The Final Storm Part 5

Lamar came in now, seemed to hold his position right outside Nimitz's dining room. There was no surprise in that. Arthur Lamar had been the admiral's flag secretary since early in the war, and Nimitz knew there was no one on his staff more dependable.

"Sir. Was the meal acceptable?"

"You know it was. Sit down. Bourbon?"

"Perhaps later, sir. We're monitoring communications from Okinawa, and I've been told to expect a report from Admiral King's office."

Nimitz kept the frown to himself, thought, King is the crankiest son of a b.i.t.c.h I've ever met. Thank G.o.d he's eight thousand miles away. If he decided to leave Washington and put his office out here, I'd probably end up saying something really stupid, cost me my career. How can one man make so many people so d.a.m.n miserable? At least he didn't feel obliged to join me on Iwo Jima. That was rough enough.

He poured a shallow pool of bourbon into his gla.s.s, moved one hand in time to the music, a reflex he didn't notice. He saw a slight wince on Lamar's face, knew the music was loud, louder to the young man with the sharper hearing.

"All right, turn it down. Just a little. Don't screw around with Mozart."

Lamar complied with a grateful nod, leaned over toward the record player, adjusted the volume. Nimitz held the gla.s.s in his hand, said, "Iwo Jima surprised us all, Arthur. But we'll save some lives now. LeMay's already putting some of his B-29s down there. I saw one busted to h.e.l.l, tail nearly shot off. Amazing the thing could still fly. Oh h.e.l.l, you were there. You saw the thing."

"Aye, sir. Terrible sight. Very happy the crew survived that one."

Nimitz sipped at the bourbon.

"h.e.l.l of a place though. Not a tree standing, nothing but rocks and smoke. Not sure when the casualty counts will be complete, not for the public anyway. Hard to convince some mother in Iowa that having her son blown to h.e.l.l will save lives. Doubt it matters much." He looked to one side, the letter still on the table. He stared at it, the words dug into his mind.

You killed my son ... and every year on this day ... I will write you to remind you what you did ...

"Very sorry, sir. I'll remove that."

"Leave it be, Arthur. I'll never fault a mother for blaming me, or anyone else in this place for what we're doing. You can't expect a civilian ... a mother for G.o.d's sake, you can't expect them to understand that death can be positive. Don't ever say that to a newspaperman. He'll twist it around, make it sound like I'm the grim reaper, that I love killing people. n.o.body loves killing, Arthur, n.o.body. Not LeMay, not MacArthur, not Howlin' Mad Smith. It's the job. And in case anyone forgets, we didn't start this thing."

"Aye, sir. I know, sir."

Nimitz downed the rest of the bourbon, looked at the young man, saw calm and confidence, something he rarely saw from his most senior commanders. Comes with the territory, he thought. Whoever said that thing about the squeaky wheel never met these characters I have to handle out here. There's not enough grease in the world to keep these people from shooting off their mouths. Or starting feuds with one another. Good thing Halsey and LeMay are in two different branches of the service. They'd probably end up fighting a duel. Nimitz glanced around behind his chair, said, "Where's Mak?"

"Must be in the mess, sir. The staff keeps feeding him table sc.r.a.ps."

Nimitz laughed.

"Trying to fatten him up so they can outrun him. Won't work. If he can't chase you down, he'll ambush you. Never saw a dog who so enjoyed biting people in the a.s.s. Reminds me of Halsey."

Lamar stifled a smile, said nothing.

"Sorry, Arthur. I'm just jabbering. That trip to Iwo Jima set me off a little. I knew it was bad, but I wasn't sure it would be ... well, what it was. We won the d.a.m.n place, gave LeMay his airstrip. But I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't want to spend any time there."

"Did you see the sulfur springs, sir?"

"The what?"

"On Iwo, sir. The place is still pretty active as a volcanic island. There are hot springs scattered about in the old lava beds. Some of the Marines were taking advantage. I saw lines of men waiting at one of those places, a steaming pool. Seemed to be a pleasant surprise ... after what they went through."

"Sulfur hot springs? Like some d.a.m.n health spa? Well, I guess that's good. Any man who can find some way to have liberty on that rock deserves it."

Lamar nodded in agreement, leaned over to the record player, adjusted the volume again, lowering the music another notch.

"What you do that for?"

