Pearl Harbour - A novel of December 8th (30 page)

Grew sat back, incredulous, putting the wet towel he had been rubbing his neck with on the table.

“This is incredible,” Grew said softly. “Why was I not informed of this?” He felt silly asking the question. He was never one for the strict and often suffocating protocols and rules of diplomacy. A more proper procedure should have been a consultation between himself and the Japanese prime minister and foreign minister and the note going through his office. Instead, it was obvious that Prince Konoye felt the issue to be so urgent that he had gone straight to Hull.

“It caught me by surprise too,” Teijiro offered, almost by way of apology.

“And this would be an official meeting? May I ask, is it endorsed by your Emperor?”

Teijiro at the mere mention of the Emperor’s name instinctively lowered his head slightly.

“Yes, the Emperor knows of this and sends his wishes that the meeting should be arranged with all possible speed.”

This was stunning news, enough to make Grew feel giddy. It meant the Emperor, in spite of rumors, was willing to defy the army.

Grew gathered his thoughts. The implications were profound, but he could see the pitfalls as well. The president did not fly about from meeting to meeting lightly. As a close personal friend he knew the full extent of the president’s disabilities. Yes, his polio was public knowledge, but the public was led to believe as well that he was semimobile, able to walk, and supremely fit. He knew otherwise. Every public appearance was carefully staged and limited. He would never let the leader of another country, particularly a nation that they could very well be at war with in short order, see him stagger into a room, leaning on his son for support, not able to walk a single foot without the help of others, his legs encased in twenty pounds of steel braces that must be locked into place so that he could stand upright at his rare public appearances.

The public had only been informed just a few days ago about the secret meetings between the president and Churchill aboard the Prince of Wales, anchored off the coast of Canada. That in itself was certain to escalate the growing tensions with Germany. For all practical purposes the navy was already fighting an undeclared war in the Atlantic, unofficially escorting convoys to England. Grew was surprised when he learned of the meeting and the portents it held. And he wondered, as well, how Franklin had been physically maneuvered about, though aboard a ship of an ally, anchored at sea, so that it could be choreographed. It was doubtful that Konoye would agree to a similar arrangement.

The mere logistics of such a meeting would be monumental. Konoye would most certainly not agree to a meeting in Washington; to his own people, and especially the army, that would smack too much of their leader going hat in hand to the White House to beg that the oil be turned back on, any concession then seen as cowardice. Chances were, he’d be assassinated before even leaving the country.

Hawaii would most likely be the place to meet, an arduous journey for Franklin and then what? After Munich no Western leader would ever make such a concession again and expect to survive the political price. It would have to be Japan that made the concessions.

He could not resist.

“How far is Japan willing to go?” Grew asked.

“Sir?”

“Both sides must make concessions if we are to calm the troubled seas that we now steaming into,” Grew said, happy to use a nautical analogy with this former admiral.

“I do not think I am really at liberty to discuss possible terms in a serious way,” Teijiro replied.

“Then off the record, as they say,” Grew pressed. “You have my oath I will not reveal this conversation other than to communicate to my government the prayerful wish that this proposal of a meeting between our two leaders be embraced and moved upon as quickly as possible.”

Teijiro smiled and nodded.

So here was the real reason for this meeting, Grew realized. It was to get his endorsement, for him to appeal to his old childhood friend in the White House to agree.

“I can in no way speak officially to you now on this,” Teijiro replied, “but it is obvious that your complete embargo, which is nothing short of a blockade, will strangle my nation within the year. We are as dependent on trade as any island nation would be.”

He sat back in his chair, still rubbing the back of his neck with a cool towel, his shirt nearly soaked, and Grew was conscious of just how boiling hot the room was. The temperature had to be hovering at well over ninety.

“Disengagement in China,” Teijiro finally said.

Grew waited for more and there was a long silence.

“And that is it?”

Teijiro sighed.

