“Then I would like to return to sea duty as soon as possible.”

“You’re entitled to go on leave,” Spruance said.

“I’d like to take it some other time.” Jamie grinned through cracked lips. “After all, sir, there’s a war on.”

Nimitz smiled. “So there is, son, but you’re not going to be in it for a while. I’m assigning you to staff work here so we can pump your brain about the Yamato, as well as the Japanese gunnery and torpedoes. Not too many people have seen the Jap navy in action like you have.”

Spruance looked away as Nimitz made his speech. Another Magic intercept had caught an angry Yamamoto castigating someone on the Yamato for executing American prisoners. Lieutenant Jamie Priest appeared to be the sole survivor of the last voyage of the Pennsylvania. There was no chance he was going back in harm’s way at this time.

There was also no chance that either admiral was going to tell the young man of the fate of his comrades.

In a strange way, the scene unfolding below him reminded Jake of his childhood in the hills of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, when he didn’t have any money and had to watch the high school football games from up on the higher ground. From such a distance, he had no idea who had the ball or who was winning. All he could see were dots moving slowly and relatively silently across a field. Sometimes he could hear distant cheering or the tinny blare of a band, but the noises seemed disconnected from the events.

Jake had placed himself on a spur of the Waianae Range, which ran down the western side of Oahu. He hoped fervently that he was invisible to the Japanese and that there was nothing on the hill that might attract their fire. The normally peaceful and beautiful white beaches of Haleiwa were about two miles away, but, through his binoculars, he could see events clearly as they unfolded.

The shelling had begun at first light. The American defenses were new and poorly concealed. Raw scars in the earth had shown the Japanese just where to fire, and they had done so to great effect, pulverizing most of their targets. Jake picked out two battleships and four heavy cruisers insolently standing just a couple of miles offshore as they poured thunderous fire into selected areas while transports patiently waited behind them.

The recently dug-in Americans had nothing to respond with and could only absorb the punishment that systematically destroyed all the hard work they’d done. What the ships didn’t hit, the planes did. At almost any moment, there were at least a score of Zeros and Kate bombers overhead. Jake couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like in that thunderous hell on the beaches. Even where he was, he could feel the earth tremble as shells and bombs hit home.

At about ten in the morning, he counted fifty-four landing craft heading toward the beach. If each carried its full complement of twenty-four men, almost thirteen hundred Japanese soldiers were in the first wave. Granted, there were more Americans than that in the area, but the Japanese attack was focused on one point, and the other spread-out American defenders could do nothing to help their beleaguered comrades.

When the landing craft beached on the white sands, ramps on their front ends were dropped, and tiny dots, Japanese soldiers, came pouring out. Jake exulted when some of them fell and actually cheered when one of the landing craft burst into flames from a shell. But it was too little, and the Japanese quickly overran targeted American positions and established a perimeter while the landing craft returned for more soldiers.

Within a few hours, Jake estimated there were between five and six thousand Japanese on the beach, with more arriving almost continuously. Also landed were a handful of vehicles, towed artillery, and small tanks. He saw other dots. These were American defenders fleeing southward down the road to Schofield Barracks and Oahu. Overhead, Japanese planes strafed and bombed anything that moved, and the retreat quickly became a rout.

Japanese gunnery had begun seeking targets farther inland, and Jake decided it was time to leave. He packed his binoculars and mounted his motorcycle. He would go cross-country and not try the road, which was quickly becoming a death trap full of burning and wrecked vehicles. He was not alone in this decision; numerous clusters of men trekked south across the fields.

Smoke could be seen from the small towns in the area. Waialua, with its five thousand people, was in flames, while the coastal village of Haleiwa itself, with only a couple of hundred souls in cottages and shacks, had been flattened by the battle.

Civilians had begun withdrawing when the shelling started, and now they clogged the one narrow road that the army needed for withdrawal of the wounded, evacuation of shattered units, and arrival of reinforcements. There was nothing but chaos on the roads, and Jake could see no sign of American reinforcements heading northward against the flow.

He watched in horror as Japanese planes swept across the narrow road and killed without discrimination. It was like the newsreels he’d seen of the Nazis butchering innocent civilians in France in 1940. It was hard to believe it was happening to Americans on American soil, but the truth lay before him.

Fortunately, darkness would fall in a couple of hours. If the retreating mass of people could stay clear of the fires that would attract planes, they might make it through to Schofield.

So too, Jake thought grimly, might he.

President Roosevelt’s face was ashen and drawn. His hands shook, and he looked on the verge of collapse. Admiral King resisted the urge to call for medical assistance as he remembered General Marshall’s comments about the president’s health. What he was seeing was a prime example of the stresses that were destroying the man who appeared in public as strong, unflappable, and buoyantly confident.

Finally, Roosevelt was able to speak. “I know it was expected, but it is still a shock. It’s like the death of a loved one who’s been dying for months. No matter how much we think we’re prepared, it’s still a tragedy.”

King kept his silence. Roosevelt had just gotten official word of the Japanese landings on Oahu.

“Is there nothing we can do?” the president asked.

King and Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox locked eyes. They had been over this ground many times. Partly as a result of the decision that Germany was the primary enemy, there were few resources available to the navy. Another factor was Japan’s unnerving and totally unexpected propensity to be dominant in several crucial areas, and only time, as the American war machine gradually geared up, would shift those dominances.

“The public is going to crucify me if Hawaii falls,” Roosevelt said. “Thank God there’s time to repair the damage before the next presidential elections, although my party is going to catch hell in fall’s congressional races.”

“The Japs will take Hawaii,” King said tersely. Wait. Had the president just said he was going to run for a fourth term? The third one in 1940 had been unprecedented. Would his health hold up for the current term, much less one more?

Roosevelt tried to rub the pain from behind his eyes with his knuckles. “When that happens, there will be no reason for Bataan and Corregidor to hang on. Do you know the soldiers in the Philippines are fantasizing that we will soon land ten thousand Negro soldiers on white horses to save them? My God, they’re going mad over there. How long do you give Oahu, Admiral?”

“Ground warfare isn’t my specialty, sir, but my experts say two to three weeks at the most. If the Japs adhere to the pattern established in their earlier attacks, in Malaya and the Philippines, they won’t wait too long before advancing. They like to keep their opposition off balance.”

“Singapore will soon fall as well,” Knox said.