The Final Storm Part 31

Even as he deflected their conversation, the question had come to him. What must they hear? Why do they care what I went through, how many dead men I saw, how many j.a.ps I killed? This war wasn't for anyone's entertainment, for G.o.d's sake.

He had heard about the military hospital, a visit by the movie star John Wayne. It was pure Hollywood, some press agent's good idea that the star saunter into a ward of badly injured men in full Western regalia, as though by Wayne's heroic presence, a pair of six-shooters and jingling spurs, he would brighten the mood of broken and bloodied men. The response had shocked even the doctors, the wounded troops greeting this big-time star with a chorus of boos and catcalls. If I had been there, I would have done the same thing, he thought. Blood is not ketchup, a friend's death is not about dragging tears from the girl in the front row. Those wounded men are changed for all time, and some fake hero isn't going to erase anything they did, or bring back anyone they lost.

Adams stood, the crowd in the aisles thinning out, gathering outside on the concrete platform. He felt strangely nervous, reached for his seabag, would never look at the heavy green canvas without thinking of Guam.

The Marines had been sent there from Okinawa, mostly to rest and refit, and Adams had witnessed a scene that had stunned him. Ma.s.sive piles of the green duffel bags, what the sailors and Marines called seabags, had been tossed into a pile, doused with gasoline, and set on fire. There had been only one explanation. Those bags, and all they contained, had belonged to the men killed in action. According to some rule Adams would never understand, the seabags were simply burned. He had watched the pyre with a sickening sense of loss, had been forced to think of Welty and Ferucci and everyone else, wondering if their possessions were in that fire, wondering if someone had had the decency to sort through, to send home anything that the family might treasure. He did not stay there long enough to find out, knew only that his own bag contained no treasures at all. The only souvenirs he carried would not catch anyone's attention. He still had the single can of Welty's stew, and with that, the shattered eyegla.s.ses that his friend had worn. He had no explanation for it, but Adams had seen the blackest pieces of his own heart, knew with perfect certainty that if anyone tried to take those from him, he would have killed them with his hands.

Soon after reaching Guam, the veterans had been given the astounding luxury of a thirty-day leave. Adams had absorbed that news with decidedly mixed feelings, but it had been Sergeant Mortensen who had kicked him hard in the a.s.s, a dressing down about feeling sorry for himself. There was family, after all, all of them had somebody, and Mortensen wouldn't hear excuses from anyone lucky enough to get a leave. The Marines were offered a ship to San Diego and a train ticket to anywhere beyond, with enough time to make the visit worthwhile. Mortensen was not about to let any one of his veterans pa.s.s that by, especially since, in a platoon of fifty men, Adams was one of only six who had been with the unit since the invasion of Okinawa. The faces of the veterans were familiar, but no one was close, pure chance that any cl.u.s.ter of friends had long been shattered by the brutality of the fights. New friendships seemed nonexistent, the other veterans seeming to stay away from anyone else, just as he did. The replacements were learning quickly to keep their mouths shut, too many broken teeth pounded into the mouths of idiot recruits who did what they always did, asking for advice, or even more stupid, digging the veterans for some tale about the great adventure of combat. Adams had been lucky, so far. None of the new men on Guam had approached him, not even the tough guys, who heard talk of his reputation with the boxing gloves. There was something dangerous in the veterans now, deep beneath the calm and the distant stare. Even the captain had let him be, no suggestion that Adams should partic.i.p.ate in the never-ending rituals of the boxing matches. For Adams those days were past, no desire in him at all to break another jawbone. That need had been fulfilled for the last time by a j.a.panese soldier on Sugar Loaf Hill.

If Mortensen's loud insistence on accepting the leave wasn't enough, the veterans had been inspired as well by word of their next mission. The entire Sixth Division was scheduled for a new a.s.signment, occupying the seaports on the Chinese coast, and Mortensen had been as definite about that as Captain Bennett, that the a.s.signment was open-ended, that the Marines might be stationed in some G.o.dforsaken hole in some bizarrely strange place for more months than anyone wanted to think about. The talk had rolled through Guam about that as well, the crude disappointment from the new men that they wouldn't join the party when it came time for the invasion of j.a.pan. The invasion force would mostly be army, not Marines, and the transport ships were already in motion, some bringing men who had already done service in Europe. When the China deployment was announced, there had been plenty of outrage, the newer Marines making a good show of their envy for the soldiers who were going to clean up j.a.p-land.

