“I was just coming to that, sir,” Umezu says. “As you know, sufficient enriched uranium was provided by the Germans to create the test weapon plus one additional device. How do we employ this solitary weapon, you ask?” His finger stabs at the map of Kyushu unfurled on the conference table. “Ariake Bay,” Umezu continues, “is the most strategically critical point. We estimate three divisions will land there, approximately 60,000 men, one third of the initial invasion force. If the attackers succeed in gaining a foothold there, all the invasion forces can easily link together. Reinforcements and supply would be rapidly available to any and all. By employing the nuclear weapon there, at Ariake, we believe we can destroy half of the forces in the area, about 30,000, and render the remainder ineffective. This will divide and isolate the rest of the attacking forces, facilitating their defeat in detail. Once the Americans are routed on the beaches and plains of southern Kyushu, they will not have the courage or resources to invade again any time soon. Our Kwangtung Army, weakened though it is, will slow the Russian advance in Manchuria; they will not be able to threaten our shores for some time. At this point, and this point only, can we discuss a negotiated peace.”
Suzuki, though surprised to hear the words negotiated peace in this context, is still more deeply troubled. “What of civilians in the area?” he asks.
Umezu replies: “All civilians will be evacuated to the interior before the invaders land. The propaganda films of civilians preparing to defend their homeland with bamboo sticks may be good for morale, but civilians are of no use to our Army on the field of conflict. They will only be in our way.”
In a half-hearted attempt at a joke, the General adds: “Perhaps the Americans would sicken of slaughtering them and lose their will to fight.”
Several of the officers present snicker in appreciation of the General’s joke, to the horror of Suzuki and Togo.
The Prime Minister then asks: “And what of our troops in the area? Will they be evacuated before the detonation, too?”
“No, sir. That would not be possible. The troops must remain to fix the invaders in place. They will die honorably.”
Suzuki’s temper flares. “Are these to be special suicide troops?”
“No, Minister. These will be regular troops. Only the small special team that actually fires the weapon will know of its existence.”
The Prime Minister is now shrieking. “As if this weapon is not horrific enough, is this deceit… this incineration of your own troops… not too awful to contemplate?”
General Umezu calmly looks out the window at the fire-bombed ruins of Tokyo and replies, “No, it is not. All Japanese troops are expected to fight to the death.”
“General, do you not see the difference between a soldier who dies doing his duty and one whose duty is to die?”
“There is no difference, Mister Prime Minister.”
Suzuki, overcome with hopelessness, turns away.
Then the General adds, “If this plan fails to achieve the advantage we seek, I will, of course, offer my life to the Emperor in atonement.”
Chapter Sixteen
Marge and John had spoken not a word during the long walk from f-stop to John’s tent. He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders and feel her body tight against his, her arm wrapped around his waist. He felt sure she wanted that, too. They settled for holding hands--lightly, tentatively--a link easily dissolved if they ran into any of the brass. Their anticipation was powerful but bittersweet: for all they knew, this could be their one and only time together.
The recon squadron pilots had set up their tents as far from the aircraft parking areas as was practical. This was an old habit from the two years spent on New Guinea; if the airfield got bombed or strafed while you were sleeping, the distance lessened your chances of catching some lead. The tents aren’t exactly secluded, but they are, at least, away from the continual beehive of activity the airfield has become. Tall and circular, big enough for half a dozen men to walk around in, the tents look like big tops in a miniature circus.
John and his two tent-mates, fellow pilots, had long ago arranged a signal in case one had the rare good fortune of female company. A sign stating, “STAY OUT – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY – THIS MEANS YOU!” had been appropriated from the ordnance section. If this sign was displayed at the tent’s entrance, one of their number was entertaining a guest and their privacy was to be respected. The options for such company were very limited: nurses, few in number; the infrequent Red Cross and USO girls; or local prostitutes. The sign had rarely been used and never by John.
