by Len Levinson
The plane slowed down and came to a stop. Ground crews pushed stairs on wheels to the doors of the plane. They climbed the stairs and a member of the flight crew opened the doors from the inside. Sunlight and fresh air poured into the plane. Butsko loosened his seat belt, standing up.
The wounded were unloaded first by teams of medics. Butsko waited impatiently, thinking of that first cigarette he’d smoke when he left the plane. He placed his hand over the package of Camels in his shirt pocket to reassure himself, feeling a peculiar elation. He was in Hawaii, far from the war, safe at last.
The seriously wounded were unloaded, and the others lined up in front of the door. One by one they stepped into the Hawaiian sunshine. Butsko was three-quarters of the way back, and when the sun hit his face he took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled like flowers, unlike the air in New Guinea, which smelled like jungle rot most of the time.
Butsko descended the ladder. A crowd of people were on the ground amid ambulances. Some were medical personnel and some wore regular Army khaki. The driver of an ambulance started its engine. The GIs on the ground jostled about, waiting for somebody to tell them what to do.
“Lemme have four ranks right here!” shouted a master sergeant.
Butsko hobbled down the stairs. The GIs on the runway lined up in front of the sergeant. Butsko’s intention was to join the formation, but at the foot of the ladder a short young lieutenant stepped toward him.
“You’re Sergeant Butsko, aren’t you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Hi,” said the officer, who couldn’t have been more than five feet, two inches tall, “I’m Lieutenant Lewis from the Public Information Office here. I’ve got a jeep waiting for us.”
Butsko was confused. “I’m supposed to go with you?”
“That’s right, Sergeant.”
Butsko looked at the formation.
“Forget about that,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Come with me.”
“What about my duffle bag?”
“It’s being picked up. Everything’s gonna be okay. Let’s go.”
Butsko fell in beside Lieutenant Lewis and walked through the crowd. Lieutenant Lewis had broad shoulders and a compact muscular build but his legs were short and his ass was close to the ground. He reminded Butsko of a chimpanzee. They approached a jeep parked on the far side of the crowd, and paused to let an ambulance pass, on its way to the post hospital.
“Can you get in the jeep all right?” Lieutenant Lewis asked.
“Yes sir.”
Butsko moved toward the back of the jeep and prepared to climb in.
“No—sit in front,” Lieutenant Lewis said.
“In front?” Butsko asked. He was surprised, because when officers and enlisted men took trips in jeeps, the enlisted passengers usually sat in back.
Lieutenant Lewis smiled. He had a round face and big dark eyes that made him appear dreamy. “I can see that you can’t quite figure this thing out,” he said in a slow friendly voice. “You might as well start getting used to first-class treatment. From here on out you’re gonna be living high off the hog, Sergeant.”
“How come?”
“Nobody’s told you?”
“Are you talking about the DSC I’m supposed to get?”
“Forget about that DSC,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “You’re up for the Congressional Medal of Honor now.”
Butsko blinked. “The Congressional Medal of Honor!”
“That’s right. You’re a hero and the sooner you get that through your head, the better off you’ll be.”
“I think I’d better sit down.”
Lieutenant Lewis pointed to the front seat. “Help yourself.”
Butsko wheezed as he climbed into the front seat, turned around, and sat down. He stared at the wind sock on top of a building. The sky was blue and clear. What in hell’s going on here? Butsko thought.
Lieutenant Lewis took a step closer to him. “Listen Sergeant,” he said. “The Congressional Medal of Honor is the highest award that this country gives out. Everybody’s going to be looking closely at you from now on. You’re not just another dogface anymore. We’re in the middle of a war and the country needs heros, people it can look up to and be proud of. I hope you don’t let them down by getting drunk and fucking up. I’ve seen your records. I know all about you. You’re a brave man on the battlefield, but you fuck up everyplace else. I know about the guy you killed in a bar in Australia. I know about the times you were arrested in Honolulu. I know you’ve been busted up and down the ranks so many times you must think you’re a bouncing ball, but from now on you’re gonna have to play it straight, because your country is watching you.”
