by David Bishop
The commander went to his private quarters where both passengers were waiting. They'd been unwelcome guests on board before Itami's tragic loss, but in the days since the executive officer's disappearance, wild rumours had circulated among the crew about Hitori and Kimura. Some claimed they were Black Dragon agents on a covert mission to infiltrate American naval defences at Pearl Harbour. Others believed they were actually spying on the crew before reporting back to Tokyo. One tale suggested the passengers had killed Itami because he discovered the truth about them, and now they were blackmailing the commander into following their orders.
Kozo kept his own counsel, knowing almost all the rumours had an element of truth, but that none of them told the whole story. If the crew had discovered the real nature of these blood-drinking parasites, he shuddered to think what the consequences could have been. Now, at least, he could get these monsters off his vessel. That couldn't happen soon enough for him.
He'd learned what to expect on entering his quarters, but still could not disguise his revulsion. Kimura had disposed of the two dead POWs at the same time as Itami, but the final prisoner was still alive. Hitori and his murderous associate had been slowly draining their captive of blood until he was close to death, before giving him a day's respite. By this method the passengers had sustained themselves and their food source. Kozo walked in to find Kimura supping at the prisoner's throat, a wet splash of crimson on the POW's uniform all too obvious amid the many older, drier stains.
"It's time," the commander announced, keeping his gaze fixed on Hitori.
"How long do we have?"
"The minesweeper will take an hour to reach the anti-submarine nets. That's long enough for us to surface and get you into the midget sub. Once you're ready, we submerge again and release the cables before starting the engine. You get behind the minesweeper and follow it all the way in."
"Good," Hitori agreed. He nodded to Kimura. The other vampyr finished drinking from its victim before snapping the prisoner's head sideways. The POW died, a pool of yellow liquid spilling out of the corpse and mingling with old and new blood on the floor. Kozo felt certain he'd have to scrub the room for weeks to remove every trace of the horrors perpetrated in here, not least the slaughter of his executive officer.
"Once the minesweeper is inside the harbour, the anti-submarine nets will be reinstated," the commander said. "You'll be trapping yourselves within Pearl Harbour, and the midget sub's batteries have a limited lifespan. It cannot stay submerged indefinitely. Besides, you'll run out of air long before that happens."
"Don't worry on our account," Kimura replied, baring his still bloody fangs at Kozo. "We don't need to breathe. We only need to feed."
Hitori said something to his associate, but the words were spoken too quickly for the commander to catch them. Whatever they were, they sent Kimura back to the prisoner's corpse. He resumed twisting the dead man's head, as if he was unscrewing the lid from a bottle. Kozo could hear the ligaments and other connective tissue within snapping and ripping apart. Kimura tore at the neck in frustration with his fangs and talons, tearing through skin and sinew. At last the head came off, rolling unevenly across the floor before coming to rest by the commander's boots. Kozo swallowed hard to stop the bile rising in his throat from becoming a stream of vomit. He glared at the smirking Kimura.
"I don't know what kind of monsters you are, but a Japanese warrior would never torture and debase his captives like that."
"You'd be surprised at how savage people can be," Hitori replied.
Kozo gestured at the decapitated head by his boots. "Nothing human could have done that."
"True, but you're talking about brute strength, not force of will. I saw our soldiers commit atrocities in Manchuria that defied belief: murder, rape and wanton butchery. Why should my kyuuketsuki be any different?" Hitori nodded to Kimura, who trod on the dead prisoner's chest as he walked out. Hitori followed, pausing at the doorway. "I apologise for leaving this mess behind, but our mission must take precedence. Have a good war, commander."
Father Kelly sat at the back of his makeshift chapel and sighed. Business had not been brisk since he arrived at Fort Stotsenberg with the 200th Artillery, if you could call saving souls and offering spiritual counselling a business. At most services he considered himself fortunate to get more than a handful of worshippers, those hardy few who kept faith with their beliefs this far from home. Sundays were his busiest day of the week, naturally, but even then there was no guarantee of more than a dozen people in the congregation.
