Sugiyama's chest swelled. "At least five thousand, and there are an additional ten thousand planes of all kinds that can be converted into flying bombs. Getting pilots is no problem, and we are hoarding fuel enough for them to make their one-way flights to glory. They will kill for Japan."
"Good. Now, what about the navy, Admiral Toyoda?"
The admiral responded proudly. "While we lack larger craft, we have over three hundred midget submarines, along with many manned torpedoes and many hundreds of smaller craft that are intended to attack and ram American ships. Again, the fuel, while scarce, will be sufficient for a onetime thrust. The navy too will kill and die for Japan."
Anami permitted himself a smile. "Then all we have to do is make this rain of nuclear death stop. I must confess that, when the first bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, I thought that the Americans would have no others. Sadly, I was wrong and I apologize for my ignorance. Yet, we are not without recourse."
He paused and saw that he had their attention. "To my surprise and dismay, the Hiroshima bomb was followed by the Nagasaki attack only three days later. This was obviously intended to make us think they had many bombs in their arsenals." Anami paused again and smiled grimly. "Yet, it took almost two weeks for a third to be dropped on Kokura. That tells me that their number of bombs and their ability to produce them is extremely limited. They likely had two to begin with and used them at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, thinking we would surrender as a result. When we did not, they had to manufacture a third. I am certain they are right now building a fourth and fifth of the infernal devices. But, I am just as certain that we have a couple of weeks before any will be ready for use."
Anami looked about, waiting to see if they agreed with his logic. When no comments were forthcoming, he continued, "During these few weeks given us, we will prey upon the American weakness regarding the deaths of their soldiers to force them to stop using atomic bombs on us."
"How?" interrupted Toyoda.
Anami ignored the breach of protocol. "We hold many thousands of American and British prisoners of war, along with numerous Australians and Dutch. I propose that those prisoners now held in the home islands be brought to our cities and held as hostages against nuclear attack. I further propose that Allied prisoners in Manchukuo and elsewhere, particularly those senior officers like Wainwright and Devereaux, be transported to the home islands to swell the numbers who will die if we are attacked. I also propose that we immediately inform the Americans and British of our intentions."
There was a stunned silence, then the men in the underground bunker rose and applauded General Anami.
Chapter 8
Sgt. Joe Nomura knew he was in trouble when he saw the two men walking briskly down the row of beds in the hospital ward. He was the only person in the ward in Saipan, so he couldn't hope that they would pass him by.
Joe lay back on his bed in his underwear and relaxed as they stopped in front of him. "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
The two men appeared to be in their thirties. They were dressed as naval officers, commanders, and carried briefcases. While one was dark-haired and the other light, the two looked disarmingly like tall and well-muscled twins. The lighter-haired one spoke. "Sergeant Nomura, I am Commander Johnson and this is Commander Peters. We would like to speak with you for a few moments."
Nomura sat up. It was awkward because his left arm had been amputated at the elbow. "Has my discharge come through?"
Peters and Johnson looked at each other; slight confusion registered on their faces. "No," said Johnson, "we don't know anything about that."
Nomura waved his half an arm. "Do you mean that the army intends to keep me on as a one-armed soldier? That's ridiculous. There's nothing more I can do. I've given enough, don't you think?"
"I understand," said Peters.
"Do you?" Nomura sneered.
Johnson opened his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Let's see. Sergeant Jochi Nomura, aged twenty-eight. You were born on the island of Oahu in Hawaii, in some town I can't pronounce. At age eight, your parents, who were employed by a shipping company, took you to Japan, where you lived until you were seventeen. At that point, you returned with them and lived in Honolulu, where you remained until the start of the war."
Johnson halted for a moment to see if Nomura would comment. He didn't. "Almost immediately after Pearl Harbor, you volunteered for the army and, after basic training, were assigned to the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and were later shipped over to Italy. You were wounded slightly and returned to combat. Then, while rescuing comrades who were pinned down by a Nazi machine gun, you were shot and suffered the loss of your left arm just below the elbow. You were awarded the Silver Star for that action. That, however, did not stop you, and you were voluntarily assigned as a translator to help the army convince Japanese civilians here on Saipan that they would not be harmed by us, and that they should surrender."
Joe Nomura laughed harshly. "Helluva great job I did. I stood there and yelled for them to come in, while all the time they were throwing themselves off the cliffs only a hundred feet away from me. I'm through. I want my discharge. One-armed soldiers with Silver Stars get to go home, and you goddamn well know it."
"Joe," Peters said, "we'd like to make you an offer."
Now it comes, Nomura thought. "Who are you guys? I know you're not navy."
"We're not?" asked Peters, looking a little hurt. "I'm disappointed. I rather thought we looked the part."
"Hell no. First of all, your insignias aren't correctly put on, and more important, I haven't said sir, haven't stood up, and haven't been very nice to you at all. Real officers would have eaten me alive for that, one-armed hero or not."
Johnson laughed. "Good call. We're from the Office of Strategic Services, the OSS, and we'd like you to help us."
Joe was momentarily puzzled, but then the light dawned as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. "Oh, shit, you want me to go into Japan, don't you?"
Both men nodded. "You're perfect," said Johnson. "You've lived there, you're of Japanese descent, and you're wounded, which means their secret police won't bother you."
"Fuck off."
"Joe," said Peters, "we have to know what's going on in there, and we desperately need the damn few people in the world like you. We don't have any spies in Japan and we can't land regular agents. To belabor the obvious, a white man in Japan would stand out."
Nomura had to laugh. "Well, ain't that the truth. Having a white skin ain't always an advantage, now is it?"
"Will you at least consider helping us?" Johnson asked.
"What's in it for me?"
Peters saw the small opening and responded quickly, "You'll be discharged, but kept on as a government employee with the equivalent pay and privileges of an army captain."
Joe stood slowly, his calm Japanese face suddenly an alien mask of scarcely controlled rage. The change in his bearing and demeanor startled the two OSS recruiters, and they stepped back quickly and in shock.
"God damn it!" Joe screamed. "You think you can buy me? Look, assholes, in the past couple of years a lot more has happened than my losing my arm for a country that doesn't give a shit for me! I'm alone in this fucking ward because, after spraining my ankle out on those cliffs, no one wanted to be around a Jap, not even one with a Silver Star. Y'know, in Italy I saw white Americans shoot Japanese Americans and ignore the fact that we were supposed to be fighting the Germans together. Whenever we went to a town in Italy, we were spit on and called yellow Japs and a helluva lot worse."