He began to pace back and forward as he built his argument.

"Bottom line, we've got to make this work, and we've already got problems. Some people will never forgive us for Midway. Then there's Anderson and Miyazaki, that's a bad business. Maybe it was an opportunistic homicide, maybe it wasn't. The riot in Honolulu, that chief petty officer getting shot, none of it bodes well. We don't fit in here. I don't know that we ever will with any great ease. But I think we have to try. We've got to bring something more than disruption and chaos with us. That's why I'm thinking of hitting those Japanese prison camps. We can save more lives than we took when we came here. I think we need to do it. Not just politically, but morally. We owe them."

Silence and a sense of expectancy greeted his statement. Nobody rushed to contradict him, but neither did they rush to endorse the idea. Halabi chewed her pencil, obviously deep in thought. Willet seemed to nod once. Colonel Jones leaned forward and clasped his hands together.

"It's a hell of a task, Admiral. Even for us."

Kolhammer smiled. "I believe you were the first to raise the idea, Colonel."

"I was, but my people will be the ones getting shot at, too. Are you talking about hitting both Singapore and Luzon? Because you have to split your forces to do that. And what about the Japanese carriers that survived Midway? They don't impress us much, but they scare the shit out of the locals."

"They do," Kolhammer agreed. "And I think we do need to deal with them. We know they've hightailed it back to the Home Islands. Captain Willet, you can get the Havoc to Japan in, what, three and a half days?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, in four days, those ships are scrap metal."

"If they're still there," said Jones.

"That's right," Kolhammer nodded. "If they're still there. And if they're not we will have to find them and destroy them, but nobody here doubts our ability to do that. And yes, Luzon and Singapore are a hell of a way from each other. But if we do this we have to get them all out."

Captain Halabi stopped chewing her pencil.

"While you were away, I had a chat with one of the young officers in the working party we put together to do some historical research. We talked about this. She thinks the locals will be grateful to get their men back. But she doesn't think it'll make all that much difference to their attitude in the long run. She said we're just too alien."

Kolhammer thought about it for a moment.

"She might be right, Captain. But we're here and have to make these choices. I guess the consequences will take care of themselves."

Admiral King preferred good old-fashioned paper to those infernal data slates and flexi-whats-its. You could roll a bunch of papers up and bang them like a gavel. You could fold, spindle, and mutilate them. You could tear them, and crumple them, and throw them into the wastebasket.

And that's what he felt like doing with the papers he was holding in his hands, a summary of Kolhammer's plan to intervene in the Pacific. King had no trouble with the idea of turning those rocket ships and planes on the Japs, but this maniac was talking about wasting precious resources on some ridiculous prison breakout in Luzon and Singapore.

Granted, he was also proposing to attack Hashirajima and give the Japs a taste of their own Pearl Harbor. But to King's studied eye, the whole thing looked like fantasy. They were sending one lousy Australian submarine to hit the Combined Fleet in the Home Islands, while the rest of their force would be split up between an attack on a couple of POW camps. It made no sense at all.

Singapore was deep in the heart of the empire now. You didn't just sail in and tie up at the yacht club before popping into Raffles for drinks. And this POW camp at Cabanatuan on Luzon-it was miles inland. They were talking about evacuating thousands of prisoners. King would dearly love to get those boys back, but this wasn't the way. This was fucking madness.

He could barely control his urge to slap the data slate from Roosevelt's hands. The president was engrossed in one of their goddamn movie presentations. A neat little cartoon pitch about how they planned to win the war. It was enough to make you wretch, after what they'd done at Midway.

"Are you going to let them go ahead with their plan, Mr. President?" asked King. The tone of his voice told Roosevelt that his navy chief didn't think that was even remotely a good idea.

Roosevelt fell back in the chair and struggled to find a comfortable position.

"I take it, Admiral, that you would not."

"No, sir. If I had my way, I wouldn't be letting them out of my sight."

Roosevelt peered out into the darkness of the White House lawn. Even with the lights down it was difficult to see past his reflection in the windowpanes.

"They're talking about destroying Yamamoto's fleet before it puts to sea again. Do you think they can do it?" he asked. "Your honest appraisal."

"I have no idea, sir. We couldn't, and I don't know that I'd be happy letting these bastards off the leash to try. You know about the sort of personnel they're carrying. That's a hideous can of worms, right there."

Roosevelt levered himself around to face King more directly, pushing his elbows into the armrest and lifting his crippled body a few inches. He grunted as he settled again.

"Admiral, that's an argument for another day. My good lady wife is already in my ear, carrying on about integration, and I fear she won't rest until I sign an executive order turning half of your navy over to her suffragette friends."

Seeing the expression that contorted the admiral's face, Roosevelt had his first good laugh in weeks.

"Relax, Admiral. I'm joking. Eleanor doesn't get everything her way."

Though the tension ran out of King's shoulders, as he slumped back into his own chair, he still looked worried. "So this plan," he said, "I have a feeling you're going to approve it."

"Your intuition is correct. If we can destroy the Combined Fleet, we go a long way toward winning this war. And they say they can do it without losing a single man. I'd deserve to be impeached if I said no to that.

"As for this rescue mission, I admit, it looks shaky on paper. But having seen what happened to those men, the pictures of them in those prison camps, I couldn't live with myself if I turned down a chance to save them. And I'd have their families coming over the fence to get me."

"That's why Kolhammer sent you those pictures, sir," King said, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. "To force your hand."

Roosevelt smiled like an old wolf.

"I know. He'd make a good politician."

The admiral tried another tack.

"They're asking us to divert a hell of a lot of shipping capacity to their little adventure," he pointed out. "MacArthur, for one, is going to have to wait for reinforcements in Australia. He'll howl like a stuck pig."

"He always does," Roosevelt countered, waving away the point. MacArthur's good opinion counted for little with him. "And anyway, he's already assented. Not that he had any real say in the matter."

King was unable to contain his surprise, and in turn his annoyance.

"I hadn't been told that MacArthur knew anything of this," he said.

"I only found out myself two hours ago, when he cabled me his approval of the operation." Roosevelt shook his head in wonder at the man's gall, dealing himself into the hand when he wasn't even at the table.

King looked like he'd stepped in something nasty whenever the subject of MacArthur came up. "I suppose he got one look at those marines and their equipment and decided to put them in his back pocket," he said.