“So you see, Admiral, already the specter of this supership begins to recede. They will be able to manage some repairs from the stocks of matériel they carry with them, but I suspect they will be severely restricted in what they can achieve. Moertopo, quickly, those fighter-bombers they carried, what did you call them?”

“Raptors.”

“Yes, thank you. Can you build a Raptor from scrap metal in the hold of a ship like the Clinton? No. I thought not. So the planes they lost in the flight deck explosion, they are gone forever.”

Yamamoto appreciated Brasch’s line of reasoning. It paralleled his own. However, he didn’t want to rush headlong into any decision. That sort of precipitate action would lead to annihilation—as history would confirm. So he gave Brasch no sign of encouragement, choosing instead to play devil’s advocate.

“But with the missiles these ships carry, they could still cripple us before we even knew we had been targeted.”

“Indeed they could,” said Brasch. “We must ascertain how many they may retain, in order to fashion a worst-case scenario.”

Hidaka had held his patience while the discussion circled around, but now he jumped at an opening.

“If these ships are such a mortal threat, we have no choice but to strike at them as we struck at the American carriers in Pearl Harbor.”

“And look how well that worked out,” smirked Brasch.

Moertopo thought Hidaka’s head might pop right off, so deeply did he color at the remark.

“You insult the man who devised that master stroke!” he spat.

Yamamoto lifted his shoulders and grimaced slightly. “Do not draw your blade on my account, Commander. I am more than capable of defending my honor. The major has a point. If that operation had been successful, we would not have troubled ourselves over a battle at Midway. We failed to achieve the killing blow at Hawaii. We should have pressed the issue on the day and driven the Americans from the islands entirely. Just as the führer, Major Brasch, should not have turned his back on the United Kingdom in order to pursue a political crusade in Russia. Right there, in the opening moments of this war, we both lost our way.”

Brasch simply nodded, crossed his arms, and said, “It was madness.”

Hidaka sneered, “You would not be so free with your opinions if Herr Steckel were present.”

Brasch favored the Japanese naval officer with his most frigid stare.

“You may have judged Steckel well,” he said softly, “but you do not know me at all.”

Moertopo, who sat between the men and had been trying to render himself invisible, tensed, expecting to be caught between two flailing madmen. The thought made him long for home and the joys of pirated satellite TV, fast food, and freedom of a sort.