MacArthur's War: A Novel of the Invasion of Japan

by Douglas Niles

  The honor guard snapped to attention as the Skymaster’s main door swung open. Two corporals quickly wheeled a mobile staircase in front of the door.

  There was a pause.

  An impeccably uniformed figure appeared in the entrance, haloed in black, sunlight glistening from mirrored sunglasses, rows upon rows of ribbons, every surface polished, every crease in place in spite of the long air journey. Only one note jarred: his old, worn barracks cap, grommet removed, thick with gold braid sported by no other officer in the United States military.

  In the shadows he looked a bit like an old man, but when he stepped into the sunlight he seemed much younger, as handsome as a movie star.

  MacArthur accepted the salutes of the welcoming troops, and the military band struck up a march. The General gave a firm salute in return, captured by twenty cameras. He then stepped forward to shake the hands of the welcoming party, which was led by a three-star U.S. Army general, Delos C. Emmons. MacArthur didn’t know him well, but he was important to the plan.

  Lieutenant General Delos C. Emmons was military governor of Hawaii and commander, United States Army Forces, Central Pacific Area. Emmons didn’t work for Douglas MacArthur. MacArthur was CINCSWPA, commander in chief, Southwest Pacific Area. Emmons worked for CINCPOA, commander in chief, Pacific Ocean Areas. CINCPOA was Admiral Chester Nimitz.

  Hawaii belonged to Nimitz.

  This was the split command in the Pacific: two top dogs and one ocean that looked like it wasn’t big enough for the both of them.

  There wasn’t a uniformed naval officer or a marine in sight. As far as the navy was concerned, MacArthur, traveling unofficially and out of his area of authority, was not here.

  But he was. And he was in the process of invading Hawaii.

  A colonel stepped forward, saluted crisply, and made the introductions. General Emmons saluted.

  MacArthur reciprocated, then reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you for this warm welcome. You do this honor not merely for General MacArthur but also for the brave men languishing in Japanese captivity.”

  “It is indeed an honor, sir. I have a car waiting, if you would care to ride.”

  “Splendid. Splendid,” the General said with a nod, preceding Emmons past the row of hungry reporters.

  “General MacArthur! General MacArthur! Is it true that the Japs are planning to invade Hawaii?”

  “I’m sorry. The General doesn’t have time to answer questions today.” Sutherland, at his commander’s elbow, spoke brusquely.

  “Oh, I believe the General may have time for one or two, just possibly.” MacArthur offered a magnanimous wave of his hand. Sutherland looked quite frustrated.

  MacArthur pointed at the man who’d shouted the question. “You, sir. You ask if the Japanese are now readying an attack on the Hawaiian Islands?”

  “Um, yes. Yes, General, that’s right.”

  “Let us look carefully at the facts. You’re with the Star-Bulletin, if I recall correctly?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied. The spy noticed how impressed the reporter was at being remembered. And it was impressive of MacArthur to remember that much detail—that is, unless this was some kind of MacArthur trick.

  “May I ask what the headline of your newspaper said on the eighth of June?”

  “Uh, I think it was ‘Defeat at Midway.’”

  “What did the other newspaper headlines say?” MacArthur prompted.

  “Well, pretty much the same thing,” the reporter admitted.

  MacArthur smiled triumphantly. “Several American carriers sunk, with only one Japanese carrier joining them. Correct?”

  “Uh, yes, sir,” the reporter acknowledged.

  “And would Admiral Yamamoto know this as well, even though he’s not a subscriber to your fine newspaper?”

  A voice rang out in the back of the crowd: “How do you know he isn’t?” Everyone laughed, including MacArthur briefly, but the spy suspected that underneath the mirrored sunglasses MacArthur’s eyes had not smiled at all.

  When the laugh died down, MacArthur repeated, “Even if Admiral Yamamoto doesn’t have the advantage, as do I, of the fine information with which you supply your readers, do you think he knows the outcome as well as you or I?”

  “Yes, sir,” the reporter said.