And then, word came of Hiroshima.

Adams still knew nothing of their new president, but it had been Mortensen who had announced with vigorous pa.s.sion that if the opportunity ever came his way, the sergeant would drop to his knees and kiss Harry Truman on the a.s.s. The others had laughed, all but the veterans. Adams knew what those men knew, that this president wanted the war to end so badly that he was willing to use this astounding new weapon against the enemy. Adams wasn't as outspoken about it as Mortensen, but he imagined the same scene, Truman and Adams, in downtown anywhere, a million people watching, while Adams puckered up.

He stepped down onto the platform, the place noisy, crowded, too much chaos. The shouts came from paperboys and vendors, news about the bombing of Nagasaki, what Adams had already seen in a newspaper in San Diego. He hoisted the bag on his shoulder, searched the crowd, wasn't sure what he expected to see, smelled something wonderful, saw a hot dog stand, a man stabbing one of the thick dogs with a fork, stuffing a bun, squirting mustard all over the bun and his own hand, the mess handed to a boy who jammed it into his mouth. Adams was suddenly ravenous, hadn't eaten anything on the train, felt in his pockets, no change at all, nothing but military scrip. It had been his own mistake, forgetting to change the bills for real money, and he ached now, angry at himself. The crowd was more annoying to him now, too many happy people, people with hugs and kisses and hats askew. There were friendly greetings and slaps on the back, the two officers talking boisterously to another pair, big talk of big adventures, lies upon lies. Adams backed away from them, wondered what Captain Bennett would do to them ... and now he heard his name.

"Clay!"

He wasn't sure, too much noise, too many voices, but it came again.

"Clay! Private Adams, you dumb son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

Adams turned, saw the crowd parting, some forcefully, saw the stocky thickness, the ma.s.sive chest, a limp, unexpected, and the beaming face of his brother.

"Jesse! Oh my G.o.d!"

Jesse didn't slow, shoved himself right into Adams, picked him up, bag and all, crushing his ribs.

"You skinny-a.s.sed little peter! There's nothing left of you!"

His brother set him back down now, and Adams saw only smiles, strangers around them watching the scene.

"Mom's here! Come on, this way!"

Jesse pulled him by the arm, forcing their way through the crowd, people pushed aside, but the faces of the two young men told the crowd everything, their enthusiasm spreading all across the platform. He saw her now, a faint wave, the frail, exhausted woman, more frail, older, more gray hair. She was crying, still waving, and Adams slowed, Jesse still pulling at him.

"Yeah, okay, go give her a hug. If you'd have written more, she wouldn't be so d.a.m.n worried, you know."

Adams ignored his brother's scolding, moved up to her, realized suddenly how short she was, and he felt his brother pull the bag from his shoulder, kept his eyes in hers, red and wet. He slid his hands onto her shoulders, then around, pulled himself to her, felt her thin bones, her soft voice, "My boy. G.o.d bless you. You're safe."

"Yeah, Mama. I'm okay."

They hugged for a long silent moment, and he couldn't stop the tears, didn't try. Finally, Jesse's voice was in his ear, "You can do that when we get home. Got someone you need to meet. Whole d.a.m.n greeting party here."

Adams was mystified, still looked at his mother's tears, said, "Who?"

He turned now, saw Jesse move back behind his mother, pulling a young woman by the hand.

"Okay, I got a surprise for you, kid. Well, two surprises. But first things first. Nancy, this sorry-looking bag of bones is my little brother, Clay. He's a Marine, but we try to overlook that. Private Clayton Adams, this gorgeous example of womanhood is Miss Nancy Forbes. We're engaged." Jesse leaned closer now, faked the whisper. "She's a d.a.m.n nurse. Makes my life a h.e.l.l of a lot easier."

