Rising Sun

by Robert Conroy

  More troops filed in and Farris was pleased to see that they kept themselves spread out and were looking for survivors instead of gawking at the first dead Japanese soldier most of them had ever seen.

  They passed through the rest of the thicket. Quick shots finished off a few Japanese soldiers who might yet be alive. One of them exploded as the bullets detonated the grenade he’d been hiding, sending gore over the nearest soldiers. Tim angrily ordered his men to shoot all the corpses, no matter how badly mangled they were.

  In all, they found eleven bodies, including one sergeant who’d killed himself by stuffing the barrel of his Arisaka rifle into his mouth and pulling the trigger with his toe. Farris made the cold-blooded decision to not bury them. It would take too much time and, besides, the ground was probably too frozen to dig even a mass grave for so many dead bodies. They searched the bodies for identification and info, such as anything resembling orders and some letters home. It was all chicken-scratching to Farris, but maybe someone like his uncle could decipher it.

  Bear pointed at the bodies. “What do you see, Lieutenant?”

  “Along with a bunch of dead Japs, I see Japs who are scrawny and in rags. Hell, they must be desperate.” Then he thought that a desperate enemy could be the worst kind.

  * * *

  Bob Hope and his troupe’s arrival at San Diego coincided with the astonishing news that the U.S. Army had landed in North Africa. The war to liberate Europe was on. The news was met with mixed reactions by the troops. Some were jealous that they weren’t in on the action, while others were thankful that the fighting was taking place far, far away.

  All of a sudden, place names like Oran, Bizerte, and Tripoli were being used as if the speakers knew where the hell they were. And who the hell was Dwight Eisenhower, the American general in command? With a name like Eisenhower, he sounded more like a German.

  Amanda and Dane sat on the ground about a third of the way back from the improvised stage, and quietly wondered how many GIs actually knew where North Africa was in the first place. Still, it was a damn good feeling to be finally striking back instead of taking it in the groin for so very long.

  Tim thought Amanda looked striking in a white blouse and blue slacks. She’d worn slacks instead of a skirt so that she didn’t accidentally give some sailors a show. That apparently either didn’t occur to Grace or, more likely, she didn’t care as she sat with Merchant and happily exposed an expanse of thigh. Tim hoped he and Amanda could find a quiet place later on and become at least as intimate as they had in the surf. Since then, he was back in the monastery and she in her nunnery. And now they were part of a huge crowd of people. Damn.

  Twenty thousand jubilant soldiers, sailors, and Marines were packed densely on the field in front of the large wooden stage. Hope was there along with Frances Langford who, Amanda decided, really didn’t have all that good a voice, and slapstick comedian Jerry Colonna, who Dane admitted wasn’t all that funny. A man named Les Brown led what he called “Les Brown’s Band of Renown” with okay talent.

  But what the hell, the fact that, with the exception of Hope, the talent wasn’t all that talented didn’t matter. They’d made the effort to entertain the troops and the troops appreciated it with noisy enthusiasm for every poorly sung song and every bad joke. Better, it was a break from routine and everyone was having a great time listening to Hope tease all the brass who were in the front few rows and taking it with apparent good humor. Like they had a choice, Amanda whispered.

  Hope pointed to the generals and admirals. “How many of you have ever seen an enlisted man before?” he said, drawing gales of hoots and laughter. “Well, you’ve struck the mother lode this time.” Hope would never go beyond gentle teasing, which was part of what made him so compelling and likeable.

  Hope ragged on about the bad food, the miserable accommodations (unless you wore a star on your shoulder, of course), how lousy the weather was in southern California what with the almost constant sunshine, and what it was like to get Montezuma’s Revenge along with other maladies from a trip south of the border to Tijuana. Hope had been touring for the USO since May 1941, well before the formal start of hostilities. He informed the troops that there was no way he was going to slow down. Hell, he reminded them, he wasn’t even forty years old yet.

