Josh gave it some thought. “What’s going to happen when this great Joe doesn’t show up?”
The people were becoming ever more insistent in their chanting. “JOE, GIMMEE! JOE, GIMMEE! JOE, GIMMEE!”
“You know, now that I think on it, ‘Joe’ is what the native workers called us on Santa Cruz,” Kennedy reflected. “Joe this, and Joe that. It’s their nickname for Americans.”
“So why an American god and not an English or even a Japanese god?” Josh wondered.
“Have you ever been on Santa Cruz and seen all that cargo piled up? The English and Japanese have nothing to match it.”
“JOE, GIMMEE! JOE, GIMMEE!”
“This is going to get ugly,” Kennedy predicted. “How about we take off?”
“I’m not going anywhere without Armistead,” Josh swore, and prepared to go after the man. Then he noticed that Victoria was standing alone.
The chanting began to die down. Everybody was listening. And then came the distant drone of an aircraft. “It’s nothing,” Josh said, scanning the crowd for any sign of Armistead. “Airplanes from both sides fly around here every day.”
But the drone got louder until the aircraft producing it, a United States Navy R4D twin-engine cargo aircraft, roared at treetop level down Joe Gimmee’s airfield, then pulled up and turned around.
The people’s chant rose so that the R4D might hear them: “JOE, GIMMEE! JOE, GIMMEE!” Some of the people were laughing, and some were crying. They raised their hands, making the V for victory sign. Joe Gimmee was nearly hysterical with laughter, and so excited he had to sit down on his throne. He wiped at his tears of joy, carving finger trails through the white paint on his face.
The R4D, the navy equivalent of the commercial DC-3 airliner, came in again, this time lowering its wheels. It bounced down on the smooth carpet of clover and palm fronds, across the flat palm stumps, and rolled to a stop. Then, with a roar of its engines, it turned and taxied back to the bamboo control tower, pivoting to present its port side to Joe Gimmee on his throne. The engines wound down, the propellers stopped spinning, and the door of the R4D opened.
The assembly fell silent. Joe Gimmee stood and walked stiffly forward. Men appeared from the crowd carting bamboo stairs. Then a man appeared at the R4D door, awkwardly ducking through it, nearly knocking his pith helmet off his head. Blinking in the bright sun, he stepped out on the top step of the bamboo stairs. He was dressed in the khakis of a United States Navy lieutenant. His shoulders were hunched, as if he were uncertain of his reception, but then he seemed to sense the wave of goodwill washing over him and relaxed. He grinned and then raised both of his hands, each making the V-sign. Kennedy’s mouth dropped open when he realized who the man was.
The navy lieutenant in the pith helmet with both hands making the V-sign might be called the great Joe, but Kennedy knew him by another name. “My God,” he said. “It’s Nick!”
56
“I played poker with that guy on Santa Cruz,” an astonished Kennedy said to Josh. “He’s a supply officer named Nixon. Goes by Nick. Runs all kinds of concessions like Nick’s Hamburger Joint, Nick’s Beach Rentals, Nick’s Jeep Wash, and”—comprehension crossed Kennedy’s face—”Nick’s South Pacific Souvenirs.”
Nixon, still grinning, walked down the bamboo steps to be greeted warmly by Joe Gimmee. An aft hatch opened up in the R4D, and two sailors hopped out and started catching cardboard boxes being tossed from the plane by two more sailors. Pretty soon, three pyramids of boxes were stacked up. A folding table was brought out, and Nixon sat down behind it and set up shop.
A queue formed, men and women carrying their bamboo and frond-plaited crates. When the crates were opened, the wealth of the Solomons was revealed, a most astonishing quantity of handiwork: bead and shell necklaces, boar’s teeth, shrunken heads, spears, stone knives, bone fishhooks, miniature canoes, bamboo flutes, monkeypod bowls and cups, elaborate feather fetishes, intricate vine-woven baskets, cloth lap-laps dyed in bright patterns, shell neck disks, wooden masks, tomako figureheads, carved kerosene-wood sharks and dolphins inlaid with nautilus shell and mother-of-pearl, shell money, rattles, and woven dilly bags. There were also headbands, earrings, nose and ear plugs, pendants, breastplates, and armbands. Any piece of it was certain to be coveted by South Pacific souvenir hunters, which included every American GI, marine, and sailor in the region.
