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anything you know about Japan and the Japanese. If nothing else, it might help pass the time. If you bore me, I’ll have Torelli fire you out a torpedo tube. If what you know is useful, you’ll be giving some briefings to the staff when we get to California. If we get to California, that is.”
    The sub began to move and there was a disconcerting feeling when she slid bow down and submerged to periscope depth. The tug led her and the two others out of the harbor and through the narrow channel that led to the ocean. If the enemy was anywhere, they would be waiting for them to emerge from the harbor.
    They lay in their bunks with hearts racing. They wouldn’t have far to go before they reached relative safety, as the island of Oahu was considered by some to be a mountain that jutted up from the ocean depths; the dropoff to truly deep water would be sudden and soon.
    After a surprisingly short amount of time, Torelli gave orders and the sub dived to deeper waters. They had made it out of Pearl Harbor and were on their way to California. They hoped.
    A few miles back, Amanda and a handful of others stood by the empty space that once held the three subs and watched and stared. That they could see nothing at all was both frightening and reassuring. For Amanda, it was a terribly lonely feeling and she tried hard not to cry. She felt a sudden and intense kinship with the man she’d so recently met and barely knew. Now, however, she had her own decisions to make, but one thing was tremendously important. She had to get to California.
    * * *
    The train from hell had taken an eternity, or so it seemed to Second Lieutenant Steve Farris, U.S. Army. Hell, the starting point, had actually been Chicago and the train had been overfilled with GIs and their duffle bags and some equipment, minus weapons and helmets. They had been en route to the West Coast to reinforce the troops waiting and watching for a Japanese invasion. Instead of the couple of days a train trip should have taken, the journey from hell had lasted for two long weeks. Two weeks without proper food, not enough water to drink and wash with, and, when they went through the mountains, plenty of scenery, but no heat. The toilets had backed up almost immediately and toilet paper ran out as well.
    He’d even seen his first stabbing as two soldiers had gotten into an argument over something. One man wound up with a switchblade in his gut, while the other was placed under arrest and would be charged with attempted murder. Farris been shocked by both the sudden violence and the tremendous amounts of blood that had been spilled.
    The men in his brand-new platoon had looked to him for leadership and Farris couldn’t provide it. The men, with the exception of Platoon Sergeant Stecher, who treated him with the polite contempt of a veteran for a novice, were all straight out of basic training and scarcely knew how to put on their uniforms. Farris wasn’t much better. He was a ninety-day wonder recently graduated from Officer Candidate School and didn’t know much more than his men, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to do when men settled arguments with knives.
    Nor could he get much help from his company commander, Captain Lytle, as that man had spent most of the trip drunk. Lytle had commandeered the only compartment on the train and had filled it with crates he’d brought along. Stecher said that Lytle had owned a bar back in Pennsylvania and had brought most of his inventory.
    Finally, somehow, they had made it to San Diego and the platoon stood in the train station with several hundred other men in wrinkled and filthy uniforms. Sergeant Stecher stepped up to Farris and made no effort to salute. Farris ignored Stecher’s quiet insolence. “What now, Lieutenant?”
    “Food, water, and a shower, sergeant. At least that’s what I want, and then maybe some sleep.” He saw some Red Cross people giving out donuts and told Stecher to send the men over to get something to eat.