1945 (49 page)

"How long will this take?" Joe asked.

"Twenty minutes max," Swain replied.

This did not constitute good news to Joe, who recalled Sakei's comment about alerting local police and militia. "It better be soon. There were survivors among the guards and they'll have sent for help. Things are going to get very interesting if the planes don't arrive real fast."

Billy Swain grinned. "Planes? Joe, who the hell said anything about planes?"

Admirals Nimitz and Halsey were uncomfortable with the situation in which they found themselves. The rain had kept the kamikazes away, but that was the only good thing they could say about the operation that had grown from the proverbial shoestring and now utilized a large part of America 's naval might.

They both thought it unlikely that the operation would succeed, with Halsey going so far as to say it hadn't a snowball's chance in hell. Nimitz had initially gone along with it because it seemed remotely possible and wouldn't cost much, thus making it worth a try. Now, as they waited in the night, their doubts ran wild.

They were on the bridge of the newest and largest carrier in the fleet, the recently commissioned USS
Midway
. The
Midway
was almost a thousand feet long, displaced over fifty-five thousand tons fully loaded, and carried 137 airplanes. Of particular importance, she was the only carrier in the U.S. fleet with an armored deck. In a lesson learned from the British, it was hoped that any kamikazes that did attack her would bounce off, which was why she had been rushed to completion and sent to Japan.

Ironically, Nimitz and Halsey knew the impressive
Midway
was already obsolete. Even though a comparative giant, her flight deck was too short to handle the new jet fighters that were being developed. So far, jets had not played a part in the invasion of Japan because of the lack of bases with runways long enough to handle them, and since the Japs had no planes to speak of, the slower prop models were more than sufficient to the current task.

As further protection, the
Midway
and her important cargo were surrounded by a host of cruisers and destroyers along with half a dozen other carriers. This was just as well since the
Midway's
planes had been forbidden to fly. There were more important uses for the flight deck.

"Fool's errand," murmured Halsey. "Goddamned idiot trip."

Nimitz did not contradict him. What had seemed at least marginally possible a few hours earlier seemed like just so much nonsense. How could a handful of rangers and frogmen possibly take Hirohito off Japan?

"They're brave," Halsey conceded, "but the whole thing's just a folly. I only hope they don't all die."

"I agree," said Nimitz. Normally he would have been at his command post at Okinawa or on the
Wasatch;
however, the situation was so unique that he felt compelled to be on the
Midway
waiting for success or failure. That he was not the only important person on the carrier was also not lost on him. Should anything happen to the
Midway
, history might well change dramatically.

A junior officer interrupted Nimitz's thoughts. "Sir, we have a message from Roy. He says send Dale."

"My gawd," said Halsey. "Something's actually happening out there, isn't it?"

Nimitz nodded. The question was rhetorical.
Dale
was the signal to begin extracting the troops. He wondered if the American raiders had actually taken Hirohito or were just running for their lives. Irrelevently, he wondered who'd thought of using the names of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans for the operation.

Nomura looked at the clearing that was now surrounded by lights that pierced the foggy sky. Swain had said help was coming and that was good. Bad news, however, was that a Jap patrol had found them, probably attracted by the lights. It had been driven off, but the sky was getting brighter, and Jap reinforcements were coming through the brush and homing in on the beacons.

"When, Mr. Swain?" Joe asked impatiently.

"Any second now."

As he said that, a ranger outpost began firing at approaching Japanese. The Japanese shot back, and mortar shells began to drop near the perimeter. In the background Joe heard a distant clattering sound that rapidly grew closer. He turned and watched as what appeared to be a giant insect dropped from the sky.

"What the hell is that?"

Swain grinned. "That my friend is a helicopter.
Chopper
for short." As he spoke, a mortar exploded, hurling Swain on top of Nomura. Joe pushed him off and saw that the back of Swain's head had been blown away. Joe's leg was bleeding and he was covered with Swain's gore. He had picked up shrapnel and maybe pieces of Billy Swain. He picked himself up and managed to stand and control the pain.

