Battleground

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Where did you live in Japan?” Pluto Hon asked.

  “In Denenchofu, Sir. Tokyo.”

  “And how long were you in Japan?”

  “On and off, all my life, Sir.”

  “You went to school there? I mean Japanese schools?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “The University?”

  “Yes, Sir. And elementary and middle schools, too. Sir, who am I talking to?”

  “My name is Hon, Sergeant. Your commanding officer is here and wants to talk to you.”

  He handed the phone to Banning, who didn’t expect it.

  “Sergeant, I’m sorry there was no one at NATS to meet you,” Banning began, in English, and then switched to Japanese. “I’ll be down to fetch you in the morning. Get yourself some dinner and a good night’s sleep.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Welcome to Australia, Sergeant,” Banning said. “Good night.” He hung the phone up, and turned to Pluto. “I didn’t want to talk to him.”

  “I wanted you to be able to tell the Captain how well that kid speaks Japanese,” Hon said, unabashed.

  “Does he? Speak it well, I mean?” Pickering asked.

  “He didn’t learn that pronunciation in Japanese 202 at Princeton,” Hon said. “He’s been in Japan on and off all his life. He went to school there. Japanese schools, I mean. Including the University. I’d really like to have him, Captain.”

  “He went to Pennsylvania, too, he told me,” Pickering said, “so he probably didn’t graduate from University in Tokyo. So what? But I’m more than a little uneasy about giving him access to the MAGIC intercepts, even if he doesn’t know what they are.”

  “I could have a fatherly little chat with him, Captain,” Banning said. “And tell him that if it ever comes to my attention that he has discussed in any way what Hon gives him to do, or what he’s learned, or thinks he’s learned, with anyone but Pluto, you, or myself, I will see that he spends the next twenty years in solitary confinement at the Portsmouth Naval Prison.”

  “On the way to the hotel, he wouldn’t even discuss Special Detachment 14 with me,” Pickering said. “I don’t think he would have a loose mouth. OK, Pluto. You can have him. But you have that talk with him, Ed, anyway. And don’t say Portsmouth. Tell him we’ll have him shot.”

  Banning looked quickly at Pickering and saw that he was serious.

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Banning said.

  Then Pickering changed the subject. “Let’s see what you have, Ed, that’s so interesting.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Banning repeated.

  He pulled a leather briefcase from under the couch and took a large manila envelope from it.

  “Would you like me to keep my eyes to myself, Captain?” Pluto Hon asked.

  “Oh, no, Pluto,” Pickering said. “You only thought I asked you here just for dinner.”

  Banning chuckled, and spread a dozen ten-inch-square aerial photos out on a library table.

  Three of the photos showed a dense cloud of smoke from a grass fire rising from a field, and then, in photographs apparently taken a day or two later, the same field. There were tracks from a truck or some other vehicle crisscrossing the now blackened grassy area.

  “What am I looking at?” Pickering asked.

  “That’s a field on an island called Guadalcanal,” Banning said. “It’s one of the larger islands in the Solomons chain.... Here, I have a map, too.”

  He took a map from his briefcase, spread it on the table, and pointed out the position of Guadalcanal in relation to New Britain and New Ireland islands, and to the islands nearer to it, New Georgia, Santa Isabel, Malaita, Tulagi, and San Cristobal.

  “That field is near Lunga Point, on the north shore of Guadalcanal,” Banning said, “between the Matanikau and Tenaru Rivers.”

  “I heard the Air Corps had taken some aerials of that area,” Pickering said. “Is that what these are?”

  “No, Sir. These came from the Australians. Feldt passed them to me.”

  “And does Feldt also think the Japanese are about to build a fighter strip there?”

  “Feldt thinks—he’s familiar with Guadalcanal—that when the Japanese build a field there, it will be able to handle any aircraft in the Jap inventory.”

  “Jesus,” Pickering said softly. “If they get a fighter field going there, they can cover that whole area. And we don’t have anything to stop them, and won’t until we get that field on Espiritu Santo built ... and God only knows how long that will take. Can I have these?”

