Finch thought quickly. Now what? There was no other choice. He would leave Hilo and return to the Americans. On his way, he would alert the farmers, just like he was supposed to do. He would return to Novacek’s band with his mission completed and be in good standing with them. Kashii and Goto would doubtless send troops against the air base, but that could be blamed on something else. He knew he was clutching at straws, but that was all that was available. Damn! How could things have gotten so fucked up so quickly?

He would be in tremendous danger if the Americans got hold of Jap records and found out he’d been a spy. But that was a bridge to be crossed in the future. Right now, Charley Finch was concerned about staying alive for the next few days.

Maybe he could destroy the records. No, that was unlikely. Maybe he could convince the Americans that he was playing a double game and doing it for America.

Yeah. He grinned as he slipped off into the darkness and out of Hilo. That was it. He could still come out of this mess a hero.

August 1, 1942, had been an emotional drain for Colonel Omori. On his head rested the security of the island of Oahu during the visit by the fleet and Japan’s dignitaries. He was exhausted by the need to keep his emotions under control. It wasn’t every day that Japan annexed a new province and declared a new land to be a part of Nippon. But it had happened, and the ceremony had gone off without a hitch. After hours of boring speeches, several thousand native Japanese and Hawaiians who had gathered for them had applauded tepidly and wandered off. Several hundred had been invited to a lavish reception that featured foods unseen on the islands for several months. Most showed up, but many others did not bother to attend, which disturbed both Omori and Admiral Iwabachi. Admiral Yamamoto, the guest of honor, apparently did not notice or chose to ignore the slight.

Toyoza and Akira Kaga attended, but Akira left early. He said his leg was bothering him, and this was accepted as an obvious truth. Before he left, Omori introduced the younger man to Admiral Yamamoto. Akira appeared properly awed, and the admiral was deferential to the maimed young warrior.

The reception was at a park in Honolulu, a place where the fleet could be clearly seen, and the view by the water’s edge was particularly dramatic. The battleships and carriers were lit up in a vivid display. They were anchored so close to one another that they appeared as one solid, glowing mass.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Toyoza Kaga.

“Incredible, absolutely incredible,” Omori answered in a whisper. The sight was almost overwhelming.

“Will the lights be on all night? I do hope so,” Toyoza said.

Omori chuckled. “Yamamoto has ordered a celebration to dwarf all other Hawaiian celebrations. Some of the ships may dim their lights, but the majority will keep them on.” Then he laughed out loud. “They’ll need to so the crews can find their way back.”

Many of the fleet’s officers along with a number of enlisted men had been granted shore leave and were celebrating hugely throughout the Honolulu area. Bars and dance halls were enjoying a business bonanza, and the sounds of the celebrations reached the official reception at the park. It was even louder than when the American fleet was in port because there were few restraints placed on the Japanese sailors. Many people, Omori thought, might have ignored the reception in order to protect their property and their women.

“There will be many monumental naval hangovers tomorrow,” Kaga said with a smile. “I admit I am surprised that such activities are being permitted with the Americans always a threat.”

Omori laughed again. He’d had several drinks. His new favorite beverage was Scotch whisky, and it was making him unsteady. “The Americans are not a threat, my friend,” he said. “Their fleet is nowhere near the Pacific, much less Hawaii. We are as safe here as we would be in Tokyo harbor. Even so, we have planes aloft to watch the oceans as a precaution.”

“But what about the Americans on Hawaii?” Toyoza persisted. “What if they try to disrupt things?”

“If they’d been able to, they would have done it before or during the ceremony. No, they are isolated on their island. Lieutenant Goto did inform me that they intend to do something against Hilo this weekend, but it will be feeble and it will be repulsed. After that, we will seek out and destroy them. That will put an end to their nonsense.”

He had spoken more bitterly than he realized, and Toyoza noticed it. Omori must have been catching hell from Iwabachi and Yamamoto because of the continued presence of Americans on Hawaii. Too bad, he thought. Then he looked again at the Japanese fleet and its luminous presence. If they keep the lights on, a blind man could find them, he thought. He had news to signal to the Americans.

“I am an old man,” Toyoza said with an exaggerated sigh. “I will leave you now and get some needed rest. I will sleep tonight secure in the knowledge that Japan is preeminent among nations.”

Omori watched as the old man departed. Thank God there were a few people he could count on in these islands. Kaga might be a crook, but he fully understood where his future lay. Kaga was not an official member of the island’s new government, but he was one of the most influential men on Oahu and one whose advice Omori would seek out even more in the future.

We need more men like Toyoza Kaga, Colonel Omori thought. Then he decided he needed another drink.

CHAPTER 22

At first awkwardly, but then with growing speed and grace, the giant flying boats sped down the lagoon that was their runway and lifted off into the sky. Colonel Jimmy Doolittle was in the first plane, and he banked it to see the others as they made it safely into the sky. Overloaded as they were with fuel and bombs, any crash landing would be a flaming disaster for plane and crew.

Once safely airborne, they formed a loose single line and headed toward the west and Hawaii. Doolittle was under no illusions. He was chasing the night so as to be at Oahu an hour or two before dawn. He was going to attempt the nearly impossible, a night attack on a small part of a small island in the middle of the ocean over two thousand miles away.

Fuel was not a problem, and they’d been over the navigation time and time again. The Americans on Hawaii would be sending out radio beeps that would help them find their way. If they followed the beeps, they would be only a few hundred miles off course.

Only.

A few-hundred-mile error would be disastrous. It would give the Japs time to spot them and attack. No, he had to keep the radio beacon to his left and home in on where his figures said Oahu was.

Tailwinds or headwinds could either speed him up or delay him without his knowing it in the bleak night, while crosswinds would blow him north or south. He and his crews had to stay awake and alert. The lead plane, his, would have primary responsibility for navigation, while the others would follow his taillight and check on his math. Between the five of them, it was hoped that they would find Oahu instead of Australia.

“What else is going to happen tonight?” Doolittle wondered. His copilot glanced at him and turned away. He wondered the same thing.

When the Japs had attacked Pearl Harbor, they’d apparently homed in on the sounds of a Honolulu radio station. Doolittle wondered if he would be so lucky. Surely, they wouldn’t have kept the station on the air.

He also wondered just what impact his five planes, large though they were, could possibly have on the course of the war, even if they did find the Jap carriers in port.

“There has to be more than this,” he said. “There has to be.”

Corporal Matsumoto Fuji was as alert as he could be under the circumstances. Like most others in the Japanese garrison, he resented the fact that he was on guard duty at Wheeler Field while everybody else was celebrating and getting drunk, probably even laid. The fact that Wheeler was a virtual no-man’s-land was not lost on them either. If the high command didn’t think Wheeler was important, then why should they?