Lamar straightened, said, "I thought ... you were talking and ... my apologies, sir."

"You know d.a.m.n well I'm a little deaf. You and no one else, right?"

"Aye, sir."

A man appeared at the door across the room, one of the aides.

He glanced at the record player, stiffened, said, "Excuse me, sir. We have received Admiral King's communication. He has forwarded a copy of General MacArthur's report from Manila."

Nimitz let out a breath, looked at the empty gla.s.s, only a film of the dark liquid in the bottom. No, let it go. It shouldn't take a bottle of bourbon just to read something from MacArthur. He saw the paper in the man's hand, pointed to the dining room table.

"Drop it here, son."

The man placed the stack of papers carefully, and Nimitz nodded toward him, the silent dismissal. He glanced at Lamar, saw no emotion, said, "Sometimes, Lieutenant, I feel like I've got dogs chewing on both my ankles." He paused. "Don't repeat that."

"Never heard it, sir."

The reports coming from Manila were far more gruesome than Nimitz had ever expected. MacArthur had succeeded in securing the primary airfields and most of the once-grand city, but the casualty counts had surpa.s.sed even the most pessimistic estimates. The worst catastrophe came from the body counts of the Filipino civilians, tens of thousands ma.s.sacred by the j.a.panese, and nearly that many more falling victim to the heavy sh.e.l.ling MacArthur had thrown into the city itself, the city he claimed to love.

Nimitz turned the pages, shook his head. That had to hurt like h.e.l.l. Doug's a lot of things, but he does love those people and he does have his sentimental streak. He'd rather be in the Philippines than anyplace else on earth, and he had to blow h.e.l.l out of most of the place to chase the j.a.ps away. Not sure what he expected to find there. Can't imagine that he thought all he had to do was show up and the j.a.ps would hand him the place. But I know d.a.m.n well he's overdoing it, trying to sc.r.a.pe every j.a.p out of every cave. It's costing us casualties we shouldn't be losing. He has to know that. And he has to care about it. But he just can't help ... being Doug.

He put the papers down, looked toward the suddenly silent record player, the Mozart complete.

"Look through that stack of records, Arthur. I need some Tchaikovsky."

The young lieutenant obeyed, and Nimitz waited for it, a soaring burst of bra.s.s and strings. He looked again at MacArthur's report, thought, I'll probably have to go there. Sure as h.e.l.l he'll set up some formal reception, where all the bra.s.s can offer him their congratulations. Not looking forward to that. He'll put on a whale of a show, try to put a smiling face on what was nothing more than a disaster that should never have happened. But ... he's that much closer to j.a.pan, and somewhere in Tokyo, somebody's gotta be scared as h.e.l.l of that. I imagine it's just like Patton, big mouth and big guns ripping h.e.l.l out of everything in the way. As long as you win, that kind of noise works, and no matter what j.a.p general is over the next hill, they'll be paying attention. I don't care how much propaganda they throw out to their people, every j.a.p general has to dread any thought of mixing it up with Doug.

He leaned back in the soft chair, the music rolling over him, a pa.s.sage that always made him stop his work. He set the papers aside, closed his eyes for a brief moment, pushed MacArthur away. I've got bigger things to think about, he thought. Much bigger things. I should be out there, watching it, making sure. He glanced at Lamar, still sitting across the room, jotting notes on a pad of paper. He sat up, thought, no, Okinawa is not where you need to be at all. Let them handle it. Some of the best officers I've got. But, by G.o.d ... it's tomorrow. And it's out of my hands.

He had wanted to be there, to see the bombardment, the largest armada ever a.s.sembled, his armada. The reports had come to him regularly from Admiral Turner, from the USS Eldorado, and even the admiral's flagship had contributed to the astonishing volume of destruction the navy had inflicted on Okinawa. Turner would command the invasion and support forces, while General Buckner, also on board the Eldorado, would command the Tenth Army, the combined army and Marine divisions that would drive ash.o.r.e.

Nimitz pictured Buckner in his mind, tall, gray hair, the picture of what a general should look like. Not sure how the j.a.ps feel about him, he thought. For all I know they never heard of him. No, the best thing we have going for us on Okinawa is the Marines. I'll bet it doesn't make a bit of difference to the j.a.ps that two-thirds of our people there will be army. By now they have to think that anybody coming across a beach is a Marine. That can't hurt. He knew that the offices in Washington had as much anxiety about the invasion as he did, thought, King's p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l that MacArthur gets the headlines. Not much I can do about that, except my job. King's gotta be busting at the seams for us to get our people on Okinawa, grab some attention for ourselves. h.e.l.l, Iwo Jima wasn't enough?

