Pearl Harbour - A novel of December 8th (10 page)

“You mean China.”

Cecil nodded.

“It’s a quagmire. The Nationalists, the warlords, the Communists all at each other’s throats, and the Japanese sitting in their puppet state up in Manchuria watching the show. Nature abhors a vacuum as they say, and to them, China is a political vacuum that they know they can straighten out.”

“You mean conquer and exploit.”

“I could bring you more than one of their naval officers, good men, many educated right here in England or the States, and they will sip tea with us and ask a blunt question. Would we want them in China or Stalin instead?”

Churchill grunted disdainfully at the mere mention of the Soviet leader.

“Bloody butcher,” he muttered.

Cecil leaned back in his chair, his cigar having gone out, and he looked over at Winston.

“Sir, you might be focused here, on Europe, on Germany, but believe me. I spent eight years teaching their lads at the academy. I respect and admire them, would go to sea with any of them. But there is a logic building that is vastly different from the way we think. They vividly feel their lack of oil. They know oil is the key to modem power. They are determined to find a way to secure a stable supply. In their minds the alternative is not defeat; it is suicide. They believe they will cease to fulfill their destiny if they cannot find a way out of this box. On the surface, to contemplate a naval war with us, and most likely the United States combined, perhaps even French and Dutch forces thrown in, well that would be suicide. On the surface it would look like that.

“But they have a different sense of their time, their place in history. Suicide perhaps, but they have faced greater odds and won, and I think under the skin of most of them, they are gamblers with fate. Perhaps it’s their religion. So what if you lose, but you do so with honor. The wheel of life turns, and you return, and the honor of your family and of your race is made richer by your sacrifice.”

“And your conclusions?” Winston asked.

“Sooner or later, we’ll have to fight them.”

Winston took a deep puff on his cigar, inhaled, and blew out. “What is your situation now, Stanford?”

“Well, sir, to be honest, at loose ends. The naval pension helps enough. My sister has offered to share her home out near Salisbury, a pleasant little place. Some friends have encouraged me to try my hand writing a book about my years in Japan, perhaps look at some of the smaller colleges for a professorship.”

Winston chuckled.

“Hard way to make a living. Some day I’ll tell you about dealing with publishers.”

He looked up at the ceiling.

“How would you feel about going back out there?”

“Sir?”

“The Orient.”

Stanford didn’t reply for a moment.

“Well, sir, I was kind of thinking of some time in England for a while.”

“To do what? Get rusty. Eccentric country gentleman, daily walks, wind up talking to yourself. Believe me, this waiting here drives me half mad at times.”

“And your proposal, sir?”

“Do what I did.”

“And that is?”

“Correspondent, my good man. Gets you into places others could never access. Just say you’re a reporter, and good heavens, doors can fly open.”

“I never dreamed of doing such a thing,” Stanford said quietly.

“You were going to write a book, weren’t you? Go back out and write about what is happening now instead. The Times might be out, but I think a call to the Manchester Guardian might do the trick. Pay won’t be so good, but then again, a few friends of mine can always see to things.”

Churchill smiled knowingly. “Remember, that little adventure of mine in the Boer War made my career, and a tidy sum from the book sales as well.”

“And the real game, sir?” Stanford asked.

Now his features were serious again.

“I’m curious about China, about our own affairs in Singapore, even our business interests still in Japan. You’ve made me aware of something, and I want to learn more, a lot more. And I trust you, Stanford. Rare thing these days, to trust a man.”

“In other words, I’d be working for you as a spy. Is that it, sir?”

Winston Churchill looked at Stanford and smiled. “My good man, you will be a correspondent now, you’ll have your full credentials and travel vouchers back to the East within the week,” and he paused, “but of course your special reports will come directly to me.”

Naval Staff College, Tokyo 9 December 1936

Lieutenant Commander Fuchida looked up with anticipation as Commander Genda Minoru came through the door into the huge conference room. There was a stilling of voices of those gathered around the great table, over twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide, a map of the Pacific spread out upon it.

