"Welcome to the Pacific, General Monck," MacArthur's stentorian voice boomed.
"Thank you, sir, it's a pleasure to be here and working for you." Monck noticed that both Willoughby and Sutherland had taken up positions flanking MacArthur. The set of their stance said that they were ready to protect their liege lord. MacArthur, erect and dark-haired, looked to need little protection from anyone. It was hard to realize that MacArthur was sixty-five and had already retired once.
"I see you served under Eisenhower. Fine man Ike. He was my chief of staff in Washington for a while, and I thought he was an excellent clerk. I'm a little surprised he's gotten as far as he has, though. Did you know him well?"
"Very little, sir. While I recalled him from the Point, our paths never crossed in Europe. He sent me a letter of congratulations on my promotion, but that's about it."
The answer seemed to satisfy MacArthur that Monck was not a part of the Eisenhower club. "General Monck, I am supremely confident that your tenure as a combat commander here will be a brief but successful one. The Japanese are finished and it's only a question of time before they realize it. We have done our studies"- MacArthur turned to Willoughby, who almost smirked- "and we firmly believe that the Japanese military will break when we invade Kyushu and that there will be minimal casualties."
MacArthur then laughed sharply. "There are those in Washington and elsewhere who think the Japanese will resist strongly, but they are wrong. The Japanese will be defeated in open battle by our overwhelming strength, and they will break and retreat, just as it happened here in the Philippines. When that occurs, the war will be over. Do you know what happens then, General?"
Monck felt that he was sweating and almost prayed it didn't show. "No, sir, I don't."
MacArthur had an almost dreamy look on his face. When he answered, it was almost as if he were giving a speech or were a missionary preaching to the heathen. "When the Japanese surrender, I will become the military governor of Japan. When that occurs, every man, woman, and child in Japan will be under my thrall, and that includes the emperor. Yes, General Monck, the emperor of Japan, the God-Emperor Hirohito, will acknowledge me as his superior. Think of it. After all these years of fighting, they will kowtow to an American."
Sutherland whispered something to MacArthur, who nodded impatiently. There was doubtless another appointment, and Monck's brief time before the throne was up. He departed with Eichelberger, who patted him on the back and said he'd done just fine, and don't forget to avoid correspondents and publicity like the plague.
Brig. Gen. John L. Monck assured him he wouldn't. He found his driver and rode back to the airstrip wrapped in thought. He needed a drink and a conversation with Major Parker, whom he'd sent on a snooping expedition of his own.
He found Parker in the shade of a tent, sipping a can of cold beer. Parker took one from a cooler and offered it. Monck swallowed half the can in one gulp.
"Did you meet God?" Parker asked irreverently.
Monck finished the beer and grabbed another one. "No, I met his boss, MacArthur. Jesus, you wouldn't believe it. I wonder just what the hell we've gotten into."
"General, did you get the crap about taking only light casualties if we invade?"
"Yeah, and I believe it about as much as I do the tooth fairy. What did you find out?"
Parker took another can for himself. "MacArthur has this disturbing habit of proclaiming victories before the fighting's over. Yes, the Japanese were defeated here in the Philippines and have retreated, but they haven't surrendered. After causing more than fifty thousand American casualties, they've just gone to ground in the hills and are awaiting word from Tokyo of what to do next."
"How many are still left?"
"Maybe fifty thousand under General Yamashita here in Luzon, plus smaller groups elsewhere. They don't have any tanks, damned little artillery, and less ammunition, and they may be starving to death, but unless they are ordered to surrender, someday someone's gonna have to go in and root them out, and that's gonna be bloody painful."
Parker rubbed his forehead with the cold can and continued, "Mac thinks the campaign is over and he can move on, but it's far from complete, and I don't like his casualty estimates any more than you do. I don't know what the exact numbers are, but he based his estimate on what happened here in the Philippines and not the fanatical resistance we met on Okinawa. A little bird told me he's now saying we can have all of Kyushu for only fifteen thousand casualties because the Japs are in such bad shape and we are so unbeatable."
Monck crumpled the can and threw it against the side of the tent. How could Mac Arthur say it would cost only fifteen thousand to take one of the home islands of Japan when the battle for the Philippines had already consumed four times that? How could he ignore the horrific casualty percentages that had been suffered on Iwo Jima and Saipan, as well as most recently on Okinawa. It didn't make sense. "Then why is he doing it, Don? Why the low numbers?"
Parker checked his watch. "Two reasons, and then we'd better catch our plane. You may be a general now, but that plane has a schedule to keep and other brass to ferry around the Pacific.
"First, he actually believes the battle for the Philippines is over and that he's won, and in a lot of ways he's right. The fact that it's incomplete is irrelevant to him. That's just the way his mind operates. He's finished with the Philippines and he wants to move on to the next challenge. He's right that he's won the campaign, but the fighting is still subject to flare-up at any time.
