1945 (48 page)

"Barb, I can't talk for very long 'cause this is costing the government a helluva lot of money and maybe someone else wants to use the phone. I just want you to know that I love you so very much and that I thought about you all the time I was, ah, in trouble. The thought of coming home to you was something that helped keep me alive when it got rough."

"I was so worried, so scared." She wanted to ask how rough it had been, but she was afraid of the answer. It could wait. He was alive and said he was well and that was all that counted.

"So was I, hon, but it's okay now. But, hey, how about you? How are you holding up?"

"Just fine, Dennis. My sister is here and she's helping out a lot."

"With what?" he asked, puzzled.

Barbara laughed at his confusion. "When was the last time we made love, dear Dennis?"

He thought quickly. He'd had a brief leave just before shipping out to Guam. That, he calculated, had been a little more than a year ago. They'd made love like bunnies for those few days as if there would be no tomorrow. There almost wasn't, he thought ruefully.

"I remember it well."

"Well, so do I and so will you. For the rest of our lives we're going to remember it. Dennis, you have a son. I didn't tell you because I didn't know at first, and then you went missing and I couldn't. I wanted so much to tell you, but there was no way," she sobbed.

"Jesus," Dennis gasped. "I'm a daddy."

"He's Dennis Jr. and he's got all the tools and digits he's supposed to." In the background, Dennis Jr. had awakened and was being soothed by Barb's sister, who was looking on incredulously. He would need changing and then he would want to nurse.

"Jesus," Dennis repeated.

"Dennis, have you suddenly gotten religion?" she teased.

"I'm overwhelmed."

"So am I," she whispered. "Now get home and let's get started on the next one."

Thousands of miles away, OSS agent Johnson watched as Chambers shakily hung up the phone. Despite trying to give the man some privacy, he had overheard much and understood more. The call had obviously gone well from the glazed and goofy look on Chambers's face.

"Congratulations, pop," Johnson said, extending his hand. "First cigar you get ahold of is mine."

"Fair enough." Dennis grinned. "Now, what do I have to do to get something to eat around here?"

"Whatya want?" Johnson signaled to a clerk who would make a quick trip to the mess hall. They still didn't want Chambers running around in public in case he slipped and said something. Even though it was extraordinarily unlikely that anything said on Okinawa would fall into Jap hands, there was no sense taking any chances at all at this late stage of the game.

"How 'bout a hamburger and a milk shake? Chocolate."

Johnson rolled his eyes and guffawed. That would make three of each in the last hour. "Dennis, you are nothing but a damned eating machine."

Sgt. Yuji Yokota's plan to avoid further military service had fallen apart only a couple of weeks after Ens. Keizo Ikeda's frail plane had taken off and disappeared into the darkness.

Yokota's original idea had been to head north and lie low in the hills until the war ended, as he thought it surely must. He had what he felt was enough food to last him, but a sudden rain squall had ruined a great deal of it, forcing him down from the hills and into the camps to avoid starvation.

A roadblock set up to catch deserters had nailed him almost immediately. There had been no use even trying to lie his way through it. For one thing, he was still too well fed to have been anything but a soldier, and then he'd made the absurd mistake of standing at attention when a
kempei
lieutenant had interrogated him.

The
kempei
officer had sneered and given him two choices. He could "volunteer" for a shock brigade forming to attack the Americans, or he could be hanged right then and there. With false pride in his voice, Yokota had assured the officer that he would be honored to fight for Japan, which had been his intent all along. After all, he insisted, he had been on his way to find a new unit after his old one had been destroyed. The lieutenant's barely stifled laugh told him he hadn't believed a word of that declaration.

In the end, his sins had been overlooked because experienced NCOs were rarer than hen's teeth at this stage of the war. Yokota was delighted that they even let him keep his stripes. Even though he was primarily a mechanic, he was still a sergeant. With even that little bit of authority, he thought he might be able to bluff his way out of trouble. At the very least, he was still alive.

