The Final Storm (26 page)

Nimitz still returned the stares, hard, cold eyes, thought, that’s what this is. So many of these men are veterans, have seen these islands come and go, have faced a viciousness in the Japanese that none of us expected. They’re losing friends in every fight, and Ernie Pyle made himself a friend to every one of these men. Damn it all, I want this fight to end.

“Ah, Admiral, welcome! Sorry, I was just dealing with a … radio matter. Messages coming in from offshore. Admiral Turner is checking on you, making sure your party arrived safely. I don’t hear much from him, you know. Prefer it that way. Not that he’s a pest or anything. It’s just that … well, his communications can be … well …”

Buckner was digging himself into a hole, and Nimitz held up both hands, said, “I understand, General. No need for explanations.”

“Ah, General Vandegrift, welcome! Congratulations are in order. Welcome to the thin air at the top, if I do say. Please, I may not be the first, but I’ll shake your hand, if you’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, General. I’m at your service.”

The pleasantries were already strained, Nimitz wanting to move into
whatever passed for Buckner’s headquarters, Buckner’s obvious cheerfulness a poor mask for his anxiety that Nimitz had come to Okinawa in the first place. Buckner was a huge bear of a man, roughly Nimitz’s age, a shock of white hair over deep blue eyes. Buckner was more fanatical about physical fitness than Nimitz was, something Nimitz admired. But there were extremes to Buckner’s devotion to the conditioning of his men. It was one of the major gripes that came from the men who served him, that the general had put even the older officers through so much rigorous exercise that throughout the Tenth Army the senior command suffered from constant physical injuries. Nimitz had heard that some of the meetings resembled hospital wards, generals with various joints wrapped in gauze or hard casts.

He followed Buckner, glanced at the stiff-backed MPs who stood guard, grim-faced men who reminded Nimitz of his own Marine guard on Guam. He turned over the name in his head, Turner, the admiral who now held overall command around the Okinawan operation. Turner had remained on board his own command ship, the USS
Eldorado
, and had seemed relieved that Nimitz had not asked him to come along. There were other reasons why Nimitz was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the man he had chosen to oversee Buckner’s Tenth Army and the fleet anchored offshore.

It had been a particular thorn in Nimitz’s side, the scuttlebutt that Admiral Turner couldn’t stay away from the bottle. But his performance in the fights for Saipan and Guam had been outstanding, and Nimitz knew that performance mattered more than a man’s personal habits. But worse for Nimitz, Turner was physically opposite from the lean, hard commanders that Nimitz tried to keep in his command. Turner had a soft paunch, a belly that spread out well over his belt line. It made Nimitz wince to think about that, a violation of Nimitz’s philosophy that officers should be as lean as their men. That’s worse than the booze, he thought, and he should know that. I can’t dictate orders about being a slob, when a man comes by it naturally. The drinking … well, if I see it’s really affecting his performance out here, I’ll have to do something. No doubt about it.

Richmond Kelly Turner had been chosen by Nimitz himself to command the overall assault on Okinawa, a decision that even now Nimitz believed had been a good one. There had been failures though, hard grumbling from the Marines that Turner had refused to shell the landing zones at Iwo Jima, causing casualties to the Marines that could have been
avoided. That kind of accusation was speculative at best, no one really knowing how much of the Japanese resistance would have been obliterated by naval fire. And Nimitz knew that the others who could have been chosen for the job, men like Bull Halsey, who gathered more headlines than Turner, had their failures as well. No matter whom he had picked for the job, there would be bellyaching. The only problem for Turner would be if Nimitz developed a bellyache of his own.

Nimitz had already briefed the few members of his staff who had come along, some of those remaining on board the
Eldorado
with Turner. Nimitz had confidence that each of those men understood his role, would purposely engage in casual chitchat with the
Eldorado
’s junior officers that might reveal more to Nimitz than what was said in the official meetings.

“Sir, if you please …”

Nimitz obliged Buckner, stepped through the doorway of a low concrete block building. Buckner led the way again, past a makeshift office, an aide rising to quick attention, two more standing at their desks, typewriters stuffed with paper. To one side he heard the commotion of a radio room, and Nimitz glanced that way, saw a row of men with earphones, could hear the clatter of a teletype machine. This has got to be for show, he thought. He sure as hell doesn’t keep his quarters here, and I bet there are more comfortable places for us to meet. But I’ll give him slack. Pretty damn sure he just wants us the hell out of the way.