During their walk, Marge and John pass several of the squadron’s mechanics, “wrenches,” as he refers to them, in a way that seems to imply nothing but respect.
They bid a courteous greeting, complete with crisp salutes, to the Captain and his lieutenant. Marge is surprised: she had expected voyeuristic leers. Ordinarily, the mechanics would have obliged her. She is with John Worth, though, and to the enlisted mechanics the Captain is more than just an OK guy: he’s an old hand; he’s been around, he knows his stuff and never talks down to us. If the Captain is getting lucky with a nurse--who, as an officer, is off limits to us enlisted types – well, it couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow. After all, this is war. Anyone from the highest general to the lowest private fornicates if and when he can; to hell with the regulations--you could be dead tomorrow. Besides, everybody has seen them around together; it’s obvious they’re much more than friends.
Approaching the tent, Marge balks at first. “Uh-uh, John… Not here. This isn’t exactly hidden, you know.”
John’s explanation of the sign seems to ease her fears just a little, and once inside the tent, they find complete privacy in its dim light, walking through the unkempt maze of cots, boxes and cabinets decorated with pin-ups and profane comments on the war, Japs, and superior officers. Marge feels herself relaxing, giving in without reservation to the inevitability of what is about to happen. Eyes wide with mock astonishment, she puts her finger on one particularly vulgar offering and stage-whispers, “Can Colonel Harris really do that to himself?” John puts his arms around her waist from behind and she spins to face him, standing on tip-toes and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Sure he can,” John says. This is photo recon… we’ve got the pictures to prove it!”
They silence the ensuing laughter with a brief kiss, then a longer one. John guides her to a hammock that hangs in a corner. After removing their muddy boots, he climbs in, then pulls her in on top of him. They continue the delicious kissing.
After awhile, they exchange positions. John raises up on his knees carefully so as not to dump them both out of the hammock. He peels off his shirt, exposing his lean, smoothly muscled torso. Marge smiles approvingly, her fingers tracing the taut contours of his abdominal muscles.
“You farm boys sure take good care of yourselves,” she says.
John unbuttons her fatigue blouse and gently runs his hands up under her tee shirt, baring her breasts, kissing each one softly. He undoes her belt, unbuttons her fatigue pants and pulls them off, leaving her lower half in nothing but drab, government-issue cotton panties and socks.
“Fetching, aren’t they?” she says, giving them both a case of the giggles as the panties add to the growing pile of clothes on the ground beneath them. They nearly add themselves to that pile as John reaches to his footlocker for a condom, nearly upsetting the hammock’s delicate balance.
In a small, dark chamber of his mind not yet overcome by the fine madness, there is dismay that the penetration is achieved without difficulty. But as the motion begins, slowly at first, then building in tempo as they master the hammock’s sway, the door to that chamber slams shut and the judgmental voice in his head that whispers you are not her first can no longer be heard.
After a time without seconds, without minutes, as she senses that he is about to climax, she tumbles into her own bliss as the sweet electricity begins to course through her body.
Not so far way
, another couple has also finished their lovemaking. Major Kathleen McNeilly, US Army Nurse Corps, lies naked in the arms of the equally naked Lieutenant Commander Martha Simpson, a head nurse for the adjacent US Naval base.
Chapter Seventeen
Lieutenant Commander Marcus “Mark” Colton, US Navy, intently studies an aerial photograph he has just, quite randomly, come across. Surrounding him in the Intelligence Section (G-2) of General MacArthur’s headquarters in Manila are hundreds of similar photographs and tactical maps. What he has come to see--accidentally--in this particular photo makes him very uneasy.
Mark Colton is a physicist by profession and a Navy officer by circumstance. Recruited from the University of Southern California, where he had been a graduate student under Dr. Oppenheimer at the onset of World War II, he spent two years as a young staff officer on the Manhattan Project. As this project was hopefully nearing its goal, General Groves sent some of his staff officers to combat commands as liaisons for the possible use of the atomic bombs. As the Pacific and Asian theaters against the Japanese were the only ones still active since the surrender of Germany, these officers soon found themselves in Guam with Nimitz, Manila with MacArthur, or India with Lord Mountbatten.
