“Is there still no word as to what will be expected of us?” Hara asked.

“None,” Toyoza answered honestly. The Americans on the Big Island had been silent about what a rebel force of Japanese might be used for. The message sent to Colonel Novacek had been received with surprise and apparent delight. The colonel had responded that he would be happy to coordinate with a force of Japanese-Americans at a time in the not too distant future.

But as to what, when, and where, Novacek had not said. Either he was being prudently tight-lipped regarding his plans or he hadn’t figured out what to do. Toyoza Kaga suspected the latter. A force that could pass as Japanese was not to be squandered.

“Weapons,” Akira said. “What good are all the uniforms in the world if we don’t have weapons?”

“The Americans said they would take care of that,” his father said tolerantly. Again, just how they would accomplish this had not been mentioned.

“And I want to lead, Father,” Akira said angrily. “No, I have to lead.” Toyoza Kaga nodded his head sadly. He had regained his son and did not want to risk losing him again. “I know. It will be done. I’ve contacted a doctor who will direct the making of an artificial leg for you. You won’t be able to run or march very well, but, yes, you will be able to lead.”

CHAPTER 18

Jake rubbed his eyes and squinted out into the near dark that signaled the end of one of the longest nights of his life. He had been up all night, and only anticipation was keeping him going. He longed for a cup of coffee, but that was a commodity that had been unavailable for a very long time, along with cigarettes and beer. He rarely smoked, but he craved a cigarette now.

Standing beside him, Captain Karl Gustafson fretted and worried. Gustafson was a large and rawboned man with an out-thrust jaw. An engineer for more than twenty years in civilian life, he wore what remained of his uniform in uncaring disarray. Unlike most Swedes, who were impassive and calm, he paced nervously, waiting like an expectant father to see if his idea was a good one or if it would die at birth.

Small fires staked out an area more than a hundred yards wide and half a mile deep. It was a rectangle that ran from the top of an ocean cliff and ended well inland. Both Gustafson’s and Jake’s greatest fears were that the lights would be seen by the wrong people and missed by the right ones. Farther inland, but on a line from the cliff, their radio sent out a beeping signal every minute. The radio beeps were long-range homing devices, while the rectangle outlined by the small fires was the ultimate destination.

There was a risk of detection, but, despite their apprehensions, it was deemed a small one. The Japanese knew the Americans sent messages from the interior of the island and had made little attempt to stop them. It was also routine for the Japanese not to send out patrol aircraft at night. They’d gotten used to seeing nothing and had stopped looking. What few planes they did use to patrol over Hawaii came during the light of day.

There was even less of a chance of detection from the ground.

First, no one lived in the vicinity, and, second, the Japanese didn’t send ground patrols this far west of Hilo. While they had stepped up their efforts near Hilo since the massacre, this part of the Big Island might as well not have existed.

Jake noted that the daylight was not that far off. There was a definite glow to his rear, indicating that the sun was about to rise over Hilo. He hoped the Japs had slept soundly.

“Yes!” said Gustafson exultantly. He pointed out over the darker western sky.

“Can’t see a thing, Gus,” Jake said as he stared into the gloom.

“Then clean your eyeballs and look where I’m pointing.”

A few seconds later, Jake did see the dark silhouette against the sky. Almost immediately, the plane dipped gently and landed between the rows of fires. One down. Jake felt like applauding, and a couple of the score of men with them did clap their hands.

In intervals of two to five minutes, the rest of the flight touched down. Immediately, the wings of the F4F Wildcats were folded and Gustafson’s people covered the planes with camouflage netting that resembled the barren landscape of western Hawaii.

As this was happening, other men ran with straw brooms to wipe away the tire tracks.

“Plane! Freeze!”

The yell had come from a lookout and was their worst fear. If they were detected, their efforts were doomed. They all dropped to their knees and curled up. One of the pilots was slow to respond and had to be manhandled to the ground.

“Clear,” yelled the lookout. He looked a little shamefaced. The “plane” he’d seen over the hills leading toward Hilo had been a large bird. Jake slapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d done the right thing by being cautious. Privately, Jake thought he’d aged a decade in the few minutes since the warning cry.

Eleven planes had landed. There were supposed to be twelve. The flight leader was Lieutenant Ernie Magruder, USN, who looked too young for his rank. He had a pencil-thin mustache that didn’t make him look mature. Jake guessed his age at twenty-one.

They waited awhile and then, sadly and reluctantly, gave up on the stray plane. The sky was bright and the fires were put out. “Nielson didn’t make it,” Magruder said softly. “Helluva way to go.”

“Could he have found his way back to the carrier?” Jake asked.

Magruder shook his head. “Not a chance. No way on earth he could have found an unlit carrier in the middle of the ocean, particularly since the carrier would have moved out in another direction. Nielson was a volunteer, Colonel. He knew his orders and he took his chances.” Magruder added the last statement with more bravado than Jake thought he felt. The idea of flying off to death in an endless ocean sent a chill down his spine. God bless Nielson, he thought.

The pilots’ orders had been to make no effort to survive in the event of engine failure, getting lost, or some other problem. They all knew the success of their mission would be compromised if they were taken alive, or even if their remains or the wreckage of their planes were found. If they were unable to complete their mission, they were to dive straight into the sea. Death would be quick, and the plane would sink to the bottom of the ocean, where both plane and pilot would be lost forever.

Magruder took a deep breath. “Eleven out of twelve ain’t too bad, now, is it?”

“It’s outstanding,” Jake said fervently.

He turned and found he already had a hard time seeing the planes through the netting and the dirt that had been piled against them. They would be invisible from the sky, and no one ever came along this stretch of harsh ground. When night fell again, they would be moved a little farther inland, to where they would be half buried. There, the pilots would double as mechanics to prepare their planes for their mission.

“This is Hawaii, isn’t it?” Magruder asked, surprising Jake.

“You didn’t know?”

Magruder grinned. “Hell no, sir. We volunteered for a mission to kick some Jap ass. Then we were shipped out to Africa and flown to a British carrier off India. We’ve been virtual prisoners for a couple of weeks and never let out on deck or had any casual contact with the Brits. When we launched, we were told what direction to go and how long to fly. Other than that, this could be Ohio for all I know.” He laughed. “After we arrived, they said we’d be filled in on the details, although, if this is Hawaii, I’ll bet you two bits we’re gonna hit Pearl Harbor.”

Jake hid his surprise. American planes launched off a British carrier and without any real idea where they were going? Incredible. But now he had an air force.

“Yeah,” Jake said, “this is Hawaii, and you’re the Hawaiian Air Force. And yeah, you’re gonna get a chance to kick some Jap ass.”