1945 (46 page)

"The Japs will get the word," Byrnes said grimly.

"Good." Truman relaxed visibly as his fury dissipated. "And the navy will redouble its efforts to stop any germ-bearing sub. Now, General Marshall, I understand there is a bit of good news."

"Yes, sir, we have confirmed that the Jap sub that sank the
Indianapolis
and the
Queen Elizabeth
has finally been hunted down and destroyed. The sub was the I-58, and her captain was among a handful of survivors who are now our prisoners."

"Hang the bastard," Byrnes snarled.

Truman managed a grin. "No, Jimmy, the American way is a trial first and then a hanging."

Marshall did not think it was amusing. "His defense will be that he was doing his duty. Both the
Indianapolis
and the
Queen Elizabeth
were legitimate military targets, and he will argue that he was doing nothing other than what our own subs did to Jap ships. I'm afraid we may be considering him a monster only because he was so successful. He is also proving quite useful. Like most of the Japanese we've captured, they aren't the slightest bit reluctant about answering every question we put to them. It's ironic, but once they actually do fall into our hands, a lot of them tell us everything they know, almost without our asking. He may even be able to help us stop their plague sub."

Truman accepted the rebuff in silence. Marshall was right. Dammit, Marshall was always right. Hanging the captain of the I-58 was immaterial. He had to keep focused on the task at hand, the ending of the war. He did not want it complicated by some fool launching a gas or germ attack on the United States.

In the distance, the deep, dark clouds merged with the flat sea, giving the impression of a continuous oneness that was almost frightening in its totality. If he didn't know better, Dennis Chambers thought he could easily confuse the view of sky and sea with that of a definition of eternity.

Bringing himself back to reality, he shitted his weight so that the small rock jabbing his buttock wasn't quite so aggravating. Then he pointed the flashlight out into the void and repeated the signal: one long flash and two short ones. It was the Morse code symbol for the letter!).
D
, he'd decided, stood for "dark," for the night, or "dumb," for him sitting here and waiting. That it also could've stood for "dead" he ignored.

There would be no response from the sea. The signal was only meant to be seen, not responded to. It would be too easy for someone else onshore to pick up a signal from the sea. Of course, there was always the possibility that a Jap patrol craft would pick up his flashes and make their own inquiries, but that was a chance that Dennis had to take.

Dennis froze. There was the hint of movement on the water. Dark shapes moved closer. They were so quiet and so well hidden that he hadn't detected them until they were almost on top of him. He watched in fascination as the three rafts were beached and their occupants spilled out onto the rocky shore a few yards in front of him. Still silent, they lay prone and formed a skirmish line a few feet from the water's edge. Dennis signaled again, and one shape moved toward him. The man was dressed in black, had dark guck smeared across his face, and carried an automatic grease gun. It was an American, and the sight of the well-armed and deadly-looking newcomer sent chills down Dennis's spine.

"You Joe?" the man hissed.

"I'm Chambers." Nomura was discreetly in hiding, about a hundred yards behind Dennis.

The man leveled his gun at him. "I expected Joe."

"They told you there were two of us, didn't they?"

The man paused and stared at Dennis, fearing a trap. Then he relaxed slightly. Chambers obviously wasn't a Jap, and Chambers was the name of Joe's companion. "What's the capital of North Dakota?"

This was incredible, Dennis thought. A geography test. "Buddy, I have absolutely no fucking idea."

The man lowered his weapon and grinned. "I don't either. Maybe they don't have one. I'm Ensign Billy Swain and this is my team. Now, where the hell is Joe?"

"About a hundred yards behind me and watching us. What do you know about him?"

"Nothing. I was told it was best that I don't."

Nomura had thought it would be that way and Dennis responded, "Joe is Joe Nomura, a Japanese-American OSS agent who's now wearing the uniform of a Jap officer. He also has only one arm, which he lost fighting Nazis in Italy. He thought it would be prudent if I met you first and explained that fact so you wouldn't shoot him on sight and ask questions later."

