Roosevelt sighed. DeWitt was the commander of the Western Defense Command, which included California. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he had convinced the president and others that the resident Japanese were a threat to the safety of the country and quickly had them removed to concentration camps. Liberals, even those in Roosevelt’s own party, were calling it a travesty of justice in that many of those removed were American citizens, both native-born and naturalized, and others were too old and feeble to be considered threats. It didn’t matter. General DeWitt felt that the only good Jap was either a dead one or one who was locked up.
Roosevelt had reluctantly acquiesced. The mood of the country had demanded it, and he had rationalized that the Japanese-Americans would actually be safer in concentration camps than out on the streets and subject to mob justice.
But this request from a small group of senators and representatives astonished him. They proposed a trade of the Japanese civilians held in California camps for those white American civilians in Hawaii.
Senator Theodore Bilbo, a Democrat from Mississippi, was the spearhead for the plan. His rationale was simple: First, white people were being abused and going hungry in Hawaii; and, second, white people should never be held prisoner by nonwhites. Thus, with so many Japanese in our prisons and so many white Americans in theirs, a trade seemed like a logical step.
Roosevelt handed the paper containing the proposal to Marshall, who passed it to Admiral King. “Tell me, does the esteemed Senator Bilbo know he is under investigation for illegal activities involving war contractors?”
Marshall smiled tightly. “He must. Everyone else is aware of it.”
Roosevelt jammed his cigarette into an ashtray. “And what would he have us do with the nonwhite population of Hawaii? Just write them off and leave them under their oppressors? Doesn’t he realize that what he proposes would be a virtual signal of abandonment of the islands? It would tell the world that we have withdrawn from Hawaii forever.”
“I don’t think Bilbo has thought that far.” King snorted. “Personally, I don’t think the dumb son of a bitch can think to the end of his nose.”
“I’m being crucified by the press,” Roosevelt said. “Walter Winchell is saying the most terrible things about Hawaii to his radio audience,, and the Chicago Tribune is printing news of appalling atrocities, most of which is false. Even Father Coughlin has decided to reignite his career by blaming me for everything. Tell me, gentlemen, are there any real plans afoot to liberate Hawaii and relieve me of this god-awful burden?”
The two senior military men stole quick glances at each other. Under FDR, security in the White House was not the best in the world. At one time they had even restricted the president’s access to Magic information because of his maddening tendency to leave papers lying around, or to share the information with advisers who had no clearance to receive it. In particular, this applied to his friend and military adviser Major General Edwin “Pa” Watson, who was garrulous and sloppy with the documents he received.
“There are plans in the development state,” Marshall answered cautiously. “But there is nothing we can or should discuss at this time.”
“So I should say nothing in response to these attacks?” Roosevelt asked, and both men nodded. “This is so much more difficult than I ever thought it would be,” the president said sadly. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, I’m not feeling well and am going to take a nap.”
Marshall and King watched as the president wheeled himself out of the office. He was gaunt and gray, and had difficulty maneuvering the chair.
“If he feels as bad as he looks,” King said as they were leaving, “then he is in really bad shape.”
Marshall did not comment. He was deeply disturbed by the state of the president’s health and what that portended. His worst nightmare was that Vice President Henry A. Wallace would accede to the presidency.
CHAPTER 15
Sergeant Hawkins chuckled in the darkness. Like all of them, he was camouflaged and his face smeared with dirt, which made him almost impossible to see. “Colonel, this is getting to be like Grand Central Station. How much longer do you think we can continue landings at this place?”
“This may be the last,” Jake said as he stole a glance at the almost sheer cliffs to their rear. “Of course, the last one was supposed to be the end of it. This one is a surprise.”
The overusage of the bay where they had originally landed by flying boat was a concern to them all. So far they had been both lucky and good in that there were few people in the vicinity and even fewer Japanese patrols. It was a situation that could not last forever, and the delivery they were waiting for was unplanned.
In the preceding several weeks, the submarines had lined up almost like buses or, as Hawk preferred to think, trains. The military had not abandoned Hawaii; instead, it was apparent that the tiny force on the island was to be built up. Toward that end, subs had disgorged a platoon of well-trained and highly skilled Marine Raiders. They were commanded by First Lieutenant Sammy Brooks, a small, dark-complexioned young man with an Annapolis education and a ferocious desire to kill Japs. His brother was a prisoner in the Philippines.
The original handful of soldiers and marines had grown thanks to the infusion of navy refugees and a few selected civilian volunteers, including a handful of women. As a result, Jake gave Hawkins an unauthorized battlefield promotion to second lieutenant. Brooks had no problem with that, and, to Jake’s surprise, his superiors in California agreed and confirmed it.
Along with much-needed supplies and equipment, other subs had landed a score of army engineers under a burly, middle-aged Swede, Captain Karl Gustafson, and his job was to find a place where planes could be landed and hidden until they were needed. “Not for too many planes,” Gustafson had stressed. “Maybe a dozen or so.”
Jake had thought it would be easier to hide a herd of elephants in a small church and not be noticed by the congregation, but he was pleasantly surprised at the skill shown by Gus and his men in identifying suitable locations. It was stressed that any landing strip should not look like one until it was time to use it. They were fortunate in that the ground was rock solid and flat enough in many areas, which meant it was necessary only to keep their basic efforts hidden. This could be done by moving foliage to key spots, and Gustafson was very good at hiding things.
Additional equipment and personnel also meant an improvement in their communications with California and other places. They maintained infrequent but steady contact with other guerrilla forces, primarily those under Fertig in the Philippines.
It was good to know they were not alone. Jake was secure enough to refuse additional help. A hundred or so men and women could be dispersed and hidden, while a larger group would be that much more difficult to both hide and feed.
The marine platoon still used the 1903 Springfield, and not the M1 Garand as their rifle. However, they did use the same. 30 caliber bullet, which meant the supply situation was difficult but not impossible.
So, Jake wondered as he jerked his attention back to the present, what are we doing on this beach tonight? Instead of California calling, this time the message had been from Oahu and said to expect a “package.”
At only a few minutes past the target time, he heard the quiet rumblings of a well-tuned diesel engine. After a while they saw a small fishing boat coming close to the shore. With its shallow draft, the darkened craft eased up to within a few feet of the sandy beach.
They watched as the three-man crew guided someone out of the cabin and awkwardly down into the shallow water. The fishing boat’s crew was calm even though they had to know that a score of weapons were aimed at them.
“Your package can walk,” Hawkins muttered.
“I don’t know why, but I’m surprised,” Jake said.
The “package” stood in the waist-deep water while the boat backed away. It was then that they realized the person was blindfolded and wearing an awkward and too-large cap.
Finally, hat and blindfold were removed. Jake gasped when he saw the hair and realized it was a woman, and, as she waded slowly and awkwardly toward land, he knew exactly who she was.
“Alexa,” he said, and the sound of his voice startled her. “Over here.”
