"Sir," Collins asked, "you get through to the captain?"
"Yeah. He's got his own problems but said he'd try to get us out of this mess." The rest of the company was one hill over and had their own problems with Japanese guns. The irregular folds of ground had separated their platoon from the rest of the company. For that matter, Paul thought, they were pretty well separated from the rest of the army. He had the damnedest feeling that he and his platoon were all alone on Kyushu.
Collins risked a quick look at the top of the hill, where the mist now seemed even thicker. "Too bad we can't get a napalm strike on them. Armor or no, that'd cook their goose, literally, and settle things real fast. It's a shame the flyboys don't like to run into mountains when they bomb in the rain."
They gave no thought to sending a man up with a flamethrower. They had one, but he'd be an easy target for the Japs.
With that, they settled down to wait for help or night, whichever came first. As time ground on, they dug in deeper and were able to put substantial mounds of earth between themselves and the machine guns, while the Jap cannon remained ominously silent. It occurred to Paul that the entire platoon had been stopped by fewer than a dozen Japanese.
At first Paul didn't notice the grinding, whining, growling sound in the distance, but as it grew louder, he realized that something big was getting close. Then he and the others grinned hugely as an M4 Sherman tank breasted the hill behind them and descended gracelessly, sliding the last few feet into the ravine where they were hidden. The tank commander positioned the Sherman between them and the Jap guns, and Paul cautiously moved over to the driver's hatch, which opened a crack.
"You guys call for a tank?" came a voice from inside the dull brown armored vehicle.
Paul grinned. "Damned right."
The hatch opened wider and a man with dark, curly hair stuck his upper body out. There was grease on his face. "I'm Staff Sergeant Joey Orlando and this is my tank. How can I help?"
Paul quickly explained the situation with the Jap tank and the machine guns. As if on cue, the Jap tank fired a round that landed farther down the ravine, and one of the machine guns fired a burst that did nothing but make everyone wince. The Japs had seen the American tank and weren't happy.
Orlando grunted. "I make that a thirty-seven-millimeter gun, which tells me that it's a Jap Model 95. She's got two machine guns in her as well, but they're probably useless with them dug in like that. The Model 95 is a dinky piece of shit with thin armor. I've got her outgunned with my seventy-six millimeter. If I can get a clear shot at her, one of my rounds'll go through her like shit through a goose."
"Be my guest," Paul offered. "You going straight up the hill?"
"Naw, and I can't afford to get in a shooting match with that pig. I've only got twenty rounds left. I wanna flank her, and I want some infantry to protect me from any little yellow assholes coming out of holes with grenades or Molotov cocktails. This might be a better tank than the Jap, but she will burn real fast under the right conditions, and I don't want to lose a tread to that thirty-seven of theirs, either. That happens and I gotta sit there and wait for nightfall just like you were. No, I wanna take her in the side or rear. That'll also give me a chance to find a safe way up that hill where my tank won't get stuck or slide back. Who's gonna lead the troops going with me?"
Paul shrugged. "I guess I am."
Sergeant Orlando smiled openly. "Good. I know too damn many officers who would volunteer their mother rather than go up that hill."
"Sergeant Orlando, I am not thrilled at the thought."
"Lieutenant, I'm not either. Y'know there were four tanks in my platoon yesterday? One blew an engine and is being fixed, while another got blown up by a crazy Jap with a bottle full of gas and all five guys in it got burned to death. Then the fourth rolled down one of these hills and rolled over. Nobody got killed in that one, but everybody has broken bones and a couple of my friends may never walk again. So, if you don't mind, I'm a little leery of this place and am gonna take it as cautious as I can."
Paul nodded. "We'll take good care of you, Sergeant."
"Then let's go." Orlando closed the hatch. A moment later, the Sherman rumbled out of the ravine and moved toward the platoon's left flank. Paul, a half dozen riflemen, and one man with the flamethrower scrambled alongside and struggled to keep the tank between themselves and the Japanese on the hill.
Paul had ordered Collins and the rest of the platoon to move up around the right flank and keep the second machine gun occupied. He presumed the cannon in the bunker would concentrate its fire on Sergeant Orlando's hulking tank when it was visible.
They got to where the Jap tank couldn't see the infantry well and started up the hill. The wet ground made the climb difficult for the tank, and a couple of times Paul thought that Sergeant Orlando would say he couldn't make it. But Orlando was both skilled and persistent and they kept inching upward. The flanking Japanese machine gun opened up and bullets rattled harmlessly off the Sherman's turret, while the Jap tank's cannon fired sporadically to no effect. Sergeant Orlando's tank returned fire with the machine gun in her hull, hitting nothing but keeping the Jap gunners' heads down.
The infantrymen stayed in the shadow of the tank and kept an eye out for anything that looked like a camouflaged hole from where a Jap might emerge. Nothing stirred and the men gained confidence as they climbed farther up the hill.
The Americans drew closer until they could see the tip of the barrel of the machine gun as it spewed out its hate. Paul tried not to think of what might be going through the gunners' minds as they saw the American tank approaching. They had to know they were doomed. Why didn't they retreat? What the hell was wrong with these people?
Just as Paul was beginning to wonder when Orlando would use his main gun, he was rocked back by the sound and concussion of the Sherman's 76mm cannon firing. An instant later, the Japanese machine gun disappeared in a cloud of smoke and a shower of rocks.
Safer now, but still moving carefully, the men spread out and advanced on the smoking nest. When they looked in, they saw the shredded remains of what might have been four or five Japs. With all the pieces of smoking flesh lying about, it was hard to be exact.
The Sherman's hatch opened and Orlando looked down on his handiwork. "Not bad," he reasoned. "One shot is all it took."
"Yeah," said Paul. "Now all we got to do is get that buried tank."
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.
CHAPTER 39
KYUSHU, EAST OF NAGASAKI
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.
CHAPTER 40
KYUSHU, NORTH OF ARIAKE BAY
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.
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