Weapons of choice

Lieutenant Ali Moertopo was trying hard to keep relations with the Japanese as friendly as possible. The bulk of his countrymen, including his own captain, were still unconscious and showing little sign of responding to stimulants, so he was well aware that the initiative lay with Kakuta. If circumstances had been more conducive, they might have just sunk the Japanese fleet and sailed off to Pearl Harbor, there to offer their services to the eventual winners of this war.

Assuming, of course, that this insanity played out, and they actually had traveled back in time.

He found he still couldn't accept that as a real possibility.

For the moment, though, he was content to present a mask of civility and cooperation to his captors, for that's what they were, no matter how much buffalo shit they fed him about "rescue" parties. He'd gotten a good long look at the mouth of Hidaka's pistol when he came to, and he remembered only too well that conceited sneer. He noted that the Japanese sailors-or perhaps they were marines-hadn't put down their arms.

Moertopo had offered Kakuta the chance to observe his fleet on the Sutanto's radar only because he needed to know what sort of enemy he was up against. There appeared to be four capital ships, probably consisting of two carriers and two cruisers-or maybe battleships-and another group of smaller escorts, probably destroyers and maybe a tender. He would endeavor to interest them in a lengthy demonstration of the mast-mounted cameras, and in doing so confirm that conclusion. Captain Djuanda would need every possible scrap of information when he recovered and took command.

If he recovered.

Moertopo willed the captain to revive, so that he might be relieved of the mind-bending responsibilities presented by this situation.

"… Lieutenant, are you ill again? You look quite distressed."

The Sutanto's exec pulled out of his reverie with a shake of his head. In fact, he still felt awful, and the physical effects of their arrival were compounded by the stress of confronting the impossible.

"I am sorry, Commander," he lied. "I was overcome by this sickness again. It's much worse than any nausea I have felt before, even in heavy weather."

"Perhaps you have other treatments for it?" Hidaka suggested. "Medicines as powerful as your machines?"

His captor was playing with him, he knew. Fishing for more information about their technology. Moertopo was convinced that if he didn't handle this exactly right, neither he nor any of his men would live to see the next dawn.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "I shall have an orderly bring some syringes." With that, he dispatched a junior rating to the sick bay with instruction to bring back a supply of Promatil fixes.

"While we are waiting," Kakuta purred in his native tongue, "you might enlighten us with some historical information. Commander Hidaka informs me that the Yorktown was not sunk in the Coral Sea engagement, and in fact it lies in wait for Nagumo, just off Midway?"

Moertopo, who managed to catch the drift of the Japanese officer's question, waited for Hidaka's translation anyway. It gave him a few vital seconds to construct his reply. And when he spoke, it was slowly and carefully, as if he were concerned not to rush the fluent, English-speaking commander.

"I am afraid," he said, "that in the time from which I came, your efforts at Midway were undone by a stroke of bad luck. As I recall, Admiral Nagumo beat off numerous attacks by American fliers in heavy bombers and torpedo planes, only to be caught by a flight of dive-bombers when his decks were cluttered with refueling and re-arming planes. I think three carriers were destroyed in just a few minutes. But I am sorry, I cannot remember which ones. I would have to consult our library."

Hidaka looked around the wardroom, searching for the bookshelves. Moertopo easily divined his intention and smiled, holding up the flexipad.

"Our library is in here," he explained.

The two Japanese conferred rapidly in their own language. Lieutenant Moertopo used the opportunity to casually check the radar images again, confirming his earlier, rushed observation. He desperately wanted to see the familiar image of their sister ship out there. But he was completely surrounded by Kakuta's battle group. The Nuku was probably back with the Americans.

He dropped the pad back on the table, as if it were of no concern at all to him.

Then Hidaka spoke up again. "Thank you, Lieutenant. As you can imagine, we are most interested in anything that might help us avert this catastrophe. I am sure that you, too, would be only too happy to see the European powers driven from their colonies, your homeland."