Colton was assigned to Nimitz’s staff at Guam, a very pleasing assignment, as staffs tended to reflect the personality of the commander. Admiral Nimitz was personable and easy going. Not so with MacArthur’s staff, most of whom adopted the imperiousness of their boss. MacArthur’s chief of staff, Lieutenant General Sutherland, was notably arrogant and abrasive. Coordinating the plans for the invasion of Japan between the two headquarters had, as a result, been extremely trying. The Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington had the foresight to retain overall command of Operation Olympic, delegating Admiral Nimitz to lead the amphibious invasion phase and General MacArthur to lead the land campaign on Kyushu.
Despite all the interservice friction, the intelligence staffs of the two headquarters had, at least, managed to strike up a cooperative relationship. It was in this spirit of cooperation that Mark Colton found himself in Manila; MacArthur’s original representative from the Manhattan Project, an Army chemist of frail constitution, had fallen ill in the malarial Philippines almost immediately. Colton was dispatched as a replacement indefinitely. His first task was to give the “top secret” briefing to all of MacArthur’s skeptical staff on the details of atomic weaponry. The briefing would have gone better had there actually been a successful test of the bomb.
Checking the identification information on the photo, Colton determines it had been taken over a week before and depicted bomb damage assessment of the docks at Fukuoka, Kyushu. He summons the half-dozen staff officers in the room to have a look; none of them venture any suggestion as to what the large, beer-barrel shaped object in this photo might be.
Not confident about being the stranger from a different service, Colton begins hesitantly. “You all know I spent the last two years on the Manhattan Project. We used to joke there that ‘if the damn thing didn’t have to fly, it would look just like a beer barrel.’ We have believed for some time the Japanese have access to enriched uranium from Germany. They also have a number of physicists knowledgeable in the field of nuclear reactions.”
The brief silence that follows is broken by a booming voice from the back of the room: “So, Commander, you think that’s a Jap atom bomb?”
Mark turns to face the speaker, Major General Charles Willoughby, MacArthur’s G-2. Feeling even less confident, Colton says, “I believe it’s entirely possible, sir.”
“And they’re going to deliver it by railroad?” Willoughby asks with a sneer. “An airplane could never lift that monstrosity!”
“Why not a railroad, sir? That would be a viable means of delivery on land,” Colton replies, feeling more sure of himself now. “You wouldn’t have to be right on top of the target to be effective…just close.”
Willoughby laughs. “I think you Navy boys develop these vivid imaginations from being at sea too long!”
There is some snickering in the room. Mark Colton feels like he has been hit with a ton of bricks… and he has never been to sea in his life. He has only crossed an ocean once; that journey had been made on an airplane.
Willoughby is not finished with his sarcasm. “And I suppose, Commander, you’ll be running to Nimitz with your wild-ass guess as quick as you can.”
Colton stands silently, fighting off the scientist’s need in him to argue his thesis. Willoughby’s ridicule does not matter, though. Informing Nimitz is Mark Colton’s duty. He will carry that duty out immediately.
As he turns back to his office, Willoughby says to his aide: “Tell Watkins at 6th Army to run a few more missions up that way. We’ll cover our asses and keep an eye on this thing… And advise the Operations boys that Army and Navy tactical air will continue to lay off trains until further notice. Keep using protecting American POWs as the cover story. And one more thing… make sure young Colton understands I was just having some fun with him.”
Colonel Watkins does as he is ordered and sends recon planes to photograph the Fukuoka docks again. The first two attempts are unsuccessful. On each occasion, poor weather prevents the pilot from getting the pictures. On the third attempt, photos are finally taken from 8000 feet. They reveal that the strange, beer-barrel shaped object is nowhere to be seen. John Worth did not fly any of these missions.
