Hidaka seemed more sanguine. He had the heart of a true samurai, and Kakuta hoped that whatever came of this, no dishonor would attach itself to his favored protégé.

Lieutenant Moertopo pressed a hand to one ear.

“The pilot reports that we are one hundred and sixty kilometers out, Admiral. We should be able to establish a secure tightbeam contact at this distance.”

The sound of Hidaka’s translation came through beautifully clear on the lightweight headset they had provided him. Another small piece of evidence in favor of this whole crazed scenario.

“And so I am to just speak into this little twig?” he asked, tapping the slim metal rod that reached around to the corner of his mouth.

Moertopo held up his hand until the copilot gave him the sign that they had broken into the Yamato’s frequency. He pointed a finger at Kakuta and nodded.

“Yamato. Yamato. This is Admiral Kakuta. Commander of the Second Carrier Striking Fleet. This is Admiral Kakuta of the Second Carrier Striking Fleet. We are flying inbound on a heading of two-four-three relative to your position. Please acknowledge this transmission.”

“This is Chief Signals Officer Wada,” came the startlingly clear reply. “Stand by.”

The men in the helicopter waited as a full minute dragged by. They were all tense, even though they still sat well outside the range of the fleet’s antiair defenses. Moertopo had explained that they might not have sufficient fuel for a round trip to the Yamato and back. The Panther bucked violently on turbulence, adding to the stress. Admiral Kakuta was about to repeat his message when a cold, angry voice filled his headset. It was like having the commander in chief growl into his face from just a few inches away.

“So, Kakuta,” rumbled Isoroku Yamamoto. “You have broken radio silence again.”

“Yes, Admiral . . .”

At this point, Kakuta’s nerve failed him. He groped for the right words to carry them through the next few minutes, and nothing came. The roar of the Panther’s engine filled the warm, close space. He was acutely aware of the vibration of the airframe and the eyes of the men around him, boring in, urging him to speak. But what could he say that would not mark him as a lunatic? The right form of words. That was all he needed. Their refusal to take shape in his mind was absolutely maddening. He might never . . .

“Admiral Yamamoto.”

It was Hidaka.

“Who is this?” Yamamoto demanded.

“Lieutenant Commander Jisaku Hidaka, of the Ryujo, sir. I am accompanying Admiral Kakuta on this mission. It was on my initiative that we undertook it.”

“No!” mouthed Kakuta as his subordinate bared his neck to the blade. The dishonor of allowing one’s inferior to accept blame for such a perilous scheme—he might never live it down.

“So,” snarled Yamamoto. “Another mutineer. Or are you just a maniac, Commander?”