did what a soldier should do with a captive woman, Colonel,” Goto said unrepentantly. “The people who are claiming she was pure-bred Japanese are lying. The girl was certainly part Japanese, but she was a mongrel with Hawaiian and American blood, which makes her less than nothing. There is no reason for anyone to get excited.”

  “I am concerned that you disobeyed an order,” Iwabachi snarled. “I have only a few thousand men to govern these entire islands, and I depend on the goodwill of the Asian people to do that. Whether she was a mongrel or not, many people believe that she was Japanese and that you caused her death.”

  Goto’s response was almost a sneer. “I did not force her to walk into the ocean, sir. That was her own stupid idea. So she got fucked, so what? Every woman will get it sooner or later.”

  Iwabachi was a terrier of a man, considered a fanatic by many. His faith in all that was Japanese was absolute, and he prayed for the honor of dying for his emperor. At a different time and place, the admiral would have been sympathetic to Goto’s position. Today, however, he had an unruly set of islands to govern. He decided to play his trump card.

  “Lieutenant, the girl’s last name was Ozawa. It is being said that she was distantly related to our Admiral Ozawa, even though she was a mongrel.”

  For the first time, Goto looked uncertain. Admiral Ozawa commanded the naval detachments in action against Indonesia and Malaya, and was considered the logical successor to the revered Yamamoto, should anything happen to him.

  “It can’t be,” Goto said without conviction. “I don’t even think that’s her last name. It was Ogawa, not Ozawa. We must refute the lie.”

  Omori did not quite agree. “That is too simple. Refuting a rumor often does nothing but give it credence. Like many rumors, it will have a life of its own. We can only wait for time to cause it to die down. In the meantime, you must go. I am assigning you to command the kempetei detachment on the island of Hawaii, at Hilo. There are guerrillas loose on the island, and your task is to find them and destroy them.”


  Goto bowed and sighed in some relief. His punishment would be a minor one, and the banishment to Hilo would only be temporary. Besides, while there he would have the opportunity for glory and independent command, and there had to be very young women in Hilo. It could have been a lot worse. It was good to have clout.

  “And who besides the southern congressmen support this incredible idea?” President Roosevelt asked as he shook his head in disbelief.

  “General DeWitt,” said General Marshall.

  Roosevelt sighed. DeWitt was the commander of the Western Defense Command, which included California. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he had convinced the president and others that the resident Japanese were a threat to the safety of the country and quickly had them removed to concentration camps. Liberals, even those in Roosevelt’s own party, were calling it a travesty of justice in that many of those removed were American citizens, both native-born and naturalized, and others were too old and feeble to be considered threats. It didn’t matter. General DeWitt felt that the only good Jap was either a dead one or one who was locked up.

  Roosevelt had reluctantly acquiesced. The mood of the country had demanded it, and he had rationalized that the Japanese-Americans would actually be safer in concentration camps than out on the streets and subject to mob justice.

  But this request from a small group of senators and representatives astonished him. They proposed a trade of the Japanese civilians held in California camps for those white American civilians in Hawaii.

  Senator Theodore Bilbo, a Democrat from Mississippi, was the spearhead for the plan. His rationale was simple: First, white people were being abused and going hungry in Hawaii; and, second, white people should never be held prisoner by nonwhites. Thus, with so many Japanese in our prisons and so many white Americans in theirs, a trade seemed like a logical step.

  Roosevelt handed the paper containing the proposal to Marshall, who passed it to Admiral King. “Tell me, does the esteemed Senator Bilbo know he is under investigation for illegal activities involving war contractors?”