Hawke's face stiffened in response to the question. There were many things the ancient admiral could do to them. Throw them in the brig. Throw them overboard. He glanced over at the marine guards, focusing on the sharp, glimmering bayonets on their Arisakas, and contemplated another unpleasant fate.

Or . . .

"If our country is being threatened by Colonel Kadafi, then Dom and I want to team up with you and stop him."

"You do." Admiral Fujita leaned back in his chair, studying Hawke with his intense dark eyes. "And why should I let you join us in the coming battle? You suddenly appear out of nowhere in a strange craft that should not be able to fly and land on my ship. What reason do I have to trust you?"

Santini visibly swallowed. Hawke drew a deep breath, matching hard stares with Fujita. "That's a fair question, Admiral. You don't have any reason to trust us. Then again, we have no reason to trust you."

"Insolent dog!" Katsube leapt from his seat, waving his skinny arms. "You dare impugn Admiral Fujita's honor? Behead him! Behead him!"

Fujita raised a hand at Katsube. The old man immediately became silent, sat back down, and resumed keeping the minutes of the briefing.

"You, also, make a fair point, Stringfellow Hawke. I also commend your dedication to defending your country against these cowardly animals. So what can your Airwolf offer us in battle? What weapons does it carry?"

The corners of Hawke's mouth twitched. He didn't feel comfortable telling a bunch of people he just met, people he still debated whether or not to trust, about his helicopter's capabilities.

But given the situation . . .

"Airwolf has a triple-barrel launcher capable of firing various ordnance, including Sidewinder air-to-air missiles."

"Can your missiles work on this Earth?" Fujita asked.

"I don't think so. Whatever is affecting electronic systems in Southern California is also affecting our the guidance systems of our missiles."

"Then your aircraft is useless!"

Nervous ripples went through Hawke's stomach. He drew a breath and continued. "We also carry two thirty-millimeter chain guns. They don't require any sort of electronic guidance. Just point and shoot, the old fashion way. And those guns are more powerful than anything your planes carry."

He noticed Matsuhara scowl at him. Hawke wondered if he may have stepped over the line with that remark. But he needed to get into this fight, to protect his country. He had to convince Admiral Fujita Airwolf could be valuable against the Arab battle fleet. Otherwise, he and Santini could wind up in Yonaga's brig, or worse.

Fujita just stared at him in silence. Hawke counted the seconds. Five. Ten. Fifteen.

"We're also very maneuverable," he added. "Just as maneuverable as any jet fighter. And fast. We can exceed Mach One with our turbo jets."

"What!" King stammered in disbelief.

"Mach One for a helicopter?" Bernstein's face scrunched in a skeptical expression. "That can't be possible."

"Is it any more impossible than a World War Two destroyer traveling to a parallel Earth?" Hawke shot back.

Bernstein grunted. "Touché, Mister Hawke."

Hawke nodded and turned back to Fujita. "There you have it, Admiral. We will be valuable to you in a fight. Besides, it's our country. You can't expect us to just sit here and do nothing while some lunatics are attacking it."

Fujita's wrinkled face lit up. "Spoken like a true samurai."

Shouts of "Banzai!" reverberated through the room.

"Very well." Fujita nodded slightly. "You shall fight beside us."

"Thank you, Admiral." Hawke added a slight bow.

"Yeah, thanks," said Santini, who slouched in visible relief.

"But . . ."

Hawke tensed when the Admiral's finger came up. Naturally, there has to be a but.

"While I will allow you to fight alongside the Yonaga's crew, you still have done nothing to fully earn my trust. I cannot, will not, jeopardize this ship or its mission simply on your word. Whenever you move about Yonaga, you two will be escorted by armed seamen guards."

Hawke said nothing. What could he say? Yonaga was Admiral Fujita's ship. He also wasn't offended. Any halfway competent commander wouldn't let two strangers have free reign of their ship.

"And when you fly into battle, you shall do so with an escort. Lieutenant Ross."

Both he and Santini turned to the young American naval officer. Ross sat with a stoic look on his face, nodding to Fujita.

"Lieutenant," the Admiral continued. "You shall observe these two at all times in their helicopter. If you see them do anything to betray Yonaga, kill them."

"What?" Santini blurted.

"Yes, Admiral." Ross nodded.

