1945 (27 page)

MacArthur chuckled deeply at the picture. Some damn Republicans had contacted him about a presidential candidacy in 1948 against what they presumed would be that country nitwit, Harry Truman. A triumphal entry onto Japanese territory would help that cause, and the cause of America, immensely.

Now, if the Japanese army would only cooperate and begin to shatter. He sighed and bit down on the stem of his unlit corncob pipe. It was incredible that the Japs were still fighting. They had few weapons, fewer supplies, rudimentary organization, primitive communications, and poor leaders. He had to give the Japanese soldier a warrior's credit for being personally quite brave, but they would ultimately be defeated. Then General of the Army Douglas MacArthur would have his revenge, both on the Japanese and on the coterie of enemies conspiring against him in Washington. Yes, he thought, and smiled again, it would be a pleasant time.

Joe Nomura walked slowly and disconsolately down the dirt path that cut through the overgrown field. He was upset and frustrated. American armies were fighting desperately 150 miles south of him and he had done nothing lately to help them. He had continued his periodic reports, but there had been nothing new to report for a while.

There was still little food for the civilian population, and medicine was in even shorter supply. He had told his listeners that the average Japanese civilian was on the verge of starvation and disease and wanted the war to end, even if it meant surrender. He sometimes wondered if anyone important was actually getting his messages, or whether he was sending them into an electronic mine shaft.

The Japanese people had lost horribly in terms of their homes, their livelihoods, and the lives of their loved ones. The devastation of their cities, even those not atom-bombed, was virtually total. Work and travel were impossible. They cursed the American planes that flew overhead and bombed their homes and few remaining factories with almost contemptuous ease. In one way, the American invasion was a blessing for the Japanese civilians as it continued to siphon off large numbers of American warplanes.

The civilians he saw were sick at heart and discontented with the Anami government, which persisted in fighting a war they saw no way of winning. Strangely, this discontent did not reflect in a dislike for the vanished emperor. Virtually no one in Japan had ever heard Hirohito speak, so no one noticed his absence from the public forum. However, they did understand that Anami was in charge and that the military and the
kempei
backed Anami. Even with his own Japanese background Joe found it hard to understand their fatalism, but the civilians accepted the situation.

Joe had reported that large numbers of Japanese soldiers continued to infiltrate from north Kyushu to the south after either being shipped by submarine from Korea or having navigated the narrow straits between Honshu and Kyushu in swarms of small boats. He'd identified several major units originally stationed around Tokyo as having been switched to Kyushu, including several Imperial Guard divisions. It confirmed his opinion that Japan's major effort would be on Kyushu. He hadn't reported his opinion. Let the generals figure that out for themselves. He thought it was so obvious that they wouldn't need help from a lowly field operative to draw that conclusion.

Gathering this data had required little in the way of effort. The soldiers he'd met on the trail were more than happy to chatter like magpies when they'd met up with him. After all, he was one of them, wasn't he? Nomura's tattered uniform and missing arm were more than enough to induce the soldiers to tell him everything they knew. It was inconceivable that he could be anything other than what he looked like— an honored Japanese war veteran.

But what had he done lately? Joe wanted to do something that would really help the men who were fighting and dying for him. At least Dennis Chambers was still alive, feeling well, kicking and bitching. Chambers was as frustrated as he was. Living the life of a virtual hermit on a Kyushu mountaintop was driving Chambers nuts as well. An air force pilot, not a recluse, he too wanted to do something.

When they'd heard of the landings, the two men had discussed the possibility of working their way south and into the American lines. This they'd quickly discarded as an improbable accomplishment. Dennis's white skin would mark him as an enemy to the Japanese, and he'd be shot on sight if he was lucky. Then, Joe's yellow skin would draw fire from every American who saw him, and they'd ask questions later. They'd reluctantly decided they were much better staying where they were and not trying to get through the combatants. If the Japs surrendered, then they would decide how to deliver themselves to the proper authorities.

What really worried both men was that the war would develop into a prolonged stalemate, causing them to stay in hiding indefinitely in northern Kyushu. Equally frightening was the thought that the fighting would work its way northward and wash over them. This would cause the same difficulties as trying to get through the lines in the first place.