"The second reason is a little more insidious. It is widely believed among some members of his staff who used to be my friends that he avoided giving a higher estimate of casualties because he feared Washington would have called off the invasion. No invasion, no glory, and no victory. No victory and he can't become Hirohito's boss. Thus, Willoughby and Sutherland baked up some wild-ass low numbers on his behalf, and MacArthur grabbed them like the Holy Grail. Now he can invade with a clear conscience because his staff said it's okay."
"Oh, Lord," Monck said with a groan. An enlisted man told them their plane was ready. They grabbed their carry-on bags and headed across the hot runway for the transport plane. "What do your friends say about the real estimated numbers?"
"General, there is the slight possibility that Willoughby and Sutherland are right. But as to my friends, they're all scared to death that it could be a bloodbath."
CHAPTER 12
Reluctant OSS agent Joe Nomura knew that the Moray would sail away and leave him, but its sinking left him wondering if anyone in the United States even knew he was alive.
He'd hidden his supplies quickly, so not to attract enemy attention. A patrol had indeed confronted him in the rugged terrain after the explosions that signaled the end of the Moray.
After a few questions from their sergeant, Joe realized that his disguise worked. A one-armed veteran in a tattered uniform was of no concern or threat to the patrol. The soldiers were solely interested in whether he had seen or heard anything unusual regarding the explosions. They didn't even ask to see his carefully forged army papers. He was just too innocuous. He told them he had heard the explosions, but had seen nothing, and they brusquely sent him on his way.
The next day, Joe joined the milling throngs of refugees that clustered around hospitals and stood in long lines at food distribution centers near Nagasaki. He'd seen refugees before, but never so many, and never with so many of them injured. The hospitals were obviously overwhelmed by the catastrophe and could only handle the more serious injuries. Simple burns and broken bones didn't qualify one for medical care. These victims either found help elsewhere or endured. There was no choice for them.
Joe had also never seen so many people who both looked like him and who were in such obvious physical and emotional agony. The sight of the children, mute with horror, moved him more deeply than he ever thought possible.
However, without an arm and dressed in tatters, he blended in perfectly. This made him confident and he wandered about, list
ening to conversations, and occasionally asking questions of medical personnel who were helping to treat the most horribly injured. To his surprise, many were more than willing to talk about their experiences, although he got depressed when people inquired of him about their loved ones. He was a soldier, wasn't he? They thought he should know these things. It almost made him weep when they asked him about missing children.
That gave him the idea of volunteering to work in a hospital, and in the ensuing days, his services were accepted at several places where he helped with some of the more odious tasks, such as carrying out bodies. When one doctor asked him why he was doing it, Joe had drawn himself to attention and announced proudly, "Even a one-armed man can serve his emperor." The doctor had sucked in his breath and bowed to Joe in deference and respect to his sense of honor.
From several nurses, he heard the complaint that they had no bandages, no medicine, and, even if they had, these wouldn't work against the new sickness caused by the bomb.
From doctors he heard puzzling comments over the weakening effects of radiation. They wondered why some were spared while others were dying, and they compared notes while in his hearing.
The doctors were perplexed by people who appeared healthy, then collapsed, sickened, and died from radiation poisoning. How, they wondered, did one treat wounds that would not heal and burns that could not be quenched? Almost to a man they cursed the United States for the agony it had brought to Nagasaki. There were no curses for the Japanese government. Whatever thoughts the medics might have had in that regard were kept prudently in check. Anyone might turn someone with dissident thoughts in to the national military police, the kempei.
Usually the kempei wore ordinary military uniforms with distinguishing red and khaki armbands, and Joe saw several of them. Just as often, though, they wore civilian clothes and kept their identity a secret. From his briefings, Joe knew they were ruthless and, as the situation in Japan deteriorated, were becoming brutal. In many cases, they had the right to inflict summary judgment and punishment upon individuals.
Joe never stayed long at one place, often just a few hours, as he drew himself closer and closer to the center of Nagasaki. As he passed through the devastated and flattened city, he wondered just how the damage at Hiroshima could have been worse, yet he had been told that it was. Kokura, he'd heard, had suffered about as much as Nagasaki.
But it was Nagasaki that interested his superiors in the OSS. Nagasaki was on Kyushu, and that was considered relevant because of the open rumors that gave Kyushu as a probable, but still secret, target for the invasion. Hell, he thought, some secret. Even the Japanese he overheard speculated that Kyushu was a likely place for the Americans to land.
Nagasaki's destruction had occurred more than a month earlier, and the United States was concerned about the effects of lingering radiation on both places and people. Joe'd been given little packets of film to utilize in areas or on things where he suspected radiation. He was told that the extent to which the film was exposed would indicate the strength of radiation. He unobtrusively tagged these and checked them in private.
As he performed these experiments, a disturbing picture emerged. First, while radiation had dissipated somewhat, it had done so inconsistently. Areas in Nagasaki were still so hot that the Japanese had cordoned them off and permitted no one to enter. He wondered what effect the radiation would have on an American army moving through the area.
He found that people who had been under the mushroom cloud when it slowly fell back to the earth were seriously ill, with many of them dead or dying. The bomb had generated dirty outbursts of rain, which contaminated drinking water.