Hawke turned to him. "Do you know how to fly a helicopter, Lieutenant?"

"No I do not."

"Then that's going to be a problem, because if you shoot me and Dom while we're up there, you're going to crash into the sea and die."

"Lieutenant Ross is prepared to meet his end like a true samurai if need be," Fujita stated.

"Banzai!" Ross yelled.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. He looked at Ross' eyes and noted the resolve. There was no question if Brent Ross had to die to carry out his orders, he would do it without hesitation.

I think that guy's been on this ship way too long.

"So we're supposed to go up there and fight with you guys with a gun to our heads?" Santini snorted and slapped his sides. "Boy, some allies you are."

"Take it easy, Dom." Hawke slapped his shoulder. He'd willingly pay this price to get into the fight.

Turning to Fujita, he said, "So long as we're both on the same page when it comes to stopping that Arab fleet, you can count on us, Admiral."

"Let us hope so." Fujita slid closer to the table. "Now, it is time you learn our strategy when it comes to the Al Bayda battle group. Commander Matsuhara."

The air group commander sprang to his feet, bowed to the Admiral and stepped toward a wall-mounted map of the Pacific Ocean. Hawke and Santini moved closer as the pilot spoke.

"From the Arab fleet's last known position, course and speed, we estimate that right now they are some two hundred fifty miles to the southwest of Los Angeles, and about one hundred eighty miles northwest of the island of Guadalupe. Given the limited range of their Me-109s, I believe the Al Bayda will wait until it is less than two hundred miles from Los Angeles before launching their planes. That gives us between two to three hours to either find the Arab carrier and her escorts and sink them, or have our air group beat them to Los Angeles and establish a Combat Air Patrol over the port."

"Would the Arabs even care about fighter cover?" asked Admiral Allen. "Let's face it, this is a one-way mission for Al Bayda. Kadafi had to know that when he approved this mission. The Arabs might just launch from their airplanes' extreme range and not worry about them coming back, which means they could be in the air as we speak."

"I do not believe Kadafi intended to sacrifice this entire fleet to destroy the Port of Los Angeles," Matsuhara responded. "Aircraft carriers are too valuable for him. It is a mission full of risk, no doubt, but so was our original mission to attack Pearl Harbor."

"Banzai!" Katsube shouted.

A sneer briefly crossed Admiral Allen's face.

Matsuhara cleared his throat and continued. "What we must now consider is how to divide our forces. Our priority must be the Port of Los Angeles. I recommend sending half our Zero-sens there to intercept the Arab attackers. Then we must locate the Al Bayda and destroy it. Our remaining fighters can be divided between protecting our Vals and Kates, and providing a CAP for Yonaga."

"No!" Fujita declared forcefully. "As you said, Commander, our priority is defending the Port of Los Angeles. Therefore, we shall send three-quarters of our Zero-sens, led by you personally, to the port. As for the remaining Zero-sens, all but six shall accompany our dive bombers and torpedo planes as they search for Al Bayda and send her to the bottom of the ocean with her crew of cowards."

"A six-plane CAP?" Allen's mouth hung open in disbelief. "Admiral, with all due respect, we have to assume the Arabs are looking for us. How can six planes stop any aerial attack on Yonaga?"

"That is what we have Captain Fite's destroyers for, to shoot down enemy planes. And Yonaga has more than enough guns to defend itself from any air attack. But the Port of Los Angeles must be protected at all costs, and that is where we shall send the bulk of our fighters. Is that understand, Admiral Allen? Commander Matsuhara?"

"Hei!" Matsuhara snapped to attention and bowed.

"Yes, Admiral." Allen begrudgingly agreed with Fujita.

"There is one thing we must take into consideration," Matsuhara said. "Since we do not know when the Arab squadrons will arrive at the Port of Los Angeles, our planes risk running out of fuel loitering over the target area."

"Surely there are airfields nearby your pilots can use," Fujita pointed out. "Land at one of them. Confiscate what fuel you need if you have to."

"There is another option."

All eyes turned to Hawke. He walked over to the map. After a moment's hesitation, Matsuhara stepped aside.

"Right here." Hawke tapped the map with his index finger. "The FIRM has a secret airstrip at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, less than sixty miles from LA."

"What the heck is the FIRM?" asked Admiral Allen.

