As he moved out briskly at a pace that would daunt a soldier, Secret Service agents took up their places around the president while a gaggle of reporters and the just plain curious trailed behind. In all, the ad hoc parade consisted of about fifty people. It amused Truman that so many of the older print and radio reporters had declined to even try to keep up with him. Now it was the young pups such as Brinkley, Sevareid, and Rooney who tried to keep pace with a man who knew he was in excellent physical condition and proved it with astonishing frequency. It tickled Truman that the heavy boozers and incessant smokers among the journalists had all been walked into the ground.
Today he had exited the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue. He would walk down Fifteenth Street to where it rejoined Pennsylvania and then to the Capitol, loop around to Independence Avenue, and finally back to the White House by way of Seventeenth Street. It was several solid miles of walking and it would feel good. Somehow life always became easier when he managed to get in some exercise.
"Mr. President, any further comment on the prisoner of war lists?"
One of the more unusual aspects of Truman's daily walks was that the reporters keeping up with him could ask him any questions they wished. Of course, he didn't have to answer, or, if he did, he could frame the answer any way he wished. Harry Truman had long ago figured out that the question-and-answer game could be worked both ways.
"As I've said, boys," he responded solemnly, "the list is a cruel delusion and only goes to show what a hard and unreasonable foe we're fighting. It sickened me when they listed as living so many young men we knew were dead. That it gave false hopes to people back home was a terrible thing for the Japanese to do."
The list had been given by the Japanese to the Swedish embassy, who had turned it over to the Reuters News Agency. It contained the names of people who were known to have died in the campaigns or had already been liberated and appeared to presume that no one had died in Japanese camps. Many other names were suspected of being fictitious.
"As to the young men they've put in jeopardy by placing them in danger areas," Truman continued, "well, the rules of war say they are responsible for our men's safety. If they do not make a reasonable effort to protect the Allied servicemen they have as prisoners, then they are criminally liable."
He didn't add that the condition of those who would be liberated was likely to be ghastly at best.
"Mr. President, there are rumors that the British are working on a separate peace with the Japs. How would that affect the war?"
Truman returned a friendly wave from a black woman standing by the curb. "The war in the Pacific is an almost all-American effort. If the Brits do decide it is in their best interests to make peace, then there's nothing we can do to stop it."
However, Truman knew it was highly unlikely. The British needed American help to get to Hong Kong, and the Japanese there had already reached an accommodation with the Russians and didn't need one with the British. A local truce with the commandant at Hong Kong was possible, but nothing that would end the alliance with the United States.
"What about the revolts in the Holy Land? Is it true that we'll be sending troops to help the English keep order?"
Truman shook his head. "They haven't asked for our help yet, although I might look favorably on such a request. We cannot have Muslims and Jews killing each other. It is inconceivable to me that survivors of the Holocaust cannot find peace in the Holy Land."
The announcement that Britain was going to open up Jewish immigration to Palestine had caused an unexpectedly serious explosion among the indigenous Muslim population. Hundreds had been killed in rioting, and the cities of the Holy Land were burning. Anti-American sentiment in Arab countries was at an all-time high.
In Palestine itself, British forces were hard-pressed to keep order, and there were indications they favored the Muslims anyhow. Truman had already decided that the British might be getting help from American forces now in Europe whether they wanted it or not.
"What's being done to stop the Russians?"
Good question, Truman thought. He avoided a direct answer by laughing and making small talk with a startled group of passersby. In fact, the Soviets were taking over everywhere their tanks were parked. Poland was gone, and East Germany was occupied as was part of Austria. Hungary and Czechoslovakia were tottering, while Bulgaria and Romania were already solidly allied with Stalin. Only in Greece had the Reds been halted, and there appeared to be a curious situation developing in Yugoslavia as the Yugoslavs under Tito seemed to be marching to a different Communist drummer.
The reporter persisted, "Sir, what additional is going to be done to help Chiang?"
This one he could answer. "We are continuing to send him supplies. Short of sending him troops, which we are not in a position to do, there is little else that can be done. He's going to have to fight his battle himself."
The reporter nodded and took notes. Truman had intentionally confirmed the obvious- China was going Communist and there wasn't a damn thing anybody could do about it. Even the most aggravating of the congressmen in the China Lobby now accepted that fact, although their public pronouncements said otherwise.
"Mr. President, what about the rumors of Jap peace feelers? Is there anything to them?"
"No," he snapped. "There are no true peace feelers. Any so-called peace feelers are the same as before the Anami coup in August. That is, they are from well-intentioned Japanese civilians, mainly low-ranking diplomats who are stationed in Europe. They personally wish peace but have no control or influence over the actions of their military government."
Truman was personally convinced that most of the people in Japan were heartily sick of the war. If only they could be reached, he thought, but he was convinced it was hopeless. The Anami government controlled the military, and the military controlled Japan.
"Mr. President, when will we invade Honshu?"
Truman laughed heartily. The reporter flushed and grinned back. "Do you really expect me to answer that question?" Truman said.
"No, sir, but would you comment on the progress of the fighting on Kyushu?"
