The island crept into his view as an immense slab of lush green, bursting up out of the clear tropical waters. Its surface was a pristine wilderness of craggy peaks and watered valleys, a jungle haven as yet untouched by the war.

Shigeru Kimura knew all that would change, soon enough. He leaned back from the window of the descending Kawasaki Ki-56 transport plane and closed his eyes. He had spent the night on a six-hour flight from Okinawa to Guam, and was now nearing the end of the eight-and-a-half-hour direct trip to Guadalcanal, which had begun at the break of dawn. He had never been able to sleep on planes, and it was now well past midday.

To look at the island below, one could not be faulted for grouping it with the thousands of other idyllic locales scattered around this corner of the Pacific. Visually, it was no different, but its location made it strategically vital to the continuing war effort. Perched east of New Guinea, it would be used to bolster the defense of the major base at Rabaul in New Guinea, as well as allow Japanese aircraft to menace Allied supply and communication lines between the United States and Australia. Though none of that was why Kimura had been transferred here. No – he had been given a rather more specific task.

He opened his eyes, eyeing the approaching runway. He wished he had been able to sleep on the plane.

The landing went smoothly enough, all things considered. By the time the pilot pulled the plane over to the side of the landing strip and put the engines into idle, Kimura was already waiting near the door, eager to disembark. A few seconds later, a young soldier swung open the door in a harsh screech of metal, and Kimura was buffeted by an inflow of air, hot and damp and heavy. A bead of sweat immediately sprung from his forehead and slid down his brow. Wishing that he had taken off his coat, he stepped out of the plane and onto the small set of stairs that had been wheeled over to offer access to the ground, glancing at his surroundings while he did so.

The airfield was nothing more than a thin line of flattened dirt, carefully demarcated within the surrounding expanse of rougher dirt and vegetation. Kimura couldn’t fault the design philosophy; the moment that the airstrip was functional there would already have been countless other construction priorities for the workers to turn to.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he was greeted by a diminutive man in a carefully pressed uniform and perfectly round spectacles. His epaulettes, each a gold ribbon bearing three silver cherry blossoms, indicated that he was a Lieutenant. The man gave him a snappy, low bow, then straightened and gave a rigid salute. “Captain Kimura!” the man declared vigorously, “Welcome to Guadalcanal, sir!”

Kimura smiled congenially while he saluted back. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Apart from the bespectacled man standing before him, there were only a handful of enlisted soldiers and one other officer to greet his arrival. It was not much of a welcome, but he was pleased to avoid the associated formalities that would have come with a fancier one. He turned his attention back towards the man who had spoken to him. “What’s your name, soldier?”

The man flushed. “Sorry, sir! Lieutenant Oda, at your service, sir!” He thrust out a set of papers. “I am to be your adjutant here on the island, sir.”

While the strength of his welcome party suggested otherwise, it now seemed that his arrival had been expected after all. Kimura took the papers and cursorily flicked through them. It was all boilerplate military jargon; it was apparently necessary to have several pages of the stuff in order to detail the straightforward assignment. He handed the papers back to Oda. “I am honoured to have your assistance, Lieutenant.”

Oda bowed to him again. “The honour is mine, Captain.”

Kimura waved his hand at the other soldiers standing on the runway. “And who might these men be, Lieutenant?”

Oda flushed again. “Apologies, sir! These are all brave soldiers from the Guadalcanal Special Naval Landing Forces. Your new unit, sir. Seamen Shimizu, Saigo, and Nishi, and Lieutenant Adachi.”

“Of course.” Kimura nodded and gave the SNLF soldiers a general salute. As part of his new assignment, he had been given command of the battalion. They too were part of the Navy, in contrast with the Army forces that made up the rest of the military presence on the island.

Kimura nodded to Oda, then pulled his field cap from his pocket. The sun overhead was blinding, undiminished by any clouds. “So, Lieutenant,” he began, while finetuning his cap’s placement on his head, “Show me what the situation is here.”

