To Wake the Giant

by Jeff Shaara

  “We don’t need Magic to tell us anything. The Japanese have a very different perception of leadership than we do. They expect that if you and Prime Minister Konoye meet, you can single-handedly solve every problem that exists. With a handshake, you can make policy, establish agreements, and, probably, negotiate treaties. We know that their military is making the real decisions, and that anything Konoye offers us comes with their approval. And frankly, Mr. President, it is my opinion that those people running things are as crooked as a bag of fishhooks.”

  Roosevelt thought a moment, then said, “What of my role in this? What can we gain?”

  Hull had considered that question already. “Please allow me to relate a story, sir. I am reminded of a man I once knew in Tennessee. He was confronted on his travels by a highwayman, and the two agreed to talk. My friend, having a very chivalrous nature, unstrapped two revolvers from his belt and laid them on a stump seventy-five yards from where they would have their conversation. I leave it to you to guess how the conversation ended.”

  Roosevelt smiled. “Yes, yes. Make your point.”

  “Mr. President, we can go to Hawaii, make our demands that Japan pull out of China, pull out of Southeast Asia, bring their ships back home, and so on. Prime Minister Konoye would return home with his fur up, claiming we are unreasonable and interfering in the internal affairs of Japan. Or, instead, we agree that Japan is entitled to all they have taken thus far, but we express our sincere hopes that they go no further, even throwing in a ‘please’ or two; Konoye goes home trumpeting his success in backing down this powerful giant, and you, sir, come home to read every newspaper in the country comparing you to Neville Chamberlain. You would have handed Japan exactly what Chamberlain gave Hitler in Munich. We know how that turned out.”

  “Jesus, Cordell.” Roosevelt sat up straight. “I have given this a great deal of thought. There will be no meeting with Prime Minister Konoye. That acceptable to you?”

  “I will communicate that to Ambassador Nomura. And, yes, it is acceptable. And by the way, I do not believe you bear any resemblance to Neville Chamberlain.”

  * * *

  —

  As word of Roosevelt’s embargo order spread through Japanese-held territory, the angry reactions were entirely predictable. But one particular reaction overshadowed the rest. As a squadron of Japanese fighter-bombers flew toward a routine mission over the city of Chungking, China, one of the planes separated from the others and executed a bombing run directly toward the American Embassy, the bomb impacting dangerously close. An American gunboat, the Tutuila, was anchored close by, and the plane’s second bomb struck close enough to damage the boat. In his cable to Hull, Ambassador Grew was very explicit that the bombing was deliberate, and that casualties were averted only by good fortune.

  To Hull’s relief, the Japanese owned up to the mishap fairly quickly, the foreign ministry offering an official apology for the error. Hull accepted the apology, despite the obvious hostility behind the act. It was one more way the American government was doing as much as possible to prevent the harsh disagreements from boiling over into war.

  On September 4, Nomura returned, this time to meet with both Hull and the president. A few days before, Nomura had sent a message back to Tokyo, transmitted via the Purple code and intercepted by Magic.

  “Japanese-American relations have reached a stage in which anything might happen at any moment, and they are likely to grow worse suddenly as Japan makes her next move…”

  From Chief of Staff George Marshall’s office, army intelligence presented a detailed report, summarizing much of what was already known—that Japan was closely adhering to the Tripartite Pact, that the Japanese were aggressively pursuing the establishment of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, and that Japan had an intense desire to end the “China problem”—and offering details of Japan’s intentions to occupy Southeast Asia for both economic and strategic reasons. The report concluded that, in light of these goals, the Japanese “would resort to every means available to keep the United States out of the war.”

  THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.—THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1941

  Nomura wore the same gracious expression that Hull was so familiar with. He made his deep bow toward the president, accepted the invitation to sit. He scanned the Oval Office, as though impressed to be surrounded by so much American history.

  Nomura waited politely and took his cues from Hull, who always allowed the president the first word.

  “So, Ambassador, what do we have to do to smooth over all the torn places in our relationship?”

