To Wake the Giant

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To Wake the Giant Page 24

by Jeff Shaara


  As the details came together and so many of the questions were finally answered, Yamamoto chose Kuroshima to present the Hawaii plan directly to the heart of the Navy General Staff. The final arguments were of course Yamamoto’s own, but he knew that Kuroshima would drive home the message with considerable vigor. Yamamoto added the postscript himself, the message to all those admirals as clear as it could be: He was absolutely determined to carry out this mission, and he would stake his career and his position on its success. And if that would not sway them, he had instructed Kuroshima to offer one final argument in favor of the plan: If it was not approved, Yamamoto and his entire staff would resign.

  * * *

  —

  Despite his respect for Kuroshima, Yamamoto wasn’t immune to the man’s unpleasant aura, and couldn’t ignore the stub of a cigarette that dangled precariously from his mouth. Kuroshima was yet another tall man among so many around Yamamoto, thin, almost wispy, leaning toward Yamamoto like a sapling that might fall over.

  Yamamoto pointed to the chair across from him, but Kuroshima seemed content to stand.

  Yamamoto said, “Who spoke? Who made the first response?”

  “Chief of Staff Nagano. He offered no objections. I think he understood the tone of your message, and he acknowledged that you should be given a chance to see it through.”

  Yamamoto was surprised, but couldn’t take his eyes off the cigarette, the stream of ash growing longer.

  “He said that? I’m being offered a chance? Well, of course. Not quite a full commitment. But that’s an excellent turn, which I did not expect. That old man has a habit of digging in his heels against any idea he’s ever heard.”

  Kuroshima shrugged, the ash dropping away, falling somewhere around his feet. “Your former chief of staff, Admiral Fukudome, had his say. He said he would no longer express his objections. He seemed to fall in line with his superior.”

  Yamamoto sniffed. “I was his superior once. He didn’t fall into any line with me. But, that’s good. Either you changed his mind, or he just got tired of fighting with me. What about Tomioka, Onishi, the rest of them?”

  “The only argument of any force came from Admiral Tomioka. Among the others, there were no real arguments against you, sir. Or, they have objections still and they just don’t want to talk about them anymore. That seems curious to me.”

  “Why?”

  “You sent me there expecting an argument from every one of them. But they just seemed to…roll over.”

  “Except for Tomioka.”

  “Yes, sir. However, I persuaded him.”

  Yamamoto smiled. “How?”

  “As you directed, sir. I said your dedication to this plan was absolute, so much so that if it was not carried out, neither you nor your staff would accept any responsibility for the survival of the empire. That seemed to have the effect you anticipated. So, to conclude, sir, I’m pleased to report that the Navy General Staff has dropped its opposition to the Pearl Harbor attack. They have authorized you to conduct training as you feel is necessary.”

  “I’m already conducting the necessary training.”

  Kuroshima shrugged, lit another cigarette. “I didn’t feel the need to mention that, sir. They behaved as though they were granting you a huge concession. I didn’t want to upset them.”

  Yamamoto sat back, took in the aroma of Kuroshima’s cigarette, a treat he had not allowed himself in years. “So, there it is, Captain. Just like that. They’ve fought me, and schemed behind my back, they’ve convinced my friends that I’m out of my mind. And then, just like that, they tell me to go ahead and do it.”

  “I’m not sure it’s like that, sir. They’re saying they won’t oppose you anymore. They know how popular you are within the navy, how many officers are working for you. They may be stuck in the dirt like dead bamboo, but they do pay attention once in a while.”

  Yamamoto had heard enough. “Thank you, Captain. It’s possible we’ll have to do this all over again. As you discovered, minds can change, even stubborn ones. You are dismissed.”