Truman paused again to shake a few hands. A tourist took his picture with a Kodak. "Any fighting is awful, and this is extremely hard, particularly since the war should have ended months ago. However, our boys are continuing to make progress."
"Do you anticipate a Japanese surrender?"
"We anticipated one last August. Remember, we had one in hand and Anami's thugs snatched it away."
A reporter half ran to get close by. Truman could see that the boy's face was flushed. The puppy wouldn't last more than a block or two. "Can you comment on the pressure from the Vatican to negotiate a peace rather than holding out for unconditional surrender?"
Now let's see who's paying attention, Truman thought. "We will never negotiate with the Anami government."
The reporter took quick notes. Truman looked behind him to where a couple of the more experienced reporters were looking at him quizzically. Yes, they knew that news was often made by what was not said, and the president of the United States had just not said a mouthful.
Before anybody could elaborate, the disorganized entourage turned onto Independence Avenue and were suddenly confronted by a group of several hundred women who blocked the road ahead. As the Secret Service tightened their protective cordon around Truman, he saw that many of the women were carrying signs and placards. END THE WAR NOW some said, while others read BRING OUR BOYS HOME or END THE KILLING TODAY. He was particularly stunned by one placard naming him as a murderer of American youth.
The women themselves looked nothing like the unwashed, hairy, and wild-eyed radicals who normally marched and protested whatever they felt was wrong with the world. These were all white women, middle class and well dressed, and many looked at him grimly. He could read expressions of anger, frustration, and, to his horror, contempt. He involuntarily recoiled from the depths of their passion while flashbulbs popped and photographers immortalized
the event.
Truman was hustled down a side street by the Secret Service and then into the backseat of a trailing car. He brushed off the apologies from the chief agent. The chief said he'd known of a small demonstration in front of the Capitol, but had thought nothing of it as there were almost always demonstrations of some kind. But this one had quickly become unusually large and particularly vocal.
When Truman returned to his office, he checked with Jim Byrnes and found that similar demonstrations were taking place in a number of cities across the nation, and that the demonstrators were primarily women, tens of thousands of women. Truman was shocked. It was almost unheard-of for a large portion of the "normal" population to be against an American war. He poured himself a whiskey and water and another for Byrnes.
"Jim, what the devil's going on? Why are they blaming me instead of the Japs?"
Byrnes took a quick swallow. "I think we're gonna be catching real hell from now on. People are tired of the war and sickened by the casualties. This week it's the women protesting. Next week it'll be their husbands. Good Lord, what'll happen if this spreads to the young men and they stop showing up for military service? Hell, they know we can't prosecute everyone."
Truman thought Byrnes was overreacting and said so. American boys would always do the right thing about their obligation to serve when called. But he also recalled that there had been riots over the military draft during the Civil War, and that the world war in 1918 had not been fully supported by the American public. The attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 had galvanized a confused nation and unified it as it had never been before. Now it looked as if small rips in the fabric of unity were beginning to develop. What on earth would he do if large numbers of young men actually decided not to show up for induction?
Truman put down his glass. He had to find a way to end the war. "Jimmy, I seem to recall you wanted this job yourself at one time?"
Byrnes helped himself to some more whiskey. "I believe you've been grossly misinformed, sir. Nobody in his right mind would want to be president."
"True." Truman laughed.
Truman knew that Byrnes's statement was facetious. In 1944, Byrnes had campaigned hard for the vice-presidential nomination, but Roosevelt's slight and almost uncaring nod had given it to Truman instead. As a result, Truman was stuck with the job.
Now, Truman had to deal with the real concerns that were developing. Only a few months ago, a Gallup poll had said that fully 90 percent of the public supported forcing Japan to an unconditional surrender. But that was no longer the case. The polls still showed a majority wanted unconditional surrender, but that number was declining. Truman mistrusted polls, but he acknowledged that a trend was occurring. If the wives and mothers of America were turning against him, what did it mean for the nation's future?
CHAPTER 62
KYUSHU, NEAR MIYAKONOJO
The flat, sharp crack of the nearby rifle shot sent everyone sprawling in the cold, wet dirt. Paul's first reaction as he hugged the ground was that someone's rifle had gone off accidentally. With everyone running around with loaded weapons it was a constant worry, and he determined to find out who it was and have Mackensen rip him a new asshole. They'd lost enough good men to the Japs without anyone having to worry about being shot by their own men. So far, he'd managed to avoid having that sort of tragedy and planned to keep it that way.
Then, in the second it took for those thoughts to clear his mind, he realized that the sound of the gun said it was not one of theirs. By now the noise made by a Garand or a carbine was a familiar, even friendly and reassuring one, and the shot that had sent them all scurrying was alien. A Jap had taken a shot at them and he had been close by. And, unless he was a magician who could move through the woods in silence, the sniper was still there.
The men now hiding on the ground made no sounds. Fire control was excellent. No one was blazing away at shadows, thus giving away their position or endangering others. Paul broke out into a sweat as he realized that the Jap could not be more than a few score feet away, if that far. Lie still, he told himself. Any kind of motion in the low shrubs and trees might attract the sniper's attention.