Clay saw the beauty in the woman's face, tears there as well. She held out a hand, said, "Clayton, it's a pleasure. Your brother's told me a great deal about you. Mostly things you wouldn't want repeated, I'm sure. He thinks paratroopers ought to rule the world, and Marines make ... good busboys. Sorry. He insisted I say that."

Adams was overwhelmed, took the softness of her hand, caught the amazing scent of perfume.

"Wow. Engaged? Uh ... well, it's nice to meet you." He looked at his big brother now, saw the pride, the smile, the couple looking at each other now with that gooey storybook grin. "d.a.m.n, Jesse, you serious?"

"Watch your d.a.m.n language. Only first sergeants and paratroopers get to cuss around women, and I got both of those covered. Marines always need to learn manners. Yeah, I'm serious. We're getting married next month. Oh ... one more surprise. We had room in the Nash, so this gal thumbed a ride with us. Said something about wanting to see you. Says she wondered if you'd remember her, and I told her you being all stupid and all, you'd probably forget what town you lived in." Jesse moved aside, still the smile, slapped Adams on the back, a quick grip on his shoulder. Clay saw her now, her hands clasped in front of her, a hint of embarra.s.sment on her face, a polite hopeful nod. Adams felt something open up inside him, was stunned, his jaw falling open, her name in his mind for months. Loraine Lancaster. The fantasy had been with him from well before high school, the only girl he had thought about, the only girl who had ever stirred that hard ache that made him wonder if there could ever be anyone else. He had stared at her in school, on the street, and in his mind, even thought of her on the beach at Okinawa, that one odd day of blue sky and birds. She was also the girl he was very certain had no idea he was alive. He stared at her, saw more of the shy nervousness, and now she smiled. At him.

Jesse leaned close to his ear.

"Say hi, you idiot."

"Uh ... hi. You needed a ride ...?"

Jesse slapped him in the back of his head, dislodging his hat.

"Miss Lancaster, will you please help get the glue out of his brain?"

She laughed again, still nervous.

"I was hoping you'd remember me, Clay. I heard you were coming home, and ... I know it's only a short time, but maybe, when you've had a good visit with your family ... well maybe, we could have a sundae or something."

Clay stared at her, felt something new, something he had not felt in a very long time. Joy.

"I'd love to. You came along ... to see me?"

"Yes, Clay. Welcome home."

There was a hand sliding around his arm now, and he felt his mother's touch, her soft words.

"Looks like you'll be busy while you're here. I guess we should get to the Nash."

Clay looked at her, the tears still there, and he glanced at Jesse, his brother's arm around his fiancee, realized she was holding a cane.

"Jesse, you hurt?"

Jesse shook his head, shrugged.

"Tore up my knees. You paying attention? I jumped out of airplanes, you numbskull."

Adams felt paralyzed, the faces all looking at him, tears and smiles and happiness. Across the platform, a man began to shout.

"It's over! The j.a.ps surrendered! It's over!"

The crowd responded with cheering, shouts, disbelief, a scramble for a fresh stack of newspapers. Adams stared at the mob scene, papers in the air, more cheers, a fat black headline pa.s.sing by, someone slapping him, "Good work, soldier!"

Others were hoisting women in the air, the army officers down the platform waving their hats, others, civilians, tossing theirs high. Clay felt a burst of confusion, a fog settling in on him, too much emotion, too many shouts. The war can't be over ... there's too many j.a.ps ... Guam, and then we gotta go to China. He felt a hint of panic, glanced to one side, the railroad tracks, thought of the rocks, the dirt, a shovel, the precious sanctuary of a foxhole. He looked at his brother, saw concern, the hard crust of the paratroop sergeant giving way, Jesse's eyes reading him, no smile now.

"Hey, Clay, I'll grab a paper, and we can read about it on the way. It's been coming for a couple days. You might not have known, traveling and all. You'll be okay. We can talk about ... anything you want, maybe later. The old man's mostly gone, working some shifts at a mine down south. He doesn't mess with me at all. Knows better. It's real peaceful at the house. Let's head for home."

