Weapons of choice

The German didn't reply, but his silence was heavy. Moertopo lit a clove cigarette and offered it to him.

"No, thank you, Lieutenant. Those things smell like fragrant dog turds."

A half-moon hung over the Inland Sea. From their vantage point, on a small platform a hundred or so meters above the water, they could see a flotilla of ships that remained at anchor off the island. Ripples and wavelets caught the moon's reflection and turned it into a net of spun silver on the surface of the Seto-naikai. The hint of a breeze carried the perfume of half a dozen local wildflowers to mask the salt-laced sea air. It was an arcadian scene, but they would not be staying much longer to enjoy it.

Brasch was scheduled to return to the Fatherland with Skorzeny before long, there to personally address the fuhrer. Moertopo would be joining his men in the city of Hakodate, far to the north in Hokkaido, where the research effort had been transferred. He was surprised to find he would miss the jasmine-scented gardens and the old stone cottage that had been his gilded cage since they'd arrived.

"You know they'll kill you, one day."

The Indonesian officer nearly choked on an inhale, coughing violently and painfully as the kretek smoke burned his air passages.

"I'm sorry?" he gasped.

Brasch clapped him on the back a few times. Starlight softened the severe lines of his face, and he seemed to be smiling. Something approaching warmth lit his eyes.

"They'll kill you, Moertopo. Your value to them declines each day as they become more familiar with your technology. One day you will be of no use to them at all. And then…"

The German shrugged.

A cold ball of acid seemed to burn at the Indonesian's gut.

"Why are you saying these things?" he asked, his voice nearly squeaking with indignation and fright.

"Because they're true," smiled Brasch.

Moertopo's hand shook as he tried to take another puff on the cigarette. Twice he opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came. He knew that what Brasch had said was true. There were days he wondered why he was even alive now. The night, which had seemed so pleasant and tranquil, now seemed darker and more malevolent. Shadows pooled under bushes, hiding assassins. He shuddered.

"Don't worry," Brasch said. "We're all dead men anyway."

His face seemed to freeze in the flash of a photographer's globe, but the blaze of white light did not fade. It grew stronger. And the thunder of the apocalypse shook the ground underfoot. Moertopo threw himself at Brasch.

"Hiroshima," he screamed.

"Wha-"

They crashed to the wooden deck and Moertopo flinched, expecting to see his skin blacken and begin to smoke, just before a blast wave pulverized them against the rock wall to their rear. Giant explosions hammered at the island again and again. And when he found that he was still alive after a few seconds, he realized how foolish he'd been.

"Are you all right," he shouted at Brasch.

The engineer was already climbing to his feet. His eyes bulged as he took in the sight before them. The idyllic panorama had been utterly transformed. The sleeping fleet, the silver moonlight, they were gone. The anchorage was now a cauldron in which half a dozen ships blazed like Roman torches.

"It's started," said Moertopo.

Shouts and cries reached them as the Japanese soldiers guarding their quarters realized they were under attack. A siren began its mournful wail, and the first lines of trace fire weaved up from the deck of a destroyer about three kilometers away.

A sergeant of the guard appeared at a run, panting and gesturing for them to follow him to a shelter.

"There's no need," said Moertopo.

Brasch regarded him with a strange expression. It took the Indonesian a second or two to recognize the look. It was respect.

He smiled.

"There's no need to run or hide because they don't miss, Major. If we were meant to die, it already would be so."

USS HILLARY CLINTON, 2141 HOURS, 20 JUNE 1942

Admiral Spruance watched, mesmerized, as the missiles dived down on their prey like steel hawks. The rate of descent was so great, it actually made him feel a little giddy seeing the Japanese carrier rise up to fill the entire wallscreen so quickly. He marveled at the idea of putting a movie camera inside the nose of a bomb, and just had time to make out the aircraft spotted on the flight deck before they filled all three panels and the image cut back to recorded footage from the Havoc's spy drone. The switch, managed by a young woman in the Clinton's CIC, was so slick that the admiral was able to see how the mass of the Japanese carrier actually shuddered under the impact, just before a brilliant white starburst blossomed from deep within the body of the vessel.