  Hull knew it was a useless question, but it would require some kind of response from Nomura that might reveal an opening.

  “It is my hope, Mr. President, Mr. Secretary, that we find the formula that allows us to put our differences aside. We should do what we can to reverse those issues which have so injured our relationship. Both of our nations seek only a road to peace.”

  Hull knew a good dance when he saw one.

  Roosevelt seemed to read Hull’s mind. “So, is it your position that if we would drop our embargoes against Japan, the Japanese government would agree to cease their aggressive actions against our allies and other free peoples in Asia and the Pacific. Is that it?”

  Hull knew Nomura would never answer that question. Nomura forced a smile, said, “I shall communicate your question to the foreign minister. I must ask, though, why do you object so strongly to Japan placing troops in Indo-China? Those forces are of no threat to you.”

  Hull looked at Roosevelt, then said, “If Japan should establish bases of any kind in that part of the world, it opens up very convenient doors for your military to take the next step. We have many allies in that part of the world. Their best interests are our best interests.”

  Nomura seemed surprised. “But I am assured that my government would possibly agree to a nonaggression pact with you, Mr. President. This could be the pathway to peace between our nations, the peace that seems to be more elusive every day.”

  Hull and Roosevelt had received hints of this kind of offer before.

  Hull said, “I understand the magnitude of such an offer. However, by tying together an agreement only between Japan and the United States, you leave open the possibility of a conflict breaking out where Japan might attack another country who we are also in alliance with, and we would be unable to respond as an ally should. Should you start a war with Australia, for example, we could not intervene without violating our agreement with Japan. Mr. Ambassador, that is unacceptable.”

  Roosevelt had kept his eyes on Nomura, said, “Surely you know that.”

  Nomura looked down, then up at Roosevelt. “I thank you for receiving me, Mr. President. I shall look forward to our next meeting.”

  Roosevelt seemed as eager to end this brief conversation as Nomura. He picked up the phone on his desk, the link to an aide who would escort Nomura out. But Nomura suddenly held up a hand, as though a new thought had crossed his mind.

  Roosevelt hung up the phone, said, “Something else, Mr. Ambassador?”

  Nomura’s smile returned. “I understand your Congress has approved a draft of young men for your army.”

  Roosevelt said, “It was in the newspapers, yes. Very pleased about that. It authorizes the military to make significant increases to the number of troops in the field.”

  Nomura looked at Hull. “Yes, and I also read in your newspapers that the Congress almost declined to pass that measure, that it was only approved by a few votes.”

  Roosevelt looked at Hull, cautious now. “That’s correct, Ambassador. Nonetheless, it did pass. It is now the law of the land.”

  “I see, yes. But it seems the isolationist element here is as formidable as ever, perhaps more so. It is very apparent to me that there is considerable sentiment among your Congress, and among your people, that they do not wish to fig
ht a war.”

  Roosevelt had no humor in his face now, said, “Ambassador, there is ‘sentiment’ against fighting a war right here in this room. The issue of the draft was not a vote on American intentions, or American resolve. Anyone who interprets it that way would be making a truly regrettable miscalculation.”

  Nomura stood now, with a smile and a bow. “I completely agree, Mr. President.”

  Roosevelt’s mood had turned sour, and he picked up the phone, said, “In here, now. Escort the ambassador out.”

  The door was opened immediately by a young marine. Nomura made another bow toward Hull, then left without speaking. The marine closed the door, and Roosevelt sat back, rubbed a hand across his forehead.

  “Christ, Cordell, what’s with that fellow? I felt like I was in an interrogation room, where if I said the wrong thing, made a mistake, he’d shout at me, Hah, got you!”

  There was no humor in Roosevelt’s tone.

  Hull said, “He’s walking a tightrope. He has to keep good relations with us—you and me—or he might as well go home. He has to keep his government believing he’s effective here, or, well, he might as well go home.”

  “We need him, don’t we?”

  Hull nodded. “Yes, Mr. President, we do. As belligerent as the Japanese are, we have to keep talking.”

