Mike Maden - Drone Command

A state trooper’s car was parked next to his dad’s old truck. A grim-faced trooper trudged toward them through the crunching snow. His shoulder mic crackled with radio traffic.

“Excuse me, sir. Is this the Pearce residence?”

Troy’s dad shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

“Is your wife named Helen?”

His dad’s face paled.

Troy’s head swam. Barely heard the trooper’s words.

Two hours ago.

Eighteen-wheeler.

No survivors.

You wonder why Dr. Ikeda and Admiral Hara were so resistant to your presentation?” Tanaka asked. “This is why.”

Pearce, Myers, and Tanaka stood at the foot of the stone obelisk marking the hypocenter, the ground location of the atomic blast fifteen hundred feet above that devastated the city on August 9, 1945. A series of concentric circles emanated from the spot that also contained a cenotaph memorializing Nagasaki’s dead.

Pearce stared into the grim afternoon sky. Imagined the blinding blast and the mushrooming cloud directly above his head, the pressure waves crushing the city, and walls of fire incinerating the bowl-shaped valley. Felt his skin tingle as if he could feel the deadly radiation still lingering in the air.

Tanaka had already shown them several of the other statues and monuments in the Peace Park, but the severe austerity of the hypocenter memorial was the image that most impacted Pearce. He found himself speaking more quietly than usual, if at all, while he walked the grounds. He’d felt the same way at Pearl Harbor and Arlington National Cemetery, too. Only then, he felt both reverence for the dead and their sacrifices, and a profound sense of patriotism. Here, he felt only sadness for the civilian victims of an apocalyptic war.

Myers, too, resisted the temptation to succumb to the solemnity of the place, though she was clearly moved by it. That so many people died in a blinding, momentary flash was almost too much to comprehend.

Tanaka sensed the Americans’ resistance.

“My seat in the Diet represents this city. My family traces its history back more than three hundred years here.” Tanaka pointed at a fragment of brick wall on the radius of the far circle. “That’s a remnant of the Urakami Cathedral, the largest Catholic church in Asia before it was destroyed by the Fat Man. Nagasaki was the center of the Christian faith in this country when it was obliterated.”

Pearce wanted to ask, And whose fault is that? But he bit his tongue. He was a soldier on a diplomatic mission, not the captain of a debate squad.

“My maternal grandmother was praying in that crowded cathedral on the morning that Fat Man exploded, killing everyone inside. I’m sure you know the statistics for the rest of the city, the tens of thousands who died instantly, and the tens of thousands more who died of radiation, burns and disease over the next months and years. What happened here so many years ago isn’t a theory for me or my colleagues, or even a historical fact. It’s a deeply personal event that changed all of our lives.”

“War is terrible,” Myers offered, not wanting to offend Tanaka. But she felt much the same way as Pearce did. You started it, we ended it.

“Yes, it is terrible. That’s exactly the point of this monument. Unlike some of my colleagues on the right, I don’t blame America for this tragedy. Of course, many historians now agree that the atomic strikes weren’t necessary to end the war, but at the time, perhaps, it was not so obvious.”

“There are other ways to kill,” Pearce said, instantly regretting the comment. He was referring to the Rape of Nanking when Japanese soldiers killed perhaps as many as three hundred thousand Chinese — many of them innocent civilians — with just bayonets, rifle butts, and bullets. Unlike the Germans, too many Japanese not only glossed over their many war crimes, they also sometimes even denied them.

“Yes. Humans are terribly creative when it comes to destruction. You Americans have always been brilliant in your application of technology to war. I didn’t bring you here to evoke any kind of sympathy for my people. But I don’t think you Americans appreciate the true destructiveness of that war on my nation.”

“I’ve seen war up close and personal,” Pearce said. “You don’t need to tell me how shitty it is.”

“Yes, of course. President Myers told me about your battlefield bravery. I admire that more than you know. But what do your people know about total war? Your cities have never been burned, your civilian populations decimated. That is something altogether different.”

“We don’t fight wars to expand our territory. We fight wars to protect our freedoms and the freedoms of our allies,” Myers said.

“Yes, you do. And you fight those wars with the latest technologies, whether drones or nuclear weapons.”

“Once a war begins, you sure as hell fight to win it with everything you have,” Pearce said.

Or should , he thought.

Tanaka nodded. “Of course. And so you are the first nation in history to launch a nuclear attack. But we were the first to suffer it. Like the Israelis, we say, ‘Never again.’ Dr. Ikeda wants to wish war away through complete disarmament. Men like him would even abolish the JSDF. Admiral Hara, on the other hand, wants to push it away through the prime minister’s policy of proactive pacifism. Either way, both are reacting to the destruction of this place.”

“Admiral Hara is risking another nuclear attack if he succeeds in pushing forward a massive arms race with China,” Myers said. She wanted to say, And so are you .

“Admiral Hara believes in deterrence, just like the United States does. Why else does your country maintain the world’s largest military?”

“Our military is as large as it is because we take our treaty obligations seriously, including the one we have with Japan,” Myers said.

A group of uniformed Japanese schoolchildren approached the park. Tanaka’s security people ushered them away.

Tanaka turned to Myers. “May I ask you a personal question regarding your time as president?”

“Of course.”

Tanaka glanced back up at the obelisk that pointed at the darkening sky above them. A storm was on the way. “Is there anything you wouldn’t have done to protect your people?”

“I’m a patriot. I love my country. Yes, I would’ve done anything to protect her. Still would.”

“Which includes avoiding nuclear war, doesn’t it?”

“Of course. Nobody wins in a nuclear exchange.”

“And yet, American nuclear doctrine only prevents war by promising war. That seems irrational.”

“Mutual assured destruction has served us well since the ’60s. For rational actors, MAD works because the prospect of it is so terribly irrational.”

“And, in your opinion, the American nuclear umbrella truly covers Japan?”

“We’re totally committed to your nation’s defense.”

“Even to the point of war with China?”

“Of course. We’re only as secure as our alliances. If we fail our allies, we fail ourselves.”

“And, as president, you would have willingly traded Los Angeles for Osaka in a nuclear confrontation with China simply to honor a treaty commitment with my country?”

“If the Chinese thought otherwise, war would be more likely.”

“But how does sacrificing the people of Los Angeles protect them?”

Myers thought about the war photos she’d seen earlier that day. Nagasaki a desolate ruin. Burned corpses, crushed homes. She thought about Los Angeles after a nuclear strike, or even Denver. Her precious Colorado forests ablaze with fire. It sickened her.