He followed Buckner into a white-walled room, saw a narrow rectangular table, a half-dozen chairs, one large map on the wall. Buckner gave way and Nimitz sat at the head of the table, Vandegrift on the far end, Buckner now between them. Nimitz caught the unmistakable odor of hot food, and Buckner seemed to wait for that, said, “Once again my cook has outdone himself! We found a few locals who were kind enough to offer us baskets of fresh vegetables, sweet potatoes, and a rather nice string bean. My cook has a way with the vegetables that you should find appealing. The fresh fish is a wonder. The Okinawans certainly don’t want for good food. I can have them serve lunch in here, or we can adjourn outside and enjoy the air.”

The cheer in Buckner’s voice was offset by the counterfeit smile of a man who knew his superior wasn’t there for anything
appealing
. Nimitz stared at the map, thought, adjourn? Why don’t we
begin
first.

“Is this map up-to-date?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

His eyes stayed on the southern half of the island, pins marking the army units that Nimitz knew were bogged down against the Japanese defenses. He avoided looking at Buckner, said, “Tough nut. We knew it could be this way. All that damn optimism after the landing, like we’d beaten the bastards without a fight.”

“Yes, sir. We were rather surprised by that. So, how soon would you like lunch?”

“It can wait.”

Vandegrift stayed silent, conceding the floor to Nimitz, but Buckner seemed to concede nothing, shook his head, an indiscreet show of disappointment.

“Well, then, perhaps later. Oh, I wanted to say … awful shame about Ernie Pyle. Some damn fool colonel, out joyriding, and I suppose Pyle went along to see the sights. Ran slam into a Jap machine gun nest, or sniper. Something. Well, I assume you got the report.”

Nimitz turned back toward Buckner, nodded.

“Saw it. I met him a few times. Decent man, I think. The boys will miss hell out of him.”

“His death will give ’em a spark, that’s what I say. Fire ’em up, kill hell out of the Japs.”

Nimitz tried to avoid looking at Buckner’s beaming smile.

“We shouldn’t need that kind of
spark
. Civilians shouldn’t be out here at all. Everybody cut Pyle more slack than usual because he was so popular with the men, and Pyle did his part. But I don’t need to hear details about some line officer hauling Pyle’s ass into a hot spot. Pyle knew he was taking risks, and he paid the price. Could happen to any of us. It’s the risk we all take. If you don’t mind, General, can we get this briefing under way?”

Buckner seemed to flinch and Nimitz thought, dammit, no reason to ream him out. Not yet anyway. You’re just pissed at everybody. Long trip, and it’s been a crappy couple of weeks all around. After a short pause, Nimitz said, “We may have more problems back home than you’ll hear about out here, at least for a while.” He paused. “I was in Washington, you know, early last month. My daughter got married. Saw the president while I was there. He didn’t look good, not at all. But I’d been hearing for more than a year that he was in rough shape. Didn’t give it much thought. Now … he’s gone. Just like that. Hard to swallow. Damn hard. There have been enough pissing matches in Washington between the War Department and … well, everybody. This won’t help. Forrestal will probably go. I imagine
the
new
president will want his own navy secretary. He won’t touch King, pretty sure of that. King’s got too much dirt on everybody else, and he’ll kick down doors before he lets some wet-behind-the-ears president tell him anything. Marshall is bound to stay as well, Hap Arnold too. Truman can’t possibly be stupid enough to clean house of the experienced chiefs of staff.” He paused. “Truman.”

He rolled the name around in his brain. God help us. Buckner seemed desperate to respond, held his hand poised in the air, one forefinger extended, then said, “He fought in the first war, you know. I heard that about him.”

“Who? Truman?”

“Yep. Infantry, maybe. Or artillery. At least he knows about fighting.”

Nimitz kept his response to himself, thought, you’ve said enough already. But that’s just perfect. A damn infantryman in the White House. Hut two three. Maybe he can come out here and tell Buckner how to kick his people in the ass. Nimitz was out of patience, the windowless room already stifling, sweat soaking his shirt. Buckner seemed not to be sweating at all.

“Well, gentlemen, shall we get down to it? If we’re lucky, the cook will still have us some hot chow.”

Nimitz glanced at Vandegrift, saw rigid impatience. Buckner suddenly rose, a quick shout to the outer office.

“I need Colonel Harper and his secretary, and I want MPs inside and out! What the hell’s going on around here? Lunch can wait! We’ve got guests. Let’s show these men how the army throws out a welcome mat!”