It wasn't fair, but what the hell else was new? Then he saw the bicycle lying on its side on the edge of the path. He grinned as he saw that no rider was around. If it was abandoned and rideable, it would beat the hell out of walking all over Kyushu in search of information to send back to mama in the States.

Joe grabbed the handlebars, righted it, and worked the pedals. It was dirty and battered, but the tires had air and it otherwise looked all right. Finally, he might be more useful. He would take the bike back to where Dennis was hidden and they'd discuss it over a shot of their dwindling supply of whiskey.

The bicycle was painted brown, which meant that it belonged to the military or at least had at some time in its past. This didn't worry him. With the desperate shortage of fuel, bicycles were everywhere, and many had belonged to the military. A brown bicycle would draw no attention, particularly since it would be ridden by a one-armed vet.

As he turned the bike around and began to pedal awkwardly, he saw something sticking out of the tall grass alongside the path. It was a leg.

"Hello, hello," he said softly, then grimaced as he realized he'd accidentally spoken in English. He hadn't made that mistake in a while, not even with Chambers.

Joe got off the bike and walked over to where the body lay facedown. The man wore the uniform of a captain in the Japanese secret police, the
kempei
. Joe knelt down and checked for a pulse even though the body was cold and graying. The captain of the secret police was dead. Joe rolled the corpse on its back and saw a massive indentation in its skull.

With no other evidence, he concluded that the Jap officer had crashed his bike and fractured his skull in the fall. A little checking showed a rock near where he'd first found the bike that had what looked like dry bloodstains on it. The officer had probably crawled the few feet away from the accident before dying.

So now what to do? he wondered. Joe grinned and rifled the man's pockets, finding identification papers and money, along with a ring of keys. Joe took the corpse by one foot and dragged it farther into the underbrush. There, he stripped off the uniform and boots. After hesitating only a second, he took the dead man's underwear, leaving the body naked and unidentifiable. If he wasn't found in a couple of days, he'd be bloated and half-eaten by bugs. The
kempei
officer would become just another dead body in a country that was filled with corpses.

All the while he did this, Joe kept looking up and down the path to see if anyone else was coming. No one did and Joe wasn't surprised. Other than the army, or refugees on the main paths leading farther north, everyone tried to stay near the refugee camps, where there was at least a little food. A lot of people had also made the passage across to Honshu to get away from the fighting. He thought the civilian population of Kyushu was half what it had been when he'd first landed.

Joe made a bag out of the dead man's pants, slung the improvised sack over his shoulder, and remounted the bike. As he pedaled down the path, his spirits were uplifted. He had absolutely no idea what he might do with the
kempei
uniform, but he had at least done something. Or maybe the beginning of something. Maybe he and Dennis could work on the uniform and make it fit him. It was a shame that the dead Jap was such a plump little shit. It would make alterations that much more difficult. But not impossible, he exulted, not impossible at all.

The U.S. Army's I Corps headquarters was in a badly damaged brick building in the small port city of Miyazaki . The shattered windows were covered with wood, and it was ringed by grim-faced American sentries. Even though the town was considered secure, no one was taking chances on suicide attacks.

After meeting briefly with the commander of the 41st Infantry Division, Brig. Gen. John Monck walked out into the shattered streets and up to his chief of staff, Colonel Parker. As they walked, their four-man security detail formed a loose perimeter around them. Monck hating having them, but, like the situation at I Corps, it was better to be safe than sorry. More than one senior officer had already been killed by Jap snipers.

Parker was his usual almost insolent self. "Well, what new tidings did they give you, General? Will the war be over by Christmas? The way the Japs are still fighting, the only way that could occur would be for us to surrender to them."

Monck sighed. He was exhausted and not really in the mood for Parker's often snide comments. As usual, though, he said nothing. Parker was far too valuable to him for him to be put off by his attitude. Besides, Parker was so often right.

