by David Bishop
"I... I was in the head when the fighting started, so I-"
"You were what?"
"I was relieving myself, sergeant."
"Is that a fact?"
"Yes, sergeant. When I came out, I saw one of the MPs attacking Maeda, even though Pat was already unconscious on the floor."
"So you intervened, is that it?"
"Yes, sergeant."
"A likely story." Hicks moved along to Paxton, who was grinning from ear to ear at Walton's discomfort. "What's so damned funny?"
"Nothing, sergeant," Paxton replied, forcing the smirk from his features.
"I should hope not," Hicks snorted. "Way I hear it, all of this started over some little Japanese whore at the bar that you've been chasing for months."
"Kissy's no-"
"Did I ask for your opinion, numb-nuts?"
"No, sergeant," Paxton muttered.
"I can't hear you!"
"No, sergeant!"
"That's better." The sergeant clamped a meaty fist around Paxton's groin and squeezed, until the marine's eyes were watering. "You want to sow your wild oats, that's fine by me, but I suggest you chase a skirt that's worth catching. Everybody knows these Oriental types will stab you in the back as soon as look at you. Count yourself lucky she didn't cut your privates off and feed them back to you." Hicks released his grip, and Paxton let out a pathetic whimper of relief. The sergeant moved on to Maeda, last of the unfortunate trio. "Well, what have you got to say for yourself, my slant-eyed little friend?"
"Nothing, sergeant."
"So you agree with my assessment of Paxton's taste in squeezes?" Maeda didn't reply. "I'm guessing your mother was just the same, another Oriental whore who got her kicks jumping the bones of good, honest, red-blooded Americans. How many fathers have you got, or don't you know?"
Still Maeda kept his counsel, refusing to rise to the bait.
"God forbid we ever have to fight a war," the sergeant sneered, his spittle spattering Maeda's bruised face, "with slant eyed, traitorous scum like you in the corps. You'll probably knife us in our beds when we're still asleep. That's how you underhanded, sneaky little Oriental devils operate, isn't it?" Hicks glared at Maeda, willing him to fight back. "What's that? Got nothing to say to me? Is it because I'm only speaking the truth, or is it more likely you're too damned yellow to stand up for yourself and your family? That's it, isn't it? You're too damned yellow, like the rest of your slant eyed friends, as cowardly as the colour of your damned skin. You make me sick!"
Maeda reached a hand up to his face, making Hicks step back in anticipation of a blow. Instead the marine wiped the sergeant's spittle from his eyes and flicked it on to the tarmac, before standing to attention once more.
Hicks shook his head and retreated a few steps so he could glare at all three of them simultaneously. "Since the exact and precise circumstances of this brawl are unclear, the captain's given me permission to determine how those involved get punished. Paxton and Walton, I'm satisfied you were led astray by Maeda here, who was no doubt endeavouring to undermine the strength and integrity of this unit. So, you two will-"
"I'm sorry, sergeant, but that's wrong," Walton interrupted.
"What did you say?" Hicks demanded.
"Shut up," Paxton hissed out the side of his mouth at the young marine.
"Maeda didn't start the fight and he didn't lead me astray," Walton said.
"Shut your mouth, you'll drop all of us in it!" Paxton warned.
The sergeant smiled. "You should listen to your colleague, he knows what he's talking about. Paxton, you will serve the same punishment as the men already dismissed. Walton, your punishment will be doubled. You're hereby confined to barracks for a month and denied privileges for two months."
"But, sergeant-"
"But nothing!" Hicks snarled, any trace of sympathy ripped from his taciturn features. "Last but not least, Maeda. You will spend the next four weeks incarcerated in the hope that you will have time to consider the error of your ways. After that you can expect to spend the next month confined to barracks. You're to be denied any and all privileges indefinitely, until you prove yourself worthy of the Marine Corps. Now, does anybody have any questions?" The sergeant glared at Walton. "Any further statements or excuses they'd like to say in their defence or on behalf of their friends?"
