2 September 1945
USS Missouri (BB 63), Tokyo Bay, Japan
Lt. Gen. Richard Sutherland stepped from ranks and walked to the table, taking possibly some of the boldest and significant steps in the history of diplomacy. He leaned over and pointed to the spot where Minister Shigemitsu was to sign.
“Ah!” Shigemitsu jolted up as if he had been shocked but immediately bent over, lifted the pen, and scratched his signature on both copies.
The crowd exhaled. Halfway there.
Pushing on his cane, Shigemitsu rose and hobbled back to his place at the head of the Japanese delegates.
The crowd drew another breath as stiffly, General Yoshijiro Umezu stepped up to the table. Ignoring the proffered chair, he leaned over and signed his name on both documents.
Done. Another sigh whispered across the ship as the entire company exhaled. Some looked around. Halsey seemed a bit less peevish. Ingram and Landa exchanged glances. History.
General Umezu stepped back into ranks.
General MacArthur, now flanked by Gen. Jonathan Wainwright and Lieutenant-General Arthur Percival, stepped up, sat at the table, and signed the documents as supreme commander of the Allied Powers. General Sutherland stood just behind them. Ingram spotted General Willoughby and Otis DeWitt among a number of American admirals and generals standing two rows back.
Ingram was shocked by Wainwright’s appearance. He was famously thin—his nickname was “Skinny”—but this man looked positively shriveled. His skin was yellow, and his weight could not have been above 110 pounds. Percival didn’t look that much better, a testament to the cruelty of Japanese imprisonment for more than three years. It was a wonder either man could stand at all. Yet, both remained braced to attention as the supreme commander of the Allied Powers used five fountain pens to ink his name. He passed the first two pens to Wainwright and Percival; of the others, one would go to West Point, one to the Naval Academy, and the last was for his wife, Jean.
MacArthur stood and Nimitz took his place. Halsey and Adm. Forrest Sherman moved up behind him, and Nimitz signed for the United States of America.
One by one, representatives of the rest of the Allies signed, beginning with General Hsu Yung-Chang for China. Admiral Sir Bruce Fraser signed for the United Kingdom. After that, Lieutenant-General Kuzma Nikolayevich Derevyanko stepped from the front row, sat, and penned his name for the Soviet Union.
On the veranda deck below, Dezhnev stepped from the ranks, dropped to a knee, and took his photos.
“Jerk,” said Radcliff. “How’d he get there?”
“Wonder if we can shove a chair down on his head?” asked Landa.
A Navy captain seated in the row before them turned. “Sssssst! These are our friends.”
“Not as of two weeks ago,” said Ingram.
The captain turned in his chair. “Young man, what is your name and unit?”
Landa said, “May I introduce Commander Pigshit of the USS Hoghumper.”
The captain stood and looked Landa up and down. “And you are . . . ?”
The crowd quieted. Some of the flag officers looked up to the commotion as General Sir Thomas Blamey sat and signed for Australia. Otis DeWitt looked up wearing a perturbed expression as General Blamey rose and gave the seat to Colonel Moore-Cosgrove, who sat, picked up the pen, and signed for Canada.
The two captains stood face-to-face; Ingram and Landa took in the man’s collar tab: supply corps. Landa said, “Sit, pork chop, before you piss off every flag officer in the western Pacific.”
“I . . .” The supply officer looked down to see Otis DeWitt staring right at him. Toliver too.
“Too late, loser.” Landa pointed. “See that BG down there? That’s Otis DeWitt. He works for General MacArthur. By sundown he will have pulled enough strings to make sure the Navy Department busts you to ensign. For the next five years you’ll be counting toilet paper rolls in Barstow, California. Now sit!”
The man sat.
Peoples snickered.
Landa scowled.
General Jacques Leclerc finished signing for France, and Admiral C. E. L. Helfrich signed for the Netherlands with a flourish. Last to step up to the table was Air Vice-Marshal Sir L. M. Isitt, who signed for New Zealand.
Isitt stood and resumed his place in ranks. The ship remained silent as General MacArthur stepped back to the mike and paused. A gull squawked; a 51-foot personnel boat growled down the port side. High above, at the yardarm, the flags of MacArthur, Nimitz, and Halsey fluttered as a zephyr lifted them. Above them, at the top of the foremast, the Stars and Stripes stiffened.
General MacArthur said, “Let us pray that peace now be restored and that God will preserve it always. These proceedings are now closed.”
