Chapter 2

The territory in dispute, in any Pacific war, Will be ten thousand miles or more from San Francisco, and at some points only eight hundred miles from Tokyo. "Well, so our government's been trying to keep the japs quiet by letting them buy from us all the steel, scrap iron, and oil they want, though of course the stuff goes straight into the stockpile they need to fight a war against us. Now, I have no opinion of that policy-" "I sure have," came a sarcastic gravelly growl from the admiral. The officers laughed and applauded. Colton went on, "It's not fit for tender ears. Sooner or later they'll come steaming east, burning Texaco oil and shooting Pieceslof old Buicks at us. Some policy! Co ahead, Lieutenant. Sorry.)P Quiet ensued as Warren took away the chart. A pallid slide flashed on the screen, a situation map of the Russo-Japanese war. "Okay, a little ancient history now. Here's Port Arthur," Warren pointed, "tucked far into the Yellow Sea, behind Korea. jap back yard again. Here's where the japs beat the Russians in 1905. Without a declaration of war, they made a sneak attack on the Czar's navy, a night torpedo attack. The Russians never recovered. The Nips landed and besieged this key ice-free port. when Port Arth r finally fell, that was it. the Czar accepted a negotiated peace with a primitive country, one-eth the size of his own! It was as great a victory for the japs as the American Revolution was for us. "Now I personally think our history books don't give that war enough Play. That's where modern Japanese history starts. Maybe that's where all modern history starts. Because that's where the colored man for the first time took on the white man and beat him." In one corner, near the serving pantry, the white-coated steward's nates, all Filipino or Negro, were gathered. When the topic was not secret, they had the privilege of listening to officer lectures. Glances now wandered to them from all over the wardroom, in a sudden stillness. The Filipino faces were blank masks. The Negroes' expressions were various and enigmatic; some of the younger ones tartly smiled. This awkward moment caught Warren unawares. The presence of the steward's mates had been a matter of course to him, hardly noticed. He shook off the embarrassment and plowed on. "Well, this was a hell of a feat, only half a century after Perry opened up the country. The japs learned fast. They traded silk and art objects to the British for a modern steam navy. They hired the Germans to train them an army. Then they crossed to the mainland and licked Russia. "But remember, Moscow was a whole continent away from Port Arthur. The only link was a railroad. Long supply lines licked the Czar. Long supply lines licked Cornwallis, and long supply lines licked Napoleon in Russia. Thefurther you have to go to fight, the more you thin out your strength just getting there and coming back. "Incidentally, at the Naval War College war games often start with a sneak attack by the japs on us, right here in Pearl Harbor. That derives from the Port Arthur attack. The way the jap mind works, why shouldn't they repeat a trick on the white devils that once paid off so well? "Well, of course 1941 isn't 1905. We've got search planes and radar. This time the japs could get themselves royally clobbered. Still, the nature of this enemy is strange. You can't rule that possibility out. "But always remember his objective. When the japs took on the Czar in 1904, they had no intention of marching to Moscow. Their objective was to grab off territory in their own back yard and hold it. That's what they did, and they still hold it. "If war breaks out in the Pacific, the japs are not going to set forth to occupy Washington, D.C and my guess is they won't even menace Hawaii. They couldn't care less. They'll strike south for the big grab, and then they'll dare us to come on, across a supply line ten thousand miles long, through their triple chain of fortified island airfields-the Gilberts, the Marshalls, the Mananas-and their surface and submarine fleets, operating close to home under an umbrella of land-based air. "So I don't exactly see us blowing them off the map in two weeks." Warren looked around at the more than a hundred sombre young faces. "Peace in the Pacific once rested on a rickety three-legged stool. One leg was American naval power; the second, the European forces in southeast Asia; and the third, the Russian land power in Siberia. "The European leg of the stool got knocked out in 1940 by the C;ermans. Yesterday, the Germans knocked out the Russian leg. Stalin's not going into any Asian war-not now. So it's all up to us, and with two legs out of the stool, I would say peace in the Pacific has fallen on its ass." Warren had been talking along very solemnly, flourishing his pointer. The joke brought surprised chuckles. "As to Captain Nugent's question, what is Hitler's motive toti oe the mean us, the answer therefore comes out loud and Clear, when you look at the map. Der Fuhrer has sounded general quarters for the Enterprise. Rear Admiral Colton was first on his feet to lead the applause.
