Hooper’s War

by Peter Van Buren

  “LET’S TAKE FIVE,” I said. “You, Private Garner, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Throwing away the crap I don’t like from these K-rations. I hate the crackers, sir, too dry without a lot of water and then I just gotta pee,” Private Garner said.

  “Did you see that? Some little kid just ran out and grabbed them crackers. Throw him something else, see what he does,” one of the men said.

  “There ya’ go, kiddo. Hey, Garner, you got a light?”

  “Here you go. And hey, careful where you throw the butt. Don’t wanna start another fire around here,” Private Garner said.

  “Them jokes ain’t so funny no more, Garner.”

  “Hey, Jap kid, look here, you know what this is? It’s chocolate. Cho-co-late. Tell him, translator.”

  “I do not think he can speak,” the translator said. “I have asked him several questions earlier but he does not answer.”

  “Tell him to nod his head if he wants the chocolate,” another soldier said. “Ah ha, see, now that worked. Little bastard wants it. Here ya go, kid, a whole Hershey bar, courtesy of your Uncle Sammy.”

  “See if he’ll talk now. Ask him where his parents are,” a soldier said.

  “Hey, stop it. The little bastard grabbed my lighter,” Garner said.

  “Let him have it. Ask him again, about what happened to his parents.”

  “Oh Jesus, he’s holding the lighter to his own hand, that’s his goddamn skin burning, stop him,” Garner said.

  “He is speaking now. He says ‘My parents, that is what happened to them,’” the translator said.

  AS THE PHOTOGRAPHERS WERE packing their gear, a thick kind of rain started, a real Noah, dropping in long, heavy needles, coating us and everything around us with some kind of black goo. The bomb damage assessment fella, Rand, said following a big firebombing, hot ashes rose, cooled, mixed with rain, and fell. Black rain, he called it, even though it turned the pavement silver in the light.

  Private Garner, the one who hated crackers and lost the lighter to the little boy, began screaming, saying over and over again “Get it off me, get it off me. It’s people, get it off me.”

  Garner was the sanest person left in our party.

  Chapter 5: The Battle for Private Garner

  Lieutenant Nathaniel Hooper: Japan, Outside Kyoto, Behind American Lines, 1946

  “LIEUTENANT? LIEUTENANT HOOPER? HEY, sir, I’m Private First Class Wintergreen. Major Moreland wants to congratulate you and your men on your damn fine heroic mission into Kyoto after the firebombing, so Captain Christiansen said you gotta be at the command tent in 30 minutes.”

  I tried to wipe away the soot from around my eyes, and spat out some of the filth that had gunked up in my mouth. It was hard not to think what Private Garner had said: they were inside me now.

  “Captain Christiansen said you’d need the 30 minutes to wash up first. Captain Christiansen said you’d be all covered in crap after your mission and the Major wouldn’t care for that shit. Captain Christiansen himself told me to say that to you.”

  I muttered something obscene.

  “Captain Christiansen said the same thing, sir. You know, we got the General coming up tomorrow and Major Moreland heard from Captain Christiansen that the General’s orderly said he likes hard-boiled eggs. He made Captain Christiansen send half the battalion out to buy up any eggs the Jap farmers have been hoarding. Word travels fast and we’ve already run up the price of eggs like 200 percent so the Japs are hungry because they can’t afford to buy eggs only we can. Every farmer that’s got a live hen left is tickling her cootie trying to pull out one more egg for us. I already told Captain Christiansen that. Then Captain Christiansen said ‘nuts.’”

  Lieutenant Nathaniel Hooper: Japan, Outside Kyoto, Behind American Lines, Major Moreland’s Command Tent, 1946

  “LIEUTENANT HOOPER, PLEASE COME in, bring your men in. Get out of this horrible rain. Who ever knew rain to feel greasy? You know it also rained on the battlefield at Agincourt,” Major Moreland said like that was somewhere near us. He had the first pictures Stars and Stripes published out of the wreckage of Kyoto tacked up all around this tent. Had a couple Stripes had given him privately, ones they thought might be too much for the folks at home. He’d tacked those up, too. Chaplain Savage’s stolen samurai dagger was on the desk. Major Moreland made a point of telling us the Chaplain had presented it to him.