  “So, why do you think he brought up the draft vote? Was he just digging at us?”

  Hull thought a moment. “I have to believe that somewhere in Tokyo, some council chamber, some ministry, they know a war is coming, because they’re planning it. What they do not seem to grasp, even if Nomura tells them, is that if we believe a war is coming, we will prepare for it. And that is why the Japanese will still talk to us. They don’t want a war with us, a war that they know they will certainly lose.”

  NINETEEN

  Biggs

  USS ARIZONA, PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII—THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1941

  “So, you think we’re going to war?”

  Biggs looked up from his half-written letter. “Why?”

  Wakeman turned the pages of his magazine, said, “Well, somebody’s writing here about how the damn Japs are talking about kicking our asses, since they’ve already invaded China and someplace else in Asia. There’s an article says we might have to send ships and planes and whatever else, in case the Japs try to invade there. This guy’s saying that if the Japs keep grabbing places in Asia, they’ll likely keep going south, maybe invading Australia. I met an Australian fellow once. Nice guy. Anyway, I ain’t saying this fellow knows donkey squat about what he’s talking about, but it sure sounds a lot like there could be a war, and not just in Europe.”

  Farther down the compartment, Mahone held up his own magazine, a copy of Collier’s. “I ain’t worried about none of that, Ed. I’m betting we’ll sit tight right here. This fellow here, Walter Davenport, he says he’s interviewed all kinds of admirals in Oahu, and with the fleet we got here, that we’re…impregnable. That means ‘strong,’ right?”

  Wakeman looked at Biggs, shook his head, then said, “Yes, numbskull, it means ‘strong.’ More than strong. It means nobody’s gonna come marching in here unless we let ’em. Let me see the Collier’s. I’d rather read that one than this crap from some pessimist. The guy’s wife must be a Jap or something.”

  Behind Biggs, he heard the grunt and the footsteps he was beginning to hate. He turned, saw Kincaid, and another older man with him. Kincaid said, “See? They’re a worthless bunch, for damn sure. Only way I get any work out of ’em is to kick everyone in the ass.”

  The other man laughed, and Kincaid said, “Listen up, children. This is Petty Officer Nichols. Old friend of mine. Been in the navy longer than me.”

  Nichols slapped him on the back. “Jack, nobody’s been in the navy longer than you. Hell, you were on the first ironclad.”

  Biggs sat as still as the others, had never seen Kincaid anywhere close to a good mood, no one around him wanting to change that.

  Kincaid said, “PO Nichols is a TC. Turret captain. He’s back after a long stay ashore. None of your business why. But I wanted to show all you jellyfish what a real sailor looks like. If we get into a nasty scrap, while you’re running around pissing on yourselves, this is the kind of man who’s gonna make a difference. Now, go back to playing marbles.”

  “Sir?”

  Biggs saw that the question had come from Wakeman. Kincaid lost any hint of friendliness.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Well, sir, I been reading that the Japs are getting all angered up and stuff, that there might be a war in the Pacific, maybe right here.”

  Kincaid glanced at Nichols beside him. “You see? I told you about these morons.” He put his hands on his hips, a familiar pose. “Listen to me. Every officer in this fleet will tell you what I’m telling you. If the Japs are stupid enough to start up with us, we’d sink their whole damn navy in three weeks. This ship, and every one just like it, would push right into Tokyo Bay. If the Japs didn’t give up by then, PO Nichols and his big guns would turn that entire city into matchsticks. A war? Let me say this one time: I hope we do have a war, and not some damn sub-chasing nonsense in the Atlantic. I look forward to seeing what this ship can do. And I wanna see for myself which one of you little girls might actually turn into sailors.”

  * * *

  —

  Biggs thumbed through the magazine, glorious photographs of the hills and fields not far from the taxi stand that serviced them all on their liberty. He stared at one page for a long minute, the magnificence of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, a handful of sunbathers and a neatly attired waiter, serving drinks in tall glasses.

  Behind him, Phar-Mate Corey said, “I thought you were writing a letter.”