“Can I have a smoke?”
“I think we’re far enough away from the plane for that.”
Butsko took out a Camel and lit it with his trusty old Zippo. He inhaled deeply, held the smoke in his lungs, and blew it out the side of his mouth.
“What’s gonna happen now?” he asked.
“What d’ya mean?”
“Where’m I gonna go? What’m I gonna do?”
“Right now you’re gonna go to the BOQ. That’s where you’ll live while we process you and make arrangements. Then you’ll go Stateside, where you’ll receive your Congressional Medal of Honor in a ceremony at the White House.”
“The White House?”
“That’s right.”
“Hey,” Butsko said, “I don’t think I can handle all that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not that kind of guy.”
Lieutenant Lewis took a step closer, and his soft dark eyes became steely. “You’re gonna be that kind of guy, Butsko, and do you wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because your country needs you and it’s your duty.”
“I’m no fucking hero.”
“Your commendation says you are, and if that’s what it says, that’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“That was just politics. It got pushed through because it’ll make a certain general look good.”
“I don’t care how it happened,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “All I know is it happened and I’ve got to make the most of it. I just told you that we need heros. Why do you think we need heros? Because heros are good for the morale of the troops and the morale of the folks back home. Heros help war-bond sales and enlistments. Heros make everybody feel good about America. You love your country, don’t you Butsko?”
“It’s the greatest country in the world,” Butsko said.
“Do your duty,” Lieutenant Lewis said, “and don’t let your country down.”
Butsko shrugged. “A lot of other guys deserve a medal more than me.”
“Maybe so, but your face was on the card that came up. That’s the card we’re gonna play.”
An ambulance drove past them, on the way to the hospital, and through its dusty wake walked a tall rangy soldier carrying a duffle bag on his shoulder. “I got it,” the soldier said to Lieutenant Lewis.
“Throw it in back,” Lieutenant Lewis replied.
The soldier lowered Butsko’s duffle bag onto the jump seat, and Lieutenant Lewis climbed in beside it. The soldier sat behind the wheel of the jeep.
“To the BOQ,” Lieutenant Lewis said.
The soldier started up the jeep and shifted into gear. The jeep moved forward, heading for the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters.
Major General Shunsake Yokozowa was forty-five years old, young for the rank he held. His hair was jet black and close-clipped. He had a square jaw and when he smiled he merely raised his upper lip and showed his teeth. It looked more like a sneer than a smile, but that was the best General Yokozowa could do.
General Yokozowa hadn’t smiled for a week. His division had been decimated in the big attack, and now he was on his way to see General Adachi. He was sure General Adachi would chew him out. He didn’t look forward to the meeting.
He was five feet, eight inches tall and lean as a rail, but he’d been leaner. He gained a few pounds during
the past few days because his division had captured American supplies and sent them to the rear. He and his men were eating better, but the captured foodstuffs were dwindling and soon starvation would prevail again.
General Yokozowa’s uniform was tattered but clean. He wore a pair of American combat boots that he’d taken from a dead American soldier, and they fit quite well. They hadn’t been worn much and he had to admit that they were more comfortable than the Japanese boots he’d worn before.
He passed the tents in the Eighteenth Army headquarters area, and soldiers saluted as he passed by, his samurai sword swinging back and forth. He had a long neck, which made him look something like a turkey, and his nose was long for a Japanese. Actually he wasn’t one hundred percent Japanese. His great-grandfather had been an American naval officer. His great-grandmother had come from a prosperous merchant family. She became pregnant out of wedlock. The American naval officer had departed without marrying her. General Yokozowa’s grandfather was born a bastard, which meant that General Yokozowa’s blood had been tainted with foul American blood.
