“How much farther to Fairbanks?” Farris asked a civilian engineer who was lounging against a bulldozer. A handful of Negro soldiers clustered around him. They all looked amused at the new arrivals.
The man stopped and thought for a moment. “I reckon maybe seven hundred miles.”
Farris gasped. “What?”
The engineer roared with laughter. “Gotcha, Lieutenant. It’s ten miles or so. Unless you guys are really out of shape, you’ll make it before nightfall.”
They did, even marching into camp in decent order. The commander, Colonel Gavin, greeted them, clearly delighted to see reinforcements. He shook Major Baylor’s hand and went around encouraging the men and shaking still more hands, including Steve’s. Farris was impressed by Gavin. Maybe they did stand a chance against the Jap army.
Masao Ikeda stood on the flight deck of the Kaga. He did not walk to the edge like others did. He was not afraid of heights when flying twenty thousand feet or more in his Zero, but there was something about hanging over the ocean that unsettled him. Being afraid of anything was unmanly, and admitting to something as simple as fear of heights would subject him to merciless teasing from his fellow pilots if they ever discovered it. Anytime he had to be near the edge, he always made sure that an antiaircraft battery was beneath him, providing an illusion of stabililty.
The wind was cold and refreshing as the Kaga, her smaller sister, the Shinyu, and the rest of their task force headed north. Masao was tired. In the last few days, he’d spent long hours cooped up in the cockpit of his fighter practicing the skills that would enable them to kill Americans and return safely. He sensed rather than saw that his friend Toki was standing behind him.
“How was your day?” Toki asked. “How well did your new pilots perform?”
Masao laughed harshly. “Like clowns in a circus. I cry for them when I think of them going up against the Americans. Of course, I know my commanders felt the same way when I first started out and look at me now.”
“Are you saying there’s hope for them?”
Masao lit a cigarette and drew deeply. He felt that smoking made him look more mature. He grinned genially. “Yes, just not much.” One new pilot had crashed after aborting a landing and was in sick bay with a broken leg and a ruined career. “Now tell me, Toki, is it confirmed that we are heading to Alaska to rescue our men?”
“Yes, but it is not a rescue mission. The men on the ground are doomed. Our goal is to prolong their lives a little longer. Of course we’re not telling them that. We’re saying this attack is to enable them to take Fairbanks and spend the winter there until there’s either peace or they are rescued by the navy next summer. They will die before either happens.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“But it’s bushido. We are going to help them take more Americans with them when they die. Tell me, do you wish to die? Do you have a death wish?”
“Of course not. I have to get home to prevent you from marrying my sister. If you live a hundred years you will never be worthy of her even if she is a snotty, argumentative little brat. However,” he said, turning serious, “I will gladly forfeit my life for Japan if I have to. Well, maybe not gladly, but I will anyhow.”
“Would you be willing to die if the situation was hopeless and surrender was an option?”
“Surrender is shameful.”
Toki smiled. His friend had not answered the question. “Do you think the soldiers in Alaska should surrender rather than face death for no reason? They cannot be rescued and their deaths will not bring victory to Japan.”
“I don’t know,” Masao reluctantly admitted. “Tell me, do you have any good news to cheer me up?”
“Not really. The Akagi was sunk.”
Masao gasped. “Your information is wrong. The mighty Akagi was damaged, but was sent to Japan for repairs. She will soon return to the fleet.”
Toki shook his head. His expression was grim. “American submarines found her and finished her off. There were few survivors.”
Masao felt like he’d been punched in the gut. At thirty-seven thousand tons, the Akagi had been one of the largest carriers in the Japanese fleet, which meant that almost all the remaining Japanese carriers were of the smaller classes. Only his current ship, the Kaga, was anywhere near the Akagi’s size. Yes, the Japanese Navy had a number of carriers, but they were smaller than the American fleet carriers, and did not carry the number of planes the larger Japanese ships could.
Far more important, so many of the lost carrier’s crew had been his friends. He’d never experienced anything like this painful and personal sense of loss before.
“She was sunk in Tokyo Bay,” Toki added. “Our navy thinks they got the sub, but they aren’t certain and it really doesn’t matter at all. The Americans will trade a sub for a carrier every day. Who wouldn’t? A few more disastrous trades and the war will be over.”
Masao sagged. The implications were obvious. If American subs could enter the hitherto safe waters off Tokyo and sink Japan’s ships, then his beloved nation truly was in dire straits. But were they actually losing the war or was this just a temporary setback? He wished he could talk to Yamamoto, but that was clearly impossible. The admiral was almost a god.
Toki lit his cigarette and offered one to Masao, who had finished his. Masao took it if only to give himself a chance to think.
Toki took a deep drag and exhaled. “There is extreme pressure on Yamamoto to end the war by winning a great victory, which is one of the reasons for this foray to Alaska. When we attack, it is hoped that the Americans will come out and chase us. When they do we will ambush them again.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” Masao said hopefully. He realized that he was fully acknowledging the accuracy of what Toki was telling him, however depressing it was.
“I think it is no more likely than that we will win a great victory in China.”
Masao stifled a groan, drew deeply on his cigarette and choked. The Japanese army had been fighting the corrupt, disreputable, but enormous Chinese army for what seemed an eternity. It had been a source of jokes for the pilots and others in the navy. The army had started the war and now weren’t competent enough to finish off poorly armed and even more poorly trained and led Chinese hordes.
“Masao, I will now speak treason. If given half a chance, I will surrender rather than die for no good reason, and I hope our leaders will as well. Admiral Kurita has talked with Yamamoto and others and is hopeful that negotiations will bring an end to this war, even if it means that we will have to give back much of what we have conquered. In short, we might have to admit defeat in order to preserve Japan.”
Masao said quietly, “I have a better idea. The situation means that we must create a victory so that talks can begin.”
When the Nazis came to power, one of the first things they did was strongly encourage those of the minor nobility in Germany to stop using “von” in front of their last names. It was an attempt at egalitarianism that annoyed the erstwhile Johann von Klaas and it was one of the first things he reinstated when he defected to the Americans. Of course, important people in the Nazi hierarchy, such as von Runstedt and von Ribbentrop and von Papen, were powerful enough to simply ignore Hitler’s pressure. Klaas’s usage of the title seemed to amuse the Americans. More important, they had accepted him as well as his minor title.
FBI Special Agent Harris looked up from his desk. “Found them, Herr von Klaas?”