“He told me he was going to be a referee, as opposed to a prosecutor. True?”
“Um.”
“Um?”
“Well, that’s what he should be doing, keeping the line officers on the court on the legal straight and narrow. But unless the president of the court has done this before, he’ll depend on Captain White for procedural matters—what questions to ask, how far he can go with an issue, and what the other members can ask.”
“And?”
“And he’s a golfing buddy of Captain, now Rear Admiral, Forrester. He’s the guy who advised Admiral Lockwood to let this go to the court. You two have history?”
Suspicions confirmed, Gar thought. “A little bit,” he said, then remembered his last office visit with Forrester. “Maybe more than a little bit now, I guess. How do you know this?”
“It’s a small island, Gar. When you requested admiral’s mast, Forrester asked White for a JAG opinion. White asked one of the procedural law specialists to research it. He had a golf date, so he gave it to me, since I’m leaving in a few weeks and have no active cases, and therefore nothing to do, essentially.”
“And?”
“I of course recommended the admiral’s mast route. For some reason White did not agree, and guess how that all came out?”
The waiter showed up, and they focused on ordering lunch. Once he left, Gar went back to the matter at hand.
“I get the feeling that the outcome of this case is being driven by factors way above my pay grade,” he said. “What do you think?”
“You’re the submariner, Gar,” she said. “Dues-paying member of the Silent Service, in more ways than one. During the war, you guys were untouchable, unless it was really bad, like the Awa Maru case. Now that the war’s over, there may be just a wee bit of resentment against the Silent Service in the upper echelons. The Royal Hawaiian Hotel. The best chow in the navy. The relief crews who took over the subs when you guys came back from patrol. The aviators and the surface ship–drivers weren’t treated like that.”
“Damn, Sharon, you know too much.”
“Despite the fact that I’m a full-blown alkie, hunh?”
Gat stared at her. His term. Shit! Falcone running his mouth?
She sighed. “Truth is, I am just that. I am an alcoholic. I love my booze. I want another G and T, and now would be nice. I wasn’t exactly straight with you when I told you how I came to be in the navy. I was a state court judge, but I lost that position due to a car crash. The crash was my fault. I was drunk. I thank God every day that no one was seriously hurt, but the chief judge told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to find new pastures. I chose the navy. Still want me to represent you, Commander?”
“Can you function sober?”
“I can,” she said. “Of course, that’s just my opinion, and alcoholics are reliably confident that they can handle their problem. But it’s an addiction. I crave the booze. Right now I’m sober, even after one G and T. My mind is clear. I could stand up in court right now and be effective. The whole time, I’m counting the minutes to happy hour.”
“Wow.”
“That’s how it is with this particular monkey, Gar.”
“What are you going to do when you get back to civilian life?”
She stared down at the plate for a long moment. “I have no fucking idea.”
“Well,” he said, with his first grin of the day. “Welcome to the club.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“Gentlemen, let’s get started, please. Will the interested party please stand to be sworn. Captain White?”
Captain White stood and swore Gar in. Gar acknowledged his duty to tell the truth and sat back down.
The court’s president, Captain Martell, gathered up the pages of his copy of the transcript. There were two other members of the court, both captains. Captain Hooper had just been detached from duty as commanding officer of a heavy cruiser. Captain Wilson was currently commanding officer of an escort carrier. Gar listened to their names and promptly forgot both of them. He was more tired than he realized.
“Commander Hammond, I want to thank you for your deposition. I think this will save us a lot of time. It’s a remarkable story.” The members nodded their heads in obvious agreement.
“We’re here because another officer, a Major Franklin of the army air forces, has alleged that you collaborated with the enemy while a prisoner of war in Japan. “
“Why isn’t he here?” Captain Hooper asked. “If he’s going to make an accusation like that, doesn’t Commander Hammond have the right to hear it face-to-face?”
Captain White intervened. “In a trial, yes. This is not a trial, so the allegation stands. It’s an allegation, not charges and specs.”
“Commander Hammond,” Martell said. “Do you feel it’s unfair that your accuser is not here in court?”
“I understand he’s gravely ill in an Oakland military hospital,” Gar said. “The only reason I’d want him here would be to hear his definition of collaboration.”
“I can help with that,” Captain White said, reaching for a piece of paper. “He said, specifically, that you said you talked to them. Something more than name, rank, and serial number.”
“Commander Hammond?”
“I did say that. We were in a locked boxcar, on the way to some prison camp. But I did say that.”
“Did you tell him what you talked to them about?”
“No, sir. He seemed upset, and we stopped talking. He said he’d never give them shit. His words.”
“We noticed when we met last night that your deposition speaks to being taken to interrogation, but not what transpired there. Can we assume you’ll clarify that here?”
“Yes, of course.”
“With the clear implication that you shouldn’t be giving them—anything, either?” Captain White asked.
“Objection,” Lieutenant Falcone said.
