1945 (33 page)

"Couldn't be helped, and you're being too hard on yourself and them. The Japs were running downhill and had only a little ways to go. Your men didn't have time to choose targets, so I'll bet most of your men, those who fired, all hit the same targets. Hell, that officer with the sword probably got shot a hundred times. I'll bet everybody wanted a chunk of his skinny yellow ass."

Paul recalled how only a few had gone down in the first fusillade. "Yeah. But what do you mean 'those who fired'? Everybody shot, didn't they?"

Ruger laughed. "In a situation like that I'll bet half your boys were so shocked shitless by the sight of real live Japs running down their throats that they couldn't shoot at all. Either that or they fired so wildly they stood a better chance of hitting the moon than they did the bad guys. Tell me, how many of them did you kill with that popgun of yours?"

Paul thought for a second, and the answer stunned him. "I was so scared of the Japs, and so busy yelling for someone to shoot them along with calling for more flares, that I never did a thing with my carbine. I might as well have left it at home."

"That's what I mean, Paul. And your boys probably did better than most would've. After all, we're veterans now."

There was no sarcasm in Ruger's comments. Once again, hours of boredom had been followed by seconds of sheer terror. Some soldiers had done well, others poorly. All had behaved normally.

"Captain, I want Wills decorated," Paul said, and explained that the young medic had thrown himself on the grenade in an apparent effort to save the other two men.

"You sure he actually fell on it intentionally?" Ruger asked. "Maybe he just stumbled trying to throw it away or while trying to get out of there himself?"

"Two men will testify that he made no effort to save his own life, even if he could, and that he jumped on the grenade to save his men."

Ruger started the walk down the hill. Paul saw that he was carrying the Jap officer's sheathed samurai sword. "What're you going to do with that thing, Captain?"

Ruger paused and waved it awkwardly with one hand. The long, single-edged blade was designed to be gripped with two hands. "Keep it as a trophy for the company. If I left it here, some rear-echelon asshole would pick it up and send it home as a souvenir of his bravery. These things are individually made and may have belonged to that Jap's family for generations, maybe longer. If I can, I'll try to get it back to his relatives after the war is over. If not, I'll keep it or give it to a museum. The Jap was a brave man. Incredibly stupid, but brave."

"So was Wills, sir. Brave that is, not stupid."

"So put him in for something, Paul. How 'bout the Distinguished Service Cross?"

Paul could see Wills's mutilated body and the eternal look of surprise on his young face. Wills had been one of the good guys in the platoon, although Paul now thought of just about all of them as good guys. "No, sir, let's go all the way. Let's put Wills in for the Medal of Honor."

Ruger thought for a moment. Politicians and senior officers getting honors for just being in the vicinity of the shooting, and not for doing anything even remotely heroic. What Wills had done on a bleak hill on Kyushu definitely deserved to be remembered.

"Yeah," Ruger answered softly, "let's do it."

Paul felt better. Wills's death would have some reason for occurring. "And another thing, Captain. You'd might want to stop waving that sword around. Some Jap sniper's likely to get a little pissed at you for having it instead of the original owner."

He laughed out loud when Ruger quickly dropped the sword down to his leg and looked nervously about.

Light feathers of icy snow whipped the barren hill overlooking the frosty brown waters of the Han River. A few miles to the west was the ruined city of Seoul . It could only be seen as a distant and still-smoking blur on the horizon, but it marked the only part of Korea south of the muddy and ice-swollen Han River currently occupied by Soviet forces.

To Marshal Aleksandr Vasilevsky, commander in chief of the Red Army's Far Eastern Forces, the city of Seoul and the Han River line constituted only a temporary halt in the inexorable advance of the Soviet forces against the Japanese armies. That the halt was essential and commanded by Moscow did not affect his opinion that it was temporary.

On August 9, 1945, the same day the Americans dropped the second nuclear bomb, on Nagasaki, a million and a half Soviet soldiers and airmen had surged into Manchuria and then on into Korea and China. Organized into three army fronts— the Trans-Baikal, the First Far Eastern, and the Second Far Eastern— they consisted of eighty infantry and armored divisions, which contained five thousand armored vehicles and twenty-six thousand guns and mortars along with a fleet of five thousand planes. This overwhelming and battle-hardened force was hurled at the Japanese, who were pitifully short of manpower and modern weapons.