Walton bit his bottom lip, his hands clenching into fists behind his back.
"I thought not," Hicks said, triumph in his voice. "See, Maeda? These two don't care enough about you to speak out on your behalf. I think that speaks volumes about your place in this unit, don't you?"
Maeda didn't reply.
"I'll take that as a yes," the sergeant announced. "Paxton and Walton, you two can escort Maeda to his new home for the next month. Dismissed!"
Hitori returned to the Ministry of War building as dawn neared Tokyo, furling his vampyr wings as he descended to the open terrace. He was still amazed by the massive spans of skin and sinew that had burst from his back when he had leapt from the terrace the previous night. He had plummeted to the concrete walkway below, screaming in terror as it rushed towards him. Suddenly he heard a ripping sound and felt the back of his uniform split apart. Moments later he was flying, two mighty wings beating at the air, lifting him up into the sky. He could hear Constanta yelling his approval from the terrace, urging him on. Hitori was flying, against all logic or sense, against everything his learning and intelligence told him. He was flying and he loved it.
But the hunger soon overtook that sensation, laying claim to his thoughts and gnawing at his soul. He looked down and saw the six Chinese prisoners cowering in their enclosure, several of them pointing up at him in amazement. Instinct took over once more and he spiralled down towards the men, feeling the variations in the night air as it passed across his wings, savouring the smells of people cooking their evening meals nearby. Would he ever consume anything but blood in future? That was a question for tomorrow and his sire. For now all he wanted was to feed, to gorge himself on the crimson liquid pulsing inside every living human.
When all six prisoners were dead, he could still hear their screams of terror in his mind. They had spoken in several different dialects, some from northern Manchuria while others had been born on the coast, yet he had understood them all. Not only could he comprehend their words, he knew a little of their thoughts and sensed their innermost terrors. It must be another of my new abilities, Hitori realised, being able to look inside the minds of mortals, to insinuate myself into their hearts. I wonder what other talents I have acquired in exchange for my soul?
He had spent the rest of the night exploring the dark corners of Tokyo, seeing how the city lived after sunset, witnessing all the decadence and horrors that usually remained hidden in the shadows. Now he was at one with the shadows and the darkness embraced him, recognising him as a fellow traveller on the road to hell. He saw sad-eyed prostitutes wearily servicing businessmen in alleyways, watched husbands beat wives, and witnessed corrupt policemen taking fistfuls of cash from dens of gambling and vice to ignore the transgressions. Once these scenes would have appalled and outraged him, but now they were merely evidence of how little mankind cared for one another, for the weak and for the truth. There was no justice to be found here, Hitori decided. The empire's underworld was a sickening realm of secrets and lies. Strange, he thought, how it took the intervention of a monster to make me see this harsh and brutal reality.
"You see the truth now," a familiar voice said atop the terrace at the Ministry of War, interrupting Hitori's thoughts. "It is part of our curse."
He swivelled around to find Constanta at his shoulder. "What curse?"
The Rumanian held out his hands and smiled. "Immortality is a blessing and damnation, in its way. You can live forever, but you will see those you once knew and loved die. You may walk in eternity, but the price of admission is to watch civilisations rise and fall, entire empires eventually, inevitably, crumbling into dust. You are apart from the world that you o
nce knew, a stranger in your own land. But it is the fate you have chosen for yourself. The sooner you learn to accept the truth and take comfort from it, the better."
"You speak like the monks in Shinto temples."
"I'm not that inscrutable, am I?" Constanta asked disingenuously.
"You promised to tell me of my weaknesses, now that I am like you."
"And so I shall, Zenji. You can live forever, but you are not truly immortal, not to the extent that I am. You can be killed. Silver can be fatal to our kind, in certain circumstances."
"How?" Hitori asked.
"An ordinary bullet or blade cannot harm you, not in the way it once would. But a silver bullet or a blade coated in silver will harm you in the same way an ordinary bullet or blade harms a human."
"What else?"