He was dismayed when he saw the unit he was finally assigned to. It was called a company, although it had only eighty men and to call the soldiers men, or the men soldiers, was to stretch either point. They were all extremely young and in their mid to late teens, inexperienced, ill equipped, and scarcely trained. They all had rifles and bayonets, although some of the weapons dated back to the turn of the century.

They averaged only twenty rounds apiece, which wasn't enough for a skirmish, much less a war. When Yokota commented on that, he was told that their purpose was one grand and final attack on the Americans, and that courageously thrust bayonets would prove more effective than bullets.

Was this all that was left, Sergeant Yokota wondered, an army of young boys? If this was the case, then Japan was in horrible shape indeed. Many of the young recruits looked terrified as well as cold and miserable. At least as military personnel they had access to Japan's dwindling store of rations, so they didn't look as bad off as many people he'd seen.

Their company commander was Lt. Fumimaro Uji, who was also the company's only officer. As the only experienced NCO, Sergeant Yokota was second-in-command. Tall, thin, and extremely nearsighted, Lieutenant Uji had been a supply officer until the army realized it had a desperate need for officers of any kind and, with no supplies to distribute, had found a way to utilize him.

Lieutenant Uji was unqualified to lead a field command and knew it. As a result and within hours of his arrival, it fell to Sergeant Yokota to get the company organized and on the move toward the Americans. Uji professed to hate the Americans and to be willing to die a glorious and bloody death fighting them. He made a speech to that effect that further terrified the youthful recruits.

Their trek south was fraught with peril. Even with the weather deteriorating, the American planes were omnipresent threats. They hiked the trails at night in an extended single-file column that made them difficult to be seen and hit. Even so, they often heard the crump-crump of bombs falling in their area, and several times came upon the grisly remains of others who had been either careless or unlucky. Knowing that the trails were in use, the Americans had started lobbing napalm bombs at suspected troop concentrations. On a couple of occasions they had passed the charred and blasted remains of Japanese dead. Whether they were soldiers headed to battle or civilians who happened to be in the wrong place was not always something that could be ascertained by looking on the mangled dead.

Under the circumstances, Sergeant Yokota wasn't in the least surprised when several of the recruits simply disappeared into the night. Lieutenant Uji was beyond himself with rage and disappointment, but even he recognized the futility of going after the deserters. It did not escape Yokota's notice that
kempei
presence was inconsistent the closer they got to the actual fighting.

Then came the day he realized they'd arrived at their destination. Their sector was quiet, but the Americans were only a couple of miles away.

"The rains are getting harder," Lieutenant Uji exulted. "Under their cover we will soon launch ourselves against the enemy and rid Japan of their scourge."

Yokota agreed that the weather was truly flicking miserable. A couple of the men had developed hacking coughs and now vomited their rations. As to whether the Americans could be driven off, he had doubts. Even though many hundreds of other soldiers were well hidden in the area, he wondered what they could do against the American army's legendary firepower. What use was courage and a bayonet against a machine gun? He'd seen that scenario played out in China when the roles were reversed. There it had been the Chinese who'd had the courage but not the weapons, and they'd been slaughtered.

And how would his men react when the time came? To his surprise, Yokota had found himself growing attached to them and not wishing them harm. He was their grandfather and they came to him with all kinds of problems. One had asked him why they were fighting and when it would stop. It was evident from the way the others watched this one that he represented all of them. They were all smart and most were educated. In earlier days, Yokota would have slapped them for being weak or even beaten them senseless and sent them back to work, but not now. Too much had changed. These were children, not soldiers, and he grieved for them and what they would suffer. He told them the war would soon end.

Worse, he knew that he was only a couple of miles and a day or two away from his own destruction. This was not the way he'd planned it, and he racked his brain trying to figure a way out of the mess he'd gotten into. He would do everything he could to save his newfound children along with himself. Only problem was, he hadn't the foggiest idea how.

