"Afraid not, ma'am. Looks like some of them shot through. Only two carriers visible so far."

Willet took up a position behind the intel boss. Lieutenant Lohrey danced her fingertips across a touch screen so quickly that they covered the brightly glowing surface in afterimages. Extra windows opened up, putting on view more cruisers and battleships, but refusing to display any carriers beyond the two flattips they'd already tagged.

At least two-thirds of the Combined Fleet was missing.

"Bugger," muttered Willet. "Okay. Comms. Burst transmission to Kolhammer, maximum compression. The fleet has either scattered or sortied. Havoc to engage remaining targets on schedule. Be advised there is a risk of encountering significant enemy surface units."

The warning sent, Willet returned to her tasking.

Hashirajima still presented an attractive target. At least a dozen very large warships and twice as many destroyers lay at anchor beneath the unblinking eyes of the drone.

"Weapons, designate the flattops."

"Targets assigned, ma'am," replied the dour Scot, Lieutenant Yates.

A signal pulsed out, and seventy-five hundred meters above Hashirajima a multifaceted laser node winked on beneath the Big Eye drone. Two thin beams of coherent light from outside the visible spectrum locked onto the flight decks of the two carriers.

Back in the Havoc's CIC, Willet chewed her lip and quietly contemplated the flatscreen that was carrying real-time video from the target area. Picking up a light wand, she drew boxes around the four largest gunships.

"That looks like Kakuta's Aleutian force," she said. "That'd make those big bastards the Hyuga, Ise, Fuso, and Yamashiro. Weapons, put a White Dwarf into each of them."

Yates acknowledged her order as she drew another box around a slightly smaller vessel. It looked like a heavy cruiser rather than a battleship. She magnified the image on screen, closing to a virtual distance of six hundred meters. Wisps of smoke drifted from the stacks in the low-light display. Blooms of rose-colored radiance leaked from the funnels on the infrared view. Willet compared the image with archival shots running on an adjacent screen.

"And that looks the Kitikami," she said. "Mr. Yates, you'll probably kill yourself a couple of admirals if you take her out."

"Nice work if you can get it, ma'am."

The captain leaned over and touched the screen with her wand, confirming her targets, as crewmembers seated up and down the command center began to report.

"Targets acquired. Strobing and designated."

"Payload online, Captain. No countermeasures. Nothing on the threat boards."

"All links feeding, Captain. Clean vision to weapons."

"VLS ready and missiles hot, ma'am."

Willet checked the time. Three minutes to go. Silence settled on the small group of men and women. Those members of the crew not directly concerned with the attack or with attending to the boat's own defensive systems watched on screens throughout the vessel. In the corner of each monitor a red time hack counted down.

Willet felt a presence beside her. It was the Havoc's exec, Commander Grey.

"Do you mind, Captain?" he asked quietly.

"No, of course not," she answered, her own voice just as subdued.

Grey spoke softly, almost to himself. "Vengeance, deep brooding over the slain, had blocked the source of softer woe; And burning pride and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow."

Chief Flemming threw the young officer a glance, his own rough-hewn features giving nothing away as the time hack counted down to zero.

00.03

00.02

00.01

00.00

Nobody pressed any buttons. The sequence was already programmed. The boat shuddered as it absorbed the energy of the missile salvo lifting off.

The defensive sysops redoubled their watchfulness, lest the launch give them away. But the radar screens remained empty, and the threat boards glowed green.

Captain Willet worked the screen, pointing, clicking, and defining a small box that took in the bridge of the largest battleship. The green-tinted image expanded to fill the whole display, resolving itself quickly from pixelated ambiguity into a picture as sharp as the original image. She repeated the process. The control center remained still and silent as the screen filled with a slightly fuzzier but still-detailed image of two men on a gantry outside the bridge itself. The figures were smoking and chatting. Willet wondered if she would see their reactions as the missiles approached. She'd had that experience before, but after two minutes they disappeared into a hatchway. When they failed to show themselves again, she returned to a standard top-down perspective from six hundred meters virtual.

HASHIRAJIMA ANCHORAGE, 2036 HOURS, 20 JUNE 1942

Lieutenant Moertopo gazed out over the oily, black waters of the Seto Inland Sea from his vantage point in a small cabin on Hashirajima Island. He couldn't see the famous city of Hiroshima. It was some thirty-two kilometers away, hidden behind Edajima Island, but he still didn't like being so close to site of the first atomic strike in history. It made him nervous. Irrationally so. He knew it would be years before the Americans dropped the bomb, but still. He was very, very keen to get away from here.

He wondered where the Sutanto was now. The dock where she had tied up was empty and had been for three days. He was certain he would never see his ship again.

"I would have thought a man like you could sleep on a hot night."

Moertopo recognized the German's voice and smiled. He'd warmed to Brasch. The engineer was levelheaded and even a little cynical. It was actually refreshing when fanatics like Hidaka surrounded you every day.

"Does the heat bother you, Major?" he asked.

Brasch had walked up the narrow cobblestone path to the wooden lookout in nothing more than shorts and an undershirt. Moertopo could see by the moonlight that he was sweating.

"No," said Brasch. "The heat doesn't bother me. Not after Russia. But it does keep me awake at night."

"The heat, and other things," said Moertopo.

The German didn't reply, but his silence was heavy. Moertopo lit a clove cigarette and offered it to him.

"No, thank you, Lieutenant. Those things smell like fragrant dog turds."

A half-moon hung over the Inland Sea. From their vantage point, on a small platform a hundred or so meters above the water, they could see a flotilla of ships that remained at anchor off the island. Ripples and wavelets caught the moon's reflection and turned it into a net of spun silver on the surface of the Seto-naikai. The hint of a breeze carried the perfume of half a dozen local wildflowers to mask the salt-laced sea air. It was an arcadian scene, but they would not be staying much longer to enjoy it.

Brasch was scheduled to return to the Fatherland with Skorzeny before long, there to personally address the fuhrer. Moertopo would be joining his men in the city of Hakodate, far to the north in Hokkaido, where the research effort had been transferred. He was surprised to find he would miss the jasmine-scented gardens and the old stone cottage that had been his gilded cage since they'd arrived.

"You know they'll kill you, one day."

The Indonesian officer nearly choked on an inhale, coughing violently and painfully as the kretek smoke burned his air passages.

"I'm sorry?" he gasped.

Brasch clapped him on the back a few times. Starlight softened the severe lines of his face, and he seemed to be smiling. Something approaching warmth lit his eyes.