Fiends of the Rising Sun

by David Bishop

  "Not this morning," Marquez replied. He was still getting to know the other pilots and Bravo, Lieutenant Taylor, had done little to acknowledge his presence on board yet. "We're not exactly the best of friends."

  Chuck laughed out loud. "Bravo's only friends are himself and his reflection. Did you know I once caught him staring at himself in a mirror? Most men would be embarrassed, but not Bravo. He went right back to staring at that mirror. Said he was picturing the enemy in his sights, imagining the moment of the kill. Claimed visualising the moment would make it happen."

  "Really?" Marquez asked, too embarrassed to admit he had been doing much the same, just without the mirror. "Why are you looking for him?"

  "Actually, I was looking for both of you. Bravo left a message on my bunk, said he wanted to meet both of us down here."

  "Why?"

  "No idea. He said it was a matter of importance, that's all."

  "Oh, right." Marquez looked around but could see no sign of the other pilot. "Then I guess we should wait."

  Chuck consulted his watch. "I'll give him three minutes. After that I'm due up on deck for a briefing about Thursday."

  "Thursday?"

  "When the fighters are launched for Wake Island?"

  "Oh, yeah, right." Marquez grinned. "I got confused after we crossed the international dateline yesterday. Now I can't remember if today's Tuesday or Wednesday. I've never been over no dateline before."

  "It's Tuesday on board, but it's still Monday back in Pearl. That makes it today here and yesterday there, as far as we're concerned, or tomorrow here and today there as far as the people in Pearl are concerned. Does that help?"

  "Not really," the ensign admitted. "All this waiting around, it's driving me crazy. Halsey said we were on a war footing when we left Pearl last week, but nothing's happened since. I'm ready for action, you know?"

  "Don't be so eager," Chuck said, laughing at his colleague. "If there is a war, you can guarantee there'll be plenty of it to go around."

  "You said 'if there's a war'. You don't think it'll happen?"

  The lieutenant shrugged. "The Japanese starting a whole new war in the Pacific doesn't make sense to me. Congress may be doing its best to keep us out of the war in Europe, but even they won't let the Japs take over the Philippines and places like that. As soon as they attack an American base, we're going to strike back, and hard. We'll crush 'em in weeks."

  "I guess so," Marquez murmured.

  "Hey, you two, over here!" The two pilots swung around to see Bravo standing in front of his Dauntless, pointing proudly at the fuselage beneath his cockpit. As Marquez and Chuck got closer, they could see a crude image painted on the side of the plane, depicting General Tojo as a slant eyed cartoon figure with a target on his forehead. Beneath that was the legend, "Tokyo or Bust". "What do you think about my work of art?"

  "You painted that yourself?" Chuck asked.

  "Paid one of the ground crew to do it. Granberg was a sign writer back in Minnesota before he got drafted. So, what do you think?"

  "I thought the CAG forbade painting emblems on planes," Marquez said.

  "The commander of the Air Group has got a big old stick up his butt the size of a flagpole," Bravo replied. "I'm amazed he can get in his cockpit." The sneering pilot produced three cigars from a breast pocket. "I've decided the three of us should place a little wager on the outcome of each sortie. Whoever brings down the most enemy planes collects a buck from the other two at the end of each day. Obviously, I intend to be the best flying ace in the Pacific, so I understand if you two are scared of taking my action-"

  "I'm in!" Marquez blurted.

  Bravo arched an eyebrow at the young ensign. "Very good, but try not to lose every day, otherwise you won't have any money left to send home to your poor mom. What about you, Richards, you up for a challenge?"

  Chuck smiled. "I'm more worried about the state of your finances. Nobody's ever seen you open your wallet, Bravo. You sure the moths haven't eaten all your millions by now?"

  "My finances are fine," Bravo retorted. "Are you in too, or do I have to ask one of the other incompetents to take your place in our little wager?"

  "I'm in, all right, wouldn't miss it for the world, in fact."

  Bravo nodded. "Glad to hear it." He handed each man a cigar. "As a gesture of goodwill, I thought we could share these, before the contest starts."