He stepped up to Fuchida’s side, and there was a subtle nod of recognition. The two had become fast friends. Ten years before, Genda had been an instructor at the Yokosuka Air Station, Fuchida one of his students, both students and instructors practicing to perfection medium-level bombing but also beginning experiments with low-level torpedoes and this new doctrine the Americans and others were experimenting with, dive bombing. They had parted ways with different assignments but were now reunited at the War College and were both kicking up quite a stir over air doctrine. The results of the annual fleet exercises were highly dependent on the “referees,” since of course only simulated gunfire was used. These referees, all of them adherents to battleships, would judge that an attacking wave of torpedo planes had all been shot down long before coming into range, and the carriers then destroyed by, of all things, naval gunfire since the ships were linked to the carrier battle line, supposedly to launch spotter planes for the climactic conclusion of battleships squaring off.

Genda was relatively tall, nearly the same height as Fuchida, with sharp hawklike eyes and a brilliant intellect. Like Fuchida he had mastered the difficulties of the English language and at times the two would converse in it, especially when discussing the latest American film or their newest plane designs. Genda was the intellectual visionary, thinking in broad strategic and operational terms, while Fuchida was emerging as one of the finest pilots and aerial tacticians in the fleet, the one who attempted to put Genda’s theories to the practical test.

They were the perfect team and Fuchida was intently focused on his friend, knowing that he was facing a major challenge within the next few minutes. The room was silent. Those gathered around the table were not just students, such as Fuchida, but more than a few of the senior instructors at the staff college; several of them wore the stars of admirals as well.

Genda first bowed to the portrait of the Emperor, all following suit, and then bows of acknowledgment to their superiors.

“May I have your permission to begin?” Genda asked, and there were nods of agreement. Fuchida could feel the tension in the room, for Genda was about to speak what some would consider to be nothing short of heresy, an attack on “Kantai Kessen,” the strategic doctrine that had been the supposed masterpiece of Japanese strategic thinking in relationship to America since the start of the twentieth century.

“Let us open with the following assumption,” Genda said, the slightest edge of nervousness in his voice, “that for whatever reasons, be they current situations or those not yet visible, war has been declared between America and us.

“The doctrine we call Kantai Kessen was formulated in the wake of our great victory against the Russians at Tsushima, and the assumption was a fair one to make. Be it the Russians or the Americans, their fleet would have to travel great distances before finally entering our home waters.

“The logistical problems for our foes would therefore be immense. Coal-fired ships with reciprocating engines would need mountains of fuel, and the engines would be worn down after such a lengthy voyage, needing serious maintenance before going into battle. As they approached we would have the advantage, as well, of choosing the time and place of battle, our ships fully prepared, our men rested, the waters known.

“At the appropriate time and place, we could then engage them in their weakened state and destroy them en masse. Once that fleet is sunk, the opponent would seek peace.”

There were nods of agreement. It had been a plan honed and refined for over a generation.

“Kantai Kessen postulates the following: that upon the declaration of war, America will react with a forward movement in order to protect its interests in the Philippines and, to a lesser extent, China and the Orient in general. There are two variants but these are actually immaterial in a sense: one postulates that their main fleet is based out of ports on their West Coast, as it now is; the second is that it is based out of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.”

He picked up a long pointer and tapped the eastern edge of the map. “In either case, their fleet will sortie from Pearl, the only difference being a time factor of several weeks if they must first make a forward move from the West Coast and then stop at Pearl Harbor to refuel and refit before moving on.

“Our application of pressure upon the Philippines, in short an invasion, will force the Americans to react, at least that is what we assume.”

“And what we do know from their own Orange Plans,” one of the admirals interjected. “They believe we will attack, and their action plan is to bring full forces to bear and relieve the garrison in less than three months, in so doing, forcing battle with our fleet and destroying it.”

