Commander Judge had racked up a lot of practice being roared at by the late captain of the USS Hilary Clinton. Guy Chandler had spoken in a dull roar even during normal conversations. When something really ticked him off, you could hear him over the din of an F-22 spooling up on the flight deck. Still, being roared at by Douglas MacArthur was a unique and even a worthwhile experience—if you could stand back and appreciate the historical incongruity of getting hammered down by the volcanic temper of the supreme commander of the South West Pacific Area.

“I already have an operation planned to hit back at the Japanese,” MacArthur thundered. He stalked over to the large paper map hanging on the wall of his office in Brisbane.

“I’ve studied the electrical files and information you brought with you, Commander Judge. And even with your forces degraded by the incident at Midway, I still believe you have the power to smash the Japanese advance and drive them from their base at Rabaul. And your very own history books bear me out. We can dig those little yellow fiends out of there now, or kill thousands of marines getting them out of Guadalcanal in August.”

Prince Harry opened his mouth to speak, but MacArthur ignored him and plowed on.

“The Japs are stretched thin throughout the southwest theater,” he said, tapping the map with a wooden pointer. “If only I’d had the resources, I would have defeated Homma back in Bataan. However, I place my trust in God, who has by some miracle placed you here at my convenience and given me the power to drive these devils all the way back to the Home Islands.”

Judge winced imperceptibly at the attempted hijacking of the Multinational Force. But he spoke as soothingly as he could.

“General, as I said, we are more than willing to commit to any future operations. But you must understand that our forces are not—” He paused for just a heartbeat, wondering how to handle this massive but fragile ego. “—well, they’re not conventional forces as you would construe the term. They’re not equipped or trained to fight in the same way as the forces you command.”

“And just what do you mean by that?” demanded MacArthur, an explosive discharge that made them all flinch. “Am I to be undermined? Am I not the supreme commander in this theater? I would have thought that operational judgments were my prerogative. But it sounds like that prerogative is to be usurped. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are sitting there telling me I don’t know what I’m doing.”