"Holy water can burn your flesh, if you were a believer in a Christian god. There has never been a Japanese vampyr before and I know little of your faith, so I cannot predict what other beliefs you once held that will make you vulnerable. Often it is the faith of the person holding an emblem that imbues it with the power to harm. As a Christian with a cross can use it to burn your flesh, so a Jew with a Star of David can cause pain, or a Russian communist with a hammer and sickle on their badge. Beware symbols of faith, they can cause the most exquisite of agonies, but perhaps you enjoy such torments?"
Hitori ignored the question to ask another of his own. "What else?"
"Sunlight is our greatest enemy. If that touches your unprotected flesh it burns. If you are trapped in sunlight, you will suffer a most excruciating death."
Hitori shook his head, quite bewildered by it all. "So many ways we can die, it's a wonder any of our kind survive at all."
"You wanted to know the weaknesses of the vampyr, but becoming one of us has given you powers beyond the imaginings of mere mortals. You can fly, change your shape at will, understand the languages of others, and bend their wills to your own. You need never eat or drink again, except the blood of living humans. You do not even need to breathe, so you cannot be drowned. You are more than human: you are stronger, more powerful and far more important. Becoming a vampyr heightens latent abilities you already possess, gifts of which you may be unaware. It is not unknown for those made undead to discover they can sense when danger is approaching. That is a rare quality, manifested by perhaps one in a thousand vampyrs, but it is precious. If you find one among your recruits has that ability, nurture him."
Hitori filed that away in his mind. He had a more pressing matter he wanted to raise. "You haven't told me why the vampyrs are getting involved with the war. Surely these battles are irrelevant to us?"
Constanta nodded. "True, but when you become all but immortal, you have to take the long view. At present the humans number into their billions. For now, we are few, but our numbers are growing. The war in Europe will spread. Your own government cannot wait to accelerate that process. Soon the conflicts will involve almost every country, every continent on the planet. When the war of the humans is over, the vampyr nation will rise up to start a new war: the war of blood, a crimson conflict to decide the future of this world. We shall take our rightful place as the dominant species. Humans will be to us as cattle are to humans: fodder, nothing more, nothing less."
"That's why you came to Japan," Hitori realised, "to plant the seeds for your future empire. That's why you've made me like you, so I can be an agent for your kind, an insurgent against my own people."
"The Japanese are no longer your people. The empire you once served has forsaken you, just as you have forsaken it. This city is no longer your home, Hitori. You are a vampyr now. You are one of us."
"I made an oath to the emperor that I would serve him and Japan first."
Constanta smiled. "You may follow the will of your leaders, for now. You may fight their battles and strike at the Americans on their behalf. But there will come a day when I shall lay claim to your allegiance, and to all those you turn to our ways. When the war of blood begins, I will want you by my side, fighting for the vampyr nation. This war among humans is merely a prelude to a far greater conflict. Remember that, remember it well!" The Rumanian turned to go, but Hitori grabbed him by the arm.
"You're leaving?"
"I have done what I came to do. The rest is up to you. My part in the humans' war for control of the Pacific is over."
"But what do I do next?"
"You are a soldier, a brave and skilful one, or so I've been told. Use your natural talents and the powers I have given you to do what you do best. Find and recruit a cadre of men to serve as your seconds. Drink their blood and let them feed upon yours. The more you give to them, the closer in strength they will be to you. These seconds will go out and recruit their own lieutenants, form their own cadres of vampyr insurgents. You and your acolytes have the potential to become the emperor's ultimate weapon, an army of undead samurai warriors. After that, well..." Constanta's features became translucent as his body changed into a cloud of mist, floating in the air. "The rest is up to you." His devilish smile was last to vanish, fading away to leave but a memory of the vampyr's presence.
Zenji Hitori was left behind on the terrace overlooking Tokyo, more alone than he had ever been before in his twenty-seven years of life.