Clenching the cigar in his teeth, he pumped Warren)s hand. Gliding across an imaginary line that splits the Pacific Ocean from the north to the south polar caps, the sunrise acquired a new label, June 23. Behind that line, June 22 had just dawned. This murky international convention, amid world chaos, still stood. For the globe still turned as always in the light of the sun, ninety million miles away in black space, and the tiny dwellers on the globe still had to agree, as they went about their mutual butcheries, on a way to tell the time. The daylight slipped westward over the waters, over charming green island chains, once German colonies, all entrusted to japan under her pledge not to fortify them-all fortified. Endeavoring to emulate the white man, japan had studied European history in the matter of keeping such pledges. Day came to the city of Tokyo, dotted with charming parks and temples and an imperial palace, but otherwise a flat sprawling slum of matchbox shacks and shabby Western buildings. Catching up with the white man in two generations had impoverished the Japanese; four years of the "China Incident" had drained them dry. Obedient to their leaders, they were bending to their tasks, eating prison fare, building war machines by borrowed blueprints with borrowed metals under borrowed technical advisers, desperately trading silk, cameras, and toys for oil to make the machines go. Ninety million of them toiled on four quake-ridden rocky islands full of slumbering volcanoes, an area no larger than California-Their chief natural resource was willpower. The rest of the world knew little more about them than what could be learned from Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado. They were puzzling people. Their Foreign Minister, a little moustached man named Matsuoka, American-educated and much travelled in F-urope, gave the impression of being a lunatic, with his voluble, self-contradictory chatter, and his wild giggling, grinning, and hissing, so different from the expected deportment of the Oriental. White diplomats guessed that his strange ways must be part of the Japanese character. C)nly later did it Turn out that the Japanese also thought he was demented. Why the militarist cabinet entrusted him with mortally serious matters at this time remains a historical mystery, like the willingness of the Germans to follow Hitler, who in his writings and speeches always appeared to people of other countries an obvious maniac. It is not clear just how crazy Stalin was at this time, though most historians agree he later went stark mad. In any case, the deranged Matsuoka was in charge of japan's relations with the world, when the deranged Hitler attacked the deranged Stalin. Japanese historians recount that Matsuoka obtained an urgent audience with the emperor and begged him to invade Siberia right away. But the army and navy leaders were cool to the idea. In 1939, the army had had a nasty unpublicized tangle with Stalin's Siberian army, taking losses in the tens of thousands. Theywanted to go south, where the Vichy French were impotent, the Dutch were cut off from home, and the beleaguered English could spare little force. Warren Henry's amateur analysis on the Enterprise's hangar deck had not been wrong on these main alternatives. But Matsuoka insisted that by signing the Tripartite Pact with Germany and Italy, japan had pledged to help them if they were attacked; and the German invasion clearly had taken place to fend off a Russian attack. Morality therefore required japan to invade Siberia at once. As for the nonaggression pact with Russia-which he had himself negotiated -Russia never kept pacts anyway. To attack right now was vital, before Russia collapsed, in order for the onslaught to appear honorable, and n just picking up pieces. Matsuoka called this position "moral diplomacy." One high-placed official is supposed to have commented quite seriously at this time that the foreign minister was insane; to which an elder statesman replied that insanity in Matsuoka would be an improvement. So much one can sift from the Japanese record. The official secret decision was to 'let the persimmon ripen on the tree"-that is, not to attack the Soviet union until its defeat looked like more of a sure thing. For the China war went on and on, an endless bog, and the Japanese leaders were not eager to take on heavy new land operations. The thrust south looked like the easier option, if they had to figbtPlanning for this was to proceed. Matsuoka was dismayed, and he soon fell from office. At the time of sunrise in Tokyo, the sun had already been traversing Siberia for over three hours, starting at Bering Strait. Before bringing a second sunrise to the battlefront, it had eight more hours to travel, for the Soviet union stretches halfway around the globe. Amid the invasion rumors of May and June, a bitter story had swept through Europe, crossing the frontiers between German-held and free territory. A Berlin actress, the story went, resting after lovemaking with a Wehrmacht general, persuaded him to tell her about the coming invasion of Russia. He obligingly took down an atlas of the world and began, but she soon interru ted him: p 'Liebchen, but what is that great big green space there all across the map 'y that, Liebchem, as I told you, is the Soviet union." "Ach so. And where did you say Germany was?" The general showed her the narrow black blob in mid-Europe. 'Liebchen," the actress said pensively, "has the Fuhrer seen this map?" It was a good joke. But the nerve center of the Soviet union was not in Vladivostok, at the far eastern end of the green space. The sunrise of lune 23, passing west of the Russian capital, shone out within the hour on German columns, twenty-five miles advanced toward Minsk and Moscow in one day, through the massed forces of the Red Army and its heaviest borderdefenses. ULE lightning cracked down the black sky, forking behind the PWashington Monument in jagged streams. July on the Potomac was going out, as usual, in choking heat and wild thunderstorms. "There goes my walk home," Victor Henry said. Through the open window, a tongue of cool air licked into the stifling, humid office, scattering heavy raindrops On the wall charts. It began to pour in the street, a thick hissing shower 'Maybe it'll break the heat wave," Julius said. Julius was a chief yeoman who had worked with him in the Bureau of Ordnance, a fat placid man of fifty with a remarkable head for statistics. "No such luck. The steam will be denser, that's all." Pug looked at his watch. "Hey, it's after six. Ring my house, will you? Tell the cook dinner at seven." "Aye aye, sir." Tightening his tie and slipping into a seersucker jacket, Pug scooped up papers from the desk. "I want to study these figures some more. They're kind of incredible, Julius." With a shrug and wave of both hands, Julius said, "They're as good as the premises you gave me to work from." "Jebosephat, if it comes to that many landing craft for the two oceans, how can we build anything else for the next three years?" Julius gave him the slightly superior smile of an underling who, on a narrow topic, knows more than the boss. "We produce million tons of steel a year, sir. But making all those hair dryers and refrigerators and forty different models of cars too-that's the problem." Pug dove through the rain to a taxicab that drew up at the Navy Building. A very tall man got out, pulling a soft hat low on his head. "All yours-why, hello there." "Well, hi!" Pug pulled out his wallet and gave the taxi driver a bill saying, "Wait, please.