Part 5 (2/2)
”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 s.h.i.+p.” 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 s.h.i.+ps. 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 dis.h.i.+ng 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.”
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