Father Kelly stood by the railings on deck as the President Coolidge sailed away from Hawaii. He held a traditional floral garland in his hands, given to him by a native girl as he had boarded the ship. Against all the odds, every member of the 200th had found his way back to the vessel in time and it was now bound for the Philippines and an uncertain future for those on board. All those who'd been caught up in the brawl at Tokyo Joe's faced a voyage filled with no end of punishments and absolutely no privileges. Martinez had escaped the commander's wrath, thanks to Father Kelly's intervention in Honolulu. The young soldier found his saviour staring wistfully at the lush green island of Oahu, holding the lei as if it were a set of rosary beads.
"Father, are you planning to throw that or pray with it?" Martinez asked.
"Sorry?" Father Kelly said, shaken from his private thoughts.
"I was asking if you planned to throw that in the water. I got talking to one of the locals, back on the island. She said if you throw a lei into the water when you sail and it goes back towards the island, that means you'll return one day, but if it floats out to sea, you won't ever come back to Hawaii."
"Oh, I see," the priest replied. "Well, by rights, all vessels coming back from the Philippines usually make a stop at these islands. Let's find out, shall we?" He tossed the lei away from the boat and it landed with a gentle splash on the churning blue and white waters. Both men watched the floral necklace intently. Slowly, gradually, the currents took the lei away from the islands.
Martinez frowned, a bitter thought occurring to him. "Well, it's just an old wives' tale. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything really. The propellers on the boat probably pushed your lei the wrong way, that's all."
Father Kelly smiled politely. "I'm sure you're right, Juan." He turned his back on the ocean. "How are your tour guides faring?"
"Wierzbowski and Buntz? They both got arrested by the MPs. The commander threw the book at them, no mercy. I was lucky you didn't let me go back inside." The young soldier shook his head at the memory of what had happened at Tokyo Joe's. "Of course, Wierzbowski ain't complaining, since he never complains about anything. But Buntz? He's been bellyaching twenty to the dozen, saying I should have caught as much flak as he did for what happened. I tried telling Buntz that if he hadn't been hitting on the Japanese serving girl, none of it would have happened, but..."
"He doesn't want to hear that?"
"Pretty much. I don't know how long it's gonna take him to get over it. I ain't holding my breath, let's put it that way."
"A wise course of action," the priest agreed.
"Anyways..." Martinez said. His nostrils flared at the smell of hot food leaking out from the nearest doorway. "They're serving lunch, if you want it."
"That's very kind, Juan, but I'll stay here. Your sea legs are better than mine, so I tend not to eat the first day of a voyage."
"Okay, father. Well, it was good talking to you."
"You too, Juan." Father Kelly turned back around and stared out across the ocean to the receding profile of the Hawaiian Islands. Martinez looked at the priest for a moment before going inside to eat lunch. He wanted to get that sad image of the lei floating away from Oahu out of his head. When they left port he had thought of the floral garland as a happy, cheerful tradition. But the garland Father Kelly had thrown into the water looked more like a funeral wreath, and there was nothing happy or cheerful about that.
Hitori remained on the balcony after Constanta had gone, watching the horizon as dawn crept nearer, the imminent sunrise already lightening the distant sky. Night was becoming day once more. For most people, that was something to be celebrated, but Hitori knew it would be fatal for him if he remained out on the terrace. Perhaps that would be for the best, Hitori mused, a kind of vampyr ritual suicide, seppuku for the undead. He had drained the blood from six people in the night, had drunk their life as if it were water, had feasted on their essences. What kind of monster did that make him? What right did he have to take their lives to sustain his own?
Killing on the battlefield was regrettable, but that was the nature of war. Trainee soldiers were told that it was not murder, but killing in the furtherance of a greater cause. Hitori grimaced. Did he believe that anymore? Had he ever believed it? No matter. The past was irrelevant. He had a decision to make, here and now: embrace the future as a creature of the night, or sacrifice himself to the daylight. The latter choice might keep the vampyr taint away from Japan for a while longer, but there was little doubt Constanta would return and offer the same opportunity to another soldier. No, if anyone had to carry this burden, it had better be me, Hitori decided. I will serve the empire as best I can and for as long as I can, until the hunger undoes me.