Tomorrow would be different, the priest told himself. Tomorrow he was performing the wedding ceremony for Private Martinez and Nurse Baker. That was guaranteed to draw a crowd and, with a little luck, some of them might be moved into making the Lord a more regular visitor into their lives. If only I can find the right words to persuade them, Father Kelly thought, and discover the way into their hearts and minds. He had been sitting at the back of the chapel for more than an hour, a pencil and paper in his hand, waiting for inspiration. He had prayed for guidance, offering novena after novena to Heaven in exchange for the hope of inspiration, but no angel whispered in his ear, no vision told the priest what he wanted to hear. His page remained blank, his faith bankrupt.
The trouble comes from lies, Father Kelly realised. I've been living with my lies for so long that I've started to believe they might be true. I've even lied in the confessional. It's the most holy place I know, and I broke the commandments to conceal my shame. I betrayed you, my Lord, and I betrayed my vows. Is it any wonder my soul is so barren, my heart so empty?
The priest put the pencil and paper aside before dropping to his knees. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, determined to renounce all the falsehoods and confess the truth to the only being that truly mattered. "Forgive me, oh heavenly father, for I have sinned," Father Kelly began, his voice a hoarse whisper of fear and guilt. "It's been three months since my last confession." He stopped, thinking back to what he had said on Oahu, the lies he'd told then. "No, it's been much longer than that. I can't remember when I last told you the truth, the whole truth. I know you see into my heart and already know all of my sins, but I must confess them to be worthy of your redemption. I must acknowledge my sins and show remorse. I must."
Father Kelly opened his eyes and saw the crucifix atop the cloth-covered trestle table that served as his altar. The silver representation of Jesus on the cross seemed to be staring at him, daring the priest to admit the dark secret that gnawed at him like some malignant cancer of the soul. Father Kelly looked away, unable to stand the unspoken accusation. He wanted to repent his sins, but the shame of what had happened, the shame of what he-
"Father? Father Kelly?"
The priest spun around to see Nurse Baker in the chapel doorway. "My, you startled me, Angela! How long have you been standing there?"
"Only for a few moments, father. It looked like you were praying. I can come back later, if that's more convenient for you."
"No, no, this is as good a time as any," Father Kelly replied as he got up. He brushed the dust off the knees of his trousers before walking over to the nervous nurse. "How can I help you, my child?"
Angela forced a smile. "It's about the wedding, father. I'm not sure I can go through with it. I'm not sure how much I love Juan Martinez."
Hitori peered at US battleships through the midget sub's periscope. Kimura had navigated their way into Pearl Harbour, stalking the minesweeper past the American defences, just as Commander Kozo had suggested. Now the midget sub was lying off the docks, studying the positions and strength of the enemy's vessels. The battleships were moored in pairs, one beside the other. It was the early hours of Friday, the fifth of December, and Hitori knew Japan's strike force was two days away. Judging by the lack of action on board the battleships, the approaching attack remained unseen and undetected by the US Navy. There must be at least half a dozen battleships moored in close proximity, a perfect target for torpedoes and dive-bombers
. Hitori smiled. The Imperial Japanese Navy would wreak havoc in this harbour come Sunday, all being well.
Hitori's mission was to help ensure that the attack remained undetected, it was the reason that he and Kimura had travelled halfway across the Pacific to this place. He could have entrusted the mission to Suzuki and one of his other lieutenants, but the kyuuketsuki leader wanted to be there. He wanted to be part of the moment when the world changed irrevocably. He wanted to be a witness to history in the making. Most of all, he wanted to show his cadre of vampyr samurai that he would always lead them from the front, that he'd never ask his kyuuketsuki to do anything that he was unwilling to do.
"It's time." Kimura sat below him, gripping the vessel's wheel. "If we're to scuttle the sub and make it to shore before sunrise, it's time."
Hitori nodded. "Take us to the deepest part of the harbour. We'll open the hatches and let the water have her."