With few exceptions, Japanese forces confronting them had already been depleted by the need to transfer so many frontline soldiers back to Japan and had been swept aside or bypassed. Japanese airpower was nonexistent, and Japanese armor was laughably inadequate against the Soviet T-34, the finest tank in the world. The vaunted Japanese soldier had no chance to stand and fight against Soviet armor and firepower. In the face of the ferocious Soviet onslaught and far away from home, many Japanese units had crumbled and run, making the code of Bushido a joke. Within a few weeks, Manchuria, northern Korea, and northern China had been overrun with only moderate losses to the Red Army attackers.

On orders from the Stavka, the Soviet military's high command and in reality the word of Joseph Stalin, Vasilevsky had diverted forces from the drive on Korea to concentrate on the efforts in China. The Korean peninsula was an apple that could be plucked at any time, while the opportunity to take China from the Japanese, and to help the Chinese Red Army at the same time, was too great to be ignored.

It also mattered that the tenuous Soviet supply line from west of the Urals to Manchuria was overloaded and could not sustain Vasilevsky's entire army with food, fuel, and ammunition. When the Siberian winter closed down roads and rail lines, choices had to be made as to which areas would be supported by the limited resources, and sustaining operations in China was the choice.

Vasilevsky had halted his operations in Korea while focusing his efforts in China and had been pleased with the results. Beijing and Shanghai had fallen along with a number of other major cities, and the Soviets still drove southward.

But now, as he watched the columns of antlike figures cross the pontoon bridges of the Han River, Marshal Aleksandr Vasilevsky was no longer quite so pleased with his success. That was because Lazar Kaganovich stood beside him on the frozen hill overlooking the Han. Kaganovich was the deputy premier of the Soviet Union, theoretically second only to Joseph Stalin.

The fifty-year-old Vasilevsky had originally been a czarist officer and had, before that, even studied for the priesthood. Both occurred before the Revolution, which, when it came, he endorsed with fervor. With his background, along with his tendency to be cultured rather than affect the crudeness of so many other Soviet officers, Vasilevsky had never felt comfortable in the inner circles of the Soviet hierarchy.

Even though Stalin himself had once considered taking holy orders, Vasilevsky was still concerned that his relatively elitist background might come back to haunt him. He had worked closely with Stalin and knew that he had the power of death at his whim. Vasilevsky's command at the far end of the Soviet empire pleased him because it meant he was far from the reaches of Joseph Stalin and the murderous intrigues of the Soviet empire.

However, Lazar Kaganovich's presence on the Korean hill meant that Stalin had reached out to him. To some people, the huge but cadaverous-looking Kaganovich personified evil. Years earlier, he had delivered his own teenage daughter to be seduced by Stalin, then permitted his own brother to be executed. Kaganovich had further demonstrated his loyalty to Stalin when he orchestrated the death by starvation of the millions of prosperous farmers, the kulaks, whose continuing prosperity insulted the egalitarian ideals of communism. As deputy premier to a man who kept everything to himself, Kaganovich's main role was to be Stalin's executioner.

"Does the sight please you?" Kaganovich asked.

Vasilevsky wondered how any man could permit Stalin to flick his own daughter, murder his brother, and still work for him. Kaganovich's degree of devotion to Stalin was frightening.

"Indeed it does, comrade, as does anything Comrade Stalin wishes."

"Some might say that we are letting the Japanese get away," he said, gesturing to the columns of Japanese infantry that moved across the bridges in plain sight and under scores of silent Soviet guns.

Vasilevsky recognized the clumsy probe and deflected it. "Anyone who felt that way would be disloyal. Comrade Stalin knows what he is doing and has proven that many times over."

"Good. Even though we all felt you would understand and comply, it was considered important enough that I come here to bring you the message in person."

"I understand." Vasilevsky also understood that the penalty for hesitation in complying with Stalin's order would have been a bullet to the brain from Kaganovich's pistol. It had been widely rumored that Stalin had gotten Kaganovich's daughter pregnant as a result of the seduction. Vasilevsky wondered what had happened to the unfortunate girl and her bastard child. He doubted that either still lived.