-How long have you been in Washington, Kirby?" "About a month." "Come home with me for a drink. Better yet, join me for dinner." "Thanks, but I don't think I can." "I'm alone," said Victor Henry. Kirby hesitated. "Where's your wife?" "Spending my money in New York. She saw off our daughter-in-laA, and grandson on a plane to Hawaii. Now she's shopping for furniture and stuff. We bought a house." "Oh? Did she get the one on Foxhall Road?" "That's the one. How'd you know about it?""Well-I ran into Rhoda when she was house-hunting. You were out at sea, I guess. We had lunch and she showed me the place. I was all for it." "Got much to do?" Pug insisted. "I'll wait for you." "As a matter of fact," Kirby said abruptly, "I only have to pick up some papers. Let me dash in here for a minute. I'll be glad to have that drink with you." Soon they sat together in the cab, moving slowly in the clogged rushbour traffic of Constitution Avenue, in torrents of rain. "What are you doing in this dismal town?" Pug said. "Oh, this and that." "U know what?" grinned Pug, stressing U for uranium. Kirby glanced at the bald round head and red ears of the driver. "Driver, turn on your radio," Pug said. "Let's catch the news." But the driver could only get jazz, buzzing with static. "I don't know what you hope to hear," Kirby said. "Except that the Germans are another fifty miles nearer Moscow." "Our deparunent's getting edgy about the japs." "I can't figure out the President's order," Kirby said. "Neither can the papers, it seems. Okay, he froze their credits. Does it or doesn't it cut off their oil?" "Sure it does. They can't pay." "Doesn't that force them to go to war?" "Maybe. The President had to do something about this Vichy deal that puts jap airfields and armies in Indo-China. Saigon's a mighty handy jump-off point for Malaya and Java-and Australia, for that matter." Kirby deliberately packed his pipe. "How is Rhoda?" "Snappish about various foul-ups in the new house. Otherwise fine." Through puffs of blue smoke, the scientist said, "What do we actually want of the japs now?" "To cease their aggression. Back up out of Indo-China. Get off the Chinese mainland. Call off that Manchukuo farce, and free Manchuria." "In other words," said Kirby, "give up all hope of beconidng a major power, and accept a military defeat which nobody's inflicted on them." "We can lick them at sea." "Do we have an army to drive them out of Asia?" "No.""Then don't we have our gall, ordering them out?" Pug looked at Kirby under thick eyebrows, his head down on his chest. The city was giving him a headache, and he was very tired. "Look, militarist fanatics have taken charge there, Kirby. You know that. Slant-eyed samurais with industrial armaments. If they ever break loose and min southeast Asia, you'll have a yellow Germany in the Pacific, with unlimited manpower, and most of the oil and rubber in the world. We have to maneuver while we can, and fight if we must. The President's freezing order is a maneuver. Maybe he'll work out some deal with them." 'Appeasement," Kirby said. "Exactly, appeasement. We've been appeasing them right along with the oil shipments. So far they haven't attacked south and they haven't hit Russia in the back. I think the President's just feeling his way, day by day and week by week." 'y doesn't he declare war on Germany?" Kirby said. "Why this interminable pussyfooting about convoys? Once Russia collapses, the last chance to stop Hitler will be gone." 'I can tell you why Roosevelt doesn't declare war on Germany, mister," spoke up theta)d driver in a rough, good-humored Southern voice, not looking around. "Oh? Why?" said Kirby. "Because he'd be impeached if he tried, that's why, mister. He knows goddamned well that the American people aren't going to war to save the Jews." He glanced over his shoulder. Blue eyes twinkled in a friendly fat face, smiling jovially. "I have no prejudices. I'm not prejudiced against the Jews. But I'm not prejudiced for them, either. Not enough to send American boys to die for them. That's not unreasonable, is it?" 'Maybe you'd better look where you're driving," said Pug. The cabbie subsided. 'It's a nice spot," Kirby said. They were on the back porch and Pug was pouring martinis. The house stood on a little knoll, topping a smooth lawn and a ravine of wild woods. A fresh breeze smelling of wet leaves and earth cooled the porch. "Rhoda likes it." They drank in silence. "How about that cabbie?" said Kirby. "Well, he said it straight out. It's been said on the Senate floor often, in double-talk." Kirby emptied his glass, and Pug at once refilled it.
"Thanks, Pug. I'm having unusual feelings these days. I'm starting to suspect that the human race, as we know it, may not make it through the industrial revolution." "I've had a bad day myself," Pug said, as the scientist lit his pipe. "No," Kirby said, slowly waving out the thick wooden match, "let me try to put this into words. It's occurred to me that our human values, our ideas of right and wrong, good and bad, evolved in simpler times, before there were machines. Possibly the Germans and the Japanese are really adapting better to the new environment. Their successes suggest that. Also the way their opponents keep stumbling and crumbling. We may be having a Darwinian change in society. Authoritarian rule may be best suited to urban machine life-armed bosses indifferent to mercy or probity, keeping order by terror, and ready to lie and kill as routine policy. After all, most of the machines aren't a hundred years old. The airplane isn't forty years old. And democracy's still a fragile experiment." Kirby paused to drain his glass. "You called the Japanese industrial samuraisThat rang the bell. They've starved themselves, stripped their country, to build or buy machines, and they've jumped out of nowhere to center stage of history. The Nazi or samurai idea may just make more sense in a changed world, Pug. Is this merely martini talk, and is there any left in that jug?" "There's plenty," said Pug, pouring, and more where it came from. I'm feeling better by the minute. It's nice on this porch." "It's Marvelous," said Palmer Kirby. