“Possibly hundreds of thousands…” Speed nodded seriously.
“You also understand, sir, that telling me this constitutes a breach not only of your own security but also a serious betrayal of a nation with which you are allied?”
“The Reichsmarschall wishes to avoid conflict with the United States at all costs, Chargé… he was particular on that point. He asked me to make this plain to you: that he has many times impressed upon the Japanese Ambassador the importance of avoiding a confrontation with your country, and that he would be willing to personally ensure that Germany would distance itself from any such actions… officially….”
“Why should we believe any of this?” Morris demanded, feeling stress more than any real anger. “Forgive me if I speak plain, Herr Speer, but Nazi Germany has not had an exemplary record in the past when it comes to honesty in dealings with its neighbours or other world powers... Why should I assume any of this is anything other than some foolish attempt at deception or misinformation?”
“Herr Reuters expected you to be doubtful,” Speer added, noting the disbelief spreading across Morris’ face, “and he therefore asked me to mention to you the name ‘Manhattan Project’. If you do not know this name, you should ask your superiors, as they certainly will. I am told that this is the name of a top secret American project at Los Alamos, New Mexico to produce similar devices, known as atomic bombs…”
“I will present this information to Washington, Minister…” Morris nodded hesitantly after a long thoughtful pause “…and… and I thank you and the Reichsmarschall for bringing it to us...”
“What do you think they’re playing at?” Morris asked the embassy intelligence officer ten minutes later. The man had been in an anteroom during the entire meeting, listening in as the conversation was being both filmed and recorded.
“Damn funny way to do business,” OSS operative Johannson observed, shaking his head. “Hard to believe they’d knife their own ally in the back like that, but that bein’ said, it does follow the tune Reuters has been playin’ all along about keepin’ in sweet with us.”
“And this ‘Manhattan Project’…?”
“Hell, I never heard that name, but that don’t mean much. I have heard rumours of some funny stuff goin’ on out in New Mexico though,” he added thoughtfully. “Kinda got me concerned, now…”
“So what do we do…?” Morris growled plaintively, rubbing at his eyes. “Speer just tantamount confessed to sharing state secrets with us… somethin’ that could easily get him and Reuters strung up with piano wire! You believe him?”
“Well, it took guts to do what he did,” Johannson shrugged with some admiration. “I know people, and that guy was scared shitless. He must’ve known he was being recorded – they do the same to us all the time – but it felt like more than just that…” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Yeah, Leland… I reckon I do believe the son of a bitch!”
“Then we gotta tell Washington right away!” Morris declared, snapping into action. We’re three weeks behind already and we got some Goddamn ‘atomic bomb’ to find…”
Headquarters, IJN 2nd Imperial Fleet
Samah Naval Base, Hainan Island
Miyagi Ryo was waiting for them as Reuters, Schiller and Ritter stepped out from their quarters just after midday. All still wore the same tropical versions of their standard field uniform, while Miyagi wore a light blue suit of light cotton in deference to the expected heat later in the day.
“I’m generally not a big eater anyway, Miyagi-san, but I’m nevertheless intrigued why you need us to be packed and ready to go at such short notice after lunch,” Reuters ventured, hands on hips outside the door to his room as the diplomat bowed deeply in greeting and apology.
“There is little time to lose, Mein Herr,” he replied in German, first glancing up and down the corridor to ensure no one might be listening. “We have a 60-minute departure window for your transport, and you all must be in the air by the time that passes…” There was a nervousness in the little man’s tone none of them had seen before, and they all found it rather unsettling.
“We were scheduled for inspections this afternoon and tomorrow, followed by a flight to Okinawa for the next leg of this tour,” Reuters pointed out, eyes narrowed. “We are meeting the rest of our entourage there before heading on to Tokyo…”
“There have been developments…” Miyagi whispered carefully, leaning in close to all three. “Our radio intelligence office has intercepted transmissions between Kormoran and Darwin that indicate the Allies have captured the vessel intact and are currently enroute to their nearest safe port: a place called Ambon Island.”
“Scheisse…!” Reuters hissed angrily. The last word they’d had was that the shadowing U-boat was about to launch an attack, and having heard nothing since they’d already been fearing the worst. “Having the thing fall into their hands is almost as bad as you lot having it! We need to find some way to destroy that vessel!”
“My thoughts exactly, Mein Herr, however I fear that world events are about to overtake us. Naval Intelligence has already informed the commander of the 2nd Imperial Fleet, and an ad hoc invasion force is already being put together in reaction to this new information…”
“You are not at war with the Commonwealth…!”
“In approximately an hour, sir, we will be…” Miyagi admitted, stopping all three in their tracks. “Through no fault of your own, you have been landed right in the middle of an Asian war at the worst possible moment. An hour from now, this base will be in complete lock down and no one will be allowed in or out. This is why all of you must be on that aircraft and in the air by this time. The strike force being gathered for this operation is staging out of Palau. The local commander down there is an old friend and is sympathetic to our cause: he will welcome you all upon your arrival, but we must get you out of here first.”
“And what are we supposed to do once we are there?” Reuters snarled, not believing what he was hearing. “Throw our lives away in ‘Sacrifice for the Emperor’ like millions of your own people are about to do by embarking on this insanity?”