Yet, despite his personal and unrevealed misgivings, Vasilevsky had to admire the audacity of the new situation. Kaganovich's message was that Stalin had reached a secret accord with the Japanese government. Under it, the Red armies in Korea would halt in place and safe passage through the Russian lines would be granted to the Japanese forces in China and other parts of Asia. The results of the agreement were below Vasilevsky. Long lines of Japanese soldiers, including many taken prisoner in the preceding battles, were crossing over the Han and back into Japanese control.

"Comrade Kaganovich, how long do you think the secret of the accord will endure?"

Kaganovich's laugh was a sharp cackle. "Long enough for many tens of thousands of Japanese to escape to Korea, and long enough for us to tilt the balance of the war of liberation against the corrupt Chiang Kai-shek regime in the favor of Mao Tse-tung's Marxist forces. Then, like Poland and eastern Germany, we will present the United States with a fait accompli which they can only undo by force of arms. They will not fight for China any more than they will for Poland or any other country we desire to control."

"Do we care what ultimately happens to the Japanese crossing our lines? Have we made further arrangements to get them to Japan itself?"

"We care nothing about them," Kaganovich snarled. "Once the stinking yellow shits are across the Han, they are Japan's problem. Let the Americans bomb them to pieces when they try to cross the straits to Honshu and Kyushu. But those that do make it to their home islands will go on fighting and further weaken the United States by the casualties they will inevitably inflict. This is all part of Comrade Stalin's grand plan. He is delighted when the capitalist nations such as Japan, Germany, Great Britain, and the United States fight each other. Each battle between them weakens them all and makes the ultimate victory of communism that much more likely to occur soon.

"Japan," Kaganovich continued, "cannot win this war no matter what awful weapons she decides to use. All she can do is make her defeat and destruction all the more absolute. At the same time, she will drag the United States down with her. After a while, we shall take over the remainder of Korea and excise the Japanese army with as much difficulty as I would have squeezing a ripe yellow pimple. Then we will be in a position to take over Japan itself once the Americans are through exacting their revenge."

Vasilevsky shivered and it wasn't from the cold. What if the American reaction to this betrayal by Russia was not what Stalin predicted. The Americans had the atomic bomb. Would they use it in revenge against the Soviet Union? He shivered again. If that occurred, millions would be slaughtered and the fighting might go on forever. What kind of world might be left for the descendants of Lenin's cause to inherit?

Adm. Chester Nimitz greeted Gen. Omar Bradley with his usual casual cordiality. Bradley had been about to salute the five-star Nimitz when he found his hand grasped firmly and shaken by the admiral.

"Good to see you, General." Nimitz's smile was wide and sincere. It was easy for Bradley to respond in kind.

Bradley had been in the air in a miscellany of transports and bombers for what seemed an eternity and had not, other than for catnaps, had much sleep in the last couple of days. Arrival at the Okinawan air base had energized him. Overflying the island, now an even vaster military camp than it had been prior to the invasion of Kyushu, he had been reminded of the vast accumulation of men and matériel in England just before the Normandy landings. Better yet, the affable Nimitz seemed genuinely pleased to have him here to take over control of the suddenly leaderless army and its accumulating woes.

They walked briskly to a hangar that Nimitz had converted into an instant meeting area. Bradley had flown with only a few lower-ranking aides, and Nimitz, seeing that his own staff outnumbered and outranked Bradley's, sent most of his men away. Such tact and concern were typical of Nimitz, and Bradley wondered if Mac Arthur had ever appreciated it.

"Before we get started," Nimitz said, "this is for you." He held out a small package, which a puzzled Bradley took and opened. Inside were two sets of five stars. "I just got word a couple of hours ago that you've been promoted," Nimitz continued. "This is an extra set of mine. I'd be honored if you'd wear them."

Bradley's face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. He grinned and cheerfully allowed that he'd be deeply honored to accept them. Nimitz pinned them on him while the handful of aides applauded, and the two men sat on comfortable chairs that faced each other. There was no table and Bradley commented that there was nothing between them. The two men realized that Bradley's promotion meant a continuation of the divided command structure: Bradley would command on land, while Nimitz commanded at sea. Each had his own substantial air arm. The command issue remained touchy. Cooperation would be required.