  “Begging the Major’s pardon and all, but we’d just as soon get back to the medical tent and see to Private Garner, sir,” one of the soldiers said. “He’s still over there screaming. Sir.”

  “Wounded man, Lieutenant?” Major Moreland said.

  “He had a tough day in Kyoto. We all did, sir.” I turned toward the men. “Hey, everybody, sit the hell down. Major’s gonna address us. Garner’ll still be screaming after we’re done here.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, I’m sure he will. I have great confidence in your men,” Major Moreland said. “Lieutenant, I want to commend you again for your personal bravery. I’ve put you in for a commendation. I’ve got Captain Christiansen writing it up myself. You may never do anything this important again in your entire life. You should be proud.”

  There was a lot of stir starting among the men behind me.

  “May we get over to the hospital if we’re all done here?” I said.

  “Now, I’ve spoken to the bomb damage assessment man, nice fella named Rand, and the reporters from Stars and Stripes, and they all were pleased, damn pleased, with what they saw inside what’s left of the city. And no looting. Outstanding. Chaplain was a bit shaken up, but he’ll be okay, probably the Spam from the chow hall disagreeing with him again. C’est la guerre, eh? Speaking of food, I’ve ordered ice cream sent up from Division HQ just for you gentlemen, as a small token of my thanks. Chocolate, vanilla and I think they even found some strawberry. It’ll be waiting for you as soon as we’re done here.” Major Moreland looked pleased with his decision on the ice cream. “I guess we really whooped them in Kyoto, eh?”

  “Yes, sir, they got really whooped. You could certainly say that, sir,” I said.

  “You know, it was one of our own great leaders, General George C. Marshall, I believe, who said, ‘War should not be prolonged an hour longer than is absolutely necessary,’ but I think he’d make an exception in Kyoto’s case. How about that, fellas?” the Major said.

  “Any chance the goddamn Major could finish this some other goddamn time?” one of the men said from the back of the tent.

  “Oh, I understand, all full of vim and vigor, eh? Had I ever been in combat, I imagine I’d feel the same way. I am reminded of what an ancient wrote: ‘Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, that here, obedient to their laws, we lie.’ That’s a quote from the monument to the 300 Spartans who died at Thermopylae. Name means gates of hell or something like that. You are now in their fraternity.”

  “Hey Major, I don’t feel like a Spartan, I feel like a ghoul,” one of the soldiers said.

  “Son, I understand. Heraclitus believed strife in war was man’s dominant and creative force. You’re in good company, young man,” Major Moreland said.

  “You know, that’s just swell. But, Major, I got a question,” one of the men said. “Major, why the fuck is your uniform clean?”

  “Son?”

  “Why didn’t you watch a fucking kid set himself on fucking fire today? Why the fuck aren’t you in the goddamn fucking medical tent screaming like Garner?” a soldier said.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the Major said.

  “Won’t we all,” the soldier said.

  I dismissed the whole group before a riot started, and they ran for the door, as glad to leave as I was to see them go.

  “Lieutenant, thank you for clearing that up. I guess our men, well, maybe they’re still a bit keyed up,” Major Moreland said. We were alone. “Say, Hooper, a quick word, between us old troopers, eh?” He walked me out of the tent, hand on my arm. “I understand you may have seen
a few things in Kyoto, shall we say, out of context. Let’s let the press handle that properly, and let the rest be our little secret.”

  “Sure, Major. Our secret. But don’t the Japs already know?” I said. The city covered 300 square miles.

  “Oh, it isn’t that kind of secret. I mean secret from, you know, well, maybe more of a concealment than a real secret. Morale and all,” Moreland said. He let go of my arm. “And be sure to get some ice cream. I went through a lot of trouble to get it for you.”

  “I gotta see Private Garner,” I said.

  “Oh right, the wounded fellow. Maybe the Chaplain could help. Should I send him over after he gets out of the latrine?”

  Lieutenant Nathaniel Hooper: Japan, Outside Kyoto, Behind American Lines, Medical Tent, 1946

  AFTER FAILING JONES AT NISHINOMIYA, I was here in the medical tent for Garner.

