"Read it, please."
"My dear Chester, Word has just come to me of your glorious victory and of the incredible courage and devotion of your men."
"Move 'has just come to me' to the end of the sentence," MacArthur ordered, "and read that."
"Word of your glorious victory and of the incredible courage and devotion of your men has just come to me."
MacArthur considered that a moment.
"Better, wouldn't you say, Fleming? Not yet quite right, but a decent start."
"I think that's fine, General," Pickering said.
"I would be grateful for any suggestions you might care to offer," MacArthur said. "This sort of thing is really very important."
Gracious and considerate, Pickering thought. But important?
And then he realized why it was important.
And not only as a footnote in the History of World War II, he thought, when someone got around to writing that That cable is an olive branch being offered to the Navy. Nimitz is supposed to be a salty sonofabitch, but he's human, and getting a cable from MacArthur addressed, 'My dear Chester' and using phrases like 'glorious victory' and 'the incredible courage and devotion of your men' is going to have to get to him.
Is MacArthur aware of that? Is that the reason for this? Or is it just what he said, that his heart was filled with thoughts of the nobility of the profession of arms' and nothing more?
It's probably both, Pickering decided. And I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and think it is mostly emotion. But he is not unaware of the ancient tactic of putting your enemy off guard, either.
"General, I wouldn't presume to attempt to better that," Pickering said.
MacArthur didn't hear him.
"The Battle of Midway will live in the memory of man- strike 'memory of man,' make it 'hearts of our countrymen, alongside Valley Forge,' " he dictated. "Got that, Thorne?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I am having trouble,'' MacArthur said, "recalling significant U.S. Naval victories. If only he'd said something, I could compare that to 'Don't give up the ship,' or 'Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.'"
For God's sake, Pickering. Don't chuckle. Don't even smile. He's deadly serious.
"If I may say so, Sir, Valley Forge seems appropriate. A small band of valiant men, with inadequate arms, showing great courage against overwhelming odds."
MacArthur considered that for a moment.
"Yes," he said. "I see what you mean. Valley Forge will do. Thorne, add forever' after 'live'-'will live forever.'"
"Yes, Sir," Sergeant Thorne said.
"Read the whole thing back," MacArthur ordered.
Master Sergeant Thorne stood almost at attention before General MacArthur's desk as The Supreme Commander read the fifth-and Thorne hoped last-neatly typed version of his Personal for Admiral Nimitz. MacArthur handed it back to him. "Give that to Captain Pickering, please." Pickering read it, although he knew it by heart "I think that's fine, Sir," he said. "The language is magnificent."
"From the heart, Pickering. From the heart" Sergeant Thorne put his hand out for the Message Form. "I can take it downstairs, Sir," Pickering said. "I have to see Lieutenant Hon anyway."
Downstairs was the Cryptographic Office and Classified Document Vault in the hotel basement.
"Very well," MacArthur said.
"Sir, I have the Personal for General Marshall ready, too," Sergeant Thorne said.
"Well, give that to the Captain, too," MacArthur said. "Two birds with one stone, right?"
Thorne left the office and returned with two envelopes. One was sealed. He took the Personal for Admiral Nimitz Message Form from Pickering and sealed it in the other.
"If that's all you have for me, Sir?" Pickering said.
"I appreciate your assistance, Fleming. See you at six?"
"And I'll tell Lieutenant Hon to stand by from seven, Sir?"
He involuntarily glanced at his watch. It was quarter to two. He had been in MacArthur's office for nearly three hours. That seemed incredible. There had been interruptions, of course, but they hadn't taken much time at all. There had been two calls from Mrs. MacArthur and a dozen officers seeking decisions. MacArthur had wasted little time making them. Most of that time had been spent composing Mac-Arthur's Personal for Admiral Nimitz.
"Seven," MacArthur confirmed.
