W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps IV - Battleground

Jesus Christ, what is this, Twenty Questions?

He went over the messages in his mind, then picked up the original messages in Japanese and read them again.

"Sir, I thought it was unusual... I mean, Homma is a general. Why the reminder about the Code of Bushido?"

"Good!" Hon said, and made a "keep going" gesture with his hands.

Off the top of his head, Moore said, "If I was General Homma, I'd be a little pissed-insulted that they had given me the lecture."

"Good! Good!" Hon said. "Why?"

"Because it was discourteous. Not maybe the way we would look at it, but to a Japanese..."

"OK. Accepting it as a given that the IJAGS..."

Hon pronounced this "Eye-Jag-Ess," saw confusion cloud Moore's eyes, and translated:

"-the Imperial Japanese Army General Staff-did insult General Homma by discourteously reminding him about Bushido. He is a General officer who has to be presumed to know all about Bushido." Hon now switched to Japanese: "Why would they do this? In what context? Reply in Japanese."

Beats the shit out of me, Moore thought and dropped his eyes again to the calligraphs.

"The context is in..." he said.

"In Japanese," Hon interrupted him.

"... reference to a shortage of shipping," Moore finished, in Japanese.

"Is it?"

"Homma's message to-What did you say, 'Eye-Jag-Ess'?-said that the food he captured from us was inadequate to feed the prisoners," Moore said. He had in his sudden excitement switched back to English. Hon did not correct him.

"And?"

"IJAGS's reply was that there was a shortage of shipping, and then reminded Homma of the Code of Bushido."

"Right. And how, if you know, does the Code of Bushido regard warriors who surrender?"

"It's shameful," Moore said. "Disgraceful. A failure of duty. More than that, there's a religious connotation. Since the Emperor is God, it's a great sin."

"Meaning what, in this context?"

Moore thought that over, and horrified, blurted, "Jesus, meaning, `fuck the prisoners, they're beneath contempt, let them starve'?"

"That's how I read it," Hon said. "You did notice that there was just a hint of sensitivity to Western concepts of how prisoners should be treated-the Geneva Convention, so to speak-the reference to the shortage of shipping, which IJAGS uses to rationalize not shipping food?"

"My God!"

"Why are you surprised?" Hon asked. "You grew up there."

Moore's mind was now racing.

"I still can't accept this," he said. "Jesus Christ, can't we complain to the International Red Cross or somebody? Maybe they'd arrange to let us send food."

"We cannot complain to anybody," Hon said.

"Why not?"

"We cannot complain to anybody," Hon repeated. "And stop that line of inquiry."

"We have their goddamn messages," Moore plunged on. "Why the hell not?"

Hon held up both hands, palms out, to shut Moore up.

"In about ten seconds, that will occur to you. And in ten seconds, Major Banning's warning to you will move from the realm of the hypothetical to cold, cruel reality."

Moore looked at him, confusion all over his face. And then, in five seconds, not ten, he understood.

"We've broken their code, haven't we? That was a coded message, and we intercepted it and decoded it, right?"

"Since I didn't hear the question, Sergeant Moore-If I had, I would have to inform Major Banning-I obviously can't answer it."

"Jesus!" Moore exhaled.

"Apropos of nothing whatever, the correct phraseology is 'encrypted' and 'decrypted,' " Hon said. "The root word is 'crypt,' variously defined as 'burial'; 'catacomb'; 'sepulcher'; 'tomb'; and 'vault.'"

"And they don't know we can do that, do they?" Moore asked, more rhetorically than anything else.

"I hope you're about to get your mouth under control, Sergeant Moore," Hon said, "because I feel my memory is returning."

Moore exhaled audibly.

"Jesus Christ!" he said.

"Yeah," Hon said. "OK, Sergeant, we will now proceed to Lesson Two in Pluto Hon's Berlitz in the Basement School of Languages. Just one more thing, apropos again of nothing whatever. There is a security classification called TOP SECRET-MAGIC. There are four people in this headquarters with access to TOP SECRET-MAGIC material: General MacArthur, his G-2, Colonel Charles A. Willoughby, Captain Fleming Pickering, and me. You will not, repeat, not have access to TOP SECRET-MAGIC. I mention it only because if anyone other than the people I just mentioned ever even mentions MAGIC to you, you will instantly tell me or Captain Pickering. Clear?"

What I just read is MAGIC. There's no question about that.

"Yes, Sir."

Hon met his eyes for a moment, and then nodded.

"Lesson Two deals with administrative procedures," Hon said. "If you look under the table, you will find a wastebasket. In the wastebasket is a paper bag. The bag is stamped TOP SECRET-BURN in large letters. It is intended for TOP SECRET material that is to be burned. TOP SECRET material includes this lined pad you have been writing on. Not just the pages you wrote on, but the whole pad, because your pencil made impressions on pages underneath the top one. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm about to give you a key to the dungeon and the combination to one of the file drawers. You will memorize the combination. When you come to work here-which will be at any hour something comes in-if I'm not here, you will find that material in your drawer. You will make your translation-one copy only-and when you leave, you will put that in your drawer with the original material and make sure it is locked. Then you will take your notes, if you made any, or if you have written on a pad, anything at all, put them in the burn bag, and, accompanied by one of the guards, take it to an incinerator and burn it. You'll find a supply of burn bags in your drawer. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You will not, repeat not, burn anything that I give you."

"Yes, Sir."

"You will not take anything from this room, except burn bag material in a burn bag, unless specifically directed to do so by either Captain Pickering or myself."

"Yes, Sir."

"The people around here have been told that you are a cryptographic clerk-typist. If anyone, anyone, ever asks you what you're really doing in here, you will tell me instantly. If I'm not available, find Captain Pickering and tell him."

"Yes, Sir."

"To my considerable surprise, when I went to scrounge a typewriter, I managed to get two. I carried one down here. When you are doing MAGIC... Shit!" Hon stopped abruptly, and then continued, "When you use the typewriter to do translations for me, you will use a ribbon reserved for that purpose and kept in your file drawer. When that wears out, you will dispose of it via the burn bag. But you will not leave the ribbon in the typewriter when you leave the room... even to take a leak. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

Lieutenant Hon handed him a large key.

"Wear this on your dog tag chain," he said. "And for Christ's sake, don't lose it."

"No, Sir."

"OK. Go get the typewriter outside, and the box of ribbons, and bring them in here. Then we'll show you the incinerator, and the procedure to burn things. And finally, we'll get the other typewriter, before the supply officer changes his mind, and lock it in the car."

The phone was ringing.

Moore left his-mostly failed-love letter and walked across the library to the telephone.

"Sergeant Moore, Sir."

"Major Banning, Sergeant. I understand you have the car out there?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is there any reason you could not drive to the airport and pick up some people, and then run past the Menzies and pick me up?"

"No, Sir."

"There'll be two Marine officers waiting for you. A Colonel Goettge and a Major Dillon. Can you leave right now?"

"As soon as I hang up, Sir."