“Good luck with that, sir,” Steele replied. It wasn’t reassuring that he sounded doubtful that the white flag was going to do anything but get Oatmire killed. “We do have an interpreter if you want him. Yoshio, come over here a minute.”
One of the GIs scurried out from behind a chunk of rubble. Oatmire was surprised at the sight of a young Japanese man wearing an army uniform. He’d heard about these Nisei, Japanese Americans who spoke the enemy’s language. Even at headquarters, there were some who didn’t quite trust their loyalties.
“Thanks, that will be useful if there are any language issues,” Oatmire said. “Some of these Japanese speak at least a little English, but you never know.”
“You never know,” Steele agreed. He gave him another look. “If you don’t mind me asking, how many negotiations have you done?”
“I once bought a used car and got the dealer to knock off fifty bucks. Does that count?”
Steele stared at him for a moment, seeming to wonder if Oatmire was serious or not; then his face broke into a grin and he even gave a short laugh. It had a rusty sound, as if he hadn’t had much reason to laugh recently. “And you’re the guy HQ sent, huh? Sounds about right.”
“That’s the army way,” Oatmire agreed. He also found himself grinning. “On-the-job training. Any advice?”
The lieutenant thought it over. “Just remember that they’re Japs,” he said. “They don’t think like us. Most Japanese could not care less about dying, and I don’t expect that these bastards are any different. Especially the officers. I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised that any of the hostages have survived. But I guess that they want a bargaining chip.”
Oatmire found a low whistle escaping his lips. “That’s not much to negotiate with. A bargaining chip, huh? What the hell do they even want?”
“Probably to let them leave here so that they can fight and die gloriously in a last stand somewhere else in the city.” Steele tapped his shotgun barrel. “We’ll be glad to oblige.”
“All right,” Oatmire said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“One thing, sir,” Steele said.
“What is it?” Oatmire found that he didn’t mind any excuse that delayed stepping out into the open, in full view of the Japanese riflemen in the upper floors.
“Maybe you could go alone at first. It’s just that I’d hate to lose our interpreter too.”
From the safety of cover, the soldiers watched tensely as Captain Oatmire approached the university building, waving his white handkerchief. He was not armed, having put his faith in the scrap of fabric to keep him safe.
“What do you think the odds are that the Japanese will shoot him?” Philly wondered.
“Fifty-fifty, but I’m not taking that bet,” Deke said.
“Me neither,” Philly said. “You’ve got to hand it to that captain, though. He’s got some guts.”
Deke couldn’t argue with that, he thought, watching the officer approach the massive, arched entryway of the stone building. Then again, there was an outside chance that Oatmire was more afraid of failing General MacArthur than he was fearful of the Japanese.
Like the others, Deke held his breath, waiting for the shot to ring out that would send Oatmire toppling into the dirt. If Oatmire had any qualms, he showed no outward sign of fear, striding forward toward the entrance with all the confidence of a door-to-door salesman looking to unload some encyclopedias or vacuum cleaners.
Deke thought that the captain was either a brave son of a bitch or a fool who didn’t know he was dead yet. Maybe a little of both.
Instead of being greeted by a gunshot, Oatmire was met by a Japanese officer. Deke was surprised to see that he was tall for a Japanese and neatly dressed, down to the creases on his uniform that looked sharp as a samurai sword — which the officer happened to be wearing at his belt. Although the officer himself was not waving a white flag, the man next to him, a tough-looking fellow who was apparently some sort of flunky, did have one. Other than the sword, which was more like a badge of office for the Japanese rather than a weapon, they were not armed — but there were plenty of Japanese soldiers in the building behind them with weapons at the ready. In an instant, there might be a storm of lead flying at the Americans.
Oatmire and the Japanese officer spoke briefly, then Oatmire looked toward Patrol Easy’s position and waved. Apparently he had need of an interpreter, after all.
“That’s your cue, Yoshio,” Lieutenant Steele said. Then he pointed at Deke. “You go with him, Deke.”