(Three)
First Lieutenant Hon Song Do, Signal Corps, U.S. Army Reserve (his very unlikely nickname was "Pluto"), and Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, had an unusual relationship for an Army first lieutenant and a Navy captain. This had its roots in Hon's duties at SWPAO. There was virtually nothing classified SECRET or above in Supreme Headquarters SWPAO with which Lieutenant Hon was not familiar.
Lieutenant Pluto Hon was carried on the books as a cryptographic-classified documents officer. He was one of half a dozen so designated; and he performed those duties carefully and diligently. Only a very few people knew his primary function, however; for Pluto Hon had a MAGIC clearance. He was thus privy to the same information made available in Melbourne solely to MacArthur himself; his Intelligence Officer, Colonel Charles Willoughby; and Captain Fleming Pickering, Personal Representative of the Secretary of the Navy.
Hon, a mathematician at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology before the war, was directly commissioned into the Army's Signal Corps, where mathematicians were critically needed for cryptographic operations. It had then been learned that not only was he fluent in written and spoken Japanese, he was steeped in the subtleties of Japanese culture.
When word of Hon's knowledge of Japanese culture reached the cryptographic-intelligence community, he was quickly transferred from Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, to Pearl Harbor, where the Navy code-breaking operation was located, and then to MacArthur's headquarters.
In one of the most closely held secrets of the war, Navy cryptographers at Pearl Harbor had succeeded in breaking many-though by no means all-of the Japanese military and diplomatic codes. The operation involved with decrypting the Japanese messages was called MAGIC; it was a major American triumph.
Still, once the intercepted messages were decrypted, most of them did not make complete sense; for the intercepted messages were all deeply impregnated with Japanese culture and traditions. Thus analysts were needed who were not only familiar with the language but who could almost feel and react to the messages the way a Japanese would.
Lieutenant Hon was also one of the very few people who had unquestioned access to the Classified Documents Vault. When a TOP SECRET document was signed out, and later returned, it was his duty to make sure it had been returned in its entirety. It would be impossible to do that without counting pages and looking at the maps.
Additionally, he had other duties involving Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, personally. Since Pickering had been charged by Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox to provide his assessment of what was going on, and since very often his assessments were not flattering to any number of highly placed people, these assessments had to be kept secret not only from the enemy but from everybody in Supreme Headquarters SWPOA as well.
Hon personally encrypted all communications between Pickering and Secretary Knox, and was thus privy to information known only to Pickering.
And on top of that, they had become friends. Pickering not only genuinely liked the outsize Korean, he felt a little sorry for him: The nature of Hon's duties shut him off from other junior officers; and off duty, he was in Australia. Australians did not like Asiatics-there were rigid immigration and even tourist regulations against them. It made no difference to them that Pluto Hon was a native-born American and an officer in the United States Army.
Lieutenant "Pluto" Hon stood up when Pickering walked into his tiny office. He was eating a Hershey bar.
"Good afternoon, Sir."
Hon had a thick Massachusetts accent. Pickering, a Harvard man himself, knew the dialect well. Hon was also a large and tall man, which Pickering thought of as another inconsistency. Orientals were supposed
to be slight.
"How goes it, Pluto?" Pickering said, "I don't suppose you've got another Hershey bar?"
Hon took a small box of them from a desk drawer and handed it to Pickering.
"Aren't they feeding the brass these days?" Hon asked.
"I was sitting at the foot of the throne," Pickering said, as he unwrapped the Hershey bar. "The emperor was not hungry, so we didn't eat."
Pluto chuckled. "I also have peanuts," he said.
"Thank you, this will hold me. I'm eating at the palace, too. Where you will play bridge starting at about seven."
"I don't mind," Hon said. "He's one hell of a bridge player."
"Tonight it's the Empress and me against you and the throne," Pickering said.
"What have you got for me to brighten my otherwise dull day?"
"Two personals," Pickering said. "Oh, and before I forget it..."
He took the onion skins from his pocket and handed them to Hon.
"Burn those for me, will you?"
Hon took them and matter-of-factly started to read them.
