“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.
The face of the flunky standing beside Tanigawa was much easier to read. In fact, his thoughts were as plain as the headlines of a newspaper. He scowled, his eyebrows knitting together. He didn’t seem to think much of Oatmire or the American Nisei interpreter. Oatmire had picked up on the Japanese flunky’s hostility, and jerking his chin at the man, he asked, “Who is this, anyhow?”
Major Tanigawa seemed taken aback that anyone would care about the man who had accompanied him to this negotiation. He barely gave the flunky more than a passing glance before replying, “Sergeant Inaba.”
Sergeant Inaba’s stare indicated that he would like nothing better than to take out the Americans. At one point the man’s eyes slid to Tanigawa’s samurai sword, as if contemplating grabbing it and using it on the Americans, white flag be damned.
Same to you, buddy, Deke thought, locking eyes with the man. He touched the hilt of his bowie knife, just to send the Jap a message. The sergeant nodded, seeming to recognize an equal, a slight smile coming to his lips as if he would welcome mixing it up with Deke. Both men squinted as they studied each other, as if lining up the other man across a rifle sight. Sometimes no language was needed to express how you really felt — Honcho had sure been right about that. Deke had to remind himself that their current purpose was to avoid any shooting.
Sounding angry and glaring at Yoshio, the major spit out something in Japanese. The harsh, guttural language grated on Deke’s ears.
“What’s he going on about?” Oatmire asked.
“He says that I am a traitor,” Yoshio explained.
“Yeah? Well, to hell with him,” Oatmire said. “Anyhow, we’re here to talk about the hostages, not his damn opinions.”
Oatmire began the negotiations by making a direct appeal.
“Major Tanigawa, what do we need to do to get you to release these prisoners that you are unlawfully holding hostage?” Captain Oatmire asked. Then he turned to the interpreter. “It’s Yoshio, right? Go ahead and ask him, Yoshio.”
Yoshio asked the question. The major replied in Japanese, and Yoshio translated. “He says we can leave the area, for a start. Then he will let the hostages go.”
“Tell him we can’t do that,” Oatmire said. “Tell him he and his men are free to go if they leave the hostages behind.”
Tanigawa replied and Yoshio explained, “He says they would require an escort for safe passage.”
“An escort? Where the hell does he want to go, Tokyo?”
The Japanese major then startled them by speaking up in passable English. It turned out that the enemy officer had been slyly pretending he didn’t know the language. “Not Tokyo, Captain. I only wish to lead my men to join the rest of our troops here in the city.”
Oatmire raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I thought you didn’t speak English,” he grumbled. “If you release the hostages, we could provide an escort.”
“Such an arrangement would be amenable to me.”
Oatmire nodded. “How many hostages are we talking about here?”
“Many have already been released, but several dozen prisoners remain. They will be released also.”
“All right, send them out.” Oatmire seemed a bit perplexed that there wasn’t more to discuss, as if he had come all that way for not a whole lot. “Once you’ve done that, come back out and you can be on your way to join up with whomever you want here — with that escort you asked for.”
“This is satisfactory to me,” Major Tanigawa said.
He offered a curt bow, then turned on his heel with military precision and headed back inside. His sergeant gave Deke one last glare, then followed.
Oatmire stood there, watching the Japanese go.
Deke wasn’t as patient. He was antsy to get his hands back on his rifle. Although they had reached an agreement with the Japanese, it hardly felt like a victory. Everything about what had just happened had left them feeling tense and uneasy. Something about the deal just didn’t sit right with Deke. “Now what, sir?”
“Now we wait. He said that he’s going to release the rest of the hostages.” A thought seemed to come to Oatmire. “You’ve been at this a while, soldier. Do you trust these Japanese?”
“Not as far as I can throw ’em, sir.”