Final impact

It was encouraging, however, this small lift in spirits he received from contemplating what might be done, outclassed though they might be. They would lose the battle for these islands-of that he was in no doubt. But perhaps, with some luck, he could make it a Pyrrhic victory for the Allies.

“So you will concentrate on the Clinton?” he pressed.

“On the Clinton and the other carriers in the first instance. And on the troop transports in the second. I studied the history of the Falklands War from the nineteen eighties,” Onishi said, “and I believe that if the Argentineans had concentrated on sinking the British transports, rather than her destroyers and frigates, they would have kept those islands. We see that point made again with the Chinese attack on Taiwan in the following century, except that there the rebels did concentrate on the Communist transports, and prevailed because of it.”

Yamamoto said nothing. He, too, had studied the conflicts of the coming decades, examining them for whatever insight they might give him regarding new opponents. And Onishi seemed to be forgetting that it was Americans like Kolhammer-possibly it even was Kolhammer-who had turned the Taiwan Straits into a mass grave for the Communist Chinese.

“Send me the full report on your preparations, Admiral,” Yamamoto said. “I should like to study it this afternoon, before I contemplate the final disposition of the fleet.”

“Hai!” Onishi barked in reply, firing off a series of commands to his juniors to see that a full briefing was made ready for the grand admiral.

Yamamoto returned to studying the map table again, stifling another sigh as he watched the noose tightening around his neck. To the south, MacArthur was straining at the leash with an Allied army of one and a half million men. To the west, China had collapsed into a civil war between the Nationalists and Mao’s Red Army, after the effective withdrawal of Japan from Manchuria. And to the east, somewhere to the east, Spruance was in the final days of building a titanic force, a fleet such as the world had never seen. An armada that could have swept aside the great Combined Fleet that Yamamoto had led to Midway, in the days before the Emergence.

He could not match that force.

But could he cripple it? Could he hurt it badly enough that his enemies might be delayed long enough to secure the empire?

Grand Admiral Yamamoto did not know.

D-DAY + 16. 19 MAY 1944. 1410 HOURS.

CAROLINE ISLANDS.

The camouflage was impressive, but that was no guarantee of success. The Americans enjoyed unbelievable advantages in surveillance technology.

Lieutenant Seki Yukio knew that his men could not afford to harbor any doubts about the success of their mission. Even so, he often found himself awake late at night, wondering whether they would even get off the ground. His inevitable death did not rob him of sleep. He had accepted that the moment he had agreed to Commander Tamai’s request that he lead the most important of the special attack forces, the tokubetsu kogeki tai. No, what concerned him was the prospect that they would be detected and destroyed before they were even airborne.

He walked around the Type 43 Ohka, running his hand over the smooth metallic surface. It felt cool in the tropical heat. Painted in a disruptive green jungle pattern on top and light blue underneath, it sat in a partially buried hangar under a canopy woven from palm fronds and jungle creepers. Arriving on the atoll by flying boat, he’d been unable to make out any sign of human habitation, let alone a military buildup. And once on the ground he understood why.

Years of work had gone into preparing this site. Walking around above ground level was strictly prohibited. Tunnels and caverns dug into the ancient, rock-hard coral protected the island’s defenders from prying eyes. There wasn’t even an airstrip in regular use. One had been constructed a year earlier, when the front line was a thousand miles away, but it was now covered by an ingenious system of wheeled garden beds-giant planter boxes on old vehicle chassis in which lay thousands of tons of soil, plants, and even wildlife. Come the day when they were ordered into the skies, the gardens would be pushed down a slightly cambered slope at the edge of the hidden runway. It was a brilliant ruse, and Yukio could only wonder who had come up with it.

Leaving the deadly aircraft behind him, he walked the length of the hangar to a sunken observation bunker near the water. He mopped at the greasy sheen of sweat on his brow and peered out to sea. The admiral’s seaplane was a faint speck to the north, growing larger as he watched. All of the garrison’s supplies arrived by seaplane or submarine, negating the requirement for an airstrip or any obvious docking facilities. In fact, there was a dock in a large, flooded cave on the far side of island, but it was rarely used.