But where the hell was he? That Jap had to give them a clue as to his whereabouts, didn't he? They couldn't lie on the ground forever. Of course, if you were shot, forever began immediately. This thought made lying still on the ground look very much like the right thing to do.
Again Paul's company was on a steep hillside and attempting to seize the high ground. This particular hill was heavy with bushes and some surprisingly tall conifer trees that reminded a couple of the men of northern California. As they had advanced northward and into the interior of Kyushu, the type of foliage had changed from the palms and banyans of the south to the more familiar pines and beeches. Even the trees that would normally drop their leaves retained them, although they were brown and lifeless.
It was another hill that was too steep for Orlando's tank to climb even if it had been available. The Sherman was in the rear for long-overdue maintenance. The infantry would have to solve the problems themselves.
CRACK!
The sniper fired again and Paul flinched. He closed his mouth and nearly bit dirt as he tried to hide. This time there was no doubt. The son of a bitch was almost on top of him. There was no cry for help so it appeared the Jap had again missed his target. Either that, Paul thought ruefully, or he had killed his victim instantly and silently. Speculation didn't matter; the sniper had to be taken out.
Paul shifted his body with almost glacial slowness. He would make no sudden motions that would attract the enemy. After what seemed like an eternity, he had rolled onto on his back with his carbine on his chest. He looked upward through the trees and tried to figure out which one hid one Jap sniper.
He could see nothing. The trees were all thick and blotted out the sun. Yet the sniper had to be in a tree, and that tree was damned near to him.
Click.
Paul froze. Oh, Jesus, he thought. The sound had come from almost directly above him, and it was a bullet being chambered in a rifle. The sniper was going to shoot. He squinted and stared at a cluster of limbs about thirty feet above him. Was it the Jap or were his eyes fooling him? The cluster of branches could be a platform hiding the sniper or they could be a perfectly natural accumulation of fallen debris. If he fired at it and was wrong, he would have given away his position to the sniper, and that sort of mistake could be fatal. He stared at the branches and willed the Jap to do something to give himself away.
A stick slowly moved by the branches and began to project out. As Paul watched in fascination, he realized that he was looking at the barrel of a rifle. He shrieked and fired his carbine on full automatic until the clip was empty. The sound deafened him for an instant. Leaves and twigs exploded from the trunk of the tree and the camouflaged firing platform.
Then there was silence.
"Who fired?" yelled Mackensen.
"I did," Paul answered hoarsely.
Mackensen was beside him. "You get him?"
Paul gestured upward. The obscuring branches had come off the tree, and what remained had taken on a distinctly human form as it dangled facedown. It was limp and lifeless, but human. Then whatever had been holding the body to the tree came loose and the Jap commenced a fall to the ground, his body hitting several limbs that slowed his descent.
The body landed only a few feet away from Paul and Mackensen. A second later the Arisaka rifle clattered down beside its owner. Several of Paul's soldiers had emerged from their refuges and looked at the Jap, who was now sprawled awkwardly on the ground.
Mackensen moved to check him out. "Be careful," Paul said.
"Hell, sir"- Mackensen grinned- "if that fall didn't make him go off, nothing will. I really don't think he's booby-trapped." He inserted a booted foot under the man's armpit and rolled him over on his back. Paul gagged. One of his shots had ripped off the man's jaw, while others had ripped open his chest and stomach.
Humming idly,
Mackensen went through the Jap's pockets and pulled out his papers. There was nothing terribly exciting. He announced that the Jap was an enlisted man in a unit they already knew they were fighting.
Mackensen straightened up and handed the papers to Paul. "I don't read their shit all that well, sir, but I think this says he's seventeen years old. He also wasn't that good a shot since he didn't hit nothing."
There was a snapshot of an older couple who were probably the dead man's parents and another of a young girl dressed in a demure kimono. It chilled Paul. He had a picture like that in his wallet and he visualized some Jap soldiers looking at it and commenting crudely. He wondered what they would have thought of Debbie's photo. Would they have laughed at his parents the way his men were now doing with the Jap's and make noises about whether they wanted to flick the girlfriend? Probably, Paul decided.
There was some Japanese paper money as well, and he gave it to the soldiers. It was worthless, but everyone wanted some to send home as a souvenir.
Paul looked more closely at the corpse. Mackensen had said he was seventeen, just about the same age as Debbie's brother. He was small and frail and looked more like thirteen than seventeen. Most Japs were smaller than Americans, but this man couldn't have been more than five feet tall and probably didn't weigh more than a hundred pounds.
Then Paul noticed how unhealthily thin the dead man was. He was almost emaciated and Paul made a note to pass that fact on to battalion. The only bodies they'd seen lately had been badly burned or shredded, which made it impossible to estimate their overall health. If everyone in the Japanese army was as hungry-looking as this sorry cadaver, then the Japanese supply system had completely broken down.
Hell, just last night Paul and his men had eaten a hot chicken dinner from a mobile field kitchen. When was the last time the Jap'd had a full meal? Weeks, he guessed, and it was probably boiled rice. If the Jap army was starving, that was good news.
1945 Page 33