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" Pug said. "What else do you have to do?" "I don't like to impose on you." "I'm having chops, potatoes, and a salad. It's just putting on a couple more chops. Let me tell the cook." "All right, Pug. Thanks. I've done a lot of eating alone lately." "Be back in a minute," said Victor Henry, taking the jug. He brought it back full and tinkling. "I put off dinner," he said. "Give us a chance to relax." 'Suits me," said Kirby, "though from the mood I'm in and the size of that jug, you may have to lead me to the dining room." "It's not far," Pug said, "and the furniture has few sharp edges." Kirby laughed. "You know, about the first thing your very sweet wife Rhoda said to me was that I drank too much. At the dinner she gave me in Berlin. You remember, when you had to fly back to see the President. I was in a bad mood, and I did swill a lot of wine fast. She brought me up short.""That was rude, The amount a man drinks is his own business," said Pug. "Not to mention that on occasion my proud beauty has sort of a hollow leg herself." "Say, you mix a hell of a good martini, Pug." "Kirby, what you were saying before, you know, is only this wave-of the-future stuff that the Lindbergbs have been peddling." "Well, lindy's the type of the new man, isn't be? Flying an ocean by himself in a single-motor plane! He pointed the way to much that's happened since." "He's not a liar and murderer." "Only the bosses need be, Henry. The rest, including the scientific and mechanical geniuses like lindy, and the wheelhorses like me, merely have to obey. That's obviously what's been happening in Germany." "I'll tell you, Kirby," Pug said, swirling his glass and feeling very profound, "there's nothing new about such leaders. Napoleon was one. He had his propaganda line, too, that weakened the foe before he fired a shot. Why, he was bringing liberty, equality, fraternity to all Europeans. So, he laid the continent waste and made it run with blood for a dozen years or so, until they got wise to him and caught him and marooned him on a rock." "You think that'll happen to Hitler?" "I hope so." "There's a difference. Napoleon had no machines. If he had had airplanes, telephones, tanks, trucks, machine guns-the whole industrial apparatus-don't you think he might have clamped a lasting tyranny on Europe?" 'I'm not sure. I happen to have a low opinion of Napoleon. Napoleon sold Jefferson nearly a million square miles of prime land, you know -our whole Middle West, from Louisiana to the rockies and the Canadian border-for fifteen million dollars. Fifteen million! It figured aut to four cents an acre for real estate like Iowa and Nebraska. And Minnesota, with all that iron ore. Colorado with its gold and silver. Oklahoma with its oil. I don't see how anybody, even a Frenchman, can figure Napoleon as a genius. He was a bloodthirsty ass. If he'd sent just one of his smaller armies over here to protect that territory-just a couple of divisions to hold the Louisiana territory, instead of wandering around Europe slaughtering and looting-and a few thousand Frenchmen to colonize the land, there's little doubt that France would be the world's greatest power today. Instead of what she is, a raped old bag." "I can't say that has occurred to me before," Kirby said, smiling at the phrase. "It's probably fallacious."'What's happening with uranium?" Victor Henry said. Kirby's smile turned wary. "Is that why you're plying me with martinis?" "If martinis can loosen you up about uranium, Kirby, let it happen first with an officer in War Plans, and thereafter don't drink martinis." "Doesn't War Plans have any information?" "No. It's still Jules Verne talk to us." "Unfortunately, it's more than that." The rain was starting again, with a whistle of wind, a rumble of thunder, and a whoosh of raindrops through the porch screen. Pug dropped a canvas flap on the windward side, fastening it down as Kirby talked. "The best present judgment, Pug, is that the bomb can be built. It might take, with an all-out effort, two years or fifty years. Those are the brackets. But we're not making an all-out effort. We're making a good effort on the theory end, that's all. Tremendous brains are at work, some of them driven from Europe by the Germans, for which we owe them cordial thanks. The big question is, how far ahead are the Germans by now? We aren't even started. There's no money available and no plan. Making uranium bombs will go in several stages, and some of us fear that the Germans have cracked stage one, which is to get enough of the isotope to start a controlled chain reaction." "What kind of weapon are we talking about here?" said Pug. "How powerful an explosive?" "Again, the answer is X. The power may be too much altogether. That is, the bomb may blow itself apart before it can really work. In theory one bomb might level New York City. Or even an area like Rhode Island. You're dealing here with very large unknowns. There's talk that it could start a process that could blow up the earth. The best men don't take that too seriously. I frankly don't know enough to be sure." "You're talking about a pretty good bomb," said Victor Henry. "Hellooo!" Rhoda Henry's voice rang through the spacious house, and they heard heels clicking on the parquet floor. "Surprise! Anybody home? I'm DPENcmw. I'm a drowned RAT.""Hi! I'm out here," Pug called, " and we've got company." "We have?" "Hello, Rhoda," said Kirby, standing. 'Oh my GAWD!" She froze in the doorway, staring. Rhoda's purple hat dripped, she carried a sodden paper bundle, and her flowered silk dress clung wetly to her shoulders and bosom. Her face glistened with rain. Her eye makeup was blurred, her lipstick blotchy on pale lips. Wet strands of hair hung down her forehead and neck. Pug said, "You finished up sort of fast in New York, didn't you? I asked Fred Kirby in for a drink, because we happened-' Rhoda vanished. Her scampering footsteps dwindled into the house and up a staircase. "Dad, what a place! It's a mansion' Madeline walked through the doorway, as wet as her mother, shaking rain from her hair and laughing. "Well, Mattyl You too?" "Look at me! Christ, did we catch it! No cabs in sight, and-hello, Dr. Kirby." 'You'll both get the flu," Pug Henry said. 'If somebody gave me a martini," said Madeline, eyeing the jug, 'I might fight the infection off." She explained, as her father poured the drink, that Hugh Cleveland had business at the War Department next morning. Rhoda had decided to come back to Washington with them. The girl took a quick practiced pull at the cocktail. "Where's your luggage?" Pug said. "Go put on dry clothes." "I dropped my stuff at the Willard, Dad." "What? Why? Here's a whole big house at your disposal." 'Yes. I came to have a look at it. Then I'll go back to the hotel and change." "But why the devil are you staying at the hotel?" 