"Do you anticipate a Japanese surrender?"
"We anticipated one last August. Remember, we had one in hand and Anami's thugs snatched it away."
A reporter half ran to get close by. Truman could see that the boy's face was flushed. The puppy wouldn't last more than a block or two. "Can you comment on the pressure from the Vatican to negotiate a peace rather than holding out for unconditional surrender?"
Now let's see who's paying attention, Truman thought. "We will never negotiate with the Anami government."
The reporter took quick notes. Truman looked behind him to where a couple of the more experienced reporters were looking at him quizzically. Yes, they knew that news was often made by what was not said, and the president of the United States had just not said a mouthful.
Before anybody could elaborate, the disorganized entourage turned onto Independence Avenue and were suddenly confronted by a group of several hundred women who blocked the road ahead. As the Secret Service tightened their protective cordon around Truman, he saw that many of the women were carrying signs and placards. END THE WAR NOW some said, while others read BRING OUR BOYS HOME or END THE KILLING TODAY. He was particularly stunned by one placard naming him as a murderer of American youth.
The women themselves looked nothing like the unwashed, hairy, and wild-eyed radicals who normally marched and protested whatever they felt was wrong with the world. These were all white women, middle class and well dressed, and many looked at him grimly. He could read expressions of anger, frustration, and, to his horror, contempt. He involuntarily recoiled from the depths of their passion while flashbulbs popped and photographers immortalized the event.
Truman was hustled down a side street by the Secret Service and then into the backseat of a trailing car. He brushed off the apologies from the chief agent. The chief said he'd known of a small demonstration in front of the Capitol, but had thought nothing of it as there were almost always demonstrations of some kind. But this one had quickly become unusually large and particularly vocal.
When Truman returned to his office, he checked with Jim Byrnes and found that similar demonstrations were taking place in a number of cities across the nation, and that the demonstrators were primarily women, tens of thousands of women. Truman was shocked. It was almost unheard-of for a large portion of the "normal" population to be against an American war. He poured himself a whiskey and water and another for Byrnes.
"Jim, what the devil's going on? Why are they blaming me instead of the Japs?"
Byrnes took a quick swallow. "I think we're gonna be catching real hell from now on. People are tired of the war and sickened by the casualties. This week it's the women protesting. Next week it'll be their husbands. Good Lord, what'll happen if this spreads to the young men and they stop showing up for military service? Hell, they know we can't prosecute everyone."
Truman thought Byrnes was overreacting and said so. American boys would always do the right thing about their obligation to serve when called. But he also recalled that there had been riots over the military draft during the Civil War, and that the world war in 1918 had not been fully supported by the American public. The attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 had galvanized a confused nation and unified it as it had never been before. Now it looked as if small rips in the fabric of unity were beginning to develop. What on earth would he do if large numbers of young men actually decided not to show up for induction?
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.