by Don DeNevi
“Why did Peter dislike him so much?”
“’A Jap is a Jap’, he claimed in all the newspapers. He could not distinguish between a loyal Japanese-American and a Japanese homeland warrior, and the bastard was the Commanding General of the Western America Defense Command. Oh, I shouldn’t curse him. He was an old World War I veteran from the east sent out west who never knew, understood, or cared for a good people who for decades felt a lot of prejudice and discrimination since the first arrivals from Japan, long before the turn of the century.”
“I never knew any of this, being from the eastern seaboard. But it’s Joan I want you to tell me about.”
“Well, I was getting to her. Of course, I never met her. He’s got four photos of her in his wallet. Four! Ask to see them. He’ll be delighted!”
“Go on, please.”
“Well, whenever Peter shows his photos of Joan, he always begins his dissertation of her personality by saying, ‘She has an outer and inner beauty that will last a lifetime.’ He says that by the time he saw her in Honor E, the honor Edison High School club for outstanding academic achievers, half the 9th grade boys, Nisei as well as white, Hispanic, etc. were already in love with her. Now, to understand who she is, Ellen, you should understand the Japanese generations in America. For example, ‘Issei is a person of Japanese ancestry, born in Japan, moved to, say, California, as Joan’s parents did, and therefore, were first generation. Nisei is someone like Joan, born in the USA, and considered second generation; Sansei, third generation, will be her and Peter’s children someday; and Yonsei will be her grandchildren, fourth generation.”
Bill paused, smiling, lost in thought. Then he continued,
“Peter says he was entranced with her the moment he laid eyes on her wonderful, dispassionate eyes, dark and large, studying him without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Then, he told me, he saw the rest of her amazing raven-black hair cut rather short, a somewhat pale, exquisite face, slimness and beauty of an elegant figure even at the age of 15 or 16. He had never seen anything quite like her physical beauty. He swears his face flushed red when their eyes locked together, and for a split moment, he thought he wet himself.”
“Peter, as an Italian-American, says that there is an ancient Italian saying that if each of you, Peter and Joan, are struck simultaneously, at the same exact moment, by a flash of lightning followed by a shocking loud clash, you are destined to love each other through eternity, no, infinity, never to falter or waver. He says he was hit by such sudden streak, and now, just as soon as possible, they will marry and have a child.”
Bill said, softly.
“Ellen, you should ask him about all this. I never heard of such crazy concepts. He insists his is the highest of the highest form of love there is. Never happened before in a man.”
After a reflective pause, during which Ellen remained quietly gazing at the clear, bright, full moon, Bill asked,
“Do you want me to go on? I have more to tell you why Peter loves her so much. Doesn’t this bore you?”
“Please tell me, Bill.”
“Well, Joan’s mother, according to Peter, the warm, loving, kind, patient, good mother every child should have, got up before there was light on Monday morning, December 8th, the day after Pearl Harbor, and baked a large chocolate cake. Joan said that when she, her sisters, and brother entered the kitchen at dawn, they thought the cake was for them later that evening. When asked, Mrs. Ikeda simply smiled and said nothing. There was little talk about Japan’s sneak attack on our fleet anchored in Hawaii, and almost no real facts. The same for the Japanese communities in south Stockton and other towns. The elders certainly understood there would be repercussions for the Japanese-Americans, although few of them had any legal, familial, or emotional ties to Japan.”
