1942

Then he noticed that the soldiers were carrying strange rifles. They were American Springfields. Fuji was about to say something when the stern-faced young lieutenant slashed a broad-bladed knife across his throat. The corporal tried to speak, but the gush of his blood stopped him. Before Fuji’s misting eyes closed entirely, he saw the rest of his men being stabbed and butchered like him, and he realized that the same thing was happening to the other guards.

Only a few grunts and groans proclaimed the slaughter. A moment later, the “soldiers” fanned out in the dark and headed to their other targets. First on the list was the control tower, where two men waited for the return of the six planes that were the base’s combat air patrol. Next came the pilots’ ready room, where the relief group of pilots was preparing for their turn in the night skies.

They took no prisoners. Akira Kaga had told them they were too few to afford the luxury. Besides, it would soon be necessary for them to melt back into the Japanese-American population. They could not leave behind anyone who would recognize them.

When the base was secure, Akira was driven up in an old Ford. He got out awkwardly and looked down on the slaughtered soldiers.

He was about to speak when a burst of gunfire erupted from the enlisted men’s barracks. Someone was awake and fighting. Two of Kaga’s men ran from the building. One was wounded and had to be helped away.

“What went wrong?” Akira asked. He had known it would be impossible for the plan to work perfectly. Nothing ever did.

“No idea,” the unhurt man said. “You want us to storm the place? There’s only a couple of them in there.”

It was tempting, but it would be a distraction and would entail taking casualties. “Later. Now just keep them pinned down while we do what we have to.”

Akira placed a few soldiers so that they commanded the barracks and told them to shoot anything that moved. Other soldiers had already ripped out the phone lines, and he doubted that the men in the barracks had a radio. His force was safe for the time being.

“Take care of the planes,” he ordered.

The destruction of the Japanese planes was simple and efficient. Some men opened gas caps and poured in a combination of dirt and sugar. Others took tools and ripped out spark plugs and smashed more sensitive equipment. The planes might fly again, but not for a very long while, and certainly not this night.

His men had taken over the control tower and called the combat air patrol. They didn’t know the proper signal, so they made up a story that there was a power problem at Wheeler and that the patrol should land immediately.

When the lead pilot protested, he was told that the carriers would be in charge of patrolling and that two groups of planes in the air at the same time could cause confusion, even a collision. The pilot grudgingly agreed, and Akira saw the first of the Japanese planes lining up for a landing. The runway was unlit, but it was wide, well marked, and impossible to miss.

The Zeros landed one at a time. The bodies of the dead were hidden behind sandbags and in buildings. The intervals between planes were sufficiently long to permit the pilots to taxi to their normal places. As they started to climb out, “mechanics” ran up to them and killed them.

Just as the last plane was touching down, one of the real Japanese soldiers in the barracks opened fire on it. The pilot whipped the plane around and began to race down the runway.

“Shoot it,” Akira yelled as he cursed the fact that one of the trapped Japanese knew how to think. Once the pilot was fully airborne, he would radio the fleet at Pearl.

The Zero gained distance as a hail of bullets chased it. As it lifted off the ground, a tongue of flame erupted from the tail. Seconds later, the tongue became a torch and the plane exploded.

It’s true, Akira thought grimly. The Zeros do blow up easily.

The plane crashed a mile or so from the runway. Flames billowed from the spot, and fire engines would be on their way shortly, while civilians phoned about to find out what had occurred.

Their secret would be out in a very short while, but it could have been far worse. Akira ordered some of his men to take care of the runways while he sent others to set up roadblocks. In each case, they would use dynamite and TNT brought in by submarine to Novacek. With secrecy no longer necessary, he took personal command of a captured Japanese machine gun and pulverized the wooden barracks. There was no return fire.

Akira was content. He and his men had done their part. Now the skies over Oahu were empty. Who would claim them?

Ernie Magruder led the first planes down the incline and toward the edge of the cliff. He was the loneliest man in the world even though he had just gotten best wishes from Captain Gustafson and Colonel Novacek. “Jesus, I hope this works,” he said to himself.