East Wind Returns

by Grasso, William Peter

  “You, me, and Colonel Watkins are going to Manila, John,” Colonel Harris says. “That certain something in those photos of yours really interests them up at MacArthur’s HQ. You seem to have the knack for finding that thing, whatever it is, so they want you with us. Pack a bag…our C-47 leaves at 1300.”

  John is shocked for two reasons: first, that he is actually going to MacArthur’s HQ; second, that is the most Harris has ever said to him in the Colonel’s brief, lackluster tenure as C.O.

  When John tells Marge of the impending trip, she gushes with joy. “Now I know something great is going to happen! Even better, I’ll bet they’ve decided you’re too valuable and they’re going to ground you!” She ignores, for this exhilarating moment, that such an event would probably entail his being shipped back to the States.

  “I don’t think so, Marge. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “OK, OK. So how long are you going to be gone, Farm Boy?”

  “Sounds like two days, give or take the time to hitch a ride back here.”

  “Now don’t go meeting any pretty girls in Manila,” Marge says. She is upbeat, which almost makes it sound like she is kidding.

  “No problem…and you keep those other ardent suitors away,” John replies. He is dead serious, not kidding at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Corporal Leonard Petrillo is hard at work but not happy. He is putting the finishing touches on a brake change, just about ready to drop the plane off the jack, but it is some other F-5, not f-stop. He is in a mood to grumble.

  “Hey, Sarge,” Petrillo says, “how come we spend so much time doing other guys’ jobs? I swear, we work more on these other pieces of shit than we do on f-stop.”

  “It’s simple,” Chuck Jaworski replies. “Captain Worth is a mechanic who happens to be a pilot. These other guys are pilots pretending they understand mechanical stuff. When the Captain has a problem, he pretty much tells us exactly what’s wrong down to the last nut and bolt. It’s like having a pilot and a mechanic on board, so we nail f-stop’s problems on the first try. Those other pilots are just describing symptoms that they get wrong half the time. With their airplanes, there’re lots of do-overs, lots of extra work and wasted time, so we do our bit and help them out. Plus, Captain Worth never blames the airplane when he messes up…not like them other pilots. That’s how come the other crews keep getting gripes they can’t duplicate. There was never anything wrong with the plane in the first place…the pilot just made a mistake. More wasted time…”

  Corporal Travis Lucas stops working on the engine and turns to Jaworski. “Captain Worth made a mistake?” Lucas says, looking genuinely surprised. “When’d that happen?”

  “John Worth’s damn good,” Jaworski replies. “Best pilot I’ve ever seen. Better than all these hot shit fighter jocks…but nobody’s perfect.”

  “Not even you, Sarge?” Lucas asks, with a sly grin.

  “Not even me, redneck. And speaking of mistakes, did you get all the fuel cleaned up after that leak? I don’t want to turn this engine over and get us another fireball.”

  “Keep your britches on, Sarge. I’m working on it.”

  As they work, the topic of conversation switches to the progress of the war against Japan. With great enthusiasm, Petrillo says, “These fuckin’ Nips are gonna throw in the towel any minute! Everybody’s sayin’ it! They ain’t got nothin’ left! Our planes come and go as they fuckin’ please. This squadron ain’t lost one since Lieutenant Knox went missin’.” Petrillo makes a rapid sign of the cross. “God knows what happened to him.”

  Lucas, still wiping spilled fuel out of the nacelle panels, replies, “Lenny, you dumb Yankee, don’t believe them rumors. We ain’t talkin’ Brooklyn sissies here. We’re talking Japs, and Japs don’t surrender, they just die. Them Germans didn’t surrender until we marched into Berlin and shot Hitler.”

  “Who you calling dumb, you ignorant cracker? We didn’t march into Berlin, the Russians did. And Hitler committed suicide. Don’t they teach you how to fuckin’ read down south?”

  The Confederate rebel in Travis Lucas boils to the surface. He stands defiant, arms crossed. “Who gives a goddamn shit how the son of a bitch died? And ain’t the Russians on our side?”

