Days of Infamy

by Newt Gingrich

  And there was another element of the equation. In the morning his boys would, for the first time in their lives, actually fly into combat, while their opponents were already well seasoned, some undoubtedly from the war in China, but all of them hardened by two days of operations. Regardless of how many hundreds of hours of training a pilot, or any soldier, had, the shock of just one hour or even minutes of battle taught far, far more about survival, about killing versus being killed. In that the Japs most definitely had the edge. On the other hand, the Japanese pilots were also tired from their long trip across the Pacific and their three sorties against Pearl Harbor and then yesterday’s action against Enterprise. Maybe that exhaustion would cut some of their advantage in superior technology and training.

  Such logic, though, or worries about superior planes or pilots, must not make him hold back now. If he let his concern show, it would infect this entire task force. I must project confidence, especially to those few who will directly face the enemy tomorrow alone in their planes.

  The eastern horizon was beginning to glow brighter off the starboard quarter. He stood silent, hands in jacket pockets, wishing suddenly for a cigar or cigarette but knowing he could not light one out here. The moon started to break the horizon, a golden shimmer stretching across the gently rolling waves, the light illuminating the outline of a destroyer a mile off.

  He could hear the PA crackling to life, the call for extra lookouts to report, to ensure watertight security below decks, a bit of a surge as speed picked up from ten to fifteen knots to give them a little more maneuvering capability, to lessen their vulnerability to a torpedo attack. Aft, two plane engines turned over, warming up, then throttling back to idle, ready now for launch if the Japs had a night scout plane somewhere up there and it was spotted. The moon was clear of the horizon. His task force was up to fifteen knots, tracking north-northeast, and in two hours would shift to east-northeast.

  Neither he nor his rival knew that the two task forces would slip past each other in the night, barely a hundred miles separating them from each other.

  He yawned, turned his back, and started back down the deck, passing without comment a small knot of sailors who stood in a circle. Whispered conversations were going on, gallows humor, betting on whether they would be dead, swimming, or still on this deck tomorrow night. The agreed-upon odds were at the very least swimming, but “we’ll take a few of the bastards with us down to the bottom.”

  He was tempted to wander over, place his own bet, for morale purposes, of course, that they’d still be standing on this deck, counting off how many Jap carriers were sleeping with Davy Jones, but he moved on. It wasn’t his style.

  It was time to get some sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Honolulu

  December 9, 1941

  04:30 hrs local time

  JAMES AWOKE WITH a start, bedsheets soaked with sweat, disoriented, the nightmare still half real. Oklahoma was rolling over and he was inside, going over with her.

  He sat up, shaking, a shot of pain coursing up to his shoulder when he tried to rest the stump of his hand on the bed.

  “Damn!”

  He had to go to the bathroom and swung his feet off the bed and on to the floor. He was still disoriented, thinking he was home, not at his cousin’s house. He nearly walked into a wall, then tried to open a closet door.

  “James?”

  In the shadows he saw Margaret sit up; she had been slumbering, curled up on a chair.

  “You OK?” she asked.

  “Need the bathroom,” he announced.

  She switched on a light.

  “Turn that off,” he gasped, and she did as ordered. He looked out the open window. The city was supposed to be under blackout, but power had been restored to some quarters of the town, light streaming from more than one window. Not that it really mattered; to the west, the fires from Pearl and Hickam, the oil tank farms, still flickered and glowed, a target that could be marked twenty miles out to sea.

  “This is absurd,” she announced. “I don’t need you banging into walls,” and she switched the light back on, then went over and drew the curtains shut.

  She opened the bedroom door, and motioned him down the hallway, ready to go with him into the bathroom if need be.

  “I can do this myself,” he announced, a bit embarrassed, and went into the bathroom and relieved himself. With the light switch on he looked in the mirror.

  Damn, I look like hell, he realized: hadn’t shaved in days, eyes dark rimmed, face a bit gaunt, pale. His mouth felt gummy, disgusting. He opened the medicine cabinet, found a can of tooth powder, held it with his right hand, pried the lid off, then just held it up and shook some of the powder into his mouth and swished it around, spitting it out into the sink. He turned the water on; barely a trickle came out, brown, almost muddy looking, and he realized the tank for the toilet was just barely filling as well. Blown water mains; pressure was still down.

  He switched off the light and came back out into the hallway.

  “Open your mouth,” she ordered and popped a thermometer in, guiding him back to the bedroom, where the light was still on, pointing for him to sit on the bed.

  She checked the thermometer a couple of minutes later.

  “Just over a hundred,” she announced. “You’re still fighting the infection. Now get back in bed.”

  He shook his head.

  “Back to the base.”

  “James, don’t be absurd.”

  “I’m not. How many Japanese translators and code readers do they have down there?”

  “I don’t know, you never told me about your work, but I’d guess there are enough on duty. You’ve done your part, now for God’s sake, get back in that bed.”

  He shook his head.

  “I have to go back,” and he looked at her sharply. “Now help me get dressed.”

  She sat down by his side, gingerly took his arm, raised the bandage to her face and sniffed.

