Yamamoto took a deep breath and calmed himself. Then he turned to Fuchida. “I must presume that the effort will take time. While that is being done, I want planes to be taken off at least one of our carriers and be able to use the field on Ford Island. Can it be done?”

Fuchida thought quickly. The field on Ford was in bad shape, but that would be relatively easy to fix with plows and shovels. The planes were a different matter. They could not be flown off a carrier. They would have to be unloaded by crane and would quite likely have to have their wings removed. He thought there were cranes available on the shore, but he wasn’t certain. But, even if there were, had they been damaged in the earlier fighting?

Regardless, once the planes were on the ground, the wings would be reattached and the planes could either taxi or be pulled by truck to the field, from where they could begin to patrol and fight. But not until then. What an incredible mess.

“Can it be done?” Yamamoto repeated.

“Yes,” Fuchida replied cautiously.

The admiral understood his hesitation. He trusted Fuchida’s judgment. “How long will it take?”

The commander shook his head. The pain in his leg was increasing. “A week.”

Yamamoto nodded. In a week, either the Akagi would have been cleared from the channel or he would have planes flying from Ford Island. In a week he would be able to defend himself. In the meantime, the Japanese fleet was almost defenseless.

Colonel Omori had eased in and caught the end of the conversation. “Admiral,” he said, “I understand that some of the American flyers have been picked up. I wish to interrogate them in order to find out just how the Americans knew that we were going to be here in sufficient time to plan the attacks.”

Yamamoto looked at him with scarcely concealed disdain. Four badly wounded survivors from the crashed flying boat had been picked up and were being held only a few feet away. They were all enlisted men.

“Tell me, Colonel,” he said sarcastically, “do you really think that Roosevelt or Nimitz entrusted such important information to men of such low rank?”

Omori bowed deeply to hide his embarrassment. “Of course not, sir.”

“Leave the prisoners where they are. Do not waste your time on them.” Yamamoto continued, “Concentrate on finding those who attacked Wheeler. You have confirmed that they were indeed Japanese, haven’t you?”

A second survivor had been located. He had been left for dead by the attackers and had revived sufficiently to confirm what the first soldier had said. The men who had murdered his corporal and nearly killed him had indeed been of Japanese descent. Since all those of Japanese descent in Hawaii had always been considered Japanese citizens by Tokyo, even before the annexation, the act was one of treason and not of war.

“It is confirmed,” Omori said and heard shocked hissing in the room.

“Then you will find those who have betrayed Japan. I will defend the fleet. You search for the traitors. I doubt you will have far to look. Unless, of course, they have joined their brethren so skillfully hiding from you on the other island.”

Flushed with shame, Omori left the room. He understood full well that the attack on Wheeler had been the cause of the problem and remained the main problem. Because of the attack on Wheeler, there had been no planes to defend against even a small American force. Because of the attack on Wheeler, the fleet was bottled up in Pearl Harbor. And it was his fault that the attack had taken place. Omori’s kempetei were responsible for the security of the islands, and through his failures the attack on Wheeler had taken place.

Omori lit a cigarette and walked to where his car and driver waited. Someone in the Japanese community knew about this and would pay dearly, as would the Americans on Hawaii. He would talk to Toyoza Kaga and see if he had heard anything about disaffected young Japanese who would strike against their homeland.

Commander Boshiro peered through the periscope of the I-74 and cursed silently. A large force of warships, American by their silhouettes, was in his view. He pivoted and saw two carriers and at least one battleship. Other, smaller vessels ringed the larger ships, and they were on a direct course for Hawaii. It was also possible, even likely that additional ships were out of his limited view.

Boshiro had a dilemma. He was submerged in relative safety, and planned on remaining that way until dark. Then he could surface and cruise faster, possibly close in on some of the enemy ships. Then he would attack. That would be prudent. Surfacing in daylight would make the I-74 as visible to the Americans as they were to him.

But he was fairly certain that Admiral Yamamoto in Pearl Harbor was unaware of the force creeping up on him. Thus, he had to warn the admiral immediately, and that meant surfacing so that a radio message could be sent off.

Surfacing would be tantamount to suicide. Additional American ships were coming into view, and they confirmed his suspicions about the size of the American forces.

They also made his decision simple. Regardless of the cost, Yamamoto had to be warned. “Surface,” he ordered.

Admiral Raymond Spruance paced the bridge of his flagship, the carrier Enterprise. A little while earlier, the sound of explosions had resonated in the distance.

“Well?”

Captain Mitscher had taken it on himself to find out. “Damndest thing, but a Jap sub came up just about right under a couple of our planes. After the pilots got over their shock, they began strafing and bombing. Those were the explosions we heard.”

Spruance nodded. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It was too much to hope they would never be seen. “Did they get the sub?”

“Confirmed. Both pilots reported seeing her break in half and sink. A destroyer is just about there and has spotted large pieces of wreckage and a couple of bodies. She’s not on the bottom and pretending to be dead; that sub is gone.”

“There was only one reason for her to surface like that,” Spruance said. “She’d seen us and was going to signal her friends. Did she get off a message?”

Mitscher shrugged. “We don’t know. It all happened so fast, no one was listening.”

“Then we must assume she did,” Spruance said thoughtfully, “and react accordingly.”

The admiral continued pacing. “We must assume that she gave Yamamoto a full description of the fleet, its direction and speed. Yamamoto will be able to do the calculations and recognize that we can attack just after first light. He will have all his defenses prepared for us.”

He stopped and stared up at the sky. “Then we must weigh that fact against our instructions, which were explicit: We were not to take any undue risks with the fleet.”

Mitscher was aghast at the implication. “Jesus, you’re not thinking of pulling back, are you? Not after we’ve come this far!”

Spruance smiled benignly. “Hell no. Of course we’re not pulling back. We’ll just speed up and attack a little sooner.”

The aircraft carrier Hiryu had been moved as close to Ford Island as was possible, but she was still about a hundred yards off. The darkness and the presence of wrecked American ships made moving closer in to shore dangerous, and the availability of barges made it unnecessary.

A large crane had been set up on the Hiryu’s flight deck. It had been dismantled from a shore facility and moved to the carrier, where it had been reassembled and buttressed to stand the weight of an airplane. Despite its looking jury-rigged, the engineers were confident it would work.

While this work was going on, several Zeros had been disassembled and were ready to lift into the barge. There would be one plane per barge, and it would take almost an hour to raise and lower the plane onto the vessel. From there, it was an extremely short trip to the island, where another winch would remove the plane and set it on dry land. Trucks would then tow it to the airfield, which was already almost ready for planes to take off and land as literally hundreds of men had been filling the cratered runways all day and night.