  Kuroshima saluted, knocking another stream of ash from his cigarette. He turned with no hint of formality, an orderly holding open the door. Yamamoto could feel the air clearing. He smiled now, wading through the report in his mind. Fukudome, my friend, my once–chief of staff, turns against me, and now, changes course. And Onishi. Someone convinced him to turn his back on a plan he knew was a good one. Now, he has come back as well. And the others, some of them old men, useless, past their time. But they have power, and that can be a deadly combination. Still, for now anyway, they will grant me the opportunity to hang myself.

  ONBOARD BATTLESHIP NAGATO, TOKYO BAY—SATURDAY, OCTOBER 11, 1941

  He felt weak, energized only by the thought that she would be there later that afternoon. He looked around his quarters, saw nothing too out of place, then reached into a cabinet, removed a clean shirt, and tossed it over a small chair. He smiled at the thought of her scolding him for his slovenly ways. And I will scold her for her scolding me. The thoughts slipped away, and he looked at the small desk. The letter was almost finished, but the words had run dry, his thoughts too gloomy. The black ink was still wet, his brushstrokes neat and elegant. I just take my time, he thought. People make such a fuss, as though I am an artist with the brush. Hori pretends I have great talent. It is one reason he is my friend. But he is not nearby. And so I must write this letter to him.

  He sat, moved the paper, shook his head, couldn’t escape the strange gloominess. Hori, I hope you can understand what I’m feeling through the ink on the paper. There are not many who can know such things.

  “I find my present position extremely odd—obliged to make up my mind to pursue unswervingly a course that is precisely the opposite of my personal views.”

  ONBOARD BATTLESHIP NAGATO, TOKYO BAY—FRIDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1941

  It was unusual for Ugaki to do anything in tandem with the slovenly Kuroshima, or even to stand close to him. But they were there now, a pair of opposites standing tall with idiotic smiles, no explanation why.

  Yamamoto had no idea what was happening, was impatient for answers. “Do you two wish to go into the wardroom and sit down?”

  Ugaki said, “It is not necessary, sir.”

  Yamamoto looked at Kuroshima, who flicked an inch of ash from his cigarette to the deck beneath him.

  “I’m happy to stand right here. I think you’ll want to stand for this too, sir.”

  Yamamoto was tired of the mindless grins. “All right, enough of this. What are you two so giddy about?”

  Ugaki said, “Sir, we have received a message from the naval staff. It seems that since our forces have successfully occupied a number of important bases in Indo-China, including a network of airfields, the army has now secured its position so effectively that they no longer require the support of our aircraft carriers. Therefore, the naval chiefs have agreed to your request, made some time ago, for two additional carriers to be added to your task force for the Hawaii operation. You will now have—”

  “Six.”

  “Yes, sir. Six.”

  Yamamoto saw the grins again. He tried to share their good moods, but couldn’t shed the weariness. “Please cable this information to Commander Genda. I should imagine he will receive this news with the same moronic smile that you two have now.”

  Ugaki saluted, turned away, was met at the ladder by an aide. Yamamoto saw the aide hand him a paper, said, “What is it now? Two more carriers?”

  Ugaki had lost the grin, said, “No, sir. This is from the prime minister’s office. Prime Minister Konoye has formed a new government, as ordered by the emperor.”

  Yamamoto had no interest in the civilian government, said, “Yes, this is his third attempt. He will have no more success this time.”

  Ugaki handed Yamamoto the message, said, “That is certainly true, sir. He is
no longer prime minister.”

  Yamamoto read through the bureaucratic jargon, the names chosen to fill slots in the new government, men who likely would never be heard from again, except in their own towns. But he stopped now, focused on one name.

  “So, the new prime minister is General Hideki Tojo. Well, I see the army has sealed its grip on the government. And now the navy has surrendered to his power. Our new naval minister is Admiral Shimada. He commands the Yokosuka Naval Station. He has no experience, not with politics, not with standing tall against the wishes of the army. He is an office boy, and Tojo will slap him around like an unruly child.”