“Well, Joan, in the 12th grade, her younger sister in the 10th grade, and her older sister, two years older, at College of the Pacific and younger brother in the 9th grade, went to school as usual. Edison High School was only five blocks away. For Joan, whose first class was Latin 4, who was sickened America was now at war with the country of her parents’ origin, was suddenly avoided by all the kids with whom she normally talked. Glumly, she went to her 8:00am class and took her regular seat in the first row as the other 28 students filed in and took theirs. Miss Youngblood, an ancient relic of a teacher from the 19th century, a ‘battle-ax used by the Vikings’, a woman certainly in her 60s who never married, and, Joan heard other teachers whisper, an old ox who hated men, began promptly taking roll at 8:05am to start her advanced Latin lessons. Well, as roll was being called, the classroom door suddenly jiggled with difficulty and finally pushed open with Mrs. Ikeda, Joan’s mother, walking in with the large chocolate cake. Mrs. Ikeda, barely able to handle the large, beautiful cake, smiled at her stunned daughter, and then walked up to the desk of Mrs. Youngblood, smiling and bowing. Joan’s fine, loving American parents had no idea how to handle the surprise ‘dastardly attack’ of the day before, ‘a day which will live in infamy’. They had been shocked like all good Americans. What could they do to help? To show allegiance to their democracy in their United States of America, to demonstrate how sorry her family was for something they and the rest of the Japanese-Americans were for something they had nothing to do with.”
“All Mrs. Ikeda, in all her wondrous humanity, could think of doing was baking a large cake for Joan’s class.”
“And now, bowing repeatedly, smiling graciously, she stepped up the one step Miss Youngblood’s desk was on and placed it on the nearest corner where there were no papers or books. She then stood back a step, and with her arms at her sides, bowed several times.“
“Not a sound could be heard in the classroom. Joan was horrified beyond belief. Neither was there movement of a single muscle among the 30 students.Joan leaned back in her seat as far as possible to escape what she was certain would happen next. And no amount of fear, anxious anticipation, or embarrassment could forestall Joan’s pain and crippling grief of what happened next.”
“Miss Youngblood, all 60 plus years of her fat ass sitting comfortable in her wide chair, swung it slightly around to face Mrs. Ikeda, then lifted her heavy right leg and kicked the large cake to the classroom floor. For a long moment, everyone was paralyzed, in utter silence.”
“We want no apologies from the likes of you!” the teacher shouted loudly.
“Mrs. Ikeda, head down, struggling not to stumble, shaking while maintaining composure despite the worst humiliation the entire Ikeda family has ever suffered, quickly knelt and began placing the chunks and fragments of the chocolate cake, and the shattered glass dish, in the lap of her dress, having no towel to do so. Joan then leaped forward, and with fire in her eyes and fists clenched, faced her teacher, who stepped back. Joan turned and knelt next to her mother, fighting desperately to control her sobs, and with bare hands, struggled to clean up the mess. Instantly, several of Joan’s closest friends were out of their seats reaching for paper towels, watering them in the restrooms of the main hallway, returning to sponge the mess up. Joan helped her mother place the remains of the cake in several lunch bags the students offered. Joan walked her mother home, and then returned to Edison for her next class. Not a word was ever said about the incident again, at school or home.”
“How shameful,” Ellen offered. “How utterly shameful. The Ikeda family didn’t plan the attack on Pearl Harbor. The United States was not intending to declare war on Joan’s family. How so, so despicable enough so I not only want to shed a tear or two, but also I want Peter to have Joan instead of me.”
With that, she turned and walked up the few steps to the hospital entrance and her shared bedroom and cot.
CHAPTER NINE
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Stalking the Patient Wards
Friday, August 5
After reporting promptly at 0600 to GHQ, SWPA, General Headquarters, Southwest Pacific Area, to receive his Special Order of “redirection” written in the form of “a memorandum” for the recor
d from USAFWESTPAC, Peter was directed by the sergeant at the entrance desk, guarded by two fully-armed sentries next door to the new quarters of the Operations Officer of PBC’s, Central Pacific Base Command, combined G-2 and G-3 departments.
Then, with Bill in tow, the two walked briskly back down the steps and across the 24 yards of corral gravel to the entrance of the new Russell Islands 1,300-bed hospital for MOB 10. Peter explained to Bill that an additional 1,400 beds were to be added in the adjacent facility under construction.In June of the year before, the current site consisted of only four 35-patient wards built as a naval dispensary, completely screened and equipped with emergency battle dressing stations that could be blacked out for the severely wounded from Guadalcanal. Since then, four operation rooms were added as an annex. Within the past month, construction began on a dental laboratory, administrative wing, two additional wards, and officer barracks and mess. Peter pointed out that personnel from the 15th Battalion were assisting the 93rd by working on the plumbing and electrical installations, and doctors and hospital corpsmen were aiding in the erection of the prefabricated-steel building, 20 feet wide and 250 feet long. Two of Banika’s twelve 20-mm guns were well-positioned around the annex. Next door to the annex was a small, prefabricated unit housing the operations officer for the joint G-2 and G-3 sections.
