“Makes sense to me,” Marge says.
“Not to them, though. They rated me as lacking aggressiveness, so I ended up in multi-engine training.”
“Lacking aggressiveness? What bullshit! Trust me, Farm Boy, you are not! Boy, the Army can be so stupid sometimes.”
They lay quietly for a few minutes more , bodies wedged tightly together, dreading the moment they must break apart. Finally, John breaks the silence.
“Everything OK at the hospital?” he asks.
“Yeah, things have really quieted down. If it wasn’t for you flyboys and your never-ending accidents, we wouldn’t have any critical care to do at all. We’re just getting ready to move with the Japan invasion… if that ever comes. We’re one of the first hospital units scheduled to go, you know… as soon as the air units start relocating.”
“Oh, good,” John says. “I’m glad you’re not that busy. That means you might actually get a day off soon?”
“Hey, I’ve gotten days off before… and I believe you’ve been the sole beneficiary of them, Captain,” Marge replies, elbowing him again, softly this time, aiming for the groin.
“No complaints here, Lieutenant… Well, maybe one…”
Marge props up on one elbow and glares down at him, her green eyes flashing. “You’ve got a complaint? This I’ve got to hear.”
“I’ve never seen you in anything but fatigues, Marge.”
“Wait a damn minute! You’ve seen me naked! Doesn’t that count?”
“Of course it counts, baby, but I’m talking about civvies.”
“John, we’re in the middle of a war. Who the hell wears civvies?”
He tugs on the football jersey she’s wearing. “You know how pilots are. We wear our sports jerseys and Hawaiian shirts when we’re off duty.”
“Well,” Marge says, “I do actually have some civvies…and speaking of Hawaiian, I have this dress I bought in Honolulu. It’s blue with big red flowers… It’s beautiful! I love it! Sure wish I had some place to wear it, though.”
John’s enthusiasm sets the hammock rocking wildly. “Oh, honey, please wear it for me! Anything that’s not pants. Be waiting for me when I come back from a mission wearing it!”
“Oh, no, John. Wouldn’t I look a little stupid standing on the ramp all dressed up like some lovesick tourist, just waiting and waiting and waiting for her man to return? And McNeilly would have me on report in a second for being out of uniform.”
“Ahh, who cares about report, Marge? Wear if for me!”
“No, John… It would be just my luck that that’s the mission you don’t…”
She stops her words cold, ashamed that this deepest, darkest, yet most obvious fear--the mission you don’t come back from--the fear that must always remain unspoken, had slipped so easily past the guardians of propriety and exposed itself to the light of day.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Marge… Please, just do it?”
Her face ashen, she swings out of the hammock and retrieves her pants from the pile of clothes on the wooden slat floor.
“No, John. Some day. Not now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“STALEMATE!”
Harry Truman looked at that headline and grimaced, angrily throwing the newspaper down on the conference table. It expressed the growing uneasiness of the American public with this long and costly war that had seemingly ground to a halt short of Japan’s unconditional surrender.
Turning to Secretary of State Byrnes, Truman says, “What do they expect us to do, Jimmy? Just walk into Tokyo and hand the Emperor the surrender document?”
Robert Patterson was a new face in the Oval Office. He had just replaced the aged Henry Stimson as Secretary of War.
Patterson rises to speak. “Mister President, the American public is ready for this war to end. The prospect of continued operations against Japan, like the bombings and the blockade, going on indefinitely, without Japan capitulating, is unacceptable.”
“Tell us something we don’t already know, Robert,” Byrnes says, with all the arrogance of an old hand upbraiding a newcomer.
Admiral Leahy, the President’s Chief of Staff, says, “Perhaps your American public finds the prospect of an invasion of Japan, with many thousands of American casualties, a more appealing outcome? Surely we can make them understand it is in our interests to continue to starve Japan into submission.”
Truman shakes his head dismissively.
“It’s no good, Admiral,” Truman says. “It’ll take too goddamn long. This war needs to be a distant memory by the 1948 elections. We need a Japanese surrender in our hands and damn soon!”
Leahy is startled by the President’s statement. “1948!” he says. “Why worry about the elections? Give LeMay another six months and he’ll burn all of Japan to the ground!”
General Marshall winces at Leahy’s last remark. He had never been fully convinced the fire bombing of Japanese civilians that General LeMay was pursuing was a wise policy. Hypothetically, he supposes, were we to lose the war, LeMay and all the rest of us could be tried as war criminals. Worse, the campaign isn’t even working…Japan still gives no hint of surrendering.
Marshall offers this sobering thought. “Invasion is inevitable, but we’re not ready to go yet. Training and logistics are not at the required level and, of course, there’s the typhoon threat through October.”
Secretary Patterson finally gets to speak again. “This Japanese intransigence is difficult to understand. Do they doubt our ability to crush them? What didn’t they understand about the terms of the Potsdam Declaration?”