“My contact at Palau will do everything he can – within his power, of course – to ensure you are given whatever you need to do whatever you need to do. My only suggestion is that you move quickly… once the High Command here realise where you have gone, they will know why you have gone, and I will no longer be able to help you once that happens.”
“Your country would risk war with Deutschland also, by threatening the life of the Reichsmarschall?” Reuters exploded, not entirely over-inflating his own importance in that moment. “I think you underestimate the danger of embarrassing the Führer in such a manner!”
“Risk another war for technology that could bring the United States – or Germany – to its knees?” Miyagi countered with a sad half-smile. “If you think we would not do this, sir, then I think it is you who underestimates the danger of this situation.”
Reuters’ personal T-22A transport lifted off from that same airstrip fifty minutes later, climbing away and turning south-east across the open expanses of the South China Sea as it headed for altitude. The journey to Palau, almost 1,600 miles, would take them directly over the American-controlled Commonwealth of the Philippines. It would be a tense transit through unfriendly airspace, but theirs was a clearly-marked diplomatic German aircraft, and it was unlikely the local US commanders would be foolish enough to take any aggressive action once their identity was established. That it would potentially be occurring in the midst of the outbreak of war might complicate matters however and none of the men on board were looking forward to the five-hour flight with much enthusiasm.
They had pinned their last failing hopes on the possibility that U-1004 might have been successful in sinking Kormoran and taking care of the problem entirely. It was now clear that at the very least, the U-boat had failed and, worst case, had possibly also been sunk as no further reports had been forthcoming. That they were now forced t
o rely on the assistance of a government official from a nation that might soon be at war with the Commonwealth and the United States was a bitter pill to swallow indeed.
Mamei Turn east of Gamboa
Gatun Lake, Panama Canal
The Panama Canal is generally considered one of the great industrial wonders of the modern world. With construction originally started by a French consortium led by the great engineer, Ferdinand de Lesseps of Suez Canal fame, the first attempt at a sea-level connection between the Pacific and Atlantic resulted in complete failure and a scandal of national proportions. Between 1881 and 1894, twenty-two thousand workers – at some points up to 200 per month – lost their lives to yellow fever, malaria and other tropical diseases due to inadequate prevention and control (the role of the mosquito in the transmission of disease was unknown at that time). Landslides, continual flooding and the raging torrent of the Chagres River during the wet season also combined to make effective construction impossible.
The Chagres formed part of the canal through the centre of the Panama Isthmus, and during the rainy season it could rise up to thirty feet in height and become impossible to control, while modern technology such as steam shovels and other construction equipment were in their infancy at the time and proved to be fragile, unreliable, and difficult to use in such a harsh, remote and tropical environment. The French project eventually collapsed, wiping out the finances of over 800,000 investors, and resulted in huge court cases for corruption and mismanagement being brought against the company owners and its principle engineers, including de Lesseps and his son.
The United States stepped in in 1903, almost ten years later, signing a treaty with Colombia for an initial payment of ten million dollars and a lease of the Canal Zone in perpetuity for an ongoing annual fee. When the Colombians refused to ratify the treaty, Theodore Roosevelt’s government actively supported separatists in the region and helped to create an independent Panamanian state, with whom a similar treaty was signed shortly afterward. The new Republic of Panama immediately became a US protectorate and stayed that way until 1939. The new American construction project abandoned the idea of a sea level canal, instead relying on a system of locks at each end to raise shipping traffic the required 85 feet above sea level to transit the Gatun Lake, created by placing a dam across the Chagres River and what at the time was largest man-made lake in the world.
From the Pacific side, a ship entered the Miraflores and Pedro Miguel Locks, then transited the Gaillard Cut - a deep, eight-mile excavation straight through the Continental Divide that linked into the Chagres River – before moving on to the Gatun Lake. Transit time was generally eight to ten hours, although priority shipping and other concerns might occasionally create delays. Upon opening in 1914, the canal saw a thousand ships pass through in its first year, a figure which continued to grow steadily since. The estimated cost of construction for the United States was $375 million, something in the region of $8.6 trillion in adjusted, 21st Century Realtime dollars.
Since 1914, the canal had naturally become vital to the interests of the United States, both commercially and strategically, this being particularly so since the mid-1930s as Japanese expansion in Asia and growing American influence in the Philippines and the Pacific required greater and greater supply through both commercial and military shipping.
After waiting several hours out in Panama Bay for their turn, it had taken the Liberty Glo just three hours to navigate the twelve-mile distance between the canal’s Miraflores Locks and the northern end of the Gaillard Cut, the man-made channel opening out into the Chagres River as it flowed eastward toward the great Gatun Lake. They’d steamed steadily past the settlement of Gamboa on the river’s southern bank in the early hours after midnight, and had then been directed to hold at the Mamei Turn, one of the scheduled waypoints on the route through the canal.