"Makes sense." Swain passed the word that they would see a Jap and they were not to open fire. Dennis then gave the signal for Joe to emerge. "Jesus H. Christ," Swain exclaimed when he saw Nomura. "Damned good thing you didn't meet us. We'd have shot you and run like hell back to the sub. Now, let's get inland and get our gear hidden."

"Not so fast," Nomura said. "Is it clear who is in charge of this operation?"

Swain thought of making a smart-ass remark, but even in the gloom he saw the hard look in Nomura's eyes. "You are, sir."

"Good. The sub is still waiting for the rafts to return, isn't it?"

"Yes. While eight of my men remain here, the others take the rafts back where they can be taken back on board the sub and stowed. That way there's no chance that they'll wash onshore and be discovered."

A small touch, but a smart one, Joe thought. He gestured to Dennis. "He goes back with the rafts."

Swain blinked. "That wasn't in the plan."

"Plans change, Ensign."

"Indeed they do, sir. May I ask why?"

"Two reasons. First, Dennis is an undernourished and not very healthy airman, while all of you guys are trained killers who've been eating well and have all your strength. When this mission starts, I think Mr. Chambers would be a hindrance rather than a help. We've talked it over and he realizes that.

"There's a second reason," Joe continued. "There are some extremely important things about this operation that the top command has to know about, and they can't be trusted to radio. The message must be delivered in person. When your men return to the sub, the captain will be made to understand that he must rendezvous with a seaplane to get Captain Chambers to Okinawa as soon as possible."

"Understood," said Swain. The rafts were empty and ready to pull out with two paddlers each.

Dennis and Joe shook hands. Then Dennis got into one of the rafts and settled on his haunches. He sucked in his breath as he felt the craft bob in the water. It had just been freed from the shore of Japan. When he was shot down and imprisoned, even after escaping, he never really thought he'd leave the Land of the Rising Sun alive.

Dennis had argued with Joe about his leaving. At first he'd felt he was betraying the man who'd saved his life, but the logic of the decision quickly became obvious. Along with being an OSS agent, Joe was an infantry combat veteran and would be operating with skilled specialists, and Dennis would only be in the way. Besides, the need to deliver the message was real. It was imperative that Hirohito be handled correctly for the mission to succeed.

Dennis had exulted when he'd first seen fellow Americans, armed and ready, emerging from the sea. Now, as the land receded behind him, he felt a new wave of emotions that overwhelmed him. In a few minutes he would be safe on board an American ship. In a couple of days at most he would be on a military base. Maybe they would let him contact Barb and let her know he was okay.

The water in front of them seemed to boil slightly as the submarine rose from periscope depth. Seconds later, the raft bumped gently alongside her hull. As hands reached to pull Dennis to the safety of the deck and helped him down the conning tower, he hoped the wetness on his face would be seen as ocean spray and not the tears it really was.

Major Ruger and Paul Morrell stood to attention as Brigadier General Monck entered the battalion's command tent. "At ease, fellas, relax," Monck said. An easy grin split his face.

As a platoon leader, Paul had only met Monck on a couple of occasions and hadn't even talked to the man since becoming company commander.

He did know Monck's reputation as a firm but fair commander who didn't care much for the formalities of rank, particularly in these circumstances.

Major Ruger caught Paul's discomfort. "The lieutenant really doesn't think he did anything special. After all, he was primarily interested in saving his worthless ass and not winning a medal."

Monck laughed. "Well, his ass isn't all that worthless." The general reached into a fatigue-jacket pocket and pulled out a small package. "Here. The powers that be have determined that your coolheadedness under fire deserves a Bronze Star. Congratulations, Lieutenant."

"I really don't think I should have this, sir," Paul said as Monck placed the box in his hand.

Monck looked at him coolly, but with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I'm not surprised you said that. A lot of people do when they see a medal. But the truth is, you do deserve it, and certainly more so than some of the politicians who get honors for being on the same continent as a battle."