As each Solomon Islander stepped forward with his or her work of art, he or she would say, “Joe, gimmee.” Nixon took his time, contemplating the objet d’art, turning it this way and that, all the while mentally calculating. After he’d made up his mind, he’d say, “Joe gives you your choice from . . .” and then he would specify stack one, which contained tools such as knives, hatchets, shovels, or picks; or stack two, which consisted of cooking pots and spoons, and also food, including cans of peaches or pears or Spam; or stack three, which was a variety of paperback books, including navy-issue Bibles with an introduction by the real, authentic President Franklin Delano Roosevelt himself. The man or woman meekly went to the designated stack and chose from it the item he or she desired the most. There were no arguments. All went away with cheerful grins.
Kennedy sidled up next to Nixon and said out of the corner of his mouth, “What do you think you’re doing, Nick?”
Nixon was inspecting a coconut that had been carved into the likeness of a monkey’s head. He considered it delicately done but not very original. Still, it made its own quiet statement. “Hullo, Jack. How goes the war?”
“You may find out. Do you realize this airfield could be used by the Japanese?”
“Stack number two,” Nixon finally said to the man who had presented the coconut head. Then, to Kennedy, “What are you talking about?”
“The Japanese. You know, the enemy? The defeat of whom is the reason we’re here? They could use this airfield to attack us.”
Nixon gave that some thought. “But it’s not theirs,” he said reasonably. “It belongs to my friend Joe Gimmee.”
“How did this get arranged?” Kennedy asked. “How did you know when to come here?”
“Oh, that.” Nixon nearly giggled. “I’ve been putting out the word to every native I saw that I was looking for souvenirs. The word got back to me about Joe Gimmee and that all I had to do was show up on Noa-Noa today and bring trade goods. Now, don’t you worry about me. I’ll have my business wrapped up within the hour and be out of here.”
“I wasn’t worried about you, Nick. If the Japanese find this airfield and start using it, it’ll mean they can reach a lot farther south, maybe even to Santa Cruz. It’ll mean we fought the battle of New Georgia for nothing.”
“Well, it’s not like the folks made this airfield just for me,” Nixon responded defensively.
“But they did! At least, it’s for who you represent.”
“Who’s that?”
“The cargo gods.”
Nixon frowned while he absorbed Kennedy’s advisory, but his grin returned when he was presented with a particularly fine boar’s tooth bracelet. “Stack number one, my good man!” he cried to the artist.
Then Nixon said, “Well, Jack, the main thing is these fine folks are getting some nice cooking pots and Bibles and such, and I’m going to raise a fortune for my activities. In fact, I think I might well expand beyond Santa Cruz and start building recreational facilities all over the Pacific.” He pondered a crudely carved fish. “Stack number three. Ah, a shark’s tooth necklace. Stack number one, my sweet girl!”
Kennedy, shaking his head, wandered away to stand beside Felicity, who was watching the proceedings. “I wonder if Nick could transport my copra,” she said.
“Nick can do anything,” Kennedy replied in a sardonic tone, “as long as he perceives a profit.”
“A most fascinating man,” Felicity said in obvious admiration. “I think I’ll ask him if he might stay for dinner.”
Kennedy took her aside and said, “If he doesn’t leave soon, he might never leave.”
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“What does that mean?”
“If Thurlow’s radioman is able to get through, my guess is bombers will soon be on their way. They’ll want this place wiped off the map before Jap can get down and take advantage of it.”
“Bombers over Chuma?” Felicity was aghast. “They’ll knock down these magnificent palms!”
“A few, I would imagine,” Kennedy replied.
“You damned Americans!” Felicity spat. “You come here and destroy everything, as if a lifetime of work isn’t as important as you frustrating your Japanese for a week or two. Well, damn all you Yanks and your bloody war, that’s what I’ve got to say!”
“It’s not our war,” Kennedy replied defensively. “The Japanese forced it on us.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to cut off their oil supplies, they might not have felt the need.”
Kennedy couldn’t believe his ears. “Your opinion surprises me.”