“What more can we offer?” he said carefully. Grew could now see the other reason for this meeting: to fish for terms, the parameters of what America would expect and then offer in return.

“Disengage?” he finally replied. “Sir, your nation went into an unjustified war in China over four years ago. Your army said it would be finished in six months. How many hundred thousand dead on your side and still no end in sight? Can you not see the quagmire you are in? Disengage now, and though I cannot speak for the president, I suspect he would be most heartily ready to extend a hand of understanding in return.”

Teijiro said nothing for a moment. He knew the true reality, the dream of Konoye to forestall, at the last minute, a war that he himself had been cornered into proposing by the military and Nationalist radicals. He knew as well the reality from the other side, the side he had served for so many years. “Disengagement will take time.”

“How long?”

“I cannot say.”

Grew sighed.

“Then I cannot say what will be the answer to your prime minister’s proposal.”

The two took turns fishing out pieces of ice, now floating in the silver bucket, wrapped the small chunks into their towels, and sat back trying to stay cool.

“I will contact my government as soon as I return to my office,” Grew finally said, breaking the silence. “I will give my warmest endorsement to your prime minister’s proposal. I think you know me well enough to know that I have a deep love and respect for your country. War between us would be the most horrible of tragedies. The reasoning of good men must prevail, and I will try my best to see that this meeting takes place. But I must also know clearly from you. Is your nation, even now, planning hostile action against us?”

Teijiro fixed Grew with a stare.

“I know of no such plans,” he said.

There was a long moment, both looking at each other, neither breaking eye contact, both looking for the subtle clues, the slight shift of eyes, like two poker players both wondering just how far they could bluff.

“Then let us hope that the good intentions of honest men prevail, otherwise I fear for the lives of millions of young men, both yours and mine,” Grew said.

And in his heart he knew. Teijiro was indeed bluffing. His intention was honest, to see that the meeting of leaders might just take place, but even now they were preparing, planning, getting ready, a madness stretching back years, of a few who sought war, and so many good men afraid to defy and stop them, or if need be to stand up to them in force, and now the price could indeed be a terrible one to pay.

Tokyo: 5 September 1941

It was his second time before the Imperial Presence in as many hours, and weary with exhaustion and nervousness, Prince Konoye waited outside the doorway of the audience chamber. Beside him were the chiefs of staff of the army and navy, General Sugiyama and Admiral Nagano.

Nothing was said among them.

The liaison conference of two days before had turned into an utter fiasco as far as Konoye was concerned. It had all come down to a fundamental point. The army was not willing to openly concede to the American requirements to cease expansion, to withdraw from Indochina, and then China... even if then the oil would flow again. The argument Sugiyama had shouted back was that now the clock was ticking; with every day of delay, another fifty thousand barrels of their precious reserves were consumed. All the Americans needed to do was sit back and drag out negotiations for six months, a year, until the reserves were dry, and the Japanese army was reduced to a medieval force on foot, the navy reduced to sails.

It was now time to present before the Emperor the alternatives: and though Konoye had always felt a closeness, even an informality when before the Emperor, today he did not.

As the door opened the Emperor was already waiting, and at their entry all three bowed low, he barely acknowledging their entry with a mere nod of the head. There was no need for Konoye to reiterate what he had explained to the Emperor but two hours earlier, an explanation that had resulted in a near- angry dismissal for him to fetch back the chiefs of staff. Negotiations had borne no fruit. His effort to meet with President Roosevelt had so far failed; that therefore left but one alternative.

Konoye could feel the Emperor’s eyes on him, even as he bowed yet again then slowly came back up, their gazes locking for a second before Konoye looked down at the polished marble floor.

“You came to me to speak of diplomacy,” the Emperor began, a most unusual move for him to open a meeting thus; normally if there were questions the privy seal would offer them.

“And yet you spoke of war as if you had already agreed to it,” he continued.

Face reddening, Konoye looked back up at his Emperor. He could see the frustration and confusion in the young man’s eyes.

“Has it truly come to this?”