  “Supposed to be,” Jaworski says, “but I see it this way. The Emperor won’t quit until he gets a deal where Truman and MacArthur don’t hang him. I think there’s still going to be a lot of dying before that happens and it won’t be him doing it.”

  “So you still think we’re gonna invade, Sarge?” Petrillo asked.

  “No doubt. Take a look around you, Leonard. Does anything here look permanent to you? This is an assembly point for an invasion. One way or another, you, me and all these machines are going to Kyushu soon.” Dropping the big brother tone, Chuck Jaworski becomes the taskmaster again. “But there ain’t going to be no goddamn invasion if you two goldbricks don’t get this plane back into the sky! So knock off your jawing… the Civil War ended a long time ago. Now get back to work!”

  Chapter Forty

  General Marshall had just announced some very important news to the occupants of the Oval Office. Secretary of State James Byrnes was overtly delighted; the others took the news with some reserve.

  “So the damned thing works, does it? Fantastic!” Byrnes says.

  “That’s correct, Mister Secretary,” George Marshall replies. “The test was completely satisfactory. We now have a working atomic weapon.”

  President Truman is pensive. “So, General, when can a bomb be in theater, ready for use?”

  “By the second week in November, Mister President.”

  “That’s a bit longer than your original estimate. What happened?”

  “There were delays in fabrication and construction. From what I am told, a major redesign was undertaken, but we have success at last, Mister President.”

  “OK, that’s just great,” Truman says as he contemplates the effect of Marshall’s news on the invasion.

  Admiral Leahy is more than a little concerned. “Mister President, we must give serious and immediate consideration to the question of using this terrible weapon at all.”

  Byrnes jumps up, ready as always to do verbal battle. “What are you talking about, Admiral? We now have the greatest power in the universe at our fingertips. Of course we’re going to use it!”

  “James,” Leahy says, “you forget that apparently we are not the only ones with this power.”

  Byrnes shrugs off Leahy’s admonition. “Yeah, maybe the Japs have it, too, but we can stop them and they can’t stop us. They can’t stop a B-29.”

  Admiral King, sitting next to Leahy, remains silent but privately amused. He supposes Jimmy Byrnes doesn’t realize just how many B-29’s have been lost over Japan.

  General Arnold’s body language is unmistakable: he cannot wait to drop this thing on a Japanese city teeming with civilians. His excitement is palpable, almost childlike. The others cannot help but remember that not so long ago Arnold had expressed no such enthusiasm about bombing German civilians. Instead, he chose to perpetuate the myth that his air forces in Europe had been practicing precision bombing, sparing civilians while striking purely military and industrial targets--despite all the evidence to the contrary.

  Leahy plays devil’s advocate. “Despite the fact many of our generals, including Eisenhower, are not in favor of it, there seems no doubt the Army is prepared to drop the atom bomb right now for no other reason except we can. But if we are to do so, we have several questions we must answer. First, what would we drop it on? Do we use it against a Japanese city? A military base? Or do we announce and perform a demonstration of this bomb’s terrible power off the coast of Japan in the hope of bringing the Emperor and his war leaders to their senses? Most importantly, how does all this affect the invasion plans?”

  Byrnes has no patience for this moralizing. “All Japanese military bases, even the ones on the Pacific islands we bypassed, are in or adjacent to centers of civilian
populations, so your first two choices are really only one. And as to a demonstration at sea, do we really think we’ll sway the Japanese, who seem determined to die to the last person, by killing fish?”

  There is dead silence in the room for a few moments until Leahy says, “Professor Einstein and a host of our prominent scientists have urged a demonstration. They seem to be the only ones who begin to understand the universal chaos atomic weaponry will unleash. It is the only humane approach, except, of course, the option not to use the bomb at all.”

  “Your scientists are not responsible for bringing this war to a timely close,” Byrnes says.