Nimitz let out a breath, thought, we’re not guests. I run this damn show. Maybe the
army
has forgotten that.

It was the challenge for every operation like this, trying to blend the different branches in the service into a smooth command. He glanced at Vandegrift, who seemed content for things to run on Buckner’s timetable. The two men sat in sweltering silence, Vandegrift focusing more on the map to one side. Buckner was outside now, gone altogether, and Nimitz suddenly realized, he’s stirring this pot for my benefit, showing me how hands-on he is. Dammit, I don’t need a show. I need to know he’s got what we need to handle this operation.

An aide suddenly appeared, two glasses of what seemed to be tea, each with a rapidly disappearing ice cube. The man hustled away without a word, and Vandegrift took a short drink, set the glass down.

“I’m not much for fruit juice. You bring any bourbon?”

“You waited until
now
to remind me?”

There was no humor in the words, Nimitz growing more annoyed, the sweat stinging his eyes. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his face, said, “I suppose it’s painfully apparent that a visiting blue jacket here is more trouble than he’s worth. Not sure I’ve had anyone under my command communicate that to me before.”

“If I may say, Admiral, that’s probably the biggest difference between you and MacArthur. You expect all of us to work together, and you assume it will happen because it’s the right thing for us to do. Mac would just order everyone to like each other, and he’ll expect it to happen. If you don’t go along, or perform to his expectations, he gets rid of you. It may be that, with all due respect, the navy has no business telling an army commander how to put troops on the ground. This shouldn’t surprise you, sir, but I’ve been hearing too much scuttlebutt. Bitching has a way of crossing a lot of distance. Something smells here, and I for one want to know what it is.”

Nimitz nodded, forced himself to drink the tea.

“I had assumed Admiral Turner to be the man who could keep that from happening. I still believe he’s fit to handle this combined operation, but if I’m wrong, I need to hear that from Buckner. And if Buckner’s not the man for this job, I’ll hear it from everyone below him with enough backbone to speak up. I’m pretty sure that includes your General Geiger. That tough old bird has more medals than anyone in this theater, and if he wants to bitch, feel free to encourage him.”

Vandegrift laughed.

“I already know what he wants. He thinks he should be in charge out here, and the army should be tending the goat herds. It’s not quite appropriate for me to suggest I agree with him. But there’s nobody else I’d rather see handling my Marines than Roy.” He motioned to the map. “He’ll have plenty to say about what his boys have done, and what the army boys are supposed to be doing.”

Roy Geiger was another of the old bulldogs who was nearly Nimitz’s age. Like Vandegrift, Geiger had established an outstanding reputation early in the war. Geiger had been an accomplished aviator, but the powers above him knew he could inspire his men no matter where he served. Now he was in overall command of the three Marine divisions assigned to the Okinawan campaign, and Nimitz knew that in the three weeks since the landing, Geiger had done as well on Okinawa as he had anyplace before.
Geiger had already led Marines into action on Guadalcanal and Bougainville, the Palau Islands and Guam, and in the process had been awarded the Navy Cross and the Distinguished Service Medal. He had also been awarded three gold stars, which Nimitz knew had been embarrassing substitutes for the two higher honors, that Geiger should be wearing at least two Navy Crosses, just for starters. But it was the politics of war, few in Washington, including Vandegrift, wanting to bear the brunt of anyone’s jealousy over this rough-hewn Marine getting his name in the paper too often. Nimitz liked Geiger, despite the rough edges, thought, it has to kick him in the ass to be taking orders from an army man. Yep, if there’s a problem, he’ll tell me about it.

“Sir!”

Nimitz turned, saw one of Buckner’s aides in the doorway, making way for an MP. The MP was stern-faced, wore a pair of forty-fives, stared at Nimitz, then Vandegrift, as though appraising whether the two men were a threat. The MP stepped into the room, stood to one side, his back pressed firmly against the wall. Nimitz saw a second MP, another rapid entrance, the two men acknowledging the
all clear
with a brief nod to each other, as though any danger had been neutralized. It was a ridiculous show, the kind of theatrics he knew had been absorbed by anyone who had ever served MacArthur. Buckner returned now, marching in, seemed satisfied that something vital had been accomplished in his absence. He stared down at Nimitz with the hard blue eyes, a show of fierceness that Nimitz had seen before, sat down heavily, his hands folded, a man waiting for some unpleasant task.