  “Yes, Sir, of course. We have Coastwatchers on Guadalcanal, but not in that area. We’ve radioed them to see what they can find out. But it will take them a couple of days to move over there.”

  “‘We’?” Pickering quoted.

  “I should have said, ‘Commander Feldt,’ ” Banning said.

  “Hell, no. ‘We’ is fine. ‘Them’ and ‘us’ is just what I didn’t want to hear. I was asking, are any of the Coastwatchers American?”

  “No, Sir. The only Marines we have actually in place are Lieutenant Howard and Sergeant Koffler, and they’re on Buka, to the Northwest.”

  “I thought you told me you were going to try to ... what’s the word? ‘insert’? ... some more of our people.”

  “So far, no luck,” Banning said. “Which translated means that Feldt has shot down every proposal I’ve made.”

  “It’s his show,” Pickering said.

  “Yes, Sir. I have been operating under that premise.”

  “If the Japanese manage to get this airfield up and running, we’re in trouble,” Pickering repeated, and then asked Banning, “Did Feldt have anything to say about how long that will take?”

  “I asked him the same question. ‘I’m not a sodding engineer,’ he said. ‘But they can probably start to land fighters there in maybe six weeks. It depends on what they are using, whether real engineers, with bulldozers and other heavy construction equipment, or whether they will just try to level the field with ordinary soldiers and picks and shovels. If they move in engineers and their equipment, they can build a real airfield in two months or so.’ ”

  “Off the top of your head, Ed, how long will it take to get these pictures to Washington?”

  “You’re going to send those to Washington, Sir?” Banning asked, surprised.

  “I really meant the pictures our Army Air Corps took,” Pickering said.

  “If they sent them by officer courier, maybe four, five days,” Banning said. “Are they that important? To get them to Washington, I mean, rather than a message saying we think the Japs are about to build an airfield on Guadalcanal? A message could be in Washington in a matter of hours.”

  “A picture, to coin a phrase,” Pickering said, “is worth a thousand words. If I were Admiral King and wanted to sell President Roosevelt on something, I’d think I’d want to have the pictures.”

  “Sir, I don’t quite follow you,” Banning admitted.

  “The Army and the Navy are at war again,” Pickering said, bitterly. “Does the name Ghormley mean anything to you?”

  “Admiral Ghormley?”

  “Yeah,” Pickering said. “On nineteen June, Ghormley was appointed Commander, South Pacific, under Admiral Nimitz. Ghormley’s all right. I went down there to see him. He was in London on December seventh, and isn’t infected with that sense of humiliation that the other admirals from King on down seem to feel.”

  “Sir?” Banning said, asking for an explanation.

  “The others seem to feel that their primary mission in this war is to make amends for Pearl Harbor,” Pickering said, bitterly, “ahead of all other considerations, including the best way to fight a war.”

  “Which is?” Banning asked softly.

  “Early this month, when was it Pluto? MacArthur radioed Marshall for permission to attack New Britain—New Guinea. Which would, if successful, remove the threat posed by the Japanese airbase, bases, at Rabaul on New Britain.”

  “Eight June, Captain,” Plut
o furnished the date. “It was an EYES ONLY for Marshall, and he sent an officer courier with some pretty detailed plans to Washington the same day.”

  “MacArthur wanted to use two U.S. Infantry divisions,” Pickering went on, “the 32nd and the 41st, plus the Australian 7th. Problem One was that they’re not trained for amphibious landings. But the First Marine Division, by definition, is. And it was already on its way over here. So MacArthur wanted the 1st Marines to make the landing, and then be replaced by the others. Problem Two was that the beach was way out of range for Army Air Corps fighters. Once the force was ashore, of course, and took the Japanese bases, land-based fighters could be flown in and operate from them. So the solution to Problem Two was to have the Navy furnish fighter support from aircraft carriers until the Army took the Japanese airbases.”

  “And the Navy didn’t like that idea?” Banning asked.

  “The Pearl Harbor admirals didn’t like it worth a damn,” Pickering replied. “Admiral Ghormley, on the other hand, thought MacArthur’s plan made more sense than anything else he’d heard ...”

