On Monday morning, the Salt Lake City police department was phoning Wendover with a mounting list of breakages, assaults, and traffic violations.
Tibbets managed to placate the civilian authorities. But the symptoms were clear: the 509th had reached breaking point.
The time had come to leave Wendover.
In Tibbets’s mind, there was another good reason for their departure. He had come to the conclusion that the scientists were “tinkering” with the atomic bomb; they seemed “more concerned with producing a perfect weapon instead of being satisfied with the one they had and using it to end the war. They wanted to improve the design, run more tests, make endless changes before they would let the bomb be used in combat.”
This troubled Tibbets; he could imagine the physicists “still tinkering” when the war was over, “and the whole damn thing would have been a waste of time.”
The 509th’s base was reserved on Tinian. Weeks ago, orders had been given that a ship be standing by at Seattle to carry the ground echelon to the Pacific. All Tibbets had to do was telephone Washington, use the Silverplate code, “and we could be in the war.”
The thought of seeing action again was exhilarating. But the prospect of what would happen to him if he actually ordered the 509th to be mobilized worried Tibbets. “Groves might have me stripped of my command, posted to Alaska, even sign court-martial papers.”
Nevertheless, Tibbets asked the base telephone exchange to connect him with Air Force Command Headquarters in Washington. Once plugged through to his liaison officer, his message was brief. “This is Silverplate. We are ready to move.”
The matter was soon arranged. The group’s main ground-echelon force would leave Wendover for embarkation at Seattle on May 6. The bomber crews would fly out to the Pacific later.
Soon afterward, Tibbets received a priority call from Washington, ordering him to fly there at once. His caller offered a gratuitous piece of news. “Colonel, you’re in big trouble with Gee-Gee.”
Gee-Gee was one of Groves’s nicknames.
Tibbets arrived in Groves’s office early in the evening.
“As I came through the door, he erupted. Who the hell did I think I was, ordering my outfit overseas? For ten solid minutes he raked me over the coals, up one side and down the other, never repeating himself. I never had such a flaying. I had never seen him so mad. Then, suddenly, he stopped and gave me a big smile and said, ‘Goddammit, you’ve got us moving! Now they can’t stop us!’ He was tickled to death I had done it. Without my planes, there was no way the scientists could keep tinkering with their toy.”
32
The invitation to dinner with his commanding officer, Colonel Hiroshi Abe, came as a pleasant surprise to Tatsuo Yokoyama. The antiaircraft gunnery officer’s relationship with Abe had until now been distant and formal.
Then, a week ago, Abe had invited Yokoyama to dine at his home near Hiroshima Castle this Saturday night. There was one condition: an air raid would cancel the invitation. In the past weeks there had been a number of alerts. And once, a stream of bombers had passed high over the city.
But since the two bombs had been dropped over a month ago, on March 19, Hiroshima had remained free of attack.
After evening gunnery practice, Yokoyama dressed in his best uniform and told his sergeant where he could be reached.
The sergeant, the gun post’s gossip, smiled broadly and said he was sure Yokoyama’s evening would be undisturbed, “because Truman’s mother is a prisoner in Hiroshima!”
Yokoyama was astonished.
The sergeant was insistent. “She was on a visit to the city when the war started. She has been here ever since!”
“Who told you this?”
The sergeant said he knew “somebody” on Lieutenant General Shoji Fujii’s staff. Fujii, the district commander, was keeping Truman’s mother in Hiroshima Castle as a hostage against air attacks.
Common sense told Yokoyama to dismiss the story. But increasingly, the most outlandish tales turned out to be true. There had been the yarn about fifteen-year-old boys being taught to fly as kamikaze pilots in the Special Attack Corps. He had not believed what he had heard until he had actually seen some of them at Hiroshima Airport. He had also discounted the tale that old women were being shown how to sharpen bamboo poles and use them like spears, until he saw women practicing on the grounds of East Training Field.
He decided to check the Truman story with Colonel Abe.
Abe’s house was a small, compact dwelling near the castle. He was a widower and lived there with his daughter. Yokoyama was surprised to see he was the only guest.
Abe was a good host, with a plentiful supply of sake. Mellowed and relaxed, Yokoyama asked about President Truman’s mother.
Abe laughed uproariously. He said he wished the story were true; then she could answer some questions about her son.
Lowering his voice, Abe told his guest still another story. “Truman’s mother is from Hiroshima! That is why we have not been bombed. She has told her son to spare this one city in all Japan.”
Yokoyama asked why, then, was Hiroshima being prepared for attack? What was the purpose of the fire lanes?
Abe told him, “It helps create a mood of militancy. People who lose their homes will be ready to fight even harder for their lives, Japan, and the emperor!”
Yokoyama asked if this meant that after all these months of practice he and his men would have no chance to fight. If this were so, he would respectfully request a posting to Tokyo or one of the other cities where air attacks were now frequent.
Abe calmed his guest and invited him to eat. Dinner was served by Abe’s daughter, a plumpish, moon-faced girl in her late teens. After dishing up bowls of rice and slivers of meat and fish, she left the men to eat and talk.
Yokoyama again brought up the question of a transfer.
His host looked at him carefully. “I have not invited you here to discuss such matters, but rather something that is important to me.”
Yokoyama became respectful and silent as his host explained that he had long been impressed by the younger man’s qualities. Abe revealed he had even made inquiries about Yokoyama’s family background. “It is very satisfactory. You have honorable parents.”
Knowing what was coming, for such inquiries could mean only one thing, Yokoyama waited.
Abe’s next words were harsh and matter-of-fact; a businessman making an offer. “Marry my daughter, and your future will be assured. I will see to that.”
Bowing gravely, Yokoyama promised his host to discuss the matter with his family. Such talks were essential before the proposed marriage could be formally contracted.
It would mean a trip home to Tokyo. Yokoyama found that prospect almost as exciting as the reason for making the journey.
When Yokoyama reached Hiroshima Airport on April 28, he found the army transport he planned to take to Tokyo had left early. It worried Yokoyama that he had missed the flight. He knew how much trouble Colonel Abe had taken to get him a seat on the plane.
Yokoyama tried to hitch a lift on the next transport to the capital. He was told to wait. He sat on the ground outside the operations room and waited for his name to be called.
Hiroshima’s airport was being extended. It was too small for the growing demands of the military. It was crammed with their aircraft. Yokoyama watched a transport taxi by. From a nearby hut a group of youngsters filed out to the plane in their cut-down overalls. Waiting to greet them was a handsome young flying officer, Second Lieutenant Matsuo Yasuzawa, one of the air force’s most experienced instructors. Every pilot Yasuzawa trained now was meant to be a kamikaze. These youngsters were his latest intake. Their average age was sixteen years.