"Yeah ... but I have to go back soon. I've only got a thirty-day leave. That's all."

Beside him, the voice of his mother.

"For now. But the war's over. And you're safe now. Soon, you'll have all the time in the world."

AFTERWORD.

The sooner the enemy comes, the better. One hundred million of us will die proudly.

-j.a.pANESE PROPAGANDA POSTER, FOUND IN TOKYO There was never a moment's discussion as to whether the atomic bomb should be used or not. To avert a vast, indefinite butchery, to bring the war to an end, to give peace to the world, to lay healing hands upon its tortured peoples by a manifestation of overwhelming power ... seemed a miracle of deliverance.

-WINSTON CHURCHILL The use of this barbaric weapon at Hiroshima and Nagasaki was of no material a.s.sistance in our war against j.a.pan. The j.a.panese were already defeated and ready to surrender because of the effective sea blockade and the successful bombing with conventional weapons.

-ADMIRAL WILLIAM LEAHY, USN You think of the lives which would have been lost in an invasion of j.a.pan's home islands-a staggering number of American lives but millions more of j.a.panese-and you thank G.o.d for the atomic bomb.

-WILLIAM MANCHESTER (USMC) On August 10, 1945, after absorbing the impact of the second atomic bomb, j.a.pan's senior officials meet to debate what course to follow. They are almost evenly divided as to whether or not j.a.pan should continue to fight the war. Led by Prime Minister Suzuki, the moderate faction pushes for surrender, but there are just as many, particularly from the army, who insist vehemently that the war be continued. To those highest-ranking commanders, including Field Marshal Hisaichi Terauchi and General Yasuji Okamura, surrender only betrays the army, those soldiers in the field who should still be allowed to end their lives with honor by fighting to the death. It is Emperor Hirohito himself who breaks the stalemate and orders his ministers to accept the terms of the Potsdam Declaration. Throughout the war, a fairly complacent Hirohito has allowed the Imperial High Command to operate mostly on its own terms. By stepping forcefully into the debate, he gives his ministers no alternative, and the j.a.panese government obeys their emperor. But radical elements of the army do not accept the emperor's order gracefully, and a coup is launched, an attempt to a.s.sa.s.sinate the emperor. The coup fails, the conspirators brought down in part by those generals who are still vehemently opposed to surrender. Even the radicals come to understand that, no matter the humiliation of surrender, the nation's outright suicide is not the most preferable course.

On Sunday, September 2, 1945, the j.a.panese formally surrender to the Allied forces on board the American battleship USS Missouri, at anchor in Tokyo Bay. The ceremony is stiff and somber, with signatures affixed to the doc.u.ments by representatives of the United Nations, the United States, Great Britain, China, the Soviet Union, Australia, New Zealand, France, Canada, and the Netherlands. Signing for the j.a.panese are Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigemitsu, General Yoshijiro Umezu, and nine other officials. In one important gesture of concession, the American government does not require the doc.u.ment to be signed by Emperor Hirohito.

General Douglas MacArthur commands the ceremony, and signs the doc.u.ment on behalf of the United Nations. Immediately after the signatures are affixed, nearly two thousand American fighter planes and bombers roar overhead in mixed formations, a show of force that cannot be lost on the j.a.panese.

On the Missouri, a great many of the American generals and admirals are present, including Admiral Nimitz, who signs for the Americans. But no one's presence is more poignant than that of General Jonathan Wainwright, who surrendered the American forces at Corregidor, and British general Sir Arthur Percival, who surrendered the British bastion at Singapore. Both men arrive at the ceremony just released from prisoner-of-war camps in Manchuria. Their skeletal appearance is an appropriate symbol of the suffering imposed on so many by their captors.