"The agency we work for. Anyway, that airstrip has plenty of fuel for Yonaga's planes. It's also isolated, so we won't have to worry creating a stir by having a bunch of Zeros suddenly show up at LAX or John Wayne Airport."

"There is another problem," Matsuhara said. "If we have all our Zero-sens up at the same time over the Port of Los Angeles, again we risk running out of fuel when the Arabs arrive. I recommend keeping half our fighters over the port, and the other half at the secret airstrip Mister Hawke mentioned. We can rotate squadrons every hour."

"And what happens when the Arabs show up?" Hawke folded his arms across his chest. "We can't have half our planes sitting on the ground, especially since we have no way to radio them when the attack begins."

Lines etched into Matsuhara's usually smooth features. Hawke had difficulty telling if the pilot was angry or just thinking.

"Then we shall use messengers," Matsuhara stated. "I shall assign one pilot in each squadron to this task. The moment the Arab squadron is spotted, he shall fly to this FIRM airstrip and alert our pilots there."

"That'll take too long. In the time it takes for your man to reach the airstrip and get your other planes scrambled and to the port, the attack could be over, and over in a bad way for us. Plus without radar we won't be able to pick up the Arab squadron until they're in visual range."

"It is the best we can do given the circumstances." Matsuhara didn't sound apologetic, or concerned. He merely stated it as a fact.

Hawke grunted and rolled his eyes. "So we're supposed to defend the Port of Los Angeles from a major air strike and locate an enemy carrier battle group without any way to communicate, without any radar?"

"The Arabs will no doubt have the same problems with their electronic machines," Fujita noted. "This will put us on even footing."

"I don't think so." Hawke shook his head. "When the Arabs come, they'll come with the bulk of their air wing. We're likely to find ourselves outnumbered, and it might take a half-hour to an hour before we see any reinforcements."

"Then you will fight." Fujita spoke in a forceful tone. "You will fight until you have killed all of Kadafi's savages, or they have killed you."

Hawke's fists clenched, his anger boiling. "There's a good chance we all might die, because we won't have enough planes, and because we have no way to even talk to one another in the air!"

Admiral Fujita's hand slammed down on the oak table with surprising force. "Bah! You are like many of the so-called warriors on our Earth. You have become too enamored, too reliant, on your fancy machines. Without your radars and radios and computers, you are lost. Impotent! I served on the battleship Mikasa during the Battle of Tsushima. We had none of the electronic junk your kind worship as though it were some deity. We only had our eyes to see the enemy, we only had our brains to calculate the distance to our targets, and we had Yamato damashii, the Japanese spirit, to guide us through the battle. And that is what led us to victory over the Russian fleet! Will you let Kadafi's barbaric followers attack your country because you do not have your fancy toys?"

"No, of course not," Hawke snapped.

Fujita gazed hard at him. "You say the words, but do you truly believe them? Do you believe it is your missiles and guns and electronic gadgets that make you a warrior, or do you believe what is written in the Hagakure, the Book of the Samurai, that the spirit is more important than the weapon? I can tell you this of Yonaga's crew, Mister Hawke, no matter if all our guns are empty, we will keep fighting. We will do whatever it takes to defeat our enemies, no matter how desperate it may seem. We will ram their planes, ram their ships if we must. We will stab them with knives and bayonets, we will club them with rifle butts, or with our bare fists. We will rip out their throats with our teeth if we have to. As long as one of us draws breath, we will fight!"

"Banzai!" hollered Matsuhara, Katsube, Ross and the seaman guards.

Fujita's dark eyes bore in on Hawke. "Can I expect that sort of commitment from you, Mister Hawke?"

Hawke glared at the withered, mummy-like admiral. Fury boiled inside him. Who the hell was this walking artifact to question his courage? He fought in Vietnam. He'd been through dozens of missions and battles with Airwolf. He'd faced death more times than he could count. He'd extricated himself from situations that would leave most other men dead.

Fujita could doubt him all he wanted. When the time came, he and Santini would fight. Even without Airwolf's hi-tech equipment, they would fight.

But Hawke was also a realist. He knew that all of Fujita's samurai bluster and all the shouts of "Banzai," couldn't change the fact that without radios and radar and all the other things necessary to wage modern war, their chances of success were very slim.

TO BE CONTINUED