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.
The major looked through a high-powered field telescope as the small party advanced. It was apparent that it was difficult for them to pull the cart over the rough terrain, and they fell a couple of times. For some reason, the sight reminded the major of a Passion play he’d seen once where Christ stumbled under the weight of his cross. The thought chilled him.
Something was wrong with the two men. They were naked, and then he realized they weren’t men. The two naked people pulling on the cart were women, white women.
“I want two unarmed men to go out there with blankets to cover them and then help them with the cart,” he said. A dozen volunteers raised their hands. There was anger, not prurience, on their faces. They knew what the Japs had done to the women.
Under a white towel attached to a branch, two soldiers advanced through no-man’s-land and up to the slowly advancing cart. They covered the women with blankets, which were totally inadequate for the job, and assumed their burden.
After agonizing moments, they made it to the American trenches, where the major had a good look at the women. They appeared beaten and tormented. Their bodies were bloody and covered with cuts and bruises, some of which still oozed blood, and there was the hint of madness in their eyes. The sight was so disturbing that most of the soldiers averted their eyes.
“Who are you?” the major asked gently. The women were white, and he thought he knew the answer.
“Nurses,” one managed to answer through swollen lips while the other one began to tremble uncontrollably. “From Schofield,” she added.
The major examined the cart. It had high sides and a canvas top, and looked like it had come from a farm. “What’s in the cart?” he asked and wondered if he really wanted to know.
“Heads,” the first nurse answered and began to cry. “Our boys’ heads. The Japs are killing their prisoners.”
Franklin Delano Roosevelt looked dejectedly out the window. Winter in Washington is a damp and usually unlovely time of year, and this day was no exception. It was raining fitfully over the nation’s capital and in the president’s heart.
“Do we have a choice?” he asked.
General Marshall, Admiral King, Secretary Knox, and Stimson all either shook their heads or looked away. General Short had earlier relayed the Japanese ultimatum and the forty-eight-hour deadline. Now they had knowledge of Japan’s barbarity.