Fiends of the Rising Sun

by David Bishop

  Another trio of Zeros was already closing on the barracks building, intent on finishing the job their colleagues had started. Maeda tried pulling the Browning's trigger with his left hand, but it was too weak and he had exhausted the ammunition supply firing at the last attack. He was a sitting duck on the roof, unable to get away and with nothing to take cover behind. The Zeros opened fire, fresh lines of ammunition peppering the roof, tracing a deathly path towards the wounded Maeda. The marine had one option left. "I'm sorry," he whispered before grabbing his comrade's dead body and pulling it over him as a shield. Walton's corpse protected Maeda's head and torso, but his legs remained out in the open and exposed. The marine screamed in pain as the passing pilots found their target with cruel accuracy. He was almost grateful when the darkness took him. Whatever happened next, Maeda didn't want to be conscious for it.

  Marquez was fighting for his life above Pearl Harbour. He had been separated from the lieutenant soon after they broke left to avoid a blizzard of anti-aircraft fire. Chuck took evasive action to avoid a head-on collision with a Japanese bomber, diving beneath the approaching Val. Marquez had continued on his course, not realising where the lieutenant had gone until it was too late. Four Zeros appeared from the clouds and any attempts to get back into formation had to be abandoned. Marquez was flying for survival, plain and simple. Two of the Zeros got in behind him and opened fire, their machine guns shattering the glass at the back of the SBD's canopy.

  Marquez heard a cry of pain behind him and felt something wet hit the back of his neck. "Mead, are you okay? Sid? Sid, can you hear me?" The pilot didn't dare look around, all his concentration bent on trying to shake off the pursuing Zeros. He twisted the controls, first to the left, then hard to the right, zigzagging the Dauntless through the bleak sky. "Sid, talk to me! Sid!"

  "I'm hit," the gunner replied.

  "How bad is it?"

  "Bad enough."

  "What about the radio? Can you call down to the ground, tell them to stop firing at us, tell them we're on their side?"

  "No good... radio's shot to hell."

  Marquez muttered a curse. "What about the gun, is that still working?"

  "Enough to deal with these bastards," Mead replied, coughing and spitting. "You keep us in the air, Skid, I'll do the rest."

  "Thanks. I'll get us down as soon as I-" Marquez's words died in his throat. Another Dauntless had appeared from a cloud of black smoke directly ahead, on a collision course with them. Marquez wrenched his controls left and hoped his counterpart in the oncoming SBD did the same. The two aircraft flashed past each other, coming within a few feet. Marquez glimpsed a crudely painted cartoon of Tojo on the side of the passing plane. It was Bravo's Dauntless, the damned fool had almost killed them with his antics.

  Marquez levelled out his wings and found himself directly behind an unfamiliar tail. It was one of the enemy aircraft, a Zero. The SBD pilot urged his plane forward, extracting every last ounce of speed from the bullet-riddled Dauntless. If I'm going to die on the first day of the war, Marquez thought, I want to take at least one of these damned Japs with me. He closed up to the Zero's tail and opened fire with his machine guns, the bullets tearing into the back of the enemy fighter. He kept his finger on the firing button, emptying his magazines into the Zero, ignoring the greasy black smoke pouring out of the rear of the enemy plane. Oil was leaking from the Zero, and it spattered against the front of Marquez's canopy, obscuring his forward view.

  He heard Mead coughing behind him, the sound dying away to a sick, empty gurgle until the gunner was making no sound at all. "Mead? Mead, are you okay? Mead, talk to me! Can you hear me back there?" Then there was another chilling noise from up ahead, the sound of an engine dying. All those rounds he had fired into the Zero were doing their job. The clouds of smoke from ahead of the SBD abruptly parted to reveal an empty sky. "We did it, Mead! We took out our first Zero!" Marquez was grinning from ear to ear until a shadow fell on the top of his canopy. The Zero was directly above him and coming straight down.

