“Until now, I would have said no.”

“And I would have agreed with you,” said Yamamoto, raising his hand to forestall any protest from Hidaka.

“Even now,” continued Brasch, “with everything in flux, the advantage lies with the Allies because of the manpower and vast productive potential of the English-speaking world. True, we have both benefited from a windfall, but they—like us—have received a finite gift. Missiles, once fired, can never be fired again. On the other hand, the knowledge of those missiles cannot now be withdrawn.”

“Which means what?” Hidaka demanded. “That we are to be destroyed more efficiently by American factory workers? You contradict yourself, Major Brasch. You just said that we couldn’t hope to produce these superweapons for many years. If we cannot, neither can they.”

“Indeed,” said Yamamoto, “but the issue may not have been decided. Moertopo, from your understanding, did this Kolhammer command a force capable of deciding a war against the combined resources of the entire Axis?”

Ali Moertopo felt the full weight of expectation fall on him. His first instinct was to dissemble, but a finely honed sense of self-preservation suggested that honesty was in fact called for. None of these men was a fool. With time to study the files on his vessel, they could find their own answers. But if Yamamoto came to value his opinion, he could trade on it.

Nevertheless, the gilded cage didn’t fool him. His life still hung in the balance.

“If his battle group had survived the journey here intact, they would sweep you from the oceans in a day,” he said. “Without satellite coverage, it might take a short while to fix the position of your fleets, but once found they would be sunk to the last ship without the loss of a single American life. However, as I understand it, his carrier has been crippled and grave damage was inflicted on the rest of the task force.”

Or I wouldn’t be here.

Yamamoto leaned back in his chair and regarded the Indonesian like a cat considering a feathered breakfast. “You base this on the signals you intercepted when Kolhammer arrived?”

“There was a lot of traffic.”

Yamamoto barely moved his head as he grunted noncommittally.

“How long before they are repaired?”

The query was directed at Moertopo, but Brasch smiled. “If I may,” he said. “Here we find the Allies entrapped by the same problems that face us. Am I right to assume, Lieutenant, that a ship as large and complex as the Clinton—is that her name?—will spend a good deal of her life in a very specialized docking facility, undergoing maintenance and refit?”

“I think about one year out of three would be right,” guessed Moertopo.

“But of course, those facilities did not come with you, did they?”

“No, of course not.”