Sutherland fussed with the folios then handed Shigemitsu his copy. The Japanese turned, and Colonel Mashbir led them back toward the ladder to the main deck. A great rumbling arose to the east. The noise grew louder and louder. Everyone looked up. Ingram shaded his eyes as he counted at least twenty B-29s approaching in formation with more on the way, their great Wright R-3350 engines hammering the sky.
“Holy cow,” said Landa.
B-29s, tens of them. Following behind were hundreds of carrier planes: Corsairs, Hellcats, Avengers, and Helldivers, most of them in tight formations, swooping in from the east like Vulcan’s thunder. Ingram felt the noise through his feet as the armor-plated deck vibrated beneath him.
“Hell of a show,” said White.
Berne stood fast, his camera grinding. Ingram looked down to see Dezhnev clicking away on the veranda deck. The crowd was breaking up as men headed for the gangway and their boats. The Japanese were lined up at the accommodation ladder and headed down to their boat waiting below. Once again he saw the sideboys and officers at the quarterdeck saluting the Japanese. And once again the Japanese returned the salutes.
Tubby White looked at him, “Military courtesy?”
Ingram nodded. “Strange,” he said, “what the stroke of a pen can do.”
Men gathered in groups on the 01 deck and chatted as they awaited their turn to descend the ladder to the main deck. The officers seated before Ingram’s group rose and turned to head down the turret ladders. The supply captain made to step past Landa. “Excuse me.”
“Of course, Ensign. Don’t forget to wash your underwear.”
The man gave Landa a sour look but moved on.
Ingram followed Landa down the ladder and said, “Jerry, you really know how to make friends. I am so happy to serve under your mentorship and influence. What would we all do without you?”
When they reached the bottom, Landa took Ingram aside. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Landa didn’t look to be in a light mood. And Ingram knew Landa’s moods well. “Pardon?”
“It’s personal, Todd.”
“Okay.” Ingram turned to White. “Take them aft, Tubby, and group up on the quarterdeck near the big gun mount, port side. I’ll be right along.”
“Yes, sir.” White’s eyebrows rose.
Ingram shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“See you back aft.” Signaling with a hand over his head, Tubby White collected the Air Corps crew and Marines and walked them toward the fantail.
Ingram turned to Landa. “What?”
“You’re going home.”
“Come again?”
“You’re going home. Now. Your plane leaves in three hours.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Otis Dewitt and Toliver walked up. “Okay?” asked DeWitt.
“Okay what?” demanded Ingram. “What are you guys doing?”
DeWitt said, “Todd, it’s about—uh, hello, Colin.”
Blinde had somehow merged with the group. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Ingram whispered to Landa, “He’s supposed to be going aft with the others.” Landa grunted.
DeWitt made introductions, then said to Blinde, “How’d you like the ceremony, Colin?”
“Very fitting, indeed. The general put just the right touch on it, I thought.”
Landa took a deep breath, once again inhaling Aqua Velva. Toliver must have sniffed it too, because he flashed a quick smile to Landa.
“How can we help you, Mr. Blinde?” Landa asked.
The “Mr. Blinde” was not lost on Colin Blinde. “I . . . ah, I just wanted to say hello.”
“Mr. Blinde. Please be informed that this is a classified conversation.”
Blinde gave a broad smile. “Oh, that’s all right. I’m cleared for top secret.”
Silence. They stared at him.
Blinde gave a short laugh. “Except in the case where I don’t have a need to know, I see. Please forgive me, gentlemen. Really, I was just trying to say hello. I’ll be waiting in the back with the others.” He moved away a step.
Ingram said, “Thanks, Colin. Just walk straight aft on this deck. They should be beside number three gun turret. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Okay, thanks, Todd.” Blinde walked off. .
“Jackass,” snorted Landa.
“Easy, Commodore,” said DeWitt. “Blinde is well connected in the State Department. He can be either a king maker or a career wrecker.”
“He’s a turd.”
“Commodore,” barked DeWitt.
“Sorry, General, . . . uh, where were we?”
DeWitt said, “As I was going to say, this is about Helen. And fortunately, I can help. Correction.” He nodded to Landa and Toliver. “We can help.”
Ingram took a step back. “Speak English, will you?”
Landa took a letter from his back pocket and separated its pages. He removed a page and handed it over. “Take a look at this, Todd. It’s from Laura, the letter I got a few days ago.”