  The pilot must have pulled the nose up too fast and stalled it, Marquez realised. That sent the Zero into a loop and it was coming down on top of the Dauntless. In the time it took him to think all of that, his pilot's instincts had already taken over. He ripped the SBD's controls to one side, tilting the left wing up to meet the tumbling Zero. A moment later the two planes collided in mid-air, metal screaming in protest against metal. The SBD lost its left wing, sheared clean away by the Zero's impact. That sent the remains of the Dauntless into a spin, cart-wheeling towards whatever lay below it. Feeling as if he was trapped inside an out of control ride at a travelling carnival, Marquez reached up to open the canopy and found it was already missing, torn away by the collision. He undid his safety harness, closed his eyes and let gravity do the rest, tumbling from his aircraft as it tipped over and over in the sky. Marquez counted to ten and tore on the release mechanism for his parachute, hoping and praying that it would open.

  Extract from Unsolved Mysteries of Pearl Harbour [2006]:

  Conspiracy theorists have long propounded a variety of wild notions about the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbour. Perhaps the best known of these is that US President Franklin D Roosevelt had advance warning of the attack and chose not to alert those in Hawaii and other American bases in the Pacific that came under fire that day in December, 1941. [In Pearl Harbour the Japanese strike happened on Sunday, December 7th. On that day, the enemy also attacked US bases in the Philippines, but because these events happened on the other side of the International Date Line, they took place on Monday, December 8th.]

  In truth, there is little hard evidence to support the theory that Roosevelt let the attacks happen, believing they would galvanise the American people into joining the war that other nations had already been fighting for two years. It is all too easy to ascribe motivation to ignorance, incompetence or a simple lack of joined-up thinking. There were numerous warning signs of what the Japanese had planned, but the significance of these is only apparent with the benefit of hindsight. More recent attacks on American soil by foreign enemies have shown that all the warning signs in the world can go unheeded or unnoticed.

  There is a more obscure branch of Pearl Harbour conspiracy theory that remains largely unexplored, surrounding events at Hickam Field on that fateful day. Several eyewitness accounts exist that suggest an enemy aircraft landed on the airstrip during the Japanese attack. A member of the ground crew working there that Sunday morning even claims to have seen at least one person get into the plane and be flown away from Oahu. Sadly, the crewman died in mysterious circumstances not long after giving his statement, so it cannot be corroborated.

  Most of the buildings at Hickam Field suffered sustained attacks by enemy aircraft, destroying any evidence that might confirm or deny any records about this mysterious incident. Furthermore, all official documents relating to these events have remained sealed ever since, due to certain unspecified national security concerns. The Pentagon has refused all applications to open these files under the various freedom of information protocols instituted since the Second World War. Indeed, those in charge of records relating to Hickam Field refuse to confirm or deny such files exist. If there were no files, surely military authorities would be eager to say so and defuse any suspicion? By maintaining their charade of plausible deniability, all they do is heighten suspicion.

  There was one survivor from Hickam Field who was willing to talk about his experiences that day, although he requested anonymity in exchange for his testimony. Private X told our researchers that he was standing guard at the perimeter gates when a car driven by a Japanese national approached Hickam Field. Bear in mind, the surprise attack had already been raging for more than an hour by this point. Private X contacted the base commander and was told to admit the Japanese man, despite the fact that the visitor wore no military uniform and had no credentials. Unfortunately, the man known as Private X died before his account could be recorded, denying us anoth
er piece of the puzzle.

  Despite this loss, it is apparent that something strange was happening at Hickam Field that morning in December 1941. How was an enemy aircraft able to land on an American airstrip in the midst of a surprise attack and, apparently, pick up at least one passenger from the ground? Who was the mysterious Japanese stranger who entered the base, and why was he allowed free access? And why does the Pentagon still refuse to open the files on this incident, more than sixty-five years later?

  THREE

  Hitori was shoved into the commander's office at Hickam Field at the end of a sub-machine gun, his wrists bound together behind his back with tight ropes. A grim-faced colonel was sitting behind a desk, talking on a black telephone. His eyes widened at seeing a Japanese man in a signal corps uniform escorted in under guard. The colonel slammed the phone down. "Well, Cochrane? Who the hell is this?" he asked the blond soldier closest to Hitori.

