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

by Douglas Niles

  “I’m not sure I do, Admiral. I know the broad outlines, of course. A brilliant and heroic action.”

  “It was a strategic strike, and I’m afraid it turned out to be a failure, though it took some time for that to become apparent.”

  “A failure? How could it possibly be considered a failure? No, Yamamoto, I must protest in the strongest possible terms. It was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

  “To the extent that any praise attaches to the operation, it attaches to the fine officers and men under my command. Tactically, yes, it went off well enough. It is on the strategic level that Pearl Harbor failed. You see, the Americans had to be kept out of the Pacific until we had taken and consolidated the resource areas we required. Then, we would be defending, which is inherently stronger, and we would have better internal lines of supply, which would also dramatically change our situation.” Technically, all Japanese were on limited rations, but there were exceptions both official and unofficial for those with rank. “To do that, we needed to destroy at least two out of the three major assets: the battleships, the carriers, or the oil tank farms and machine shops that made Pearl such a valuable American base. We got one of the three, the battleships. It wasn’t enough. When I knew that, I knew my arrow had missed.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Yamamoto. You’ve essentially given up when there is all reason to hope that the Americans will be forced to offer us terms far better than these ‘unconditional surrender’ insults.”

  “And Operation Ketsu-Go is working according to plan?” the war minister asked.

  “Yes. That arrow—my arrow—has gone straight. We are in the middle of the Decisive Battle, and we are inflicting heavy casualties on the invaders. The pain will get too great for them to bear long before it becomes too great for us.”

  “How many divisions that were going to be held back to defend the inevitable second attack across the Tokyo plains have gone instead to Ketsu-Go?” asked Yamamoto mildly.

  The army minister flushed. “I don’t have that figure exactly,” he said.

  “It’s not important,” said Yamamoto. Both men knew that so far six divisions had been moved south through the Shimonoseki tunnel to Kyushu. That was six divisions—an army—fewer to defend against the final attack. “That tunnel is a great strategic asset to a country like ours, a country of multiple islands,” the admiral noted. “We can hope the Americans remain unaware of its potential and do not realize that we can march troops from Honshu to Kyushu—or back, again.”

  “They will not be coming back, and indeed, we may reinforce them further. As you know,” Anami went on, “the Decisive Battle is on Kyushu. One way or another, it will be settled there. Only that battle matters. We must inflict enough damage on the Americans to make them realize that they must provide honorable terms in order to end this war. We must.” He turned to face Yamamoto. “Don’t talk to me about peace. Peace without honor is just like death, only slower and more painful.”

  Yamamoto sighed. “No, I promise you, that is not the purpose of my visit.”

  “Then to what purpose are we talking, Yamamoto-san? Aside from the great pleasure of your company, of course. You are always welcome here.”

  “Thank you, dear friend,” Yamamoto said. “You do me such great and undeserved honors. No, I came to ask you about the nature of war.”

  “The nature of war?” Anami looked incredulous. “What could I possibly teach the great Yamamoto about the nature of war? It is you who should teach me, if there is teaching to be done.”

  Yamamoto grunted ambiguously. “That German imitator of Sun Tzu, Clausewitz, tied warfare into state policy, saying that it was ‘a continuation of politics with the addition of other means.’”

  “Well, yes,” Anami said. “But what does that—”

  “A war is a result of conflict, but not just any conflict,” Yamamoto interrupted. “Conflicts are negotiated away, or sometimes one side generously grants the wishes of the other. No, war occurs when the conflict becomes intolerable and is not amenable to any mutually satisfactory solution.”

  Anami looked impatient. “My friend, your wisdom on these matters is great, but—”

  “Please, bear with me for another minute. My mind is clumsy and confused; I cannot speak as eloquently as I would wish.”

  “No, no, Yamamoto-san. You’re doing brilliantly. Please go on. I shall pay careful attention.”

  “To summarize, such a conflict can, if the pressure builds enough, explode into war. But considering the origin and process, one thing must be true: both parties believe themselves to be right and justified.”

  “But one of them is in fact wrong.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes, right and wrong are not at issue. But whatever the topic of the conflict, the war must be prosecuted in such a way as to support the political objective, even when that hampers certain military choices.”

  “What choices are you talking about?” Anami asked suspiciously.

  “One last point. A war begins with an objective in mind, and decisions are made in accordance with that objective. But as men die and pain increases, the desire for revenge and retribution grows. The war can slip out of the control of its instigators and planners and take on a life of its own. The original objective then is overcome by the desire for revenge, with the result that both sides lose. Neither achieves its objective, even if one enjoys more military success than the other.”

  Anami thought for a minute. “I fail to see how any of this applies to the current military situation,” he said.

  Yamamoto put a look of mild surprise on his face. “Oh! I am so sorry, Anami-san. I misled you into believing I was discussing the military situation. Of course you would think that. How terribly clumsy of me. My deepest apologies. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Anami impatiently. “I misunderstood. The fault is all mine. Forgive me as well. If you weren’t talking about the military situation, what war are you talking about? The Soviet Union?” Yamamoto noticed he was rushing through the obligatory blame ritual in his eagerness to find out what the admiral wanted. Good. The hook was truly sunk.

