“Now, gentlemen,” the G-3 continued, “current intelligence suggests a three to one advantage for the Americans on southern Kyushu. Casualty estimates are on a par with Luzon, Okinawa, and Normandy.”
The G-3 turned to the large, wall-mounted map of Kyushu. “Our objective is simple…capture and hold the airfields and harbors of southern Kyushu. The airfields will put almost all of Japan within reach of the entire 5th Air Force, whose current activities barely extend beyond Kyushu. The anchorages will allow the Navy to finally enter and dominate the Sea of Japan with surface ships, not just submarines. By the second day of the operation, our air units will begin relocation from Okinawa to Kyushu.”
His pointer swept across the map of Kyushu. “The mountains of central Kyushu,” he continued, “delineate a natural line of defense, allowing our forces to easily isolate southern Kyushu from the additional Japanese troops in the north. Were these troops able to move south, the total number of Japanese in the fight could approach our own. Therefore, we will prevent this from happening. There are few roads and even fewer rail lines through the mountains. Sealing them off will be a simple task.”
General Krueger’s thoughts drifted to the Kamikaze, the effectiveness of which had grown to terrible fruition during the invasion of Okinawa. They would pose the only danger to the Kyushu invasion fleet. It was expected that thousands of suicide aircraft and boats would attack the US fleet, the carriers and troop transports being the prime targets. Krueger resigned himself to the knowledge that there was little he could do protect his embarked troops from this menace. That responsibility would lie with Admiral Nimitz.
One more thing troubled the weary general: the prospect of facing civilians determined to fight to the death. While he considered civilians in pitched battle as militarily ineffective and nothing more than a nuisance, he wondered how his troops would react to slaughtering them wholesale, especially if they were armed only with crude weapons, such as bamboo spears. MacArthur’s staff was already preparing tales of “atrocities” by Japanese civilians against US soldiers, to be used as necessary to keep the bloodlust fueled. By all reports, though, the Japanese civilians on Okinawa had not participated in combat; while a very small number engaged in sabotage and assassinations, most were terrified of the Americans and did not fight. Thousands committed suicide, often whole families together, rather than face life under the invaders.
The G-3 had ceased speaking, his briefing complete. General Krueger rises for questions, shedding the demeanor of the tired old man and once more re-acquiring the aura of the determined old soldier, prepared to practice his art.
Turning to his G-3, Krueger says, “Fine job, Colonel. Thank you.”
The first question, from a corps commander, is a request for clarification of 6th Army’s headquarters location once landed.
Krueger answers: “At the Ariake Bay beachhead.”
Chapter Nineteen
MacArthur and his senior staff were fashionably late for their own planning session. His junior staff members, along with Mark Colton, were already waiting in the situation room of his Manila headquarters and deeply embroiled in a debate about nuclear weapons, both American and Japanese. Colton found himself besieged at the center of this spirited discussion, defending both the existence and usefulness of nuclear technology to his highly skeptical peers.
An Army major summed up the prevailing wisdom at the headquarters concisely: “If the Old Man doesn’t buy this Buck Rogers crap, then neither do I.”
The junior staff did not realize that MacArthur himself had quietly entered the room--most atypically--and was listening to their intense discourse. General Sutherland, MacArthur’s Chief of Staff, began to call the junior officers to attention, but MacArthur silently raised a hand to stop him. He wanted to enjoy this exchange firsthand and unfiltered.
Several moments later, the young officers realize the great man himself is standing among them and spring to attention, mortified at their breach of military etiquette. It had always seemed that the General’s every movement was accompanied by a brass band and a bevy of photographers. How in hell had he slipped into the room unnoticed? MacArthur seems unconcerned, though, commands them to be seated, and strides to the middle of the group, which closes around him, waiting to hear the wisdom of a sage.