  "He won't give his name, rank or serial number, but we found him hiding in the shadows near the landing strip, sir. Says he's attached to the Japanese consulate here on the island and claimed diplomatic immunity."

  "Did he now?" The colonel picked up a still smoking pipe from an ashtray on his desk and used a long match to relight it. "If he's got diplomatic immunity, why's he wearing a US signal corps uniform? Did he answer that?"

  "No, sir," Cochrane replied. "We only discovered the uniform when he took off his coat and hat outside your office, sir."

  "Why the hell did you bring him to me? The man's plainly a spy!"

  "Yes, sir. We thought you'd want to question him."

  "Did you? And since when did the army pay you to think, Cochrane?"

  "If you want to shout at anyone," Hitori interjected, "I suggest you shout at me. I'm the enemy, colonel, not the men of your unit."

  The colonel snapped to his feet, anger colouring his features crimson. "Don't you tell me what to do, Mister Tojo!"

  "My name is Zenji Hitori. I am an officer in the Imperial Japanese Army. Under the terms of the Geneva Convention, you are required-"

  "Don't you dare quote the Geneva Convention to me, you murdering bastard! You and your yellow friends lost any rights to the protection of that agreement when you launched a sneak attack on Pearl Harbour."

  "Nevertheless, you will treat me with respect, colonel," Hitori said.

  "I don't care if you bring Emperor Hirohito his damned newspaper every morning before breakfast, Hitori. You'll get no damned respect from me!"

  "In that case, I wish to make a trade," the vampyr announced.

  The colonel glared at him. "What kind of trade?"

  "I have information about the Japanese plans for invasion. I will share that information with you, in exchange for certain... considerations."

  "What considerations?"

  Hitori tilted his head towards Cochrane and the others. "Perhaps it would be better if we continued this conversation in private. Not all Japanese agents have slanted eyes and olive complexions, if you know what I mean."

  The colonel chewed on the end of his pipe, considering the implications of this. "Very well. Cochrane, you and the others stand guard outside."

  "But sir, at least one of us should remain in here to protect you from-"

  "I don't need your damned protection, soldier! I was fighting my own battles when you were still filling your diapers, Cochrane. Don't you think I can handle myself against an unarmed Japanese spy? I mean, you did search him for weapons before bringing him in here, didn't you?"

  "Yes, sir, but-"

  "But nothing! Get out and take the others with you. What happens in here could determine the course of the damned war, and I don't want any of you screwing that up for me. Have you got that?"

  "Yes, sir!" Cochrane replied. He led the other sentries out, still glaring at the prisoner with deep distrust. The colonel waited until they had gone before speaking, puffing on his pipe while studying Hitori's inscrutable features.

  "So, what are these considerations you want?"

  Hitori smiled. "A Japanese bomber will attempt to land on your strip at 09.00 hours. You will arrange for nearby anti-aircraft units to stand down or direct their fire elsewhere at that time, until the bomber has safely departed."

  The colonel snorted derisively. "What possible reason could I have for letting an enemy plane land safely on my airfield and leave unmolested?"

  "That aircraft is coming to extract my colleague and I. In exchange for permitting our escape, I will leave you a complete plan of the Japanese invasion of the Hawaiian Islands, other US military installations across the Pacific and the intended attacks upon Los Angeles and San Francisco."

  "You're bluffing," the colonel retorted, jabbing his pipe at Hitori.

  "Can you afford to take that risk?" the vampyr countered. "Would you wish history to remember you as the man who could have saved tens of thousands of American lives, all for allowing two Japanese spies to escape?"

  "But why would you betray your country's plans to me, to us?"

  "The emperor did not want this war. He was bullied into it by the likes of General Tojo and his cronies in the Black Dragons. If Japanese operations over the next few weeks fail, it would give the emperor an excuse to pull back from the war, to save face by using Tojo as a scapegoat for the failure."