  He handed the paper back to Ugaki. “So it goes, gentlemen. We are rolling downhill faster than I ever believed. I wish I could predict what lies at the bottom.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Hull

  WOODLEY MANSION, WASHINGTON, D.C.—MONDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1941

  The ball clanked rudely against one side of the wire wicket. Hull stood straight, shook his head.

  “You would think after all this time, I’d play this game with at least a flicker of skill.”

  “Stand back, Mr. Secretary. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Hull backed away, and Casey leaned low. His mallet struck the ball with a loud crack, the ball glancing off Hull’s, then rolling through the wicket. Casey put one fist in the air.

  “I told you, did I not? Is that the skill you’re referring to? I believe the rules allow me to launch your ball somewhere toward the Potomac River.”

  To one side, Wood laughed, said, “Easy, Richard. Cordell Hull plays croquet with more false modesty than any man in the American government. He’s setting you up for a thrashing, I guarantee. Therefore, Minister Casey, as a fellow representative of His Majesty’s Commonwealth, I would offer you one bit of advice. Before too much longer, both England and Australia might require a significant amount of assistance from our American friends. Thus, it would be unwise to offend their secretary of state by brutalizing his croquet ball.”

  Casey looked at Hull, then at Wood. “Are you suggesting we should let him win?”

  Wood laughed now. “I wouldn’t go that far. No cause to give him a swelled head.”

  Casey approached his ball, struck Hull’s lightly, the ball rolling only a few feet. “Does that maintain our alliance, Mr. Secretary?”

  Hull smiled. “You had your chance, sir. In the game of croquet, generosity can be fatal.” He pointed toward Wood. “You’re up. Try to hit Richard’s ball. And then, if you’d like, I’ll assist you in sending it to the Potomac.”

  Casey feigned outrage, but they all laughed now, as Wood sent his ball on an errant path, opening the door for Hull’s inevitable victory.

  Casey said to Wood, “I’ve come to understand that competition seems to bring out a particular brand of American viciousness. This is what happens when they no longer enjoy the rule of a monarch. They become savages.”

  Wood stood with his hands on his hips, looked at Hull. “Very important savages. So, Cordell, will Secretary Stimson be joining the game?”

  “Never does. He’s perfectly fine with any of us using his lawn, but he’s not interested in the game. He is most generous in allowing me to escape here when I feel the need. It’s something of a sanctuary. My own residence offers nothing like what Stimson has here. He’s content to let others enjoy the benefits.”

  Casey lowered his voice. “Is he all right? Is it age, then?”

  Hull stopped, looked up toward the imposing mansion. “He just turned seventy-four. I can’t say he’s any worse for it. Hell, I just turned seventy. Anything that afflicts him would certainly be afflicting me.”

  He knew that wasn’t quite accurate, that Stimson had a variety of ailments that seemed to sap his strength, limiting his mobility. But Stimson would never reveal that, and it wasn’t up to Hull to be indiscreet about it.

  Hull was comfortable in any gathering with both these men, among the closest allies the nation had, and two of the most agreeable representatives Hull had to consult with. Edward Wood, the First Earl of Halifax, was Britain’s most recent ambassador to the United States. Lord Baron Richard Casey was Australia’s minister to the United States, a post carrying the same level of diplomatic importance.

  Hull watched as Casey missed badly, and Wood resumed the needling.

  “Really, Richard. You would allow us to be beaten yet again by a colonist? All right, go on, Hull. Humiliate us yet again.”

  Hull struck his ball for the final time, colliding with the wooden stake and ending the game. He smiled. “Well, I was a bit off today, but things turned out in the end.”

  Casey took the mallets, placed them in the nearby rack, and Wood said, “More false modesty. You were toying with us.” He gazed up at the house. “I must say, this is rather a pleasant residence for a government man.”

  Hull said, “Woodley has been the home to two presidents. I suppose you would call them government men. And Stimson has earned a little luxury in his life.” Hull saw a maid emerging through a patio door, carrying a silver tray. “Gentlemen, you should meet Violet. She runs the place. Every time I’m here, I insist she not go to any trouble—after all, I feel like I’m trespassing. But around here, she outranks me. So, she goes to whatever trouble suits her. We’re the better for it.”