  MacArthur swooped in for the kill. “If you were Admiral Yamamoto, and after the cruel assault of December seventh and our recent loss at Midway, you had the opportunity to land troops on one of these beautiful Hawaiian Islands, islands America has taken into its sacred trust, and take its bountiful riches for your own, what would you do? And if your thoughts run in the same vein as my own, what would you then recommend MacArthur do?”

  The reporter had to take a second to parse the question. “Well, I guess I would—”

  MacArthur smiled as his mirrored eyes scanned the assembly, then interrupted. “Exactly. I’m afraid it doesn’t take someone with MacArthur’s grasp of matters military to see the risk that exists here, or to see why immediate and direct action is necessary. For all that the Pacific has been divided administratively into areas for the purpose of offense, clearly when it comes to defense, and especially the defense of these islands so close to our heart and our mainland, our aim should be cooperation. Cooperation! MacArthur is here to put his sword at your service, Hawaii! Together we will repulse the threat from the East, and together we will triumph against adversity. Thank you.”

  His sonorous voice, rich with an old-fashioned type of elegance, left some reporters rapt and others shaking their heads in skeptical disbelief. All of them, however, were scribbling furiously. The General finally turned to leave.

  “General MacArthur! General MacArthur! Will you meet with Admiral Nimitz?”

  “I’m sorry. The General really must move along now,” Sutherland interjected. MacArthur, having said what he wanted to say, allowed himself to be escorted toward the waiting car.

  The remaining members of the Bataan Gang formed themselves into a flying phalanx, like Roman lictors ready to lead their emperor through hostile streets.

  The questions were falling like flak as the party moved out, but MacArthur, moving with majesty, ignored them with smiling graciousness.

  Until one reached its target. “General! General! What about the Philippines? What about your men?”

  Sutherland turned, glowering. “The General really must…”

  “I—” The General paused, turned back toward the reporters. The focus of his mirrored eyes could not be determined. Finally he spoke.

  “I promised the people of the Philippines, ‘I shall return,’ and I, Douglas MacArthur, shall keep that promise, with the help of God and with the American fighting man at my side. And as for my brave fighting men captured on Bataan, I pray for them nightly, and will deliver them when”—he paused—“when I can.”

  He turned.

  “Will you see Admiral Nimitz?”

  “The General really must move along now.”

  “What about Admiral Nimitz?”

  “Move along now.”

  “What do you think went wrong at Midway?”

  “Move along.”

  The spy was Captain Frank Chadwick, United States Navy. He was wearing civilian clothes to pose as a reporter. He wasn’t well enough known to worry about being found out. Everyone who knew him mostly knew him for his cherry-red 1932 MG Midget, the joy of his life. The fake reporter put away his notebook and lit a Chesterfield. He stared at the reporter who asked the last question. What would an army officer know about Midway, anyway? But that wouldn’t stop Mac from spouting off on the subject. He probably does think he’s God.

  THURSDAY, 11 JUNE 1942

  One component of leadership is fearlessness in the face of one’s opponent. Not foolhardiness, but fearlessness. One must always see the danger, but one must not surrender to it.

  Knock-knock.

  It was the white-coated Filipino butler. “General MacArthur? You asked to be notified, sir, if any c
ommunication was received from CINCPAC. There is a gentleman at the door in civilian clothes who says he is Captain Frank Chadwick, personal aide to Admiral Nimitz. He wishes to speak with you privately, sir, on a matter of great importance, he says.”

  MacArthur stubbed out his cigar. “The parlor is set up as I asked?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Coffee in three minutes.”

  “Piping hot, sir.”

  “Good man. Show him in. Dick, Sir Charles, follow me. The rest of you, stay here. Get a little fresh air. You’re going to suffocate.” He blew out one final breath of blue smoke and strode from the room.

  Captain Frank Chadwick’s military bearing was obvious in spite of his civilian clothing. “I’m Admiral Nimitz’s personal aide,” he said, accepting an offer of coffee. “The admiral asks you not to be offended that a mere captain comes as his representative instead of coming in person himself. But the conditions of this visit, the General understands, make normal protocol impossible.”