  "Don't mind if I do," Chuck said, accepting the gift. Marquez followed his example, mimicking the others as they lit up. He'd never smoked a cigar before and within moments the ensign was choking and gasping for air. Chuck clapped a heavy hand on his back. "Don't worry, Skid. Everybody coughs the first time they smoke a cigar."

  "R-right," Marquez coughed. He looked at Bravo through the cloud of pale blue cigar fumes. "Why choose us for your contest?"

  "Plainly, I'm the best pilot on this ship," Bravo replied. "You two are about the only competition I've got on board, though that's damning you both with faint praise, frankly. I'll take what I can get."

  "Charming as always," Chuck commented. "Good cigar, too."

  "Only the best, that's my motto: only the best."

  "In that case, may the best man win," Marquez said.

  "Oh, I will," Bravo replied, "I certainly will."

  Suzuki waited until the last rays of sunshine had disappeared well below the horizon before climbing from the cockpit of his Mitsubishi Type O aircraft. The Zero fighter was jet black from nose to tail, its sole distinguishing marks the red circle symbol of the rising sun and the kyuuketsuki insignia. Even the glass of its canopy was tinted black, as he had specified when requisitioning the plane from the Akagi. Six near identical Zeros had stopped behind his plane on the runway, arranged in a V-formation. At a signal from Suzuki, the pilots all opened their canopies and climbed out.

  The aerial kyuuketsuki unit had been training diligently for more than two months in anticipation of the coming conflict. Suzuki had chosen dozens of men from among the Imperial Japanese Navy's best pilots, and from these selected the six pilots who would accompany him in the first attack wave. He had sired them personally, to make certain of their complete and utter loyalty. He had moulded them in his own image, to be as ruthless and bloodthirsty as he was, utterly merciless when the time came. In the heat of battle, Suzuki needed his kyuuketsuki flyers to think with one mind.

  While he was training them in the ways of the vampyr, they were teaching Suzuki to fly the Zero as if he had been born in the cockpit. He had crashed three times, but emerged from each impact unharmed, grateful for the strength and resilience that being undead gave him. It took time, far longer than he had expected, but Suzuki was mastering his single engine fighter. He was good enough to lead the formation as it landed in Taiwan, though his landings still left a lot to be desired. No doubt his second in command, Otomo, would tease him about that later, as was the young pilot's way.

  A sleek black sedan raced towards the seven Zeros, flanked by a covered truck and a refuelling rig, their headlines gleaming in the twilight. The sedan stopped close by and an officer emerged from the driver's seat. He strode over to Suzuki and bowed low, humbling himself before the new arrivals. "Captain Juzo Yoshihiro at your service. Forgive us for not being here when you landed," the officer said, a tremble of fear audible in his voice. "News of your coming reached me only as your planes were touching down. Had Tokyo given us more notice-"

  "The short notification was my idea," Suzuki snapped, a curt flick of his left hand waving away the apology. "I wanted to see how soon your facilities could be ready for our particular needs. Once hostilities begin, you will need to be far quicker and more efficient in your response to surprises. From all I've heard, the conflict in Manchuria rarely runs to a schedule."

  "Yes, sir, of course," the officer agreed, his eyes still downcast. "If I may be bold enough to ask, how long will you be gracing us with your presence?"

  "My kyuuketsuki and I will be here until the eighth, when our first true mission begins. Have
you prepared quarters for my pilots?"

  "Yes, as specified. The windows have been blacked out and all the surrounding buildings vacated. You and your men will not be disturbed." For the first time, the officer risked raising his eyes to look at Suzuki's face. "You also asked for the provision of a dozen comfort women. We have taken them from the native population, but some are... more comfortable than others."

  Suzuki heard a snigger behind him, and recognised it as Otomo. "Comfort woman" was the official term for a female forced to be the sex slave of Japanese servicemen. The practise had become popular in Manchuria where local women were plentiful and soldiers were away from their wives for months at a time. But Suzuki and his kyuuketsuki lusted for blood, not just any pleasures of the flesh. "The beauty and age of these women matters little to my men. They don't need these unfortunates for their looks."

