“No, I haven’t, Captain. Seems to me like that’s your job.”
Oatmire nodded, then pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. He had brought it along for this very purpose. He noted with some disappointment that the handkerchief had been white, but the dusty city was already making it dingy. “All right, I’m going to approach them under a flag of truce. Hopefully they won’t shoot me.”
“Good luck with that, sir,” Steele replied. It wasn’t reassuring that he sounded doubtful that the white flag was going to do anything but get Oatmire killed. “We do have an interpreter if you want him. Yoshio, come over here a minute.”
One of the GIs scurried out from behind a chunk of rubble. Oatmire was surprised at the sight of a young Japanese man wearing an army uniform. He’d heard about these Nisei, Japanese Americans who spoke the enemy’s language. Even at headquarters, there were some who didn’t quite trust their loyalties.
“Thanks, that will be useful if there are any language issues,” Oatmire said. “Some of these Japanese speak at least a little English, but you never know.”
“You never know,” Steele agreed. He gave him another look. “If you don’t mind me asking, how many negotiations have you done?”
“I once bought a used car and got the dealer to knock off fifty bucks. Does that count?”
Steele stared at him for a moment, seeming to wonder if Oatmire was serious or not; then his face broke into a grin and he even gave a short laugh. It had a rusty sound, as if he hadn’t had much reason to laugh recently. “And you’re the guy HQ sent, huh? Sounds about right.”
“That’s the army way,” Oatmire agreed. He also found himself grinning. “On-the-job training. Any advice?”
The lieutenant thought it over. “Just remember that they’re Japs,” he said. “They don’t think like us. Most Japanese could not care less about dying, and I don’t expect that these bastards are any different. Especially the officers. I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised that any of the hostages have survived. But I guess that they want a bargaining chip.”
Oatmire found a low whistle escaping his lips. “That’s not much to negotiate with. A bargaining chip, huh? What the hell do they even want?”
“Probably to let them leave here so that they can fight and die gloriously in a last stand somewhere else in the city.” Steele tapped his shotgun barrel. “We’ll be glad to oblige.”
“All right,” Oatmire said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“One thing, sir,” Steele said.
“What is it?” Oatmire found that he didn’t mind any excuse that delayed stepping out into the open, in full view of the Japanese riflemen in the upper floors.
“Maybe you could go alone at first. It’s just that I’d hate to lose our interpreter too.”
Gee, thanks for that, Oatmire thought. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves, although it didn’t help much, and shook out the so-called flag of truce. He realized that he was trusting his life to a dingy white handkerchief. “All right,” he said. “I’ll call your guy over if I need him to translate. Here goes nothing.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
From the safety of cover, the soldiers watched tensely as Captain Oatmire approached the university building, waving his white handkerchief. He was not armed, having put his faith in the scrap of fabric to keep him safe.
“What do you think the odds are that the Japanese will shoot him?” Philly wondered.
“Fifty-fifty, but I’m not taking that bet,” Deke said.
“Me neither,” Philly said. “You’ve got to hand it to that captain, though. He’s got some guts.”
Deke couldn’t argue with that, he thought, watching the officer approach the massive, arched entryway of the stone building. Then again, there was an outside chance that Oatmire was more afraid of failing General MacArthur than he was fearful of the Japanese.
Like the others, Deke held his breath, waiting for the shot to ring out that would send Oatmire toppling into the dirt. If Oatmire had any qualms, he showed no outward sign of fear, striding forward toward the entrance with all the confidence of a door-to-door salesman looking to unload some encyclopedias or vacuum cleaners.
Deke thought that the captain was either a brave son of a bitch or a fool who didn’t know he was dead yet. Maybe a little of both.
Instead of being greeted by a gunshot, Oatmire was met by a Japanese officer. Deke was surprised to see that he was tall for a Japanese and neatly dressed, down to the creases on his uniform that looked sharp as a samurai sword — which the officer happened to be wearing at his belt. Although the officer himself was not waving a white flag, the man next to him, a tough-looking fellow who was apparently some sort of flunky, did have one. Other than the sword, which was more like a badge of office for the Japanese rather than a weapon, they were not armed — but there were plenty of Japanese soldiers in the building behind them with weapons at the ready. In an instant, there might be a storm of lead flying at the Americans.
Oatmire and the Japanese officer spoke briefly, then Oatmire looked toward Patrol Easy’s position and waved. Apparently he had need of an interpreter, after all.
“That’s your cue, Yoshio,” Lieutenant Steele said. Then he pointed at Deke. “You go with him, Deke.”
Deke was taken aback. There was no way that he wanted to offer himself as a target. Without thinking, he blurted out, “What the hell, Honcho? I don’t speak the lingo.”
“You don’t need to say anything. Some things can be communicated better without words. With all due credit to Yoshio and that captain, I want you to make an impression on the Japanese about what’s in store for them if they don’t go along with Oatmire. He looks like a damn overgrown Boy Scout. We need somebody to put the fear of God into them. If they don’t release the hostages, I want to remind those Nips that the last thing they’re gonna see in this world is your ugly mug.”
“Good cop, bad cop,” Philly muttered. “You are definitely the bad cop.”
“You sure know how to make a fella feel appreciated, Honcho,” Deke said, then straightened up. He wasn’t reassured by the worried look that Juana was giving him. Like the others, she seemed to expect shooting to break out momentarily. She kept her captured Arisaka rifle pointed at the enemy position.
“Should I bring my rifle, Honcho?”
“No, those Japs aren’t armed. Leave your rifle here, son.”
Deke did as he was told and left behind his rifle and pistol. It felt strange not to have them within reach, almost like he was naked. He did keep his bowie knife in his belt. He figured that was fair enough. Hell, that Jap officer had a damn sword.
He followed Yoshio into the open and they joined Captain Oatmire, who was facing the two Japanese. “This is Major Tanigawa,” Oatmire said, giving Deke and Yoshio a quick glance. “He’s willing to discuss the release of the hostages with us.”
Deke looked Tanigawa up and down. Again, Deke was impressed that the enemy officer was tall and well built for a Japanese, even rather regal, with a uniform that was cleaner and neater than the captain’s. Although Oatmire hadn’t been gone long from headquarters, his uniform was struggling to stay clean and pressed in these combat conditions. The katana sword at his belt added to the major’s dignified appearance.
Another damn Jap who thinks he’s a samurai, Deke thought, admiring the beautifully crafted sword in spite of himself. It was hard to read the officer’s face, which was studiously indifferent. The man would’ve made a good poker player. His eyes lingered the longest on Yoshio, as if Tanigawa was trying to digest the idea of someone of Japanese heritage wearing an American uniform. His demeanor cracked just a bit, and he almost appeared puzzled by the sight.