Final impact

“The Australians certainly didn’t complain,” Kolhammer said, turning to Jones. “As I understand the situation, there was a lot of public pressure to turn all the Japanese captives over to you and the Second Cav for field sanction.”

Jones nodded. “There was.”

Spruance gathered up the photographs of a bruised and bleeding Hidaka. “Well, as you say, everything in context, gentlemen.” He didn’t sound as angry.

He placed the prints in a buff-colored envelope and dropped them into his top drawer. Then he turned his attention back to the two men.

“I wonder if I might prevail upon you to be a little more circumspect in the application of field punishment when we reach the Marianas, though?” He shook his head as Jones opened his mouth to speak. “I’m not asking you to alter your rules of engagement. I’m just concerned that we don’t end up indicted for the sorts of things we criticize in our opponents.”

Kolhammer saw genuine discomfort in Spruance’s eyes. He didn’t want to be a party to sanctioned field executions of any type.

Jones was not so diplomatic. “We could run any sanctions through your office, if you’d like, Admiral. Have your counsel sign off the warrants.”

Spruance paled at the suggestion. “No. No, I don’t think so, General. All I’m asking, all the president is asking, is that you don’t…” He groped for the words needed in such an uncomfortable moment. “…that you don’t…”

“Admiral Spruance,” Kolhammer said. “We will fight the good fight. And where justice needs to be done, it will be done. But we won’t embarrass the navy or the country.”

Spruance nodded, clearly relieved. “Thank you. And thank you for this,” he said, indicating the report Jones had brought on the capture of Hidaka.

Later on, out in the corridor, Jones muttered to Kolhammer, “Country would probably vote us all medals if we capped off every one of those murdering assholes.”

“No doubt,” Kolhammer agreed.

“So then, why not just tell Spruance we authorized a Sanction Three on Hidaka? It was legit.”

“It was,” Kolhammer said. “And if he asked directly, I’d tell him. But he didn’t. And now the blood’s on our hands. Not his. You and I can live with that. He shouldn’t have to.”

“We told him the little prick fell down.”

“Well, he did fall down. De Marco kept hitting him. He kept falling down.”

Jones took that in silence, grinning just a little as they walked through a secretarial pool. Tinny music followed them from an old radio. A disco tune, “Born to Be Alive,” covered by Glenn Miller and his big band.

“Kinda weird, ain’t it,” Jones said.

“What?” Kolhammer asked. He sensed a change of subject.

“The way disco, of all the possible music we brought, should be the one to catch fire here. Did you notice Hidaka had a disco station playing when we walked in?”

“Well,” Kolhammer mused, “they’re all over the dial. And I suppose it sounds a bit like swing. Plus, it’s an optimistic sort of music. People want that at the moment. Who needs death metal when you’ve got the Nazis?”

They passed through the main entrance of the building and into the fierce white light of the morning. “I don’t see old Hidaka being much of a fan. Not after Gina De Marco tooled him up like that.”

Kolhammer grunted quietly at the memory. The female marine had beaten Hidaka senseless while singing along to the radio. It had been an entirely punitive retribution with the primary purpose of humiliating the man and breaking his spirit. A level three sanction. They had assumed, correctly, that he would never speak of it, shamed into silence, but even if he had, it was within their accepted rules of engagement.

“Something funny?” Jones asked.

“Not really,” Kolhammer said as he fitted his powered shades in place. “I was just thinking of serendipity. Do you remember the exact song that was playing?”

“Not really,” Jones said, looking nonplussed.

“Well, I don’t know whether you heard or not. I think you were talking to Chief Rogas at the time. But Hidaka, he was sort of whimpering after she broke his arm, begging De Marco to tell him what she was going to do.”

“And?”

“And so she leaned into him and told him they were going to boogie-oogie-oogie until they simply could not boogie no more.”

Jones’s rich baritone laughter rolled out over the naval base.

Kolhammer allowed himself a chuckle, too, now that they were out of earshot of the typing pool and any other ’temps who might be listening. They just wouldn’t understand.

11

D-DAY + 24. 27 MAY 1944. 1954 HOURS.

NORTHERN FRANCE.