  “I was referring to the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War, General Anami. We cannot afford a conflict in the council that escalates into war. Whatever the fate of Japan, let it not suffer because of the inability of the leaders to resolve their own conflicts and achieve harmonious concordance.”

  Anami looked at Yamamoto with some disdain. “In that case, I presume you’ve come to tell me the Peace Faction has decided to follow the honorable path and continue to fight while breath remains, thus resolving the conflict,” he said.

  Yamamoto smiled broadly. “In a way, Anami-san. In a way.”

  “What?”

  “No one wants dishonor, Anami-san. And you don’t want to see the Land of the Rising Sun wiped clean of Japanese, either. You want better surrender terms than the Americans are offering. I would like that as well.”

  “Then there is a proposal of some kind that should be considered?” Anami asked indirectly.

  “If the army minister deigns to consider a suggestion?”

  “Any suggestion coming from you, War Minister, deserves the best and most favorable consideration possible.”

  “I’m honored once again. Let me share it, then. The so-called Peace Faction would certainly prefer better surrender conditions than currently offered by the Americans. They are willing to support reasonable efforts to achieve such terms.”

  “And they define ‘reasonable’? I’m deeply saddened, dear friend, but it would be very difficult for me to accept such a proposal. Very difficult indeed.”

  “I didn’t intend for them to define ‘reasonable.’ I would ask you, instead.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Who is better qualified?”

  “You mean, define a specific point in which I’ll give up and go along with them?”

  “‘Give up’ is, perhaps, stronger than intended. ‘Work on a
revision of our expectations and act accordingly’ might better say it.” Both sentences meant the same thing, Yamamoto knew. The second made it more palatable.

  As Anami thought, Yamamoto tried one last attempt. “The kai of Ketsu-Go has passed, and we are awaiting the outcome. Militarily, it is performing beyond expectations. What is not yet clear is whether it will have the desired political impact. If it does, Anami-san, there will be one voice in the council and it will be yours.”

  Yamamoto paused to let the message sink in before continuing. “On the other hand, should it become clear that the arrow will miss the mato, it is the last arrow in the quiver, or close. This would require of the archer a rethinking and could lead to decisions heretofore not worthy of contemplation. You are only asked to choose a measurement in the unlikely event of Ketsu-Go failure. If you can find an acceptable place, the rift in leadership can be healed, and the Supreme Council can fulfill its mandate from the Emperor and its duty to the nation. We must find common ground, General Anami. We must have a consensus, and everyone must be able to join.”

  He stood up, and Anami followed suit. Across the garden from Yamamoto, the aide and the two enlisted men started forward with the tea and tray, realized the conversation wasn’t quite over, and scurried back to their previous spot.

  “We can’t afford a two-front war with the second front inside our own cabinet,” Yamamoto said.

  Anami chortled. “The second front inside our own cabinet! That’s very funny, Yamamoto-san. Inside our own cabinet! Ha ha. I’m willing to try, because I agree with you that it’s important for Emperor and nation. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I don’t want to give up quickly. As long as we can field a fighting force capable of damaging the Americans enough to prod them toward the negotiating table, I believe we should do so.”

  “And the firebombing?”

  “Those vicious monsters have done about all the damage they can. There’s nothing much left to burn in most major cities. Let them drop all the fire they want on deserted mounds of ash. Savages! Those damned Americans are nothing but savages! Before the war they called us ‘barbarous’ and ‘inhuman’ for bombing civilians in China and now they do a hundred times worse themselves and excuse it by the bald-faced he that they strike only at ‘military and industrial targets.’” He looked at Yamamoto and growled. “My biggest regret in this war is that I didn’t have a chance to burn a few of their cities.”

  “I share your indignation, my dear friend,” Yamamoto said. “Can you find a point that is measurable, tied to potential American behavior, and reasonable enough to be accepted by all? If so, then we can cooperate to make this final act as expensive for the Americans as we possibly can.”

  “Yes, Yamamoto-san, I believe I can. And may I say,” Anami answered, “your skills as an avoider of war are as formidable as your skills in prosecuting one.”

  “The general does me too much honor,” demurred the war minister.

  • THURSDAY, 19 APRIL 1945 •

  FIRST HILL, 2 MILES INLAND OF BEACH PONTIAC, 0959

  HOURS (X-DAY + 19)

  They called it First Hill because that’s what it was. After three weeks of attacking, it remained First Hill, and the marines of the 3rd Marine Regimental Combat Team had finally reached the summit.

  Captain Pete Rachwalski’s company—still called Fox, though less than 10 percent of its marines had belonged to that company upon landing—had endured a good portion of that climb. They weren’t on the very top of the hill, but Fox Company had fought its way to the crest of a long ridge leading down the south side of the elevation. After rooting out the few last Japs, by drenching their caves in flaming jelly called napalm, Pete’s men were settling into place and catching their collective breath. The position overlooked a deep, wide ravine, and they weren’t taking any fire from concealed positions on the opposite face of the gully, so it seemed like a good place to stop.

