Robert Conroy - 1942

“Another reason to kill them,” she spat.

“Hasn’t there been enough killing?” Jake said.

Lani stared at him. “Not quite.”

In a short while, the three trucks were rolling down the road toward” Hilo. A handful of civilian vehicles followed. Hawaiians in Japanese uniforms rode the trucks along with Jake and a couple of other American soldiers. The Americans were lightly trussed to the truck and, to the casual observer, appeared to be prisoners of the triumphant Japanese. Jake had traded his rifle for a submachine gun now hidden under the seat, and the other Americans were similarly armed. The Hawaiians carried Japanese rifles, and Jake wondered how many knew how to use them.

As they drove, Jake had several fears. First, that there would be roadblocks, which would either delay or stop them; second, that Japanese warships would be off Hilo; and, last, that they’d be too late.

Luck was with them. There were no roadblocks. However, they could hear loud explosions coming from the bay. As they approached Hilo, now slowly and cautiously, they saw a Japanese destroyer moving away as fast as it could. One of her turrets was burning, and she was listing to starboard. In the distance, they could make out American fighter planes also leaving.

They stopped, and Hawkins was helped into the bed of Jake’s truck. “Y’know,” he said, “our planes might have mistook us for real Japs and killed us.”

“Timing is real important,” Jake said solemnly. “So are copious quantities of luck.”

They approached the Japanese headquarters cautiously. It was late in the afternoon, and Jake hoped the fading light would hide their real identities for a few moments.

Very few of the city’s remaining civilian population were to be seen, and these quickly disappeared at the sight of what appeared to be a Japanese column rumbling down their clean, neat streets. Only a handful of soldiers were visible at Kashii’s headquarters, and they were busy watching the damaged destroyer. Clusters of civilians were gathered just outside the compound.

Finally, one soldier turned and gestured excitedly at the approaching trucks. Seeing what they thought was a victorious return, the soldiers began to wave and cheer until a noncom yelled at them. He snapped orders, and they started to fall into line.

“Some sergeants are real pricks,” Hawkins said as they drove closer. The “prisoners” gathered their weapons, careful to keep them out of sight. The trucks drove quickly to the headquarters and through the formation, causing the Japanese soldiers to scatter. The noncom looked at them, puzzled. They braked sharply, and the American soldiers and Hawaiians inside jumped down, firing rapidly and killing Japanese at close range. Only a couple of Japanese soldiers managed to fire their weapons, but they were quickly eliminated. Jake jumped down, and the impact sent waves of pain from his ribs, nearly causing him to black out.

“The jail,” he gasped. Only seconds had elapsed, and all the Japanese outside were dead or dying.

Jake led the surge into the jail. Another Japanese NCO stood behind a desk, a look of shock was on his face, and he was drawing his pistol. Jake cut him down with a burst from his Thompson. Two more soldiers emerged from the cell area and were gunned down by others who’d followed Jake.

There were no more Japanese, and silence was sudden. The Americans moved gingerly into the prison area. A handful of gaunt and bloody specters stared at them, disbelief on their faces. They were naked and chained to the bars, their bodies covered with burns and scabs.

Lani pushed her way through. She screamed when she saw her husband and brother. They had been horribly brutalized, but they were alive. Freed from their shackles, they were barely able to walk. Helping hands took them and the others out into the sunshine.

Jake looked around. In the distance, the damaged Japanese destroyer was disappearing over the horizon, black smoke pointing the way for more American planes to find and kill her.

Armed men pushed the civilians who’d been gathered around the Japanese HQ toward him. Lani had an ancient revolver in her hand and waved it. “They are collaborators. We are going to kill them.”

Jake limped up and calmly took the pistol from her hand. “No,” he said. “Enough. You told me the killing wasn’t over, but now it is.”

Lani glared at him, then softened. The fire went out of her eyes. “You’re right. It is enough.”

Jake continued. “First, we’re going to investigate, and then we’ll punish the truly guilty, and not just somebody who sold groceries to the Japs and would have been shot if they hadn’t.”

Lani nodded reluctantly and turned away. The suspected collaborators ran. It didn’t matter what they did. They had nowhere to go.

Jake shook his head. He was so sick and tired of the fighting and the killing. When Lani was truly calmed down, she could begin interrogating the so-called collaborators.

Hawkins hobbled over. “What now?” he asked.

Jake took a deep breath. Was it over? Was it all truly over? His ribs hurt, and he had a host of other bruises to contend with.

“Captain Hawk, we’re gonna wait up here for things to settle down. Then we get you and the other wounded taken care of by our new best friends down here in beautiful Hilo. After that, I’m going to radio Nimitz and tell him we’ve taken the town and I’ve declared myself the military governor of the island of Hawaii. Then we’ll see what we can do about driving out any other Japs running around in the countryside. Can’t be too many of them left, and they’re leaderless and probably scared shitless. I’ll bet I can get some planes to help root them out. Sound good?”

“Sounds great, Colonel. After that, can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. Only thing, he wondered just what and where home was, and what part of it included Alexa. Did she really want her life to include him?

With only one torpedo left, Lieutenant Commander Fargo had considered taking the Monkfish back to California. However, he decided to wait a couple of days in case a good target turned up. A good submarine never returned with unspent ammo.

But no target did show up, and he was about to head east when he picked up a distant shape through his periscope. He waited as it drew closer and identified it as a typical merchant ship, one of hundreds like her. But she was Japanese and heading away from Hawaii, toward Japan. She was fair game, and he had one torpedo left.

“The hell with it,” he said and ordered a firing plot. If the torpedo worked, they might sink her. If it didn’t, they’d head for home with nothing lost.

At just under a mile, he fired. At just the right time, the torpedo exploded against the hull of the transport. Not bad, Fargo thought. He chuckled as he realized he was getting blase. What fun was it to sink a transport in an open ocean after having braved the narrow channel of Pearl Harbor to sink a carrier?

Something strange was happening on the transport, though. She was belching people. What the hell? Fargo thought. She was definitely sinking, there were literally hundreds of people trying to get off her, and it quickly became apparent that there were nowhere near enough lifeboats or rafts. Shades of the Titanic, he thought, and fuck the Japs for not planning ahead.

But were these civilians or military personnel? When submarine warfare had started, a sub had been expected to give a ship a fair amount of time to disembark those aboard before torpedoing, or even to radio in the location of the sinking. Nobody did that anymore, of course. It was just too dangerous.

But he was curious. Still submerged, he eased the Monkfish to where he could see the dying transport better. Now most of her human cargo was in the water, and few would last more than a little while.