White gave him an annoyed look. “Mister Falcone, this is not a trial, therefore you may not—”
“I agree, this is not a trial,” Falcone interrupted. “It’s a court of inquiry, which means your role in these proceedings is to speak to matters of law and procedure, not ask questions as if you were the prosecutor. Sir.”
White’s face went red. His expression forecast that there would be more to be said on this subject later, boss to subordinate.
“Moving right along,” the president said, uncomfortably. “Commander Hammond, the first Jap officer who formally took you into custody—he did not interrogate you, did he?”
“No, sir,” Gar said. “He already knew I was CO of a sub, and I think he knew that we were the ones who shot up the Kure base. He’s the one who told me I would be taken to Ofuna, which I later learned is—was—their naval interrogation center.”
“He did not question you?”
“No, sir. He said there would be specialists for that. Experts.”
“Torturers, you mean,” Captain Wilson said. “I’ve heard about Ofuna.”
“Did you reveal anything to him or anyone else while in his custody?”
“Yes, sir, I did. I spoke to the CO of the carrier when he offered me a gun so I could shoot myself.”
“He did what?”
“He said he was disgusted by the sight of a commanding officer being taken around the ship with a leash like a dog. Said I obviously knew nothing about the honor required of a commanding officer. He offered me his personal pistol so I could go out on the bridge wing and regain my honor. Words to that effect, anyway.”
“And what did you do?”
“I told him we didn’t do that. I also told him that there were some things I did know that he might find interesting. That in 1942, Japan was supreme in the western Pacific. Now, its armies were starving in Malaya, defeated in New Guinea, and expelled from the Solomon Islands, which even they called the Starvation Islands. Rabaul was lost. Tarawa was lost. Kwajalein was lost. Guam and Tinian were lost. The Philippines had been invaded. Okinawa had been bombe
d. In Japan, the flow of oil and food and rubber and tin and coal had been cut to ten percent of what they had coming in 1942.
“I told them that they had this one magnificent carrier, and that it was very impressive, but that it was one carrier. Admiral Halsey had forty-two big carriers and thirty-five smaller ones. He was coming with a fleet of five hundred ships. The American navy had more than ten thousand ships. Soon Japan itself would be lost. And finally, that he would run a gauntlet of American submarines if he even tried to get to Yokosuka.”
“Where did you get those numbers?” the president asked.
“Made ’em up,” Gar said. “And you know what he said? He said, nice try.”
“He didn’t believe you.”
“Not at all, except maybe for all the island bases that were gone. That pissed him off, I think. That’s when I was sent below to pound oakum.”
Captain Wilson raised his hand. “Commander Hammond, why did you try to save the life of the Jap officer who was your, what’s the word, handler on the Shinano?”
“I needed him,” Gar said. He told them of his efforts to free the other prisoners, and how Yamashita had actually helped him do it.
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because he was scared to death,” Gar said. “The first torpedo hit way aft. She was settling by the stern. The swells were already starting to break over the fantail, and he could not swim. There were no life jackets, or lifeboats, that I could see. I was his only lifeline.”
“Did you think that through, Commander? I mean, suppose you both made it. Wouldn’t he just arrest you again and send you to Ofuna?”
“I suppose he would, Captain,” Gar said. “But that beat being sucked down into the sea by a sinking aircraft carrier. I felt my job was to survive, whatever it took. And here, for better or for worse, I am.”
“Tell us about your encounter with the fisherman, Hashimoto. You indicated that you knew him?”
Gar spent the next twenty minutes reviewing the history of Hashimoto’s involvement in the mission. When he was finished, Captain Hooper had a question.
“You never figured out what Hashimoto’s mission to Hiroshima was all about?”
“I still don’t know. The paper rain business may have had something to do with the leaflets they dropped the day before.”
Captain White stood up. “Mr. President, may I suggest a recess for lunch? It’s nearly noon.”
“Okay, we can do that,” Captain Martell said. “Back in session at thirteen thirty.”
As the court got up and headed for the doors, Captain White pointed a finger at Lieutenant Falcone. “I want to talk to you,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Falcone replied.
When Gar didn’t join the other officers to go to lunch, White said, “Alone, if you please.”
“I don’t please,” Gar said. “He’s my legal rep, and anything you have to say to him you can say in front of me.”
“Commander Hammond, get out of the way, please.”
“No,” Gar said. “I’m beginning to think that you have an agenda here, Captain. And if you press this matter with Mister Falcone, I’ll expand on that when we reconvene.”
Captain White took a deep breath and then sighed. “Later for you, Mister,” he said to Falcone, and then left the courtroom.
“Thanks, sir,” Falcone said. “But he can’t do anything to me. I’m a reservist, and I’ll soon be back in the real world.”
“He can do something to me, Lieutenant,” Gar said. “Especially if he’s in cahoots with the flags at SubPac. And something else—did you notice how Captain White shut the testimony off as soon as they started asking detailed questions about Hashimoto? I think there’s a hidden agenda going on there, too.”
“If you really feel that way, Commander,” Falcone said, “I think I have a cure for that.”