The Allied leaders had met in July on freshly conquered territory at Potsdam, Germany, to reach agreement on the means to consummate the defeat of Japan. A final ultimatum was issued which called for the unconditional surrender of all Japanese Armed Forces or face annihilation. In its vague wording, it did not call for the elimination of the Emperor or the subjugation of the Japanese people. It never specifically mentioned the Emperor at all. The US Joint Chiefs had argued that maintaining the Emperor was essential, as he was the only entity who could ensure the surrender of Japanese troops all across Asia. Those troops would otherwise never give up and would have to be destroyed to the last man.
The Japanese War Council could not agree on the actual meaning of the ultimatum, but on the chance it meant elimination of the Emperor, they chose to ignore it, or remain silent.
Responding to his Secretary of War’s question, the President says, “They understand it, all right. The Emperor is just stalling, trying to save his own political hide.”
Trying to save his political hide was certainly something with which Truman could sympathize.
“We’ve made our terms clear enough,” Byrnes says. “Any further explanation or clarification will be seen as a sign of weakness and unwillingness to complete the task at hand. We’ve got our post-war position to consider vis-à-vis the Russians. We cannot back down now from our demand for unconditional surrender.”
Admiral Leahy throws open his arms in a pleading gesture and says, “Why? It’s just a term! Do we really care if the Mikado survives as a symbol so long as we’ve disarmed Japan? Let’s just make it clear to them the Emperor can stay!”
“NO!” Byrnes replies. “We have the future to consider. Any backing down, any weakness we show now will haunt us for decades!”
Patterson, astonished by Byrnes’ statement, speaks again. “What weakness? If just a few meaningless words will bring this war to a close, what’s the harm? Does it make us any less powerful?”
Flush with agreement, Leahy says: “Exactly! Your dreaded Russians understand the difference between words and deeds. So do our other allies. Do thousands more American boys have to die for your precious words?”
As Byrnes, feeling cornered, simmers, Patterson adds, “Not to mention untold numbers of Japanese.”
Handed this ill-considered attempt at persuasion, Byrnes explodes. “Does anybody here really give a shit about Japanese casualties? The
savages deserve everything they’ve gotten.”
Patterson responds calmly. “Mister Secretary, we are talking about our boys. Does anybody care about our potential casualties?”
“I do, Robert,” the President says.
“As I do, Mister President,” Marshall says. “But we mustn’t lose sight of the ultimate goal. Leaders from all quarters…political, scientific, military…have proposed we clarify our unconditional stance to allow continuation of the Mikado and expedite the surrender…”
Interrupting, Byrnes says, “A naive mistake!”
Marshall finishes his sentence: “…with the exception, of course, of the Secretary of State.”
Byrnes lashes out. “And what of your new atomic bomb, General Marshall? Will it ever be ready?”
“We are hopeful it will be soon, Mister Secretary...”
“Hopefully not,” Leahy says, shaking his head. His comment draws looks of annoyance from Marshall and General Arnold, the Air Force Chief of Staff.
Marshall, growing tired of being interrupted, finishes his sentence once again: “…for whatever use it might be.” He was growing especially irritated with Leahy; he expected soft-headedness from politicians but not military men.
Byrnes, eager to maintain the upper hand, attacks once again. “Explain to the American people, Admiral, why we failed to use every means in our possession to save American lives and end this war.”
Leahy does not back down an inch. “In your own words, Secretary Byrnes, we have the future to consider. Is clarifying our stance not a means in our possession? Do we put the onus of this horrific weapon, if it even works, on ourselves and the American people by using it on an already beaten foe?”
Truman decides it is time to take back control of this discourse. “Gentlemen… I don’t believe the American people will care how we get Japan to surrender, and I’m open to all military possibilities.”
The President pauses as Admiral King, Chief of Naval Operations, storms into the room. Angrily, he hurls his uniform cap onto the conference table.
“Ahh, Admiral King,” the President says. “Back from Guam, I see.”
King says, “Mister President, while you’re speaking of military possibilities, Admiral Nimitz has just informed me of a most disturbing one that MacArthur has apparently failed to mention…”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Halfway around the world from Washington, it was mid-afternoon. John had flown a weather recon flight to the China coast that morning. It was not scheduled to be his mission, but he had volunteered. A few Jap fighters had tried to intercept him, but he was too high for them and got away easily. Now he was back at Kadena, pensive and restless as he walks Marge to the hospital; her shift would start soon.
“What are you thinking about, honey?” Marge asks.
“Oh, I was thinking about something Uncle Leo said.”
“Who’s Uncle Leo?”
“My dad’s older brother. He’s an engineer for the A.T.S.F.,” John says.
“What’s the A.T.S.F.?”
“The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad.”
Marge laughs. “You mean just like the song? You’re not going to start singing, are you?”
“No,” he says, laughing, too. “There’s no musical score to this story. Uncle Leo’s been driving trains ever since he got back from World War I. He was a doughboy… actually saw combat in France. One of his regular runs used to pass a couple of miles from the farm. Sometimes, I’d bicycle to the depot and he’d let me ride with him…Used to let me drive, too, once I understood how everything worked.”
“And how old were you when this was going on, honey?” she asks.