  “I’m going to go to England, and Churchill and this Eisenhower guy will be in the audience. Then I’ll go to North Africa and do a command performance for Rommel, except we’ll be commanding him, of course, and he’ll be watching from a prison cage.”

  That comment brought cheers and he continued. “When I started these shows, I said I’d take them as close to the front lines as possible. Little did I know that part of the front lines would include San Diego. Y’know, that’s got to change, and real soon.” More cheers. “Here’s a thought. Next year at this time why don’t we have this show a little bit farther west? Like Tokyo.”

  Still more cheers. “And we’ll have Hirohito in the audience as well.” He grinned widely and wickedly. “Don’t you think he’d look absolutely wonderful in prison stripes?” He struck a thoughtful pose. “Yes, a prison-striped kimono.”

  The show ended to wild applause and the happy crowd filed out. Amanda and Tim waited for the field to empty. She was far from the only woman present, as many nurses and female military were present along with a handful of wives and local girlfriends. Still, girl-hungry young men stared at her. Some glared, apparently resentful that she’d found an officer to care for her. Amanda decided she didn’t care.

  As Dane stood up, an envelope fell out of his jacket pocket. “Oops,” he said. “I totally forgot I had this on me. Can’t have other people seeing this.” He was annoyed at himself. He’d left in such a hurry after meeting with Harris that he’d forgotten the pictures were in his pocket.

  “Am I other people?” she teased.

  Tim smiled. He’d gotten in the habit of talking with her about almost everything, and security be damned. Who the hell was Amanda going to talk to? Tojo?

  He handed her the envelope. “Here. These are a couple of photos of some interesting characters.”

  “Your saboteurs?”

  “Possibly. No, it’s likely them. We may have gotten a break.”

  Amanda happily opened the envelope. She liked it when Tim trusted her enough to show her things like that. She stared at the first picture and paled. “Tim, oh, my God.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen this man.”

  “Wh-where?” Dane stammered. This was incredible.

  She looked at him sadly. “I don’t remember.”

  CHAPTER 17

  AT FIRST, NEITHER SANDY NOR GRACE COULD IDENTIFY THE MAN in the photo either, although they too were certain they’d seen him somewhere. All three agreed that they’d never seen the second man. But where had they seen the first man, was the maddening question.

  Dane had quickly contacted Harris and they all met in the FBI office close to Tim’s. The photos were on the table, staring back at them. Both Tim and Harris were stunned that the women might have been close to the German, and the women were frustrated that they couldn’t recall when, where, or why. Harris was pacing and it was clear that his frustration was growing as well.

  Finally, it was Grace who broke the spell, clapping her hands and laughing. “Oh shit. Now it’s coming to me. He was the creep in Zuckerman’s office who looked so angry and like he wanted to undress us right then and there.”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Amanda, and Sandy chimed in as well.

  This required a quick explanation of why they were in Zuckerman’s office in the first place, and Harris took notes. He was mildly curious about this Mack character and what might be in the safe deposit box, but that was a job for the state of California, which seemed to have it covered.

  First thing the next morning Harris, Dane, and a couple of other agents went to Zuckerman’s office. The additional firepower was present on the off chance that they might run into Braun just as Amanda and
the others had. If so, Dane had specific orders to stand back and he pledged to obey.

  Dane was mildly amused when the lawyer and his secretary, Judith, arrived together, and were conversing with a degree of intimacy that went beyond a working relationship. He wondered if there was a Mrs. Zuckerman or if the secretary had a husband, and decided it was none of his business.

  Inside his office, Zuckerman looked at the picture and nodded. He handed it to Judith who agreed. “His name is Olaf Swenson and he rents some property from me,” Zuckerman said.

  “What do you know about him?” Harris asked.

  “Not all that much. I know that he’s a Swedish engineer who started up a small business and is working doing something for the navy. He works with another foreigner who might be Swedish as well. Swenson is the one who pays the rent, and his money’s always been good. He pays on time and in cash.”

