Pearl Harbor: A Novel of December 8th

by Newt Gingrich

  “Sir?”

  “Both sides must make concessions if we are to calm the troubled seas that we now steaming into,” Grew said, happy to use a nautical analogy with this former admiral.

  “I do not think I am really at liberty to discuss possible terms in a serious way,” Teijiro replied.

  “Then off the record, as they say,” Grew pressed. “You have my oath I will not reveal this conversation other than to communicate to my government the prayerful wish that this proposal of a meeting between our two leaders be embraced and moved upon as quickly as possible.”

  Teijiro smiled and nodded.

  So here was the real reason for this meeting, Grew realized. It was to get his endorsement, for him to appeal to his old childhood friend in the White House to agree.

  “I can in no way speak officially to you now on this,” Teijiro replied, “but it is obvious that your complete embargo, which is nothing short of a blockade, will strangle my nation within the year. We are as dependent on trade as any island nation would be.”

  He sat back in his chair, still rubbing the back of his neck with a cool towel, his shirt nearly soaked, and Grew was conscious of just how boiling hot the room was. The temperature had to be hovering at well over ninety.

  “Disengagement in China,” Teijiro finally said.

  Grew waited for more and there was a long silence.

  “And that is it?”

  Teijiro sighed.

  “What more can we offer?” he said carefully. Grew could now see the other reason for this meeting: to fish for terms, the parameters of what America would expect and then offer in return.

  “Disengage?” he finally replied. “Sir, your nation went into an unjustified war in China over four years ago. Your army said it would be finished in six months. How many hundred thousand dead on your side and still no end in sight? Can you not see the quagmire you are in? Disengage now, and though I cannot speak for the president, I suspect he would be most heartily ready to extend a hand of understanding in return.”

  Teijiro said nothing for a moment. He knew the true reality, the dream of Konoye to forestall, at the last minute, a war that he himself had been cornered into proposing by the military and Nationalist radicals. He knew as well the reality from the other side, the side he had served for so many years.

  “Disengagement will take time.”

  “How long?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Grew sighed.

  “Then I cannot say what will be the answer to your prime minister’s proposal.”

  The two took turns fishing out pieces of ice, now floating in the silver bucket, wrapped the small chunks into their towels, and sat back trying to stay cool.

  “I will contact my government as soon as I return to my office,” Grew finally said, breaking the silence. “I will give my warmest endorsement to your prime minister’s proposal. I think you know me well enough to know that I have a deep love and respect for your country. War between us would be the most horrible of tragedies. The reasoning of good men must prevail, and I will try my best to see that this meeting takes place. But I must also know clearly from you. Is your nation, even now, planning hostile action against us?”

  Teijiro fixed Grew with a stare.

  “I know of no such plans,” he said.

  There was a long moment, both looking at each other, neither breaking eye contact, both looking for the subtle clues, the slight shift of eyes, like two poker players both wondering just how far they could bluff.

  “Then let us hope that the good intentions of honest men prevail, otherwise I fear for the lives of millions of young men, both yours and mine,” Grew said.

  And in his heart he knew. Teijiro was indeed bluffing. His intention was honest, to see that the meeting of leaders might just take place, but even now they were preparing, planning, getting ready, a madness stretching back years, of a few who sought war, and so many good men afraid to defy and stop them, or if need be to stand up to them in force, and now the price could indeed be a terrible one to pay.

  NINE

  Tokyo

  5 September 1941

  It was his second time before the Imperial Presence in as many hours, and weary with exhaustion and nervousness, Prince Konoye waited outside the doorway of the audience chamber. Beside him were the chiefs of staff of the army and navy, General Sugiyama and Admiral Nagano.

  Nothing was said among them.

