“‘Quick, Henry, the Flit!’ “some self-appointed wit shouted, to general laughter.
Pete didn’t laugh. Oh, shit, Pete thought, Crawling into caves again. I’m getting too old for this.
• WEDNESDAY, 22 AUGUST 1945 •
NASU IMPERIAL VILLA, NASU, TOCHIGI PREFECTURE,
JAPAN, 1900 HOURS (OPERATION OLYMPIC, X-DAY + 156)
Outside the Emperor’s private cottage, wind lashed the windows and rain pelted the roof. The building was sturdy, but the fierce weather seemed determined to challenge the durability of this human construct. For this was not just any random storm: it was a typhoon. The big tropical cyclones regularly lashed the Empire of Nippon during the summer and early fall, and this one was gustier and wetter than most. Inside, three men and a god drank tea as they listened to the rattle of rain on the roof and the whistle of the wind through the trees. Something clattered loudly, a tile pulled free to bounce down the roof and crash onto the stone-paved courtyard.
Yamamoto had driven up to the resort town of Nasu, a few hours northwest of Tokyo, where the emperors had long maintained a summer retreat. Unfortunately, War Minister Yamamoto was not here for a vacation. He was here for an inquisition.
The sky had darkened steadily, and the rain had begun by the time his car arrived at the Emperor’s cottage, one of several buildings in the walled complex.
It was a “cottage” only by imperial standards, of course. The Taisho Emperor had rebuilt it in the 1920s. Yamamoto admired the clean and open lines of the anteroom and hallway. Rich brown planks of cherrywood framed panels of light bamboo in exquisite harmony.
The kimono-wearing imperial servant escorted him to a room containing one low square table made of teak. A small dish in the center of the table contained a single chrysanthemum, while a tea service and incense burner stood ready to the side. Sitting pillows were arrayed strategically and artfully around the small room.
The three men and the god sat at the table, legs folded underneath. The god, of course, was the Emperor. Yamamoto was one of the three mortal men. The other mortals were Prince Fujiwara Konoe, the prime minister; and Marquis Kido, the lord privy seal. The Emperor wore kimono. Kido and Konoe wore Western-style business suits. Kido’s was old-fashioned, with a wing-tipped collar. Yamamoto wore dress blues.
The Emperor lit an incense stick and offered a Shinto prayer for the well-being of his servants, the success of this meeting, and the fate of the Empire. The mortal men chanted the appropriate responses and bowed.
“Tea, Yamamoto-san?” Prince Konoe inquired. He was a handsome man with a full head of hair, good bone structure, a thin mustache, and expressive eyes.
“Arigato, Konoe-sama,” the war minister replied.
Konoe, as the senior mortal, served the others in reverse order of rank: Yamamoto, then Kido, and then the Emperor, all before serving himself.
Because they were in a private and informal setting, the Emperor was free to speak. “Yamamoto-san, We thank you for your services to Our Empire, and also for making this long trip so that we may all speak together freely.”
Yamamoto bowed deeply from his kneeling position. “I am nothing but a poor, humble sailor who lives and dies at the Emperor’s command. I exist to serve Your Imperial Majesty, and for no other purpose.”
The Emperor acknowledged him with a small tilt of his head. “Then We know Our Empire is safe with servants such as you.”
“You do this worthless servant too much honor, Your Majesty.” The admiral bowed deeply again.
The three men and the god drank tea together and sat in communal silence for a time. The storm raged. There was a loud clap of thunder—then darkness.
Soft footsteps of sock-clad servants sounded from the corridors. The paper door to their room slid back and light appeared in the form of a servant carrying a candle. “Forgive this unwarranted intrusion by an unworthy servant,” he said. “Would my lords wish candles?”
“Yes,” the Emperor said, and within minutes the room was lit again with candles on the main table and lanterns on the floor.
It was Kido, not Konoe, who broke the silence. Kido was a highly distinguished-looking man, older than the others, with steel gray hair receding in the front, a strong black mustache and a rectangular face. He wore large round glasses with no frame around the lenses. “The storm is stronger than any enemy,” Kido said.
