Granted, he was also proposing to attack Hashirajima and give the Japs a taste of their own Pearl Harbor. But to King’s studied eye, the whole thing looked like fantasy. They were sending one lousy Australian submarine to hit the Combined Fleet in the Home Islands, while the rest of their force would be split up between an attack on a couple of POW camps. It made no sense at all.

Singapore was deep in the heart of the empire now. You didn’t just sail in and tie up at the yacht club before popping into Raffles for drinks. And this POW camp at Cabanatuan on Luzon—it was miles inland. They were talking about evacuating thousands of prisoners. King would dearly love to get those boys back, but this wasn’t the way. This was fucking madness.

He could barely control his urge to slap the data slate from Roosevelt’s hands. The president was engrossed in one of their goddamn movie presentations. A neat little cartoon pitch about how they planned to win the war. It was enough to make you wretch, after what they’d done at Midway.

“Are you going to let them go ahead with their plan, Mr. President?” asked King. The tone of his voice told Roosevelt that his navy chief didn’t think that was even remotely a good idea.

Roosevelt fell back in the chair and struggled to find a comfortable position.

“I take it, Admiral, that you would not.”

“No, sir. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be letting them out of my sight.”

Roosevelt peered out into the darkness of the White House lawn. Even with the lights down it was difficult to see past his reflection in the windowpanes.

“They’re talking about destroying Yamamoto’s fleet before it puts to sea again. Do you think they can do it?” he asked. “Your honest appraisal.”

“I have no idea, sir. We couldn’t, and I don’t know that I’d be happy letting these bastards off the leash to try. You know about the sort of personnel they’re carrying. That’s a hideous can of worms, right there.”

Roosevelt levered himself around to face King more directly, pushing his elbows into the armrest and lifting his crippled body a few inches. He grunted as he settled again.

“Admiral, that’s an argument for another day. My good lady wife is already in my ear, carrying on about integration, and I fear she won’t rest until I sign an executive order turning half of your navy over to her suffragette friends.”

Seeing the expression that contorted the admiral’s face, Roosevelt had his first good laugh in weeks.

“Relax, Admiral. I’m joking. Eleanor doesn’t get everything her way.”