Part 1~ Chrysanthemum
Tokyo, Japan September 1941
Chrysanthemums weren't daisies with their white and yellow petals blowing lazily in the breeze as some poor woman plucked them from their stems, her thoughts on her estranged lover. However it didn't take much imagination to replace the white and yellow with orange and red. The thin long petals replaced by thick bushy flowers, held together so tightly it seemed impossible for them to blow away as they did in the breeze.
Dark honey-brown eyes tracked their movement with practiced precision, flickering downward as a few lightly struck the nose beneath them. A 3 fingered hand swiped at the offending petals, a weary sigh escaping his owner as they escaped his grasp.
The owner, a man of medium height, was dressed in a traditional white naval uniform. Bars on his shoulders and the gold on his sleeves sang admiral. Commander of the Imperial Japanese Navy, it was a lofty title and one that Isoroku Yammamoto held with honor. That he could serve his nation and his emperor so highly.
But he felt no pride in it now. The bars of gold weighed him down more than ever today. He had a difficult choice when there was none to make. It was not a choice that depended on swift action of troop movements, not some decisive battle. The average person might look at him and speak of the various military decisions he had to make. The battles, the troop placements, the outcome that all rested on his shoulders. None would ever ask, nor would they ever know, the altogether different battle he was facing now. A battle of morals, of conscience.
Yammamoto had been summoned to Tokyo, arriving with his head held high and ready for whatever battle order High Command had to throw at him. Or so he thought. This one, while he couldn't say took him by surprise, he could say shocked him. It was an impossible thing to ask, a dangerous campaign that Yammamoto knew would end in disaster. It was the order to attack Pearl Harbor.
Before the war, Yammamoto had gone to America as an ambassador's aide. He'd learned a lot about the country. Its people, its culture, and its industrial capacity. While Yammamoto would never admit publically that he was scared, the thought of all three turned against his fleet was more than enough to get the blood roaring in his ears. Allowing himself several deep breaths to get his rush of adrenaline under control, the admiral turned his thoughts to the battle itself.
Three waves of planes, each targeting a different aspect of the US Pacific Fleet. The first would attack the ships including the prized carriers. The second would attack the airbases on the island. The third would take out any remaining targets and destroy the oil facilities on the base preventing the Americans from making any quick retaliation against Japan.
Tokyo was optimistic as any governing body should be when making ambitious plans such as this but Yammamoto had his reservations as any soldier would. Unlike the admirals in Tokyo with their chests full of medals, he had actually been to America. He'd studied them and knew only all too well what would happen should he attack. 6 months was an optimistic figure. 6 months to run free in the Pacific, capture America's west coast, coordinate with Germany and Italy to take the capital and demand surrender at the steps of the White House. It was the last that Yammamoto was fairly certain would be the only way Americans would surrender. Put more simply, it was impossible. No one could achieve that much in 6 months.
America wouldn't be quiet during that time either. They'd build up their forces, disrupting Japan's agenda whenever they could until, with their industrial might at their disposal, a full engagement would take place and destroy any hope of a victory of Japan.
Through all this there was one tiny spark of hope. A message sent to the embassy in Washington declaring war before Japan attacked. While it would lose the element of surprise, Yammamoto knew it was essential to keep American rage at bay. If Japan attack Pearl Harbor like they had the Russians, America would be out for blood. Their industrial might and desire for revenge fueling them until they not just defeated, but annihilated Japan. The best the island nation could hope for would be a negotiated settlement.
Yammamoto looked back down at the Chrysanthemums. He imagined each flower as one of his ships and each petal as the sailors who crewed them. The weaker petals were blown away, reducing the strength of the rest of the flower until it too was lost to the wind. All his men were battle-hardened veterans; they were not prone to weakness. But China and Russia were a far cry from the might of the US Pacific Fleet. So much depended on this attack going right, one might even say too much depended on it. It was vulnerable and Yammamoto did not like vulnerable. Outwardly he worked to maintain the appearance of the commander he was. But inwardly he was screaming, begging the emperor to reconsider. The thought alone almost made him stab himself in shame.
A single bee landed on a flower, crawling about as it collected yellow pollen on its legs. Within the month the flowers would be dead, wilting into the ground until they remerged next spring. As it was the brightly colored chrysanthemums were in decline, their colors becoming less vibrant as the late summer sun waned into fall. Yammamoto watched the bee collect its fill, and then take off unopposed into the sky.
Japan was that bee. She needed her pollen to collect and bring back to her hive. Her people needed land and resources to help feed its growing population. Japan had opened its doors to the west and while they had proven useful in modernizing the island nation, they had served their purpose. No more imports, no more cages. Japan's bee was ready to fly and would fight to get that flight it so desperately needed.
Yammamoto took one last look at the flowers, some still in full bloom, others wilting with age. Like them, he was past his prime. Past his prime but still able to take root. He was one of many bees that made up Japan's vast hive. And it was time for him to quit his brooding and do his duty as Commander of Japan's Imperial Fleet. It was time to fly across the ocean, to Pearl Harbor, to war.