* * *
The court reconvened at 1345. Captain White had been late getting back, and Gar wondered where he’d been and to whom he’d been talking. They were all getting settled when Sharon DeVeers came into the room.
Captain White looked surprised and then asked what she was doing there.
“Commander Hammond has asked me to act as co-counsel for this hearing.”
“I did not authorize that,” White said.
“Do I not have the right to the counsel of my choice at this hearing?” Gar interjected.
“We have appointed you counsel, Commander, and—”
“Not the counsel I asked for, Captain. I’m happy with Mister Falcone, don’t get me wrong, but he’s new at this, and I’d like the experience that Lieutenant Commander DeVeers can bring.”
White looked to Martell for help, but the president just shrugged. “I have no objection,” he said. “What could it matter?”
“We have a full docket of work at PacFleet JAG,” White said. “I cannot afford to dedicate two JAG officers to this hearing.”
“I’m detaching in two weeks, Captain,” Sharon said. “Per your orders, I have absolutely nothing on my plate right now, remember?”
Gar watched Captain White struggling for a reply. If he told the court why she had nothing on her plate, it would reflect badly on his office. He sat down and said nothing.
“Gentlemen, let’s get going,” Captain Martell said. “Commander Hammond, you indicated that you first went to a formal interrogation after the sinking of the Shinano. Was this another occasion where you ‘talked’ to the Japanese?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you please elaborate on what you talked about?”
“They wanted to know where I’d come from, popping up in the Inland Sea like that. I told them we came through Bungo Suido and then we went to Kure and shot the place up before the carrier was sunk. They scoffed at the notion that anything had happened at Kure or that Shinano had been sunk.”
“They denied it?”
“They were deluding themselves. I think the senior officer, the four-striper, knew that Shinano had been lost, but they were hard over on covering it up. I also told them that we could see their mines underwater.”
“Was that wise, Commander?” one of the members asked. Gar noticed that their expressions all changed when he admitted telling the Japanese about their new capability.
“By that time I was very tired, Captain,” Gar said. “I’d been captured, beaten, given very little food or water, then put on board a carrier, which then was torpedoed and sunk. That meant going back into the water, a second capture, more beatings, no food, and then a session with three professional intel officers. By then I wanted them to know that they were going to lose this war no matter what they did to me. That their minefields no longer protected them. That a submarine had managed to get into their version of the Chesapeake Bay and do some real damage—two destroyers blown in two, an enormous dry dock put out of commission, two ammunition barges blown up, with shells landing all over the yard—and get clean away. I was making the point that nothing they got out of me would make any difference because the end was coming and there wasn’t a single damned thing they could do about it.”
“How did they react?”
“The captain, the senior one, was scornful, said it was all lies. I challenged him to make a phone call, see how the cleanup was going down at Kure. He took me up on that, got up, left the room. When he came back he was really pissed off. In the meantime, one of the other officers told me to watch what I said, that some things were not allowed to even be mentioned.”
“Then there was an air raid?”
“Air raid sirens; no raid. After that I was put on a train. That’s where I spoke to Major Franklin. I had had another conversation with the interrogator I called the Priest. Same theme, really. You guys can’t win this war. You’ll be fighting our machines and not us. He finally just yelled at me, and then we went to Kure. They were going to put me on a tin can for transport to Yokohama.”
“That’s where he tried to kill you, after the bombing raid?”
“Correct.”
“Why didn’t you attempt to escape after he shot himself?” Martell asked.
“And go where? One shell-shocked American, wandering around the Kure shipyard right after the B-29s damn near leveled the place? Or wading through the bomb craters in the nearby rice paddies? I was in no shape to go anywhere. The destroyer I was supposed to ride to Yokohama took a bomb in her forward magazines while I was trying to hide between her and the sill wall.”
“After that you were taken to the coal mine?”
“Yes.”
“But you were a high-value prisoner—they just lost you?”
“I think they did,” Gar said. “The people at Ofuna probably assumed I was killed at Kure. Once I was in a cattle car with other POWs, I was just another round-eye. The Brits I eventually fell in with told me I was lucky to be there and not in Ofuna.”
“How could they know that?”
“They’d been in captivity since February ’42.”
“Were you interrogated in the coal-mine camp?”
“No, sir.”
“You were the only American, and they didn’t single you out for special questioning?”
“That camp was dedicated to the production of coal and nothing else. I was singled out for special treatment. They’d yell at another POW if he did something wrong. I’d get hit with a shovel. The guards were not too bright. They were glad to be assigned at home and not starving on some hellish island, but coal was everything—even they knew that if they beat us down too much, they’d be hauling coal.”
“Did anyone try to escape from this camp?”
“Not that I know of, sir. There really was nowhere to go. We were already starving, and most of the Brits were also seriously ill. No one had enough energy to even try.”
“Gentlemen,” the president said, “let’s get back on track. Commander Hammond has been accused of collaborating with the enemy. Anyone have a question directly about that?”
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