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

at the rather foolish joke of his old friend, Cecil Stanford, Lieutenant Commander, Royal Navy, as the two old friends raced toward each other and, in rather uncharacteristic manner, at least for a British officer, embraced heartily, slapping each other on the back, exchanging greetings, “Damn good to see you, old chap,” “My God, man, is that gray in your hair?”
    James Watson stepped back slightly, hands still on the shoulders of his friend, looking into his eyes, delighted to be reunited with a comrade of old. The last time they had seen each other was right after the Armistice when their office was shutting down and James was returning back to the States. They had worked together in London during the war, a joint British/ American code-breaking team, working on German U-boat signals and having precious little luck at their tasks.
    And now sixteen years had passed.
    Cecil had not changed all that much. Gray around the temples, with blue eyes that still sparkled with delight. Nose a bit swollen and reddened, evidence of his predilection for good single malt scotch (if he could find it here), but still stiff- backed, trim, double-breasted civilian suit looking a bit out of place, made incongruous by the open-faced black robes and hood dangling from his back that denoted an Oxford education.
    James was feeling slightly uncomfortable this warm spring day with the high-button collar and dress whites of a lieutenant commander in the United States Navy, but formalities had to be observed, especially on this visit to what was the Japanese Naval Academy at Etajima, in Hiroshima Bay.
    His entry onto the academy grounds had been greeted with all the proper formalities, honor guard to greet him. He had to climb the bridge of Chiyoda--a dispatch ship from the great Russo-Japanese war, incongruously set on firm soil at the edge of the parade ground--receive formal salutes, then was led to the office of the admiral-president of the academy who, in halting English, welcomed him “aboard” and thanked him for his willingness to address the cadets on American naval doctrine post-Washington Treaty.
    The speech was a “cook up,” the usual platitudes about bonds of friendship, but he had been cautioned by his superiors to keep it brief. Japan was still deeply rankled about the 5- 5-3 provision that limited the number of her capital ships to 60 percent of those of either England or America. The speech, at least, was a task for which he felt ill suited. His ship, Oklahoma, was docked in Yokohama for a courtesy call, and at the reception that evening his captain had revealed that James spoke fairly good Japanese, mentioned the academy at Etajima a few minutes later, and the “hint” to their Japanese hosts could not be politely refused. Though it was a bit more than a “setup” for James. His captain had been under orders to pull off the arrangement; it might be worth the effort to have an American naval officer visit the academy and have a look around, perhaps hook up with an old English friend teaching there.
    The speech was for later today. At the moment James was focused on Cecil, and like old friends reunited they compared notes, exchanged names of old friends, some greeted with a sad shaking of heads about the mortality of all, and generally delighted in seeing a beloved friend once more after so many years. James did not pull out a photo of his wife. Another bond was that both had endured tragedy, Cecil losing his family in an automobile accident right after the war, James, his only son to leukemia but a year back.
    “So you’re teaching here now?” James asked, and with a touch of humor tapped the traditional mortarboard hat of an English don. How incongruous, he thought, even as he spoke. Regalia of an English professor, offset against the background of flowering cherry trees and the white-caped waters of Hiroshima Bay beyond.
    “Retired from His Majesty’s Service, you know,” Cecil said, “but this posting came up