"But why, sir? I just did my job."

"That's right, son. All you did was your job. But you didn't have to do your job, did you? You could have laid on the ground until somebody else did his own job and killed the sniper. Or you could have hid until it got dark and then you could have skulked away and let somebody else figure out how to get rid of the bastard, if he hadn't already fled the coop so he could do it again. By that time who knows how much damage even a half-starved little kid could have done. No, you did exactly what you were supposed to do, which is solve the problem, and that, young Lieutenant Morrell, is precisely why you are getting this medal. You did your job and you did it well."

Paul nodded and took the box. He put it in his own pocket. It would be examined later. "Then thank you, sir."

Monck shook Paul's hand. Paul was astonished at the strength of the grip. "Lieutenant, this may not seem like much now, but it means a lot to your men to know that people like me have confidence in people like you. A few years from now, maybe a lot of years from now, you'll take it out and show it to your kids. You'll be proud of it and they'll be proud of you."

Paul finally grinned. "First I gotta get home before I can have any kids to show it to, General."

Monck laughed while, in the background, Ruger rolled his eyes in mock horror. Monck's expression changed as he unfolded a map and spread it on the table. He was no longer laughing.

"Gentlemen, along with giving Mr. Morrell his medal, I am visiting all my battalion commanders to make sure they understand precisely what is going on."

Paul asked if he should leave and Monck said no. "This'll save the major a trip if you hear it from me. What has been rumored is now going to occur. Effective immediately, the U.S. Army and Marines on Kyushu are to cease offensive operations and dig in. General Bradley and Admiral Nimitz feel that we have accomplished our purpose, and that we now own enough Jap real estate to use as a base for the next phase, the invasion of Honshu.

"As a result, you are to entrench and prepare to hold the ground we have. The only actions you will take will be patrols to make sure the Japs haven't organized an army just over the next ridge. What I think will happen is that the Japs, once they realize we've gone to ground, will attack the first time the weather gives them an opportunity. Bradley thinks that will be their last great attempt to drive us out of here."

Instinctively, all three men looked out through the tent's opening. It was cloudy and there was a light drizzle. It was not quite bad enough to ground air support or hamper artillery, but the January weather was far from ideal.

"Bradley feels that the Japs will attack just like the Germans did in the Bulge a year ago December," Monck added. "I agree. They will try to hug us real close so our planes and guns, even those that do get off, will be unable to bomb or fire because the Japs are too close to us."

The other men nodded silent agreement. What was referred to as hugging had been standard operating procedure for the Japs on the defensive ever since the Americans had landed. That they would try it while on the offensive was something new and unpleasant to ponder.

"Will they have enough to hit us with?" Ruger asked. "If that sniper's condition is any indication, the Japs are in pretty bad shape."

"Their army is in terrible shape," Monck admitted, "but the bastards are still fighting. They may be sick, cold, and starving, but there's still an awful lot of them left. This is their home and they're gonna make us pay for it until someone like Hirohito tells them to stop. And one other thing. I don't just want trenches, I want forts. If they break through, I don't want our rear areas vulnerable to being overrun. Everyone is going to have a circle to defend, and that includes the lard-ass rear-echelon troops you all love so much."

Ruger understood. "So we dig trenches and set up observation posts outside them. Good. The boys will be thrilled to not have any more hills to climb. What about things like barbed wire and mines? Will we get enough of that to keep them at bay?"

"Probably not," Monck said sadly. "It's one of the many things no one thought we'd need in the quantity we'd like to have. You'll get enough wire for a couple of strands, but nothing like the thickets of wire that were used in World War I. As to mines, I don't even know if we have any."

A couple of strands of wire would be nothing more than an annoyance. Without wire and mines, any successful defense would depend on having at least some warning, as well as being able to focus overwhelming firepower on an oncoming enemy that wasn't afraid to die.

"Anything else we should know?" Ruger asked.

"Just one more thing. How are your men set for gas masks?"