  “Excuse me, Sir,” Banning interrupted. “What had he heard? What does the Navy want to do?”

  “I’m telling you all this more to get it straight in my mind than for any other reason,” Pickering said, a little sharply. “Let me do it my way, please, Banning.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” Banning said, genuinely contrite.

  “Ghormley, as I was saying, not only thought MacArthur’s plan made more sense than the Navy’s, but fired off radios saying so. More important than Ghormley, so did General Marshall. And you know that Marshall and MacArthur agree on damned little. The day MacArthur’s courier officer—he was really more than a courier; he was one of the assistant G-3s, a really bright lieutenant colonel, who knew what was in his briefcase. Anyway, the day he got to see the Chief of Staff in Washington, Marshall presented MacArthur’s plan to Admiral King. Since New Britain was in MacArthur’s territory, logically the operation should be under his command. But he threw in a bone for King: King would appoint an Admiral to actually run the operation, under MacArthur.”

  “And?” Banning asked.

  “On June twenty-fifth, King gave the Navy’s plan to Marshall. Instead of MacArthur—or an Admiral under MacArthur’s orders—attacking New Britain, King wanted a force under Admiral Nimitz—in other words, not under MacArthur—to make an attack in the Solomons and the Santa Cruz islands, as a first step toward taking New Britain. King wanted MacArthur to stage a diversionary attack against Timor, near the Australian Coast.”

  “And, of course, the Army doesn’t like the Navy’s idea?” Banning asked rhetorically.

  “No,” Pickering replied. “And with good reason. They think that the thing to do is hit New Britain first—specifically, the big Jap base at Rabaul. Our land-based bombers could support the attack, and probably take the airbases out long enough so they wouldn’t pose much of a problem for us while we’re getting ashore. Then, once we had captured the airbases and got them up and running, Army fighter planes could relieve the Navy’s carrier-based fighters. And then once we had Rabaul, we could keep the Japs from supplying or reinforcing their other bases within bomber range. They’d be rendered impotent.

  “There’s no argument over the importance of Rabaul, just when and how to take it. The Navy wants to start with Tulagi and move to Rabaul gradually. The Army agrees that it would be easier to take Tulagi first than it would be to take Rabaul, but argues that as we move northward to Rabaul afterward, all our operations would be under attack from Rabaul-based bombers. And, further, as soon as the Japanese see what our obvious plans are, they would have time to reinforce Rabaul with both ground and air forces.”

  “So what’s going to happen?” Banning asked.

  “Theoretically, the matter is still under consideration by the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” Pickering said drily.

  “ ‘Theoretically’?” Banning asked.

  “King apparently thinks he will prevail when the decision is made by the President. He’s ordered Nimitz to prepare to attack in the Solomons, with or without MacArthur’s support. Nimitz relayed that order to Ghormley. So the First Marines are either about to start making up the Operations Orders for the invasion of Guadalcanal, or they already have them now.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Don’t ask, Major,” Pluto Hon said softly. “You really don’t want to know.”

  “What do you think’s going to happen, Captain?” Banning asked.

  “Franklin Roosevelt hates MacArthur, and he loves King and the U.S. Navy. He is probably going to rationalize his decision to go with King by deciding that Marshall’s agreement with MacArthur on this is based on Marshall hating the Navy even more than he hates MacArthur. Logic will have little to do with it.”

  “Jesus!” Banning said softly.

  “And of course,” Pickering added, “Admiral King is certainly going to walk into the Oval Office and dramatically throw the aerial photographs the Air Corps took of this field on Guadalcanal onto the presidential desk. It will be an effective cap to his argument.”

  “Isn’t it?” Banning asked.

  “If we had Rabaul, the Japs could not supply an airfield on Guadalcanal,” Pickering said. “And it seems to me that if a B-17 could take pictures of the field on Guadalcanal, B-17s could bomb it, too.”

  Banning looked as if he was going to say something, but had then decided against it. He held his glass up.

  “May I have another of these, Sir?”

  “Sure, Ed,” Pickering said. “You don’t have to ask. Help yourself.” Then he added: “But in any event, the more information we have about the field on Guadalcanal, and the sooner we get it, the better.”