The Emperor nodded. “That is how the god of the winds saved us twice from the depredations of Kublai Khan and his Mongols.”
“My prayer is for another kamikaze, a divine wind that will destroy the American fleet as it moves toward Honshu,” Kido said.
“We will also pray,” the Emperor added. “Would such a wind make a decisive difference, War Minister?”
“It would change the military equation,” Yamamoto answered, sipping his tea. “Whether it would alter the American position on ‘unconditional surrender’ is difficult to determine. They have now gained landing fields in Kagoshima, even though that struggle goes on.”
“We see,” the Emperor replied.
“The winds have always favored Japan,” Konoe said. “As long as they do, we’ll know the gods are on our side, and we’ll eventually prevail.”
Kido looked at Konoe. “So they have. But what if the winds changed direction?”
“Then the gods will have abandoned us,” Konoe replied.
The servants began serving dinner in candlelight, but power came back on before the final course.
“I must say, Yamamoto-san, that I am impressed far beyond my expectations at your performance thus far as war minister,” Kido said. “In such a delicate time, with such strong passions as our current situation naturally arouses in people, it takes unusual skills to lead. And may I say without offense that such skills are not necessarily always present in our finest military officers.”
“My head is spinning with such undeserved praise, Kido-sama. Your good opinion is truly a prize to be valued above all earthly riches, but if anything has gone well in my time as war minister, it has been the work of all, not merely the work of one,” Yamamoto replied.
“And so it has,” replied Kido. “Yet it is the case that before your selection, the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War was being torn apart by dissension and conflict. After your selection, harmony.”
Kido was being unusually blunt, cutting through the normal cycle of compliments given and refused. Without being unmannerly, Yamamoto had to match him.
“Perhaps, Lord Privy Seal, it is a coincidence,” the war minister said. “But if I have made any slight contribution to the situation, it might lie in my feeble attempts to help those in opposition to each other find common ground on which to stand.”
Kido nodded. “Indeed, the war minister speaks, as always, with commendable wisdom and insight. ‘Helping those in opposition to each other find common ground.’ Hai It is an essential skill for someone in politics. Perhaps you missed your calling when you joined the Imperial Navy.” Kido smiled.
“Forgive me, but I must argue with you. Such weak skills as I may possess in that area are also essential in the navy, Kido-sama,” Yamamoto replied.
“Ah, you are a font of wisdom! Of course, of course, how stupid of me not to realize it! Yes, this skill would be essential to lead in the military, and indeed in any high leadership position, for at that level, everything becomes politics, neh? When this is over, my dear friend, I hope you will turn your hand to writing from your immense store of knowledge and experience to share with others. The Empire—the whole world, for that matter—would be enriched by it.”
“I must protest, my lord. I am merely an imitator and student of those far wiser than I, doing my inadequate best to mimic what I have learned.”
“It takes a wise man to learn from the wisdom of others,” said Kido. “In the current situation, though, I have some questions, if the war minister will permit an inquiry from a mere citizen with no official status or role.”
No official status o
r role other than being the Emperor’s mouthpiece, that is, thought Yamamoto. “No question from you, Lord Privy Seal, could ever be unwelcome.”
“The war minister is too gracious. Here, then, is my question. You have helped the army minister improve the success of Operation Ketsu-Go, setting the stage for further war. You have also gotten the army minister to establish a point at which he agrees that Ketsu-Go would have been shown not to work and thus withdraw his opposition to accepting Allied surrender terms.”
“That is certainly the goal I had, Lord Privy Seal. General Anami has established criteria to measure when—or if—his position on alternatives should change. By all of us agreeing to such a measured position, we can act in harmony.”
It was Prince Konoe’s turn. He leaned forward and said, “Whose side are you on Yamamoto-san? Peace, or more war?”