  “He’s a jerk.” Judith glared. “He’s rude and obnoxious. It’s obvious he dislikes Jews. He probably can’t stand the thought of having to pay money to one.”

  Harris nodded grimly. “That’s because he’s German and a Nazi and SS to boot.”

  Zuckerman recoiled as if he’d been struck. “A Nazi? Here? That can’t be. I would never do business with a Nazi. What is your proof?”

  Harris was about to respond that the FBI didn’t need proof in wartime to arrest someone, but thought better of it. “It’s true, Mr. Zuckerman. These photos are those of a part of a group of Nazis left behind in Mexico when the war started. These two have come north to commit as much sabotage as they can. I normally wouldn’t give you all that information, but I want you to understand what we’re all up against.”

  The lawyer shook his head as if to clear his mind of the shock. “I believe. How do I evict the sons of bitches?”

  “Hopefully, we can do it for you,” Harris said. “Now, please give me the address of the property.”

  After the agents left with the address and all other information they possessed, Judith hugged a disconsolate and sobbing Zuckerman. “I can’t believe I rented to Nazis. I can’t believe I had anything to do with the filthy swine. After what’s happening to my family in Europe, it’s almost impossible to comprehend.”

  Zuckerman’s last letter from his Aunt Hilda in Austria had been smuggled out and informed him that several of his family had been ordered to report to a new work camp in Poland. His aunt added that she hadn’t yet been swept up, and said she’d received a postcard saying their relatives had arrived at a place near the town of Auschwitz and were doing well. Aunt Hilda used subtle phrasing in her letter to fool anyone reading it. It was clear that she didn’t believe it at all, and that their relatives were likely doomed. As was she, Zuckerman thought.

  Judith sat beside him on the office couch. She cradled his head to her bosom and rocked him and kissed his forehead. She too had relatives back in Europe, although in France where she hoped they were safe. That is, if there was any place in the world where a Jew could be safe.

  “Look on the bright side, dear,” Judith said as tears ran down her cheek. “Now you have the chance to destroy him.” She stood up and straightened her dress. “And we are going to do exactly what that nice FBI man said we should do, aren’t we?”

  Zuckerman managed a smile. “You’re right. A little vacation is more than in order.”

  * * *

  Caution, patience, and a strong sense of paranoia were vital assets for any agent working behind enemy lines, and both Braun and Krause possessed all three in abundance. They had spent much time observing the goings on in the neighborhood near Swenson Engineering. They observed the actions and routines of the area regulars and quietly memorized them. They knew who their neighbors were and who their friends and customers were. This, of course, meant that they too were known quantities to those same neighbors, and they went out of their way to maintain friendly, even cordial, relations, even cheering American victories when they were announced. We’re all in this war together, aren’t we?

  Like any neighborhood or cluster of businesses, there was a pattern to life and any deviation from that pattern attracted attention.

  Thus, the presence of the two unmarked cars with two men in each was immediately noted by the two Germans. One car was in front and down the street and the other in the rear of the building and down a ways. The occupants of both vehicles appeared to be interested in Swenson Engineering, and were quickly identified by the two Germans as a menace.

  Instead of driving onto their property, Braun and Krause drove past and around, parked a little distance away, and observed. They were quietly thankful that the Ford didn’t have the Swenson Engineering sign attached at the moment. After a while, the two men in one of the cars were spelled by two more men in another car. It confirmed to the two Germans that they’d been discovered.

  Braun sighed. “They are not very good at their jobs. They are either FBI or local police and it doesn’t matter. We’ve been betrayed and now we have to run.”

  “Where to?” asked Krause.

  “Wherever you want,” Braun said. “As we previously discussed, we are going to split up and go our own ways. Our part in this war is over. We have no way of notifying the people in Mexico who will doubtless soon be arrested if it hasn’t happened already. We have phony identification that should enable each of us to fashion a life. When Germany is victorious, we can each, separately, find our way back to the Reich for whatever is due us. Since we failed, I doubt it will be much of a reward,” he added bitterly, thinking that their reward could be years in a prison camp as the Reich didn’t tolerate failures.