Joe Nomura was half-asleep outside Hirohito's bedchamber when he heard the first shout of alarm. It was followed by a burst of gunfire and a scream that ended in a gurgle. It had begun. He checked the time. It was a couple of hours before dawn. Joe pulled his pistol from its holster and ran the few feet to Hirohito's quarters.

"Where're you going?" yelled Sakei as he charged in. "Traitors are attacking us. They want the emperor. We must stop them." He had his own pistol out and was casting about in sleep-induced confusion.

"I'm going to protect the emperor," Nomura answered, and pushed past him. Sakei didn't protest. Instead, he went on to battle what he thought were the Japanese forces trying to take or kill his emperor. Nomura hoped it would be several minutes longer before Sakei realized his mistake.

Hirohito was seated on the floor listening to the battle. Apprehension was on his face, but not fear. "It is time?"

Joe plopped down beside him. "Yes."

Further conversation was cut off by a fusillade of shots punctuated by further screams. "Your men got so very close before being detected, didn't they?"

The bad weather had worked in their favor and hidden the approach of the rangers and the frogmen. Refugees remained huddled in their miserable tents and shelters and ignored the thirty-odd men who'd moved with near perfect silence through the camp and toward the hospital. Those who saw them noted nothing unusual as the men had been draped in blankets. In the rain and dark they appeared to be another group of refugees, or additional troops for the mysterious compound.

More gunfire erupted, this time close. The top of the tent shuddered and a line of bullet holes appeared in it. It reminded Hirohito of the time when Sakei had first taken him prisoner in the bunker beneath the palace in Tokyo. It was hard for Hirohito to remember that it had been only half a year earlier. As if to complete the memory, Sakei burst in on them. He had a pistol in his hand and his face was contorted with rage.

"Americans!" His voice was a shriek. "Americans are attacking us." He turned to Nomura. "We must move the emperor immediately."

"No," Joe answered softly. He fired his pistol twice, hitting Sakei in the chest with both bullets.

Sakei dropped to his knees and let his pistol fall to the ground. "Not you," he muttered as realization dawned.

A moment's anger twisted Sakei's face before his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor. An enlisted guard retreated in on them and Joe shot him in the back. Another entered and, seeing the bodies, ran away before Joe could kill him as well.

"Roy," a deep voice yelled.

"Trigger," Joe answered, completing the signal. After a moment's delay, Ens. Billy Swain entered the tent and looked in disbelief at the small man with glasses who sat with Nomura. He had known whom to expect, but it still came as a shock that the emperor of Japan sat on the floor a few feet in front of him.

"Un-fucking-believable," Swain whispered as Nomura and Hirohito stood up.

"What's he saying?" Hirohito asked.

"That he's glad to see you," Joe responded. "Now let's get out of here."

They ran outside where a perimeter had been set up. A ranger said that their commander had been killed. "We've got to get out of here right now," Swain said. There was no disagreement. "We've got about two miles to go."

Nomura had not been privy to this part of the operation. Again, what Joe didn't know, Joe couldn't tell. If the operation failed and he was captured, he could say nothing that would endanger his comrades. Thus, he was slightly surprised when they did not make a direct run to the ocean, which was less than ten miles from the camp. Swain had said two miles, so that meant something else was up.

First they retreated through the refugee camp. There was confusion and consternation everywhere as a result of the gunfire. People swirled and screamed as they tried to avoid the compact group of armed Americans pushing through them. No one appeared to notice the small, bespectacled civilian in their midst.

Finally, they made the safety of the brush and continued through it. Joe watched the effects of the night on Hirohito. While sometimes looking bewildered, he would see Joe looking at him and shake it off. He had made a fateful decision and would stand by it.

They came to a clearing. A handful of rangers emerged and a sergeant told Swain that the message had been sent. The cavalry was on the way.

"How many casualties?" Hirohito asked. Two dead and seven wounded, he was told. It amazed and saddened him that these young Americans had died or been hurt on his behalf.