Yamamoto folded his mangled hand into the other, his two index fingers together and sticking up. Pensively he touched the fingers to his lips. “Your Highness, that is a question difficult to answer. Very difficult.”
“Try, War Minister,” Konoe said with shocking directness.
“As the prime minister commands,” Yamamoto murmured. “I am on the side of the Emperor.”
Now the Emperor joined in. “Yamamoto-san, We are honored by your support, but what side is that? What would your advice to Us be in this matter?”
“I am far too unworthy to offer advice to Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Let Us be the judge of that, War Minister,” the Emperor replied.
“As You command.” Yamamoto bowed again. “The best of all strategies, says Sun Tzu, is to vanquish the enemy without fighting at all. Avoiding war and achieving the objective is to be preferred over all else.
“That having failed,” Yamamoto continued, “the second best strategy is to win the war. In a war, each side has an objective that cannot be compromised or successfully negotiated. To win, one must break the enemy’s moral will to resist so that you achieve your objective and force their acceptance or compliance.
“If one cannot achieve the victory objective, the third best strategy is to minimize the loss. Favorable and honorable surrender terms, a truce, status quo ante, whatever may be possible. One achieves this by making the enemy’s price so high they are willing to settle for less than total victory.”
He paused. “And if one cannot minimize the loss, the final strategy is to accept reality and move forward.” Yamamoto bowed.
The Emperor nodded. “You would, We presume, place the Empire’s present situation in the third and fourth categories?”
“With deepest regret, Your Majesty, yes. As long as there is some reasonable hope of the third outcome, it should be pursued. At the same time, we must know when such hope is no longer real and accept our fate. When the litany of cities burned and villages starved becomes unacceptable, then the unthinkable becomes necessary.”
Konoe spoke again. “You’re saying you aren’t choosing sides between peace and war, then.”
“Your Highness, I seek the virtue of potential harmony between the opposing sides, and in harmony lies the Empire’s best chance, regardless of its eventual fate.”
Konoe shook his head sadly. “What you have said is eloquently argued, deeply reasoned, and brilliantly executed. It pains me, therefore, that I cannot agree fully with your logic.”
“The prime minister’s wisdom is far better than my own, and my feeble mind may well have missed essential information. Please advise your servant.”
Konoe nodded. “Yamamoto-san, I agree with you with but a single exception. And it is this: I wonder if the army will honor the bargain it has made with you. General Anami is an honorable man, but we have seen the consequences when senior officials fail to follow the will of our captains and majors.”
Yamamoto bowed. “Ah, that is great wisdom indeed, Your Highness, and it is a matter of great and continuing concern. It is always a danger. That danger can be reduced, and I have taken whatever slight steps that lie within my power to do so, but I do not know any way it can be eliminated altogether.”
“I hope you’re right about reducing that danger, Yamamoto-san,” Konoe said. “For all our sakes. But I’m afraid that a clever nuanced position like yours may turn out to be more dangerous than you suppose. There are people around who will not compromise, whatever the stakes.”
Konoe looked directly at the war minister. “And at that moment, you’ll have to decide which side you’re truly on.”
TWENTY-ONE
Western Pacific; Hiroshima
• WEDNESDAY, 5 SEPTEMBER 1945 •
PACIFIC OCEAN, 200 MILES SOUTH OF CAROLINE ISLANDS,
0001 HOURS
There may have been a god in his palace in Tokyo and a god in his headquarters on Okinawa, but neither of them was aware of a third god—a god now taking tangible form in the southern latitudes of the Pacific Ocean.
It was gathering anew, but it was a god who had visited these waters, and these islands, many times through the centuries of history.
His name was Kami Kaze, and he was truly a Divine Wind….
As always, he began to take shape above the warm waters of a tropical sea, as a swirling low-pressure weather system. Convection and increasing wind speeds pulled more and more moisture from the ocean, tossing the humidity upward with increasingly tumultuous force. In this September, the Kami Kaze gathered in the central Pacific. It began as a nondescript collection of wind and rain, united beneath a vast dome of gray clouds. It was not yet a deadly gale, or even yet a single intact weather system. But it was wet, the water below it was warm, and the broad center of low pressure reached out to summon wind and humidity from far away.