In fact, MacArthur really hadn’t planned to be at this meeting at all. He changed his mind in a snit, however, when he was informed that Chester Nimitz had chosen not to attend after initially indicating he would. Nimitz had little choice, though. Admiral King--the Chief of Naval Operations and his boss--had summoned him to Pearl Harbor for a meeting. In the petty world of giant egos, MacArthur considered this quite a snub, one he suspected King had intentionally arranged. Now, by his own, low-key presence, MacArthur was looking to appear more “in command,” less beholden to superiors. Above all, he would use this opportunity to influence the naval staff to his way of thinking without the countervailing presence of the Pacific Fleet Commander, thereby tilting the planning for the invasion--supposedly balanced between the wishes of the Army and Navy--to the Army’s viewpoint.
Such complicated arrangements for joint staff meetings would not be necessary if MacArthur’s and Nimitz’s headquarters were co-located, but both refused to leave their respective headquarters at Manila and Guam. The Joint Chiefs in Washington had tried repeatedly to get the isolated commanders to reconsider but always stopped short of ordering one of them to relocate, avoiding the blow that would result to that man’s status. The Solomon-like solution of relocating both headquarters to a neutral location would be an administrative and logistical waste of time, commodities that Washington was running out of quickly. The headquarters would remain separate but equal.
Looking directly at Mark Colton, MacArthur says, voice booming, “You’re telling me the Japs might have an atomic bomb… and they could employ it against our invasion forces on land or sea? Ridiculous! We don’t even have one that works!”
Intimidated and terribly nervous, Colton replies, “Sir, we are very close to the final test. Dr. Oppenheimer’s team is doing amazing work perfecting a device light enough to be carried and dropped by an airplane. What we believe may be a Japanese device appears much too large and heavy for aircraft. Developing it would have been a much simpler task.”
MacArthur laughs. “Commander, I’ll believe it when I see it. Gentleman, if we ever do have a working atom bomb, give it to me. It will soften the Japs up for the invasion.”
There is only cowed silence from the assembled staff.
A naval captain, one of Nimitz’s liaison officers, finally musters the courage to speak. “General, there’s much scuttlebutt that the Japs will surrender before we invade. They’re being strangled by our naval blockade and bombed mercilessly by the Air Force. Quite frankly, sir, it’s growing hard to motivate the training exercises. Nobody wants to be the last man to die in a war that’s going to end very soon.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, MacArthur says, “That would all be very fine. Their surrender would make my arrival in Tokyo much easier. But you better not believe this war is going to end quite that quickly! They will not surrender until we can reach out and grab that little rodent Hirohito by the throat! Only our troops on their home soil will achieve that…and if your sailors and marines don’t believe that, Captain, I suggest you kick yourself and them in the ass!”
The Navy men were taking a beating today.
An Army colonel rises with a question. “But what about suicide attacks, sir? Won’t they fight more fanatically on their home soil…even civilians?”
The fire in MacArthur’s eyes was about to burn holes in the questioner. “Fanaticism…I despise that word, Colonel. To me, it represents accelerated suicide…a quicker guaranteed death. How much more fanatical or dead do the vanquished defenders of Leyte or Okinawa become?”
Calm but still forceful, the General continues: “Determination…now there’s a word I like. For the American warrior, it is what comes fr
om competence, sound tactics, and steel. That’s what wins wars. Dying is not a strategy, it is folly…and no competent general would allow civilians as combatants on his field of battle. If they were foolish enough to do so, we would sweep them aside like any other nuisance.”
Yet another naval officer rises and asks, “General, you mentioned use of atomic bombs. Against what would you employ them? Rumor has it that Admiral King and Admiral Leahy have expressed their opposition to using them against cities. They fear it’s immoral to use a weapon like this, a weapon that changes the very nature of warfare, against non-military targets.”
Now infuriated, MacArthur bellows, “Gentlemen, may I remind you there is no city in Japan that is not a military target. General Willoughby, your people continue to amaze us with aerial recon reports that indicate little defensive preparation in progress on the beaches and plains of Kyushu. Where are all the troops?”
“In the cities, sir, just like on the other home islands…the munitions factories as well,” Willoughby says.