To honor his efforts as the Allied commander in chief, MacArthur is invited to meet with President Truman in Washington, a gesture of grat.i.tude from Truman, as well as an event certain to please the newspapers. MacArthur refuses the invitation, and many subsequent ones, claiming his duties are too numerous to be bothered with such ceremonial formalities. It is a glaring insult to Truman and will lead to a great deal of controversy between the two men that will only culminate in 1951, during the Korean War. Truman will prevail.

THE j.a.pANESE.

COLONEL HIROMICHI YAHARA.

General Ushijima's confidant and the primary tactical planner for the j.a.panese defense of Okinawa escapes the collapse of the j.a.panese command. Shedding his uniform, he makes every effort to blend in with a group of soldiers attempting to pa.s.s themselves off as Okinawan refugees, intending to find a boat that will carry them away from Okinawa. After several days in hiding with groups of terrified Okinawans, the inevitable occurs, and American soldiers discover them hiding in a cave. Yahara, who speaks English, beseeches the Americans to do no harm, and the entire group is captured. Pa.s.sing through the refugee camps, along with thousands of others, both j.a.panese and Okinawans, he is recognized by several j.a.panese soldiers, though his secret is not revealed to his captors for several weeks. Finally he is interrogated by j.a.panese prisoners working in service to American intelligence, where his ident.i.ty is finally revealed. He continues to be questioned by various American intelligence officials, all the while seeking the means to escape his captors. But the atomic bomb changes his mind. On August 15, he is shown a transcript of Emperor Hirohito's official surrender order, and Yahara realizes his war is over. He is repatriated to j.a.pan at the end of 1945, and reaches Tokyo Bay on January 7, 1946, on board the American transport USS Gable. He sees for the first time the utter devastation of the j.a.panese capital, few details of which had ever been communicated to his command on Okinawa. Still considered a high-ranking officer in the Thirty-second Army, Yahara is a.s.signed to deal with the organizational paperwork that remains in repatriating those few soldiers who have survived. He reports to what remains of Imperial General Headquarters, which of course is completely dominated by the occupation forces of the Americans. Nonetheless, he makes his full report on the outcome of the battle for Okinawa to the highest-ranking general he can find, thus fulfilling his last a.s.signment. By the end of 1946, he completes his wrapping up of the final paperwork for the Thirty-second Army.

Yahara is acutely aware of the disgrace that comes from being a prisoner of war, and never admits to any such status, convincing others, and himself, that the war ended with him still in the service of the emperor, and still trying to find a way to aid his country's cause. He agonizes frequently about his own survival, suffers frequent bouts of depression and guilt that his beloved commanding general took the more honorable way out.

As j.a.pan organizes a national police force, Yahara is called upon to serve as instructor for new recruits, but his taste for uniforms has soured, and he refuses. Instead he writes his memoir, careful to define his role in such a way that there will be no shame in his capture, an awareness he carries even decades after the war's conclusion. The memoir is published in 1972, and surprises him by becoming a commercial success. He writes: A nation should never be sacrificed for the sake of its leaders. j.a.pan's leaders got us involved in the China incident out of a sense of self-preservation. They started that war to preserve their own power, status and honor. Who would not despair knowing that soldiers were dying in the interests of such leaders?

He dies in 1981, at age seventy-eight.

DR. OKIRO HAMIs.h.i.tA.

Though grief-stricken over the death of his wife, he recovers sufficiently from the injuries received during the blast of the atomic bomb to fulfill his primary duty of caring for patients, and spends several days tending to the horrific injuries of those who survive the blast. But he cannot escape the unknown illness that afflicts so many of the bomb's immediate survivors, and succ.u.mbs to what we now know to be radiation poisoning on August 18, 1945, twelve days after the bomb is dropped. He is sixty-five.

FIELD MARSHAL SHUNROKU HATA.

By a freak of fate, Hiroshima's senior military commander survives the bomb's blast, while most of his command, including nearly all of his senior officers, are killed by the obliteration of Hiroshima Castle. Despite his fiery rhetoric, he accepts his army's defeat, an unusual move for a senior military official, and surrenders to American occupation forces in late August 1945. He is tried as a war criminal by the International Military Tribunal for the Far East, the Asian version of the Nuremberg court. Found guilty, he is sentenced to life imprisonment. Hata makes very little defense of his actions, and later his captors feel he has shown sufficient remorse to atone for his crimes, and is thus granted parole in 1955. He dies seven years later, at age eighty-two.