'Oh, it's simpler." She glanced at her watch. "Christ, almost seven o'clock." Pug wrinkled his nose at his daughter, not caring much for her brassiness. But she looked pretty, despite her wet hair and wrinkled pink linen sifit. Rhoda's fear that Madeline would Turn plain at twenty-one was proving flat wrong. "What's the rush?" "We're having dinner with a big Army wheel, Dad, to try to sell him on a new program idea. Hugh visits a different military installation every week. We put on amateurs from the service, and do a tour of the base, and a pitch about preparedness. I suggested the idea, even the name. The Happy Hour. The network is wild about it."She looked at the two middleaged men, her eyes very bright, and held out her glass. "Can I have a little more? I'll own stock in this thing if it goes through! Imagine! I actually will. Hugh Cleveland's going to form a corporation and give me some stock. He promised me. How about that? Maybe I'll be rich! Well, Dad?" she added with an arch giggle. "You look kind of sour." "To begin with," Pug said, " come September we may not have an army. Don't you read the papers?" Madeline's face fell. "You mean about the draft?" "Yes. Right now it's fifty-fifty or worse that Congress won't vote for renewal." "But that's insane. Why, by September I-Ltler will probably have beaten Russia. How far is he from Moscow now? A hundred miles, or something?" "I'm not saying the politicians make sense. I'm telling you the fact." "Christ, that would blow The Happy Hour sky high, wouldn't it? Oh, well. We'll see." She stood, shaking out her skirt. "Ugh. I have rain trickling around inside, in odd little places. I'll take a fast gander at the house. Then I'll tool off." "I'll show you around," Pug said. "How about it, Kirby? Want to join the tour?" "I guess I'll leave," said Kirby. "Rhoda's back, and I don't want to intrude, and besides I have a lot of-" "You sit right down," Victor Henry said, pushing Palmer Kirby into a wicker armchair. "Houses bore me too. Have one more shortie, and I'll be joining you." "I've had plenty," Kirby said, reaching for the jug. Madeline went from room to room with her father, exclaiming with pleasure at what she saw. "Christ, look at the moldings in this dining room... Oh, Christ, what a stunning fireplace... Christ, look at the size of these closets!" "Say, I'm no prude," Pug remarked at last, "but what's this 'Christ, Christ," business? You sound like a deckhand." Rhoda called from her dressing room, "That's right, Pug, tell her! I've never heard anything like it. You get more Christs from her in five minutes than in a church sermon an. hour long. It's so vulgar." Madeline said, "Sorry, it's a habit I've caught from Hugh."i, Oh, Pug"-Rhoda's voice again, loudly casual-"where did you dig up Palmer Kirby? Did he telephone?" "Just ran into him. He's staying for dinner. Is that all right?" "Why not? Madeline, you're not really staying at the Willard, are you? It looks SO PECULIAR, dear. Please go and bring your bags home." "Never mind, Mother. Bye-bye." Pug said, walking down the stairs with her, "We bought a big place just so you kids could stay here when you're in town." She put a hand lightly on his arm and smiled. The condescension embarrassed him. "Really, Dad, I know what I'm doing. We'll be up very late with the writers tonight." "This fellow Cleveland," said Victor Henry with difficulty. "Is he okay?" Her secure womanly smile broadened. "Daddy, if there were any hanky-panky going on, I'd be a lot sneakier, wouldn't I? Honestly. Give me some credit." "Well, you're grown-up. I know that. It just came on kind of fast." "Everything's fine. I'm having the time of my life, and one day you'll be real proud of me." "I'll call a cab for you," Pug muttered, but as he reached for the telephone in the marble-floored hallway, it rang. "Hello? Yes, speaking... yes, Admiral." Madeline saw her father's face settle into tough alert lines. "Aye aye, sir. Yes, will do. Good-bye, sir." Pug dialled Rhoda's room on the intercom line. "Are you almost dressed?" "Five minutes. Why?" "I'll tell you when you come down." He called for a taxicab. Madeline was used to asking no questions when Victor Henry's face took on that look and he spoke in those tones. They returned to the porch, where Kirby lolled in the wicker armchair, smoking his pipe. Rhoda appeared almost at once in a swishy green dress, her hair smartly combed and curled, her face made up as for a dance. "Well! Quick-change artistry," Pug said. "I hope so. When I got here I looked like the witch in Smw White." "Rhoda, I just got a call from Admiral King. He's at the Department. I'll ride downtown with Madeline. You go ahead and give Fred his dinner.
Maybe I'll get back in time for coffee, or something. Anyway, I'll call you when I know what it's all about." The honked outside. Kirby offered to leave too. Victor Henry wouldn't hear of it. He liked the scientist. He had invited him home partly for company, partly to pump him about uranium. Pug Henry no more imagined anything between this man and Rhoda than he suspected his wife of cannibalism. He prevailed on Kirby to stay, and left with his daughter. When the outside door closed, Rhoda said brightly, "Well! How long has it been, Palmer? An age." Kirby sat forward, hands on his knees. "Pug doesn't know he's put you in a spot. I'll be going." Rhoda sat composed, legs crossed, arms folded, head atilt. "You'll waste some good double lamb chops, Can't you smell them? Dinner's about ready." "Rhoda, I really believe you don't feel in the least awkward." "Oh, Palmer, I take things as they come. I'm very glad to see you, actually. What brings you to Washington, anyway?" "A defense job, about which I can tell you nothing except that it's going very badly." "You mean you're living here?" "I have an apartment in the Wardman Park." "Well, well. What about your factory?" "I have excellent managers and foremen. I fly to Denver every two weeks or so. I just got back." With a sarcastic, one-sided grin he added, "It's disturbing how well things go on without me." "And how is that house of yours?" "Fine. I didn't sell it, and now I won't," "Oh? And now, here you are. Funny." "Funny'isn't the word I would choose." Rhoda dropped her voice to a soft, intimate note. "Was my letter so very upsetting?" "It was the worst blow I've had since my wife died." Rhoda blinked at His rough tone, and sighed. "I'm sorry." She sat clasping and unclasping her fingers in her lap. Then she tossed her head.