Felicity turned away from him, grumbling. “Damned fool,” she said to herself. “I love him, but he’ll never figure that out, or care.”
Just as he predicted, Nixon completed his trading within an hour. By then, the R4D was filled with every type and description of South Pacific knickknack, doodad, and souvenir. He rose from the table, looked over the remaining trade goods in his three stacks, which wasn’t much, and asked for someone to send Joe Gimmee to see him. Joe, his face washed clean, and back to being essentially naked, allowed Nixon to shake his hand. “It was good to do business with you, Joe,” Nixon said.
Joe replied, “When I heard of you, I knew you were especially loved by the gods.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. They love me like a son.”
“I did as you asked,” Joe said. “I brought the people together with all the things they make.”
“Yes. Well, thank you.”
“And now I would ask you to do something for me.”
“Anything, Joe. You just name it.”
“You brought us treasure from the gods because we built this airfield. But others of my people have built airfields and nothing has come. And they have built docks with the same result. And they have built warehouses, yet they were not filled. What is the great secret? What do you do to get your treasure? Tell me, so that we may have treasure, too.”
Nixon gave it all a good think, then wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief produced from his hip pocket. “I think I see where you’re coming from, Joe. You just want a piece of the pie. Can’t blame you for that. If I were in your situation, here’s what I’d do. First thing, I’d study up. Education, that’s the ticket. Science, the arts, and economics. Lots on economics, Joe, you savvy? Then, I guess the next step would be to get control of your own affairs. Can’t do much when somebody else is running the show, now can you? My own country used to be owned and operated by the English, too, but we finally wised up and threw them out. Didn’t take us long after that before we were fat and happy. Lots of education and kick out the Johnny Bulls. That’s my advice.”
“Splendid!” Joe exclaimed. Then he faltered. “But how do we do that?”
Nixon gave it some more thought. “Education’s easy enough,” he concluded, patting his damp brow with his handkerchief. “To teach yourself, just start reading every book you can get your hands on. For the kids, start setting up schools, but make sure you hire the teachers and have them teach the importance of being free. Then you ought to form a political party and get ready to declare the Solomon Islands independent as soon as this war’s over.”
“Nick!” Kennedy blanched. “You’re talking about a revolution!”
Nixon shrugged. “Well, we did it back in 1776. Why can’t Joe and his folks?”
Joe grinned. “I should have known the great secret would be complex, but I promise to follow your advice.”
“That’s the style!” Nixon exclaimed, then stood and pumped Joe’s hand, nodded to his pilot and air crew, and clambered aboard the R4D. At the top of the bamboo steps, he paused, looking down at Kennedy. “Take care of yourself, Jack. How’s the war going, by the way?”
Kennedy stared at Nixon, then found himself laughing. “We’re not losing, Nick. At least I don’t think we are.”
Nixon nodded thoughtfully, then ducked into the R4D, in the process knocking his pith helmet off. It rolled down the steps, but he did not return for it. The door was closed, the engines fired up, and the fully laden aircraft was soon waddling down the palm-fringed runway. Kennedy picked up the pith helmet and gave it to Joe Gimmee. “Here, Joe. You should have this. A souvenir.”
Joe Gimmee happily plopped the helmet aboard his head and started walking back to the beach. Behind him, the R4D roared down the field and took off. Soon the only evidence of it consisted entirely of a low drone in the sky, and when that disappeared, the people of the Solomon Islands all stopped as one, looked over their shoulders, and made the V-sign toward the great man who had finally delivered to them the great secret of success and treasure: education and freedom.
57
First came Ichikawa and his two Rufe wing men, after completing their patrol down the Slot. Ichikawa had seen nothing of interest until he spotted an R4D lifting off from Noa-Noa. He signaled his pilots to follow and then dived after the cargo plane, but it flew into a low-hanging cloud and disappeared. Frustrated, Ichikawa turned back to the island, spying an airfield he’d never seen before. He became agitated. Apparently the Americans had performed one of their overnight engineering marvels. He flew down its length and then pulled up and flew across it again. It was on the return trip that he saw the American flag flapping on the tall pole. This confirmed his suspicions, but, low on fuel, Ichikawa turned his flight toward Kolombangara. Then he beheld several peculiar sights. The dozens of canoes he’d seen earlier in the day were beached on the western side of Noa-Noa. On the northern side sat a Japanese I-boat, and two men stood on a tall spire of a rock, looking at it. On the eastern side of the island, he saw another group of canoes on the beach. Warriors carrying rifles were streaming inland. He turned and made one last circle, puzzling over the situation, but then had no choice but to head back to base. His Rufes were already flying on fumes.