Opening the sealed envelope a naval captain handed him, Peter read on simple stationary with the letter CPBC in the left corner; Central Pacific Base Command,
“Lieutenant Peter Albioni Toscanini—
Henceforth, ‘Operation Turncoat Mariner’ is suspended, as is ‘Operation Brigand’, until further notice. Of utmost importance is your presence on Pavuvu to lead the murder investigations in coordination with Captain Oscar Del Barbra of the 1st Division’s Military Police. Within the hours to come, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, in preparing for the final phase of the Pacific War, is establishing a new headquarters; The United States Forces, Pacific (USAFPAC) under the command of General MacArthur. He has been ordered to develop plans for the invasion and occupation of Japan. The USAFPAC’s Chief Surgeon will be Brig. Gen. Guy B. Denit, Medical Corps. Brig. Gen. Percy J. Carroll, whom he replaced as Chief Surgeon, USAFFE and USA SO, has recommended you because of your work and interests in neuropsychological disorders and the work you began under Major Peter Kempf (MC) with the 1st Division. You are assigned temporarily to the latter, fully aware that your secondary is Captain Oscar Del Barbra of the Division’s Military Police. As subordinate to both, you are called upon for the duration of the investigation to. . .”
Just then, the inter-island telephone rang loudly, startling Peter reading his SO, and Bill, fully absorbed and genuinely concerned about Peter’s care approached Peter standing next to the desk.
“Yes, sir!” answered the desk sergeant.
“He’s standing right here. I’ll tell him, sir. Yes, sir. Less than a five-minute walk through the annex and past the warrior ward. He’s on his way, sir.”
The sergeant hung up, stood up, and pointed toward the annex.
“Lieutenant, you are to leave immediately for the meeting that began a few minutes ago in the mess of the ward and sickbay. That was Commander Everett B. Keck (MC) USN at the 1st Medical Battalion, 1st Division and, as you undoubtedly know, his is a higher law than God himself. Go!”
“Bill, you have to leave. I’ll walk you part way to the entrance since it’s on my way. Follow me.”
As they made their way back through the hospital sickbays, Peter filled Bill in on what he knew about the “Mad Ghoul”, or “Charlie the Choker”.
“That’s what this meeting is all about. I’m late. So, unless they’ve planned something special for me immediately, I’ll be on the beach where I was last night. Try to get there earlier, say, before 7:00PM, just as supper is served at the battalion mess. The USS Comfort is coming in, the largest elaborate hospital ship ever built. Crewed and commanded by the Navy, it’s supposedly the most modern of all our hospital ships. I’m anxious for a tour of it, when medical personnel will be allowed aboard.”
“I’ll grab something to eat and we’ll watch her anchor. Can I bring Ellen?”
“Of course. But come armed,” Peter said with a grin as they departed.
“After watching the Comfort anchor, you’ll tell us about your first investigative assignment before it was just now rescinded, that Lieutenant Minoro Wada, the Jap in the 100th Division on Mindonao who wants to fly one of their advanced Zeros over to our side, then lead us on air strikes against his own troops!”
“Will do, Bill, nothing secret about Wada and his intent,” Peter said, walking rapidly down the path and hurrying past the outdoor terrace off the hospital.
As he entered, Peter saw the meeting was just about to begin. Walking past Captain Del Barbra, who was just then stepping up to the podium, he realized that all the ‘shiny new brass’ must have been flown over to the island during the night from either Guadalcanal or New Britain’s Cape Gloucester. He had not seen such a variety of freshly-pressed khaki uniforms with highly polished buttons and medals since Camp Elliott.
Peter, wending his way toward a seat in the back through the small assemblage waiting quietly and relaxed for the meeting to begin, was startled to hear over the microphone,
“Lieutenant Toscanini, please take a seat adjacent the podium.”