He knew it wasn't. Despite any glorious photographs that reached stateside, the newspapers would not be told the casualty figures from Iwo Jima, at least for a while. The same would happen in the fight to come. That's not the kind of press we want, he thought. MacArthur can disguise that kind of news by being ... well, MacArthur. Out here, there's not much else we can tell anyone. We fight like h.e.l.l to take an island, and get chewed up doing it, and that's pretty much the whole story. Hard for any newspaper to crow about our wonderful conquest of someplace they can't even spell.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and he looked up, saw another of his aides, a red-haired ensign.

"Sir, sorry to interrupt you ..."

"I'm done here. What is it, Greg?"

"Report just received from General Buckner, sir."

Nimitz glanced at the empty gla.s.s of bourbon, his second, thought about filling it again.

"Yeah, I'll bet he's jumping around like he stepped on a beehive." He pa.s.sed on the bourbon with a hint of reluctance, pulled himself from the chair.

"I'm coming, Greg."

The man stood aside, and Nimitz led Lamar out into the warm hallway, both men turning quickly into the radio room.

"Well, Arthur, what do you think? Is Buckner annoying the h.e.l.l out of Admiral Turner? Bad idea to put two senior commanders on the same ship." He saw a slight frown on Lamar's face. "Yeah, I know, Lieutenant. It was my idea. All right, Ensign, what's Buckner saying?"

"Just a general update on their preparedness, sir. The boys will be loaded onto the landing craft very soon. The offsh.o.r.e islands are secure, and we've captured a whole fleet of suicide boats."

"Good. He'll crow about that for a while. I promise you, later on, his after-action report will point out how the army saved the navy from certain destruction. He's big on those kinds of details. That's a West Pointer for you. Anything else I need to read?"

Lamar held the report in his hand, seemed to hesitate, and Nimitz knew the signal.

"Give me the d.a.m.n paper."

Lamar handed him the dispatch and Nimitz read, his eye catching the word.

"Civilians? Again?"

Lamar was looking down, did not respond, the others at the radio desk looking away. Nimitz read more of Buckner's words, his anger growing.

"What the h.e.l.l's the matter with those people? This is Saipan all over again! Where did this happen ... okay, yeah, Kerama Retto. They blew themselves up? We didn't do a d.a.m.n thing to them, and they just ... blew themselves up?"

It was a memory he had tried to forget, visiting Saipan the summer before. Admiral King had been there as well, the usual high-ranking inspection of a successful campaign. What Nimitz did not expect to see was the place called Marpi Point, where hundreds of terrified civilians had fled the advance of the American Marines by hurling themselves off the cliffs onto the rocky coastline below. The Marines who had tried to communicate their friendliness to the civilians had been stunned by the horror, and Nimitz had seen firsthand how effective j.a.panese propaganda could be. Those few civilians whom the Marines had prevented from leaping to their deaths spoke of the cannibalism of the Americans, how every child was certain to be raped and killed. Their terror had made it clear that the j.a.panese would spread the same propaganda to the occupants of every island. And now Nimitz saw the same kind of report. As Buckner's troops from the Seventy-seventh Infantry Division swept over the small islands off Okinawa's southwestern sh.o.r.e, the civilians there had reacted with the same blind fear. Unlike Saipan, on the small cl.u.s.ter of islands, the j.a.panese had supplied the people with weapons, mostly grenades. The troops who had witnessed the suicides had thought they were being fired on, but it was quickly apparent the civilians were using the grenades on themselves. Once again, j.a.panese propaganda had been amazingly effective.

"d.a.m.n. It could be this way all over Okinawa. How in h.e.l.l do we stop this?"

It was a question no one around him could answer.

Nimitz continued to read, more of the same efficiency from Buckner, troop counts and landing craft specifics that Nimitz already knew. There were details of the sh.e.l.ling of the island as well, Buckner's gleeful expectation that the j.a.panese defenses had been completely destroyed. Nimitz took no joy from the general's optimism, had heard too much of that before. Dammit, if bombs and artillery are all we need, why in h.e.l.l are you out there in the first place?