Kennedy was distracted by the sudden crackling of small-arms fire. He looked up and saw fifty warriors charging across the runway, led by Whitman. He drew his pistol and cracked off two shots, winging one Whitman man and knocking down another. “Get clear,” he told Felicity, and was gratified when she obeyed and climbed into Delight’s saddle.
“I’ve got to look after John,” Felicity said. “You stay alive, you hear me, Jack Kennedy?”
“No worry-worry,” he said, flashing his big-toothed grin. Then he slapped Delight on the rump, and the big stallion galloped off.
Kennedy fell back behind a line being formed by Joe Gimmee’s people. Since they were armed only with spears, machetes, knives, and bows and arrows, the rifles of Whitman’s warriors should have made easy work of them, but these were men whose families were on the beach, and they knew the reputation of Whitman’s men, both as rapists and cannibals. They used a row of palm trees to their advantage, hiding until Whitman’s men charged past, then leapt out and hacked them down. Rifle shots also rang out, and many of Joe Gimmee’s men fell, but Whitman’s men were thrown back.
The people began to load their treasure, their wounded, and their dead into their canoes. Then the Rosemary appeared and got into the action, Thurlow’s boys manning their big twin-fifty guns and the mortar on the bow. Whitman’s men were pummeled, and they retreated back across the island. Whitman, however, wasn’t with them. He’d seen his real quarry and dodged away into the bush. He caught Penelope on the path to the beach. He burst from behind a crepe myrtle tree just as Felicity and Delight came pounding down the path on top of them. The great stallion reared, and his hooves struck Whitman in the chest. Stunned, the wind knocked out of him, the coast-watcher went sprawling. Penelope drew her terrible machete, knelt behind him, and drew him to her in a kind of embrace. She put her
head next to his, then pulled the edge of the machete very slowly and carefully across his throat. It appeared to Felicity that Penelope was drawing a thin red line across Whitman’s throat, but then the line grew.
Josh followed Armistead through the plantation, catching him finally when he could go no farther, on a rock cliff overlooking a lagoon on the north coast. There Armistead stood, the wind blowing his long hair back from his face. A quarter mile offshore sat the I-boat. A launch was being rowed in by white-suited Japanese sailors. “What are you doing, David?” Josh demanded, coming up behind him.
Armistead whirled about, his hand going to the pistol on his hip. Josh, however, already had his forty-five pointing at the lieutenant’s chest. “Let me do this, Josh. I think I can make a difference.”
“How? By committing treason?”
Armistead looked over his shoulder at the submarine launch, then back at Josh. He dropped his hand away from the butt of his pistol. “Do you know how many men I’ve killed? Thirty-eight. I’ve kept count. And most of them I have been close enough to smell their sweat and fear before I snuffed out their lives.”
“That don’t matter, David,” Josh said.
“I think it does. I am a member of the family of the president of the United States. I am a cultured, educated man. Yet I have become a willing killer. I know firsthand the wrath that has been stirred in my heart, as well as the president’s heart. I don’t think the Japanese understand what they’re up against, but they might, if I explain it. You see, I happen to believe they are a good and decent people.”
“They’re the enemy,” Josh replied. “Until they stop fighting, it’s our duty to kill them.”
Armistead checked the progress of the launch again. It had made it halfway across the lagoon. “The night I left New Georgia, I had occasion to meet a Japanese officer. He was dying from grenade wounds but seemed to welcome my presence. It was the most remarkable occasion. I sat down beside him, and we began to talk. I explained the way I saw things, he told me what he thought, and then we agreed that the war made no sense for either side. He thought perhaps if the emperor apologized to the president for Pearl Harbor and made reparations, then the fighting would no longer have purpose and we would have peace. The point is, Josh, he understood the futility of the Japanese situation. If he did, others will, too. Many of them already do. That’s why that submarine is here.”