1945 (29 page)

Orlando closed the hatch and the Sherman started up again, this time veering for the higher ground above and behind the bunker. Paul understood immediately. Orlando was going to hit the Jap from behind. The way the bunker had been laid out, it probably lacked a firing port in the rear. This meant the Jap would be blind and helpless as they advanced down on it.

Orlando drove the Sherman up the hill to where he was above the bunker and within a hundred feet of it. Paul gripped his rifle tightly and found it hard to comprehend that live Japs were just a few feet from him.

"Get ready," Orlando yelled through the cracked hatch, "and get your men spread out, Lieutenant."

Seconds later, the Sherman's gun fired, then fired again shortly after. When the dust and smoke cleared, they could see the rear of the enemy tank where the shelling had blown away the back of the bunker. One more shot and the Jap tank shuddered and began to smoke. The soldier with the flamethrower ran to the hulk and fired a stream of liquid fire onto the Jap tank, where it stuck to the exposed metal and began to blaze with an insane fury.

"Migod," Paul said as he recoiled from the suddenness of the flamethrower and the heat it was generating. Within a few seconds the Jap tank began to rumble and then it exploded, filling the hill with a small fireworks display as ammunition and fuel blew up. Last, there was one big explosion and the turret of the Jap tank flew through the remaining earthen cover and several feet into the air before coming to a rest a little ways down the hill, where it lay like a child's broken toy.

Paul heard an animal howling and realized it was coming from his throat as he and the others cheered their little victory. The Sherman's hatch opened again and Sergeant Orlando climbed out and shook Paul's hand. "Hot damn," Orlando said, laughing. "My first time in combat and I got me a Jap tank."

"Excellent!" Paul exulted. "Now what about that other machine-gun nest?"

As he said that, Sergeant Collins ran up to them from the other side of the bunker. "Gone, sir. They saw what happened to their buddies and bailed out."

"Look out!" Paul exclaimed, wide-eyed, and fired in Orlando's direction.

A lone Japanese gunner clutched his heart and fell.

"Guess not all of them," Collins said. "We'll do a clean sweep."

Thanks to Orlando's tank, Paul's men had taken the hill, wiped out a bunker with a tank in it, destroyed a machine gun nest, and done it with no additional casualties. Better, they'd caused some Japs to break and run away, which they rarely did.

Now he could send his wounded back to the rear without fear of more casualties, and they could get medical care. "Staff Sergeant Orlando, you and yours got anyplace in particular to go right now?"

Orlando shrugged. "Home, but they won't let me. Why?"

"I think we work well together. You want to stick around?"

"And be your mascot, sir?" Orlando grinned infectiously. "Sounds good to me. Besides, I owe you."

Laughter rang out, a welcome and rare sound.

OSS field operative Joe Nomura performed an awkward pirouette in front of the small fire, bowed, and laughed at the thought of a
kempei
officer behaving in such a manner. Dennis Chambers smiled and shook his head at the incongruous sight.

"Dammit, Joe, you look real enough to scare anyone when you just stand there in that toy-soldier outfit, but the shitty little dance you did kind of kills the effect."

Nomura laughed. "I never could dance, that's why. How does the uniform look without the arm?"

"Hell, it looks great, particularly without your arm. It makes you look sinister, like some old-time warrior who's survived a hundred battles and come back a war-wise hero. You'd make a tremendous samurai."

Joe took the compliment with a smile. After a number of false starts and experiments while the two men taught themselves the art of sewing, they'd successfully cut the dead
kempei
captain's uniform down to where it fit Joe fairly well. It wasn't perfect, but both men felt it would pass casual observation as most uniforms worn by the Japanese military were even more ragged and ill-fitting than they usually were.

Unlike Germany's Gestapo, who had their own distinctive uniforms,
kempei
officers wore the standard Japanese officer's uniform, but with a distinctive armband displaying the Japanese characters
ken
and
hei
, which translated as "law soldier." Usually, as in this case, the characters were black on white, and they made the wearer of them a minor god with enormous power over other people's lives and well-being.