  "You'd sacrifice thousands of your countrymen to stop a greater war?"

  Hitori smiled. "It is the honourable thing to do."

  The colonel studied his captive. "Honour means that much to you?"

  "More than life itself."

  "It's a good deal," the colonel conceded, "but I don't have the authority to make it. I'll have to consult with my superiors, see what they have to say. I'm guessing they'll want to talk with the joint chiefs in Washington, maybe even President Roosevelt. I'm sorry, Hitori, but you won't be getting on any plane at 09.00 hours, not from my field."

  "You are making a terrible mistake."

  "Maybe, but this is how we operate. Until you understand that-"

  You are the one who does not understand, Hitori hissed inside the colonel's mind. You have no choice in this matter. Do as I say, when I say.

  "I will do what you say, when you say," the colonel repeated, his face devoid of all thoughts or emotion. The telephone on his desk rang, breaking the spell that Hitori had cast over him. The colonel picked up the receiver. "Yes?" He listened for a few seconds. "What? You've got a Japanese civilian in a car at the gatehouse, demanding to be allowed on to the base, and you call me?"

  His name is Kimura. Tell your guards to escort him and his vehicle to this building, Hitori urged. You are personally taking charge of this matter.

  Lieutenant Richards knew he didn't have enough fuel left in his Dauntless to stay airborne much longer, but he was determined to keep fighting for as long as he could. The skies over Oahu had begun to clear as 09.00 hours approached, the Japanese Kates, Vals and Zeros turning away from their targets. But a second wave of enemy aircraft swept in to take their place, scattering their payloads like so much deadly, black confetti on the military installations spread around the island. From his vantage point in the SBD Richards could see how the Japanese had targeted both the vessels moored in Pearl Harbour and the surrounding airstrips, ensuring that airborne retaliation was all but impossible. That left nothing but anti-aircraft fire to resist the second wave. The element of surprise was long gone, but the Japanese were still able to attack their chosen targets with impunity.

  The lieutenant's gunner had been fatally wounded a few minutes after the Dauntless lost contact with Marquez. Richards hoped the young wingman had found somewhere safe to set down, though he was yet to see such a landing place himself. Those on the ground seemed intent on destroying everything that moved in the sky. The lieutenant had performed every recognition manoeuvre in the book, but still the anti-aircraft units below were doing their best to shoot the SBD to pieces. He suspected that friendly fire had claimed his radioman, effectively ending any hope of contact with the ground crews a
t Ford Island.

  "You still here?" a familiar voice drawled in the lieutenant's earphones.

  "Bravo, is that you? Where the hell did you go?" He looked around and saw his comrade's SBD pulling into formation as wingman.

  "Been to most places on the island, looking for somewhere to put her down. Ewa's shot to hell, same as Wheeler and Hickam. Tried Kaneohe and Bellows Field, but the Japs beat me to both of 'em."

  The lieutenant cursed the enemy's superior tactics. "They've been one step ahead of us all damned day! Somebody should've seen this coming!"

  "Maybe they did," Bravo sneered.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I never did like Roosevelt. How do we know he didn't let this happen?"

  "You think the president would let an enemy attack happen on US soil?"

  "Give him an excuse to get us into the war, wouldn't it?"

  The lieutenant couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I liked you better when you didn't say much of anything to anybody."

  "I get that a lot," Bravo conceded. "You got any suggestions what we should do? I'll be flying on fumes soon unless I land this thing."

  "It's time we took the fight to our yellow friends," the lieutenant decided. "They've had it easy, blowing seven kinds of hell out of Pearl and every strip on the island. Let's give the Japs a taste of their own medicine."

  "Now you're talking," Bravo replied. "I'll see you in hell, Richards." His SBD peeled away in search of a fight, leaving the other lieutenant alone in the sky once more. The lieutenant offered a silent prayer to the heavens before following the other pilot's example. He tipped one wing and went down into a slow spiral towards Pearl, where more than a dozen enemy fighters were tormenting the harbour.