speed of advance to a whole six and a half knots at the moment. Without a
good storm over the bow, Big-E could not conduct flight operations at all.
Submarines, historically the greatest threat to carriers, might be out there.
Pearl Harbor said that they had no contacts at all in the vicinity ol the now
divided battle force, but that was an easy thing to say 1mm a shore base. The
sonar operators, urged by nervous officers to miss nothing, were instead
finding things that weren’t there: eddies in the water, echoes ol conversing
fish, whatever. The nervous state of the formation was manifested by the
way a frigate five miles out increased speed and turned sharply left, her
sonar undoubtedly pinging away now, probably at nothing more than the
excited imagination of a sonarman third-class who might or might not have
heard a whale fart. Maybe two farts, Captain Sanchez thought. One ol his
own Seahawks was hovering low over the surface, dipping her sonar dome
to do her own sniffing. One thousand three hundred miles back to Pearl
Harbor, Sanchez thought. Twelve knots. That came to four and a half days.
Every mile of it under the threat of submarine attack.
The other question was: what genius had thought that pulling back from
the Western Pacific had been a good idea? Was the United States a global
power or not? Projecting power around the world was important, wasn’t it?
Certainly it had been, Sanchez thought, remembering his classes at the War
College. Newport had been his last’ ‘tour” prior to undertaking the position
of Commander, Air Wing. The U.S. Navy had been the balance of power
over the entire world for two generations, able to intimidate merely by exist-
ing, merely by letting people see the pictures in their updated copies of
Jane’s Fighting Ships. You could never know where those ships were. You
could only count the empty berths in the great naval bases and wonder. Well,
there wouldn’t be much wondering now. The two biggest graving docks at
Pearl Harbor would be full for some time to come, and if the news of the
Marianas was correct, America lacked the mobile firepower to take them
back, even if Mike Dubro decided to act like Seventh Cavalry and race back
home.
“Hello, Chris, thank you for coming.”
The Ambassador would arrive at the White House in only a few minutes.
The timing was impossible, but whoever in Tokyo was making decisions
had not troubled himself with Nagumo’s convenience, the embassy official
knew. It was awkward for another reason as well. Ordinarily a city that took
little note of foreigners, Washington would soon change, and now for the
first time, Nagumo was gaijin.
“Seiji, what the hell happened out there?” Cook asked.
Both men belonged to the University Club, a plush establishment located
next door to the Russian Embassy and, boasting one of the best gyms in
town, a favored place for a good workout and a quick meal. A Japanese com-
mercial business kept a suite of rooms there, and though they would not be
able to use this rendezvous again, for the moment it did guarantee anonym-
ity.
“What have they told you, Chris?”
“That one of your navy ships had a little accident. Jesus, Seiji, aren’t
things bad enough without that sort of mistake? Weren’t the goddamned gas
tanks bad enough?” Nagumo took a second before responding. In a way it
was good news. The overall events were being kept somewhat secret, as he
had predicted and the Ambassador had hoped. He was nervous now, though
his demeanor didn’t show it.
“Chris, it was not an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there was a battle of sorts. I mean that my country feels itself to
be very threatened, and that we have taken certain defensive measures to
protect ourselves.”
Cook just didn’t get it. Though he was part of the State Department’s
Japan specialists, he’d not yet been called in for a full briefing and knew
only what he’d caught on his car radio, which was thin enough. It was
beyond Chris’s imagination, Nagumo saw, to consider that his country could
be attacked. After all, the Soviets were gone, weren’t they? It was gratifying
to Seiji Nagumo. Though appalled at the risks that his country was running
and ignorant of the reasons for them, he was a patriot. He loved his country
as much as any man. He was also part of its culture. He had orders and in-
structions. Within the confines of his own mind he could rage at them, but
he’d decided, simply, that he was a soldier of his country, and that was that.
And Cook was the real gaijin, not himself. He kept repeating it to himself.
“Chris, our countries are at war, after a fashion. You pushed us too far.
Forgive me, I am not pleased by this, you must understand that.”
“Wait a minute.” Chris Cook shook his head as his face twisted into a
very quizzical expression. “You mean war? Real war?”
Nagumo nodded slowly, and spoke in a reasonable, regretful tone. “We
have occupied the Mariana Islands. Fortunately this was accomplished with-
out loss of life. The brief encounter between our two navies may have been
more serious, but not greatly so. Both sides are now withdrawing away from
one another, which is a good thing.”
“You’ve killed our people?”
“Yes, I regret to say, some people may have lost their lives on both
sides.” Nagumo paused and looked down as though unable to meet his
friend’s eyes. He’d already seen there the emotions he’d expected. “Please,
don’t blame me for this, Chris,” he went on quietly in a voice clearly under
very tight control. “But these things have happened. I had no part in it. No-
body asked me for an opinion. You know what I would have said. You know
what I would have counseled.” Every word was true and Cook knew it.
“Christ, Seiji, what can we do?” The question was a manifestation of his
friendship and support, and as such, very predictable. Also predictably, it
gave Nagumo the opening he’d expected and needed.
“We have to find a way to keep things under control. I do not want my
country destroyed again. We have to stop this and stop it quickly.” Which
was his country’s objective and therefore his own. “There is no room in the
world for this . . . this abomination. There are cooler heads in my country.
Goto is a fool. There”-Nagumo threw up his hands-“I have said it. He is
a fool. Do we allow our countries to do permanent damage to one another
because of fools? What of your Congress, what of that Trent maniac with his
Trade Reform Act. Look what his reforms have brought us to!” He was re-
ally into it now. Able to veil his inner feelings, like most diplomats, he was
now discovering acting talents made all the more effective by the fact that he
really believed in what he was saying. He looked up with tears in his eyes.
“Chris, if people like us don’t get this thing under control-my God, then
what? The work of generations, gone. Your country and mine, both badly
hurt, people dead, progress thrown away, and for what? Because fools in my
country and yours could not work out difficulties on trade? Christopher, you
must help me stop this. You must!” Mercenary and traitor or not, Christo-
pher Cook was a diplomat, and his professional creed was to eliminate war.
He had to respond, and he did.
“But what can you really do?”
“Chris, you know that my position is really more senior than my post
would indicate,” Nagumo pointed out. “How else could I have done the
things for you to make our friendship what it is?”
Cook nodded. He’d suspected as much.
“I have friends and influence in Tokyo. I need time. I need negotiating
space. With those things I can soften our position, give Goto’s political op-
ponents something to work with. We have to put that man in the asylum he
belongs in-or shoot him yourself. That maniac might destroy my country,
Chris! For God’s sake, you must help me stop him.” The last statement was
an entreaty from the heart.
“What the hell can I do, Seiji? I’m just a DASS, remember? A little In-
dian, and there’s a bunch of chiefs.”
“You are one of the few people in your State Department who really
understand us. They will seek your counsel.” A little flattery. Cook nod-
ded.
“Probably. If they’re smart,” he added. “Scott Adler knows me. We
talk.”
“If you can tell me what your State Department wants, I can get that in-
formation to Tokyo. With luck I can have my people inside the Foreign Min-
istry propose it first. If we can accomplish that much, then your ideas will
appear to be our ideas, and we can more easily accommodate your wishes.”