The perfumed onionskin rattled in Ingram’s hand as he read:
came together nicely. And so Arturo still chases me around the podium, but he’s letting me play. I think he really likes my work. It’s a game. I think he’s too old for sex but he puts on a big show trying to make everybody think he can still do it.
On a serious note, I’ve been keeping in touch with Helen and am really worried about her. About two weeks ago, she phoned and almost broke down. I had to coax out of her that one of her patients at Fort MacArthur was wounded seriously; he was a tanker I believe on Okinawa. He lost his crew in a fire and he was seriously burned. He became a head case taking refuge under his bed with all the nightmares.
She told me he went completely fetal at times. Now it’s happening to her. She’s going fetal under her bed. She’s keeping it from Mrs. Peabody but I’m worried now about little Jerry and how he’s getting by with all that. I just don’t know. She asked for the name of a shrink and I gave her the name of one or two here in Beverly Hills but I think that’s too expensive for her.
Last I could get out of her was that she may try a guy at Fort MacArthur.
Well, that may be what she ends up with, but I think she really needs a husband. They’ve been through so much together. So if there is anything else you can do, please let me know.
Ingram looked up, searching their faces.
Landa nodded.
“Let me read it again,” Ingram said, turning his eyes back to the letter. This time through he dwelt on the part about nightmares and the fetal position. Guilt swept over him as he recalled how many times she had been there for him in rough times. Every time. And now, she was going through it with nobody to help. He had pills. He had belladonna; he had all sorts of stomach tranquilizers and headache pills to get him through. And he had his job and his ship and his crew. Worse, he admitted to himself, he had his pride and tried to suppress what bothered him. Helen did it too, and she buried it deep. But she was taking care of nut cases in San Pedro and raising their son with nobody to really lean on. After all she’d been through in the Philippines, the stress was bound to pile up. Those horrible last days on Corregidor alone should have been enough to break her, to say nothing of being tortured by those Kempetai ghouls on Marinduque Island.
He looked at DeWitt and Landa and Toliver. “I . . . son of a bitch. I don’t know what to say.”
DeWitt said, “Well, I do, Todd.” He put a hand on Ingram’s shoulder. “You’re going home to take care of her. You’ve both had enough.”
Stark images swirled through Ingram’s mind. He shook his head. “How about you, Otis? And you, Jerry? You guys deserve to go before me. Plus I have a ship to take care of.”
Landa said, “No arguments, Todd. You’re going home. You have a beautiful wife and a fine young baby to look after. Thirty, sixty days and you’ll be back. In the meantime, Tubby White gets to be captain and I get to yell at him, which is the real reason you’re going. You’re a pain in the ass and I can’t intimidate you as easily as Tubby. So, you see it all works out.”
Ingram’s head swirled. “I don’t know . . . how?”
DeWitt stepped close and spoke in a low tone. “Keep this under your hat, Todd, but Admiral McCain is very ill. Admiral Halsey held him over for the ceremony but is sending him back to the States tonight on Admiral Nimitz’s flying boat. You’re going on that plane. Maybe you two can sing western songs together. I understand he likes that stuff.”
“Me? I can’t carry a tune,” said Ingram.
“I’ll teach you some farting jokes,” said Landa, the sun now cooperating and glinting off his impossibly white teeth.
“And I’ll send along some reading material,” added Toliver.
DeWitt handed over a manila packet. “Orders. We had them cut during the ceremony. Signed by Boom Boom here and endorsed by Admiral Halsey.”
“It’s official,” said Landa. “How can you lose?”
“I . . . I have stuff to pack, the ship to think of, my crew.”
Landa said, “Your gear is being sent over from the Maxwell. You’re headed to the South Dakota to join up with Admiral McCain, and then you’re off. From there, you hop on the plane and,” he pointed east, “course zero-nine-zero.”
DeWitt pulled out his cigarette holder, plugged in a Chesterfield, and lit up. “I think that’s Navy talk for home, Todd.”
Landa said, “And don’t worry about the Mighty Max. Tubby and I will take good care of her.”
Ingram sniffed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I appreciate your confidence,” said Landa.
Ingram blinked. It was all happening too fast. Then he remembered Landa speaking with DeWitt, Toliver, Sutherland, and Halsey. “You mean you worked this out all the way to the top.”
“Even Halsey has heard of you,” said DeWitt. “He was happy to do it. He thinks McCain will enjoy the company.”
Ingram gulped. “At least let me say goodbye to my guests.”
DeWitt pointed, “Go. Be back here in five minutes. Can’t keep Admiral McCain waiting.”