"This must be the straight poop," he said. "KLW is a Lieutenant Commander named Ken Waldman. In MAGIC."
"How can you be sure?" Pickering asked, and then, without waiting for a reply, asked, "You know him?"
"Who else would have this much hard data this quick? Yeah, I know him. He was at MIT, too."
He held one sheet of the onion skin over a metal waste basket and touched the flame of his Zippo to it. It caught fire so quickly that Pickering suspected it had been chemically treated to do that.
Hon lit another sheet.
"You get this from that commander who flew in this morning?"
"Yeah. A commander."
"Mine had a briefcase chained to his wrist and a gun," Hon said. "He stopped in here and asked where he could find you before he gave me his stuff."
"Must be the same guy."
"What's the personals?"
"One to Nimitz. Powerful words of congratulation," Pickering said, and handed the envelope to Hon.
Hon tore it open and started to read it.
"What's the other one?"
"Personal to Marshall."
"What's it say?"
"I don't know, it's sealed," Pickering said, and handed it to him.
Hon read it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it to Pickering. "Based on my vast professional military experience, I don't think he's going to get away with that."
Pickering was reluctant to take the document, but curiosity overwhelmed his reticence. His curiosity was rationalized by his orders stating that it would be presumed he had the Need to Know anything that interested him. And as Hon turned to his cryptographic machine to encode the Personal to Nimitz, he read the Personal to Marshall.
TOP SECRET
FROM SUPREME HQ SWPOA
TO WAR DEPARTMENT WASH DC
FOLLOWING EYES ONLY GENERAL GEORGE C. MARSHALL CHIEF OF STAFF
PERSONAL FOR GENERAL MARSHALL
MY DEAR GEORGE X I HAVE TODAY DISPATCHED VIA OFFICER COURIER INITIAL PLANS FOR AN OPERATION I WOULD LIKE TO COMMENCE AS SOON AS I CAN OBTAIN AUTHORITY FROM THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFFX IT IS MY INTENTION TO STRIKE IN THE NEW BRITAIN DASH NEW IRELAND AREA USING THE US 32ND AND 41ST INFANTRY DIVISIONS AND THE AUSTRALIAN 7TH DIVISION ALL PRESENTLY IN AUSTRALIA X ONCE DRIVEN FROM NEW BRITAIN DASH NEW IRELAND THE JAPANESE WOULD BE FORCED BACK TO TRUK X TO ACCOMPLISH THE INITIAL ASSAULT AND FOR A PERIOD NOT TO EXCEED THIRTY DAYS THEREAFTER MY PLAN WOULD REQUIRE THE USE OF PAREN A PAREN ONE INFANTRY DIVISION TRAINED AND EQUIPPED FOR AMPHIBIOUS OPERATIONS X PAREN B PAREN AIR COVER FROM CARRIER BASED AIRCRAFT X PAREN C PAREN A SUITABLE NAVAL FORCE TO BOMBARD THE HOSTILE SHORE AND GUARD SHIPPING LANES X ONCE THE BEACHHEAD IS ESTABLISHED I CAN QUICKLY BEGIN AERIAL OPERATIONS FROM EXISTING FIELDS AND WILL NOT HAVE FURTHER NEED OF NAVAL ASSISTANCE X I MOST EARNESTLY SOLICIT NOT ONLY YOUR SUPPORT BUT ONCE YOU HAVE READ THE DETAILED PLANS YOUR WISE COUNSEL AS TO THEIR EFFICACY X TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE X WITH MY MOST SINCERE EXPRESSION OF REGARD I REMAIN AS ALWAYS FAITHFULLY DOUGLAS X END PERSONAL TO GENERAL MARSHALL
TOP SECRET
"The Navy's not going to loan him the First Marines and a couple of aircraft carriers," Hon said when he was sure Pickering had had time to read the Personal to Marshall. "Are they?"
His fingers were still flying over the cryptographic machine's typewriter keys as he talked. Hon always baffled Pickering when he did that. How could one part of his brain type while another part engaged in conversation?
