The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [87]
COMMAND POST, TENTH ARMY, OKINAWA
APRIL 23, 1945
He climbed from the jeep, returned the salutes, waited as Vandegrift slid out the other side. The Marines who stood guard seemed to recognize their highest-ranking commander, most of them showing a little more starch in their salutes toward Vandegrift, a little more enthusiasm than they had for Nimitz. Nimitz smiled to himself, had no objections to that at all. Vandegrift had just received his fourth star, the first Marine general to ever reach that rank.
In an active war zone, a gathering of high-ranking commanders usually did little more than annoy the men on the ground who were trying to do their jobs. Nimitz had suggested to Vandegrift that the Marine Corps commander spend more of his time visiting his battle-weary divisions, the Fourth in particular, who had been badly mauled at Iwo Jima. Vandegrift had obliged him with a barely disguised anger, the general expecting to be allowed free rein over his units no matter where they might be stationed. After several days with the Fourth in Hawaii, Vandegrift had visited the exhausted Third Division, which held station on the newly secured Iwo Jima. By the time the Marine commander returned to Nimitz’s headquarters on Guam, Nimitz could see that the exposure to the tattered remains of two of his best divisions had worn a hole in Vandegrift’s patience. Nimitz realized that, annoyance or not, if Nimitz was going to Okinawa, he had no right to prevent Vandegrift from accompanying him. To Vandegrift’s obvious delight, Nimitz had conceded that there was probably no one in the entire Pacific theater who had earned a greater right to visit his troops, no matter where they might be.
Alexander Vandegrift was two years Nimitz’s junior, bore himself with that distinctive straight-backed demeanor that Nimitz always respected. He was a Virginian, the descendant of a survivor of Pickett’s Charge, and surprised no one by his desire to pursue a military career. But the number of influential Virginians who pushed for appointments to the military academies had left Vandegrift behind, and instead he began his own path by attending the Virginia Military Institute. Rather than the army, Vandegrift chose the Marine Corps, serving in the First Division. At Guadalcanal in 1942, Vandegrift commanded that division, and his heroics there caught the attention of Admiral King in Washington. In a short time, Vandegrift’s star rose considerably, and by early 1945 he had become commandant of the Marine Corps. But office politics and a fat desk had not tamed the man known by his officers as “Sunny Jim.” On the long flight to Okinawa, Nimitz had already chastised himself repeatedly for ever assuming Vandegrift would be a pain to anybody.
Across the open ground, Nimitz could see tents and hastily built metal and wood huts, scattered through a smattering of low-slung palm trees. Anti-aircraft guns ringed the entire compound, the gunners closest to him curious, mostly with their eyes on Vandegrift.
Nimitz had seen the same kinds of faces on board the USS New Mexico the night before, where he had dined with Fleet Admiral Spruance. The gunners on board the great battleship were nervous, angry men, who focused much more of their attention on the skies than on a parade of brass who strode along their decks. It had surprised Nimitz that little effort had been made on the battleship to hide the stacks of cots, other than to shove them into any nook where they wouldn’t be in the way. It was a clear sign that most of the sailors were using the open deck for sleeping. Even on those days when the rains came, the extraordinary heat prevented