Warning had come through of a priority customer in transit coming from the opposite direction, necessitating the stopping of all southbound shipping to allow the convoy clear passage. Liberty Glo had pulled into the bank to anchor, having been informed by the port authority that it would be some hours before they were again clear to proceed. The captain had promptly released all non-essential crew to get some sleep, leaving just a few on duty to keep watch. The canal pilot, who’d come aboard to navigate the vessel throughout the transit, had been accorded the same courtesy, provided a blanket and a fold-up cot on the bridge.
Sakamoto, Abukara and Isaki were three of those few still awake in those early hours before dawn. Each man was already rising from their cots as Sakamoto looked in on them with just a small, handheld torch for illumination, its red-tinted lens providing a dim light that could barely be seen at a distance.
“You have your uniforms?” He confirmed, himself wearing just a T-shirt and boxers and consciously ignoring the cold.
“Sir…!” Each man chorused softly, snapping to attention despite their own similar state of undress.
“You will wear full dress…” he directed solemnly, his tone deadly serious. “Our honour is at stake: we will strike this blow for The Emperor dressed as officers of Nihon. Be ready in twenty minutes.
He left without waiting for a response, returning to his own cabin and closing the hatch securely before approaching his large steamer trunk, currently sitting atop the foot of his bed. Lifting the lid, he gathered the clothing and other personal items inside in both arms and unceremoniously tossed them into a far corner of the deck. Removing the false bottom, he proceeded to then take out a large, flat-packed package wrapped in brown paper.
He tore the paper open to reveal his dress uniform, perfectly pressed and ready to wear. Officers of the Imperial Japanese army were not issued standard uniforms and were instead expected to purchase their own. The end result was usually a distinct improvement in quality and also often a wide variation of minute details to cut and styling of each man’s clothing. Sakamoto’s was of relatively conservative style, but was perfectly tailored, and he felt himself filled with pride as he stood in front of the mirror over the basin on the far wall of the cabin, shrugging the jacket over his shoulders.
Next he took his traditional Shin guntō sword from the trunk, the brown and blue tassels hanging from the hilt denoting it belonged to a company officer. Strapping it to his belt, he then returned to the trunk and drew out the cloth-wrapped MP2SD3 that lay within, bringing with it a web belt carrying two small, metal water bottles and a pair of ammunition pouches, each large enough to fit ten spare magazines for the submachine gun.
With final reverence, he took the last part of his equipment from the trunk, holding it up in both hands to study it with respect and reverence. A simple red or white band of cloth, the hachimaki was a symbol of courage or perseverance. Adorned by inspirational slogans, they were often worn by students, women giving birth or even expert tradesmen showing pride in their work. The hachimaki Sakamoto now raised to his forehead was a simple one of plain white, marked with the hinomaru ‘red circle of the rising sun’ at the centre and on either side, two kanji symbols:
神 風
Kamikaze: Divine Wind. Like the typhoons that swept the Mongols back into the sea, Sakamoto and his team would be the unstoppable force that heralded the end of Western Imperialism in the Pacific and South-East Asia: a divine wind that would strike fear into the heart of the gaijin.
As he tied off the band behind his head, Sakamoto Takasugi actually felt like a true Japanese officer again for first time in a long while. He’d hated the entire concept of hiding behind intrigue and civilian clothes like some kind of craven coward. No more. This was battle. This was honour. This was striking at the heart of a powerful enemy and bringing him low. There was no hesitation now that the time had come for action rather than words. Sakamoto was Kempetai… Sakamoto was a warrior… Sakamoto was bushidō, and would go to his fate with courage of the samurai; at peace in the knowledge he was upholding the will of The Emperor.
He reached down and picked up his omamori from t
he bed, holding it to his forehead for a moment and saying a silent prayer before slipping it carefully into the pocket of his uniform trousers. He was ready, and there was just one more thing to do before battle commenced…
Miguel Ortega was woken roughly from his deep sleep by hands shaking him forcefully by the shoulders. As he tried to sit up, he realised that he was actually being restrained, and fear found him for the first time. He tried to struggle and cry out, finding a firm hand clamped over his mouth, and only as he then opened his eyes did he realise what was happening… that his worst fears had been indeed realised.
Sakamoto was standing over him, submachine gun slung across his chest, as Isaki and Abukara held him down and fastened a gag of rough-hewn cloth between his teeth. That all three were dressed in some kind of military uniform he didn’t recognise was frightening indeed, and the young business graduate didn’t need a diploma to guess which nation’s dress they were wearing: the insignia on their hachimaki was evidence enough of that. The greatest terror of it all in that moment was the certainty that he was about to die… that he would die thousands of miles away from his wife and his family, probably without them ever knowing what had happened to him.
“Stay silent and obey our orders, and you will not be harmed,” Sakamoto hissed softly, noting the terror in the man’s eyes and correctly deducing the reason. “Do you understand?”
It was everything Ortega could manage to simply nod his head in that moment as the man he knew of as Ka’aihue raised his unsheathed army sword and laid the flat of the blade against the Mexican’s chest.
“Disobey or try to run, and you will die… do you understand…?”
Another shaky, faltering nod from Ortega.
“You will understand soon enough,” Sakamoto continued, a little less brutal now that he had seen his message had been received loud and clear. “Take him…” he added, turning to the others. “There’s a lifeboat outside…”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 54
