Pearl Harbour - A novel of December 8th Read Free Page A

the cab, wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell wafting out of it. It was a mess inside and he pulled out an extra dollar.
    “I’m sorry about this,” Watson said softly, and handed him the money.
    The cabbie nodded, taking the money.
    “Thank you, sir,” the petty officer announced, and the others chorused their profound and eternal gratitude.
    “When you’re clean and sober, come back and pay me. I’m Watson, Naval Intelligence.”
    The petty officer nodded, as if taking deep and profound note of this information.
    “Now go down and find your Liberty Boat and get the hell back on board your ships,” James snapped.
    “Come on, boys,” the chief petty officer slurred. One of the men started to collapse, his comrades held him up, and they started to pass through the gate.
    The petty officer turned and saluted again.
    “You are a gentleman, sir. I know I’m drunk, sir. Stinking drunk. But when I’m sober, I’d like to buy you a drink. Just look me up. O’Reilly, sir, Quentin O’Reilly, thirty years,” and he pointed to the hash marks on his sleeve.
    “I’m retiring next week; that’s why me and my boys got drunk. So, look me up.”
    “Fine, I’ll do that,” James said with a smile. He had been a midshipman at Annapolis when this man was already at sea.
    “Promise?”
    Watson nodded.
    “Ask for me on my ship, sir. Everyone knows me,” and he proudly pointed out across the channel.
    “There she is sir, the Arizona, finest battlewagon afloat.”
    They staggered down toward the dock where the weary crew of the overnight Liberty Boat waited to haul in the last of the drunks staggering back from Honolulu.
    James shook his head, his anxieties of the moment forgotten, glad actually for the diversion.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    It was the cabbie, standing now outside his vehicle, lighting a cigarette.
    “Sorry about the problem.”
    The cabbie chuckled softly and shook his head.
    “Dam stupid kids, most of them. Usually I can spot the ones who are about to get sick and drive past them. Now I got to clean that mess,” and he gestured to the backseat, “before calling it a night.”
    “Again, I’m sorry.”
    The cabbie actually smiled.
    “Deal with it all the time, sir. It won’t kill me. Besides, like I said, most of them are just kids acting stupid.”
    Nothing was said for a moment. James looked over at the man. He looked to be in his early thirties, Nisei Japanese.
    There had been so many warnings, reports, spies everywhere. General Stark had decided that a war warning meant to look out for sabotage, and thus he had ordered all planes at the air bases to be parked wing tip to wing tip so they could be more easily guarded.
    Was this a spy? James wondered.
    The cabbie noticed his gaze.
    “Looks like you’ve had a long night yourself, sir,” the cabbie said.
    James rubbed the stubble of his beard with his good hand and chuckled softly.
    “An all-nighter, you could say.”
    The cabbie dropped his cigarette on the pavement and stubbed it out.
    “Hope all these war rumors are just hot air,” the cabbie said softly.
    A bit surprised, James looked at him.
    “Imagine the fix it puts me in? I was born in Japan, but now I’m an American. My kids were born here; my wife was born here. Yeah, I heard the rumors; bet you did too. I hope it doesn’t come, that’s for sure.”
    The cabbie smiled.
    “Well, sir, got to clean this rig out and call it a night.”
    He hesitated and then extended his hand, and James took it warmly.
    “Luck to you.”
    The cabbie smiled sadly and got into the cab.
    “Good luck to all of us,” he sighed, “I think we’re going to need it soon.”
    The cabbie made an exaggerated gesture of exhaling due to the smell and, shifting gears, he drove off.
    James turned away, sighed, and looked down at his watch. Five fifty a.m. Damn all, Kimmel should be up by now. Surely he must be up and on his way in.
    The Liberty Boat with the drunks on board was slowly motoring over to the