Oda bowed, and then the men set off towards what Kimura assumed were the military headquarters.

After a walk of perhaps fifteen minutes, Oda led them through a shallow valley and into a sprawling area scattered with dozens of canvas tents. The camp was set up at the edge of a clear lake fed by a thin, high waterfall that fell down from the heights of a mountainous ridge that overshadowed the central northern coast of the island. Beyond the margins of the camp lay an ocean of swaying verdant trees, awash with the constant chattering of birds and insects.

As they continued walking, Kimura found himself sidestepping scores of soldiers that were darting about through the camp in all directions; most were hauling various cargo towards destinations unknown. The dirt pathways that meandered through the camp had all been churned into clumps by the volume of foot traffic.

Eventually, they reached a larger tent placed towards the centre of the camp, and a soldier threw back the canvas opening to allow Kimura and Oda inside.

Within, two well-dressed men were peering over a table, studying a map peppered with small tokens. Oda saluted, and then turned to introduce them to Kimura. “Sir – Lieutenant General Hyakutake, commander of the Seventeenth Army, and Major General Kawaguchi of the 35th Brigade.”

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Kimura saluted the two officers. They returned a brief, desultory salute, devoid of enthusiasm, and then returned their attention to the map.

“You must be Kimura,” Kawaguchi said flatly, without looking at him.

“Yes sir, Captain Shigeru Kimura.”

Kawaguchi acknowledged that formality with a glib wave of his hand. Kimura ignored the disrespect – these men were his superiors, after all.

“Welcome to Guadalcanal,” Kawaguchi said after a few moments, still staring down at the map. “You have your battalion?”

Kimura nodded.

“Then go about your business and let us continue planning,” Kawaguchi finished.

Kimura felt the veiled hostility almost as a verbal slap, but decided to persist for a little longer.

“Generals,” he began, in as cordial a tone as he could muster, “May I ask – what is the military situation on the island, currently?” It wasn’t very relevant to him personally, but he was curious.

For a few seconds he thought they might ignore him entirely, but then Kawaguchi spoke.

“At the moment we have just over twenty thousand men stationed here. Lieutenant General Maruyama will be arriving with the 2nd Infantry Division in early August, and Lieutenant General Sano will be bringing the 38th Infantry Division in October. That should easily double our forces.”

Kimura wasn’t so sure those reinforcements would arrive soon enough, but he said nothing.

“Is that all, Captain?” Kawaguchi asked.

It wasn’t, but Kimura had no great wish to remain in the tent with these men any longer. He nodded.

“Then, please,” Kawaguchi continued, motioning towards the door, “We have important matters to discuss.”

Kimura knew when he wasn’t wanted, and took his leave with another salute. During the whole exchange, Hyakutake had uttered not a word. He had only stared at Kimura with small, blank eyes when he first walked in, and then returned to the map.

“They were very rude. Was it a slight, I wonder? Or are they truly that busy?” Kimura asked as they walked away from the headquarters.

“They are busy, Captain,” Oda confirmed, “but it was still definitely a slight.” He glanced around furtively, as though expecting an Army eavesdropper to be somehow hiding next to them in the open air. “They still haven’t forgiven us for what happened in the Coral Sea.”

Kimura winced at the memory. The outcome of that battle, early last month, hadn’t exactly been a defeat, but it also hadn’t been the decisive victory the Navy needed.

“Coupled with the recent situation at Midway,” Oda continued, lowering his voice, “the Army now has plenty to complain about.” He glanced around again. “Not that they needed anything, really.”

Kimura was confused. “The recent situation at – Midway?” The planned operation against Midway was intended to be a massive surprise attack against the US base there, though Kimura wasn’t sure exactly when it was meant to be occurring.

“Yes, sir, Midway.” Oda lowered his voice even further. “The admirals are saying that it was a great victory, but… I would not be so sure. There are some in the Army that say the fleet never reached Midway. That it was ambushed severely before it ever got there.” His eyes darted around some more. “Some say.”