  MacArthur occupied his straight-backed chair like a throne. He nodded regally. “That’s completely understandable, and I’m sure the admiral does the Southwest Pacific Area great honor by choosing a man as intelligent and subtle as you. That was you standing among the reporters yesterday at the airfield, was it not?”

  Chadwick chuckled, impressed. “Why, yes, sir. I’m amazed you noticed, sir.”

  MacArthur smiled. “Admiral Nimitz, a man of wisdom and skill, could not possibly have failed to have his own eyes and ears on hand to witness the arrival of Douglas MacArthur in Hawaii. As wearing the uniform of another service would be unthinkable, it was necessary for Nimitz’s agent to wear mufti. It was easy then to find the Reporter Who Was Not. In your case, he was not taking notes. And he looked askance, rather than with jealousy, at his comrades when they asked particularly inane questions.”

  Chadwick laughed. “Ouch! Sir,” he added quickly. “I’m embarrassed to have been that obvious, sir.”

  MacArthur waved his hand nonchalantly. “I think you would have passed muster for most observers,” he purred. “You slouched like a civilian.”

  This last made Chadwick straighten unconsciously. He’s trying to shake me up. His next thought: He’s succeeding.

  “The admiral would like to know why you are in Hawaii, out of your assigned area, without notifying him privately of your intentions. He would like to know why you tipped off the press about your visit only days after blasting the navy’s performance at Midway. He would like to know what you are trying to achieve with your current behavior.” Chadwick delivered his message all in a lump, unable to think of a smooth way to slip it into the conversation, especially with this man controlling the initiative. He looked at MacArthur to see how he would take it.

  MacArthur stared coldly at him, waited. “Sir,” added Chadwick.

  There was a long pause.

  MacArthur’s eyes never left Chadwick as he crooked a finger. At his signal, General Sutherland clicked open a briefcase, pulled out the first sheet of paper without looking at it, and slid it across the coffee table to Chadwick. “Here is a copy of the radiogram, CTNCSWPA to CINCPOA, informing the admiral of General MacArthur’s plans. If it was not received or delivered to the admiral, the problem does not lie with CINCSWPA,” Sutherland announced in his gruff, argumentative voice.

  Chadwick glanced down at it. It was a clean copy of a radiogram, code-numbered and in proper format. Without doing any investigation, he was sure the numbers would check. And he was equally sure after the way the radiogram was presented that it was a counterfeit, a fraud manufactured on MacArthur’s orders.

  MacArthur spoke again. “To your second point: ‘tipping off’ the press. We have done nothing of the sort. How reporters discover such things is a mystery. This being Hawaii, have you considered the possibility the information came from someone in your own organization?”

  That Mac hadn’t done it was also a lie. Oh, perhaps there were numerous cutouts and go-betweens, and perhaps the connection to MacArthur was ultimately unprovable, but he had done it.

  “Point three: criticize the navy for its handling of Midway. To that, I plead guilty as charged. I must point out, however, that I do not detect nor am I aware of any navy regulations or policies forbidding criticism of MacArthur’s military operations, whether such criticisms hew to the facts of the situation or if necessary falsify the record in order to attain their predetermined conclusions. We, at least, refrain from the latter tactic, though the ancient principle of ‘an eye for an eye’ would surely entitle us to do so. But lest you think we are dwelling on some petty need for revenge, I say no. Not for Douglas MacArthur. My sole, complete, and absolute interest in the matter is sharing the humble perspective of a fellow soldier, a tactical and strategic perspective that has seen some small amount of service lo these many years, for the shared purpose of keeping the nation we so proudly serve free and strong among the nations of the globe.

  “But this recent … debacle! Is it true what the reporters are whispering, that all three of our aircraft carriers were lost at Midway?”

  “No,” the navy officer replied defensively. “Because of the heroic efforts of her crew, Admiral Spruance was able to bring the Enterprise away from the battle.”

  “But she is damaged, out of action for how long?”

  “I don’t know, General.” I don’t like this man, thought Chadwick. But he had been warned. He forged ahead. “I am here to ask you to finish your business at once and return to your assigned area of operations.”

