Time once again for one of my favorite sections of Neal Stephenson's
Cryptonomicon, as Admiral Isoruku Yamamoto reflects on the course of the war while making his last inspection tour of besieged Japanese positions in the Solomons ....
QUOTE
Tojo and his claque of Imperial Army boneheads said to him, in effect: Why don't you go out and secure the Pacific Ocean for us, because we'll need a convenient shipping lane, say, oh, about ten thousand miles wide, in order to carry out our little plan to conquer South America, Alaska, and all of North America west of the Rockies. In the meantime, we'll finish mopping up China. Please attend to this ASAP.
By then they were running the country. They had assassinated anyone in their way, they had the emperor's ear, and it was hard to tell them that their plan was full of !@#$ and that the Americans were just going to get really pissed off and annihilate them. So, Admiral Isoruku Yamamoto, a dutiful servant of the emperor, put a little bit of thought into the problem, sketched out a little plan, sent out one or two boats on a small jaunt halfway across the !@#$@#$ planet, and blew Pearl Harbor off the map. He timed it perfectly, right after the formal declaration of war. It was not half bad. He did his job.
One of his aides later crawled into his office -- in the nauseatingly craven posture that minions adopt when they are about to make you really, really unhappy -- and told him that there had been a mix-up in the embassy in Washington and that the diplomats there had not gotten around to delivering the declaration of war until well after the American Pacific Fleet had gone to the bottom.
To those Army $%&@heads, this is nothing -- just a typo, happens all the time. Isoruku Yamamoto has given up on trying to make them understand that the Americans are grudge-holders on a level that is inconceivable to the Nipponese, who learn to swallow their pride before they learn to swallow solid food. Even if he could get Tojo and his mob of shabby, ignorant thugs to comprehend how pissed off the Americans are, they'd laugh it off. What're they going to do about it? Throw a pie in your face, like the Three Stooges? Ha, ha, ha! Pass the sake and bring me another comfort girl!
Isoruku Yamamoto spent a lot of time playing poker with Yanks during his years in the States, smoking like a chimney to deaden the scent of their appalling aftershave. The Yanks are laughably rude and uncultured, of course; this hardly constitutes a sharp observation. Yamamoto, by contrast, attained some genuine insight as a side-effect of being robbed blind by Yanks at the poker table, realizing that the big freckled louts could be dreadfully cunning. Crude and stupid would be okay -- perfectly understandable, in fact.
But crude and clever is intolerable; this is what makes those red-headed ape-men extra double super loathsome. Yamamoto is still trying to drill the notion into the heads of his partners in the big Nipponese scheme to conquer everything between Karachi and Denver. He wishes that they would get the message. A lot of the Navy men have been around the world a few times and seen it for themselves, but those Army guys have spent their careers mowing down Chinamen and raping their women and they honestly believe that the Americans are just the same except taller and smellier. Come on guys, Yamamoto keeps telling them, the world is not just a big Nanjing. But they don't get it. If Yamamoto were running things, he'd make a rule: each Army officer would have to take some time out from bayoneting Neolithic savages in the jungle, go out on the wide Pacific in a ship, and swap 16-inch shells with an American task force for a while. Then maybe, they'd understand they're in a real scrap.