Once they were in position, Kimura turned off the engines and released all the air from their tanks. As the midget sub sank into the watery depths, Hitori opened the hatch atop the small conning tower. He had to use every ounce of his inhuman strength to force it open, the weight of water threatening to defeat him. Once he succeeded, his reward was a crushing wall of water forcing him and Kimura down inside the tiny compartment. Panic took Hitori for a moment, a lifetime of breathing making him gasp for the air his vampyr body no longer needed. But once the pressure inside the midget sub had equalised, he was able to stand upright again. Pulling Kimura behind him, Hitori swam up towards the moon shimmering overhead.
They broke the surface, both panting from the effort of escaping the midget sub, happy to have eluded the iron coffin. The two kyuuketsuki trod water while they looked around the harbour, searching for anyone who might have noticed the sudden appearance of two Japanese men in the water. But the harbour was quiet, with no sign of movement nearby. They were at least half a mile from the nearest stretch of shoreline.
"How's your swimming?" Hitori asked his disciple.
"Not my best feature," Kimura admitted. "You chose me for my record as a foot soldier, not as a fish, remember?" A wicked smile spread across his features. "We could always fly to our destination," he suggested.
"This is a covert mission. The less we draw attention to ourselves, the better. Revealing the presence of Japanese vampyrs on US territory would jeopardise our forces' surprise attack."
"Getting cold feet before a wedding is perfectly natural," Father Kelly said. "Marriage is a lifelong commitment, and not something to rush into. You wouldn't be human if you didn't have doubts, Angela, but that doesn't mean getting married is a mistake for you, either. Tell me, what's brought this on? Have your feelings for Juan changed?"
"No, father, I want to be with him."
"Well, then, that's a good thing-"
"No, father, you don't understand," Angela cut in. "I want to be with him. I want us to be together, as man and woman, if you know what I mean."
"Ah," the priest said.
"I want him more than I ever wanted anything in my life. I was brought up to believe that should only happen inside marriage. That's why I said yes when he asked me to be his wife. But now..."
"You're worried that you're in lust with Juan, not in love." The nurse nodded, her freckled cheeks blushing bright red. Father Kelly took her hands in his. "I've seen the two of you together, Angela. I've seen how you look at each other, how much both of you care for each other. You have much more than the simple animal longings of two creatures that find one another attractive. What you two have is better than that. I believe you love each other, and you can make that love last a lifetime. But it doesn't matter what I believe."
Angela looked him in the eyes. "I have to believe it."
"And so does Juan."
She nodded. "You're right. It's all happened so suddenly, and with my transfer orders coming through I was worried we were rushing into this for the wrong reasons. But I don't want to lose him, father."
"Then go to him. Tell him how you feel, and look into his eyes as you just looked into mine. You'll find all the answers you need there."
The nurse smiled. "Thanks, father. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried from the chapel, leaving the priest alone again.
Father Kelly turned to the altar and saw the crucifix, the image of Jesus on the cross staring back at him. "I told her what she wanted to hear," he said. "If we do go to war soon, what are the chances that both of them will survive? What gives me the right to deny them a little happiness now, while they still have that chance? Didn't Catherine-"
He stopped, biting back the rest of his words. The priest could feel his emotions churning inside, wracked by guilt and shame over what had happened to Catherine. He could have sworn the crudely moulded replica of Jesus was laughing at him, sneering at his pain. Father Kelly snatched a hymnal from the bench where he'd been sitting and threw it at the crucifix. The book thudded against the altar but the crucifix didn't budge. "Damn you! Damn you to hell!" The priest burst into tears, unsure if he'd been cursing his saviour or himself.
Tetsuzo Nagara propelled the last drunken GI from Tokyo Joe's with a kick to the backside. "And stay out!" he shouted at the soldier as they staggered away into the early hours of the morning. Nagara muttered curses under his breath. The sooner his countrymen came and bombed this island, the better. He couldn't wait to get home to Japan and his own people, instead of acting as barman and confidant to a nation of drunkards without dignity or honour.