"I'm trying to think how to tell this so I don't come out a flibbertigibbet, but to hell with that. I sat next to the President at that White House dinner. He was nice to me. He liked me. He said wonderful things about Pug, about his future career. A divorced man is very handicapped in the service, especially when he's in sight of flag rank. I'm very aware of that. I've seen how it works. And-well, so I did what I did. I've slept badly ever since, Palmer, and I've been an awful crab. But I've stuck to him, and I don't intend to apologize." "Dinner, Miz Henry." A gray-haired colored woman in a white smock appeared in the doorway, looking sad and reproachful. "Oh dear. Oh yes. What time is it, Barbara?" "It's half past eight now, Nfiz Henry." "That's awful. I never intended for you to remain this late. Palmer, you're staying, of course. just put it on the table, will you, Barbara? Then you can go." By the time Rhoda Henry and Palmer Kirby had finished off the thick chops, a salad, and a bottle of wine, the tension between them was gone, and he was laughing at, her droll stories of troubles with the new house. She was laughing too, though, as she said, at the time the mishaps had put her in wild rages. "What would you say to another glass of St. Julien with the cheese, Palmer?" "Rhoda, if he comes home and finds us cracking a second bottle, those eyebrows will go way up, so." "Oh, pshaw." She began clearing dishes. "Many's the second bottle he and I have cracked. And third ones, on occasion." She paused, holding a stack of dishes. 'I can't tell you how good I feel. This couldn't possibly have been planned. But there's a great weight off my mind." Rhoda brought the coffee, and the second bottle, out to the back porch. The rain was over. Beyond the dim trees, in July twilight fading into darkness, a few stars showed. "Ah! Isn't this pleasant?" she said. "I think this porch is the reason I wanted the place. It makes me think of the house we had in Berlin." "This is like a Berlin summer evening," Kirby said. "The light that lingers on, the fresh smell of rained-on trees-" She said, "You remember?" "I have an excellent memory. A little too good." "I have a very handy one, Palmer. It tends to remember the good and forget the bad." "That is a female memory." Dr. Kirby gulped his wine with an abrupt motion. "Now let me ask you something, Rhoda. This may really sound offensive. But we may never talk like thisagain. I've had a lot to drink. Much too much, no doubt. Your letter was a bad shock. I've thought and thought about this thing ever since. You told me that until I came along there had been no one else. I believed you. I still do. But I have a question to ask you. How come?" After a marked silence, broken only by the chirping of birds, he said, "I've made you angry." "No." Rhoda's voice was throaty and calm. "Of course I know the answer you want-that you were irresistible and there'd never been anyone remotely like you. That's true enough. Still, I've had plenty of chances, dear. And I don't just mean drunken passes at the officers' club. There have been times... but to be absolutely honest, these men have all been naval officers like Pug. That's the circle I move in. Not one has measured up to him, or even come very close." She was silent for a space. "Don't take this wrong. I'm not blaming Pug for what happened this time. That would be too low. But he does shut me out so much! And from the moment the war started, that got much worse. Pug's a fanatic, you know. Not about religion, or politics. About getting things done." "That's an American trait," said Palmer Kirby. "I'm the same kind of fanatic." "Ah, but in Berlin, whether you knew it or not, you were courting me. When Pug courted me, I fell in love with him, too." She uttered a lo"7 chuckle, and added, "Let me say one thing more. Though you, of all people, might give me the horselaugh. I'm a good woman. At least I think I am. So, with one thing and another, there's been no one else. Nor will there be. I'm a quiet grandma now. That's that." They did not speak for a long time. In the darkness, they were two shadowy shapes, visible only by the dim reflection of unseen streetlamps on the leaves. "Pug's never called," said Rhoda quietly. The shape of Kirby emerged from the wicker chair, looming tall. "I'll go now. The dinner was a success. I feel remarkably better. Thanks." She said, "Will I see you again?" "Washington's a pretty small town. Look at the way I bumped into Pug." "Can you find your way out, dear?" "Certainly." "I don't mean to be rude, but to be frank, at the moment my eyes are messy. Palmer Kirby came to her, bowed over her hand, and kissed it. She put her other hand over hisand gave it a soft lingering pressure. "My," she said. "So continental. And very sweet. Straight through the living room, darling, and Turn left to the front door." WEEK later, Victor Henry lay in the upper bunk of an officer's cabin Ain the heavy cruiser Tuscaloosa, above a gently snoring colonel of the Army War Plans Division. A hand on his shoulder and a whisper, "Captain Henry?" brought him awake. In the red glow from the corridor, he saw a sailor offering a dispatch board. Pug switched on his dim bunk light. DEsrRE C"TAIN VICTOR HENRY TRANSFER WITH ALL CFAR TO AUGUSTA PRIOR TO 0500 TODAY FOR FORTHCOMING RCISE X "What time is it?" Pug muttered, scribbling his initials on the flimsy sheet. 043o, and the O.O.D says the captain's gig is standing by for you, sir.)) Pug tried to pack quietly, but a squeaky metal drawer woke the colonel. "Hey, skipper, leaving me? Where are you off to?" "The Augusta." "What?" The colonel yawned, and snuggled under his blanket. Even in midsummer, the morning air was cool in Nantucket Bay. "I thought that boat's only for big brass and the President." "I guess the admiral decided he needs another typist." "Would that be Admiral King? The one who shaves with a blowtorch?" Henry laughed politely. "Yes, that's the one." "Well, good luck." A brisk wind was tumbling and scattering the fog in the twilit anchorage, and the choppy water tossed the slow-moving gig so that the bell clanged randomly and Henry had to brace himself on the dank leather seat. After a dull rocky ride the Augusta loomed ahead through the mist, a long dark unlit shape. The cruiser was not even showing anchor lights, a serious and strange peacetime violation. In the breaking fog, the President's yacht and the dunes of Martha's Vineyard were barely visible. As Captain Henry mounted the cruiser's ladder, a faint pink glow was appeanng in the east. The cleanliness of the old vessel, the fresh smooth paint, the pale gleam of brightwork, the tense quiet gait of sailors in spotless uniforms, marked it as King's flagship. Peculiar long ramps on the decks, and freshly welded handrails, were obvious special fittings for the crippled President. Admiral King in starchy whites, lean legs crossed, sat in his high bridge chair querying the captain of the Augusta about arrangements for Roosevelt. He took no notice whatever of Henry's arrival. The captain , a classmate of Pug, was answering up like a midshipman at an examination. When King dismissed him, he ventured a subdued "Hi, Pug," before leaving his bridge.