  “No, Jimmy’s right. I am the one responsible.” Truman says, still preoccupied but obviously following the debate. The irony of Leahy’s humane argument weighs heavily on his already burdened soul since they had been incinerating Japanese civilians by the hundreds of thousands in LeMay’s firebombing raids for months.

  The voices in Truman’s head have many questions:

  Should we unleash a method of massive devastation never before envisioned on an already-beaten foe?

  Are the scientists right? Does this usher in a new era, bringing us a step closer to Armageddon?

  Is Jimmy Byrnes right? Will it serve more than anything as a demonstration to “Uncle Joe” Stalin and keep him in line, now that he has finally stopped cooperating with Japan and will demand spoils in Asia?

  Will it end this damn war?

  Why the hell won’t they just surrender right now and make it easy for me?

  As his mind reels, Truman asks Arnold a question already made irrelevant by the discussion at hand. “What did General Groves say about your idea to use our bomb against a Japanese bomb?”

  Somewhat puzzled, Arnold replies: “He was not in favor of the idea, Mister President.”

  “And I’ll tell you why,” Byrnes says. “Because unless their bomb is in the middle of a Japanese city, it’s a goddamn waste of our bomb! The latest information puts it near an invasion beach, away from any big city, is that not correct?”

  “That’s correct, Mister Secretary,” Marshall replies.

  The room falls quiet again as they wait for a decision from their distraught president.

  After a few moments, Truman recovers his focus. Thumbing through Groves’ report on the successful test, he asks, “I understand blast effects, but what’s this talk about radiation? What are the ramifications of it for our invasion troops?”

  Admiral King finally speaks up. “Groves tells us that radioactive nuclear particles will remain in the area of an atomic blast and some will be carried away with the wind, affecting other areas. These particles remain active, emitting radiation for weeks, perhaps months, and have the potential to cause harmful effects to the human body, even death.”

  Byrnes waves his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t sound very exact, Admiral.”

  “That’s because it’s uncharted territory, Mister Secretary,” King says, with no hint of respect when speaking the man’s title.

  Truman turns to Marshall. “Do we have a list of target cities prepared?”

  “Yes, Mister President, we have such a list. All the cities are ones we have not extensively firebombed, so the level of devastation from the atomic blast will be readily apparent.”

  Leahy sinks into despair. Not only is it obvious to him Truman has decided to use the atom bomb against a Japanese city, he appears ready to continue the invasion, as well. The die is cast. Ethical considerations are not going to be a factor.

  “How hard was it to come up with that list?” Leahy asks. “I thought LeMay burned almost everything to the ground already.”

  Unflustered, Marshall continues. “Of course, all the target cities are at least 50 miles from the invasion sites…and all are upwind…so effects from our bomb would be nonexistent for our troops.”

  “I see,” the President says. “And LeMay’s boys will deliver the bomb?”

  “Yes, Mister President,” Arnold replies, then pauses before nervously introducing a new issue. “There is one more thing about the bomb delivery, sir. As you know, General Spaatz is LeMay’s theater commander, and he has insisted on written orders before dropping any atomic bomb.”

  Marshall, blindsided by Arnold’s statement, is visibly upset, but before he can say a word Byrnes jumps up angrily and shouts, “Damn it! He’ll do what he’s told, written or not!”

  King lets out a loud guffaw. “Tell Spaatz that won’t help him at the war crimes trial. The Japs will behead him, anyway, along with the rest of us!”

  Incensed, Truman holds up his hands, signaling for silence. “There will be no more talk like that in this chamber, Admiral King. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mister President,” King replies, trying to sound humble but not quite hitting the mark. “I was joking. I apologize.”

  Then the President turns his glare to the red-faced Marshall. “What’s it going to be, General?”

  Despite his annoyance with Arnold, Marshall replies calmly, without hesitation. “Orders for the atomic mission will be published by the end of the day, Mister President.”

  “Fine. Make that happen.”