  The short, round woman set the tray down on a wrought iron table, three chairs already set in place. She stood back, with polite smiles toward all three men. “I have some tea for you here, gentlemen, and some cookies. They’re homemade, of course. If you wish something else, the secretary has suggested that I offer you some of his prized spirits from his cellar.”

  Hull looked at the others, saw temptation in both their faces, but he spoke up first. “The tea is perfect, Violet. Please offer our regards to the secretary. Has he returned, by chance?”

  “Oh, no, sir. He has meetings. Mrs. Stimson expects him home very late. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen, through the doorway right there.”

  She backed away, and the men sat, a silver teapot between them. Wood said, “Fine work, Hull. She was all set to bring us twelve-year-old Scotch.”

  Hull smiled. “And Stimson would have made you pay for that for months. You’d be reminded of it every time your paths crossed. He takes that sort of thing personally. No, I’ll settle for tea. That’s known as ‘diplomacy.’ ”

  They filled their china cups, the other two sampling Violet’s cookies with approving nods.

  Wood grew more serious now, which Hull had expected. Wood stared down at the steaming tea and said in a low voice, “I have to tell you, Cordell. The prime minister is still hopeful I can convince your president to send some of your fleet to Singapore. Lord Casey and I are in agreement that such a move would deter the Japanese.”

  Hull had heard this before, sat back in the wrought iron chair. He knew that the croquet match was always a prelude to a serious conversation. “Deter them from doing what? What Mr. Churchill is hoping is that we apply additional pressure on the Japanese to prevent them from doing what they’re going to do anyway. I received a cable from Ambassador Grew, in Tokyo. He understands the Japanese mind better than any other man in my service. He is most definite in his opinions that the Japanese will not succumb to pressure of any kind. If the Japanese do not get whatever it is they are seeking by negotiation, they are likely to react in a most unpredictable and violent way. The term ‘saber rattling’ has no meaning to them, and we would only waste our time by issuing them empty threats. According to Grew, they interpret any display of power not as something they should fear, but as a provocation to make war. They won’t back up. They’ll just attack.”

  Casey said, “Do you agree with him?”

  “I suppose I have to. I trust Joe Grew. The one counter to all of that pessimism is that Stimson and the military heads have insisted that we are deploying a gre
at many B-17 bombers to the Philippines. I’m assured that they have the range to provide exceptional air protection to Singapore. And that would not simply be saber rattling. It’s protection of our interests, no matter how the Japanese interpret it.”

  He saw Wood glance at Casey, and Casey said, “I assume you know, Cordell, that so far, you have landed just nine B-17s in the Philippines. It is said that there are many more to come. But there has been no timetable announced. Forgive me, but there is skepticism in Australia that your government will deliver on its promises. Too much of your energy is being directed toward the Germans.”

  Hull was embarrassed that these men had military information that was outside of his jurisdiction. “I’m certain that Stimson and General Marshall are making the necessary arrangements to beef up our forces in the Philippines. The place is, after all, American territory.”

  Wood said, “Cordell, if the Japanese have no respect for a show of force, what good are those B-17s, no matter where you park them?”

  “That’s not a question I have the expertise to answer. If the Japanese attack the Philippines, I assume we shall order retaliation. If they sink our ships, we shall certainly do likewise. But we are not at war, and we will not start a war. Chiang Kai-shek has demanded that we position troops and artillery, all of that, inside of China, to attack the Japanese forces that he is fighting, to drive them out. How do you think that kind of move would be received in Tokyo? It’s an easy answer. We will have started a war.”

  Wood said, “Chiang will insist on anything that will help Chiang. I assume you were as firm with your no as he was with his demand.”

  “Of course.”

  Hull sipped from his teacup, soothing warmth against the cool fall air.

 

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