Kimura could read between the lines. While the Army had no lack of cause to denigrate the Navy, it also wasn’t in the habit of spreading falsities that put the Japanese war effort in a bad light. Especially falsities of this scale.

“These ‘some’ people,” Kimura said, his voice now also low, “What might they say would have happened at Midway, in order to cause such an outcome?”

“They would say that the US were already aware of our code, and that our communications were decrypted. That they knew we were coming.”

Kimura scrunched his face impulsively, ever so slightly, and looked down. “They knew…” he whispered, then louder: “Damn the Americans.”

Oda also looked down, saying nothing.

“What does this mean for us?” Kimura asked, his voice now heated with unease.

“I’m… not sure, sir. As a lot of our forces were pulled out of China precisely to meet the US, these defeats should by no means be decisive. But the Army is certainly now in no mood to accommodate any of the Navy’s wishes. In their minds, the hopes of the war now rest on them.”

Kimura shook his head. The Army had always been full of melodramatic, arrogant fools. Leave it to them to declare all was lost after two less-than-ideal outcomes.

“Pah, I don’t care about the Army,” he declared to Oda. “We’re Navy men, you and I, and we have Navy business to attend to. Leave the Army to their politics and gossip, it has no bearing on us.”

Oda looked more confident. “As you say, sir.”

A few minutes later they arrived at Kimura’s quarters. Oda waited at the entry while Kimura went in to inspect his new home.

The tent was sparse, but adequate. A bed (in the form of a simple foldout stretcher with a cotton pillow and roughspun blanket) had been pushed against one side of the space, while a small desk and fabric foldout stool had been placed opposite.

Kimura sat down on the stool, rubbed at his eyes, and yawned. Then he carefully took the letter from his pocket and unfolded it before placing it gently onto the desk. He read through the words again slowly, though he must have read them a dozen times before already.

Dearest Shigeru,

How are things in Okinawa, big brother? It has been all too quiet here. Today, our unit was told that we will be redeploying to Guadalcanal, to bolster the current garrison there. No doubt, there is some great battle approaching, and we will endeavour to face the Americans with courage, and with devotion to the Emperor and our homeland. Though, I must admit I am nervous at the thought of some real fighting. I hope I can do my duty when the battle begins.

I suppose that’s all the news for now, I will write again when I have time. Please give my love to mother, Kiyoko, and Takeshi.

Kiyoshi.

That was the last Kimura had heard from his younger brother. It had been over a month now since the letter had arrived.

He remembered quite well the day Kiyoshi had departed for the war, dressed smartly in his freshly pressed khaki uniform, with his youthful face beaming out from underneath his field cap. Kiyoshi had hugged him proudly, whispering “I love you, brother,” so as not to embarrass him in front of the other soldiers.

Why had he accepted the assignment to Guadalcanal? Of course, partly for its career implications, but more so that he could be with Kiyoshi.

“Oda,” he said, “I have a task for you.”

Oda returned from his task later that evening, and awoke Kimura from a troubled sleep.

“Your brother left on a scouting assignment on the 28th,” Oda told him, “but nobody has had any contact with the crew since early on the 31st.”

Kimura’s heart sunk. The 31st was Sunday… so there had been no contact for almost a week. Still, the Pacific was a big place. He needn’t jump to the worst.

Even so, a panicked, unreachable itch had begun gnawing at his insides…

He told himself that there was no point remaining here if he wasn’t going to be able to focus. It wouldn’t be fair to his men. And the US invasion was likely a month away or more; yes, there was still time enough for him and his men to locate the British facility once he had returned.

Would he be disciplined for what he was about to do? Most certainly, but he considered that outcome and found he didn’t much care.

“Oda, tell Adachi that he is in charge, until told otherwise,” he declared. “There is something I need to do.”