"Parker, Major General Doe says we are doing a fine job and that we should keep up the good work. We are to continue plugging our way north, killing Japs and climbing hills as we go. Before you say anything, let me agree with you. It isn't much in the way of grand strategy, or innovative tactics, but then, there isn't much we can be strategic or innovative about in this campaign. At this point, this is nothing more than a slugging match."

Parker raised his hands briefly in mock surrender. "What about our casualties? Did General Doe have any comment there?"

Monck shook his head sadly. "When I told Doe we had taken eighty dead and more than two hundred wounded in less than a week of actual fighting, he didn't seem unduly disturbed or impressed. When I reminded him that it was about eight percent of my regiment, he just shrugged and said he'd see what he could do about getting us some replacements."

"God," Parker muttered. Both men could do the arithmetic. At the rate they were losing men and without replacements, the regiment would cease to exist in a relatively short while. They both knew that the dead and wounded had all been incurred in what news releases referred to as "minor skirmishes." The entire battle for Kyushu so far consisted of hundreds of such minor skirmishes.

"General, what'll we do when the Japs counterattack in strength as they must? Did General Doe have anything to say about that? And what about Swift?" Parker asked, referring to Maj. Gen. Innis Swift, who commanded I Corps.

"Swift wasn't there. He's off conferring with Krueger, who's probably getting more orders from Mac. Krueger, by the way, has finally gotten his headquarters ashore. He's set up shop on a hill just off Ariake Bay. Look, don't be so harsh on Doe, or Swift, for that matter. Everybody's taking it on the chin from the Japs, and some of the people who started fighting before we did are in even worse shape."

"I know, I know," Parker said. "It just seems like such a waste. What did he say about us getting better artillery support?"

The U.S. Army possessed virtually total air and artillery superiority, but had been unable to knock out very many of the numerous Japanese strongpoints. While they had gotten a high percentage of them, the better-sited and stronger Japanese positions remained impervious to bombing and indirect artillery fire. What was needed was close-in firepower that could shoot right down the throat of a bunker or cave. Artillery could plow up the ground nearby, but the hidden and dug-in Japs remained impervious to anything but the fortuitous direct hit on a gun embrasure. Ultimately, it was then necessary for the infantry to root them out, and this was wasting lives.

"Doe understands. He's trying to get some tanks and mountain howitzers assigned to forward units."

"Great. I just hope it occurs soon."

Monck agreed. He looked around and saw they were not headed back to their jeeps. "Colonel, just where the hell are you taking me?"

"To this dismal excuse for a town's waterfront, General. There're a couple of things I thought you'd like to see."

Monck allowed himself to be led to the shore, where low waves sloshed among a number of small and ruined wooden fishing ships. Some of them clearly showed bullet holes where they'd been strafed by low-flying aircraft. Their broken remains were either on the beach or in the shallow water. The livelihood of Miyazaki had been smashed, which might be one of the reasons there were so few people in the firebombed town. With the exception of a few old men and women, the civilian population appeared to have fled, doubtless to the north.

A number of them, however, must be dead, killed in the attacks that sank their ships and leveled their buildings. The air was filled with the lingering stench of rotting flesh. It was nothing new and they almost took it as normal, along with the scent of smoke from countless still-smoldering fires. They had been breathing the stink of decay since the moment they had landed. Fresh, clean air was an almost forgotten memory.

"Look, General."

Monck followed where Parker was pointing. "What the hell is that?" Monck asked as he stared at a small wooden boat about ten feet long that was lying on its side on the beach. It had an extremely low freeboard and a single seat in the back. The whole thing, with the exception of where the seat was, was covered by wooden decking. It reminded him of a kayak.

Parker walked over and towered over it, and it almost looked like a child's toy. "That, General, is a suicide boat that never made it out to sea. There are a lot of them around here. The front of the damned thing is supposed to be stuffed with explosives, and the driver sits in the rear with his legs covered by the decking. Then it scoots out into the water, and he tries to ram one of our ships. At that point the whole thing is supposed to blow up, taking the Jap to the Happy Hunting Ground or wherever dead Japs go, and sending the unlucky target ship to the bottom. There was a small outboard motor, but it looks like someone liberated it since I saw it a few minutes ago."