Having regained his composure, Ugaki leaned over Koketsu’s shoulder, his hands behind his back. “What is that stuff?”
“Morphine. It’ll put him away for a good ten to twelve hours.”
Kurita growled and fought as Onishi held him down. But after a minute, his eyes grew dull. “... shot,” was his last word. His eyes closed, and he was gone.
Silently they removed Kurita’s clothes, gave him a sponge bath, and dressed him in silk pajamas. Ugaki snapped off the light over Kurita’s bunk, followed the others out, and softly closed the door.
They stood awkwardly in the anteroom until Ugaki asked. “Should we do anything?”
Koketsu said, “Just let him sleep. He’ll feel much better tomorrow, although he may be a bit weak and giddy. Make sure he has a good breakfast.”
“Very well. Thank you, doctor,” said Ugaki.
“You look like you need sleep, too, Admiral. I suggest you hit your bunk as well. In fact all of you should turn in.” He eyed them. “I don’t think the Americans are through with us yet.”
“Thank you. Doctor.” repeated Ugaki.
“Soon, I trust?” Koketsu backed away.
“Soon,” said Ugaki.
“Good night, then.” He walked out.
“He’s right. That’s where I’m headed,” said Ugaki. “But first” –He walked to a cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of his signature Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch. “Care to join me, Noyama?”
Noyama said, “Thank you, Admiral, but one taste of that and I’d fall flat on my face. And I still have to finish the admiral’s endorsement to the action report.”
“That’s okay. I’ll have Onishi carry you to your stateroom.” Ugaki retrieved three glasses and said to Onishi, “You, too, old friend?”
“Uhhhhh.”
“Good.” Ugaki poured two fingers each in the three glasses and handed them over. He raised his glass. “The Emperor.” They clinked.
“The Emperor,” said Noyama, carefully sipping.
“Uhhhh.” Onishi downed his in two mouth-dripping gulps.
Ugaki rolled his eyes at Noyama as if to say, pity. Then he asked, “I think we’re out of this one, Noyama, don’t you?”
Noyama realized what he was getting at. Japan once had the world’s third largest navy, and certainly the best in number of new ships. Also, they didn’t have to fight a two-ocean war as did the British and the United States. But now, the Imperial Japanese Navy was reduced to rubble. He nodded, “The navy? Yes, sir. I don’t see how we can do any more.” Earlier in the day, they’d learned that Vice Admiral Ozawa’s sacrificial plan for the Northern Force had worked perfectly. He’d diverted Halsey, all right. But he’d lost Japan’s two remaining aircraft carriers and five cruisers in the bargain.
After sinking just one “American aircraft carrier, Kurita had broken off the action and pulled away from the battle at 0927. They later received word that another aircraft carrier in the grouping was sunk in a body-crashing attack by the Shiragiku. But they didn’t see it. For the next two hours Kurita steamed back and forth, regrouping his forces into a ring formation so he could march into Leyte Gulf. But the U.S. Navy air attacks grew thicker and thicker. Kurita lost two heavy cruisers: another was seriously damaged. So at 1236, he decided to retire from battle and ordered a formation course change to 000 degrees, heading north for the San Bernardino Strait. Noyama helped draft the message he sent to Toyoda:
FIRST STRIKING FORCE HAS ABANDONED PENETRATION OF LEYTE ANCHORAGE. IS PROCEEDING NORTH SEARCHING FOR ENEMY TASK FORCE. WILL ENGAGE DECISIVELY, THEN PASS THROUGH SAN BERNARDINO STRAIT.
They’d passed through the San Bernardino Strait all right, but today had been hell as the U.S. Navy threw wave after wave of airplanes at them while they frantically drove west and then south, attempting to steam out of range.
The attacks had been ferocious. But absent the distraction of surface targets, the Japanese’ gunnery had been much better. They’d lost only the light cruiser Noshiro. The heavy cruiser Kumano had been hit and was now enroute to Manila for repairs. Even at that, they’d done all right, Noyama admitted to himself. By tomorrow morning, he was sure they would be clear. They would almost be to the Balabac Strait, the only worry there being submarine attack. Horrible visions of the Atago came back to him, and he hoped the destroyers would do a better job screening the strait.
