"Water," Dennis rasped. When a canteen was held to his lips, he gurgled and swallowed. After a moment, his voice returned enough to speak. "What about the blindfold?"
"It comes off when I think you're ready for it to come off."
That didn't make sense to Dennis. "Ready for what? You're an American, aren't you? Take the damn thing off me."
That brought a chuckle. "Yeah, I'm American, but maybe not what you expected in the way of a fellow American. It's not exactly like I'm mom and apple pie."
"When did you escape?"
There was a pause and Dennis heard the other man take a deep breath. He was making a decision. "I didn't escape, Mr. Chambers. I came here by submarine. And I'm not in the military in the strictest sense, I'm with the OSS."
The man was a spy and didn't want his face to be seen. That made sense. If Dennis was discovered, he couldn't possibly describe the other man if he hadn't seen him. Of course he wondered just how a white man could be an effective spy in the land of people whose skin was yellow.
Then the answer hit Dennis like a blow to the stomach, and it was his turn to take a deep breath. "Where're you from?" he asked, switching to his brand of halting Japanese.
"Honolulu" came the answer. The other man sounded amused.
"Were you in the army?"
"Yep. For a while, anyhow."
Dennis smiled. "Bet it was the 442nd, wasn't it?"
"Very good, Mr. Chambers. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to see me right away? It would have scared the hell out of you to wake up and find a real live Jap staring you in the face. You might have started screaming and brought us some unwanted company."
With that Joe removed the blindfold. Dennis blinked and realized it was evening. He wondered how long he'd been out. Then he looked at the one-armed man in the Japanese army uniform who sat across from him. "Jesus Christ."
"Actually, the name is Joe Nomura, although many people do make that mistake. It's my Christlike demeanor."
"You rescued me, didn't you?"
"Right again."
"What did you do with the other two men?"
Nomura paused. "Thanks to you, I had to kill them, Mr. Chambers. I finished what you so foolishly started." He took out a knife and sliced through Dennis's bonds. Dennis wondered if Nomura had killed them with the same knife he was so casually using to free him.
"One man I stabbed and the other I hit on the neck with the side of my hand. If you're not aware of it, it's an ancient Japanese art called karate. Then I stole their food and weapons, which is what you probably had in mind, and then set fire to the planes. A few minutes later, a couple of our navy hotshots flew overhead and strafed the site and probably took credit for my kills." Joe looked at Dennis and saw the other man looking at him curiously. "Oh, how could I kill my fellow Japs? Is that what's bothering you?"
"Something like that."
"Easy. I'm not a Jap. I'm an American. I crossed that bridge a long time ago. Even though I've lived here in Japan for a while, I was born in the U.S. It wasn't an easy decision and it was a long time coming, but I think I've made it correctly. These people here are just too fucking weird for my taste. Tell me, you got any German ancestors?"
"A couple," Dennis replied. "Yeah. You're right, flick 'em."
Joe Nomura said he had an errand to run. He had to learn some more about a bunch of Japanese soldiers who were down in the valley. Before he disappeared into the deepening night, he offered Dennis a bowl of rice, which he ate voraciously.
Joe left Dennis with a pistol, a 7mm Japanese Nambu, which looked curiously like a German Luger. Joe explained that it was an officer's gun and it was not for protection. Dennis was to stay hidden in the trees and shrubs and wait for Joe's return. On the off chance that he was discovered, or that a Japanese patrol was about to stumble on him, Joe was to try to disappear into the woods. If he did not get away, he was to stick the gun in his mouth and blow his brains out.
"I think," Joe said, "you would find that preferable to what they would do if they captured you. And the gun jams, so don't even think of wasting shots shooting at them. One other thing. I trusted you with the knowledge of my existence. Believe me when I say I did that very reluctantly. I am much more important alive than you are, is that clearly understood?"
"Yes."
How could Dennis argue with any of that logic? He fondled the pistol and wondered if he had the willpower to kill himself. Yet, even with the fear of death far from removed, he felt a lot better. He was no longer alone.
It didn't even bother Dennis that Nomura had made it clear that he, and not Dennis, was in total charge of this two-man operation. For the first time in a while, Dennis Chambers began to think it really possible that he would survive this ordeal.
CHAPTER 24
Harry Truman sat on a plain wooden chair and looked about. "Tell me, General Marshall, did you know this room existed?"
As always, Marshall answered truthfully, no matter how much it discomfited the still new president. "Yes, sir. I've known about it since it was put in, even been here a few times, but most people, even those pretty high up, have no need to know about it."
They were in the White House map room on the ground level of the White House. It was directly across the hall from the elevator that went to the president's private quarters. The walls of the room were covered with maps, many of them from the National Geographic Society, and the windows had been covered with dark paper to provide its occupants with a degree of privacy. Normally it was staffed by officers whose job it was to keep up-to-date the symbols on the maps that showed the progress of the war. For the duration of this meeting between himself and Marshall, Truman had chased the staff out.