“Ten. Maybe 11.”
“Oh, geez! A 10 year old driving a locomotive! My daddy the lawyer would have a field day with that one!”
“I might have scared a few cows, but that’s about it,” John says. “Once, I drove all the way to Cincinnati and back. I thought my parents would be frantic… probably kill me when I got back the next day… but what I didn’t know was Uncle Leo had cleared it with them in advance.”
“You didn’t tell your parents you’d be gone overnight?”
“I didn’t know, Marge! When Uncle Leo told me the itinerary, it was…you know…the chance of a lifetime to a kid.”
Her face turns serious, her eyes pleading. “Promise you’ll never do that to me. I’ve got to know when you’re coming back.”
“I promise, Marge…Really, I do.”
She perks back up a bit and says, “But it’s pretty great that you got to do that as a kid. You must have been really thrilled.”
“You bet I was! To be driving that much machine…learning how the boiler and all the valves worked…making all that smoke and steam…high-balling through miles and miles of farms, towns, cities… You know, I just love the way machines work!”
“Oh, I know that, baby. Watching you around that airplane of yours…the way you talk to it sometimes… It’s so adorable…” Then she sighs and says, “But I don’t like where the damn thing takes you!”
“Yeah...but she always brings me back.”
“She’d better,” Marge says. “But get back to your story. What did Uncle Leo say?”
“Well, he told me about war, what fighting in the trenches was like. He gave me a piece of advice when I enlisted. He said the only thing important is keeping yourself alive. Don’t believe all the slogans about duty, honor, country… it’s all bullshit… just a way to get you to do their bidding…to do things you wouldn’t do in your right mind.”
Marge can’t believe her ears. He has hit her most sensitive nerve.
“John, I agree with your Uncle Leo completely… but I don’t think you do! What are you trying to prove, honey? Nobody is forcing you to fly this much…Shit, you didn’t even have to fly today! Haven’t you done enough?”
John tries to interrupt but she will not be silenced.
“Do you really think that because there are no guns on your airplane, your actions are somehow less important? I love you, baby…I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, yet I live with it every fucking day since I met you… I know this is a war, but please, baby, can you take it a little easy… for me?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing! That thing today was a milk run.” John says.
“Milk run, my ass, John! Japs don’t chase you on milk runs.”
Taking her in his arms, he smiles and says, “I love how you swear when you’re mad.”
Her fists beat softly against his chest in frustration. “You haven’t heard swearing yet, Farm Boy.”
“You’re not exactly at some picnic, either, Marge. Don’t build me up like I’m some daredevil hero. I’m not fighting… I’m just the guy taking the pictures.”
Quiet but not comforted, she stops the ineffectual pummeling, resting her head against his chest instead.
“Marge, why’d you join up, anyway?”
“To take care of dumb bastards like you!”
He doesn’t have an answer for that one.
“But why do you fly so much, John?”
“Baby, if I sat it out, I’d feel worthless.”
“You just don’t realize how special you are,” she whispers.
He doesn’t have an answer for that one, either.
After a kiss, he spins her around, points her toward the hospital and says, “Now get to work, Lieutenant!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
George Marshall did not like being blindsided. He turned to confront Ernest King.
“That’s a very strong accusation, Admiral King,” Marshall says. “What are you getting at?”
King, no less agitated than when he stormed into the White House conference room moments before, amplifies his claim. “You know exactly what I’m getting at… MacArthur is holding back intelligence information so as not to disturb his precious invasion plans. I only just found this out from Nimitz…”
President Truman slams his hands on his desk
in anger. “Wait a damn minute,” the President says. “What are we talking about here?”
King goes for dramatic effect; he takes a big pause before continuing. The only real effect, however, is to further irritate everyone else in the room.
“Mister President,” King finally says, “there is an excellent possibility that the Japanese have a nuclear weapon they plan to use against the invasion forces. Navy nuclear experts believe they have photographic evidence of such a weapon on Kyushu.”
“You say Navy experts… what does the Army think?” Truman asks, turning to Marshall.
Calmly, Marshall begins. “Mister President, we have been advised of this information and General MacArthur does not believe it credible at this time. The object in question has been only sighted once, in an aerial photo. Its actual nature is pure speculation.”
“Self-serving bullshit!” King says. “The Army is so hell bent on this unnecessary invasion they’ll twist and distort anything that gets in their way… Damn the consequences!”
Admiral Leahy, glaring at Marshall, wades into the fray. “Mister President, if General MacArthur has attempted to withhold this information, I believe his judgment is compromised and I suggest you should consider relieving him of command. Obviously, the invasion must be placed on hold in light of this new contingency.”
A livid Secretary of State Byrnes jumps in. “Admiral, just who the hell are you to suggest such a thing to the President of the United States?”
Leahy fires back: “I am Chief of Staff, in case you have forgotten, and it is my duty to advise the President. Mister Secretary, you cannot ignore intelligence that does not fit your agenda! That’s just criminally negligent.”
“And you cannot fabricate intelligence to suit yours!” Byrnes replies.
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