The airfield was all shot up. There were burning and burned-out airplanes everywhere, and not one hangar seemed to be intact. An enormous cloud of dense black smoke rose where the Japs had managed to set off an aviation fuel dump.

They had no sooner landed than an Air Corps major appeared in a jeep and told the pilot to take off again for a landing field on a pineapple plantation on one of the other islands. He seemed thoroughly pissed-off when the pilot said he didn't have enough fuel aboard to take off for anywhere.

McCoy very politely asked the Air Corps major about transportation to the Navy Base at Pearl Harbor.

"Good Christ, Lieutenant!" the Air Corps major said, jumping all over his ass. "Are you blind? Pearl Harbor isn't there anymore!"

There was no point arguing with him, so McCoy, the briefcase in one hand and his suitcase in the other, started walking.

There were a lot of other excited types at Hickam running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and even more who seemed to be moving around with strange blank looks in

their eyes.

None of them were any help about getting him from Hickam to Pearl Harbor, even after he showed a couple of them his credentials. So McCoy decided that under the circumstances it would be all right to borrow transportation. He found a Ford pickup with nothing in the back and the keys in the ignition.

The MP at the gate held him at rifle point until an officer showed up. The officer took one look at the credentials and let him go.

As he approached the Navy Base, there was even more smoke than there'd been at Hickam Field. When he got to the gate, the Marine MP on duty wasn't any more impressed with the credentials than the Army MP at Hickam Field had been, and he had to wait for an officer to show up before he would let him inside.

While he was waiting for the officer to come to the gate, McCoy asked the MP if the Marine Barracks had been hit, and if so, how badly. The MP wouldn't tell him. That worried McCoy even more. Tommy was in the Marine Barracks, which meant in the middle of this shit. He didn't like to consider the possibility that Tommy had got himself blown up.

The officer who came to the gate passed him through and told him where he was supposed to go.

The Navy seemed a lot calmer than the Air Corps had been, but not a whole hell of a lot. Still, he found a classified-documents officer, a middle-aged, harassed-looking lieutenant commander, who relieved him of the contents of the briefcase. As McCoy was taking off the handcuff and the.45's shoulder holster so he could put them into the briefcase, he asked the lieutenant commander what he was expected to do now.

"Get yourself a couple of hours of sleep, Lieutenant," the lieutenant commander said. "And then report back here."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The lieutenant commander looked at him strangely.

"You got a wife, anything like that, Lieutenant," he said. "You might want to write a letter."

McCoy's eyebrows rose quizzically.

"You're going on to Cavite," he said. "With a little bit of luck, you might get there before the Japs do."

"The Japs hit Cavite, too?"

"And everything else in the Philippines," the lieutenant commander said. "But what I meant is 'before the Japs land in the Philippines.' "

"Is that what's going to happen?" McCoy asked.

The lieutenant commander nodded. Then he shrugged.

"There was a Secret Operational Immediate [the highest-priority communication] a couple of hours ago," the lieutenant commander said. "A Japanese invasion fleet was spotted headed for the Lingayen Gulf. Why the hell it was classified Secret, I don't know. The Japs must know where they are and where they're headed."

"And you think that once I get there, I'm stuck?" McCoy asked.

"I didn't say that," the lieutenant commander said. "But if I was going to fly into Cavite on a Catalina, I'd write my wife, or whatever, a letter."

"Thank you," McCoy said.

McCoy didn't even consider writing his sister. If anything happened to him, she would find out when they sent the insurance check to her kids. Briefly, the notion of writing Pick entered his mind, but he dismissed it. He wouldn't know what the hell to say. And he thought, for a moment, of writing Ernie. Just for the hell of it, I thought you would like to know I love you.

Then he saw that for what it was, a damned-fool idea, and went looking for Tommy. It wouldn't be exactly what he had had in mind when he'd thought about seeing Tommy at Pearl Harbor. Tommy didn't even know he was an officer. He'd planned to surprise him with that, to see what he did when he saw him with the lieutenant's bars.

He got back in the borrowed pickup and drove to the Marine Barracks.

One of the barracks buildings had been set on fire, but the fire was out. There were bullet marks all over, and in the middle of the drill field was a huge unidentifiable, fire-scarred chunk of metal.

There weren't very many people around. A few noncoms, and some other people. But no troops. Nobody seemed to be running around looking for something to do.

He found the headquarters building and went inside. There was a guard in field gear and steel helmet at the door. He saluted. And there was a first lieutenant and a PFC in the personnel office. The lieutenant spotted him before the PFC, who belatedly jumped to his feet.

"Reporting in, Lieutenant?" the lieutenant asked.

"Passing through, sir," McCoy said. For a moment, he thought about dazzling the lieutenant with his special agent credentials, and then decided that wouldn't be right.

"What can I do for you?"

"My brother's assigned to the First Defense Battalion," McCoy said. "I've been wondering about him."

"No doubt," the lieutenant said. He handed McCoy a yellow lined pad.

"This is the first casualty report," he said. "My clerk's about to type it up. All the names on there are confirmed casualties, or KIA, but that's not saying all the casualties are on the list."

"Thank you, sir," McCoy said. He quickly scanned the names. Tommy's name wasn't on it.

"Well, he's not on it," McCoy said. "He's a private. McCoy, Thomas J."

The lieutenant started to consult a list, and then remembered just seeing that name. He consulted another list at the head of which he had penciled, "Cut orders transferring Wake Island."

One of the names on the list of those to be shipped out (as soon as transport could be found) as reinforcements for the small Marine force under Major James Devereux on Wake Island was McCoy, Thomas J.

"He's in the beach defense force," he said. "I don't know where the hell to tell you to look for him."

"I don't have the time, anyway," McCoy said.

"You said you were passing through?"

"On my way to Manila," McCoy explained.

"To the Fourth Marines?"

McCoy nodded. There was no point in telling this guy he was a courier.

"You're going to have a hell of a time finding transport," the lieutenant said.

"Maybe, with a little bit of luck, I won't be able to," McCoy said.

"I did a hitch with the Second Battalion until '39. As an enlisted man. Good outfit."

"I used to be on a water-cooled.30 in Dog Company, First Battalion," McCoy said.

"Look," the lieutenant said. "They're not going to ship you out of here for a couple of days, at least. The odds are, your brother will be back in here. If he gets in, I'll pass the word you're here and send him over to the transient BOQ."

"Thanks," McCoy said.

"What the hell, a couple of old China Marines have to take care of each other, right?"

"Absolutely," McCoy said. "Thanks again."

When McCoy had gone, the lieutenant looked over the list of names of people to be transferred to Wake Island as soon as possible, erased Private Thomas J. McCoy's name from it, and penciled in another. He had no doubt that Wake Island would fall. And besides, no matter where he was, there would be enough war left for Private McCoy. And for his brother. The Philippines were probably going to go under, too, if what happened this morning was any indication. Christ, Hawaii might fall.