"It was almost two weeks after I'd become president that I learned of this place," Truman mused. "FDR would take the elevator to this level and wheel himself in almost daily and be able to keep track of things. Imagine, it was going on in the White House for almost four years and most people, myself included, were wholly unaware it existed. Makes sense that FDR would have something like this, though. I wonder how many other secrets I still don't know about."
"No more, I would hope. Certainly nothing major," Marshall said truthfully.
Truman swiveled in the chair. "Now, tell me about that damned typhoon."
"And about the atomic bomb, sir, and not much of the news I've got is good news."
Truman laughed, which startled Marshall. "It never is, General, it never is, and no one can accuse you of being a fair-weather sycophant- no pun intended. Well, give me the truth. I can stand it."
The typhoon had done extensive damage on Okinawa. The resulting injuries and loss of life were small, but a great deal of the equipment being gathered on and around Okinawa was destroyed or seriously damaged. Literally hundreds of aircraft were demolished and many others damaged. Large numbers of valuable landing craft were either sunk or damaged. The larger ships had been able to get to sea and ride out the storm without too much difficulty, although a large number of carrier planes were destroyed or damaged. Mother Nature had handed the navy a devastating defeat.
The men on Okinawa were without equipment, and many didn't even have a complete uniform to wear. Everything they owned was blown out to sea. Even though most of the staging for the invasion was in the Philippines and elsewhere, the need to refurbish and replace what was lost on Okinawa would definitely delay the invasion of Japan.
Supplies stockpiled to replace those lost in the invasion would have to be used to resupply the half-naked men on Okinawa. The invasion would be delayed, perhaps as long as a month.
"November fifteenth," Truman said. "Sooner if you can do it."
While the fighting would doubtless be raging during the Christmas season, the president didn't want an invasion too close to that date, Marshall knew. He would expedite the resupply of the forces on Okinawa even if it meant accepting the risk of running short at some time during the campaign.
"Now, do you have any other bad news for
me?"
"Sir, it is highly unlikely that we will use atomic bombs during or after the invasion."
"What now?" This was too much. Were there any uses for that weapon?
"Sir, we no longer believe it is a viable tactical weapon for use against Japan in either Olympic or Coronet."
Truman looked at Marshall in disbelief. "Why?" he asked simply.
"Mr. President, the radiation threat is too great to be ignored. We had naively thought that we could use A-bombs to blast our way through Jap frontline defenses and push our men on into the interior of Kyushu and elsewhere. Now it turns out that our boys would not be able to go through those areas because of lingering radiation, which is still causing people in Japan to sicken and die. Further, the mushroom cloud itself is an uncontrollable variable that could easily sweep over our men and ships, causing great harm, even deaths. The prevailing winds over Kyushu blow from the north to the south in the winter. Therefore, any atomic cloud would be swept over the beaches and out to sea, and possibly over our fleet. Our men would be contaminated with falling radioactive dust, rain, and debris. The ships can simply be hosed down by properly dressed personnel, but the men on the beaches would have no such option.
"Sir, the scientists are going to detonate at least a couple of our bombs and make controlled experiments regarding radiation. We simply need to know more about it before we continue. On the other hand, if the Japanese are so foolish as to mass their forces inland, then we will bomb them, but those are the only circumstances I can foresee in which we would use an atomic bomb."
The comment about the drifting mushroom cloud brought Truman back to grim and nearly forgotten memories of gas warfare in World War I. Back then a sudden change in wind direction could sweep a lethal cloud of gas back to its senders, rather than on to the enemy, and with devastating and unintended consequences.
"I understand what you're saying, General, but are you certain of the danger? After all, wasn't it just a while ago that everyone was so certain that radiation would dissipate quickly?"
"Yes, sir, but now we have more and better information. Our sources are from additional analysis of the area around Alamogordo where the first bomb was exploded, continued intercepted pleas for medical help from Japanese dealing with the problem, messages from neutral diplomats confirming the continuing radiation-related casualties, and, I'm pleased to say, information from an OSS operative we've managed to land on Kyushu."
Truman was intrigued by the last point. "You don't say? I thought both MacArthur and Nimitz didn't want anything to do with the OSS?"
"When confronted with the reality that only the OSS had someone who could infiltrate Japan, Admiral Nimitz changed his mind. I'm not certain MacArthur's been informed."
Truman smiled. "Probably better that he not be."
"Yes, sir. The OSS got a radio response from their man a couple of days ago. They'd just about given him up for lost after the sub sent to deposit him never returned and was presumed lost. He ' s been wandering about the Nagasaki area and making solid observations."
"How the hell is he getting away with that?" Truman puzzled, then it dawned on him. "Hell, he's a Jap, isn't he?"
"He's an American," Marshall corrected stiffly.
Truman flushed. "That's what I meant. A Japanese American. Good for him."
"Mr. President, Admiral Leahy and others are not unhappy that we may have no further use for the atomic bomb. They've felt all along that it is an immoral weapon that should never have been used on a civilian target, and that Christian nations should never wage war on civilians, whether nuclear or conventional. They feel we should never intentionally allow ourselves to sink to the level of the barbarians lest we become ones ourselves. I believe Admiral Leahy even used the word 'unchivalrous' in connection with the bomb."
