She straddled his thighs and caressed his chest, letting her hands wander down to his belly and his erect penis. When she stroked that, he groaned and thought he would explode.

“Not yet,” she said in a husky whisper and let go of him.

She slid forward so that her breasts hung down into his face. “Take them, Jake.”

She guided her aroused and full nipples to his lips, and he devoured them with hunger and tenderness. Then she slid backward over his thighs, and he entered her easily. She rocked back and forth with her eyes closed, while he gripped the sides of the bed so tightly he thought it would break.

Finally, she threw her head back and groaned; then, seconds later, Jake exploded inside her.

He caught his breath. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at him with a strange half smile. “May I hold you now?” he asked softly.

“I used you.”

Jake held out his arms. She came down to him, and he held her tightly to his chest. “It’s okay,” he said and laughed. After a second, she laughed with him.

“I thought it would be, soldier boy,” she said as she kissed his chest and shoulder.

“I love you, Alexa. Always will.”

She lifted up and kissed him on the cheek. “Then I guess I’ll have to learn to love you, won’t I? It won’t take long at all. You’re a good teacher, and I’m an easy learner.”

Alexa pulled him out of the bed, and they sat on a mat on the dirt floor. She slid the bucket over, and they took turns sponging each other with the tepid water, joyously lingering over each other’s bodies. They let the night air dry them and returned to bed, where they made love again, this time without restraints or inhibitions. They guided each other’s hands and lips over their bodies with an eagerness that surprised and delighted both of them.

Then they fell into a deep sleep. Alexa would later recall it as the best night’s sleep she’d had in months.

“Operation Wasp?” Roosevelt said with a derisive laugh. “Why not call it Operation Cheap or Operation Shoestring? This is warfare on a totally inadequate budget, and the slightest misstep will bring disaster.”

“Then we will not make any missteps,” Admiral King said firmly. “Only a few handfuls of personnel and planes will be risked. It’s sad, but they will scarcely be missed if we are defeated. The few major units we have will not move until and unless we are certain they can do so with relative safety. There is nothing in these plans that is contrary to what we agreed upon. If everything falls into place, we will defeat the Japs and even stand a chance of liberating the islands. With the resources available to me at this time, that is all that can be expected.”

“If it fails,” Roosevelt said grimly, “I want those people in the Hawaiian hills off that island.”

King thought this would be virtually impossible in the event of defeat, but he kept silent. Congressman Cordelli must have been talking to him again about the plight of his niece. King felt sorry for the man, and for FDR too, but he was not going to jeopardize a number of warships and planes to rescue some debutante who’d managed to find herself in a war zone. Hell, he thought, there were thousands more in even worse shape in the Philippines, China, and Hawaii. At least Cordelli’s niece had a sort of freedom in the hills, which was vastly preferable to a prison camp. As to Novacek and the rest of them, well, they were soldiers or marines and they were all volunteers who understood the risks. No, rescue in case of failure was not likely at all.

Roosevelt’s hand twitched nervously. “And I don’t want any prisoners paraded through the streets of Honolulu and then executed. What have you done to ensure the safety of any of the men shot down?”

“We’ve taken steps,” King assured him. “I cannot guarantee perfection, but the navy’ll do its best to rescue our boys should it prove necessary.”

“Do what you can,” the president said wearily. “And do what you have to. We need a victory, Admiral, and we need a big one.”

The return of the Monkfish to hostile waters had been something that freshly promoted Lieutenant Commander Willis Fargo had been wishing for. This, however, was not quite what he had reckoned on. He’d hoped for a patrol in the vastness of the open sea, and the chance to catch unsuspecting Japanese ships. Instead, he felt he and his crew were almost literally in the mouth of a very angry dragon.

Shit.

The Monkfish had been sent on a solitary and extremely dangerous mission to Hawaii. If there were any other American subs in the area, Fargo hadn’t been told of them and they hadn’t made themselves known to him. He was alone in a little boat in the middle of a gigantic ocean.

Actually, he wasn’t in the middle of the ocean anymore. Land was very close and clearly visible through the periscope, which was raised scant inches above the water. He squinted and swiveled the scope until he was confident that no enemy ships or planes were in sight. It was early evening, and he could see lights on in some of the buildings and even see people moving around.

The absence of major shipping was puzzling. After all, he was only feet off the coast of Oahu and staring at the entrance to Pearl Harbor. En route, he had taken a look at the port of Honolulu as it nestled under the promontory called Diamond Head. Both the city and the island looked deceptively normal. He could almost imagine that the war hadn’t occurred and that he could spend the night getting his ashes hauled in one of the more elegant sin spots of Honolulu. It was a facade, of course. Horrors were taking place in a gentle land that once had been thought of as the nearest thing to paradise in this life.

If the lack of Japanese shipping was a puzzle, so too were his orders. He had been specifically forbidden to attack anything en route to the Hawaiian Islands from San Diego, no matter how tempting it might be. Rounding the southern tip of the Big Island and heading north to Oahu, he had seen a couple of Japanese merchant ships but had withstood the urge to sink them. Now, off Pearl, the anchorage was noteworthy for its emptiness. He couldn’t see far into it, of course, but no major ships had come and gone in the time the Monkfish had carefully approached and then lay in wait.

And then there was the second portion of his orders. He had been told to penetrate as far as possible into the mouth of the anchorage and stay there, hidden, until an entire Japanese fleet steamed in. Again, he was not to attack. He wondered if the top brass had any idea just how well he’d done in penetrating the Japanese defenses of Pearl. He’d have a helluva tale to tell when he got back. If he got back, he corrected himself somberly.

He could, however, attack when the Japanese fleet attempted to exit. However-God, how he hated that damned weasel-word-he must make certain that it was the fleet trying to leave and not just a ship or two heading out on routine patrol. When he’d asked Admiral Lockwood for a clarification, the admiral hadn’t bitten off his head, as was his normal practice with junior officers who asked questions. Instead he’d been quietly sympathetic with Fargo’s predicament.

“You’ll know, son, you’ll know. If the Jap fleet starts to come out in a big-ass rush, then it’ll be your time to act.”

So what the hell was going on, Fargo wondered. He wouldn’t run out of fuel or food; extra quantities of both had been stuffed into his already cramped vessel, but how long was he supposed to sit there like a bump on an extremely dangerous log?

At least he’d found what he hoped was a fairly safe place to hide the Monkfish. He was off to the side of the entrance of the harbor and opposite Hickam Field and Fort Kamehameha, about where the antisubmarine boom had been. The boom had been destroyed and not yet repaired, which surprised Fargo. So much for the myth of Japanese industriousness, he thought.