  “Doctor Klein, I’m Lieutenant Hooper. We met before I went into Kyoto? The malaria pills? The Private over there, he’s one of mine.”

  “The one bleeding to death or the one screaming?”

  “Private Garner, Doc,” I said. Klein’s face didn’t change; mine did. “The one screaming.”

  “Lieutenant, if you’re upset, I can call Chaplain Savage for you,” Doctor Klein said.

  “I’m worried about Private Garner,” I said. No sign of recognition from the Doc. “The screaming one.”

  “Oh, right. Lucky for him. Because the other one’s going to die soon from internal bleeding. Garner is likely to just be insane for the rest of his life, mind torn apart and all that. His body’s in terrific shape, not a scratch. But the question isn’t so much why Private Garner is screaming. It’s why we aren’t, Lieutenant,” Doctor Klein said. He fumbled with some medical instruments on the table between us. “If he had a bullet in him, I could pull it out. I could issue him more malaria pills, for Christ’s sake; see, I do remember you. But I can’t do much about the war now, can I? Really gets its teeth into you.”

  “Doc, what are you going to do?” I said.

  “I think we’ll keep him here for a few days, see if he somehow recovers. Who knows, maybe he’ll be hit by lightning, too. If not, we’ll have to ship him to the rear with all the other stuff we can’t use anymore.”

  We were interrupted by someone needing something signed by Doc Klein. He seemed to have to do a lot of that as part of saving lives. I shifted my weight a bit, more to hide my impatience than to stretch my muscles. It was then I realized the floor was sticky. The Japs had made a lot of holes in boys.

  “Can’t you give Garner something, I don’t know, like morphine, to quiet him down?” I said.

  “Morphine is for wounded men. Garner is just insane.”

  “Isn’t that wounded?” I said.

  “Indeed, it used to be, indeed it did,” Doctor Klein said. “Then there were too many wounded men, so we had to change the definition to statistically reduce the suffering. Besides, Garner went insane because of what he saw in Kyoto. Curing him means I’d have to convince him seeing the burned children he’s shouting about was not a reason to be insane.”

  “But Garner is still wounded under the old rules, you admitted it. Like that man next to him bleeding to death internally,” I said.

  “But that is a clear case. He is definitely wounded. There are tests,” Doctor Klein said.

  “Okay, Doc. How about when the man dying from internal bleeding dies, can Garner have his morphine?” I said.

  “Lieutenant, I want to help, I really do. How about when the bleeding man dies, in the gap before the next real wounded man arrives, I give his unused morphine to Garner? That seems fair.”

  “Doctor, excuse me,” a nurse interrupted. “The one they brought in yesterday, the chest wound? I’m afraid he’s passed on, sir. Sign here.”

  “So Doc, can Garner have that man’s morphine?” I said.

  “Sorry Lieutenant, that wasn’t our deal. Garner waits for the internally bleeding man to die. No special treatment.”

  “Does it bother you to be so casual about seeing men die?” I said.

  “Let me ask you a question, Lieutenant, since you have this all down,” Doctor Klein said. “Is the morphine for Garner so he stops screaming, or is the morphine for you so that you don’t have to hear him screaming? He probably feels better screaming.”

  “Doc, what are you doing here?” I said.

  “Just my job. Following orders.” Doctor Klein said. “Lieutenant, do you think Garner is frightened of dying any more?”

  “No, Doc, I think he’s probably more frightened of living at this point,” I said.

  “Wait a moment, would you please? Yes, can I help you? Who are you, son?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, Doc. I’m Major Moreland’s orderly, Private First Class Wintergreen. Can you tell me which one’s Garner?”

  “He’s the one screaming. We were just wrapping that up. Why do you ask?” Doctor Klein said.

  “Major Moreland sent me over with his strawberry ice cream. Can I leave it here? It’s starting to melt.”

  Chapter 6: For Her

  Lieutenant Nathaniel Hooper: Japan, Kyoto, 1946

  AFTER THE FIREBOMBING, WORD came down we’d be relocating north of what was left of Kyoto, mopping up as MacArthur made the final push into Tokyo. Intelligence reported a few remnants of the Japanese Army around us. Their resistance wasn’t coordinated; they maybe just didn’t know what else to do, so they kept fighting.

