“Yes, sir.” Ballard saluted, about faced, and exited.
MacArthur said, “You still don’t think much of Ballard or of my plans for him, do you, Bob?”
“Oh, I can appreciate the logic of it well enough, General,” said Eichelberger. “I guess I’m just leery of a character who was sitting in the brig twenty-four hours ago honchoing a special contingency squad for the SCAP. Special contingency squad? That’s a new one on me, sir.”
“Now, Bob, that altercation with Corbin was not Ballard’s fault.”
“Granted, and I admit the man’s one hell of a fighting machine, but he’s a misfit, General. Don’t tell me you can’t see it in his eyes. Ballard is a walking time bomb waiting to explode and the same applies to those hard cases with him.”
“Bob, the Japanese are an altogether different species of the human race than you or I. They were a feudal society seventy years ago! The lord of the land was the shogun and his word was the law of the samurai. They are a mystical race, as only a warlike people can be.
“In some ways, I know what to expect from the Japanese. In many other ways, Japan will forever remain a mystery to me as to every other Occidental. I don’t know what to expect over there but whatever comes our way, I want John Ballard and his men in the thick of it with me.”
The oblong room where Okada and Nagano met, in the public bath house, was partitioned with rice paper and cedar panels. The shadow of each man’s personal bodyguard was a silhouette on the paper-lined sliding doors near the twin tubs sunk in the tiled floor.
“I will say it was unexpected, this invitation to join you, Major,” Nagano said after a suitable length of time had been spent soaking in the superlatively heated water.
Like any man of his class, even in these troubled times, Nagano looked forward to a daily soak in heated water as part of the routine of every afternoon.
“I thought there might be matters best discussed between us in private, General Nagano. Have I incited your curiosity?”
“I confess you have.”
There was something about the icy, black eyes of the Kempeitai officer that gave Nagano chills despite the warmth of the bath.
The telephone call from Okada had come just after the noon meal of rice. The army general had come to meet the major, as requested.
“Since Baron Tamura brought us together with Colonel Hayashi,” said Okada, “I have come to respect you, General Nagano, as a man deeply committed to His Majesty and to Japan.”
“You could say the same of any soldier in His Majesty’s armed forces. Please, Major. Come to the point.”
“Very well. I wonder, General, how shall I put it? Between the two of us, am I the only one who finds dissatisfaction with the way our alliance with the Baron has progressed?”
“I know you think we should have committed more forces last night,” Nagano ventured.
“I grow weary of anticipating developments which never occur,” said Okada. “Within days an American reconnaissance patrol will land at Atsugi. The rebellion there will be quelled by then unless something unforeseen happens. Time is running out. Aggressive leadership is required.”
“I wonder if it is not already too late.”
“As you know, General, I command many units of Kempeitai.” The secret police officer’s bald head glistened with perspiration.
“That is why the Baron chose to bring you into our circle, Major.”
“If they know they do not stand alone, I know men who will risk everything to repulse the barbarians, even at this late hour.”
Nagano paused, choosing and enunciating his words carefully.
“You are not quite the patriot you pretend to be, are you, Major?”
Okada took no offense at this.
“I was one of seven children,” he said. “We lived on a one acre household farm on Kyushu. The Kempeitai is to be one of the last arms of the military to be demobilized, in order that we may help ferret out,” Okada’s gold tooth flashed a smile, “rebellious factions. When we are demobilized, I will be expected to return to that farm, to the dirt and the poverty.”
“Who are you with? I have heard General Kurita is planning something.”
“You will appreciate, Colonel, that seppuku is not my way, nor is suicide by any means. I will not end as Hatanaka did or General Anami. I had thought Baron Tamura held the power to sway the allegiance of all the rebel factions in the military and the government.”
“No man, not even Baron Tamura, is that powerful. Not even the Emperor. Do you ask me to betray the Baron?”
“Hardly that.”
“What is it you want of me, then?” Nagano no longer found his bath relaxing.
“You anticipate me, surely, General. I suggest you join those I have joined. Yes, General Kurita’s group. They will not make the same mistakes Hatanaka did. General Kurita does not in any way intend to subvert Baron Tamura, whom he holds in only the highest regard. There are entire units at your command, General, who have given in to pressure to conform to the terms of surrender. These units would rise up again if you but gave the signal.”
“Every man you speak of would give his life for Japan,” Nagano agreed, “but I wonder if we have not lost our chance. The soldiers, the people, have heard their Emperor’s voice in tears, instructing them to accept the terms of surrender, to co operate with the occupying forces. I will not order more men to die without cause.”
“Our moment has not passed. It is with us now. I would call to your attention the youth groups roaming the streets of Tokyo and Yokohama. They personify the unrest waiting to be organized.”
Nagano shook his head. “Common street hoodlums.”
“They call themselves the Righteous Group for Upholding Imperial Rule and Driving Out Foreigners,” the Kempeitai officer said. “They occupy the Yoyogi parade ground and Atago Hill. They have laid siege to the Prime Minister’s home. The flames of rebellion but need to be fanned.”
