"What colors CINCPAC's thinking?"
"Pluto believes that Commander Ohmae is more important than his rank suggests: that he is in effect the Japanese Navy's man on Guadalcanal, sent there to find out what's really going on...."
"Someone like you, in other words, Fleming?" MacArthur asked.
"Yes, Sir. Although I don't consider myself possessed of Ohmae's expertise or influence."
MacArthur grunted. "Go on."
"The tone of Ohmae's radio suggests that he reports things as he sees them..."
"Another similarity, wouldn't you say?"
I'm going to ignore that. I think he's trying to throw me off balance. Why?
"... which, in Pluto's judgment, tends to support the idea that he is a man of some influence."
"And CINCPAC disagrees?"
"CINCPAC feels that if this fellow were as important as Pluto believes he is, he wouldn't have used a fairly standard code. He'd have used something more complex-and less likely to be broken now or in the future."
"Like your own personal code, you're saying, the one that is denied even to my cryptographers?"
I wondered how long it would take before you brought that up. You can't really be the Emperor, can you, if one of the mice around the throne can send off letters you can't read?
"Access to that code is controlled by Secretary Knox, Sir."
"I'm just trying to understand what you're driving at, Fleming," MacArthur said disarmingly.
"Yes, Sir. Pluto feels, and I agree, that he didn't use a better code, because a better code is not available to the Japanese on Guadalcanal; Ohmae used what was available."
MacArthur grunted again. "What did Commander Ohmae say in his radio to Tokyo?"
"It was a rather blanket indictment of the 17th Army, Sir. He cited a number of reasons why he believed the attack failed."
"Such as?"
Pickering dropped his eyes to the MAGIC intercept.
"He feels that General Nasu and his regimental commanders were, quote, grossly incompetent, unquote."
"That accusation is always made when a battle is lost," MacArthur said, "almost invariably by those who have not shouldered the weight of command themselves. Unless a commander has access to the materiel of war, his professional competence and the valor of his men is for nothing."
He's talking about himself, about his losing the Philippines.
"Commander Ohmae touches on those areas, Sir," Pickering said, and dropped his eyes to the intercept again. "He says, quote, the severe fatigue of the troops immediately before the attack is directly attributable to the gross underestimation by 17th Army of terrain difficulties, unquote."
"Willoughby and I were saying, just before you came in, that it was amazing the enemy could move as much ammunition as they did to the battle line."
El Supremo's beginning to approve of Commander Ohmae; the true test of somebody else's intelligence is how closely he agrees with you.
"He also faults 17th Army for their, quote, faulty assessment, unquote, of our lines despite, quote, aerial photography showing the enemy had completed a complex, in-depth, perimeter defense of their positions, unquote."
"Willoughby and I were just talking about that, too. When they struck the lines, they attacked in inadequate force at the wrong place. Isn't that so, Willoughby?"
"Yes, Sir."
"We had decided that it was due to lack of adequate intelligence. But if they had adequate aerial photos and ignored them, then that is incompetence."
"Ohmae also stated, bluntly," Pickering said, "quote, General Oka was chronically indifferent to his orders, and General Kawaguchi was chronically insubordinate, unquote."
" 'Chronically insubordinate'?"
"Yes, Sir."
"A serious allegation," MacArthur said thoughtfully. "But it happens, even among general officers. We know that, don't we, Willoughby. We've had our experience with that, haven't we?"
"Yes, Sir. Unfortunately, we have."
"General Wainwright," MacArthur went on, "disobeyed my order to fight on. He apparently decided he had to. But then, with every expectation his own order would be obeyed, he ordered General Sharpe on Mindanao to surrender. General Sharpe had thirty thousand effectives, rations, ammunition, and had no reason to surrender. Yet he remembered his oath-the words 'to obey the orders of the officers appointed over me'-and hoisted the white flag."
"It's a tough call," Pickering said without thinking.
MacArthur looked at him.
"I was ordered to leave the Philippines, Fleming. Did you know that?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What I wanted to do was resign my commission and enlist as a private and meet my fate on Bataan...."
By God, he means that!
"It was, as you put it, 'a tough call.' But in the end, I had no choice. I had my orders. I obeyed them."
"Thank God you did," Willoughby said. "The Army, the nation, needs you."
He believes that. He is not kissing El Supremo's ass. He believes it. And he's right.
MacArthur looked at Willoughby for a long moment. Finally, he spoke.
"Willoughby, I think I would like a doughnut and some fresh coffee," he said. "Would you see if Sergeant Gomez can accommodate us? Will you have some coffee and a doughnut with us, Fleming?"
"Yes, Sir. Thank you," General Pickering replied.
[TWO]
Los Angeles Airport
Los Angeles, California
0910 Hours 27 October 1942
Major Jake Dillon, USMCR, waited impatiently behind the waist-high chain-link fence as Transcontinental and Western Airline's City of
Portland taxied up the ramp and stopped. This was Flight 217, nonstop DC-3 service from San Francisco.
The door opened, and a stewardess appeared in the doorway. (Nice-looking, Jake noticed almost automatically, good facial features, nice boobs, and long, shapely calves.)
The steps were nowhere in sight. Jake looked around impatiently and saw they were being rolled up by hand from a hundred yards away.
They were finally brought up to the door, and passengers began to debark. These were almost entirely men in uniform; but a few self-important-looking civilians with briefcases were mixed in.
A familiar face appeared. It belonged to First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR. Lieutenant Pickering was in the process of buttoning his unbuttoned blouse and pulling his field scarf up to the proper position. After that he correctly adjusted his fore-and-aft cap, then glanced around until he spotted Dillon, whereupon he waved cheerfully.
He walked over to Dillon. At the last moment, as if just remembering what was expected of him as a Marine officer, he saluted.
"And good morning to you, Sir. And how is the Major this fine, sunny morning?"
Dillon returned the salute.
"Have you been drinking, Pick?" he asked.
"Not 'drinking,' Sir, which would suggest that I have been hanging around in saloons. I did, however, dilute that awful canned orange juice they served on the airplane with a little gin."
"Where's the others?"