  The President then turns toward the window and is stunned by the apparition that greets him. Despite the fact it is a bright, sunny fall afternoon, all he can see is a gray void. The trees, rather than turning vibrant colors, resemble charred skeletons. All of Washington, D.C. seems to have been consumed by fire. Nothing is alive.

  Truman feels like his stomach is tied in knots. He fights the urge to vomit. There is an enormous weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He had fought in a war and knew the vicious realities of politics, but nothing had prepared him for this.

  The President realized he would carry the enormity of this decision to his grave. He really did not believe he had a choice, though. He had to use every weapon at his disposal to end this war as soon as possible while retaining his country’s dominant position in world affairs. Nothing else mattered; damn the consequences. This steamroller had been set in motion long before he was forced into the presidency; he had little incentive to try and stop it.

  He quickly turns back to the conference table. The motion makes him dizzy, like the room is spinning. His eyes fall on Leahy, his Chief of Staff, who is furiously writing.

  Probably his resignation, Truman surmises.

  The President steadies himself against the conference table and manages to ask one more question. “So, General Marshall…the invasion will begin 7 November?”

  Marshall, puzzled by this inquiry of something that is common knowledge for those present, replies, “Yes…of course, Mister President.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  John Worth sits uncomfortably in MacArthur’s Manila conference room, feeling like a very small fish in a very big pond. Lieutenant General Sutherland, MacArthur’s Chief of Staff, and Major General Willoughby, the G-2, are there, as are General George Kenney, Commander, Far Eastern Air Forces, and General Krueger, the 6th Army commander, who will lead the ground forces on Kyushu. MacArthur is not present.

  Like any warrior seeing the conflict from his own isolated corner, where life and death revolve around just a few friends and foes, John had often wondered if the old men sitting in this room were real and not just abstractions--uncaring and unfeeling--whose grandiose plans sent younger men to their deaths so easily. Now he can see they, too, are flesh and blood, although he is still suspicious of the absent MacArthur. This newfound wisdom has not made him feel any more comfortable.

  General Sutherland chairs the meeting in his commander’s absence and begins it with a bang. “What dumb son of a bitch gave the directive to stop shooting up trains?”

  General Willoughby sinks into his chair before speaking up. “I did. It seemed like a prudent idea at the time, knowing as little as we did about atom bombs.”

  Sutherland scowls. “Fine. Just get it rescinded immediately.”

  With a nod from Willoughby, a staff colonel scurr
ies out of the room to do the General’s bidding on the double.

  Sutherland gets down to business. “Colonel Harris, your boys have been doing a fine job giving us the picture on Kyushu and, quite frankly, this picture is causing great hope of a successful invasion…note I didn’t say ‘easy,’ but successful. The Navy’s recon efforts have been largely wasted looking for Japanese naval assets that no longer exist, so we’ve depended on you and your boys entirely.”

  The Naval staff liaisons in the room squirm but remain silent.

  Sutherland continues. “One thing gives us great concern, though, and it involves the object that only you, Captain Worth, seem to be able to locate. Now we realize this is mostly luck on your part, but we need that kind of luck if this object is what some of the staff think it is. What I am about to tell you, gentlemen, is top secret and is to remain so. Is that absolutely clear?”

  Watkins, Harris, and Worth nod and speak in unison. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now we believe this object, this ‘beer barrel,’ as you have been calling it, might…just might…be an atomic weapon. General MacArthur doesn’t put much stock in this theory, but he’s determined to err on the side of safety. I don’t know how familiar any of you are with nuclear physics, but all you need to know for now is that such a weapon could have the explosive power of many thousands of tons of dynamite. That’s a lot of killing power and could wipe out a great deal of our forces on the beach. The Navy was afraid it might be placed on a vessel and used against the invasion fleet, but this second sighting at an inland location points to it being used on land, somewhere in southern Kyushu. We suspect the Japanese would attempt to place such a weapon in the Ariake Bay area, but we’re not completely sure. We are confident they have no capability to deliver such a weapon by an aircraft. It’s just too damn big.”