  Biggs turned, embarrassed to be caught. “Yes, sir. I finished the cleaning around the cabinets, wiped down the gurney, made sure the gauze was rolled tight.”

  Corey laughed. “Relax, Tommy. I’m not busting your chops. Just didn’t know where you got the magazine.”

  “Well, sir, I was trying to write a letter to my folks, and I guess I got distracted. Dr. Condon got this copy of the Saturday Evening Post, and there was this article on Hawaii. It’s funny, I can tell where the photographer took about half of these pictures. There’s even a picture of the fleet. Well, some of it.”

  Corey leaned closer. “Let’s see.”

  “Here, sir, take it. Doc Condon will probably want it back, though.”

  He handed Corey the magazine, turned again to his letter, one more wrestling match to find the right words to please his mother, while not causing an eruption from his father. He stared at the paper, his mind drifting. Corey sat down, thumbing through the magazine, and Biggs said, “You know, I think I’d like to live here someday. I don’t know how long I’ll be in the navy, but someday I’ll be retired. This would be a hell of a beautiful place to make a home.”

  Corey laughed, Vaughan now joining in from the far side of the dispensary.

  Vaughan said, “You know who lives in Hawaii? People rich enough to buy this ship, that’s who. It’s like the visitors who stay in the Royal Hawaiian. Unless your daddy’s got a bunch of oil wells, the best hotel room you’ll have here is that hammock you sleep in. The only other shot you got is to find some filthy-rich widow, looking for a plaything. Sorry, Tommy, but you ain’t good-looking enough for that.”

  The two mates laughed, and Biggs felt a sour disappointment.

  “Gee, I never thought of it like that.”

  Vaughan came closer now. “The best chance any of us has to live in Hawaii? A room up above a whorehouse or some other hellhole on Hotel Street. That’s all any of us can afford. Enjoy what you’ve got here, Tommy. Use your liberty time to wander around, see what there is to see. These fools who get sent down here blind drunk, they think they’re having a good time
because they throw up. And how many girls have you seen out there? I don’t mean those squacks, I mean a real girl, like you’d want your mama to meet. You go into town, wade through the crowd of sailors and everybody else, then come back and tell me how many actual females you saw.”

  Corey leaned closer to Biggs, said with a smile, “He does this about once a week. Go on, Bill, let it out.”

  Vaughan ignored him. “When I heard I was going to Hawaii, I was like you. I could hardly wait—all those hula girls and sunny beaches. Well, then you find out that if you look cross-eyed at a native, a real hula girl, her brother or her old man might rip you in two. You’ll find out pretty quick that the folks who live here don’t like us one bit. The bars and the squack joints will take our money, but the rest of these citizens will be damn glad when we sail out of here.” He pointed at the magazine in Corey’s hand. “You wanna drop in, take a peek at the Royal Hawaiian, or the other one, the Halekulani? Get ready to pay three dollars for a drink, and more than a buck for a beer. That’s the facts of life, Tommy. The sooner we get the hell out of this place, maybe head back to Long Beach or Bremerton? It won’t be soon enough for me.”

  Vaughan moved back to his side of the dispensary, busied himself with some task Biggs couldn’t see.

  Biggs said in a low voice, “Wow. I never thought of Hawaii like that. I guess there’s a lot I don’t know yet.”

  Corey looked through the magazine in his hands, said, “Just do what you have to do, Tommy. There’s plenty to do on this ship, from movies to concerts by the new band, all kinds of games and contests. Hell, I don’t have to tell you anything about sports, you know that already. And if that’s not enough, there’s plenty to do in town, and it doesn’t mean you have to wander around Hotel Street—you don’t have to puke out a gallon of crappy beer to convince anybody else you had a good time. And no matter what all these pictures show you, nobody joined the navy because they wanted to marry a hula girl. This is a battleship, not some fancy ocean liner. Every man on this ship knows what she was built for, what those big guns are for. If we start shooting at a real enemy? Chances are they’ll start shooting back. So enjoy what you’re doing right now.”