Pearl Harbour - A novel of December 8th by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich Read Free Book Online Page A

signal.
    “If it is your Scottish whiskey, a pleasure,” Fuchida said, with a smile.
    Again an uncomfortable moment of silence as Cecil filled the glasses again and held his up.
    “To the Emperor,” Cecil said formally, and Fuchida, smiling, held his glass up and turned to the north, facing toward the Imperial Palace as he sipped his drink, then turned back.
    “And the honor of your visit?” Cecil asked. “I didn’t even know you were here.”
    “I came down from the Koyshu Naval Station to talk with the final-year cadets about choosing aviation,” Fuchida said. “When I heard Commander Watson was here, I decided to come a bit early to hear his talk. And, of course, to see you as well, my old friend. I was a student here in 1921, and any time I can come back to Etajima I love visiting. The world seemed so young and innocent back then.”
    “And what did you think of my talk?” Watson asked. Fuchida smiled and motioned to one of the chairs on the veranda, and the three sat down.
    “What I expected,” Fuchida said. “Of course you have to follow your orders on such things as I would.”
    “So, as we Americans would say, it did not scour with you.”
    “Scour?”
    “American slang,” James said, “it means that the dirt sticks to the plow rather than dig a good furrow.”
    “Scour,” Fuchida said with a smile. “I’ll try and remember that. No, it did not scour, as you say.”
    “Why?”
    Fuchida chuckled, and the manner of his soft laughter made James warm to him.
    “The treaty, on all sides, was by and about politicians. I think if they had left it to us naval people, a fair accommodation would have been made. Realize that we Japanese are proud. That treaty says we are not of the same class as you on the world stage.”
    James said nothing. For the truth was, they were not, though they wished to be. Beyond that, if their aspirations of imperialism were landward, Manchuria and anyone could guess that sooner or later they would turn to that trouble-wracked insane asylum of China. So why the need for a deep ocean navy equal to that of the West? And yet he could see the issue of national pride.
    “So, still flying?” Cecil asked, changing the subject.
    Fuchida nodded excitedly. “I was training some of the new pilots for Akagi. A beautiful ship, but at the moment I’m land- bound, helping to train new pilots on shore,” and he shrugged and sighed, “keep your nose down in the turn, go around, let’s do it again.”
    And then he chuckled, the other two joining in at the lieutenant’s obvious frustration with breaking in new trainees. No matter what the field, it could be frustrating in the extreme.
    “I heard your carrier pilot program is the toughest in the world,” James said quietly. “I’d be curious to compare some of your young men with those on our Saratoga or Lexington.”
    “An interesting challenge,” Fuchida replied eagerly. “I’d like to try my hand at your new Devastator monoplane.”
    “I can see what I can arrange,” James said, knowing it was a lie. The fact that Fuchida even mentioned the new torpedo bomber meant he was current with American naval development. No one would ever clear a Japanese pilot to “try his hand” on it.
    “I flew down here,” Fuchida replied with a grin. “I can give you a flight back up to Tokyo tomorrow if you wish, save you the train trip.”
    Absolutely startled, James could not reply for a moment.
    He hated to admit that he had never flown and frankly the prospect terrified him.
    “Capital idea!” Cecil exclaimed. “By God, my friend, how come you never offered a flight to me?”
    “Because you never asked!” Fuchida laughed.
    Though scared to death at the prospect, how could he keep face and refuse, James now realized.
    “You can stay to hear my talk. We can enjoy a lunch together, and I’ll have you back to your ship on time.”
    James could only nod in agreement, and Fuchida smiled with open delight. “A deal then, as you