Slightly embarrassed, Peter returned to the front and took a seat, a bit nervously, in the makeshift conference area. The cavernous dining area of the patients had been appropriated for the conference. Arranged around him were numerous older officers, virtually all of the gray-haired USMC luminaries in the Solomon Sea areas. Not a one knew what to expect, although most knew of the Houser killing, and assumed the session would focus upon their combined knowledge and expertise in fashioning a hasty, coordinated action to prevent the outrage from occurring again. The older officers, a few veterans of World War I, understood the urgency of their night flying onto the Pavuvu airstrip in order to be on time meant something far more serious was afoot.
Now, with the wall clock ticking toward 7:30AM, more than an hour’s delay and the roar of heavy Pacific Ocean waves, no longer muffled by the high sand bluffs, pounding the nearby beach area, everyone, running out of small talk and chatter, suddenly fell silent. Part of the reason was noticing Del Barbra’s dark, anxious face boding trouble as he pawed a small stack of papers on the podium. Everyone froze as the captain cupped the microphone close to himself.
“Gentlemen, a memorandum from the Marine Garrison Forces, Pacific, in Melbourne, is expected momentarily. Its Force Special Troops is arriving later this evening for deployment throughout Banika and Pavuvu by 0600 tomorrow. The MGFP was activated as a new Military Police Department under General Headquarters, Southwest Pacific Area, SWPA, replacing and coordinating all unnumbered military police companies in the Pacific North Africa, and Italy. For those of you new to the Order of Battle in this Theater of Operations, all our service battalions within the 1st Division, and others, possessed organic, unnumbered MP companies. We’ve all had our own personal experiences with MPs, especially stateside. Here, before this new organization, our 10th, 12th, 17th, and 18th Service Battalions provided the manpower whose sole duty was to guard Jap prisoners of war captured by all the services at the Iroquois Point Stockade at Pearl. I’m assigned to MP Company, 1st Provisional Marine Brigade formed April 18, four months ago. As of this moment, we can say that provisional military police companies, detachments, and platoons are on every one of our military bases in the world.”
As Del Barbra paused, his head lowered, and eyes focused on the small stack of papers on the podium, everyone in the partially enclosed patio who personally knew the captain began to sense the enormity of a tragedy. A grave wickedness seemed to weigh upon the jovial captain. Deep facial lines now erased and supplanted his renowned ear-to-ear grins and resonant laughter. All traces of his rebounding paunch, and carefree, rolling head were gone; replaced by a reserved, awkward stiffness. Not a muscle
in his entire body flinched. Usually vain and showy, he stood before the podium as a man murdered himself.
“Now, gentlemen,” the captain continued, “You all may wonder what has all this to do with you? Well, when called upon, you and the specialists you supervise will be subordinated to my office and…”
Suddenly hearing loud, rapid footsteps behind him, the captain abruptly turned and saw Lt.Guidi, who everyone assembled in the large room knew as his chief assistant and second in command of the military police in the Russell Island Group, walking toward him with a sealed envelope in his hand. Equally sullen, he handed it to the captain without comment.
Unsealing the envelope as he turned back to the audience, Del Barbra removed a single sheet, and read,
“From Division Headquarters, Office of Division Commander MajGen William H. Rupertus,
“During the early hours of this morning, three of our 1st Division Marines were murdered, silently and swiftly. PFC Everett Laskosky was stabbed with one blow in the Battalion chapel; PVC Robert Benavidas was stabbed with repeated blows to the chest as he slept recovering from the first stages of malaria in the Pavuvu recovery unit, Wing B, of this building. PFC Laskosky’s left carotid artery was severed. Benavidas’ heart and left lung were penetrated; death occurring with the third blow. Laskosky died within minutes by choking to death on his blood. Captain Del Barbra will mobilize additional nightly safeguards and defenses, rotating personnel every four hours to patrol all environs of Pavuvu. This nightly patrolling will continue for the duration of the stay by the 1st Division.”
“This matter is turned over to the jurisdiction of the military police.”
