Days of Infamy

Thwarted, Fuchida turned away and went up to the officers’ wardroom. The food there was better than what he’d been eating in Honolulu. Captain Kaku was also there, eating a bowl of pickled plums and sipping tea. “Any sign of the Americans, sir?” Fuchida asked.

The skipper shook his head. “Not yet, Commander. Believe me, you’ll be the first to know.” His voice was dry. Fuchida looked down at his own snack so Kaku wouldn’t see him flush. When the Yankees were spotted, he would lead the strike against them, as he’d led the first strike against Pearl Harbor and then the attack on the Lexington. Of course he would know as soon as anyone else did.

He found another question: “How are our engineers doing on electronic ranging gear like the Americans have?”

“I’d hoped Zuikaku and Shokaku would have it,” Captain Kaku answered. “No such luck, though. I think we understand the principles. Now the problem is getting it into production, installing it aboard ship, and training men to use it.” He shrugged. “We have our picket sampans out there, and we have H8Ks patrolling beyond them, and we have the cruisers’ float planes for close-in reco

“That’s what counts, sir,” Fuchida agreed. “As long as we meet the Americans on anything like equal terms, we’ll beat them.”

“I see it the same way,” Kaku said. “Admiral Yamamoto is less hopeful. He fears the United States will outproduce us no matter what we do.”

“Let the Americans try,” Fuchida said. “If we keep sinking their ships, it doesn’t matter how many they build. And we’ll be building, too.”

“Hai.” The captain of the Akagi nodded. “This is also how it seems to me, Fuchidasan. You’re a sound man, very sound.” What Kaku no doubt meant was that he and Fuchida held the same opinion. He went on, “The admiral has a different view. He says we have no idea of how much materiel the United States can produce once all its factories start going full tilt.”

“And the Americans, who have so much, begrudge us the chance of getting our fair share,” Fuchida said angrily. “They think they should be the only big power in the Pacific. We’ve taught them a thing or two, and if they want another lesson here, I’d say we’re ready to give them one.”

As if his words were the cue in a play, a yeoman from the radio shack stuck his head into the wardroom. “Ah, here you are, Captain-san!” Excitement crackled in his voice. He waved a sheet of flimsy paper. “We have a report from one of the flying boats. They’ve spotted the American ships, sir! The pilot reports three enemy carriers, sir, with the usual supporting ships. Range about eight hundred kilometers, bearing 017.”

Three against three, Fuchida thought. Equal terms-just what I asked for. Now to make the most of it.

“Domo arigato,” Kaku breathed. After thanking the yeoman, he went on, “Any sign of transports-of an invasion fleet?”

“Sir, I have no report of them,” the radioman answered.

“If they are there, sir, they may be hanging back, waiting for their carriers to dispose of ours,” Fuchida said. “I wouldn’t want to expose troopships to air strikes.”

“Hai. Honto. Neither would I.” Captain Kaku turned back to the yeoman. “You’ve informed Admiral Yamamoto?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” the man said. “He nodded to me and he said, ‘Now it begins.’ He spoke to me, sir!” He seemed immensely proud of himself. A Christian to whom Jesus had spoken might have sounded the same way.

Kaku got to his feet. “I’m going to sound general quarters,” he said to Fuchida. “They’re still out of range, but now we know where they are.” To the yeoman again: “Do the Americans know that flying boat has spotted them?”

“Sir, if they do, the message didn’t say,” the yeoman told him. Fuchida nodded to himself, liking the response. The man wasn’t trying to read anything into what he’d got from the H8K. Many radiomen might have.

“Let’s tend to business, Commander,” Kaku said. “You’ll want to get your men ready for what’s ahead of them, I’m sure. And we’re all going to be busy before very long.”

“Yes, sir,” Fuchida said. He and Kaku both hurried out of the wardroom. The skipper of the Akagi headed for the bridge. Fuchida made for the pilots’ briefing room on the hangar deck, right under the flight deck. Hardly knowing he was doing it, he rubbed at his belly as he hurried along. If he had a bellyache, he would just have to ignore it. More important things were going on. General quarters sounded before he was even halfway to the briefing room. He nodded to himself. This was why he’d gone to the Naval Academy at Eta Jima, to the naval aircraft training center at Kasumigaura, to war against the United States in the first place. One more strong blow…

Sailors and officers ran every which way, hurrying to their battle stations. Fuchida ducked into the briefing room as the mechanics and other members of the maintenance crew began making sure the level bombers, torpedo planes, dive bombers, and fighters were as ready for action as they could be.

One of the dive-bomber pilots made it to the briefing room less than fifteen seconds behind Fuchida. The man gri

“I’m not that fast,” Fuchida said. “I happened to be in the wardroom with the captain when the news came in. I was on my way over here before the alert sounded.”

“News? What sort of news?” the pilot asked eagerly. “The sort we’ve been waiting for?”

“Patience. Patience,” Fuchida answered with a smile of his own. “That way I’ll only have to tell the story once.”

“Yes, sir.” The dive-bomber pilot didn’t sound patient. He sounded like a small boy reluctantly awaiting permission to open a present sitting there on a mat in front of him.

More pilots swarmed into the briefing room, along with radiomen and bombardiers for the Nakajimas and Aichis. They were all chattering excitedly; they knew what the call to general quarters was likely to mean. They kept flinging questions at Fuchida, too, as he stood there in front of the map.

When the room was full, he held up his hand. The fliers were in such a state, they needed a little while to realize he was calling for quiet. Slowly, a centimeter at a time, they gave it to him. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said when he could make himself heard through the din. “Thank you. The news I have is the news we’ve all been waiting for. We have found the Americans.”

That started everyone talking at once again. He’d known it would. “Where are they?” “When do we take off?” The questions rained down on him.

“We don’t take off yet-they aren’t in range,” Fuchida answered. “They’re about-here.” He pointed on the map. “One of our H8Ks picked them up way out there.”

“Banzai! for the flying boats!” somebody shouted, and a cheer filled the briefing room. How can we lose with men like these? Fuchida thought proudly. Another pilot called, “What are we going to do about them, sir?”

“I don’t know yet, not officially,” Fuchida replied. “Admiral Yamamoto and Captain Kaku haven’t given the orders. But I’ll tell you this-we didn’t come out here to invite the Yankees to a cha-no-yu.”

The officers and ratings laughed. As if the round-eyed barbarians could appreciate a tea ceremony anyway! “We’ll make them drink salty tea!” a pilot yelled.

“That’s the spirit,” Fuchida said. “Be ready. I expect we’ll close with the enemy and attack. Banzai! for the Emperor!”

“Banzai! Banzai! ” The shout filled the briefing room.

OUT ON THE Pacific, Platoon Sergeant Les Dillon was playing poker with four other noncoms when the B. F. Irvine ’s engine fell silent, leaving the troopship bobbing in the water. “What the fuck?” He and two other sergeants said the same thing at the same time.