The first chopper landed, quickly followed by a second. Sounds told Joe that others were approaching. He made a quick decision. "Get the emperor out on the first one and send one of the Japanese speakers with him."

"What about you?" one of the rangers asked.

"That's my problem. Hirohito goes first and then the rest of us."

Hirohito and a wounded ranger headed for the first helicopter. The emperor hesitated momentarily as he realized that the frail-looking craft was expected to fly him out over the Pacific. He turned, waved at Joe, then boarded. Joe was glad to see that the wounded man was one of the Japanese speakers. Good. Someone was using his head and killing two birds with one stone.

Hirohito looked out through the window as the helicopter began its slow, noisy ascent. Joe wanted to scream for it to hurry, to make all the dead and wounded relevant.

Prudently, the pilot kept the chopper low and headed away from the approaching Japanese. The second helicopter lifted off and two more landed in their place. These were quickly filled with wounded and flew away. Wounded now had the highest priority. The dead would have to remain.

The sequence of drop-down and liftoff continued despite Japanese fire, which got closer and heavier. As the Americans departed, it meant fewer and fewer remained to man the defenses, and Joe realized that he had a difficult decision to make.

Suddenly, a helicopter was hit and exploded in a burst of flames. It crashed to the ground. No one left it. The approaching chopper pilots ignored the fire and carnage to land and remove more men.

"How many left?" Joe yelled after still another pair had lifted off. The men sounded off. Only five were left alive, counting himself.

Two more helicopters managed to land, avoiding the flaming ruins of the burning one. Two men filled one and it lifted off.

"Go," Joe ordered.

A ranger looked aghast. "What about you, sir?"

"No room at the inn, buddy. I'll be all right. Just get your asses out of here."

The remaining rangers didn't need more urging. They sprinted to the last helicopter and flung themselves into the cabin, and the chopper immediately took off.

Joe turned and saw Japs approaching less than a hundred yards away. The sun was beginning to rise and the whole area remained lit by the lights and the fire. "Hurry!" he screamed at the approaching Japanese. "Hurry! The Americans are getting away. Kill them!"

With that, he stood and shot at the helicopter, which was now safely out of range. He only stopped when the wave of advancing soldiers raced by him.

A militia officer trotted up to him, saw the
kempei
uniform, and saluted. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes, but some of them may have gotten away." Joe gestured vaguely in the direction of some hills to his left. "Send your men in that direction." The officer did as he was told and Joe was again alone.

Joe thought he had a few minutes before they started to think and wonder just what he had been doing inside the American perimeter. They wouldn't believe for long that he'd been captured and escaped, or that he'd bravely followed the American raiders.

He staggered. His leg hurt like a bitch. The wounds didn't seem serious, but walking was going to be painful and slow. But what choice did he have? At least one guard had seen him shoot another. Did that man still live? Had he informed his comrades about the
kempei
officer's strange behavior? Soon the place would be crawling with investigators.

After all, one didn't lose an emperor and then just write it off. No, real
kempei
would be here soon. The time for masquerading as a
kempei
officer was over.

Joe limped down the path. His cache of equipment, food, clothes, and the precious radio were miles away. He would either have to get to them or find some other civilian clothing and, once again, let himself be swallowed up and made invisible by the throngs of refugees. Joe could only hope that the Japanese wouldn't be looking too hard for a man with one arm.

An honor guard of marines stood on the deck of the carrier. Halsey had personally checked to make sure that the rifles they carried were unloaded. The last thing they needed was for someone to go crazy with revenge and shoot the emperor of Japan .

Halsey still couldn't believe this was happening, and he was reasonably sure that Nimitz didn't either. The approaching helicopter had first landed on one of the smaller escort carriers, where it was refueled and sent on to the
Midway
. It was a shame that helicopters had such short legs, but Halsey was certain that future ones would see the problem rectified.