MacArthur’s body language is making it clear that this impromptu question and answer session is over.
“Let me make it clear one more time, gentlemen. We must invade, regardless of rumors of atomic bombs, Japanese or American. Nothing else will bring that little boy soldier, the Emperor, to his knees. And make no mistake: only the Emperor can make Japanese troops throughout Asia lay down their arms. I will be the man who accomplishes this. Unfortunately, the Joint Chiefs in Washington still make the call whether we actually go or not, but I know General Marshall also believes in this invasion and I trust he has convinced the President of its necessity. Now, let’s get down to business. We have invasion plans to refine. One more thing, gentlemen: there will be no discussion of atomic bombs outside this room. Is that understood?”
When Admiral Nimitz, after returning to Guam, was told of MacArthur’s remarks, he just smiled, shook his head and said, “Douglas just can’t wait to be the king of something.”
He also knew that MacArthur would never rest until he exacted his revenge for being driven out of the Philippines over 3 years ago.
Nimitz immediately called for a review of the invasion fleet’s defensive plan against submarines. Kamikazes were one thing, atom bombs trying to infiltrate and destroy his fleet entirely another. He was as skeptical as the next man about the possibility of atom bombs, but he prided himself on comprehensive planning for any contingency. Better to be safe than dreadfully sorry.
Nimitz knew something of submarines; he had been Chief of Staff to the Atlantic Submarine Force during World War I and helped develop US submarine doctrine after that war. He realized that it would take a fairly large submarine to successfully carry what was purported to be Japan’s weapon. He knew that large submarines numbered very few in the Imperial Japanese Navy.
Were he commanding the Japanese fleet right now, such a submarine would be awaiting its mission in an anchorage on the Sea of Japan in northern Honshu, perhaps near Sakata, just out of reach of American bombers from Okinawa, the Mariana’s, or the Aleutian’s. It would have to travel over 600 miles to meet an invasion fleet off southern Kyushu, over a two-day voyage on the surface. It would not be able to stay submerged for more than a few hours at a time.
The defenders of Kyushu would have, at best, two to three days’ warning of the invasion fleet’s approach, assuming it was spotted by long-range maritime reconnaissance aircraft, surface ships, or submarines who could radio a warning before being destroyed. Any vessel carrying the atomic bomb would have to be ready to sail from a port on Kyushu, southern Honshu, or Shikoku.
Nimitz realized that it did not matter if such a sub was currently out of his reach. It would have to be repositioned to more vulnerable waters to attack his fleet. Since current aerial reconnaissance indicated little, if any, Japanese naval buildup around Kyushu, the presence of such a vessel would be very conspicuous and a most tempting target. To effectively employ the weapon, the sub would have to be on or near the surface, easily seen by aircraft in daylight. His most serious problem was if the sub managed to escape detection while in the waters around Kyushu and approached his fleet at night: radar and sonar would be the only practical means of detection.
To ensure maximum safety from a nuclear device, his anti-submarine forces must be able to destroy or sink the intruder at 5 or more miles from the fleet in case the stricken vessel manages to detonate its atomic payload during its death throes. Nimitz’s fleet would cover over a vast area--100 square miles of ocean. To lower the margin of error for detection, it would be necessary to predict the intruder’s most likely avenues of approach to so broad a target and intercept it as close to the home islands as possible.
Taking all this into account, Nimitz directed his staff to revise the fleet defensive accordingly. Nowhere in the plan were the words nuclear or atomic to be used, nor were those words to be uttered in any pre-invasion briefing to the fleet’s sailors and airmen.
Chapter Twenty
Marge Braden jerks away from her obnoxious patient in Bed Three and flees the ward tent. Outside, she finds her friend and fellow nurse, Nancy Bergstrom, striking a Marlene Dietrich pose as she leans against a stout tent post, playing the seductress even on a cigarette break. She throws back her head against the post, the bun in her white blonde hair acting as a cushion as she exhales smoke rings with world-be-damned defiance. She turns, bemused, as the flustered Marge approaches.
