“We need confirmation,” Yamamoto said to Watanabe. “If the Americans have abandoned the Pacific, then we have an opportunity to do great damage to them, and possibly bring an end to this war. We can land troops in Alaska unopposed, as well as bomb and shell the cities of California. After annexing Hawaii, we can humiliate the United States and bring her to the negotiating table. It doesn’t matter if they won’t come out and fight. We will have our victory.”

Following the attacks along the American West Coast, Yamamoto hoped that the postponed operation to put a landing strip on Guadalcanal would be reconstituted. A Japanese air base on Guadalcanal would threaten New Zealand and Australia and, coupled with additional victories against the American West Coast, might just knock those two semi-independent nations out of the war. He acknowledged that it was far more important to defeat the United States and sign a treaty with her. If America left the war, Great Britain and her minions would collapse. Guadalcanal would have to wait.

Watanabe had said nothing. He was there to listen, not to speak unless specifically asked.

“Confirmation,” Yamamoto repeated and pounded his mangled hand against the railing. “We must confirm that the Americans are in the Atlantic.”

Alexa Sanderson smiled down at Sergeant Charley Finch, who returned the smile uncertainly. The woman who generally stayed so close to Colonel Novacek had scarcely acknowledged his existence until this moment.

“Sergeant Finch, I haven’t had a chance to welcome you. I’ve been preoccupied with other things, and that’s rude of me.”

Charley smiled tentatively. “That’s quite all right, ma’am. I guess there are a lot of things going on that’re more important than me.”

She sat on the ground beside him. “Jake-I mean Colonel Novacek- is away for a few days, so that gives me a chance to check up on things. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?”

“Go right ahead,” he answered with a certainty that he didn’t feel. What the hell did she want? Maybe she was attracted to him. He changed his mind about her attractiveness. Even though she was dressed in men’s clothing, there was no doubt she was damned good-looking. He felt a stirring in his groin. It had been a helluva long time. He wondered if Novacek was screwing her.

“I want to know what’s happening in Honolulu,” she said. “I know it’s been a while since you were there, but your information is probably better than anybody else’s.”

Charley was both relieved and disappointed. “I spent most of my time in hiding, ma’am. From what I could tell, and from what people told me, it’s a pretty miserable place. The Japanese military is everywhere, and their secret police are the nastiest people on the face of the earth.”

He watched as her eyes clouded. The comment about Omori’s secret police had struck home. Alexa waited a moment, then continued. “How are the people getting on? What are they eating?”

Charley shrugged. “I can only tell you what I heard, and that’s that anyone who’s white is having a rough time, while anyone who isn’t is doing okay. There’s enough food to go around now, but nobody’s gonna get too fat from it.”

She laughed softly and glanced at his still prominent paunch. Thanks to their Spartan rations, it was disappearing, but far from gone. “I got this”-he grinned-”while hiding out with that old lady. She must’ve thought she was going to feed an army for a hundred years. It might’ve been illegal to hoard, but I’m kinda glad she did.”

“You know I lost my husband, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. A lot of good people died that day.”

“Did you have family in Hawaii? Friends?”

What should he tell her? he wondered. “No, ma’am, although I do have a girlfriend in San Francisco. Want to see her picture?” It was a spur-of-the-moment comment but seemed logical.

Alexa nodded and Finch pulled a snapshot out of his wallet. Alexa’s eyes widened as she saw it. “She’s very pretty,” she finally said. “What’s her name?”

“Nancy Winfield,” he said, improvising quickly. Nancy Winfield was somebody he’d known back in the States. He wasn’t certain what the name of the person in the picture was. “And she is prettier than I deserve. I sure know that, and I remind myself about it a hundred times a day. At least,” he said sadly, “I used to. God only knows what’s happening to her now. She probably thinks I’m dead.”

Alexa put her hand on his arm. “Perhaps we can send a message that you’re all right.”

“That would be great,” Charley said sincerely. Even if they did send a message, it would be to an address where no one named Nancy Winfield lived. They would assume she’d moved and forget about it. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Alexa stood and brushed the dirt off her khaki slacks. She smiled at the sergeant and walked off. When she was far enough away, she allowed her eyes to well up with tears.

“You’re going to die,” she whispered angrily. “You’re going to fucking die, Charley Finch.”

Their main radio was in a hut near the top of a hill. It was large, and Jake’s soldiers had quipped that the radio was about as portable as a dead elephant. The antenna was on a tall tree a little ways away. Unless you were close and knew what to look for, it was invisible.

The Japs were looking for it, so Jake hadn’t had the set and antenna placed on the highest hill in the area. That would have been too obvious. Instead, the tree-covered hill was one of scores like it that jutted up in the rugged terrain and were otherwise not significant.

Someone always stayed by the radio in case a message came in. There was a planned schedule, but you could never tell when something important might arrive, especially now that it looked like big things were about to happen. So far, only a handful in the main area knew of the planes’ arrival, but it was only a matter of time before the secret became common knowledge. They had to be used fairly soon or any element of surprise might be lost.

Jake didn’t have to take a turn in the radio hut, but he rather liked doing so. It felt good to have a roof over his head, and the privacy he insisted on while up there was a splendid relief. His Morse code skills had improved to where he could receive a message without screwing up.

He might be alone, but he was safe. The shack was protected by Hawk’s soldiers, who kept out of sight and gave him the illusion of privacy.

The isolation gave him a chance to think without the distractions of routine command. He stripped off his uniform and relaxed in his army shorts and sleeveless undershirt. He was filthy, but so was everyone else. Back home, people might have bathed once a week or more, but not here. There was sufficient water, but it was primarily for drinking and cooking, not bathing and showering. Crude containers had been devised to hold rainwater and springwater so that some washing and showering did occur, but it wasn’t on a frequent basis. Jake sniffed. He hadn’t had a chance to clean up in more than a week. Hawk had made the comment that it was part of their camouflage. “If you smell like a jungle, you’ll be mistaken for one,” he’d said.

Small quantities of soap were made from ashes and sand, and were strictly rationed. As a result, everyone, even the women, kept their hair very short. Jake thought Alexa looked very attractive in a haircut that would have seemed short on a man only a few months ago.

Maybe it would rain and he could let Mother Nature hose him down. But even rain wouldn’t help the tattered condition of his clothing. Like everyone else’s, it had been reduced to little more than rags. His underwear was so bad it reminded him of the type old ladies said you should never wear in case you got in an accident.

He stepped outside and looked up at the star-filled sky. No rain in sight, but there was a breeze that was comfortable on his bare skin. Although he was not a stickler for discipline, he insisted that his men- and women-be suitably dressed, rags or not. States of undress were tolerated only in situations such as this, where there was a degree of privacy.