Truman privately wondered just what about modern war Leahy actually considered chivalrous.
"General Marshall, I respect the opinions of Leahy and others, and I personally deplore the carnage the bombs have wrought. But we will use any weapons we have that will help end this war, General. I will not concern myself with what might be construed as being chivalrous."
"I understand, sir."
"I want this war over as soon as possible and with as few American casualties as possible."
Truman excused himself. He had a splitting headache and wanted to lie down. Then he wanted to make himself a stiff drink.
CHAPTER 25
Paul Morrell's new fatigue uniform itched. After all the training he and the others had gone through before the typhoon, he was simply unused to the feel of something new. At least, he thought grimly, it stood a chance of not wearing out before the time came to actually land on Japan. He just hoped he'd last as long as the fatigues.
And that time, they were all convinced, was going to come soon, real soon. The army had made Herculean efforts to replace all their missing gear and had largely succeeded. Everywhere he looked, he could see nothing but new material- uniforms, vehicles, tents, and the miscellany of other supplies that an army needs. In a way, the typhoon had done them all a favor by forcing the army to replace worn gear. It had been astonishing how fast it had happened too. In only a couple of days, they were partially refitted and were completely reequipped within a week and a half. It made Paul wonder just how great were the warehouses and resources that could perform such a task so quickly and so efficiently.
Captain Ruger's company had gathered on a hill at the southernmost tip of Okinawa. It was becoming difficult to realize that a war had been fought there only a couple of short months before. Shell craters were being covered by grasses and young shrubs as nature sought to take back what was rightfully hers from the destructive interlopers. In a few years, visitors might have a hard time finding places where their sons had fought and died.
But not yet. Nature had not succeeded in entirely covering man's devastating tracks. In many places the walls of destroyed houses and flattened villages stood as stark reminders to the enormous conflict. Wrecked vehicles of all kinds, including a surprising number of tanks, lay about in disarray. This time, there were no Japanese bodies.
Captain Ruger stood on a rock to look over his now lean and grim-faced company. "Do you know where we are, men?"
The question was rhetorical and no one answered. For a moment, Paul was afraid of a smart-ass comment from one of his men, but none materialized. This was too obviously a place of agony, and the ground on which they stood had soaked up American blood as well as Japanese.
"This," Ruger continued, "is the spot where the last Japanese soldiers on Okinawa died. They were out of ammunition, starving, and many of them were sick or wounded, but they still fought on. They would not surrender."
The men understood. If the Japanese would let themselves be killed instead of surrendering on a crummy place like Okinawa, what the hell would they do on Kyushu? It was a sobering thought.
"Men, there are some who say the only reason the Japs all died is because they couldn't retreat any farther, and that, for them, this was the end of their world."
Paul looked down the hill where a deceptively calm Pacific sent low waves crashing against the rocks of the shore. The last Japs on Okinawa had died on a point of land that was directed south, and not even north toward Japan. Each agonizing moment and step had taken them farther away from their homeland. He wondered what their last thoughts were. Had they been proud and defiant at the end, or had they been too sick and scared even to think at all? What the hell would he think of under similar circumstances?
Ruger held up a Japanese rifle. It was the Arisaka Model 38. It had a bolt action, a permanent magazine, and a five-round clip. It was not considered equivalent to the Ml Garand or the Ml carbine. The Garand was a semiautomatic, while the new version of the carbine could fire full-automatic. The Garand had an eight-round clip and the carbine a fifteen. A number of Americans were still armed with Thompson submachine guns, which had twenty-round clips. The infamous "tommy gun" had been only slightly m
odified from the Al Capone days for use by the army. Each squad had at least one Browning automatic rifle in its arsenal, and the BAR was almost the equivalent of a machine gun. The Japanese were outgunned.
By comparison, the Japanese Arisaka was so poorly made that it even rattled when carried. In the right hands, however, it was deadly.
Ruger waved the rifle around so that all could see it clearly. Paul wondered whose souvenir it was. "Think of it," Ruger shouted. "They were even willing to die with only this piece of shit to protect them, but"- he paused for effect- "die they did." He gestured to a lanky buck sergeant who had been taking this in with bemused silence. The sergeant, a stranger to the company, had a large white bandage over his left ear and seemed to have a trembling in his left hand.
Ruger gestured the sergeant forward. "Men, this is Sergeant Gleason. He will tell you a few things about this place and the Japanese."
Sergeant Gleason shuffled his feet. He looked about twenty-two and was obviously uncomfortable addressing a large body of men. Finally, he grinned tentatively. "Your first sergeant talked me into coming out here and seeing if I could help you fellas. Actually, he said he'd rip my flicking other ear off if I didn't show up, and I kinda believed him since he was my drill sergeant in basic a few years ago."
The rumble of nervous laughter seemed to give Gleason some confidence. "Fellas, I spent a month fighting for this god-awful part of God's earth, and I lost a lot of friends. I also lost my ear, and I was kind of fond ofthat too. I'm going to go home in a little bit, but you guys are going to have to take over from people like me. Now, some of what I'm going to tell you already know, but don't be pissed off. I'm just trying to help.
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