"Not willingly," Pickering replied.
"And he doesn't know that?"
"I think he knows it," Pickering said. "I am always astonished when I find something he doesn't know."
And. he thought, after that cable The Emperor just sent him, when Admiral Nimitz bitterly objects to this plan, he will not be as abrupt as he would otherwise have been.
"It doesn't even make much sense, does it?"
"Yeah. I think it does. But I agree with you that the Navy will have a fit when they get this. I think they'd rather scuttle an aircraft carrier than loan it to MacArthur."
"What is that shit all about?" Pluto asked. "Can't the brass understand they're on the same side? That the goddamn Japs are whose throats they're supposed to cut?"
"Yours-and mine-Pluto, is not to reason why," Pickering said. "Can I change my mind about those peanuts?"
Chapter Three
(One)
ROOM 26, TEMPORARY BUILDING T-2032
WASHINGTON, D.C.
0845 HOURS 15 JUNE 1942
"Bingo!" Technical Sergeant Harry Rutterman, USMC, said softly, nodding his head with satisfaction.
Rutterman, a wiry man in his early thirties, raised his eyes from his desk and looked down the narrow, crowded room to an office at the end. The door was cracked open. That meant Captain Ed Sessions was in there; if he was gone, the door would have been closed and locked with iron bars and padlocks.
Rutterman lifted himself out of his chair and took the uppermost of a stack of yellow teletype sheets from his desk. He was wearing green trousers and a khaki shirt. His field scarf was pulled down, which was unusual for a regular Marine non-com; the manner in which he was armed would also be considered unusual elsewhere in the Corps. The pistol was a standard issue Colt Model 1911A1, but instead of the flapped leather holster and web belt, its standard accoutrements, Rutterman had his pistol in a skeleton holster clipped to the rear of the waistband of his trousers; the pistol was inside his trousers with only the butt in sight.
He went to Captain Sessions's door, rapped it with his knuckles, and announced, "Rutterman, Sir."
"Come," Sessions answered, and Rutterman pushed the door open.
Captain Edward M. Sessions, USMC, was a tall, lithely muscular young officer, not exactly handsome, but attractive to women all the same. Like Rutterman, he had removed his blouse and pulled his tie down; and like Rutterman, he was armed in a manner not common in the Corps. He was wearing a leather shoulder holster, which held a short-barrelled Smith & Wesson.357 Magnum Revolver.
He had expected to spend his career as a Marine officer who followed the usual progression: from infantry platoon leader, to assistant staff officer of some sort at battalion level, and then to executive officer and company commander. He had in fact commanded a platoon, but while serving as an assistant S-2 of Third Battalion, Second Marines, he had attracted the attention of the Marine Intelligence Community by the literary quality of the routine reports and evaluations he was required to write.
These were written in a style that was the antithesis of the fancy prose that the word "literary" usually calls to mind. His words were short and simple; he came right to the point; and there was little chance of mistaking what he meant.
Instead of returning to a line company following his eighteen-month assignment as an assistant S-2, he was relieved from the assignment after only a year. First, he was sent to the University of Southern California at Los Angeles for six months intensive training in Japa
nese, and then he was assigned to Marine Corps Headquarters in Washington. He was put to work synopsizing Intelligence reports and translating Japanese documents that had come into American hands.
He had done that for six months when a far more experienced officer, a captain, fell ill three days before he was to board the Navy Transport Chaumont. The Captain was being sent to China (where the Fourth Marines were stationed in Shanghai) to have a close look at the Japanese Army. Having no one else to send, they ordered Lieutenant Sessions to go in his place.
He performed far better than anyone expected. In his basic mission, he handled efficiently and accurately the more or less routine business of seeing how the Japanese Army was organized and equipped. And in a far more important and dramatic way, he knew what to do when the Japanese harassed a Marine convoy by dispatching Chinese "bandits" to rob it on a remote highway.
W E B Griffin - Corp 04 - Battleground Page 5
