“I just hope you’re right,” King said. “At least it does look like the Japs will be coming to Hawaii.”

Listening stations in the United States had decoded diplomatic messages to the effect that the annexation of Hawaii was going to occur in midsummer. It stood to reason that the Japanese would make it an impressive show, and that meant the presence of a sizable portion of their fleet.

“At the very least,” Nimitz continued, “we should be able to embarrass them with a raid on the fuel tanks. At the best, we might actually do great damage. But rest assured, our carriers will not move unless there is an excellent opportunity for success. If there is little or no chance, our fleet will not move from Samoan waters. At the worst, we will have sacrificed nothing more than a few dozen brave men, but it will not be a catastrophe. With a little bit of luck, we could hide the fact of the loss for years.”

Nimitz didn’t like having to make that last statement, but he understood the realities. Failure was an orphan, and the United States couldn’t afford to have another debacle like Pearl Harbor.

“Do I know everything I should about this venture?” King asked.

Spruance chuckled. “Hell, we’re still making it up as we go along.”

Nimitz’s eyes twinkled. “Thanks for the carriers, Ernie; now, what about escorts? Same terms as with the carriers. We’ll get them back to you in September and we won’t risk them.”

“What do you want?”

“Battleships, Ernie. I want the North Carolina, Washington, South Dakota, and Indiana. You know that the Japs will show up with at least the Yamato to go along with their carriers. They didn’t build that monster to put her in storage. If she’s there, I want revenge for the Pennsylvania. No, we’re not going to set up a duel. I just want surface protection for the carriers that’ll pack a wallop if we need it.”

A task force built around five carriers and four battleships would be a powerful one, but still much weaker than what the Japanese could put against them. It would also be much smaller than the fleet the United States had under construction and would have afloat in a year or two if they wished to wait that long. They didn’t.

“The Indiana won’t be ready by then,” King said and ventured a small smile. “Maybe I can do something else for you.”

Colonel Omori sat in the back of his car as it rolled slowly down the almost deserted streets of Hilo. The few people who remained were that handful of Hawaiians and Japanese who were sympathetic to the Japanese cause, or who pretended to be that way. Omori trusted none of them. The rest, the majority, had gone inland to the other villages and hamlets to escape the possibility of yet another massacre. Omori gestured, and the driver stopped quickly. The colonel got out, and Lieutenant Goto, who’d been in the front seat, quickly stepped alongside him.

Omori looked toward the mountains that glared down on Hilo. The colonel could almost feel enemy eyes on them. If the Americans ever got artillery on the hills, they could pound the small Japanese garrison into little pieces. The two Japanese destroyers at anchor in Hilo Bay gave him some comfort. Their four-inch guns would return fire at anyone who chose to insult Japan.

At least for now they would, which made it all the more imperative that the Americans be rooted out. The size of the island and the difficult terrain-forested and nearly jungle on the Hilo side, barren and craggy on the other side-meant it would be impossible to find the Americans without help.

Omori scuffed idly at a pebble with his boot. He fully understood the difficulty Goto was having in finding the Americans. “And your Mr. Finch, has he produced?”

Goto shrugged. “He’s disappeared into the interior, and we believe he’s in contact with the Americans. What he’s found out, we won’t know until he gets back to us.”

“The American presence is as big an insult as is this abandoned town,” Omori said with a touch of petulance. “Tell me, are the Americans here capable of doing anything to disrupt the coming arrival of the fleet?”

“Then it’s true?”

“Indeed. Yamamoto will personally command a major force that will arrive in late July. They will bring with them an official proclamation declaring the Hawaiian Islands to be part of Japan. Now, what can the Americans do about it?”

Goto pondered a moment. “When will the navy’s arrival be announced?”

“When the fleet arrives, and not sooner.” Omori did not need to add that, after that, the entire world would know.

“Then the Americans will be helpless. They might try something childish to embarrass us here, but they have no military capability that would hurt us.”

This was Omori’s assessment as well. Yet he was not totally comfortable with the almost cavalier dismissal of the American guerrillas. The fact that they survived, perhaps even thrived, pointed to a sophisticated organizational and support structure. They should not be taken lightly.

A part of him recalled that, somehow, Alexa Sanderson had been spirited away. Omori was confident that she was with the Americans in the hills of the Big Island. When he found her, she would be turned over to Goto, and, when that sadist was through, the rest of the army could have her. She had caused him embarrassment and aggravation beyond her usefulness. More important, her presence on the island meant that she’d had help on Oahu. The Americans had to be destroyed.

Goto read his mind. “Do you want Captain Kashii to send patrols out farther into the hills? The captain would very much like to go chasing the Americans.”

Omori nodded. “Yes. Keep the Americans worried that a Japanese patrol could be right behind them.”

Even as he said it, the colonel knew it was wishful thinking. An entire army could hide in the hills and crags that glowered down on him. It was an amazing island. There were even active volcanoes and flowing lava out there. How the devil did an army deal with a lava flow? The Americans would be found either through Finch’s treachery or blind, dumb luck. He’d put his money on Finch.

Kentaro Hara laughed and bowed. “How do I look? Am I not a worthy soldier of the empire of Japan?”

Akira Kaga laughed at his friend’s antics. “No, you do not look like a Japanese officer. For one thing, you are too neat.”

Hara pretended to be hurt. “I have my pride.”

“And so do the Japanese soldiers,” Akira answered seriously, “but they show it in different ways, and looking slovenly is one of them. The true warriors in the Japanese army are contemptuous of spit and polish. They prefer to affect the look of a rugged warrior, a seasoned campaigner; thus, their uniforms always look like they’ve been stolen from someone larger and slept in for a great while.”

Hara sighed as he took off the Japanese army tunic that had been made for him by one of several seamstresses employed to copy Japanese uniforms. It had been determined that it would be easier and safer to have them made by trusted people. Thefts would alert the Japanese to the fact that not everyone wearing a uniform was on their side. The conspirators’ infiltration was something they wanted kept hidden for as long as possible.

Akira was pleased with the progress they’d made. Already there were enough uniforms to outfit thirty volunteers, and he had more than that ready to fight.

“All right,” Hara said. “I’ll get something that doesn’t fit, but I won’t be happy. It won’t be up to my standards.”

“Screw your standards.” Akira laughed. Behind him, his father entered the room.

“A marvelous display,” the older man said.

“Too bad they don’t allow one-legged officers in the Japanese army,” Akira said with regret. Although several of his volunteer force had experience in the national guard, none had served in the Japanese army and none had seen combat. His men would have the benefit of his experience, but he could not lead them.