  “Smells a bit strange.”

  “It’s the sulfa. I’m feeling better; it isn’t throbbing like it was before.”

  He was half lying. It still hurt like hell, but the pain did feel a bit different now. With the fragment of God knew what pulled out by Dianne, the throbbing sensation was gone, though the infection was still there. The fragment, what was it? Part of Arizona when she blew? The thought made him sick, hating the memory of that moment. And I want to go back down there?

  Take a day or two in bed, his weaker and yet more sensible half whispered. And besides, given the tensions in the city, he wanted to stay here, look out for Margaret and her mom. Lord only knew what had transpired in the city during the night. He had heard more than one story about lynching of Negroes in the South and Midwest not all that far in the past, more than a few of his comrades in the Navy talking about witnessing such things, and an unpleasant few obviously not caring, or even joking about it. Were we capable of that here, now? Could there be some in this town who would trigger a “Crystal Night,” as it was called in Germany, and run riot against Japanese civilians?

  Without doubt there could be the same here if that darkness was allowed to fester, the same as an infection, and then spread. He looked at Margaret, her jet-black hair, the oriental cast to her eyes which had so bewitched him when first they met, and which still after twenty-one years could steal his breath away. Some would now call them the eyes of the enemy.

  If that is how this war turns, then God save us all. Perhaps I should stay here. If things turn ugly, I can at least protect them.

  And yet if I let that fear keep me here, what will I think later? I’m needed down at Pearl. I at least did something useful yesterday, even if only for a moment. If their boy was still alive, chances were he’d be in the Navy now. Kids his age had died by the thousands these last two days; more would die today. I’ve got to do something.

  “Help me get my jacket on and make up some kind of sling.”

  “Damn your stubbornness and sense of dut
y,” but there was a touch of a smile as she whispered to him.

  She went out to the hallway, fished through the linen closet, came back a moment later with a towel, folded it into a triangle, and making a sling, helped him slip his arm into it. He tried not to grimace or react to the pain.

  “To hell with the jacket,” she said. “It’s a filthy mess anyhow, they’ll know you’re an officer from your hat. Now let me make you some coffee.”

  Together they went down the small corridor into the living room. On the sofa his mother-in-law was sitting upright, and for a second he wasn’t sure who the other person was, head nestled in the old woman’s lap. It was Dianne, blanket half off her. In the moonlight he could see her tear-stained face. She was fast asleep. He had to admit she did look beautiful, and he could understand Margaret’s initial reaction, even before Dianne’s bitterness toward the Japanese was voiced. His mother-in-law smiled sadly and made a shushing motion with a finger raised to her lips.

  They went into the kitchen.

  “She cried for hours,” Margaret whispered, “wanted to leave, to walk home, insisting her boyfriend might still be alive and looking for her. Mom stuck with her, even when that girl really let loose with some pretty rotten things about us.”

  Margaret hesitated.

  “I think I would have thrown her out, but Mom took it. At last she just collapsed in tears and went to sleep. I think Mom has been up all night like that.”

  “Dianne is a good kid. Try not to take what she said too hard.”

  “You like her?” and he caught a slight edge of accusation and tried to step around it.

  “Collingwood thinks the world of her. She comes from good family. Her father was in Annapolis, an instructor when Collingwood was there. She passed the security check with flying colors.”

  He realized he was being a bit too enthusiastic about her and fell silent.

  “I bet Collingwood likes her,” Margaret replied softly, even as she measured out the coffee into the percolator, filled the pot with water, and put it on the stove. Fortunately it was electric; those using gas had been cut off.

  Registering a bit slow, he finally caught on to the implication in Margaret’s comment.

  “Come on. Old Collingwood is a decent man, loves his wife as much as I love you. Dianne’s a kid, not much older than Davy would have been.”

  “How come you never talked about her?”

  He drew closer, put his good arm around her waist and drew her closer.

  “Think about it. I never said a word about work, period. We were all under strictest orders; it was the most secret operation in the Navy. The fact that she got a security clearance to work in our office says something about her character. Her boyfriend was a pilot, and there’s nothing else to tell.”

  He thought of the blown-out wreckage of CinCPac headquarters. The thousands upon thousands of pieces of paper floating around, scattered across the lawns, top secret documents, coding books. Hell, we’re going to have to rebuild all of that.

  He could sense her relaxing a bit.

  “Sorry, just so you know how it is.”

  “Sure.”

  He suddenly realized that there were just the four of them in the house.

  “Your cousin Janice, is she OK?” he asked a bit nervously.

  “She called from the fire station right after you fell asleep. She’s staying there for now, helping with blood transfusions. God, James, she said it’s a madhouse. They’re so desperate they’re sterilizing milk bottles and using them to store blood. There’s so many wounded at the bases and in town. I’ve got type A; I think I should go down.”

  He violently shook his head. The last thing he wanted was his wife walking around alone out there.

  “Not on your life. Stay here and keep an eye on your mom.” He didn’t add Dianne’s name into that equation.