According to his papers, the dead soldier, Capt. Shozo Onichi, had commanded a
buntai
, or section, in the area. Based on Onichi's rank, the two men guessed that a section would be about a hundred men. Logic also said these would be scattered about Onichi's area of control, which they presumed to be fairly large, but that the men would know who Onichi was and what he looked like. This meant that impersonating Onichi was out of the question. Joe would have to use another identity if he was to wander around in the uniform.

Kempei
officers carried a sword and a pistol. Joe kept the pistol but discarded any thought of carrying the sword. For one thing, a one-armed swordsman looked out of place, and for another, the sword had been made especially for Onichi and had been engraved with his name. Joe's possession of it would be extremely difficult to explain.

"Okay, buddy, now what?" Dennis asked. "What're you gonna do? Halloween was months ago."

Joe checked the fit of the tunic. What he was planning frankly scared the hell out of him. "Dennis, I am going to ride that bike into the nearest village or camp and find the
kempei
field office there. After that, I'm going to make it up as I go along and see what I can turn up."

Dennis shook his head in mock dismay. "That's what I was afraid you were going to say."

Joe grinned. "Who knows, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime." Or the end of a lifetime, he didn't add. Joe wasn't certain why he was going through with this idea, only that the opportunity was too good to pass up.

"What if someone recognizes you?" Dennis asked. "After all, you've been wandering the area for some weeks as a shot-up veteran. How'll you explain yourself?"

Joe shook his head. "Won't have to. I'm the secret police, Japan's Gestapo, remember? Even if somebody should make the connection, they wouldn't dare ask me about it. Hell, I could shoot them on the spot for their insolence. Nah, they know that
kempei
often go around in plain clothes so they can spy on people. They'd probably think I was the biggest prick alive and then wonder what they might have said to me that would come back to haunt them and get them thrown in prison."

"How long do you think you'll be gone and what should I do about it?" Dennis asked almost plaintively. He was in no hurry to be left alone again. He also regretted that their carefully hoarded supply of liquor was all used up. He could see where he could need a drink if Joe left him alone for any period of time.

"A couple of days, maybe less, maybe more. But I do want you to move away from here. If things go wrong for me, it could be real dangerous for you." Joe looked farther up the wooded hillside and across the valley. "Go up there, or someplace else where you can keep an eye on this camp. You pick the spot so I won't know it and won't be able to tell anyone no matter what they do. You see me come back alone, wait until you're sure it's okay. You see me being followed, or Jap soldiers around me, you run like hell. Oh, yeah, don't forget to take the pistol and don't hesitate to use it on yourself if it looks like you're going to be taken."

Dennis nodded glumly. He was just getting used to the idea that he and Joe might make it through this thing. He had again started to dream and plan of life with Barb back in California when he finally came home to her. Now Joe Nomura's actions stood a good chance of wrecking those plans.

But Chambers had a sense of duty and honor as well, and he understood what Joe was doing and why. It was just that he didn't particularly have to like it. It was one thing to wander through Japanese camps as an innocuous and invisible refugee, but it was completely different to be an officer in the
kempei
, one of the elite in the Japanese military. It was sort of like sticking your head in the proverbial lion's mouth. He knew Joe to be resourceful and intelligent, along with ruthless, and he could only hope that those talents and traits would be enough to see him through.

Sgt. Yuji Yokota and Ens. Keizo Ikeda had reached an accommodation concerning their personal differences. After all, with only the two of them remaining at the clandestine base, it made no sense to argue, and it was now obvious to Ikeda that the mechanic sergeant was doing everything he could to ready the plane for its final glorious flight. Keizo acknowledged that it was not Yokota's fault that the other five planes at their hidden base had managed to take off as ordered and fulfill their destiny as kamikazes.