Chapter Eighteen
September 1945
General Walter Krueger, commander of the Sixth Army, felt physically exhausted. He sat among his subordinate commanders in the briefing room of his Manila headquarters, listening as his operations officer, or G-3, outlined the plan for Operation Olympic, the invasion of Kyushu. The G-3’s droning presentation was threatening to put the general to sleep.
At 64 years of age, Walter Krueger was truly an “old soldier.” Enlisting in the Army in 1898, he had quickly risen through the ranks. He had fought in the Philippines once before--during the Spanish-American War--and also in Europe during World War I. George Marshall had been a close friend for over 40 years. The Philippines campaign, however, was the first combat action he had seen in World War II. His army, one of two under MacArthur, had just fought and won the tough Leyte and Luzon campaigns. The intense, close combat and high casualty rates--over 10%--had taken their grueling toll. It was an infantryman’s nightmare. The Japanese had fought a war of attrition, yielding the beaches, then fighting fanatically from every cave, bunker, and foxhole of the heights beyond. MacArthur had, for a time, considered relieving Krueger because of the agonizingly slow progress his command was making, yet had given Walter Krueger the nod to command Operation Olympic’s ground troops; he was already in theater, he was blooded, and he was senior.
The information the G-3 was dispensing was old news to Krueger; other issues dominated the general’s thoughts as the briefing dragged on. He mentally reviewed his forces, which numbered over 300,000 assault troops with 200,000 support personnel.
The six army divisions slated for the initial assault were already with him in the Philippines, having participated in that now completed campaign. Three Marine divisions would also be in the initial assault and under his command once landed: two were veteran units in the Marianas, the third was in Hawaii and had not yet seen action. The combined force of nine divisions was organized into three corps of three divisions each. There would be three primary landing sites on Kyushu, one for each corps: Miazaki and Ariake Bay on the eastern coast for the Army Corps, Kushikino on the western coast for the Marines.
A fourth corps, comprised of two Army divisions, was in reserve. One of these divisions, the 98th Infantry, was in Hawaii and had never tasted combat. Three additional divisions would provide the follow-up force and secure the adjacent small islands of Tane-ga-shima and Yaku-shima to the south and Koshiki Retto to the west.
“Unfortunately, gentlemen,” the G-3 says, his monotone voice booming, “our forces will be composed, to a large degree, of green replacements.
In addition to recent combat losses, the demands of the points rotation system will send as many as half of our combat-experienced ground troops home before the invasion.”
The points system: a plan to qualify a soldier for discharge based on time overseas and the amount of combat action seen. It was instituted at the end of the war against Germany in an attempt to alleviate the insidiously creeping war weariness of those soldiers about to be redeployed from Europe to the Pacific. In fairness, it had to apply to soldiers with equal combat time in the Pacific theater, as that campaign still had no end in sight.
It was Washington’s hope that the system might alleviate some of the growing war weariness at home, as well.
One of the factors that had kept Krueger’s large Philippine casualty lists from growing even larger had been the effective teamwork the veteran combat units exhibited, especially in the face of close infantry fighting against a determined foe. The key to beating the Japanese in their chosen defensive stance was to ensure that each soldier determined to die for the Emperor took as few Americans to the afterlife with him as possible. If a single Japanese soldier could consistently wipe out entire squads of panicky, bunched-up GIs by blowing himself up, the calculus of victory might favor the Japanese.
Experienced US soldiers had learned those lessons. They kept their intervals, used maneuver effectively, and actually fired their weapons. Green troops would tend to cluster, cower, and never shoot. Now, through attrition, Krueger’s units would lose that edge. He hoped what was left of his experienced cadre had the time and opportunity to train at least some of that edge back into his inexperienced troops. His only consolation was the Japanese forces opposing him were expected to be equally as inexperienced and fewer in number due to their staggering combat losses and isolation of the large Japanese forces on mainland Asia.
East Wind Returns Page 7