A shimmer of darkness in the night caught Nagara's eye. He peered at the alley where the movement had been, trying to make out what was there. The moon was full overhead, casting heavy shadows in the night and bleaching everything else a cold, metallic blue. Nagara shivered as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his instincts sensing what his eyes could not see in the darkness. "Is somebody there?" he asked, aware that his voice was trembling. "We're closed now, no more drinking tonight!"
Closer, a voice whispered in his thoughts. Come closer.
The Japanese barkeep had no intention of getting close to whatever was lurking in the shadows, but his feet and legs had taken on a mind of their own. No matter how much he willed them to stop, they sent him staggering towards the alleyway, his pace quickening with each step.
Closer still. Come into the darkness with us.
"No, please!" Nagara whimpered. His voice was still his own, but control of anything else was beyond him. His body felt as if it was possessed, drawn ever nearer to some malevolent presence in the alley. He could see a pair of terrifying eyes there, glinting in the night.
Be one with us. Become like us. Together we'll climb Mount Niitaka!
Nagara realised the voice in his head was Japanese, speaking in a Tokyo accent. He relaxed a little, remembering a message he'd received the previous day from Kohichi Seki. Officially, Seki was treasurer at the Japanese consulate in Hawaii. In reality, he was one of several spies stationed on Oahu. The decrypted message from Tokyo had said two friends from home would be visiting before Sunday. Black Dragon agents were required to acknowledge the authority of naval intelligence spies at the consulate, but Nagara's first loyalty was to his masters in Tokyo. Mount Niitaka was a favourite code of the Black Dragons, a recognition phrase designed to identify fellow members.
But as Nagara got closer to the shadows, he could see that the creatures waiting for him in the dark were monsters, not spies. Their hands stretched out elongated fingers, their nails like the talons of a predator. Their features were more like savage masks of hunger than faces, inhuman eyes aglow in the darkness, skin stretched taut over bulging bones. Worst of all were their mouths, black tongues licking dry lips, while razor sharp fangs protruded from their jaws. "What are you?" Nagara whispered.
Destiny, desire... and death!
The Japanese spy opened his mouth to scream but the cry for help never came. One slash of those talons severed his voca
l chords, slicing open his throat and exposing the sinews within. Blood gushed from the wound and the two creatures dived forwards, lapping at the dying man's neck with their grotesque tongues, sucking and licking every morsel from his bleeding arteries. Nagara sank to his knees, still bewildered by the voices in his head.
Feed us, they hissed, sustain us, all in the name of the emperor.
Martinez was sharing a drink with Wierzbowski when Angela found him. The two soldiers were sitting outside their quarters, each sipping from a bottle of beer that Wierzbowski had bullied out of Buntz. The suds were warm and sticky, much like the humid air in the Philippines, but that didn't diminish the novelty of having a beer. Buntz considered the stores his own private domain. Rumour had it that he'd been diverting supplies that went "missing" en route to the base.
Some said he was selling the lost items on the black market, while others claimed Buntz was squirreling away the lost items into caches around the island, in anticipation of a Japanese attack. Whatever the reality, anyone at Fort Stotsenberg who wanted contraband went to Buntz first. Most soldiers had to make it worth his while, or leave empty-handed. Wierzbowski was the exception, his imposing physique and malevolent gaze enough to erode even Buntz's cocky arrogance. So it had been with the bottles of beer.
"Can't believe I'm getting married on Sunday," Martinez said. "I thought I was coming over here to defend peace and democracy, not find a wife." He glanced at the big man by his side who shared so little. "What about you, Wierzbowski? You ever think about getting hitched?"
The other soldier shook his head. "I'm not the marrying type."
"Don't say that. You never know when some little angel of love's waiting around the corner." Angela appeared from the far side of the base. "Speaking of angels, here comes mine now." Martinez drained his beer and stood up as the nurse got closer. "Welcome to our humble abode, Nurse Baker. And how can we help you, this fine evening?"
