Their first overseas tour, save England. And old watashi here is their sponsor."
"You're supposed to meet them and introduce them to the inscrutable wonders of the Orient?" Patton quizzed.
"Precisely," Joe nodded. "Just one little catch, though. Major Pointer hates Japan."
"Before he's even seen it?"
"'Fraid so. Seems his old man was a P.O.W., and from the tone of his letters, he's never forgiven the Japanese for what they did to him."
"So Joe's got to be a s'koshii careful about extolling the virtues of life in Japan," Ben said, "or he's apt to get brained."
"Oh, I'll be careful," Joe said. "You know me."
"Yeah, I know you," Patton chuckled. "You're the guy that probably started World War III about an hour ago."
Patton was only joking about that, Joe knew, but it gave him unpleasant food for thought on the long flight back to Koyota Air Base near Tokyo. Their reconnaissance missions would more likely prevent a war than provoke one—but if the Japanese ever found out it was one of their guests who stirred up the ruckus in China today, they'd scrap the Security Treaty in a minute and kick the whole U.S. Air Force out on its collective ass. That's how delicate the current political atmosphere is. The U.S.-Japan Security Treaty expires in just a few weeks; the U.S. wants it revised and renewed for another ten years, whereas the local leftists would kill it tomorrow if they could.
That's why the Japanese didn't even know the Bat existed, and why it was kept under wraps—and painted black, and never allowed to take off or land in Japan except at night without lights.
2
Joe grinned as he stretched out his cramped legs, smoothing the creases in his uniform caused by squatting on the floor cushion. It seemed Ginger was always in a state of agitation. "Worry, worry, worry," he laughed. "Their plane's not due for 20 minutes. Even if we didn't leave till they landed we'd still beat the Pointers to the terminal. Besides," he said, winking at his hostess, "I've got to have another of Kimiko's scrumptious rice cakes."
"Men!" Ginger groaned, holding her head. She turned to Kimiko for support. "I can just see our friends now, stepping off the plane at Koyota all haggard from their trip and a loudspeaker says, 'have your passports, visas, 90 copies of your orders, American currency, baggage claims, marriage license, car insurance, and customs forms ready as you enter the terminal, husbands without families on the left please, families without husbands on the right please, bachelors in the middle please, and concurrent travelers on both sides please. Obtain your new duty phone number from your sponsors please,'" she paused for breath, then raced on, "and Mrs. Pointer will whisper, 'But where are our sponsors, Dick!' and he'll say, 'Now don't worry Alice, they must be here someplace . . .'"
"Ginger . . ."
"And 30 minutes later we show up and there'll be the Pointers, sitting in the middle of the terminal floor on their suitcases, crumpled, their eyes glazed; alone in a strange land, they won't know where to go, they won't know where they are, their first day in Japan, and . . ."
"Your tea's getting cold," Joe pointed out.
"And I'll say, 'Sorry folks, but Joe just had to have another scrumptious rice cake,'" Ginger concluded, reaching for a rice cake.
"Dozo," Mrs. Sakamoto said, smiling and showing off her one gold tooth amid a mouthful of steel.
"I guess we really should go," Joe conceded, looking at his watch. "Honcho comes mo s'koshii," he explained again to the Sakamotos, "and kanai here is getting restless."
"Though we'd really love to sit here all day and eat your rice cakes and drink your tea," Ginger added, with just enough sarcasm to elude the Sakamotos but still prickle Joe.
"I understand," Mrs. Sakamoto said, bobbing her head slightly. "You must give your new friends welcome to Japan. Please, give them our welcome also?"
"Of course," Joe said. It was irresistible, the way Kimiko says "please," so it comes out "pleez-oo."
Haruo, Kimiko's husband, had spent several moments carefully selecting his words, and now he spoke them, clearly and confidently. "Now you live Tokyo, is so long between visits. Please, when you come again, bring your new friends and we greet them. How do you say? A friend of you is a friend of me. And maybe," he winked, "maybe I tell him of our Nichiren?"
"Your tomodachis are my tomodachis too, Sakamoto-san," Joe grinned. "But you'll never convert my new honchosan to Soka Gakkai. He is what we call 'hard shell.'"
Haruo laughed. "But you bring, ne? We like to meet."
"I'll try," Joe agreed. "And we promise not to stay away so long next time."
"But now we simply must go," Ginger said, dragging Joe by the arm. "Sayonara!"
"Sayonara," echoed Kimiko and Haruo.
"Hurry back," added their 17-year-old daughter, Tomiko, who had maintained a polite silence during most of the visit. Japanese firmly believed that children should be seen but not heard, and Joe had to admit—though his interests didn't extend that direction—that Tomiko was a pleasure to see. Talented as well as cute, and definitely pro-American—which was a refreshing attitude, considering the current tide of anti-Americanism that seemed to be sweeping over Japan.
"They sure are nice folks," Joe said in the privacy of the station wagon. "Too bad they have to be in Soka Gakkai, but I guess that's a heck of a lot better than being Commies."
"He never gives up trying to convert us Amerikajins, does he?" Ginger laughed.
"He's not allowed to give up," Joe said. "He's got to try to convert everyone he sees. It's in the book. Gotta have converts, if you're going to take over the whole world!"
"Whatever happened to separation between state and church? Or temple, I guess it is?"
"Silly pagan concept," Joe said. "Soka Gakkai no believe."
Joe slowed the car at the gate to the sprawling Air Force base which was the gateway to the Orient for all air-transported U.S. servicemen, and returned the Japanese civilian guard's salute. A sandwich sign by the guard shack warned of Condition Green—dangerous Communist demonstrations—in Tachikawa City and Tokyo's Hibiya Park.
"That's probably their plane coming in now," Joe said, pointing off to the left. "How's that for timing?"
"You'd still be sitting on your butt eating rice cakes if I hadn't dragged you out," Ginger reminded him.
Joe squelched her by asking when was the last time they were late to anything on his account.
There was just time for Ginger to pop in and out of the Ladies Powder Room before the passengers—bachelors first—began streaming in.
"Oh, there's a cute one," Ginger squealed. "And so's he! Hi, fellas," she called, waving and winking. "Welcome to the friendliest base in Japan!"
"I