  Pete decided they could risk a little campfire in the early morning hours. He had guards posted all along the ridge crest, with machine guns hidden in several key places. His mortars were zeroed in on the ravine floor and the far face. At least, for the first time in days, they could boil a little water and make some instant coffee.

  General Erskine had been as good as his word, and his driver had brought up a set of a captain’s bars for Pete the very next day. As he moved forward, and seemed to keep more of his men alive than most other company commanders, Pete had picked up more stragglers—the remnants of units that had been left leaderless. He had about 150 men now, and had organized them into ten squads of thirteen. The ten squads made up three platoons, with a weapons squad left over. They had scrounged enough mortars and flamethrowers to make a pretty good-looking fireworks show. This made up a company, and Pete, with the highest rank, was acting captain. He didn’t have enough noncoms to go around, so he used the ones he had and breveted corporals and privates for the rest. There were plenty of candidates; marines grew up fast on Kyushu, or they didn’t grow up at all.

  They were sleeping in shifts, with each platoon taking its turn at guard duty. A couple of the men were snoring loudly enough to alert the Japs, if any happened to be around. He was tired, too. He could sleep another ten hours, easily. The dirt, crud, blood, and other shit from the battle on the beach had dried, but now his ass itched from lack of toilet paper. It was the little things that made combat such a pain.

  “Hey, boss!” A loud stage whisper came from the ridge above.

  “Yeah?”

  “Patrol heading our way. Coming down the base of the ravine. Could be American, but I can’t tell at this distance.”

  “Which direction?”

  “Thataway.” They had compasses. Since the maps had been with Captain Gilder when he blew up, there wasn’t much use for them, so the sentry just pointed off to Pete’s left.

  Pete signaled to the active platoon, and he and the rest of his men moved as quietly as they could into positions along the rocky crest. The machine gunners took note and sighted their heavy, air-cooled barrels on the mostly hidden path below. Pete waved his hands so the platoon would spread out all along the line. If there were bad guys down in the gully, there were in for a surprise.

  He said to the sentry, “Challenge them when they get close, but don’t open fire until you’re sure they aren’t our guys.”

  “Uh—challenge them how?” the sentry asked.

  “I don’t know. Ask them something about baseball.”

  “Um, I really don’t follow baseball, Gunny. I know that’s not too normal, but I’m more the reading type.”

  Pete laughed. “Hell, so am I. What do you like? I like science fiction.”

  “Really? I like science fiction, too. But detective stories are my favorites. I want to be a detective when I get out. I mean, for real.”

  “Okay… then… ask them a—oh, I dunno—a radio question?”

  “I got it! How about, ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men?’”

  Pete shrugged. “Try it. But don’t shoot if they don’t know. We’ll try a couple if we have to. Shh. I hear them.”

  He waited until the rustle and stomping grew louder, then tapped the sentry on the shoulder.

  “Halt!” the sentry cried. “Who goes there?”

  “Marines! We’re from 2nd of the 7th!”

  “Wait! Uh… ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?’”

  “What?”

  “‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?’ It’s a question! To see if you know the answer!”

  “How the hell should I know? Ask me something about Babe Ruth.”

  “I don’t know any questions about Babe Ruth, okay? ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?’”

  “I already told you, I don’t fucking know!”

  Another voice cried out, “It’s the fucking Shadow, okay? Don’t you listen to the fucking radio?”

  “I listen to fucking baseball, okay?” The man from 2/7 was growing irritable. “I don
’t know who the fucking Shadow is, okay?”

  “You’re definitely marines,” Pete said, laughing. “Welcome to 2nd of the 3rd.”

  The patrol passed through the guard perimeter and into camp.

  When they were seated around the campfire, Pete said, “You guys are pretty far forward. I didn’t think you were going to get up here yet.”

  The patrol leader, a first lieutenant, shook his head. “We’ve been thrown in early because the fucking Japs have been so hard to root out. They won’t surrender and they won’t run away, and they think it’s a victory if they take out one or two of you at the cost of their own lives. They’re fucking nuts, the whole damn race, if you ask me. We fought our way around the back side of First Hill, and—well, you know how that was.”

  “Well, we got one goddamn hill. That’s something, at least.”

  “Yeah?” the lieutenant countered. “You take a look over the top of this thing?”

  “Our view is pretty much blocked by the other side of that ravine,” Pete admitted. “What’s it look like to you?”

  “About a hundred more fucking hills. Each one bigger, higher, and meaner than the one where we’ve been living for the past three weeks.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Pete said. His heart sank. There was no possible way he and his men would survive another hill or two, much less a hundred.

  Pete’s despair was obvious. The lieutenant added, “But don’t worry, Captain. We don’t have to take them—well, all of them. New orders have come down all the way from Mac himself. We’ve already got Kagoshima, more or less, and that means enough airfields. We don’t need the rest of this shithole—pardon my French.”

  Pete chuckled. “Shithole is right. So what do we have to do if we aren’t going to clean out the Japs?”

  “Defense,” the lieutenant said with a grin. “We’re supposed to straighten out our line and then dig in and let them come to us.”

  Pete thought for a moment. “Yeah, that makes good sense. But answer me this, lieutenant. How the hell are we going to get the Japs to surrender if they don’t mind dying?”