The Kami Kaze sprawled across the warm ocean current like an insatiable vacuum pump, sucking in more and more hot, moist air. This mass of cloud and rain spread across more than a thousand miles of the globe’s surface. As the center of the system eased up to about twelve degrees north latitude, winds rose and spiraled into the spinning vortex. The pressure dropped still further, drawing great quantities of air—and the moisture carried by that air—with increasing force.
Turbulent air was further propelled into the growing Kami Kaze by high-pressure centers all around. Sweeping across the sea, the moving atmosphere accelerated, lashing the swells into whitecaps, then into waves that loomed over small boats and breakwaters. Storms and squalls arose, and their winds whipped the water even harder, pulling more and more moisture upward into the gathering core, the storm growing increasingly cohesive. Along the northern shore of New Guinea, the second largest island in the world, these storms manifested themselves in surging waves that pounded against the long coast. Rain soaked the perennially wet forests and wind whipped through the trees. People and animals scurried to shelter in whatever dry spaces they could find.
The upper heights of the storm ascended higher into the atmosphere, looming vast and dark over this great expanse of ocean. Winds, now swirling in the distinctive counterclockwise pattern of a tropical depression in the northern hemisphere, picked up speed, lashing the surface of the sea even harder than before. The few small islands unfortunate enough to lie under the great stormy umbrella were inundated with tidal surges, heavy downpours, and sweeping gales. The swirling pattern became steadily more distinct, and the winds coursed up to fifty miles an hour. Humans piloting ships and aircraft steered to avoid the storm as much as possible, though no man yet grasped the full nature of the cataclysmic phenomenon that was coming into being.
Still the storm picked up strength as more and more moisture evaporated and was drawn into the swirling vortex. Instead of expanding, the storm seemed to draw in upon itself, but this was deceptive. Like a general marshaling his army—fully mindful of the maxim calling for concentration of force—the storm contracted and focused its might into a compact presence. The pressure in the center of the depression sank even lower. In its distinct eye, the skies were oddly placid. Around the eye the winds circled in that pronounced, cou
nterclockwise swirl, picking up more speed, hitting gusts as fast as sixty-five miles per hour. Torrents of rain poured from the clouds in a blinding deluge.
And finally, like a living being gradually gaining sentience and will, the Kami Kaze began to move north and west. The damp and sweltering island of New Guinea fell behind, unscathed by the monster that had loomed so close offshore. Beyond, to the north and west of the vortex, the Pacific waited, unsuspecting, still as calm as the placid waters suggested by this vast ocean’s name.
• TUESDAY, 11 SEPTEMBER 1945 •
OKINAWA, RYUKU ISLANDS, 1202 HOURS (OPERATION
CORONET, Y-DAY-10)
The large fleet of landing ship, tanks, LSTs for short, lay at anchor, the vessels divided among the various Okinawan ports on the northern part of that long island. More than three hundred squat, reliable Sherman M4 tanks of XIII Corps had already rumbled over the wharfs and up the ramps to be strapped down in the cavernous holds. They represented the largest armored force that had ever been transported for a beach landing, and as a consequence were loaded for fast, aggressive debarkation once the initial wave of marines had seized the targeted beaches.
Dozens more standard troop transports swarmed with marines and soldiers, along with a variety of landing craft to carry those troops ashore. These ships lay alongside the LSTs, for all the amphibious vessels would sail together at the heart of this epic fleet. They would be accompanied by more naval gunnery and ship-based aircraft than had ever been assembled for one mission. Already hundreds of cruisers and destroyers, more than a dozen battleships, and some two score aircraft carriers and escort carriers had put to sea. They had made for Okinawa from bases as far away as Pearl Harbor and Australia. Now they circled patiently, waiting for the slower troopships to leave port and form into the task forces that would put these men ashore on Honshu, the main island of Japan.
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