Four-Four-Two

by Dean Hughes

  For my grandson

  John Thomas “Jack” Hughes

  PREFACE

  On December 8, 1941, the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed, President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared war on Japan. Almost immediately, Adolf Hitler of Germany declared war on the United States. The three Axis powers—Japan, Germany, and Italy—were now at war with most of the world.

  This sudden onset of war was startling to Americans, and many of them panicked, expecting attacks on the mainland of the United States at any moment. Frightened people often imagined their country being infiltrated by collaborators and spies. Immigrant Germans, Italians, and Japanese with ties to their homelands were interrogated and hundreds were jailed. Germans and Italians who had chosen not to become citizens were especially distrusted. The problem for Issei—first-generation Japanese immigrants—was that, by law, they were not permitted to become citizens in the first place.

  Among most Americans—both private citizens and government officials—suspicion of Japanese Americans was much more intense than suspicion of European immigrants. For one thing, it was Japan that had attacked the United States. But racist attitudes were also part of the culture of the time. General John L. DeWitt, commanding general of the Western Defense Command, recommended to President Roosevelt that all Japanese Americans be removed from the West Coast “war zone” out of “military necessity,” and he was later put in charge of the confinement of more than 110,000 Japanese Americans. In his argument for removing the AJA (Americans of Japanese ancestry) from the coast, he stated, “A Jap is a Jap,” and explained that statement by saying, “You just can’t tell one Jap from another. They all look alike.”1 Later, when an easing of restrictions was being considered, he claimed that the government need not worry about Germans or Italians, “except in a few individual cases,” but said that “no Jap should come back to this coast except on a permit from my office. . . . We must worry about the Japanese all the time until he is wiped off the map.”2

  This shortening of “Japanese” to “Jap” may seem inoffensive if you haven’t heard the term before, but it carried with it the connotation of all such disrespectful names used for people of various races or nationalities.

  Instead of suspected foreign agents of Japanese descent being handled case by case, and only those proven dangerous to America being incarcerated, all Japanese Americans were labeled “enemy aliens.” (Incidentally, no Japanese American was ever tried and convicted of espionage or sabotage.) Second-generation Japanese immigrants, born in America—known as Nisei—were citizens, not “aliens.” Most, like Yuki Nakahara, the protagonist of Four-Four-Two, had grown up eating fish and rice at home, but also hung out at soda fountains and ate hamburgers and fries with their friends of other races. They danced the jitterbug, wore jeans, and listened to the latest hit songs. They were American kids, but overnight, many of them were rejected and mistreated by their schoolmates.

  On February 19, 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, which directed the removal of enemy aliens from the coastal areas labeled war zones, but the order was only carried out against Japanese Americans. In March, all AJA on the coasts of Washington, Oregon, and California and on the border of southern Arizona were “relocated” to temporary quarters at racetracks and fairgrounds, and then they were moved to camps in remote places around the nation. They were held throughout most of the war in these “internment camps,” which were enclosed by barbed-wire fences. Armed guards, in towers, watched their movements.

  What was most remarkable about this action was that American citizens were held without any evidence against them or any opportunity to defend themselves in court. They were, in reality, locked up for being Japanese, and very few of their fellow citizens stood up for them or defended their rights.

  At the time, 1,300 Nisei were members of two National Guard units in Hawaii. It was not legal to remove them from the military, but officials worried that if troops from Japan invaded the Hawaiian Islands, these local soldiers would desert their country and fight for the enemy. The Nisei protested and vowed their loyalty to the United States. Nonetheless, government and military leaders decided to segregate them in a separate military unit and ship them to the mainland, at least in part to get them out of Hawaii. They were designated the 100th Infantry Battalion (Separate). The troops in this battalion were entirely Japanese American, but almost all the officers were white.

  Once the initial panic in America cooled to some degree and the AJA soldiers proved themselves to be effective in their training exercises, military leaders began to make the case that the 100th Infantry Battalion should be deployed to Europe and enter the battle. Government officials hesitated. Beyond the question of loyalty, some leaders argued that the Japanese soldiers were physically too small to be able fighters.

  For most of a year, the 100th was trained and retrained and repeatedly delayed, but eventually the battalion was approved to enter the war in Italy. In addition, another larger military unit of Nisei soldiers was created out of volunteers from both Hawaii and the internment camps on the mainland. This organization, named the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, was trained at Camp Shelby, in Mississippi, and was also delayed in being sent to the war. By then, however, the 100th was proving itself not only reliable but even superior to most other units fighting in Europe, and that opened the way for the 442nd to join the action.

  What the 100th Infantry Battalion (Separate) accomplished was nearly miraculous. They fought with zeal against the Germans who occupied Italy, and they did so, at least in part, to prove their loyalty. They soon became known as the “Purple Heart Battalion,” because so many of them were wounded or killed in action.

