It amused Colonel Omori that the Americans would take such care to blindfold him. Under other circumstances, it would have been insulting and demeaning, but not now. Instead he thought it was a pathetic gesture. General Tadoyashi had sent a messenger under flag of truce to ask for a conference with General Short. Short had accepted, and Omori was the messenger.
To make the effort more meaningful and show the importance of his mission, Omori wore the insignia of a major general, one rank above his real rank of colonel, as the Japanese army did not have brigadier generals.
The blindfold was but a formality. With planes flying overhead with impunity, there was little the Japanese military didn’t know about the American situation. It was, however, interesting to hear the comments from the American military as he was passed through their lines. They foolishly and arrogantly presumed that he didn’t speak English. The insults he understood and expected. He would have been surprised if they hadn’t been said, and there was nothing he hadn’t heard before.
The overheard comments about food and ammunition intrigued him, as they confirmed that the Americans were having an awful time getting either commodity to the front lines. It appeared that, while there was enough ammo, there wasn’t much food. This was disturbing to him, because the Japanese army hadn’t brought all that much either. It was, however, a matter that could only be dealt with later.
Finally, he was shown to an underground bunker and his blindfold removed. He did not blink at the change in light as that would have shown weakness.
General Short and Colonel Phillips entered the room with a third man they identified as an interpreter. “We will not need one,” Omori said in English. “There will be no misunderstandings between us. What I have to say will be perfectly clear.”
The interpreter left. He would doubtless spread the word that the fucking little Jap spoke English and people should watch what they said. Omori knew he had thrown away a small advantage but felt it would help in speaking with Short, who looked nervous and had a tic in one eye, and Phillips, who simply looked exhausted. Both men appeared gaunt, and their uniforms fit them poorly.
“General Short,” Omori said firmly, “the purpose of this cease-fire is to permit you to save lives by surrendering. Your forces at Schofield have been destroyed, and we now hold the high ground overlooking Ewa and Barbers Point. Without sounding overly dramatic, your cause is doomed and further struggle will only result in needless deaths.”
Just the day before, Japanese infantry had streaked down the western side of Oahu on bicycles and achieved a foothold on the Waianae Range overlooking American positions. Under the protection of naval guns, the Japanese army had dragged howitzers up the heights and begun shelling down into Pearl Harbor’s defenses with devastating effect. Preoccupied as they were with the bulk of the Japanese army before them in the valley between the two ranges, the American army had been powerless to dislodge the Japanese.
Short lowered his eyes. “I am not authorized to surrender.”
“I understand,” Omori said gently. “You must notify your superiors in Washington. Do that. We will grant you a forty-eight-hour ceasefire. However, that cease-fire is conditional.”
“And what are the conditions?” Phillips asked.
Omori kept his eyes fixed on Short. Phillips was inferior in rank and powerless; he would be ignored. “You will make no effort to move forces or strengthen your defenses. Of course your men will make repairs, but that is all. Further, you will cease work on any demolitions to take place before Oahu falls. In your position, I would be planning to dynamite anything that we might find usable. To do so would be regrettable, and we would treat such actions as banditry. Do I have to remind you that, in my nation, bandits are executed?”
Short nodded. “I will relay your message.”
“And add this to it, please. I know you are concerned that we are Asian barbarians, and there is some truth to that. Our way of waging war is far different from yours. The longer the fighting goes on, the less it is likely that I will be able to hold a conquering army in check. Bloodlust, once aroused, is a terrible thing to see and is almost impossible to stop. If you surrender immediately, I will guarantee the safety of the civilian population and assure you that military prisoners will also be unharmed.”
“Will you abide by the Geneva Convention?” Short asked, almost plaintively.
“General,” Omori said, “neither your nation nor mine ever signed that convention. We will treat your prisoners in accordance with Japanese law and custom.”
Omori watched as both men paled. “Gentlemen, you are presuming that life for your prisoners will be harsh, and that is correct. It will, however, be life, which is more than they will have if the fighting continues.” He rose. It was time to end it. “You are not in a position to either quibble or negotiate terms. You will inform us of your intent to surrender, or your soldiers will be massacred and your civilians left to the mercies of our troops. You have forty-eight hours. In twenty-four hours we will give you an example of the totality of our determination to destroy you.”
“The silence is deafening,” Alexa said as she pulled some weeds from among her growing vegetables. “And frightening. I never thought I’d find the sounds of war reassuring.”
Melissa wiped the sweat from her forehead. “It’s strange, but I don’t trust it either. Silence means the 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.