what he’s gone and caused.”
“I don’t think the politicians in Washington can see much of anything,” Amanda said. She too had voted for FDR over the Republican Wendell Wilkie, as had most of America. “But I do think this shows just how helpless our situation is. Are we all agreed that we have to do something?” They were. “Good, now let’s go see Mack.”
* * *
The Japanese Marines were formally called “Special Naval Landing Forces,” and were proud of their training, their skills, and their ferocity in combat. They were well led, and always fought efficiently and bravely. And they never surrendered. Like their elite counterparts in the U.S. Marine Corps, they were the ones who would land on hostile beaches and fight their way to victory. A number of them had even been trained as paratroopers and they rightfully thought of themselves as a truly elite force.
There were those who thought this was a suicide mission, but Captain Seizo Arao dismissed such complaints. He had a hundred men on the tramp steamer. Her counterfeit markings said she was Spanish, a neutral, which meant that she was safe from undue notice as she approached the Pacific coast of Panama.
A clumsily applied paint job proclaimed her as the Santa Anna Maria. She was tawdry and harmless looking, which offended Arao’s sense of military professionalism, even though he recognized the necessity for such a slovenly disguise. Soon the time for skulking would be over and his men would commence attacking, bringing the war to one of America’s economic and military treasures, the Panama Canal.
In the ship’s hull, the hundred men of the Special Landing Force detachment waited eagerly and stoically, shrugging off their discomfort as a temporary and trivial inconvenience. They were honored to have had been chosen to attack the Panama Canal, which they all knew was a vital means of moving American ships from the Atlantic into the Pacific where they would confront the Japanese Navy.
Not only would the hundred men fight as soldiers, but they would also be mules, carrying large amounts of explosives. The normally stern and stoic Captain Arao had joined in the laughter when he heard his men joking that one accident with the dynamite and they’d all be back in Tokyo in time for dinner. It was good to have men like that.
They anchored a few miles north of the Pacific terminus of the canal and waited for darkness. They were not alone. A number of other ships were waiting for their turn to cross to the Atlantic. The Americans who ran the canal had stepped up their security, especially before ships could enter the canal, but they could not closely watch so many ships still at sea. Perhaps they’d ultimately get curious and check the hold of the Santa Anna Maria , but the men should be gone before the Americans even began to wonder about the Spanish-flagged tramp. With only a little luck, she would journey safely back to a Japanese base.
The Americans had a small army base at Fort Clayton, close to the Miraflores Lock, but it was on the other side of the canal. National Guard soldiers were supposed to be garrisoned there, but Japanese intelligence could not tell how many men were in the fort, or their state of preparedness. It probably wouldn’t matter. National Guard troops were known to be poorly trained and would be not present much of a problem. No matter, Arao thought, they would be through with the Miraflores Locks before the bumbling Americans could react.
Shortly after midnight, the Japanese Marines departed the freighter by lifeboat and landed on a sandy beach south of the canal. The Santa Anna Maria would wait for two weeks in case there were survivors from the attack on America’s military strength. Arao’s wish was for complete success and many survivors, but he would gladly settle for success and a glorious death.
The Panama Canal was only fifty miles long, a short distance for Arao’s men; especially since they were only going a few
“I don’t think the politicians in Washington can see much of anything,” Amanda said. She too had voted for FDR over the Republican Wendell Wilkie, as had most of America. “But I do think this shows just how helpless our situation is. Are we all agreed that we have to do something?” They were. “Good, now let’s go see Mack.”
* * *
The Japanese Marines were formally called “Special Naval Landing Forces,” and were proud of their training, their skills, and their ferocity in combat. They were well led, and always fought efficiently and bravely. And they never surrendered. Like their elite counterparts in the U.S. Marine Corps, they were the ones who would land on hostile beaches and fight their way to victory. A number of them had even been trained as paratroopers and they rightfully thought of themselves as a truly elite force.
There were those who thought this was a suicide mission, but Captain Seizo Arao dismissed such complaints. He had a hundred men on the tramp steamer. Her counterfeit markings said she was Spanish, a neutral, which meant that she was safe from undue notice as she approached the Pacific coast of Panama.
A clumsily applied paint job proclaimed her as the Santa Anna Maria. She was tawdry and harmless looking, which offended Arao’s sense of military professionalism, even though he recognized the necessity for such a slovenly disguise. Soon the time for skulking would be over and his men would commence attacking, bringing the war to one of America’s economic and military treasures, the Panama Canal.
In the ship’s hull, the hundred men of the Special Landing Force detachment waited eagerly and stoically, shrugging off their discomfort as a temporary and trivial inconvenience. They were honored to have had been chosen to attack the Panama Canal, which they all knew was a vital means of moving American ships from the Atlantic into the Pacific where they would confront the Japanese Navy.
Not only would the hundred men fight as soldiers, but they would also be mules, carrying large amounts of explosives. The normally stern and stoic Captain Arao had joined in the laughter when he heard his men joking that one accident with the dynamite and they’d all be back in Tokyo in time for dinner. It was good to have men like that.
They anchored a few miles north of the Pacific terminus of the canal and waited for darkness. They were not alone. A number of other ships were waiting for their turn to cross to the Atlantic. The Americans who ran the canal had stepped up their security, especially before ships could enter the canal, but they could not closely watch so many ships still at sea. Perhaps they’d ultimately get curious and check the hold of the Santa Anna Maria , but the men should be gone before the Americans even began to wonder about the Spanish-flagged tramp. With only a little luck, she would journey safely back to a Japanese base.
The Americans had a small army base at Fort Clayton, close to the Miraflores Lock, but it was on the other side of the canal. National Guard soldiers were supposed to be garrisoned there, but Japanese intelligence could not tell how many men were in the fort, or their state of preparedness. It probably wouldn’t matter. National Guard troops were known to be poorly trained and would be not present much of a problem. No matter, Arao thought, they would be through with the Miraflores Locks before the bumbling Americans could react.
Shortly after midnight, the Japanese Marines departed the freighter by lifeboat and landed on a sandy beach south of the canal. The Santa Anna Maria would wait for two weeks in case there were survivors from the attack on America’s military strength. Arao’s wish was for complete success and many survivors, but he would gladly settle for success and a glorious death.
The Panama Canal was only fifty miles long, a short distance for Arao’s men; especially since they were only going a few
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