Harry Turtledove - Days of Infamy

Admiral Kimmel spoke. Shirakawa turned his words to Japanese: “He says he hopes you will use the Americans in the spirit of bravery with which they fought.”

General Yamashita grunted. “Let’s get on with it,” was all he said. Kimmel’s face fell when the interpreter translated that.

Governor Poindexter, who was older than the two military men with him, said, “This way to the Throne Room, gentlemen. That is where the Territorial Legislature meets, and so we thought it fitting that…” He ran down, like a watch in need of winding.

“Where you surrender does not matter,” Yamashita said. “That you surrender matters.”

Air seemed to leak out of the governor. He turned and walked into the palace. Admiral Kimmel followed. General Short, who wore cavalry breeches tucked into shiny boots, paused for a moment. He had to call back the interpreter, who’d started to go with Poindexter. Short said, “I know that Japan has not signed the Geneva Convention, but I trust you will treat the prisoners of war you are taking in accordance with its usages.”

He waited. Fuchida did not think General Yamashita would answer, but one of Yamashita’s aides murmured something to him. The Army commander nodded brusquely. “We will do what is necessary to secure these islands,” he said. General Short had to be content-or discontented-with that.

Into the palace the Japanese delegation went. Commander Fuchida admired the Grand Hall. “Handsome,” he murmured to Genda.

“If you like the old-fashioned European style, yes,” answered Genda, whose tastes were modern, even radical.

Fuchida was more conservative. He admired the tall arched doorways with their wooden frames, the portraits of Hawaiian monarchs hung between them, and most of all the splendid staircase ascending to the second floor. The rich brown wood of which it was made seemed to glow under the electric lights. Statues carved from the same wood sprang from the pillars at the bottom of the bannisters.

The Throne Room was all white plaster, red velvet hangings, and red carpet underfoot. The Territorial legislators’ desks looked small and silly and out of place in the midst of such magnificence. So did the table that had been brought in for the surrender ceremony.

Flashbulbs popped as the American dignitaries sat down on one side of the table. General Yamashita and Captain Hasegawa took the other. Army and Navy aides on both sides grouped themselves behind their principals.

Yamashita set the instrument of surrender-written in both Japanese and English-on the table. “This surrender is unconditional on your part,” he told Short and Kimmel. “All military men in the Hawaiian Islands will yield to the Empire of Japan. They are prisoners. All destruction of military stores and weapons is to cease at once. All civil authority is suspended. All civil functionaries will obey orders from the Japanese military. Any violation of these terms will be punished most severely. Is that clear?”

“May we read the terms?” Admiral Kimmel asked.

“You may read,” Yamashita said. “And then you may sign.” He hardly bothered hiding his scorn for men who would surrender.

Kimmel-erect, gray-haired, handsome-and Short-pinch-faced, looking stunned at the disaster that had overtaken his side-studied the English half of the document. Fuchida would not have been surprised if the English was imperfect. That did not matter, as long as it was understandable.

When the military men were done, they passed the instrument to Governor Poindexter. His presence here was plainly an afterthought. Their own declaration of martial law had already superseded his authority. Kimmel said, “These terms are very harsh.”

“The best way not to get harsh terms is not to lose the fight,” General Yamashita said. When Izumi Shirakawa translated that, Kimmel bit his lip and stared down at the table.

“May I say a few words?” Governor Poindexter asked through the interpreter. For a moment, Mitsuo Fuchida thought General Yamashita would refuse. Then the Army commandant gave another curt nod. “Thank you,” Poindexter said. “I speak on behalf of the civilians in Hawaii who now come under your control. Food is already in short supply, and will only grow more scarce as time goes by. If we are to avoid starvation, we will need help from the Empire of Japan in feeding our people.”

“We will do what we can,” Yamashita said. The American official looked relieved. Commander Fuchida had a hard time holding his face straight. Was Poindexter really so naive? Did he think he’d got a promise from Yamashita? Surely anyone could tell that was nothing but a polite phrase intended to keep him quiet. It had worked better than Yamashita probably intended.

“This is the hardest duty of my life,” Admiral Kimmel said. “In spite of the handicaps of surprise, isolation, lack of food, and lack of ammunition, we have given the world a shining example of patriotic fortitude and self-sacrifice. We yield now more to save civilian lives than our own. The American people can ask for no finer example of tenacity and steadfast courage than our men have shown.”

He looked to Yamashita, perhaps hoping for some sympathetic response. Yamashita said only, “It is over now. You must sign the surrender. The Imperial Japanese Army and Navy will continue to prosecute the war until it formally ends.”

Kimmel sighed. “The morning the fighting started, a spent bullet hit me in the chest”-he tapped his left breast pocket with a forefinger-“and fell to the ground at my feet. That round should have killed me.”

There was the first thing he’d said that made sense to Fuchida. Of course an officer who’d seen his command caught flat-footed would not wish to go on living afterwards. A Japanese officer in that position would have taken matters into his own hands, but the Americans were soft.

Kimmel looked across the table. General Yamashita stared back stonily. Captain Hasegawa was a livelier man than the Army commandant, but was also junior to him. He did not give the American admiral whatever he was looking for-atonement, perhaps? — either. Kimmel lowered his head and scratched his name below the English text of the surrender. General Short and Governor Poindexter also signed. The civilian hid his face in his hands. His shoulders shook.

Yamashita and Hasegawa signed for Japan. To Fuchida’s surprise, the taciturn Army commandant proved a formidable calligrapher. You never could tell what sort of accomplishments a man hid within himself.

Bombs burst, not too far away. General Short said, “It’s over now.” He seemed to be fighting tears. “It’s over, dammit. Call off your attacks, sir. They aren’t needed any more.”

“They will stop,” Yamashita said. “Those who have surrendered, though, are in no position to make demands. No position-do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Short replied. “I’d hoped to hear something worthy of a soldier.”

Yamashita growled, down deep in his chest. Something ugly could have happened then. Captain Hasegawa forestalled it by pointing to the two American officers and saying, “Your sidearms.”

With a face that might have been carved from stone, Admiral Kimmel took his ceremonial sword from his belt and laid it on the table. Short wore no sword. He pulled a pistol from the holster on his belt and set it beside the sword. More photographs recorded the moment. With ill-disguised greed, Yamashita grabbed the gold-hilted blade. That left the pistol, an ordinary.45, for Captain Hasegawa. He took it with no outward show of anger. Since he’d suggested that the American commanders turn over their weapons, Commander Fuchida thought he should have had first choice.

“Now it is over,” Yamashita said, satisfaction in his voice. Shirakawa translated that into English. Yamashita turned to one of his aides: “Order the cease-fire, effective immediately.” The interpreter translated that, too. The Army commandant sent him a hard look, but it was done.