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By Root 1449 0

Hell, the war’s not even over on Guam. Right up in those hills, there are Japs who still haven’t given up, who are dedicated to fight and die for their emperor. I sure as hell don’t understand that, but then, it doesn’t matter whether I understand the Jap brain at all. My job, and yours, is to kill as many of them as we can, and by doing so, end this war.” He raised the file of papers. “I give you credit, General, this is impressive as hell. But even this isn’t going to make those bastards surrender. Every transmission, everything we intercept says they’re going to go down swinging. We know damn well they’re running out of gasoline and rubber and steel, but try telling that to those poor sons of bitches on Iwo Jima, or Peleliu. Or right here. We had a squad ambushed a mile up in those hills two nights ago. Four men didn’t make it. Try telling their families, oh, well, hell, the Jap is beat. Any day now he’s gonna throw up the white flag.”

LeMay shook his head.

“I don’t disagree with you, Admiral. The Japanese is a different breed, nothing like the German, nothing we’ve ever fought before. MacArthur thinks he can intimidate the Japs into ending this war. Never happen. You can’t intimidate a fanatic into doing a damn thing. That’s why I keep telling Arnold and anyone else who’ll listen that the only way to end this war is to wipe those bastards off this earth. I appreciate what your web-foots … what your boys have done by blowing hell out of their merchant ships. Fine, you starve ’em, all you can. That’s your job, isn’t it? You’re, what? Ten days away from hitting Okinawa? I’ve been ordered to give you all the help you need, whether I think there’s a better way or not. I do need those airstrips, for two reasons. We’re still losing too many B-29s who have to ditch on the trip back home. Okinawa is that much closer, helps us a hell of a lot if my boys need to put down in a hurry. And once you give me those strips, we can put a thousand more fighters close enough to make strafing runs on those Jap bastards in their own beds. By adding fighter escorts around the B-29s, there’s not a Zero that’ll get anywhere close, and we’ll have full dominance over every square inch of Japan. But …” His voice was rising, the usual show Nimitz was accustomed to. LeMay paused, the hard scowl unchanging, his anger adding fuel to the hiss in his words.

“I need supplies. Incendiaries. For now, all I’ve got is steel, and we’ve already figured out that TNT doesn’t do crap to Jap positions. I’ll bomb anyplace you want me to with steel, but once I get those incendiaries, I’m going back to work on those Jap cities. If MacArthur wasn’t out there fighting his own damn war … if he’d have pushed toward Okinawa instead of Manila, linked up with you, made a combined effort …”

Nimitz knew it was time to throw the leash.

“Let it go, General. The plans were put in the books months ago. I’ve had too many arguments with Washington about strategy, and when it comes to Okinawa, I’ve got the backing to do the job I want to do. Five days ago, Iwo Jima fell into our pocket, and it won’t take long before you’ll have your airstrips there in top shape. I’m heading out there in a couple days, see it for myself. We took some hellacious casualties there, and I need to pat some people on the back. With all due respect, General, right now my attention is on the men who have to cross those beaches. And the next beaches we’re hitting are on Okinawa.”

“I told them we should have used gas. Still can.”

Nimitz knew this conversation too well. It had begun with a loud call coming from newspapers in the States that poison gas would quite simply save American lives.

“Not on my watch, General. Until the president tells me he’s tossed the Geneva Convention in the crapper, gas is not an option. You already know that.”

LeMay nodded.

“It would work. Pretty sure of that. But, fine. Just … if there’s anybody you can talk to … Admiral King, Forrestal, hell, William Randolph Hearst, I don’t care. Find a way to get me some more incendiaries.”

Nimitz was growing weary of LeMay’s surly