Onishi began to nod, his eyelids closing. Finally he lowered his head on his arms.
“He’s been on the go, too, poor fellow.” Ugaki reached over just as Onishi’s empty glass fell from his massive paw onto the green baize and rolled toward the edge. Ugaki caught it, saying, “Do you know who this man is?”
“Your valet.”
“Yes. He’s my nephew. His IQ is low and they were going to shove him into the coal mines. But I promised his father something better; so I pulled strings and got him into the navy.” Ugaki reached over and patted Onishi on the shoulder. “You’ve done well, old friend.” He looked up. “His father made me promise to not let Onishi dishonor his Emperor. Do you think he’s accomplished that, Noyama?”
“He serves admirably, Admiral.” Now it was Noyama’s turn. His eyelids were so heavy, he was sure it would take bamboo sticks to hold them up.
Ugaki downed his scotch and then waved the bottle at Noyama, his eyebrows raised.
“No, thank you, sir.”
Ugaki poured and asked clearly, “What do you plan to do now?”
The Vice Admiral’s tone snapped him awake. “I must admit I’ve been thinking about that, Admiral. Um... for quite a while, in fact.”
“And?”
“... my brother. He joined the Shiragiku. I’ve been thinking of doing that too.”
“Amazing. Body-crashing attacks. Me, too. That’s where I plan to go.” Ugaki thumped a fist and grinned. “Give it one last shot for the Emperor.” He began humming a tune. “Ever hear it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ugaki hummed again and then sang softly,
“At sea we may sink beneath the waves
On land we may lie beneath green grasses.
But we have nothing to regret
So long as we die fighting for our Emperor.”
“You in the Shiragiku?” asked Noyama.
“Yes, of course. I’m a tired has-been. A battleship admiral with no battleships.” He waved around the room. “These things are useless as teats on a boar, Noyama. The Yamato was obsolete the day she was launched. Airpower. That’s where my money goes. Look what the Americans did to the Musashi two days ago.” He smiled and asked, “So where is your brother now?”
“I believe he’s gone, Admiral. His was one of the first squadrons to finish training. They were assigned to the Philippines, Clark Field, actually. I spent time with him the day after our Grande Island conference, and he told me they were assigned on the front line.”
“Yes,” said Ugaki. “I heard about your little Baguio soirée.”
Noyama sat straight. “You did?”
“Those girls gave you a run for your money, no?” Ugaki laughed and downed his glass in a final gulp. “Ahhh. That stuff’s good. Look, see here, Noyama. You don’t really plan to follow your brother into the Shiragiku, do you?”
“Well, yes, sir. I’m a pilot. And I know my way around a fighter better than most.”
Onishi moaned and turned his face sideways, his lower lip falling open and resting on the green baize. Then he smacked his lips and began snoring.
“Well, you’re not going to do it, you idiot.”
“Sir?”
Ugaki leaned forward. “I said, you’re not going to do it. Look. It’s over for me and fools like me who embodied the Bushido Code and all that it stood for. Is your father a samurai?”
“No, sir. He’s an assistant trainmaster at the Yamashina station in Kyoto City.”
“Perfect. You come from good working stock. You see, there’s nothing left here for me. When the opportunity presents itself, I’m going to commandeer a lan
d attack bomber, a pilot, and dive into an American carrier with a full bomb load. That’s what I’m going to do before all this is over.”
“But then why can’t–”
Ugaki grabbed Noyama’s arm. “Allow me to beat some sense into you.” He waved to the overhead. “How many air attacks did we have today?”
Noyama shrugged. “Several. Five, maybe six. “ couple of hundred planes at a crack.”
Ugaki waved again. “Yes, hundreds of Navy planes. And then those damn B-24 bombers this morning. Where in the hell did they come from?”
Again Noyama shrugged.
“Oh, how I wish our planners were smart enough to build four-engine strategic bombers like that. Too bad the Americans can’t hit a mirrored shithouse at high noon.”