"Henry, the President will want a word with you when he comes aboard." Fitting a cigarette into a black filter holder, King turned cold eyes on Pug. "I just learned that, hence this transfer. We'll be under way before you can get back to the Tuscaloosa. I trust you're prepared with any reports or information he may desire." "I have my work papers here, Admiral." Pug touched the dispatch case which, in the transit between cruisers, had not left his hand. King, with chin high, looked down at Victor Henry through halfclosed eyes, puffing at the cigarette. "As I told you last week, the President asked to have you along on this exercise. He didn't mention that he wanted you at his beck and call, however. Are you by any chance a distant relative or an old family friend of Mr. Roosevelt?" "No, Admiral." "Well-you might remember, when occasion offers, that you work for the United States Navy." 'Aye aye, sir." Virtually nobody saw the crippled man hoisted aboard. The ship's company in dress whites was mustered on the long forecastle at attention under the main battery guns. No band played, no guns saluted. The yacht Potomac came along the port side, out of sight of Martha's Vineyard. Sharp commands rang out, a boatswain's pipe squealed, the Potontac churned away, and the President appeared in his wheelchair, pushed by a Navy captain, with an impressive following of civilians, admirals, and Army generals. As on a theatrical cue, the sun at that moment came out and sunlight shafted down the decks, illuminating the grinning, waving President. The white suit and floppy white hat, the high-spirited gestures, the cigarette holder cocked upward in the massive bespectacled face, were almost too Rooseveltian to be real. An actor would have come on so, and Pug thought FDR actually was putting on a little show for the crew, perhaps responding to the burst of sunshine. The wheelchair and its entourage passed across the forecastle and went out of sight. At once the two cruisers weighed anchor and steamed out to sea, with a destroyer division screening ahead of them. The morning sun disappeared behind the clouds. In dreary gray North Atlantic weather, the formation plunged northeast at twenty-two knots, cutting across main ship lanes. Victor Henry walked the main deck for hours relishing the sea wind, the tall black waves, and the slow roll of iron plates under his feet. No summons came from the President. That scarcely surprised him. His chief in the War Plans Division was aboard the Tuscaloosa; they had intended to do a lot of work enroute. Now when the two cruisers reached the rendezvous, they would need an all-night conference. The separation was probably pointless, but the President's whim had to beendured. He was finishing bacon and eggs next morning in the flag mess, when a steward's mate handed him a sealed note on yellow scratch paper: If you're not standing watch, old man, you might look in about ten or so. The Skipper He folded the note carefully away in his pocket. Pug was preserving all these communications, trivial or not, for his grandchildren. At the stroke of ten he went to flag quarters. A rugged frozen-eyed marine came to robot attention outside the President's suite. 'Hello there, Pug! just in time for the news!" Roosevelt sat alone in an armchair at a green baize-covered table, on which a small portable radio was gobbling a corrunerdal. Dark fatigue pockets under Roosevelt's eyes showed through the pince-nez glasses, but the open shirt collar outside an old gray sweater gave him a relaxed look. He had cut himself shaving; a gash clotted with blood marred the big chin. His color was good, and he was snuffing with relish the wind that blew in through a scoop and mussed his thin gray hair. He shook his head sadly at a Moscow admission that the Germans had driven far past Smolensk. Then the announcer said that President Roosevelt's whereabouts were no longer a secret, and he perked up. FDR was vacationing aboard the Potomac, the announcer went on. Reporters had seen him on the afterdeck of the yacht at eight o'clock last evening, passing through the Cape Cod Canal. Roosevelt's eyes darted cunningly at Captain Henry. His smile curved up, self-satisfied and wise. "Ha ha. And here I was at eight o'clock, out on the high seas. How do you suppose I worked that one, Pug?" "Pretty good deception, sir. Somebody in disguise on the yacht?" 'Dam right! Tom Wilson, the engineer. We got him a white suit and white hat. Well, that's just grand. It worked!" He tuned down another commercial. 'We didn't want U-boats out gunning for Churchill and me. But I admit I get a kick out of giving the press the slip, Pug. They do make my life a misery." Roosevelt was searching through piles of paper on the desk. "Ah. Here we are. Look this over, old fellow." The typewritten document was headed "For The President-Top Secret, Two Copies Only." Turning up the radio again, the President slumped in his chair, and the mobile face went weary and grave as the announcer described a newspaper poll of the House of Representatives on the extension of the draft, predicting defeat of the bill by six to eight votes. "That is wrong," the President interjected, his heavy black-ringed eyes on the radio, as though arguing with the announcer. In the next item, the German propaganda ministry ridiculed an accusation by world Jewish leaders of massacres of Jews taking place in German-held parts of the Soviet union. The Jews were spreading Allied atrocity propaganda, the ministry said, and the Red Cross was free to come in at any time to verify the facts. "There's another lie," the President said, turning off the radio with a disgusted gesture. "Those Nazis are the most outrageous liars, really. TheRed Cross can't get in there at all. I think, and I certainly hope, those stories are terribly exaggerated. Our intelligence says they are. Still, where there's smoke-" He took off his pince-nez, and rubbed his eyes hard with thumb and forefinger. "Pug, did your daughter-in-law ever get home with her uncle?" "I understand they're on their way, sir." "Good. Very good." Roosevelt puffed out a long breath. "Quite a lad, that submariner of yours." "A presumptuous pup, I'm afraid." Victor Henry was trying to read the document, which was explosive, while chatting with Roosevelt. It was hard because the pages were full of figures. "I also have a son who's an ensign, Pug. He's aboard, and I want you to meet him." "My pleasure, sir." Roosevelt lit a cigarette, coughing. "I received a copy of that Jewish statement. A delegation of some old good friends brought it to me. The way the Jews stick together is remarkable, Pug. But what's one to do? Scolding the Germans is so humiliating, and so futile. I've exhausted that line long ago. We've tried to get around the immigration laws, with this device and that, and we've had some luck, actually. But when I've got a Congress that's ready to disband the Army, can you imagine my going to them with a bill to admit more Jews? I think we'll beat them on the draft, but it'll be close at best." While he was saying this, Franklin Roosevelt cleared a space on the table, took up two decks of cards, and meticulously laid out a complex solitaire game. He moved cards around in silence for a while, then said in a new cheerful tone, as the ship took a long roll, "By George, Pug, doesn't it feel wonderful to be at sea again?" "It sure does, Mr. President." "Many's the time I've sailed in these waters. I could navigate this ship for them, honor bright!" He observed Pug turning over the last page. "Well? What do you think?" "This is something for my chief, Mr. President." "Yes, but Kelly Turner's over on the Tuscaloosa. Anyway, another squabble between the service heads is just what I don't want." The President smiled at him with flattering warmth. "Pug, you have a feeling for facts, and when you talk I understand you. Those are two uncommon 2. r virtues. So let's have it. Take your time." "Yes, Mr. President." Pug flipped through the document again, making quick notes on a pad. The President, chainlighting a cigarette, carefully put down card on card. Nothing in the document surprised Henry. He had heard it all before, in