No, he concluded, the Yorktown had sunk and the Americans had not yet admitted it. Even if she were suddenly and magically to appear in an Allied port, she was likely too badly damaged to fight again for a long while.
Japanese losses in the Coral Sea had been minimal in comparison. The light carrier Shoho had been sunk, along with a destroyer, and two fleet carriers, the Shokaku and the Zuikaku, had been damaged and had returned to Japan for repairs. They would not take part in the coming campaign, so each side had lost the use of two fleet carriers for the immediate duration. Japan, however, would get her fleet carriers back in a matter of months, while the Yorktown and Lexington were lost forever to the Americans. Yamamoto had to ensure Japanese victory before they were replaced by the massive American building effort.
Of most serious concern was the loss of nearly eighty experienced pilots. The deaths of so many at one stroke meant that the reserve pool of qualified carrier pilots was severely depleted. If the Coral Sea had been a victory, it occurred to the admiral that it had been a Pyrrhic one and, to paraphrase the ancient general, how many more could Japan sustain?
There were other concerns gnawing at the admiral.
“Watanabe, where are the remaining American carriers?”
“According to intelligence sources, sir, they are in the Atlantic.”
Observers along the Panama Canal had spotted the Enterprise and the Saratoga moving through the canal and into the Atlantic. The report meant that there were no American carriers in the Pacific Ocean. Why? Again, intelligence had speculated that the Americans were gathering their forces for a strike against the Germans, and that it would involve a landing either in Africa or in France.
But could it also presage a sneak attack against the Japanese? After all, it would be a fairly simple matter for the two carriers to disappear into the ocean, head south, and return to the Pacific by way of South America. A damaged carrier might not be able to make the harsh transit, but undamaged ones could do so with relative ease. The American carriers could also transit into the Indian Ocean by way of South Africa and then into the Pacific. Either way, it was unlikely they would be seen until they wanted to be. The South American route was almost totally uninhabited, while the British controlled the horn of South Africa. It occurred to him that two or more American carriers could be sneaking up on him in much the same manner as the Kido Butai had snuck up on Pearl Harbor. On the other hand, if the American carriers had truly departed for the Atlantic, the Pacific was a Japanese ocean.
“We need confirmation,” Yamamoto said to Watanabe. “If the Americans have abandoned the Pacific, then we have an opportunity to do great damage to them, and possibly bring an end to this war. We can land troops in Alaska unopposed, as well as bomb and shell the cities of California. After annexing Hawaii, we can humiliate the United States and bring her to the negotiating table. It doesn’t matter if they won’t come out and fight. We will have our victory.”
Following the attacks along the American West Coast, Yamamoto hoped that the postponed operation to put a landing strip on Guadalcanal would be reconstituted. A Japanese air base on Guadalcanal would threaten New Zealand and Australia and, coupled with additional victories against the American West Coast, might just knock those two semi-independent nations out of the war. He acknowledged that it was far more important to defeat the United States and sign a treaty with her. If America left the war, Great Britain and her minions would collapse. Guadalcanal would have to wait.
Watanabe had said nothing. He was there to listen, not to speak unless specifically asked.
“Confirmation,” Yamamoto repeated and pounded his mangled hand against the railing. “We must confirm that the Americans are in the Atlantic.”
Alexa Sanderson smiled down at Sergeant Charley Finch, who returned the smile uncertainly. The woman who generally stayed so close to Colonel Novacek had scarcely acknowledged his existence until this moment.
“Sergeant Finch, I haven’t had a chance to welcome you. I’ve been preoccupied with other things, and that’s rude of me.”
Charley smiled tentatively. “That’s quite all right, ma’am. I guess there are a lot of things going on that’re more important than me.”
She sat on the ground beside him. “Jake-I mean Colonel Novacek- is away for a few days, so that gives me a chance to check up on things. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?”
“Go right ahead,” he answered with a certainty that he didn’t feel. What the hell did she want? Maybe she was attracted to him. He changed his mind about her attractiveness. Even though she was dressed in men’s clothing, there was no doubt she was damned good-looking. He felt a stirring in his groin. It had been a helluva long time. He wondered if Novacek was screwing her.
“I want to know what’s happening in Honolulu,” she said. “I know it’s been a while since you were there, but your information is probably better than anybody else’s.”
Charley was both relieved and disappointed. “I spent most of my time in hiding, ma’am. From what I could tell, and from what people told me, it’s a pretty miserable place. The Japanese military is everywhere, and their secret police are the nastiest people on the face of the earth.”
He watched as her eyes clouded. The comment about Omori’s secret police had struck home. Alexa waited a moment, then continued. “How are the people getting on? What are they eating?”
Charley shrugged. “I can only tell you what I heard, and that’s that anyone who’s white is having a rough time, while anyone who isn’t is doing okay. There’s enough food to go around now, but nobody’s gonna get too fat from it.”
She laughed softly and glanced at his still prominent paunch. Thanks to their Spartan rations, it was disappearing, but far from gone. “I got this”-he grinned-”while hiding out with that old lady. She must’ve thought she was going to feed an army for a hundred years. It might’ve been illegal to hoard, but I’m kinda glad she did.”
“You know I lost my husband, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. A lot of good people died that day.”
“Did you have family in Hawaii? Friends?”
What should he tell her? he wondered. “No, ma’am, although I do have a girlfriend in San Francisco. Want to see her picture?” It was a spur-of-the-moment comment but seemed logical.
Alexa nodded and Finch pulled a snapshot out of his wallet. Alexa’s eyes widened as she saw it. “She’s very pretty,” she finally said. “What’s her name?”
“Nancy Winfield,” he said, improvising quickly. Nancy Winfield was somebody he’d known back in the States. He wasn’t certain what the name of the person in the picture was. “And she is prettier than I deserve. I sure know that, and I remind myself about it a hundred times a day. At least,” he said sadly, “I used to. God only knows what’s happening to her now. She probably thinks I’m dead.”
Alexa put her hand on his arm. “Perhaps we can send a message that you’re all right.”
“That would be great,” Charley said sincerely. Even if they did send a message, it would be to an address where no one named Nancy Winfield lived. They would assume she’d moved and forget about it. “Thank you, ma’am.”