Nobody on New Guinea knew that except General Yokozowa himself. Few people in Japan knew it, but General Yokozowa felt disgraced anyway. That’s why he tried so hard, and had won so many medals. That’s why he’d earned such a high rank, although he was relatively young.
He marched toward General Adachi’s tent and wondered if he’d still have his rank when he left it. He thought he might be demoted, or asked to commit hara-kiri. He’d commit hara-kiri in a minute, if asked. He was perfectly willing to take full responsibility for his division’s failure to achieve its objectives during the big attack. The only reason he hadn’t committed hara-kiri so far was that he’d been busy retreating, fighting for his life, and reorganizing his command. He literally hadn’t had time to commit hara-kiri. He hadn’t even been sleeping much.
He entered General Adachi’s main command post tent and saw many soldiers and officers sitting behind desks. An entire row of soldiers sat at a long desk before communications equipment. Lieutenant Ono arose behind his desk.
“General Yokozowa, sir?”
General Yokozowa turned to him. “Yes?”
“I believe you’re early for your meeting.”
General Yokozowa looked at his watch. “By ten minutes.”
“Have a seat, sir. I’ll see if the general’s available.”
The beaver-cheeked young lieutenant walked down a tarpaulin passageway, and General Yokozowa looked at the jungle over the heads of the soldiers sitting behind the radios. The walls of the tent were rolled up and General Yokozowa could see other tents and the thick jungle full of trees, bushes, and extraordinary ferns. A camouflage netting covered the headquarters area but the sun shone through anyway, making the foliage glow emerald.
What a beautiful scene, General Yokozowa thought, but so hot.
His armpits were sweaty and his crotch itched although he’d bathed in a stream only an hour ago. At least he didn’t stink. He wouldn’t dare go before General Adachi without bathing first. That would be a terrible insult.
Lieutenant Ono returned. “He’ll see you now, sir. Please follow me.”
Lieutenant Ono led him down the tarpaulin corridor that connected many tents. Lieutenant Ono took a left and a right, then pointed to a tent flap ahead.
“That’s General Adachi’s office, sir. You may go right in.”
“Thank you.”
General Yokozowa strode forward and pushed aside the tent flap. He entered General Adachi’s office and saw the renowned commander seated behind his desk. General Yokozowa marched to the desk and saluted smartly.
“General Yokozowa reporting, sir!”
General Adachi looked him over coldly. “Have a seat.”
General Yokozowa sat on one of the collapsible wooden chairs. He hadn’t liked the tone of General Adachi’s voice and figured General Adachi was mad at him, but in fact General Adachi wasn’t mad at him. General Adachi’s ulcers were bothering him, that’s all. His ulcers tended to put him in a rotten frame of mind.
“Good afternoon, General,” General Adachi said.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“How are you?”
“I’m very disappointed with the results of the attack,” General Yokozowa said. “If you want my resignation, I’ll give it to you right now.”
General Adachi raised his right hand and waved his forefinger from side to side in the air. “No no no,” he said. “It’s not your fault that the attack failed. Don’t blame yourself.”
“A commander must take responsibility for failure, sir.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. If I thought like you I would’ve killed myself long ago, but to blame ourselves is to cloud our minds with sloppy thinking. The attack failed because the Americans have more men and supplies than we. We’re cut off from our own sources of supply, through no fault of our own. Japan is a small country, and America is a giant. Still, we must persevere. Victory still can be ours, because Japanese spirit is something truly awesome.”
“Truly,” General Yokozowa agreed, although he knew a part of him was polluted with cowardly American blood.
“How are your men faring?” General Adachi asked.
“Much better since we’ve captured substantial American supplies. My men haven’t eaten this well for months, but the food can’t last much longer.”
“Has anything been heard from Lieutenant Akiyama?”
“He’s still missing in action, sir.”
“That is most unfortunate.”
“A fine young man,” General Yokozowa said.