“Nancy, just who the hell is that arrogant prick in Bed Three? If he touches me one more time, I’m gonna have to poison him!”
“Well, Margie, I see you’ve met Captain Harmon Mann.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah…I met him right after we got here. A brief liaison.”
The offhandedness of Nancy’s admission takes Marge by surprise. “You never mentioned him.”
“He’s really not worth discussing…just another stupid rich boy…A Yalie. Crappy pilot too, I hear. A real fuck-up. Nobody wants to fly with him. His daddy’s a US Senator. You know, Frederick Mann?”
“OK, I’ve heard of Senator Mann…from Connecticut, right? Very rich…been a senator forever?”
“Yep, that’s him,” Nancy says, watching more smoke rings drift away.
“Hmm. But if this Harmon character is so well-connected…and a fuck-up to boot, what’s he doing out here at all? All the rich assholes I knew back home ducked the service completely.”
“Because, sweetie, the family has big political plans for the boy. Honorable war service is a must. Apparently, he tried to duck overseas service but his parents put the kibosh on that. So he’ll put a little time in over here and then get shipped back to the States a regular goddamn hero.”
With a triumphant grin on her usually deadpan face, Nancy delivers the final blow. “And here’s the best part. His fighter plane is named after his MOTHER!”
“His Mother! Oh my God…that’s pathetic!” Marge says, giggling so hard she grabs a tent pole for support.
“Actually,” Nancy says, “I was kind of attracted to him at first. He seemed charming, in a dumb sort of way. Then I realized he’s just your typical, over-privileged rich kid. Nicest thing I can say about him now is that he disgusts me. He’s arrogant, shallow, self-obsessed, abusive, and not too bright. Anyway, you know my heart belongs to doctors. He seems to be taking quite a liking to you, though, honeybunch.”
“Forget it, Nancy. I know that rich boy type too well.”
Nancy frowns. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and all that crap.”
“Cut it out, Nancy. That’s not true.”
A knowing smile crosses Nancy’s face. “Yeah, it is, honey.”
Nancy takes another deep drag on her cigarette as she thinks there you go again, Little Margie, dishing up another load of that “I’m gonna marry for love” bullshit.
“You know, Margie, I do get pissed off sometimes how guys fall all over you”
“Nancy! Look who’s talki
ng! Besides, guys here will chase anything in a skirt.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Nancy says. “I saw how he looked at you. It wasn’t just that I’ve gotta tap out this one shit. It’s always that swooning I want to bring this one home to meet Mother...And when’s the last time you wore a skirt, anyway?”
“Same as you, Nurse Bergstrom, on the boat going to the Philippines, with guys trying to look up our thighs every time we sat down.”
Nancy throws her head back and blows yet another set of smoke rings. “Yeah, those were good times,” she says, as the rings dissolve and float away.
Nancy produces a prophylactic from her pocket and waves it in front of Marge. “So what do you think? You gonna give the arrogant little prick a tumble?”
“Nancy! You know I’m with John. For once I meet a guy who’s not all full of himself, treats me nice and can stand on his own two feet.”
“And he’s a good looking stud, too, right?”
Marge frowns, waves off Nancy’s assertion and finishes her sentence, “What would I want with some pampered brat like Harmon Mann now?”
“Well, he is loaded, honey.”
“That’s the problem,” Marge says.
“Unfortunately, my dear little romantic, you are going to have to provide medical care to him.”
“For advanced athlete’s foot, of all things! Don’t these idiots pay attention to the hygiene films?”
Nancy laughs. “He probably gave it to himself on purpose, sweetie…walked around in damp socks for weeks, I’ll bet…Anything to get out of flying.”
Marge shakes her head sadly. “Anything to get out of flying, huh? Sometimes, I wish John would think of doing something like that. He’s obsessed. Nobody should fly as much as he does. I just worry so much.”
East Wind Returns Page 8