  The officer could not disguise a shudder at this, but his face remained impassive. He gestured to the covered truck. "If your pilots would get inside, they will be transported to their quarters. I will take you in my car."

  The vampyr leader shook his head. "I go where my kyuuketsuki go. We fly as one and we travel as one. That is how we will conquer our enemies."

  Martinez found Nurse Baker hunched over her desk in the main ward, writing on the charts for her few patients. The base hospital didn't see many serious injuries. Most were the result of accident rather than conflict, and anything life-threatening was soon transferred to a military hospital in Manila with superior facilities. As a consequence it was rare for more than one nurse to be on duty at a time in Fort Stotsenberg. A shift change was due within the hour, offering Martinez his chance to pop the question. He realised his hands were sweating and wiped them dry on his trousers before approaching Angela.

  "Hey, how you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his voice cool and calm.

  She jumped, not having heard his approach on the smooth floor. "Juan! You shouldn't sneak up on people; you almost gave me a heart attack."

  He looked around and smiled. "Least you'd be in the right place for that."

  Angela nodded, unable to stay angry at him for long. "I've got to finish these reports before Ruth arrives to cover the night shift."

  "No problem," Martinez agreed. But he stayed where he was, reaching out a hand to stroke her back between the shoulder blades. Angela tried shrugging him off but he persisted until she gave in, surrendering her task.

  "What is it?" she demanded, an angry tone in her voice that Martinez hadn't encountered before. He looked at her eyes and noticed how red they were, and recognised telltale blotchiness on her freckled cheeks.

  "You've been crying. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," Angela said before turning away, unable to hold his gaze.

  Martinez crouched down on one knee beside her. "I can tell when a woman's been crying, I saw it with my mother often enough. What is it?" She didn't reply, only shaking her head. "Look, if it's about the extra blankets, I tried my best but Buntz shut down Stores early today. I'll try again tomorrow, I promise." A fresh tear trickled down Angela's cheek and splashed on the medical chart beneath her face. "Please, tell me, maybe I can help."

  "You can't," she said, her voice close to breaking, "nobody can."

  "You can't be certain of that."

  "Yes, I can! There's nothing either of us can do about this." Angela wiped the tears from her face. "I got a new posting today. I'm being transferred back to the military hospital at Manila. They think we're overstaffed here."

  Martinez felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. "When do you go?"

  "Monday. I'm to hitch a ride on the dawn transport, and start my new posting in Manila the next day, December ninth." She managed a weak smile. "Never thought I'd be sorry to see the back of Fort Stotsenberg."

  "You can't go," Martinez said.

  "My orders say otherwise, Juan." Angela rested a tender hand against his face. "We always knew this would happen one day. I just didn't think that day would come so soon. I'm going to miss you."

  He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "Marry me."

  She smiled. "You're only saying that because I'm leaving."

  "No, that's what I came here to ask you, once your shift was over. I want you to be my wife, Angela Baker." Martinez smiled at her. "I'm down on one knee and everything. Please, at least tell me you'll think about it?"

  Angela frowned and shook her head. "I don't need to think about it."

  "You mean..." But Martinez couldn't finish the sentence, a sudden fear clutching at his throat and stealing away his words.

  "I've already made my mind up," she continued. "Yes, I will marry you."

  "You will? But I thought... You're sure you want to marry me?"

  Angela nodded, fresh tears running down her face, but these were tears of joy, not sorrow. "Yes, Juan, I do."

  Martinez threw his arms around her, kissing her sweet lips over and over. It was only the arrival of Ruth for the night shift that stopped things getting out of hand. She cleared her throat several times before they noticed.

  "You two ought to get a room," the nurse commented.

  "We will, on our honeymoon," Martinez replied, his voice full of joy.

  "You're getting married?" Ruth asked. Angela nodded. "When?"

  "Before I get shipped back to Manila next week, I guess." She looked at Martinez. "If that's okay with you, Juan?"

  He grinned. "The sooner, the better. How about this Saturday?"

  "Not so fast, loverboy," Ruth cut in. "We've got an inspection on Saturday, all the nurses will be run off their feet until then. After that, you'll be fine."