Most disturbing were the continuing incidents of seemingly healthy people who suddenly came down with serious cases of radiation sickness. Joe could only speculate on the causes. Either they had come in contact with something that was radioactively hot and had cooked them, or they had been contaminated earlier and it had taken days, even weeks, for the sickness to reach a point where they were incapacitated.
Joe found both options equally disturbing when he again contemplated the idea of GIs moving about and fighting in the poisoned land.
As to the other wounds he saw, the burns and fractures were nothing he hadn't seen before, only multiplied a thousandfold until the sheer numbers became numbing. That so many civilians had died came as no surprise to his sensitivities either. He had seen what modern warfare could do to Italian villages and knew that death in war was indiscriminate. However, he was concerned by the many cases of blindness. Most people who had seen the atomic explosion had suffered at least some vision damage. It was worth noting and he filed it mentally.
He was also intrigued that not all people near the center of the blast were killed or injured. The many hills in the area seemed to have shielded some from the effects of the blast, although others had been hit by the radiation that fell from the bomb cloud if they were unlucky enough to have it blown in their direction.
It was time to unearth his radio and report. Not only did he have enough information to give his masters, but he felt a strong urge to let them know he was still alive, and that he had not gone down with the Moray, which he presumed was listed as missing. He hoped he wouldn't have too much trouble with the code they had given him. Joe would have to keep his messages short and to the point, changing frequencies and radio locations with each message. Trouble was, he now had a lot to say and doing it would entail a lot of risk.
Nomura trudged the weary miles out of Nagasaki and onto the hill where he had squirreled his precious cache of supplies and equipment. With his stomach aching with hunger, he was even looking forward to army rations, although he would have to be careful and not eat them all up. At best, he had enough to last him only a few weeks. After that he was adrift along with the civilian population of Japan.
He looked across the valley and saw motion on a hill about a mile away. Joe squinted and watched. It was definitely a human, although he- or she for that matter- seemed to be moving erratically. Probably someone else who was injured or deranged, he decided, or even one of the numerous blind people. Well, well, he had neighbors. Nothing surprising and certainly nothing to be alarmed about, although he made a mental note to check out the surrounding area once more. With so many refugees about, things could literally change overnight, and there was always the possibility of the kempei doing some random snooping.
As long as the threat was not too great, he was not worried about taking care of himself. Along with the radio and the food, the OSS had thoughtfully provided him with a number of weapons, including a couple of Japanese ones. If necessary, he had no qualms about using them on some of those people who looked like him.
Joe glanced across the valley again and realized that the person he'd seen had disappeared from view. Now he definitely thought he should check things out a good deal more thoroughly. And he would take a Japanese pistol with him when he did it.
CHAPTER 13
Their first look at the tortured island of Okinawa came when the C-47 transport plane banked slightly while still several miles away from the long, thin island. From that distance, the island looked to Paul Morrell and Capt. Tom Ruger like a pale strip on the horizon, an item in the vast ocean that was barely worthy of notice.
Okinawa was innocuous and deceptively like a score of other islands they had either flown over or stopped at briefly. Even as they flew closer, they had a hard time thinking of the apparently tranquil patch of land as a cause of so much bloodshed.
"They fought like hell for this place," Ruger muttered. "I wonder what they'll do when we actually land on Japan proper?"
Paul Morrell craned his neck to see out one of the plane's few tiny windows. Okinawa, roughly sixty miles long, narrow, and only 340 miles from the Japanese mainland, had been invaded by Lt. Gen. Simon Bolivar Buckner's Tenth Army on April 1, 1945. For a while it seemed as if the Japanese weren't going to fight as the Americans overran the northern two-thirds of the narrow island in only a fe
w days, with little in the way of resistance. The army's big problem had been the care and feeding of the thousands of terrified Okinawan civilians who had clogged the island's few roads. The gentle Okinawans had been told that Americans were monsters and they had been delighted to find out otherwise.
But as the Americans moved toward the southern tip, the island became a study in hell. It took until June 22 for them to secure Okinawa, although individual Japanese soldiers and a few small units were rumored to be still hiding in Okinawa's more rugged areas.
Both sides paid an enormous price. Of the almost one hundred thousand Japanese soldiers on the island, only seventy-four hundred had been taken prisoner. Most of those taken were Okinawan militia who had been poorly trained and equipped, and not as fanatic about fighting to the last man as their Japanese neighbors. The nearly eighty thousand Japanese regulars had chosen to die along with their commanding general, Mitsuru Ushijimi, who had committed suicide on the last day of the battle.
General Buckner had been killed in an artillery barrage at about the same time. Nearly eight thousand soldiers and marines had died in the campaign, and another thirty-two thousand had been wounded.
The campaign for Okinawa had brought additional terror as Japanese kamikazes were used in large numbers for the first time in the war. A large number of ships had been sunk or damaged by these kamikazes, and many, many sailors had been killed or wounded. If Okinawa was a forecast of the future, both men felt the future was to be dreaded.
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