“And then you would not have to return to your family farm on Kyushu, would you, Major? You could build the power that is yours now, and you would become a very powerful man indeed. A very dangerous man. Perhaps you would be promoted out of the Kempeitai altogether.”
“No one in the military will be allowed to hold government jobs under the laws of occupation,” Okada said. “If this happens, you will be no better off than I, General, perhaps far worse. You are a commander.”
“I am ready to meet my fate, whatever it may be,” Nagano said. “However, I will reserve my decision on this proposal of yours until I have heard what Baron Tamura has to say at our next meeting.” He stood from the tub and reached for a towel. “A shame to squander such luxury as an afternoon soak on matters such as these.”
They slipped into robes and went toward individual dress cubicles.
“You will consider my proposal then, General?”
“I promise only the confidentiality I guaranteed before we met.”
Nagano started into his cubicle and turned to pull the curtain shut. Okada stepped forward and gripped the curtain, staying it from being drawn.
“There is one last thing I would like to add, General Nagano. You will appreciate the great personal risk I incur in confiding in you.” Okada was not wearing his glasses. His dark eyes pierced like daggers.
“Do you doubt my honor, Major?” asked Nagano.
“I only wish to impress upon you, General, that I will hold you stringently to your vow of confidentiality. Remember, I command an entire unit of Kempeitai. There are no secrets from me.”
“That sounds like a threat, Major.”
Okada released the curtain.
“We will act soon, General. With or without you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Beyond the windows of the C-47, sunrise rouged the slopes of Mount Fujiyama rising majestically from its cloud-shrouded base. The cold, the vibrations of the fuselage, and the throbbing roar of the plane’s engines had made sleep impossible during the flight from Okinawa.
&nb
sp; This was the lead plane of a long trail of forty-five C-47s.
Hanklin sat in the seat next to Ballard, having spent the flight engrossed in a western pulp magazine. He slipped the magazine under his seat and leaned across Ballard for a look out the window.
A fighter plane flew escort off their starboard side.
“Gives me some peace of mind knowing those flyboys are riding shotgun.”
Mischkie had a reputation for being able to sleep anywhere, and had proven it once again, but he was awake now, leaning forward from the seat behind them.
“Yeah, but when we touch down it’s going to be just us and a couple million Japs and we’re going to be all on our own, cowboy. Colonel Tench will be the first foreign conqueror ever to set foot on the soil of Japan.”
Colonel C. T. Tench, seated at the back of the plane with his aides, and the one hundred and fifty men aboard these C-47s, were about to touch down at Atsugi Air Base to reconnoiter and set up communications. A Division of the 11th Airborne, five hundred men strong, would touch down the following day. MacArthur’s group was scheduled to land the day after that.
Hanklin chuckled. “I hear the colonel’s fellow officers were getting on his nerves back on Okinawa.”
“Taking bets,” Mischkie nodded soberly. “The odds were fifty-fifty that we’d get ourselves blown from the sky before we touched down, or that they’d wait until we landed before they massacred us.”
“No one knows what’s going to happen when we touch down,” said Ballard. “Not even the Japs.”
“Intel says rebel groups are still roaming all over Japan,” said Mischkie. “Atsugi was in a state of open rebellion no more than forty-eight hours ago.”
“What do you want,” Ballard growled, “a walk in the park? I thought you were bored wasting away back there on Luzon.”
“Uh, you got me there,” Mischkie grinned.
Ballard cast another glance out the window. “Here we are.”
They were circling over a sprawling network of hangars, administration buildings and barracks. Many of the buildings showed extensive damage from American bombing raids.
Ballard saw rows of planes, the propellers removed and stacked off to the sides of grounded formations. He saw hundreds of troops positioned along the perimeter of the base, supposedly to protect their enemy from danger.
The plane banked around for its final approach toward a bomb-pocked runway puddled from recent typhoon rains. Sunlight glinted on rice paddies surrounding the base.
Tench came forward. Like Ballard and his men, he wore khakis and a .45 automatic, shoulder-holstered beneath his left arm.
They buckled their seatbelts.
“I will be the first one out,” Tench said. “My interpreter will come next and you men will file directly behind him. The others will stay in the plane.”
Another thirty seconds and the C-47 bumped down along the potholed stretch of runway. The pilot taxied to a stop and shut down the motors.
The abrupt silence exaggerated the smallest sounds in the plane.
Tench unbuckled his seatbelt and rose without another word. They deplaned as arranged along an empty stretch of landing strip, well removed from any buildings.
Circling C-47s rumbled overhead but down on the ground it was unnaturally quiet.
Tench strode several paces from the plane and kicked his right heel into the ground as if to mark this moment. Ballard and his men fanned away to form a wide, three-point perimeter.
There was no one in sight. Nothing stirred, besides the gently swaying brown grass that grew high in the field between the runways.
Ballard scanned the field toward the nearest hangars, perhaps a quarter mile away. He could now discern a row of field tents pitched before one of the hangars over there. He spotted movement coming this way.