“Perhaps you should have kept him at your headquarters.”
“He insisted on serving at the front, and one doesn’t say no to a cousin of the Emperor.”
“Of course not, but there have been inquiries about him. As soon as you have information, I hope you’ll relay it to my headquarters.”
“Of course, sir, but it’s unlikely that he’s still alive. I regret having to say that, but most of my soldiers who were trapped behind enemy lines have returned, and the rest haven’t been heard from for two days. They probably were killed in action.”
General Adachi sighed as he opened his gold cigarette case. “Care for one?”
General Yokozowa leaned forward and held out his fingers. “Thank you sir.”
Both generals lit their cigarettes. Blue clouds of smoke gathered above their heads. A truck passed by outside.
“Come with me to the map table,” General Adachi said.
“Yes sir.”
Both generals stood and walked to the map table. They puffed cigarettes and looked down at it. General Yokozowa hadn’t seen a map of the entire front since the meeting before the big attack, and he saw instantly that the lines were now pretty much the same as they’d been before the attack.
“I’ve reached an important conclusion during the past few days,” General Adachi said. “I’ve decided that our situation in this area is not as hopeless as I’d thought when I first learned that our offensive failed. I realized that I still had many options left, and that the Americans have been shaken badly by the attack, although they stopped us.”
“I’m sure their casualties were quite high, sir,” General Yokozowa said. “I myself counted huge numbers of dead Americans, and we have many prisoners also.”
“My point exactly. Although we’re weak, so are the Americans. I believe that a strong blow, delivered in the appropriate place, could cause the American line to collapse. Do you agree?”
“Depends where the blow is delivered.”
General Adachi pointed to the village of Afua on the Driniumor River near the foothills of the Torricelli Mountains. “Here.”
General Yokozowa leaned over the map. “Their southern flank, sir?”
“I think an attack there could roll that flank back and cause their main line of resistance to collapse.”
“If that happened, they’d fall back to their airfields.”
; “If we pursued them like hounds, we could drive them into the sea.”
General Yokozowa looked down at the map and nodded. “That could very well happen, sir.”
“Could your division do it?”
General Yokozowa furrowed his brow. His division was down to eighteen hundred combat effectives out of the approximately six thousand he’d had when the Eighteenth Army originally was formed. All were armed with Japanese weapons or captured American weapons. He had no artillery, but American bazookas had been captured along with American hand grenades. His men were fairly well nourished for a change.
“It’s possible, sir.”
“How soon can you attack?”
“It will take three days to move all my men south to Afua.”
“Can you do it in two days?”
“I’ll try.”
“I didn’t ask whether you’ll try. I know you’ll try. I asked if you can do it.”
General Yokozowa thought for a few moments. “I’ll do it,” he said.
“Excellent,” General Adachi said. He turned toward General Yokozowa and looked him in the eye. “General Yokozowa,” he said, “the Eighteenth Army has suffered terrible reversals on this godforsaken island. You know this as well as I, since you have been with the Eighteenth Army since it first was formed nearly two years ago. We’re on our last legs now. This is our last chance. Everything depends on your attack. If it succeeds, we can win a great victory for the Emperor. If it fails, the Eighteenth Army will be finished. The Eighteenth Army cannot survive a period of inaction. We haven’t sufficient supplies for that. All we can do is fight for our lives and hope to capture more supplies, so that we can continue to attack. Everything depends on the success of your assault. Exhort your men to fight hard for their Emperor. Tell them death is preferable to the dishonor of defeat. Tell them that their ancestors are watching them. Tell them anything, as long as you roll back the American flank. Those are your orders. Do you understand them?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“No sir.”
“Carry out your orders.”
“Yes sir.”
General Yokozowa took a step backward and saluted smartly, then performed an about-face and marched out of the office. General Adachi waited until he was gone, then clutched his guts and bent over, dots of perspiration on his forehead, because the pain of his ulcers was so severe.