  The liaison conference of two days before had turned into an utter fiasco as far as Konoye was concerned. It had all come down to a fundamental point. The army was not willing to openly concede to the American requirements to cease expansion, to withdraw from Indochina, and then China… even if then the oil would flow again. The argument Sugiyama had shouted back was that now the clock was ticking; with every day of delay, another fifty thousand barrels of their precious reserves were consumed. All the Americans needed to do was sit back and drag out negotiations for six months, a year, until the reserves were dry, and the Japanese army was reduced to a medieval force on foot, the navy reduced to sails.

  It was now time to present before the Emperor the alternatives: and though Konoye had always felt a closeness, even an informality when before the Emperor, today he did not.

  As the door opened the Emperor was already waiting, and at their entry all three bowed low, he barely acknowledging their entry with a mere nod of the head. There was no need for Konoye to reiterate what he had explained to the Emperor but two hours earlier, an explanation that had resulted in a near-angry dismissal for him to fetch back the chiefs of staff. Negotiations had borne no fruit. His effort to meet with President Roosevelt had so far failed; that therefore left but one alternative.

  Konoye could feel the Emperor’s eyes on him, even as he bowed yet again then slowly came back up, their gazes locking for a second before Konoye looked down at the polished marble floor.

  “You came to me to speak of diplomacy,” the Emperor began, a most unusual move for him to open a meeting thus; normally if there were questions the privy seal would offer them.

  “And yet you spoke of war as if you had already agreed to it,” he continued.

  Face reddening, Konoye looked back up at his Emperor. He could see the frustration and confusion in the young man’s eyes.

  “Has it truly come to this?”

  “I fear so, sire,” was all Konoye could say in reply, and then he looked over at Sugiyama, who stood unmoving, erect, eyes straight ahead.

  The Emperor was silent for a moment, then nodded toward Sugiyama.

  “I want to hear this from my chiefs of staff,” the Emperor said coolly, coldly. “For months I have been told that diplomacy was the path all of you sought, the army, the navy, my foreign service. And now this? That war is the only alternative?”

  “With your permission, my lord?” Sugiyama asked.

  There was merely a nod of reply.

  “The response of the Americans is an insult we can no longer bear. It is a maneuver on their part to reduce us to a third-rate power, impotent in a world that even as we speak is being reshaped by war. If Japan does not act now, we shall be left behind forever. We would appear impotent, humiliated in the eyes of Germany, which even now is moving toward its ultimate victory and domination of the western landmasses of Asia, while America tricks us into abandoning what we have so valiantly tried to gain for our own security in the East.”

  “And yet is there no harm in waiting but a bit longer?” Hirohito asked. “I have been told repeatedly that you, your staffs, have set a date of October 10, others say 15, as the day of decision to war or peace. That is still a month away.”

  “Sire,” Nagano interjected, when Sugiyama did not immediately reply. “Yes, we said that would be the day of decision, but we must prepare now for that decision.”

  “This would then be the day of decision,” Hirohito said quietly, “not October.”

  “Sire, it is evident that the Americans wish to play a fools’ game upon us, to dra
g out negotiations, to pile demand upon demand, and thus wear us down. The moment is upon us, the moment when we can achieve the destiny of Japan and take our proper place in the world.”

  “And you believe we can win?”

  “We have studied the problem for months,” Sugiyama replied. “The southern operation has been thoroughly evaluated, repeatedly tested in war games. It is ready.”

  He fell silent for a moment as if offering the Emperor the polite opportunity to reply, but Hirohito merely nodded.

  “The operation will open with forces landing along the Malay Peninsula, moving south rapidly to envelop Singapore by land, a move the British are not prepared for. At the same time air strikes will cripple the American air fleet based around Manila, and any ships based there, followed immediately by landings along the north coast of Luzon, to move south and take the Americans, again, by land. With those two key positions under siege, our fleet can then move unhindered into the South Seas to take the vast riches of the Dutch, especially their oil.”

  “How long?” Hirohito asked, “before the oil flows back to Japan, freeing us from our fears?”

