“I told you people to stay away,” the man said and stopped as he realized this was somebody new. “Who are you?”

“Raven,” Jake said.

“Nevermore,” the man said after a moment’s hesitation. “Next time we get more original call signs.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Commander Joe Rochefort, and you must be the cavalry.”

Jake introduced himself and was pleasantly surprised that Rochefort’s grip was firm and strong. Maybe he always looked like a frazzled college professor? At least his target now had a name. His orders had denied him even that basic piece of information, and he wondered why.

“We’re the infantry, Commander, not the cavalry. We had to walk here, and you’ll have to walk out.”

“Name’s Joe, Jake. I’m not big on rank. Besides, I think we’re equal.”

Jake grinned. “And we’re on land and not a ship. Since I’m in charge of getting you out of here, I’m supposed to command this part of the enterprise.”

Rochefort shrugged. “Makes sense. Do me a favor, though, don’t come up here unless it’s a real emergency.”

“Fine.”

There was no opportunity for further talk as Jake found that Rochefort’s sailors hadn’t eaten much in several days. Hawaii may have been paradise in some people’s eyes, but food did not grow on trees. It had to be searched for and found.

The hungry sailors ate army rations with a gusto that amused some of the soldiers, who didn’t think that anyone, even a sailor, would be dumb enough to like them. Jake made a mental note that their rations were limited and the addition of eight healthy appetites would reduce their limited inventory in a big hurry.

Also, the eight men had only two pistols among them. Jake’s twelve had ten brand-new M1 Garands with a number of clips of ammunition each, along with two Thompson submachine guns. Jake had a.45 automatic pistol. When he’d mentioned to Hawkins that it would be good for close-in combat, the sergeant had spat on the ground and said he had no intentions of fighting anyone close in.

“I’m glad you came,” Rochefort said after the men were fed. “After the surrender, I was afraid we’d been forgotten.”

Jake blinked. He’d stayed off his radio since landing for security purposes. “Then it’s official.”

“Over and done. Short surrendered everyone on every island, and that includes us. I can’t, of course, but what about you?”

Jake wondered about the “of course,” but didn’t ask. “I never planned on it, so this is a godsend in a way.” Then he told Rochefort of his orders that the commander was never to fall into Japanese hands.

“No surprise,” Rochefort said solemnly. “Do you wonder why?”

“Of course, but I’m under orders not to ask.”

“Then let me clarify something for you. Back on Oahu, I ran a radio listening post. We would sit back and wait for the Japs to talk. With a big enough antenna, we could listen to what they were talking about in Tokyo. Most of the time, they didn’t bother to use code for the mundane and routine reports and such, and this gave us excellent insights into the Jap mind.

“When they did use code, we were stumped, but we could still extrapolate much of their intentions from the number and frequency of their messages. We could also determine that, when senders and receivers moved, the Jap fleet was at sea and where it was headed. I’ve established a crude listening post at the top of that hill, which is why I keep it secured. The receiver’s in that abominable shack, and the antenna is strung up to a tree. Other than letting the navy know we’re here, we’ve only listened and not sent. The Japs, by the way, have announced that anyone with shortwave radio equipment will be shot.”

Jake nodded politely. The story was interesting but intriguingly incomplete. What Rochefort did for the navy was great, but hardly worth killing him for. Listening to unencoded messages was something that anyone could do, and guessing movements from unreadable coded data was also not that special. Commander Joe Rochefort wasn’t telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

CHAPTER 11

Admiral Raymond Spruance glanced up at the interruption and smiled tolerantly. “Gentlemen, now that we are all here, we can begin.”

Lieutenant Jamie Priest winced and took a seat at the end of the long table. Even though Spruance seemed to be a pretty easygoing and regular guy, it did not behoove junior officers to piss off admirals by being late for meetings, no matter what the reason.

Nor was Spruance the only admiral at this meeting. Rear Admiral Charles A. Lockwood was present. Lockwood commanded the American submarine forces in the Pacific, and his presence at the meeting was a surprise to Jamie as he was supposed to be in Australia. Lockwood, a belligerent man on the best of days, looked angry and glared at Jamie, probably because Jamie didn’t wear the insignia of a submarine officer.

Next in rank was a Captain Winters, and Jamie knew nothing about him. Nor did he know about a Lieutenant Fargo, who wore the badge of a submariner and who looked at Jamie with an expression that asked: Why the hell are we all here? A young but thin and plain-looking civilian woman with glasses was present to take notes.

“Gentlemen,” Spruance began, “this is an informal meeting to discuss the situation with our submarines and our torpedoes. Our discussions will be preliminary, anecdotal, and nonscientific. All of you are here because you have had unique experiences that may help shed some light on the problem. For that reason, I want this discussion to be free from any concerns about rank.”

Jamie wondered just how freely junior officers could actually speak in front of seniors. Unfortunately, he felt he was going to find out fairly shortly.

Spruance continued. “Admiral Lockwood is here because he commands our subs. Captain Winters is here because, as an engineer with the Bureau of Ordnance, he helped design and build the Mark 14 torpedo. Lieutenant Fargo is here because his sub, the Monkfish, unsuccessfully used Mark 14s to attack a Jap destroyer with results that were almost tragic. Lieutenant Priest is here because, as an officer on the Pennsylvania, he saw the other side of the coin. That is, he saw Japanese torpedoes at work, and there are few around who can lay claim to that dubious honor.”

Jamie flushed as the others looked at him with expressions ranging from surprise to respect. Even Lockwood stopped glaring at him.

“Lieutenant Priest is now a member of our staff,” Spruance added, and Jamie noticed that the young woman had looked up from her reading glasses and smiled tentatively at him. The smile made her look far more attractive than he’d first thought.

The mention of Japanese torpedoes brought forth several frank comments. Spruance, Lockwood, and Winters all admitted that at first they had doubted the range and speed of the Jap torpedoes and felt that the Pennsylvania and her escorts had been hit by an enemy sub that had actually been much closer than the Japanese surface ships. Jamie admitted he’d had his doubts as well.

“But now we know better,” Spruance said. “The Japs have a torpedo they fire from surface vessels. It’s called the ‘Long Lance’ and with good reason. It has a range of more than ten miles compared with the Mark 14’s two and a quarter, and leaves no wake, which means it’s oxygen-powered. I might add that it has a helluva lot greater hitting power than ours as well.”

“It also works,” Lockwood snapped, which earned him a glare from Winters. “There’s a smaller version for their subs that is also better than the Mark 14.”

Spruance gestured for peace. “We know we have a problem. What Admiral King, Admiral Nimitz, and I want is a solution, or at least the beginning of a solution. Gentlemen, there are very few submarine targets in the Atlantic; therefore the bulk of our torpedo targets will be here in the Pacific. This is our problem, and we must move to solve it.”