Almost daintily, the helicopter carrying Hirohito poised above the flight deck and lowered itself to land gently. There was a momentary wait while the blades stopped whirling.

An improvised red carpet was laid from the helicopter to the carrier's superstructure. Then a naval officer in a clean dress uniform walked to the helicopter with as much dignity as he could manage. The hatch was opened and the carrier's band began to play the Japanese national anthem, which was followed by "The Star-Spangled Banner." Halsey thought that the latter was played with more verve and gusto than the former.

Hirohito leaned out of the chopper and stepped onto the deck. There was a collective gasp from the hundreds of crewmen who had gathered around the flight deck for the historic event, even though it had been unpubhcized. The carrier was a small town that kept few secrets.

Hirohito stood for a moment. Then he smiled slightly and walked forward to meet President Harry Truman, who had emerged from the shadows of the superstructure and was walking toward him.

As the men approached each other, the throng of sailors commenced to applaud and then cheer as they realized the significance of what was occurring.

Japanese naval captain Minoru Genda was almost universally conceded to be a brave and extraordinarily brilliant officer who had a tremendous future before him. In his younger days— he was still only forty-one— many had despaired that he would not live long enough for his brilliance to blossom. He had been part of an acrobatic-flying group and had later been nicknamed the Madman because of his intense feelings that naval air was the way of the future. His fervor in proclaiming that carriers had made battleships obsolete had won him few friends in a big-gun navy.

Genda had helped plan the attack on Pearl Harbor and had taken part in numerous other battles. Some felt that if he had not been sickly during the ill-fated Battle of Midway, it and the war would have turned out differently for Japan.

Most recently, Genda had been assigned to help coordinate Japan's air defenses, which meant he had little to do since Japan's air defenses were virtually nonexistent. Thus, he could often be found at Anami's subterranean headquarters, and his presence was even looked forward to by those who considered him a hero.

After a cursory search for weapons— none of any kind were permitted in Anami's presence— Genda was admitted to Anami's private office. As he entered, a clerk closed the door behind him. As Genda expected, he and Anami were alone. The errand Anami had sent him on required a high degree of secrecy.

But first, there was a personal concern. "Your arm. What happened?" Anami asked.

Genda grimaced. His left arm was in a large cast. "Sir, the trip to Kyushu was even more dangerous than I expected. This is courtesy of an American plane my pilot and I almost couldn't evade. It looks worse than it is, however, and it will heal in a few weeks."

"I am glad for your safe return," Anami said with sincerity. He wished he had many more Gendas to depend on. "But tell me, is the situation as bad as we've been led to believe?"

"It is," Genda conceded sadly. "If anything, it is worse."

The day before, Anami had received frantic coded signals from Kyushu that Hirohito had been kidnapped by an American raiding party. Anami had prevailed on Genda to fly to Camp 7 on Kyushu and verify the disaster.

Genda awkwardly lit a cigarette with his good arm. "I was able to confirm that an American raider force knew precisely where Hirohito was, and after a brief fight, they took him away by helicopters, which they used to fly him out to their ships. Witnesses saw a man fitting Hirohito's description with them, and it may be that the emperor went willingly. A Japanese officer was also seen assisting the Americans, which indicates a conspiracy, at least at the lower level. We must assume that the emperor is in American hands and will cooperate with them. The Japanese officer in question has not been found."

And doubtless won't be, Genda didn't add. Whoever the Japanese officer was and anyone else in on the conspiracy were in hiding and not worth looking for. Hirohito's taking had stunned the Tokyo headquarters, but, so far, the news had not spread to the rest of Japan. It did, however, present a unique opportunity for those brave enough to take it.

Anami took the bad news with surprising calm. Then he smiled grimly. "No," Anami finally said. "Hirohito was murdered by the Americans. It is an unspeakable atrocity that we will blame on them."