  Regiments normally have three battalions, but only the Second and Third Battalions of the 442nd were sent to Italy. Not long after arriving, the 100th Battalion was attached to the 442nd and took the place of their First Battalion. Because these troops had made a prestigious name for themselves as a separate unit, the men of the 100th preferred to keep their original designation. As a result, the newly organized unit became the 100th/442nd Regimental Combat Team. Hawaiian Japanese loved to play dice and poker, and a common phrase among them was “Go for broke.” This meant “go all in”—bet everything and either win or go broke. It was this phrase that the troops chose as their motto, and so the 100th/442nd became known as the “Go for Broke” regiment.

  All this talk of regiments and battalions may be confusing to those who have not had military experience. Let me try to shed a little light on army organization. In this novel, Yukus “Yuki” Nakahara and his friend Shigeo “Shig” Omura are members of a four-man fire team, which is part of an eight-man squad, and their squad is part of a platoon of thirty-plus men. Usually, three infantry platoons make up a company and three companies make up a battalion. Three battalions make up a regiment. Regiments combine to form a division. Divisions form corps, and corps are part of a field army. So a four-man fire team is part of an organization that may include more than eighty thousand soldiers.

  The terms for military units most frequently used in this novel are “regiment,” “company,” “platoon,” “squad,” and “fire team.” The following chart may make it easier to envision those formations. The bolded units are the ones in which Yuki and Shig serve in this novel:

  This book is a work of historical fiction. The battles described are the ones that F Company (also called Fox Company) fought, and the locations, names of military units, weather conditions, and dates are all accurate. Details about battle strategy, weapons, actions of individuals, and so on are based on my research, but soldiers’ written and verbal accounts vary, and memories sometimes differ; the conversations my characters have, their specific actions, and the feelings they experience, while based
on my reading of personal histories, are my creation. Historical figures such as President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Adolf Hitler, and General John E. Dahlquist are included in the book, but, while some of the Japanese names I chose are the same as certain given and family names from the long list of those who fought in the 100th/442nd Regimental Combat Team, all other characters are fictional—no one named Yukus Nakahara or Shigeo Omura fought in these battles.

  * * *

  1. Asahina, Robert, Just Americans: How Japanese Americans Won a War at Home and Abroad (New York: Gotham Books, 2006), 213–14n.

  2. Reeves, Richard, Infamy: The Shocking Story of the Japanese American Internment in World War II (New York: Holt and Company, 2015), 160.

  CHAPTER 1

  December 1941

  Yuki Nakahara was stacking wooden boxes according to size in a musty storage shed. As he walked past the open door, he saw a car driving up the dirt road toward the farm. It was traveling too fast, jolting, dust billowing up behind it. Yuki stopped and watched. He could see that the car was a new ’41 Ford—a fancier car than he usually saw this far away from Berkeley—and Yuki was almost sure he knew what that meant. He felt himself tighten, his chest suddenly rigid, but he had no idea what he should do.

  The black car stopped between the storage shed and the house. Two men got out, both of them wearing dark suits and hats. They each turned and looked around, clearly checking out the farm, the buildings. One of the men noticed Yuki, so Yuki stepped from the shed and tried to look calm. He walked toward the tall man on the driver’s side. The man removed his hat and asked, “Is your father home, young man?”

  Yuki didn’t like the look of the guy. His dark hair was combed back slick, and his shirt collar was stiff and bright white—like he was someone official. His voice had sounded polite, but the look in his narrowed eyes was menacing.

  “Are you produce buyers, or—”

  “We need to talk to your father.” The man’s tone was suddenly curt, but then he brought it under control as he said, “Would you please take us to him?”

  Yuki thought of running to his father, telling him to hide. But he knew he couldn’t do that. “I saw him walk into the house a few minutes ago,” Yuki said. “I’ll see if he’s still there.” He walked past the man and headed toward the house.

  Both men followed, walking fast enough to keep up. The second man—a smaller fellow with a brown suit, black hair, dark eyes—caught up to Yuki at the front door, where Yuki stopped to remove his boots. “Leave your shoes on,” the man said. “We’ll go in with you. Just tell your father someone wants to see him—nothing else.” He had a low, hard voice and some kind of accent, maybe New York. Yuki nodded, but he shoved the door open and stepped hard on the hardwood floor inside. He wanted to make as much noise as possible. The two men separated inside the little living room and stood on either side of him. Yuki thought of shouting to his father, telling him to run out the back door, but Father would never do that. He would be respectful. It was the way he dealt with white people, always.

  When Yuki took a step toward the kitchen, the bigger man reached out and grabbed his shoulder, held him back. And then he announced, “Mr. Nakahara, we need to speak to you. We’re agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  Yuki’s mother stepped into the living room from the kitchen. She was wearing a white apron over her housedress. Her hair was pulled back tight against her head. She was tiny, but now she took a breath and raised her shoulders. She looked directly at the men—one and then the other. “I’m Mrs. Nakahara. What may I do for you?” she asked.

  The man removed his hat. “Is Mr. Nakahara at home?” he asked.

  “Is there anything I can—”

  “My name is Agent Carson. This is Agent Aldo. As I said, we’re from the FBI. We need to speak to your husband.” Now there was more force in his voice.