“Ummm.” Ugaki was right. They’d counted more than forty B-24 bombers dropping in excess of 150 half-ton bombs. All had fallen wide; not a ship was touched.
“Can you imagine crashing into a carrier with one of those?” He cackled. “Wake up!”
Noyama’s eyes had nearly closed. “Sir.” He sat staring, and tried to arrange himself.
“Here’s what I’m trying to say.” Ugaki thumped his chest and went on, “This old has-been will go out trailing a white scarf, dying for his Emperor as he tries to take out a carrier. There’s nothing left for me.” He pointed. “But for you, there’s Dai Nippon and her future.”
“What?”
“Shut up and listen.” Ugaki favored himself with another dollop of scotch. “Those B-24s. “ll those F6Fs and TBFs and SB2Cs and F4Fs. Where did they come from, I ask you? No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. Those planes come from a culture and society that’s smart enough to develop the technology and produce it on a massive basis. Those planes up there today. They’re not only better than what we have, they have far greater numbers.
“You’re a good officer, Noyama, and here’s what I want you to do. I want you to survive this war. I want you to go to work for Dai Nippon and give her what she deserves in the proper way. We don’t need to kill a bunch of people. We can buy our way if we do it right. Through hard work, we can build an empire that will be equaled by none. And it’s going to take men like you to get it started. So you, my friend, are not going to join the Shiragiku. While you leave that little detail to me, you are going to survive and take our country to new heights. You will be part of the new Japan.”
Noyama looked into Ugaki’s eyes, finding him dead serious. “I’m not sure... “
“Look, I can say this because I’m so damn old and I can see this clearly. Somebody has to do it. And it might as well be you. And I want you to find a nice woman and raise a good family in the process. Name one of your sons after your brother and another after me.” He sat back and grinned.
“This... this... is impossible,” muttered Noyama.
Ugaki quaffed the last of his scotch. “Ahhh. Great stuff. Of course this is possible. All you have to do is survive this war. Kurita and I have talked it over and we’ll make it possible. We’re going to post you to counting paper clips in the Niigata prefecture, something challenging like that. After the war, you get busy.”
“Admiral, I don’t know.”
“I assure you, Noyama, you can do it. Now.” Ugaki reached over and slapped him on the arm. “Now, how about another scotch?”
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
29 November 1944
CinCPac headquarters
Makalapa, Territory of Hawaii
Donovan walked into the outer office, finding Lieutenant Arthur Lamar on the phone. The flag secretary stood, excused himself, and rang off. “Commander Donovan, it’s great to see you again. Welcome back.” They shook.
“Good to be back, Lieutenant.” He looked around. “Looks the same but…”
“A little bare, maybe?”
“Yes, that’s it. Where is everything?”
Lamar grinned. “We’re packing. We’re moving CinCPac headquarters soon.”
“Where are you going, or is that a military secret?”
“It’s okay, sir. Guam. We’re going out to be closer to the action.”
“Thank God things have moved along so well.”
“Amen to that, Commander. Er, excuse me, sir.” Lamar walked to Nimitz’s door, knocked, and poked in his head. Then he waved with, “Please, come in, Commander. Zero Zero is all set now.”
“Thanks.” Donovan walked in.
Admiral Chester Nimitz stepped around his desk, his hand extended. “Welcome back, Commander. Welcome back.” After hands, Nimitz waved to a group of rattan chairs arranged before a window looking out on Pearl Harbor. “Please.”
As they sat, a soft groan echoed from under the desk. Nimitz’s schnauzer got up, waddled over, and plopped down within his master’s reach.
Nimitz scratched the dog’s ears. “You remember…”
“Yes, sir. Makalapa.”
“Can’t get rid of him. Follows me everywhere.”
“Best kind of watchdog, Admiral,” said Donovan.
Nimitz snorted.
Lamar said, “Commander, you have a choice: there is regular coffee; or you can have tea; perhaps some of Admiral Spruance’s coffee; and then there is papaya juice.”
Donovan asked, “Admiral Spruance’s coffee?”