  “Five months, sire. Singapore and Manila will fall within six weeks. We must assume some sabotage on the part of the Dutch oil supply when they realize their oil fields are to be taken, but we are prepared to rapidly repair that damage and begin shipments back to the home islands and to our forces in China.”

  “Are you sure only five months?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Hirohito sighed and sat back in his chair, slumping over slightly, breaking the rigid, erect stature he usually maintained. Konoye studied him closely: with shoulders hunched his awkward frame looked more like that of a boy filled with self-doubts than the living embodiment of the god he was supposed to be.

  “The South Seas are vast,” he said quietly.

  “And we shall own them,” Nagano replied forcefully.

  “As vast as China,” Hirohito replied, “and I recall, after the incident on the Marco Polo Bridge, the same assurances from my army, that though China was vast, it would all be ours in five months, before the end of the year.”

  He straightened his frame and looked at the three.

  “That promise was given to me over four years ago. A million of our young men now fight in China, a hundred thousand have died, and still half of that vast land resists us.”

  Nagano looked over at Sugiyama, saying nothing. China was the army’s battle, not the navy’s.

  “Sire. The unforeseen happened as it always does in war.”

  “And the unforeseen can happen yet again, can it not?”

  “Sire. No one could have foreseen that the Communists and the Nationalists would form a truce. No one could foresee the rash interventionist attitude of the Americans, British, and even Russians smuggling supplies in to sustain that fight. If the Nationalists had shown even the remotest of logic, they would have finally rallied to our side in a fight to destroy the Communists, and thereby gained in us a friend.”

  “And why do they not see us as their friend?” Hirohito asked sharply.

  “They are irrational.”

  “I would think, given the rumors I have heard, that they have reason to be irrational regarding our good intentions,” the Emperor replied sharply.

  There was an intaking of breath by Sugiyama and no one spoke. The Emperor knew of what happened in Nanking and other cities across China, the entire world knew, and though there was the tacit understanding it would never be spoken of directly in front of the Imperial Presence, it was now clearly on his mind.

  “I would expect better of our men. The tradition of the samurai is one of chivalry. What will happen if that is not displayed when we move to free the peoples of the Philippines and the East Indies of their Western occupiers? What then?”

  “Sire, the army has always fought by the code of the samurai and will do so in the future,” Sugiyama replied, and there was the slight edge of defiance in his voice.

  “I expect nothing less,” Hirohito retorted. “But you have not answered my question of the moment. You promise five months, but war is never a matter of promises fulfilled; it is an arena of the unexpected.”

  “Sire, your grandfather faced the same question against the Russians thirty-seven years past. There was no absolute promise of victory. In fact, the odds were higher against us then as compared to now.”

  Konoye looked sidelong at Sugiyama. Was there a veiled insult there, a statement that the Emperor lacked the fortitude of his illustrious grandfather?

  Hirohito did not respond.

  “I can promise you, sire, that in five months all that we seek in the South Seas will be ours and then our position impregnable.”

  “Your Majesty,” Nagano interjected. “We are like the patient that has been found to have a cancer. The situation is grave, the doctors will tell us, but if we operate now, immediately, the odds are good that the cancer will be removed and our life saved. That cancer is the ever daily growing of the strength of other powers in the world at our expense. The economy of America booms because of the war. Even Great Britain holds out, and marshals new strength. We, however, with each passing day will grow more vulnerable. Operate now and we survive, delay but a little while longer and the chance will be gone forever.”

  “The Americans, and what of them?” the Emperor asked. “You have focused on the South Seas. What they have in the Philippines is of little real consequence to them. A mere extension of a finger with no worth. Their strength is coiled and waiting elsewhere.”

  Nagano nodded.

  “Sire, the opening blow will destroy that. Once their strength is destroyed it will take a half year or more for them to marshal a response, and by then, as General Sugiyama has pointed out, all that we need for a prolonged struggle, if need be, will already be flowing to our factories here in Japan and Manchuria.”

  “A prolonged fight then, is that what you promise?”