Nimitz was growing weary, the end of a long day, knew that tomorrow would be longer still. He couldn't help the tension, felt it from his entire staff, the same tightness they all felt the night before every major operation. He scanned the rest of Buckner's report, and his eye stopped at the end of the last page, a single line of type. Nimitz felt a cold stab in his stomach. No, not this c.r.a.p again.

"Tomorrow we start on a great adventure."

6. ADAMS.

OFFSh.o.r.e, OKINAWA.

APRIL 1, 1945 (EASTER SUNDAY).

"Eat up! All you want. Grab it and growl!"

The line snaked back along the corridor, the men inching their way past the amazing bins of hot food. Adams could smell the meat, saw men coming back past him with trays of steak and scrambled eggs, bowls of ice cream, steaming coffee. The smells were wonderful, hunger overcoming his bleary-eyed lack of sleep. He glanced behind him, saw Sergeant Ferucci, said, "What time is it, Sarge?"

"Just past three. You better eat up. Might not get anything for a while."

In front of him one man stepped out of line, moved the other way, down a stairway, stumbled, held himself against the railing, was suddenly sick. Around Adams there was a chorus of groans, low curses, the scene too common on the transport ships. Ferucci prodded him gently, said, "Ignore that. Eat what you can. Some of these boys are too smart for their own good. They ain't eating 'cause they know what's coming. More'n' likely, you'll just be borrowing those steaks. Seen too many boys give it all back before we hit the beach. Not me. I see this much grub, I grab all I can. You oughta do the same. If it stays down, you'll be better off. If it doesn't ... well, won't matter much."

Behind the sergeant, another man said, "Funny as h.e.l.l, Sarge. How the h.e.l.l can you eat anything at three in the morning? I'm done. You can have my share."

Adams turned, saw Gorman, one of the veterans, a sickly look on the man's face. They called Gorman "Pops," though Adams knew he couldn't have been much older than the rest, maybe twenty-five. Gorman had been in four major engagements, and Adams had envied that, knew that Gorman should be someone to watch, would know what to do in a tight spot. But Gorman was getting sicker by the second, and Adams watched as he stepped out of line, made his way to the same stairway, dropped out of sight. Ferucci said, "He shoulda gone up, gotten some air. He'll be okay. Just means more steak for the rest of us."

Ferucci moved up to the long table, his plate filled quickly. At the far end of the table, Lieutenant Porter waited, watching, and Adams saw a silent nod toward Ferucci. The lieutenant held a grim stare, a glance toward Adams, then the others as they came up behind. Adams liked Porter, kept that to himself, knew the men didn't talk kindly about officers very often. But there was something solid about the man, the kind of energy that Adams hoped was contagious, the look in the man's eye that Adams interpreted as concern for his men, and more, an officer who could lead. He didn't know what kind of action Porter had seen, how many men he had led into horrible places, how many of those had gone down. The man kept just enough steel in his stare to keep the questions away, and Adams felt the same confidence that the rest of the platoon seemed to expect. They might still make jokes about officers, but in this platoon, Porter was in charge.

Behind the table, a row of sailors were dishing out the food. Behind them stood an officer, the source of the ongoing pep talk.

"Eat up! Put a steak in your pocket if you want to! When was the last time you had ice cream? There's plenty."

More of the men were filling their plates, and Adams smelled the coffee now, caught the officer's eye.

"Belly up to the table, Private! Take plenty!"

Adams was close to the ma.s.sive pile of steaks now, the sailor across from him holding a long, thin fork.

"How many?"

"Just one, I guess."

Behind Adams, another man fell out, soft words, "Can't do it."

Adams tried to ignore him, knew it was another of the veterans. The sailor smiled at him now.

"One more for you, Marine. Here, take two."

Adams felt the weight dropping on his tray, moved farther along the table, saw the eggs, piled high, another sailor holding a large spoon.

"Here you go. Fresh from the navy's own chickens. Bet you didn't know we had a henhouse. The captain gets his over easy, every morning."

The other sailors laughed at their own joke, the food pa.s.sing from spoon and fork to the tin plates on the trays, the line continuing, coffee poured into tin cups. Adams saw the heavy tubs of ice cream, stared at the mountain of food on his tray, saw a wave from the lieutenant.

"This way, Private. Through the hatch. Find a place to sit."