Brave as a daimyo’s hunting dogs, the Zeros shot ahead to try to hold the Americans away from the Aichis and Nakajimas that might hurt enemy ships in some later fight… if they still had a flight deck to land on. But there weren’t nearly enough Zeros to do the job. A few American fighters engaged them.

That kept them busy while the other Yankees roared on toward the Japanese dive bombers and torpedo planes.

Fuchida fired a burst at an onrushing American fighter. That was more a gesture of defiance and warning than a serious attempt to shoot down the American. His B5N2 made a good torpedo plane. The Nakajima had also made a pretty good level bomber, though it was obsolete in that role now. It had never been intended to make a fighter.

After squeezing off the burst, Fuchida flung the aircraft to the left, as he had on the way north. Then he’d shaken off his attacker. This time, to his horror and dismay, the enemy went with him without an instant’s hesitation. The American plane carried half a dozen heavy machine guns, not two feeble popguns like the B5N2.

Bullets slammed into the torpedo plane. Oil from the engine sprayed across the windshield. The bombardier screamed. So did Mizuki. Fuchida wondered why he hadn’t been hit himself. It wouldn’t matter for long. The plane was falling out of the sky, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Still wrestling with the controls, he shouted, “Get out! Get out if you can!” The Pacific rushed up to meet him. He braced himself, knowing it would do no good.

Impact.

Blackness.

A COLUMN OF SMOKE GUIDED Saburo Shindo to Shokaku ’s funeral pyre. The carrier burned from stem to stern. Destroyers clustered around her, taking off survivors. He supposed they would torpedo her before long. She deserved a merciful coup de grace, as a samurai committing seppuku deserved to have a second finish him after he’d shown he had the courage to slit his own belly.

Akagi was already gone. Shindo had found no sign of the proud carrier from which he’d taken off. That made things about as bad as they could be.

Antiaircraft shells burst around him. Some of the ships down there feared he might be an American, coming back for another strike. “Baka yaro!” he snarled. Yes, they were idiots, but hadn’t they earned the right?

He watched an Aichi go into the sea not far from a destroyer. The aircraft was lost, but the crew might live. Few strike planes had managed to come even this far. After two encounters with the U.S. strike force and after the furious defense above the American fleet, the Japanese had taken a beating the likes of which they hadn’t known since… when? The encounter with the Korean turtle ships at the end of the sixteenth century? No other comparison occurred to Shindo, but this had to be worse.

He thought about ditching, too, thought about it and shook his head. Unlike the Nakajimas and Aichis, he had a chance to get back to Oahu. Hawaii would need as many airplanes as possible to defend her. Japan certainly wouldn’t be able to bring in any more. If he could land his Zero, he should.

On he flew, then. A cruiser burned not far south of Shokaku. Again, lesser ships were rescuing survivors. They probably should have been fleeing back toward Hawaii, too. The Americans were bound to strike again as soon as they could. What the devil could stop them now? This whole fleet lay at their mercy.

Perhaps half a dozen other Zeros remained in the sky with him. Shindo shook his head in disbelief. Those few fighters were all that was left of two fleet carriers’ worth of air power. Zuikaku was laid up at Pearl Harbor, a sitting duck for American air strikes. He hoped her air contingent had moved to land bases on Oahu. Even if the planes were gone, though, half of Japan’s fleet-carrier strength would have to be written off. The Yankees had put more fleet carriers into this strike than Japan had left-to say nothing of their swarm of light carriers.

“What are we going to do?” he muttered. He had no idea. Whatever it was, it would be under the Army’s aegis from now on. Japan’s naval presence in and around Hawaii had just collapsed. A man would have to be blind to think anything different. Shindo hoped he could see trouble clearly, anyhow.

The engine on one of the surviving Zeros quit. Maybe the plane had a small fuel leak. Maybe it had just flown too hard in the battle. Either way, it wouldn’t get back to Oahu. The pilot saluted as he started the long glide down to the ocean. Maybe he could ditch smoothly. Maybe a Japanese ship would find him if he did. But his chances weren’t good, and he had to know it.

Shindo wondered what his own chances were. He’d flown hard, too. He throttled back even more, using just enough power to stay airborne. Soon, he thought. Soon I’ll see the island.

And he did. The engine started coughing not long afterwards, but he got down on the Haleiwa airstrip. He’d flown from there during the Japanese invasion of Hawaii. Now he would have to defend it against an American return he’d never really expected.

IX

JANE ARMITAGE WAITED FOR NIGHTFALL WISHING SHE WERE DEAD, THE WAY SHE did every day. A couple of the women who’d been dragooned into the Japs’ military brothel had found ways to kill themselves. Part of her envied them, but she didn’t have the nerve to follow in their footsteps. She told herself she wanted to stay alive to see the USA avenge itself on Japan. That was true, but most of what held her back was simple fear.

She looked out through the barred window of her room. Another perfect late afternoon in Wahiawa. Not too hot, not too cold, not too muggy, not too dry. Blue sky. A few white clouds. Bright sunshine. This hell of a place was all the more hellish for sitting in the middle of paradise.

Japanese soldiers hurried by. Wherever they were going, they didn’t have time to pause for a fast fuck. Some of them acted antsy, jabbering away in their incomprehensible language, sometimes even shouting at one another. She hoped they had plenty to be antsy about.

A knock on the door. That wasn’t a horny Jap. Soon, yes, but not yet. That was supper. She opened the door. A tiny, gray-haired Chinese woman handed her a tray. She didn’t speak any English. The Japs made sure of such things. How much practice had they had running brothels like this? Plenty, plainly.

Supper was better and there was more of it than if she’d still been working her little vegetable plot. She didn’t care. The rice and fish and cabbage tasted like ashes in her mouth. She wasn’t getting close to enough to eat for her sake. Oh, no. The Japs just didn’t want her to be too skinny to please her… customers.

The Chinese woman came back in a bit to take the tray to the kitchen. She held up her hand with fingers and thumb outspread. Jane nodded dully. Next Jap soldier or sailor in five minutes.

She took off the men’s pajamas that were all they let her wear and lay down on the bed naked. Some days she couldn’t stand it and she fought, knowing fighting was hopeless. The Japs beat her up and then did what they wanted anyway. Today she didn’t have it in her to fight. If she did her best to believe it wasn’t happening, she could get through till they let her quit. Then she could go to sleep… and have another day just like this one to look forward to.

Another knock on the door, this one peremptory. Jane didn’t say anything. She just lay there. The door opened anyhow, of course. In came a Jap. He smiled at her nakedness. She pretended he wasn’t there, and kept on pretending even when he dropped his pants and got on top of her.

He did what he did. His weight was heavy on her, his breath sour in her face. He squeezed her breasts, but not quite painfully hard. It could have been worse. It had been worse, plenty of times. A slightly better than average rape. Oh, joy. He grunted and jerked and then pulled out and got off her, a stupid grin on his face. Up came his trousers. Out the door he went, without a backwards glance.