He was wrong, of course. Yokota had been stalling, hoping to delay his transfer back to the army once Ikeda had departed. Yokota had no intention of dying if he could avoid it. He did understand the ensign's motives. Ikeda's family had been destroyed by American bombers and the boy wanted revenge. Yokota disagreed with him, but he respected the young officer's sense of grief and loss. Yokota wondered how he'd react to the loss of his own family. It was an academic question as he had no family. The army had been his family and he was more than ready to disown it.

Thus, as the next day dragged on and the plane was not ready as promised, neither man lost patience with the other. To his dismay, Yokota found there were real problems with the plane that he had great trouble fixing. Finally, well after his estimated completion time, Yokota put down his tools, wiped his face with a greasy rag, stood, and bowed before Ikeda, who was genuinely surprised at the gesture.

"It will fly, sir."

Ikeda beamed in relief. At last. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Sir, it will not, however, fly very well. Despite everything I've done, and for reasons I do not understand, the plane simply will not fly very high."

Ikeda's face clouded. This was not good. Standard tactics called for a kamikaze to dive out of the obscuring sun and plummet onto a target. This tactic also drastically increased the speed of the plane, which then reduced the likelihood of its being shot down. "What do you recommend?"

Yokota was surprised that the officer, particularly a young pup such as Ikeda, would ask his opinion. "Sir, there is no choice. You must stay well beneath a thousand feet at all times."

Ikeda thought quickly; he would stay well below the thousand-foot figure. Instead of diving from the sun, he would skim the earth. If he could not hide in the clouds, he would seek shelter in the trees and the folds of the hills of Kyushu. It would be extremely difficult flying, but he could do it.

"Will you take off at dawn?" Yokota asked, recalling Ikeda's remark that he wished to be one with the sun. This day was almost over and it would be dark in a little while.

Ikeda smiled. It was curiously beatific. "If the plane is fueled, I will fly now, Sergeant. I've seen enough sunrises."

Yokota disagreed with that as well, as he wished to see many more sunrises, but he helped Ikeda with the final preparations. A few minutes later, the old plane, laden with explosives and tins of carefully hoarded extra gasoline to aid in its immolation, lumbered down the grass runway. The engine ran roughly and it didn't look as if the plane would gain enough speed to become airborne. Yet somehow it did, and the small craft began to curl its way around the nearby hills.

As the old wood-and-cloth plane departed, Sergeant Yokota wished the young ensign a successful encounter with the U.S. Navy and a peaceful eternity. Then he stripped off his uniform and anything else that marked him as a soldier.

In the plane, Ikeda exulted. He was on his way. As he kept tight control of his erratic steed, he concluded that a low-level night attack might give him an advantage. Coming in low and slow, he might not be noticed until it was too late. Also, the plane was a dark gray. He began to like the idea even better than that of diving out of the sky.

Beneath him, the ground sped by. Even though it was night, he could still see signs of habitation, and sometimes people paused to look up at him as he came upon them so quickly that they could not run and hide. In the distance he could see the flashes and glows that were the battle for Japan's future. He was surprised. The fighting was much closer than he thought.

Then he was over the battlefield. It was marked by the continuing flicker of small-arms fire in both directions, and then he was past and over the American lines. Again, flying low was an advantage. Even though occasional tracers reached out their glowing fingers to pluck him from the sky, he was beyond them before the gunners had a chance to react to him. He thought it amazing that he could actually see American tanks and trucks, along with tents and other facilities as he swept overhead. The Americans made no effort to shelter themselves.

In the distance he saw the flat darkness of the ocean. But before he reached that, he flew over some American supply dumps and saw the immenseness of them. Then he viewed an airfield under construction, followed by yet another one, which already had a handful of planes parked along the runway. If the Americans were confident enough of their position to build airfields, even small ones, then things were truly dire for Japan. He prayed that his effort would help.

Soon he was over the dark waters of Ariake Bay and headed out toward the vastness of the ocean. A couple of American destroyers were anchored just offshore and fired at him with no effect. They could barely see him in the night and were afraid of hitting each other as he flew just over the waves between them.