Nimitz said, “It’s Ray’s hobby. He buys his beans from God knows where. Some from Mexico, some from South America, some as far away as the Solomon Islands. All over. Today, we have…” He looked at Lamar.
“Kona coffee, sir,” answered Lamar. “Grown right here in the islands.”
Donovan smacked his lips. “I’ll try it.”
Nimitz nodded. “Me, too.”
“Coming right up.” Lamar walked out.
It grew silent for a moment. Nimitz said, “Seems like years ago when you sat in here. You were on your way to take command of the Matthew.”
“Five months ago, sir.”
“A lot has happened all right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“First of all, you didn’t have malaria, did you?” Nimitz skewered him with a blue-eyed glance.
Donovan suppressed the impulse to jump to attention. “Well, no, sir. Turns out I had a little trouble with my belly.”
“Appendicitis is a little trouble?”
How the hell does he know that? “Well sir, I recovered quickly and was able to take command on time.”
“Some vacation. A civilian doctor, I’m told,” Nimitz snapped.
Donovan didn’t want to get into the business about Dr. Duberman, so he said, “Well, sir, maybe that was meant to be, because I’m going to marry her.”
“The doctor?”
“Yes, sir. Seems only fair. She saved my life, so I figure maybe I should return the favor.”
Nimitz’s eyes crinkled for a moment, then he said, “Congratulations. When will you tie the knot?”
“We haven’t figured that out, yet, sir. We just got engaged.” He told the Admiral about how Diane flashed Carmen Rossi’s ring before the crowd just as the Matthew was shoving off for the war zone.
This time Nimitz smiled. “She chased you all the way to Mare Island?”
“I couldn’t believe it. Now that I think of it, I didn’t have a choice, did I?”
“Yes, you did, and you made the right one, all right. She sounds like a fine lady. I’d like to meet her someday.”
“It will be my pleasure, Admiral.”
Nimitz gazed out the window for a moment. “Tell me, how’s your ship? Can I do anything?”
“We got in late yesterday and have been well taken care of, Admiral. Snug as a bug,” said Donovan. With just one engine, they’d cleared the anti-submarine net and limped into Pearl Harbor at 1900 yesterday. They dropped anchor in the West Basin and had chow. Donovan posted an anchor watch and, too exhausted go ashore, turned in at 2000, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Most of the crew did, too, just a few going on liberty. But two, Donovan discovered, got in a fight late that night and landed in the brig.
“How was the ice cream?” asked Nimitz.
“Admiral, I can’t tell you what the simple things in life mean, especially after you’ve been away for a while. Chocolate and vanilla ice cream; fresh milk and bread and meat. And a turkey with all the trimmings for tomorrow. We’ll eat like kings. I didn’t realize it was you who did it. Thank you very much.”
Nimitz nodded toward the door. “Art takes care of that. He has a real knack for it. At any rate, I’m glad you’ll be able to enjoy a peaceful Thanksgiving with your crew.”
Donovan said, “I’ll make sure to thank him, too. What a swell treat.”
“There’s more on the way, Commander.”
“Hula girls?”
Nimitz guffawed. “We’ll leave that up to your sailors.” Then he said, “I’ve read your action report and, with that torpedo business and all, it’s nothing short of amazing. I have to say, you boys did a marvelous thing out there. But tell me, how was your trip back?”
“We almost lost her twice. Then we spent ten days alongside the Vulcan patching our hull which looked like Swiss cheese. But forgive me for asking, what happened after that battleship put out our lights? My boys would like to know, too. I owe it to them.”
Nimitz asked, “You really don’t know?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Lamar walked in, carrying a silver coffee service. He set it down and then glanced at the admiral, who nodded. Lamar poured and passed around the coffee, then sat across from them and pulled out a pencil and pad.
Donovan sipped. “Wow.”
“What do you think?” asked Nimitz.
“Compared to this, the stuff we have aboard ship tastes like metal shavings. This is heaven.” He sipped again.
“Glad you like it. I’ll send a pound back with you.”
A CALL TO COLORS: A NOVEL OF THE BATTLE OF LEYTE GULF Page 47