  MacArthur nodded acknowledgment of the message. “MacArthur will gladly comply with the wishes of Admiral Nimitz. Please tell him so. The business for which MacArthur came will conclude by about 1300 hours tomorrow. Bataan can be back in the air before 1500 hours tomorrow at the latest. Will that be satisfactory to the admiral?”

  The last thing Chadwick expected was for MacArthur to fold in the first round. “W-why, yes, I—the admiral will—”

  “Don’t you think the admiral might ask what business General MacArthur came here to transact? I believe that was the first of the admiral’s requests, was it not?” interrupted General Sutherland, his voice harsh after MacArthur’s mellifluous tones.

  My God! I just walked over a booby trap and didn’t notice it! Chadwick thought. Fortunately, it’s one they want me to find. “General MacArthur, sir,” Chadwick said, “may I ask on behalf of the admiral what the nature of your business in Hawaii might be?”

  MacArthur smiled again, and this one was not pretty. It was more triumphal in flavor. “MacArthur will be meeting with three United States senators who will be flying into Hawaii tonight. After that meeting is concluded, MacArthur and his party will quit these islands.”

  Chadwick took a sip of his coffee. The next question, and its answer, were inevitable, but the ritual must be followed. “May I ask the purpose of that meeting, sir?”

  “These United States senators will be leading a congressional investigation of the naval disaster that was Midway. They wish to obtain a military perspective that is not predisposed to whitewash the navy. That is why they wish to hear the opinions and recommendations of Douglas MacArthur.”

  “And those recommendations would be?”

  “That Admiral Nimitz should be relieved of CINCPOA duties and the CINCPOA role be abolished as a result of the debacle at Midway and the looming threat to the Hawaiian Islands. He’ll still be CINCPAC, of course. I’ll need a CINCPAC.”

  Chadwick put down his coffee cup and looked MacArthur in the eyes. Dogs and generals can smell fear. “You can’t do that, General,” he said, with all the calm assertiveness he could muster.

  “Don’t you tell General MacArthur—” snarled Sutherland.

  MacArthur raised a hand. “Let him talk, Sutherland. He isn’t under my command, and his job is to be loyal to Admiral Nimitz.” MacArthur turned back to Chadwick. “You used the word ‘can’t.’ Did you mean it? Or was that a wish, or a hope, or perhaps a refusal to grant
permission? The last would be ‘may not,’ not ‘can’t,’ if you’ll recall your grammar.”

  “I’m aware of the distinction, General,” Chadwick snapped back, then immediately regretted it. He’d allowed MacArthur to bait him into a loss of temper. More calmly, he continued. “I mean, there will be consequences, General. If you try to get the admiral relieved and you fail, the consequences are likely to be severe. If you succeed, you will have made a great many new enemies, and you’ll pay a price there, too. An angry, resentful navy will do its job, General, but it’s not what you want. Sir.”

  MacArthur digested for a few seconds, then switched gears smoothly. “No doubt you’re right. But the alternative is to live with this two-headed calf with which the United States expects to defeat the Imperial Japanese Army and Navy. I would, in all honesty, prefer Admiral Nimitz to win supreme command if the only other alternative were a shared command.”

  Another lie, thought Chadwick. But this one he probably believes himself, as long as nobody actually asks him to give up his half of the shared command. “Uh, General, there may be other options, sir. Admiral Nimitz said if something like this was what you were up to, that it would be worthwhile for you two to talk. Privately. With one condition.”

  “What condition?” It was Sutherland who took responsibility for inspecting the fine print.

  “No press conferences, no individual conferences, no leaks, no nothing, complete blackout until after you finish meeting with the admiral.”

  “Afterward?” Sutherland scribbled a quick note.

  “Conditions appropriate to whatever deal you agree to.”

  “If there’s no deal?”

  “Then there would be no conditions. You’d be free to say whatever you wanted to say.”

  Sutherland’s eyes flashed back to meet MacArthur’s. The senior man nodded, then spoke up. “When will we be able to meet with Admiral Nimitz?”

  “May I use your phone?”