  Banning, halfway across the room to the liquor, stopped and turned.

  “At this moment, as I am about to help myself to another belt of your splendid booze, and about to sit down to a baron of lamb—Mrs. Cavendish told me about the lamb—at least four Coastwatchers are slopping through some of the nastiest mountain jungle in the world to get us that information, Captain.”

  Pickering grunted. And then he said, “Christ, I’d like to sit all four of them—plus Lieutenant Howard and Sergeant Koffler—down to dinner with King, MacArthur, and the other prima donnas.”

  Banning chuckled. “Chunk of fire-blackened wild pig, cold rice, and washed down with a nice canteen cup of Eau de chlorine, ‘42.”

  Pickering laughed. “Yeah,” he said.

  (Two)

  HEADQUARTERS, 1ST MARINE DIVISION

  WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND

  0815 HOURS 29 JUNE 1942

  “Gentlemen,” Major General A. A. Vandergrift’s aide-de-camp announced, “the commanding general.”

  The thirty-odd officers in the room, almost all of them field grade, the half dozen senior non-commissioned officers, and the one PFC (there to operate a slide projector), came to attention.

  Major General Vandergrift strode into the room.

  “Take your seats, gentlemen,” he said conversationally, as he stepped behind a rather crude lectern. A bedsheet had been thumbtacked to the wall behind him.

  “This won’t take long,” Vandergrift began when the noise of folding chairs scraping on the floor had died down. “We have a lot to do, and precious little time to do it in, and we can’t afford the luxury of wasting any time at all. I have just returned ...”

  He stopped and looked directly at Major Jake Dillon, who was seated in the last row of folding chairs.

  “Major, I certainly don’t mean to embarrass you, but what are you doing in here?”

  “Sir,” Brigadier General “Lucky Lew” Harris said, as he got to his feet, “I asked Major Dillon to attend.”

  Vandergrift’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Then I suppose we can presume Major Dillon is cleared for Top SECRET,” Vandergrift said, “which is how this meeting is classified, and that he has a Need to Know.”

  “Yes, Sir,” General Harris
said.

  He suspected, correctly, that the only reason General Vandergrift had not asked Major Dillon, more or less politely, to get his ass out of the room was that Vandergrift paid more than lip service to the military adage that an officer should not be reprimanded or, especially, humiliated, in front of his juniors. Vandergrift was not going to ask his Deputy, before the General and Special Staff officers of the Division, “just what the hell did you do that for?”

  He probably won’t even ask me later, privately. He knows that I know he’s displeased. He ordered me to keep Dillon away from him. I wonder if I should tell him about Dillon’s orders, which require us to let him stick his goddamned nose in wherever he pleases?

  “As I was saying,” Vandergrift resumed, “I have just returned from meeting with Admiral Ghormley, COMSOPAC, at his headquarters in Auckland. Admiral McCain, who is COMAIRSOPAC, was also there.” (Commander, Air, South Pacific.)

  The room was now absolutely quiet.

  “Admiral Ghormley has ordered me to prepare the division, less the 7th Marines, which, as most of you know, is on Samoa, for combat in the Solomon Islands on 1 August. For those of you who don’t already know, the 1st Marines and our artillery—the 11th Marines—are presently at sea and due to arrive here by the tenth of July. We will be augmented by the 2nd Marines, which will ship out of ‘Diego on one July; by the 1st Raider Battalion, now en route; and by 3rd Defense Battalion, which is in Hawaii. When they will ship out of Hawaii isn’t known; shipping is in critically short supply. We will probably also have the 1st Parachute Battalion. Because there are no transport aircraft for them, they will function as regular infantry.”

  There were muted sounds of surprise, audible exhaling and shaking heads. The people in the room were professionals. They knew the division’s state of preparedness and its logistical problems. All that added up to the almost unarguable fact that the Division was simply not ready to enter combat in less than two months.

  “Son,” General Vandergrift addressed the junior Marine present, “would you put map one up on the screen, please?”

  The overhead lights went out, and a white beam of light erupted from the slide projector against the bedsheet on the wall, and then a black-and-white map appeared.