“I fear so, sire,” was all Konoye could say in reply, and then he looked over at Sugiyama, who stood unmoving, erect, eyes straight ahead.

The Emperor was silent for a moment, then nodded toward Sugiyama.

“I want to hear this from my chiefs of staff,” the Emperor said coolly, coldly. “For months I have been told that diplomacy was the path all of you sought, the army, the navy, my foreign service. And now this? That war is the only alternative?”

“With your permission, my lord?” Sugiyama asked.

There was merely a nod of reply.

“The response of the Americans is an insult we can no longer bear. It is a maneuver on their part to reduce us to a third-rate power, impotent in a world that even as we speak is being reshaped by war. If Japan does not act now, we shall be left behind forever. We would appear impotent, humiliated in the eyes of Germany, which even now is moving toward its ultimate victory and domination of the western landmasses of Asia, while America tricks us into abandoning what we have so valiantly tried to gain for our own security in the East.” “And yet is there no harm in waiting but a bit longer?” Hirohito asked. “I have been told repeatedly that you, your staffs, have set a date of October 10, others say 15, as the day of decision to war or peace. That is still a month away.”

“Sire,” Nagano interjected, when Sugiyama did not immediately reply. “Yes, we said that would be the day of decision, but we must prepare now for that decision.”

“This would then be the day of decision,” Hirohito said quietly, “not October.”

“Sire, it is evident that the Americans wish to play a fools’ game upon us, to drag out negotiations, to pile demand upon demand, and thus wear us down. The moment is upon us, the moment when we can achieve the destiny of Japan and take our proper place in the world.”

“And you believe we can win?”

“We have studied the problem for months,” Sugiyama replied. “The southern operation has been thoroughly evaluated, repeatedly tested in war games. It is ready.”

He fell silent for a moment as if offering the Emperor the polite opportunity to reply, but Hirohito merely nodded.

“The operation will open with forces landing along the Malay Peninsula, moving south rapidly to envelop Singapore by land, a move the British are not prepared for. At the same time air strikes will cripple the American air fleet based around Manila, and any ships based there, followed immediately by landings along the north coast of Luzon, to move south and take the Americans, again, by land. With those two key positions under siege, our fleet can then move unhindered into the South Seas to take the vast riches of the Dutch, especially their oil.”

“How long?” Hirohito asked, “before the oil flows back to Japan, freeing us from our fears?”

“Five months, sire. Singapore and Manila will fall within six weeks. We must assume some sabotage on the part of the Dutch oil supply when they realize their oil fields are to be taken, but we are prepared to rapidly repair that damage and begin shipments back to the home islands and to our forces in China.”

“Are you sure only five months?”

“Yes, sire.”

Hirohito sighed and sat back in his chair, slumping over slightly, breaking the rigid, erect stature he usually maintained. Konoye studied him closely: with shoulders hunched his awkward frame looked more like that of a boy filled with self-doubts than the living embodiment of the god he was supposed to be.

“The South Seas are vast,” he said quietly.

“And we shall own them,” Nagano replied forcefully.

“As vast as China,” Hirohito replied, “and I recall, after the incident on the Marco Polo Bridge, the same assurances from my army, that though China was vast, it would all be ours in five months, before the end of the year.”

He straightened his frame and looked at the three.

“That promise was given to me over four years ago. A million of our young men now fight in China, a hundred thousand have died, and still half of that vast land resists us.”

Nagano looked over at Sugiyama, saying nothing. China was the army’s battle, not the navy’s.

“Sire. The unforeseen happened as it always does in war.”

“And the unforeseen can happen yet again, can it not?”

“Sire. No one could have foreseen that the Communists and the Nationalists would form a truce. No one could foresee the rash interventionist attitude of the Americans, British, and even Russians smuggling supplies in to sustain that fight. If the Nationalists had shown even the remotest of logic, they would have finally rallied to our side in a fight to destroy the Communists, and thereby gained in us a friend.”