HIDEKI TOJO.

He consolidates his power throughout the war, ama.s.sing control of most of the j.a.panese government, even under the ultimate authority of the emperor, for whom Tojo has little private respect. Officially he is prime minister as well as chief of the Imperial General Staff, positions that give him virtually dictatorial power. But reaping the rewards for success also means accepting responsibility for failure, and when the Americans make their successful drive into the Mariana Islands chain, Tojo admits that his efforts have failed. On July 18, 1944, he resigns his position, and is never again an active force in j.a.panese politics or the war. Three weeks after the j.a.panese surrender, he attempts suicide, but fails at that as well. He is arrested by American agents and is tried as a war criminal before the International Military Tribunal for the Far East, which declares him guilty and sentences him to death. In his defense, he claims that he was merely following the orders given to him by the emperor, a claim no one takes seriously. He is hanged on December 23, 1948, at age sixty-four. Tojo is interred at j.a.pan's revered Yasukuni Shrine, which creates considerable controversy that continues to this day.

THE AMERICANS.

USS INDIANAPOLIS.

After delivering the two technicians and the key components of the first atomic bomb, the heavy cruiser leaves Tinian for Leyte, in the Philippines, to rendezvous with the gathering fleet that will partic.i.p.ate in the planned invasion of j.a.pan. The mission of the cruiser has been so secret that she is unescorted both to and from Tinian, and thus sails alone through shipping lanes that the j.a.panese know well. Shortly after midnight on July 30, 1945, the ship is struck by two torpedoes, fired by the j.a.panese submarine I-58. She rolls over to starboard, and sinks in twelve minutes. Of the 1,196 crewmen, nearly three hundred are killed within those twelve minutes. The remainder go into the water. With few life vests or rafts to cling to, the nine hundred men begin an ordeal that subjects them to hypothermia, death from injuries, and madness. But there is one more ordeal they must suffer, which begins with their first sunrise: the relentless a.s.sault from swarms of sharks.

On August 2, midway through their third day in the water, the survivors are spotted by an American Ventura bomber, on a routine anti-submarine patrol. The pilot notifies his base at Peleliu, where a navy PBY Catalina flying boat is dispatched. Against orders, the flying boat lands near the men, trying vainly to rescue as many as can be retrieved from the water, men who are continuously being attacked by sharks. The nearest ship, the destroyer USS Cecil Doyle, diverts to the scene and rescues those who remain alive. Only 317 survive the ordeal. It is the greatest disaster at sea in the navy's history.

Because of the secrecy of their mission, there is no search made for the ship, since no one at Leyte knows just when to expect the ship to arrive. The captain of the Indianapolis, Charles McVay, is one of the survivors, and in December 1945, in what seems to many to be the navy's search for a scapegoat, McVay is court-martialed for "hazarding his ship for failure to zig-zag in good visibility." The conviction erases McVay's rank. The sentence is commuted by Admiral Chester Nimitz, and McVay is restored to active duty, though the court's verdict remains in McVay's record. It is a personal curse McVay will never escape. Strenuous efforts are made to clear his name, including ongoing accounts offered by his surviving crewmen as well as the j.a.panese captain who sank McVay's ship. But the navy does not reconsider the court-martial's findings, and McVay serves out a backwater career and retires in 1949. His personal torment continues, and he commits suicide in 1968.

Controversy swirls around the disaster for years. It is revealed that there was woeful negligence on the part of naval communications officers, who ignored a distress call made by the Indianapolis moments before she sank, and naval intelligence, which intercepted a communication from the I-58 claiming an American warship sunk, a communication it ignored as well.

In 2000, the U.S. Congress pa.s.ses a resolution absolving Captain McVay for the loss of his ship.

ADMIRAL CHESTER NIMITZ.