Fuchida was surprised that this revelation about detailed knowledge of Plan Orange was being openly spoken about even within the confines of this room in the Staff College. “Their own version of Kantai Kessen” Genda said quietly. Fuchida caught the irony of what Genda had just said; he was not sure if the others had. “The Americans will be forced to advance through the Central Pacific, securing bases as they advance for the final jump to the Philippines. The root of our plan is to concede the opening moves, to give back, to fall back with the main battle fleet staying within the safety of home waters. Engagements will be fought by light attack forces of destroyers and submarines. Our entire doctrine of submarine warfare is based around this, to go after the enemy’s main battle fleet, to ignore his logistical support.”

“Commander Genda, if you are going to raise that point again about submarines,” came an objection from the back of the room, “please spare us. In the time allotted in this great campaign, our submarines will only be able to fight with the torpedoes they have on board. They are too slow to race back to their bases for a quick resupply of arms. Their role is to get directly in front of the enemy fleet, engage, and communicate the enemy location. If all twenty torpedoes on board a submarine are fired and but one enemy cruiser sunk, or a battleship crippled, that is far more to the advantage of the moment, to the ultimate battle, than harassing tramp steamers far to the rear.” Genda nodded as if apologizing.

“That is not my point today,” he said, his voice almost humble.

“The Kantai Kessen plan,” came another voice, “is predicated upon our strengths and weaknesses. As the Americans advance through the Marshalls, their only real route of approach, our land-based aircraft will weaken them further, whittling down their strength so that by the time the main line of battle engagement occurs, the numbers will be even, our men and ships rested and ready, the enemy worn and depleted. It will be another Tsushima, and it will end the war in one blow.” Genda sighed and shook his head.

“Please hear my theories. You agreed to attend for that purpose.”

There were exchanged looks, one of the admirals nodding in agreement. “Go ahead.”

“I maintain that two factors have rendered the Kantai Kessen plan obsolete and thus require a complete rethinking of our strategy in the Pacific if war should ever occur.” He looked around the room.

‘‘When first conceptualized, the battleship was indeed the main strike force of any fleet. Its striking power is still the most deadly at close range, its mere existence, as the American theorist Mahan said, a projection of power in and of itself. But let me not open with what I suspect you think I will say of battleships versus other technologies. Rather, its range has changed. When the Russians steamed from the Baltic under our guns at Tsushima, their old coal-fired reciprocating engines were all but worn out. The ships of but thirty years past required constant and difficult maintenance, nearby bases, and, in truth, had a battle range of only a few thousand miles, with their captains always keeping a careful eye as to the nearest coaling stations.

“That was part of our original plan. Our ships would stay close to home waters; the Americans would exhaust and weaken theirs merely by crossing the thousands of miles of water to reach us. That is changed. The new turbine engines, powered by oil with tankers for resupply, render that first weakening point obsolete. Battleships are now capable of steaming at high speed for thousands of miles without need of major overhaul.”

He paused, looking around the room, and there were several nods of agreement, even from the known battleship admirals.

“Now to changing technologies. As the plane evolved in the 1920s, our plans incorporated it. Land-based aircraft would keep track of the approach of the enemy fleet and bomb it, thereby further weakening the approaching enemy. Some took heart from the American Mitchell’s experiment. When a squadron of land-based bombers sank the hulk of a German battleship, skeptics called it a stunt and even claimed that Mitchell had explosions rigged on board the ship.”

“A sham,” one of the admirals exclaimed.

“I fully agree,” Genda replied with a smile, and his comment caught many by surprise because they figured he was leading into the already known argument that aircraft would be the deciders of the next battle.

He nodded to Fuchida.

“Perhaps my friend, Lieutenant Commander Fuchida, can expand on this point.”

Fuchida cleared his throat nervously.

“For several years I have been involved in experiments in a wide variety of aircraft, from seaplanes to land-based twin-engine bombers. It is our firm conclusion that land-based bombers, attacking horizontally at the standard accepted altitude of two thousand meters or more, which is required for the dropped bomb to accelerate to penetration speed, will be all but useless against ships capable of maneuver. An adroit ship’s captain can easily outmaneuver individual planes and even small groups from the time the bomb is released until its impact. Even if, by remote chance, a target is struck, structural damage will be minimal and the cost in aircraft lost prohibitive.”