  Father had appeared by then, behind Mother. He was wearing his work clothes, a bulky wool jacket over overalls. He had taken off his boots, and in his stocking feet, he seemed to shrink before the men.

  “Are you Mr. Nakahara?”

  Father nodded, or maybe bowed just slightly.

  “Do you publish a Japanese-language newspaper?”

  He nodded again.

  “We understand you keep close ties to people in Japan. Is that right?”

  Mother said, “He doesn’t speak much English, Mr. Carson. He has relatives in Japan, and he writes letters to them now and then, but his ties are all to this country now. He has lived here for more than thirty years.”

  “Well, that’s what you say,” Agent Aldo said. “But he’s on our list. Tell him we’re arresting him.”

  Yuki’s breath stopped.

  Father spoke better English than Mother was letting on, and he had surely understood the word “arrest,” but he didn’t move, didn’t show any reaction.

  Mother’s hands had jumped, as though of their own accord, but then she grasped them together. Yuki saw her blink, knew she was fighting tears, but her voice was strong when she said, “I don’t understand. What are the charges against my husband?”

  “I told you, he’s on a list. Tell him he’s got to come with us.”

  “But you can’t arrest him for no reason. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” She took a step sideways, placing herself in front of her husband.

  “If that’s the case, he has nothing to worry about,” Agent Carson said. “But for right now, he has to come with us.”

  “Where will you take him?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s not our job to explain everything to you. We’ve been sent to bring him in. I guess you’ll hear from others who can tell you the details.”

  “Must he go with you right now? Can’t he—”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to take him now. We do need to search your house, however. I want you and your son to sit right here in the living room while we put your husband in our car. Then one of us will come back and do the search.”

  “Search for what?”

  “Look, lady,” Aldo said, “you don’t ask the questions. We do. Sit down, you and your son. Do you have other children?”

  “Yes. Two daughters and another son.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Not home from school yet. They come on a bus.”

  “And what about you?” He looked at Yuki. “Don’t you go to school?”

  “I get out earlier, so I help my father on the farm. We work hard. We’re Americans. We—”

  “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear all that,” Aldo said.

  Carson put up his hand, as if to say “That’s enough” to his partner. “We’re going to ask you to go with us now, Mr. Nakahara,” he said.

  “I must change clothes,” Father said.

  “No, sir, you don’t need to do that. They’ll have clothes for you where you’re going. Were those your shoes on the porch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just grab them as we go out. That’s all you’ll need.”

  Agent Aldo stepped forward and took hold of Mr. Nakahara’s arm. “Come with us now,” he said. He pulled on Father’s elbow and Father stumbled forward, then caught his balance and looked at Mother. “Where am I going?” he asked in Japanese. Yuki had attended Japanese language school when he was younger. He didn’t speak Japanese fluently, but he understood most things his parents said.

  Mother didn’t answer her husband. She stepped toward Carson. “You can’t do this. This is America. You must tell us what he is charged with.”

  “You speak English very well,” Carson said in an almost friendly tone. “How long have you lived in our country?”

  “Most of my life. It’s my country too.”

  “You’re an enemy alien, ma’am. Not a citizen.”

  “My children are citizens. How can you take their father from them?”

  “We don’t get into all that. We just—”

  “I learned about American laws in school. You must tell my husband w
hich law he’s broken. You cannot take him away without doing that.”

  “Actually, in time of war, in a war zone, under direction of our government, we can arrest those who may be a danger to others. This area has been designated a war zone by the government, and your husband has been listed as a probable spy. We don’t have to tell you all that, but now we have. Please get out of our way and let us do our job.” He took hold of Father’s other arm, at the elbow, and the two men led him toward the door, Father not resisting.

  “You must not do this,” Mother was saying, her voice now desperate. She rushed ahead, got between the men and the front door. “My husband is not a danger to anyone. Can’t you see that?”

  Aldo turned suddenly and stepped close to Mother. “That’s enough, lady. Your husband’s a sneaky little slant-eyed Jap. That’s all we need to know.” He glared into her eyes, as if to see how she might react, but Mrs. Nakahara’s face only hardened. “On Sunday a bunch of sneaky slant-eyed Japs—just like him—bombed our country. His crime is, he’s on their side, not ours. And we’re not going to let him make contact with his buddies who are waging a war against us. Now, get out of our way or I’ll take you in with him.” He used his forearm to sweep her aside.

  Yuki had watched all this, not knowing what to do or say, but he finally reacted. As the men took Father out the door, he followed, and then he hurried in front of Agent Carson and stood his ground. “Listen, sir, we run a business here. We grow fruits and vegetables and sell them at a stand down on the highway. I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea about us somehow. Is there someone we could talk to? I think this could all be straightened out in a few minutes. My father has a little newspaper that he sends out to the old-timers from Japan around here, but that’s all it is. He doesn’t bother anyone at all. He’s no troublemaker.”

  It was Aldo who answered. “Oh, I see. I’m glad you cleared that up for us. But you know what? You’re a sneaky little slant-eyed Jap yourself, and I don’t trust you any more than your traitor of a dad. Now, shut your mouth and go back in the house.”