  The two military men looked at Konoye, who remained silent for a moment, then finally raised his head to speak.

  “According to the plans to which the army and navy have committed themselves, the total destruction of all major American forces in the Pacific will be achieved in the first days. If they venture a retaliation strike it will take half a year or more. In that interval two new carriers will join the fleet. A thousand more planes and their pilots will be ready for battle, with all the fuel needed. A second battle will go as the first, the same as with the Russians at Tsushima. Defeated thus a second time, the Americans will see the inevitable. The negotiations that are now stalled will always be waiting and known to them through contacts in neutral countries. We shall then offer honorable terms to them, that if they simply accept our position in the western Pacific there will be peace. It is that simple.”

  “The difference between the position of my grandfather and we ourself is this,” the Emperor replied, his gaze fixed upon Sugiyama, obviously the veiled insult not forgotten.

  “The plan of our grandfather was adroit. The illustrious Admiral Togo promised him victory at sea; our ships were known to be superior to those of the Russians in armaments, training, speed, and gunnery. But on land, if sufficiently aroused, the Russians could drag the war on for years. The adroitness was his knowledge of the Americans and the vanity of their President Roosevelt. So even before the war had started, this first of the Roosevelts was cultivated and once war started already approached to act as a negotiator to the unpleasant crisis that had suddenly appeared. And he played his role and negotiated a peace after we had defeated the Russians at sea, but before they could overwhelm us with their endless supply of men.

  “We will concur with the opinion of some that we conceded far too much to this Roosevelt to gain that peace, but nevertheless most of our goals and position was thus established and with it respect for Japan as a nation among equals.

  “But our goal was achieved. Your plan is predicated upon an eventual negotiated settlement with the Americans. We
see no reference to that here now. Who will negotiate? Who will be the facilitator between us and the Americans and British? Surely not Russia, nor Germany?”

  “Sire, that is why I argue that we still pursue the diplomatic up until the actual moment of battle,” Konoye replied forcefully. “If war then does come, we can present to the world the argument that negotiations have broken down for the moment, and we are willing at any time to return to the table and seek a just and honorable peace.” Hirohito nodded in agreement.

  “You have traveled extensively there,” the Emperor said, “We have not. Will they accept such an offer after we attack?”

  Konoye hesitated. And knew that here was the central core of the issue of war and peace with America.

  They, the Americans, were different; they saw the world in a different light. They wished to believe, they actually did believe, that they could represent some higher order of things in this world. War to them was not a norm, a continuum of an eternal struggle for survival in this world; it was an aberration to be avoided. They had stayed out of the last war until nearly the bitter end, and thus paid but a fraction of the price in blood and treasure as result, in fact had emerged in a way as the ultimate victor.

  Even now though their president was all but engaged in an undeclared war in the Atlantic against the Germans, still the vast majority of Americans were vocal about their desire to stay out of any war, no matter where, unless it came directly to their shores. Would they perceive an attack upon their fleet as such a violation, to be answered with vengeance, or would they still remain detached, fight halfheartedly for a while, then be swayed back to the negotiating table with words of peace.

  There will be no persuasive third power to be the negotiator as the first Roosevelt was between us and the Russians, Konoye realized.

  Would they be willing to talk at all or would they finally bestir themselves? If so, that was truly to be feared. Nagano could speak proudly of the two new carriers about to be launched and the two mighty battleships all but completed, their eighteen-inch guns the greatest ever put to sea. And yet there were ironies. To conceal the building site of the battleships a vast screen had been erected around the harbor, made out of bamboo, canvas, and rope. Merely to build that had stripped all of Japan of rope and canvas for months. America? America could build a dozen such ships and it would be but a drop in the bucket for them as far as national effort went, and there would be no absurdity of a rope shortage as a result. Even now, their naval liaison in Washington was reporting that the Americans planned to construct another dozen carriers, launching one a month starting late next year, ships far more modern and capable than Akagi and Kaga, the current backbone of the Imperial Fleet.