arguments with Army war planners. But here the Army was taking its case to the President, either through Marshall, or by some devious route which the President in his usual fashion kept open. The document was a scorcher indeed; if it leaked to isolationist senators, it might well end Lend-Lease, kill Selective Service, and even start an impeachment drive. Hence he was taken aback to see that it existed at all. Roosevelt had called for the preparation of a "Victory Program," a fresh start to unlock the paralysis of Lend-Lease and war production. Half a dozen agencies had tangled themselves and the big industries into impotence-the Army and Navy Munitions Board, the War Resources Board, the Office of Emergency Management, the National Defense Advisory Commission, the Office of Production Management. Their heads were jockeying for presidential favor; all Washington was bewildered by the flood of new initials; shortages and bottlenecks were mounting; and actual munitions were being produced in a feeble trickle. To break this up, Roosevelt had ordered the armed forces to list everything they needed to win a global war, and to work out new priorities from this master list. For weeks planners like Victor Henry had been calculating possible American invasions of France, Africa, Germany, Italy, China, and Honshu, air strikes against industrial cities, and joint operations with the British and even the Russians. The Army and the Navy, not particularly trusting each other, we liar c redly communicating about the program. Each had prepared a draft, and each had of course called for the greatest possible share of manpower and industrial output. They had been at the greatest pains to keep the Victory Program secret and the papers few. The document now in Victor Henry's hands was a sharp critique by the Army of the Navy's demands. "How about some orange juice?" the President said, as a steward entered with a pitcher on a tray. "Wouldn't you like that? Felipe squeezes it fresh. He's gotten hold of some glorious oranges." "Thank you, sir." Pug sipped at a glass of foaming juice. "This thing needs a paper just as long in reply, Mr. President. Essentially, the Navy and the Army are just using two different crystal balls. That's inevitable. The Armyy's the big service, and it's ultimately responsible for the security of the United States. No argument there. They figure they may have to fight the Axis single-handed, after Russia and England fold. That's why they demand so much. They arrive at the army of nine million men b'y working backward from the total manpower of the United States. It's thebiggest force our country can field." 'And we may well need it," said the President. "Yes, sir. It's mainly on Lend-Lease that we see the thing differently The Army says we want to give away too many arms and machines which the Germans may capture and use against us. But our contention is that even if the Soviet union does go down soon, and the British too, a hell of a lot of Germans will have to die first to lick them. And every German who dies is one less German who'll be shooting at us one day." "I agree," the President said, very flatly. "Well, then, Mr. President, shouldn't we at any cost strengthen these people who are killing Germans right now? We can rebuild and replace lost materiel pretty fast, but it takes twenty years to raise a live Boche to replace a dead one." The President observed with a slight grin, "Well said. But LendLease isn't the only bone of contention here. I notice the Navy wants a pretty hefty share of our total steel production." 'Mr. President"-Pug leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands outstretched, talking as forcefully as he could-"Hitler didn't beat England last year because he couldn't land the strongest army in the world on a coast a few miles away. He had all the ships he needed to carry them across. But he couldn't dock them on the other side. Assault from the sea is a tough battle problem, Mr. President. They don't come much tougher, it's easy to put your men ashore, one place or another, but then how do you keep the defenders from wiping you out? Your men are stranded. The defenders have all the mobility, the numerical superiority, and the firepower. They can concentrate and crush you." As Pug talked, the President was nodding, cigarette holder drooping between his teeth, eyes piercingly attentive. "Well, sir, the answer is special craft that can hit an open beach in large numbers. You throw a large force ashore, and keep it supplied and reinforced until it captures a harbor. Then you can pile in with your regular transports, your luxury liners too-if you've got 'em-and your invasion's on. But those landing craft, you need swarms of them, sir, of many different designs. This analysis has been assigned to me. It looks as though we're going to have to manufacture something like a hundred thousand, all told." "A hundred thousand!" The President tossed his big head. "Why, all the shipyards in the United States couldn't do that in ten years, Pug even if they stopped doing everything else. You're talking sheer nonsense. Everybody exaggerates his little specialty." But Roosevelt was smiling in an excited way and his eyes were lighting up. He spoke of landing boats the Navy had used in the last war, when he was Assistant Secretary, and of the disastrous British landing at Gallipoli. Victor Henrytook from his briefcase pictures of German invasion craft and of new British models, and some designs for American boats. The President scanned these with zest. Different craft would perform different missions, Pug said, from a big landing ship to cross the ocean with a great load of tanks and trucks in its belly, to little amphibious tanks that could crawl out on land, chug back into the water, and maybe even submerge. Roosevelt obviously loved all this. Under the spread of pictures and sketches lay his solitaire game, scattered and forgotten. "Say, have you fellows ever thought of this?" The President seized a yellow ruled pad and sketched with crude black pencil strokes as he talked. "It's an idea I had back in 1917, studying the Gallipoli reports. I sent it to BuShips, sketches and all, and never heard another word. I still say it has merit, though it hadn't crossed my mind again until this minute. Look here, Pug." The drawing showed an oblong, flat-bottomed craft. Amidships on an arching frame, over the heads of crouched soldiers, an airplane engine whirled its big propeller in a screened housing. "I know there's a stability question, with all that weight so high, but with a broad enough beam, and if you used aluminum-you see that boat could go right up on the beach, Pug, through marshes, anywhere. Underwater obstacles would be meaningless." The President grinned down at his handiwork with approval, then scrawled at the bottom, FDR on board USS Augusta, en row tote meet Churchill, 7 August 1941-"Here. Don't bury it the way BuShips did! Look into it. Maybe it's just a wild notion, but-Well! Will you look at Old Man Sunshine, pouring through that porthole at last!" The President put on the white and smoothly slid into his wheeled kitchen chair, pressing his hands on the table with almost simian strength to lift and move himself. Victor Henry opened a door to the sun deck. Roosevelt wheeled himself brisuy across the gray-painted wooden ramps over the coaming. 'Ah! Doesn't this feel sweill Warm sun and ocean air. Just what the doctor ordered -Give me a hand, Pug." The President eased himself into a blue leather reclining chair, in an angle of the deck structure sheltered from the wind. They were looking aft at the long gray guns and the foaming wake of the gently pitching cruiser. 'I still say you'll never find the shipyard or Navy Yard space for those landing craft, Pug. There are the merchant ships to build, the destroyer escorts, the carriers. You're going to have to use factories wherever you can find them-on rivers and inland waterways-hundreds of little factories." President Roosevelt cocked his head, staring out at the sea. "You know? This program could be a godsend to small business. Congress has given us all kinds of trouble about that. There's a real thought.