“My guess is our pilot touched down on the wrong runway.”
Slow-moving military staff cars could now clearly be seen approaching, and behind these, a crowd of men was running in their direction.
Ballard and his team swung their rifles around to port arms.
“Be ready for anything,” Tench instructed.
Hanklin, observing the approaching horde, cleared his throat and spat a wad of chewing tobacco.
“Only thing I’m not ready for is to get my damn fool head blown off.”
The convoy of staff cars bumped across the field and careened to a stop before the unwavering men in khaki. Of the dozens of men running along behind the cars, none seemed to be armed with anything more than cameras, many of them toting tripod setups. Ballard lowered his rifle.
“Hold it, fellas. This is the reception committee.”
Chauffeurs scurried around to hold doors open. A short, heavily medaled Japanese officer emerged from the lead car. Accompanied by an interpreter, he crossed stiffly to where Tench stood waiting at attention. The Japanese officer rendered a smart salute.
“I am in charge of the Atsugi reception committee.” His accent was thick. “I will be your Japanese liaison officer.” Tench returned a salute of equal precision.
“Colonel C. T. Tench, commanding the advance party for the supreme commander for the Allied Powers.”
The clipped exchange was strictly military protocol with no trace of cordiality.
The journalists and photographers were setting up their equipment. Many of them were already snapping pictures. There was still no sign of any armed Japanese military presence.
Arisue and Tench commenced an exchange, translated by their interpreters. The cameras really started up then. Ballard could not hear what was being said.
A few minutes later, Tench returned to the plane and issued instructions to his men. Then he and his interpreter moved out on foot toward the reception area across the field.
Mischkie and Hanklin did not need telling. They moved out with the group, as did Ballard who hung never more than a dozen paces behind Tench and Arisue and their interpreters. Personnel were streaming out of the plane now, members of Tench’s team and the allied photographers who had been assigned to record this event for posterity.
Across the field, the other C-47s were touching down one at a time.
Keiko felt her uncle’s eyes upon her.
She lowered the binoculars. They stood side by side on an outcrop of high ground approximately one-half kilometer from the southern perimeter of the Atsugi Air Base.
The binoculars they had each used to observe the landing of the American plane were the best make available and yet, given the distance between them and the scene unfolding far below on a corner of the air field, the figures down there had only been barely recognizable by their uniforms.
The group was walking away from the first plane.
Keiko and the Baron had witnessed the entire drama. Servants had awakened her hours earlier. Her uncle had insisted that she accompany him in a tone that brooked no response save obedience.
They were chauffeured across dark, pockmarked roads that even at that hour were busy with what had become a common sight in the twelve days since the Emperor’s speech. The country was on the move. Demobilization of the military forces was being rushed through. Abandoned factories and disbanding military across the width and breadth of Japan were feverishly distributing their remaining supplies to soldiers, sailors, and workers to keep them out of the victors’ grasp. Convoys wended their way north toward those regions that would be last to be occupied, carrying thousands of demobilized soldiers, discharged crews and laborers being sent home to their villages.
The chauffeur waited with the touring car, behind them on a gravel road. They had arrived at this spot less than thirty minutes ago.
Her uncle had known precisely where to position them for the best possible vantage point.
“I wanted you to witness this at my side,” he said. “This, the moment of our greatest shame.”
“Then you have not changed your mind since we last spoke?”
They had exchanged no words since leaving the castle.
“I do understand you, Uncle. What is it you must do?”
“You have not changed your views. I can tell by your eyes, by your voice. I know you that well, at least. I have known you all of your life, child.”
She said, without venom, “And all of that time, Uncle, even when I was truly a child, did you believe that my woman’s nature was inherently evil? It hurt to hear you say that.”
“We are all that remains of the Tamura line, Keiko. The family is the basic unit of a sound empire. It has ever been thus. That cannot change, or there is no hope. The family must be preserved from generation to generation. I believe this with all my heart. It would be the sorrow of my life to die knowing that what has been will end with my passing. I ask of you, child, do not let such a thing happen.”
“And I ask you, Uncle, to put aside whatever it is you intend to do and heed the word of your Emperor.”
“If those are your feelings, then we have nothing further to discuss,” he said in a level voice. His eyes frosted. “I am convinced that you do not spy for those in the War Ministry, that you only sought to satisfy your own curiosity in eavesdropping outside my office that night. But I most strongly advise you not to leave the castle and to keep to yourself anything you may know or guess. To do otherwise will result in dire consequences for you.”
“When I left the War Ministry three weeks ago, you offered me a home,” she said. “Has it become my prison? Could you be a party to harming me, or worse?”
He peered into her face with a steady, disconcerting stare, then he turned from her without replying and walked the path which wound away from the outcrop of rock to the unseen car.
She remained a moment more, surveying the panorama before her. She watched that long, graceful line of circling and landing four-engine American transports.
Keiko had not flown since that morning, the fourteenth, when she and her uncle had seen the American bomber flying toward Tokyo. Civilian flight restrictions were in effect and the Baron was either compelled or felt obliged to conform.
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