To counter what Secretary of the Navy James Forrestal believes to be undue praise lavished on General Douglas MacArthur for success in the Pacific, Forrestal succeeds in having October 5, 1945, named Nimitz Day in Washington, D.C. With much fanfare, Nimitz addresses Congress, meets with President Truman (which MacArthur will not do), and enjoys a parade in his honor. Four days later he enjoys a ma.s.sive ticker-tape parade in New York City. But Nimitz is never the publicity hound that MacArthur is, and he resists what could become a ma.s.sive media campaign on his behalf.

Always an energetic advocate for naval power, he rejects the notion offered by some that the atomic bomb will make the navy obsolete.

He fights calls in Congress that the army and navy become joined into a single department, contradicting the belief of some that the United States will never again be called upon to engage in the kind of ma.s.sive military action they experienced in World War II. His advocacy of a strong navy lands him the position of chief of naval operations, succeeding Admiral Ernest King. The appointment comes on November 20, 1945, the same day that Dwight Eisenhower is named to replace General George Marshall as army chief of staff.

In 1946 Nimitz begins to support the concept of nuclear-powered submarines, and throws his support behind Captain Hyman Rickover, the chief advocate for the development of the new technology.

Continuing his strong advocacy of a powerful navy, Nimitz writes numerous articles and makes dozens of public speeches about the value of that arm of the service. Such advocacy makes him enormously popular among naval personnel, popularity that continues to this day. Despite his penchant for writing, what he calls his "hobby," Nimitz never pens his own memoir, believing it would put him in the awkward position of crediting some commanders at the expense of others. He cites as an example the self-serving memoir written by Admiral "Bull" Halsey, which does much to alienate other senior commanders who shared in Halsey's actions in the Pacific. But Nimitz's love of writing does inspire him to contribute viewpoints to a general history of the U.S. Navy. The book, Sea Power-A Naval History, becomes a much-sought-after text, in use especially at the United States Naval Academy, though Nimitz will not accept any royalties for his part in the book's creation.

In December 1947, his term as chief of naval operations ends, and he retires. He and his wife, Catherine, relocate to San Francisco. His wife insists they keep a diary, which begins the day after his retirement. His first entry reads, "I feel as if a great burden has just been lifted from my shoulders ... how can we fail to have a full and happy life?" But there is little relaxation in his retirement. He is asked to serve as an intermediary in the hotbed dispute between India and Pakistan over the territory of Kashmir. He involves himself with other consulting duties with the United Nations, but becomes frustrated with the squabbling of diplomats, and in mid-1952 resigns the post. Though he is retired yet again, he accepts a position as regent for the University of California.

In 1963 the admiral falls and shatters his kneecap, a debilitating injury that keeps him from his beloved walks. The injury aggravates, revealing that Nimitz also suffers from an arthritic condition in his spine. The condition worsens, causing him increasing pain, and in November 1965 he undergoes a risky form of surgery to relieve his suffering. The operation is a success, but in recovery he contracts pneumonia. On Sunday, February 20, 1966, he dies from the deteriorating complications, just shy of his eighty-first birthday. At the moment of his death, he is alone with his beloved wife.

His funeral is attended by thousands of onlookers and admirers, who line the streets all along the route of the procession to the Golden Gate National Cemetery, at San Bruno, California. The admiral's body is transported through the cemetery by a horse-drawn caisson, escorted by a dozen navy enlisted men. Once the caisson reaches the grave site, there is a nineteen-gun salute and a flyover by seventy naval jet aircraft.

Soon after his death, Catherine, his wife of fifty-two years, writes to a friend, "I'm not feeling sad. To me, he has just gone to sea, and as I have done so many times in the past, some day I will follow him ..."

She does so in 1979.

In Nimitz's birthplace of Fredericksburg, Texas, the National Museum of the Pacific War is an unequaled site for memorializing and understanding naval history.

His good friend Harry Truman writes, "I came to regard Admiral Nimitz from the outset as a man apart and above all his contemporaries-as a strategist, a leader and as a person. I ranked him with General George Marshall as military geniuses as well as statesmen."