  After burning an entire city of people to ash, two days later we were now to become the good guys, all with an eye toward “winning the peace.” A new order came down on minimizing civilian casualties, and even on trying to talk the Japanese soldiers into surrendering if we could. Swell. I wondered if the Japanese could remake their image of us as fast as we expected them to, but orders were orders.

  I was learning it is harder to finish wars than to start them. This all was more stubborn than I was, and was not going to let me quit. Getting through what seemed like the last days alive, without having to kill anyone, and without getting any more of my men killed, was exactly the strategy I wished I’d been pursuing from the moment I got my feet wet at Ashiya Beach. I wondered where the last man to die in this war was right now.

  Though there was still a grubby blanket of white left, and it was too early to declare spring, you could believe it was out there on an afternoon like this, the peace like an acorn under the snow. We’d been ordered to an old temple north of Kyoto the firebombing had somehow missed. Americans had been killed in the area, sniper fire. We were supposed to clear the temple, killing, capturing, cheering up or resettling as refugees whoever was inside, depending on how things worked out. It’d become a helluva war.

  “I don’t see why we don’t just call down some arty and get it done. I’m hungry,” said one soldier.

  “We’re trying to win over what the brass are now calling ‘hearts and minds,’” I said.

  “Well and good, sir, but I say grab ’em by the balls and their hearts and minds will follow.”

  “Somebody needs to tell the Japs about our new strategy. They’re still playing by the old rules,” a second soldier said. “The scouts reported a guy with a rifle in there, maybe a second Jap, too.”

  “Yeah, this war sure is all over. It’s all over this goddamn temple.”

  “Translator, over here, with your megaphone,” I said. “Convey this: ‘I am Lieutenant Hooper of the United States Army. Come out of the temple with your hands up.’”

  Nothing.

  “Okay, let’s try it again. Tell ’em this, translator: ‘Lay down your weapons. Your war is over. You have fought well and suffer no disgrace.’”

  “You really want me to say that last part, Lieutenant? I mean, I had a buddy killed on Iwo. It isn’t right to kiss up to the Jappers,” the translator said. He was a new guy, an American soldier who spoke some of the language, anxious along with the rest of them to get this over. They were horses all smelling the barn now, and had no interest in
racing.

  There was a single shot, way high over our heads.

  “Aw, dammit, sir, they just shot at us. That enough of a not disgraceful response for you?” the translator said.

  There was movement at the temple; someone without a uniform, no weapon, emerging from a side door. I knew this kind of thing was gonna happen and I dreaded it. Civilians again. Then, we all saw it clearly enough. There was a white cloth, held by a mouse of a Japanese woman.

  I wouldn’t need the translator. I went forward myself.

  SHE HADN’T CHANGED MUCH, and she had changed.

  “I heard your voice,” Naoko said.

  “Good Christ, why are you here?” I said. “It’s Sergeant Nakagawa inside shooting, isn’t it?”

  “Eichi does not want to kill you. He wants you to kill him,” Naoko said. “He cremated his parents the same night the Americans burned Kyoto. He said the small fire would be overlooked. He said they were not supposed to die before he did. He was prepared to kill himself, then stopped and said he would first claim as many Americans as he could. He shot seven these past two days.”

  “Jesus God. Why here?” I said.

  “If listen, you can hear voices in the stone and wood of this place. It has withstood every earthquake, every typhoon, and every bomb. The people see it as a symbol and, well, he and I had also been here before…” Naoko paused and looked at the photo she had with her. She held it tightly by the edges, turning her finger tips white.

  “Hooper-san, he shot only to provoke you. You know the bullet came nowhere near hitting anyone. When Eichi understood it was you, he convinced himself if he could die by a soldier I respected, that would be a proper way to conclude his life. He does not think you would be killing him; he thinks you will be saving him. I am not sure if he knows what he is doing anymore, but I told him I would convey his request for you to destroy him.”

  “Naoko, tell Sergeant Eichi Nakagawa he must give me one minute to speak with him. If he won’t do that, I’ll leave him in there alive to suffer until hell freezes over.”