  "Sunday it is, then. We'll have the wedding on December the seventh."

  From the diary of Angela Baker, Fort Stotsenberg - December 5th, 1941

  I can hardly believe I'm writing these words, but it's true, I'm getting married on Sunday. Juan asked me after I got my transfer papers. The corps decided Sternberg General Hospital needs more nurses and so I'm going back to Manila next Monday. The idea of leaving Fort Stotsenberg meant little to me, compared to the thought of never seeing Juan again. Sure, he might get a posting to Manila in time, but it'll be months before we see each other. Imagining that left me hollow inside, as if someone had stuck a cold ice-cream scoop in my chest and ripped out my heart.

  I guess Juan must have felt the same way because he asked me to be his wife as soon as he heard about my transfer. I said yes before I'd even had time to think. I want to be with him so badly. I want to spend every minute I can with him. Juan's not like all the other recruits on the base. Most of them just want what they can get from the nurses, and to hell with the consequences. Give in to them and you're easy, refuse them and you're called all kinds of names. At times, being part of the Army Nurses Corps here is like being back in high school, except the ratio of men to women is a hundred to one. I always swore I'd never get involved with a soldier. Then there was Juan.

  He makes me laugh. I think that's what I like the most about him. He's sweet and kind and gentle with me. He doesn't try to push me into doing anything I don't want, and I know he cares about me, I can see it in his eyes. That's not to say he isn't all man. There are times I want to rip his clothes off and... Well, you can guess the rest! Just thinking about him like that makes me blush, but it makes me wish he was here, too. I don't know much about being with a man, not like some of the other nurses, but I know being with Juan will be something I'll never forget. Let's hope we can keep our hands to ourselves until the wedding night!

  The thing is, I'm excited but kind of scared too. How do I know this is the right thing to do? How do I know Juan is the right man for me? We feel so comfortable together, but what if that changes? There's the war to think about, too. We aren't fighting it yet, but everyone seems to think that it's a matter of when, not if. I'm still getting to know Juan. How would I cope if I lost him? I don't want to be a widow before I'm 25.

  Then there's my transfer. That's still going ahead, no matter whether we g
et married or not. We'll have one night together and then months apart, keeping in touch by letter and a few phone calls. We might get leave at the same time, but I doubt that. The army tends to set its own schedules, and married couples in the ranks just have to cope.

  At the back of my mind, I can't help thinking we're rushing into this. I always imagined I'd have a big white wedding, with all my family there. Instead I'll be getting married in a makeshift chapel, wearing whatever the other nurses can find for me between now and Sunday, with none of my family beside me. They probably won't get my telegram until after I've become Mrs Juan Martinez. How are they going to react to the news? All these questions are going round and round in my head, and it's starting to drive me crazy. Putting my thoughts down on paper in this diary helps a little, but I need to talk with someone about all of this, and I think I know just the person.

  TWO

  I-17 slowed its engines as the submarine came within range of the Hawaiian island of Oahu. The submerged vessel waited until day became night before surfacing briefly beneath the full moon. Commander Kozo went up into the conning tower to see the American territory for himself. He was close enough to hear music drifting out from the bars of Waikiki, and neon lights were visible in the distance. Several years before, he had commanded a Japanese tanker that took on crude oil at the Ellwood refinery north of Santa Barbara. He had slipped while walking to a welcoming ceremony and fallen into a prickly-pear cactus. His face still flushed an angry red at the memory of workers on the nearby rig laughing at his discomfort. Kozo was looking forward to the war, and reclaiming his honour from those hyenas. Satisfied with the submarine's positioning, he went below and ordered a descent to periscope depth.

  As midnight passed, an American minesweeper on its way back into Pearl Harbour approached the I-17. This was the opportunity Hitori and Kimura had been waiting for. The US Navy had anti-submarine nets stretched across the harbour entrance, but they were retracted to allow the coming and going of surface vessels. The lumbering minesweeper would be the perfect decoy, clearing a path through the nets and churning the water to such an extent that the midget sub could follow it in, unseen.