Weapons of choice

"It's a computerized representation of our intelligence take," said Kolhammer. "Just think of it as an illustration of what our radars can pick up. It's easier to show you this way."

"Don't patronize me, Admiral. Just tell us what's happening."

The briefing room wasn't large for the number of men and women it contained. They had clustered around their respective leaders, and the dozen or so gathered behind Kolhammer tensed at Spruance's outburst. In turn, the men off the Enterprise stiffened up and jutted their jaws out that little bit farther. Most of their aggression flowed toward three officers of Asian appearance who stood near Kolhammer.

"They're running. I can't put it any more simply," said the Clinton's CO.

"That's all well and good," said Spruance, "but do you have any idea why the Japs are running? If it's true."

Kolhammer motioned to some seats. Spruance thought they looked very odd. They were misshapen and composed of some hard, unknown material. He indicated that he preferred to remain standing. Kolhammer shrugged.

"It's true," he said. "But I don't know why they've turned tail. They almost certainly picked up the radio broadcast I made to you last night, followed of course by the traffic between your own ships and pilots during the battle. Nagumo was, or is, incredibly conservative. The exposure of his plan and your trap may have been enough to cause him to abort the operation."

Neither Spruance nor his men looked at all convinced.

"Are we supposed to just accept that?"

"You'll have to accept that they're running," said Kolhammer, indicating the image behind his back. "Our radar confirms it."

"With all due respect," Spruance said, leaving no doubt he had very little respect for his new, unwanted allies, "you only know these bastards from your books. We know them firsthand. They don't turn and run like that without a very good reason. And I don't see one. You wouldn't have had any other ships with you off the East Indies, would you? Something else that might have spooked Nagumo."

Spruance could tell he'd hit a raw nerve with that question. Kolhammer seemed to be chewing over a very tough piece of gristle as he pondered his answer.

"Well, there has been another development," he conceded. "We may have located a missing ship from our task force. A destroyer, the Garrett. She appears to have emerged in the Southern Ocean. We had a very faint distress signal from her. We've heard nothing since. Weather down there is pretty wretched at this time of year. If the crew were unconscious she may have foundered."

Spruance felt a tingle run up his spine. It wasn't at all pleasant.

"And how many other ships have you misplaced, Admiral?" he muttered, barely able to contain his growing rage.

"First," said Kolhammer in a clipped tone indicating that he did not appreciate Spruance's insinuation, "we didn't misplace them. We're as much a victim of the accident that brought us here as you are. Second, I can't tell you with any certainty which ships are missing because I don't know which came through. But it's possible that others may have arrived. We're following up a ghost return from the southwest that might be a British destroyer, the Vanguard."

"And you've sat on this for how long?" asked Spruance, incredulity struggling with fury in his voice.

"We haven't suppressed it at all. These signal traces are less than fifteen minutes old. I was informed on my way here to meet you. We're still analyzing them."

Spruance exploded.

"Goddamn it! Have you got any of your precious analysts evaluating what sort of a mess we'll be?"

17

USS HILLARY CLINTON, 0612 HOURS, 3 JUNE 1942

Later, as the survivors of the combined task forces steamed back toward Hawaii, Kolhammer sat alone, in silence, staring at the flatscreen on his stateroom wall. It displayed an image of his home in Santa Monica, with his wife, Marie, in gardening gloves, attacking a dense wall of agapanthus. Lucy, their black Labrador, lay under a eucalyptus, sheltering from the sun.

As Kolhammer gazed at the scene his throat grew tight and two tears squeezed out like hard little bullets of grief, tracked down his freckled face.

"I'm sorry Marie," he whispered to her. "I promised to come home and now… I just don't know."

He stared a while longer, then reached for the control stick and thumbed through a series of flawlessly reproduced images. More garden shots. A picture of Marie and Lucy on the old couch in the sunroom. A few pictures of their son, Jed, killed off Taiwan. No grandchildren, sadly. But a few much-loved great-nephews and — nieces. And other family portraits, becoming stiffer and more formal as they moved back through the years, tracing the Kolhammer family journey from the German city of Magdeburg in 1934 to the New World, and then west across the continent. Following a trail laid down by generations of the damned.