Truman put down his glass. He had to find a way to end the war. "Jimmy, I seem to recall you wanted this job yourself at one time?"
Byrnes helped himself to some more whiskey. "I believe you've been grossly misinformed, sir. Nobody in his right mind would want to be president."
"True." Truman laughed.
Truman knew that Byrnes's statement was facetious. In 1944, Byrnes had campaigned hard for the vice-presidential nomination, but Roosevelt's slight and almost uncaring nod had given it to Truman instead. As a result, Truman was stuck with the job.
Now, Truman had to deal with the real concerns that were developing. Only a few months ago, a Gallup poll had said that fully 90 percent of the public supported forcing Japan to an unconditional surrender. But that was no longer the case. The polls still showed a majority wanted unconditional surrender, but that number was declining. Truman mistrusted polls, but he acknowledged that a trend was occurring. If the wives and mothers of America were turning against him, what did it mean for the nation's future?
Chapter 62
The flat, sharp crack of the nearby rifle shot sent everyone sprawling in the cold, wet dirt. Paul's first reaction as he hugged the ground was that someone's rifle had gone off accidentally. With everyone running around with loaded weapons it was a constant worry, and he determined to find out who it was and have Mackensen rip him a new asshole. They'd lost enough good men to the Japs without anyone having to worry about being shot by their own men. So far, he'd managed to avoid having that sort of tragedy and planned to keep it that way.
Then, in the second it took for those thoughts to clear his mind, he realized that the sound of the gun said it was not one of theirs. By now the noise made by a Garand or a carbine was a familiar, even friendly and reassuring one, and the shot that had sent them all scurrying was alien. A Jap had taken a shot at them and he had been close by. And, unless he was a magician who could move through the woods in silence, the sniper was still there.
The men now hiding on the ground made no sounds. Fire control was excellent. No one was blazing away at shadows, thus giving away their position or endangering others. Paul broke out into a sweat as he realized that the Jap could not be more than a few score feet away, if that far. Lie still, he told himself. Any kind of motion in the low shrubs and trees might attract the sniper's attention.
But where the hell was he? That Jap had to give them a clue as to his whereabouts, didn't he? They couldn't lie on the ground forever. Of course, if you were shot, forever began immediately. This thought made lying still on the ground look very much like the right thing to do.
Again Paul's company was on a steep hillside and attempting to seize the high ground. This particular hill was heavy with bushes and some surprisingly tall conifer trees that reminded a couple of the men of northern California. As they had advanced northward and into the interior of Kyushu, the type of foliage had changed from the palms and banyans of the south to the more familiar pines and beeches. Even the trees that would normally drop their leaves retained them, although they were brown and lifeless.
It was another hill that was too steep for Orlando's tank to climb even if it had been available. The Sherman was in the rear for long-overdue maintenance. The infantry would have to solve the problems themselves.
CRACK!
The sniper fired again and Paul flinched. He closed his mouth and nearly bit dirt as he tried to hide. This time there was no doubt. The son of a bitch was almost on top of him. There was no cry for help so it appeared the Jap had again missed his target. Either that, Paul thought ruefully, or he had killed his victim instantly and silently. Speculation didn't matter; the sniper had to be taken out.
Paul shifted his body with almost glacial slowness. He would make no sudden motions that would attract the enemy. After what seemed like an eternity, he had rolled onto on his back with his carbine on his chest. He looked upward through the trees and tried to figure out which one hid one Jap sniper.
He could see nothing. The trees were all thick and blotted out the sun. Yet the sniper had to be in a tree, and that tree was damned near to him.
Click.
Paul froze. Oh, Jesus, he thought. The sound had come from almost directly above him, and it was a bullet being chambered in a rifle. The sniper was going to shoot. He squinted and stared at a cluster of limbs about thirty feet above him. Was it the Jap or were his eyes fooling him? The cluster of branches could be a platform hiding the sniper or they could be a perfectly natural accumulation of fallen debris. If he fired at it and was wrong, he would have given away his position to the sniper, and that sort of mistake could be fatal. He stared at the branches and willed the Jap to do something to give himself away.
A stick slowly moved by the branches and began to project out. As Paul watched in fascination, he realized that he was looking at the barrel of a rifle. He shrieked and fired his carbine on full automatic until the clip was empty. The sound deafened him for an instant. Leaves and twigs exploded from the trunk of the tree and the camouflaged firing platform.
Then there was silence.
"Who fired?" yelled Mackensen.
"I did," Paul answered hoarsely.
Mackensen was beside him. "You get him?"
Paul gestured upward. The obscuring branches had come off the tree, and what remained had taken on a distinctly human form as it dangled facedown. It was limp and lifeless, but human. Then whatever had been holding the body to the tree came loose and the Jap commenced a fall to the ground, his body hitting several limbs that slowed his descent.
The body landed only a few feet away from Paul and Mackensen. A second later the Arisaka rifle clattered down beside its owner. Several of Paul's soldiers had emerged from their refuges and looked at the Jap, who was now sprawled awkwardly on the ground.
Mackensen moved to check him out. "Be careful," Paul said.
"Hell, sir"- Mackensen grinned- "if that fall didn't make him go off, nothing will. I really don't think he's booby-trapped." He inserted a booted foot under the man's armpit and rolled him over on his back. Paul gagged. One of his shots had ripped off the man's jaw, while others had ripped open his chest and stomach.
Humming idly, Mackensen went through the Jap's pockets and pulled out his papers. There was nothing terribly exciting. He announced that the Jap was an enlisted man in a unit they already knew they were fighting.
Mackensen straightened up and handed the papers to Paul. "I don't read their shit all that well, sir, but I think this says he's seventeen years old. He also wasn't that good a shot since he didn't hit nothing."
There was a snapshot of an older couple who were probably the dead man's parents and another of a young girl dressed in a demure kimono. It chilled Paul. He had a picture like that in his wallet and he visualized some Jap soldiers looking at it and commenting crudely. He wondered what they would have thought of Debbie's photo. Would they have laughed at his parents the way his men were now doing with the Jap's and make noises about whether they wanted to flick the girlfriend? Probably, Paul decided.
There was some Japanese paper money as well, and he gave it to the soldiers. It was worthless, but everyone wanted some to send home as a souvenir.