fighting’s stopped, and that’s good, but it’s a sure bet that Jap general didn’t show up to surrender to us.”
News of the meeting between Short and the Japanese general had sped across the island with incredible swiftness. Exactly what had been said remained secret, but it could have been only one topic: surrender.
Alexa stood and wiped the dirt off her knees. “I like your hair. Is that the original color?”
Melissa grinned and stuck out her tongue. She had taken Jake’s relayed instructions to heart, and her once- radiant blond hair was now a very mousy light brown and cut short. Alexa had hacked at her hair as well but felt that her natural color was bland enough. That and baggy, dirty clothing made them appear sexless. She hoped.
“Honey,” Melissa said with an affected drawl, “it’s been so long I don’t recall. Even my roots have been known to lie.”
Alexa looked down the road and saw people moving along it. They had packs on their backs. Groups of refugees were taking advantage of the cease-fire to move to places of greater safety. “I think it’s time to go, don’t you?”
Melissa nodded. They’d packed suitcases and were ready to leave on short notice. “Think our gardens’ll be here when we get back?”
“I hope so.” The cease-fire had lasted for almost an entire day. Rumor was that it’d last for another, but who knew what the Japs might do instead of honoring their word?
“I think,” Alexa said, “we have enough time to clean up and double-check what we’ve packed. Jake said we should dress ugly. He didn’t say we had to be filthy.” At least not yet, she thought. Why did she have the nagging feeling that this shower might be her last for a long time?
A portion of the front lines was about two miles north of the small city of Waipahu, population six thousand, which lay directly between Schofield and the base at Pearl Harbor. The city itself had been destroyed by Japanese artillery on the heights above the plain and by batteries now south of both Schofield and Wheeler Field.
The American defenders took the unexpected cease-fire as an opportunity to dig out collapsed trenches and strengthen bunkers. They took turns at eating and resting, all the while keeping an eye on the Japanese positions only a mile away.
“White flag,” a sentry yelled. Sure enough, a white flag was visible above a known Japanese position. Word was passed down, and the battalion commander, a harassed-looking major, joined them. After a few minutes, a couple of figures appeared pulling a cart. The white flag was on a pole attached to the cart.
The major looked through a high-powered field telescope as the small party advanced. It was apparent that it was difficult for them to pull the cart over the rough terrain, and they fell a couple of times. For some reason, the sight reminded the major of a Passion play he’d seen once where Christ stumbled under the weight of his cross. The thought chilled him.
Something was wrong with the two men. They were naked, and then he realized they weren’t men. The two naked people pulling on the cart were women, white women.
“I want two unarmed men to go out there with blankets to cover them and then help them with the cart,” he said. A dozen volunteers raised their hands. There was anger, not prurience, on their faces. They knew what the Japs had done to the women.
Under a white towel attached to a branch, two soldiers advanced through no-man’s-land and up to the slowly advancing cart. They covered the women with blankets, which were totally inadequate for the job, and assumed their burden.
After agonizing moments, they made it to the American trenches, where the major had a good look at the women. They appeared beaten and tormented. Their bodies were bloody and covered with cuts and bruises, some of which still oozed blood, and there was the hint of madness in their eyes. The sight was so disturbing that most of the soldiers averted their eyes.
“Who are you?” the major asked gently. The women were white, and he thought he knew the answer.
“Nurses,” one managed to answer through swollen lips while the other one began to tremble uncontrollably. “From Schofield,” she added.
The major examined the cart. It had high sides and a canvas top, and looked like it had come from a farm. “What’s in the cart?” he asked and wondered if he really wanted to know.
“Heads,” the first nurse answered and began to cry. “Our boys’ heads. The Japs are killing their prisoners.”
Franklin Delano Roosevelt looked dejectedly out the window. Winter in Washington is a damp and usually unlovely time of year, and this day was no exception. It was raining fitfully over the nation’s capital and in the president’s heart.
“Do we have a choice?” he asked.
General Marshall, Admiral King, Secretary Knox, and Stimson all either shook their heads or looked away. General Short had earlier relayed the Japanese ultimatum and the forty-eight-hour deadline. Now they had knowledge of Japan’s barbarity.
The two nurses were survivors of a group of at least a dozen captured when Schofield had been overrun. All had been gang-raped, but the two had been chosen to survive while the others had their throats cut.
The two survivors had then watched while fifty American POWs were selected at random from a holding pen and decapitated. The message the two brutalized nurses delivered was very simple. If General Short did not surrender, ten Americans would be executed every hour that went past the deadline. Also, there would be no protection for the civilian population. General Tadoyashi was explicit on this point. If there was no surrender, he would turn the 38th Division loose on Honolulu as he had on Hong Kong in an orgy of raping and looting.
“I’m still waiting for my answer,” Roosevelt said. “Do we have a choice? For God’s sake, if there is, tell me!”
“There is none,” King answered. “I recommend surrender.”
“As do I,” Marshall said, and the two secretaries nodded agreement.
“General Short is required to surrender the entire Hawaiian archipelago,” Marshall added, “and that includes Midway.”
Roosevelt shrugged. Midway was an island base over a thousand miles north and west of Hawaii proper. Its presence on the archipelago was a geographic quirk.
“What do we have there?” the president asked.
“Nothing anymore,” King said. “We’d hoped to use it as a forward and unsinkable aircraft carrier, but the invasion of Oahu outflanked it and made it irrelevant. We evacuated the last of the personnel a day or two ago. The Japs’ll get a couple of empty islands and a fairly usable airfield if they want it, but Midway is no longer of any importance.”
“Then let them have it too,” Roosevelt snapped. “At least tell me that Magic is safe.”
“We’ve taken steps to ensure that it is,” Marshall said.
“That’s not quite a yes,” Roosevelt muttered. “But I guess it’ll do for the time being.”
King was anxious to get back to his office. “Will that be all, sir?”
The president smiled, but it was an expression devoid of all happiness. “No. I have one more task for both you and General Marshall. I told you I want the islands back. When can you do it?”
King hid his surprise. “As I said before, by the end of 1943 we’ll be strong enough to take on the Jap navy.”
“As will the army,” Marshall said. “But it may mean deferring some actions in Europe.”
“This year,” Roosevelt said. “By the end of summer.”
“Impossible,” King said, and Marshall concurred.
“That is your assignment, gentlemen,” the president said. “If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can. I will not abide having nearly four hundred thousand Americans under the Japanese heel. I want you to be creative and clever. I want you to do whatever terrible things you must to mount a successful operation, but you must succeed. I want those islands back.”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused.
King stole a glance at Marshall, who looked away. There was only the faintest chance that they could muster enough strength to take back Hawaii. However, they might be able to hurt the Japs, or at least let them know that America wasn’t dead and buried. Yes, thought King. They could do at least that much.
“One other thing,” said Roosevelt. “Just don’t give away the secret to Magic.”