  Krause was silent. He’d been listening to the radio and reading the newspapers and if they were only half correct, the Third Reich was in grave danger. The offensives in Russia had stalled and a second Russian winter was upon the German army. Also, the Americans were in North Africa helping the British and there was a massive buildup of American forces that the German navy was unable to stop. No, German victory in his opinion was far from a foregone conclusion, and Braun’s dreams of returning to Germany might never come true. Defeat seemed far more likely. He also felt that Japan would sooner or later feel the wrath of the Americans.

  Nor did Krause think it would be all that easy to disappear, even in the vastness of the United States. If the American government had their names, they likely had their pictures, and he’d seen photos of wanted men on the walls of post offices and in the newspapers. He could envision some small child telling his mommy that the man in line to buy stamps looked just like the man glowering from the wanted poster, the man accused of espionage. Oh, that would be wonderful, he thought.

  “We will need money,” Krause said.

  “Fortunately, we have some. There’s almost seven thousand dollars in the safe deposit box at the bank. Since it’s in another name, I doubt that the police are watching it yet. I suggest we get the money, split it up, and disappear. You will leave first, as I have a job to do.”

  Krause nodded slowly. He knew he was being cheated. He’d counted the money when Braun wasn’t looking and knew there was more than twelve thousand dollars, not seven. He didn’t like the thought of Braun screwing him and leaving him on the run for the rest of his life. Krause thought he understood what job Braun was going to do. But what could he do about it and how could it work to his benefit?

  * * *

  “All is quiet on the Pacific Front,” joked Captain Merchant. “And I like it that way.”

  Dane couldn’t complain either. Work, if you could call it that, was falling into a routine. He now had a staff of two and they did much of the initial work, leaving him to analyze what they had written down. One of his staff was Nancy Sullivan, the half-Japanese daughter of the store owner in Bridger. She’d been raised by a Japanese mother, and both spoke and read the language far better than he. She could also write it, which he couldn’t at all. Going to work for the navy had transformed what Dane thought was a shy young girl into a bright and cheerful young woman who exuded
considerable confidence. This further confounded those who thought all Japanese women were shy and submissive.

  Getting Nancy onto the base had taken a little help from Merchant and Spruance, but she had proven invaluable, even if she did draw some strange glances from others. She puzzled them. Was she Japanese or not? As long as they left her alone, she was content and safe, while her mother prudently remained in hiding somewhere near Bridger.

  The second staffer was a different story. He was a recently commissioned ensign who had majored in Japanese and Asian studies at Harvard and, in Dane’s opinion, might be able to write poetry in Japanese but couldn’t order food in a Japanese restaurant. The ensign was clearly frustrated that a young college student was so much more knowledgeable than he. It also meant he was relegated to routine clerical tasks, which thoroughly annoyed him.

  Nor was Amanda all that busy either. There had been no major fighting in some months, and that meant empty beds in the hospital, while those that were occupied contained patients who were either mending or were stabilized. As a result, they had plenty of time to be together, but no opportunity to be intimate. Their time at the beach had not occurred again. Amanda had hinted that she might be willing to go away with him for a few days, but where? Only Merchant had his own place off base and Grace now spent a lot of time there. He and Amanda joked that they did not want to share the place, even if Merchant would agree to it. They supposed they could go farther away, perhaps to Arizona, but both were essentially on call and neither wanted to take the chance of being absent if something important occurred.

  Dane was staring at a wall when the phone rang. He answered and a deep voice responded. “Commander Dane?”

  “Speaking.”

  “I wish to make a bargain with you.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “In a way. My name is Gunther Krause and my companion is Wilhelm Braun.”

  The information took Tim’s breath away. “How did you get this number?”