  “You’ve got your duty, I’ve got mine,” she replied sharply.

  “Wait until I get back, then I’ll drive you down. Is that OK?”

  She reluctantly nodded in agreement.

  The coffee began to percolate. She offered to make him some eggs and bacon and he refused, just settling for toast. He was afraid if he ate anything more, his stomach would rebel. In spite of his bravado, he was feeling a bit lightheaded and nauseated.

  She poured him a cup, leaving it black, no sugar or cream, as he preferred it, as nearly everyone in the Navy drank it. The toast filled his stomach a bit, settling it down.

  As they opened the front door he looked back at his mother-in-law. She smiled at him, and then looked down at Dianne, who was still asleep, not wishing to move and disturb her.

  “Keep an eye on her,” he whispered, “and try to get her to stay here till things settle down. She can’t go home, and she needs someone to look after her.”

  The old woman smiled, and he felt such a wave of love for her he tiptoed back over and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  “Be careful, my son,” she whispered in Japanese.

  “Of course, Mom,” he replied, in the same language.

  He went outside. Not yet dawn to the east, moon fairly high in the southern sky, to the west, the flickering glow of fires still raging.

  He slipped into Collingwood’s old DeSoto, realizing again it was going to be tough to drive with one hand, but he had made it up here, he’d make it back.

  Margaret closed the door of the car and leaned into the window, kissing his forehead.

  “You still have a fever. If it starts to get any worse, you come home immediately.”

  “Of course.”

  He looked into her eyes and hated to say it now. “You have the gun.”

  She nodded.

  “Things should be OK. But if something goes wrong …” He paused. “If an invasion starts and I can’t get back, don’t resist. Chances are you’ll be left alone.”

  Memories of what Cecil had told him about Nanking drifted up, what he had seen as well in China. She was American, so was her Mom, but if they were invaded, their race might protect them.

  But will their being American protect them from us? he wondered sadly. It will have to be enough, he thought. If not, then this is no longer a country worth fighting for. A horrifying thought as he looked back to the west, the fires from the oil tank farms still soaring into the night sky.

  “Just be careful. Stay inside. There are enough decent folks around here, nothing is going to happen.”

  She nodded, saying nothing.

  “I’ll be home at the end of the day, I promise.”

  She leaned in and kissed him.

  He forced a smile, shifted the car into reverse while bracing the steering wheel with his knees, and backed out. He shifted into first and started up the hill and then out on to Pali Highway, the glowing of the fires to the west almost as bright as a rising sun.

  The White House

  December 9, 1941

  09:30 hrs local time

  IT HAD BEEN a tough night for sleep. The President had been tempted to ask for a mild sedative, but decided against it. If some new crisis hit that needed a decision he had to be instantly alert.

  He dressed and had breakfast in his bedroom. One of his Secret Service agents rolled him into his office and left him alone. His secretary had placed his datebook on the table, opened to the day’s scheduled events. Several had been crossed out, replaced with more pressing matters: meetings with Marshall and Stark in an hour and a half for a briefing update. There was also a single typewritten sheet, a briefing paper, one or two sentences highlighting what had transpired during the night.

  No contact with Lexington.

  No contact with Enterprise.

  Pearl reports monitoring Japanese report claiming one Yorktown-class carrier (Enterprise) sunk, one damaged.

  Sighting of German submarine off of Newfoundland coast reported. Attacked by USN destroyer, aided by Canadian destroyer escort, no confirmation of results.

  Strike report from Pearl confirms battleship of Kongo c
lass, most likely Hiei (36,000 tons), sunk by submarine 5:00 p.m. Hawaiian time.

  Strike report from Pearl confirms one Japanese carrier of Soryu class (18,000 tons) seriously damaged. Second Japanese carrier, perhaps flagship, struck by one dive bomber, its pilot deliberately crashing his plane into the ship. Recommendation will be forthcoming for appropriate decoration for pilot.

  Report from Pearl confirms one pilot shot down five Japanese planes in one day. Recommendation for decoration forthcoming.

  Report from Pearl, three aircraft from Enterprise recovered there.

  No new information from Manila.

  No new information from Singapore.

  Hong Kong has surrendered to the Japanese.

  He continued to scan the report while sipping his coffee. Two Medals of Honor, he thought; the nation needs heroes as soon as possible, and those two fit the bill.

  There was a knock on the door and it cracked open. It was Eleanor, and he smiled, motioning for her to come in. She came around to the side of his desk and scanned the datebook as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “I see the luncheon with your mother and me has been canceled,” she said quietly.

  “Priorities of war now,” he said.

  She nodded, picking up the night report, looking it over.

  “Do you think the Japanese report is accurate? Why no word from our aircraft carriers?”

  “Security. If the Enterprise is still afloat, a single radio transmission could be monitored and tracked. The same with Lexington. Maybe later today we’ll know for certain.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It sounded like Enterprise took a terrible pounding yesterday.” He paused. “If Pearl is reporting only three planes from that ship landing there, it could indicate Enterprise is sunk and orphan planes are all that is left of her.”