by David Bishop
Hitori sat in the back of the taxi, careful to keep the collar of his long coat turned up to stop his skin being exposed to the last rays from the setting sun. Saturday was fading away, and soon it would be the seventh of December, a date with destiny for the Japanese Empire. At times it had felt as if this day would never come, during the many months since Hitori had become a vampyr. Assembling a fighting force of kyuuketsuki had taken longer than anticipated, and training them how best to use their abilities was just as time consuming. But the preparations were at an end. History was about to happen.
Hitori's last stop had been at Takeo Yoshikawa's second floor apartment, overlooking Pearl Harbour. To the US authorities this unassuming man was Tadashi Morimura, Japan's vice-consul in Hawaii. In fact this was an elaborate cover. Like Seki, Yoshikawa was an agent for naval intelligence, using diplomatic status to observe and report on US military preparations. Hitori made certain Yoshikawa had destroyed all documents that might betray the identity of any imperial operatives on Oahu.
There was no telling how long it would take the Americans to detain Japanese diplomats on the island once the attack had begun; it could be hours, it could be days. Hitori was determined to safeguard the coming storm from detection. Should Yoshikawa or Seki be arrested and interrogated, they knew enough to endanger the attacks. For the empire's war against the Americans to have any chance, this first strike must be devastating. Destroy the Pacific fleet while it was still in port and that might give the US pause for thought, might persuade President Roosevelt and his government to open a dialogue with Tokyo. Hitori knew this was a long shot, at best. He felt certain the attack was the first step on a long road to hell, but the decision had been taken and everyone had to fight this war to its inevitable, bitter conclusion.
The taxi paused near the gatehouse that guarded the navy yard by Pearl Harbour. "You getting out here as well, bub?" the driver asked. He'd been ferrying Hitori around Oahu all afternoon, thanks to a crisp twenty dollar bill and a psychic nudge from the passenger. Hitori peered out of the window at the gatehouse and buildings beyond.
"No, not here, not yet. How well do you know downtown Honolulu?"
"Better than any other cab driver on the island."
"Good. I wish to visit a bar called Tokyo Joe's."
Extract from encrypted message sent to Japanese diplomats in the US:
"I do not wish you to give the impression that the negotiations are broken off. Merely say to them that you are awaiting instructions and that, although the opinions of your government are not clear to you, to your own way of thinking the imperial government has always made just claims and has borne great sacrifices for the sake of peace in the Pacific."
Extract from a speech delivered by President Roosevelt to a joint session of Congress on December 8, 1941:
"The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its Emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in Oahu, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States and his colleagues delivered to the Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. While this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or armed attack."
FIVE
Paxton waited outside the barracks, despairing of his friend's fondness for Flinch. Sure, the youngster would be okay once he loosened up, but 'til then Walton was a first class pain in the butt. Maeda eventually emerged, hurrying to catch Paxton. "Don't worry, I didn't leave without you," the surly marine said.
"Why not?" Maeda asked, surprise evident in his voice. "I thought you were eager to get into the loving arms of Kissy?"
"Well, I might need your help getting off base."
"I don't see why. You've swapped duties with Walton, so now all you need's a-" Maeda stopped, realising the problem. "You have got a pass, haven't you, Paxton?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly? You leave without a pass and you're going AWOL. Hicks will fry you alive if he finds out. That's begging for a court martial!"
"Yeah, yeah, absent without leave, what's the big deal? It's not as if we're at war or anything. This is the middle of the damned Pacific Ocean, what's likely to go wrong if one marine takes off for a night with his lady? Nothing, that's what! Don't I deserve a night off just once this month?"
"Yeah, but-"
"But nothing! I've had it with this base, with Hicks getting in my face, and with doing like I'm told. Pat, I'm going crazy as a henhouse staying cooped up here, it's not natural. A man's got certain urges, if you know what I mean? Well, my urges are more urgent than most, let me tell you. There's a sweet little honey waiting for me in downtown Honolulu and I intend to leave her well satisfied by the morning, if you catch my drift."
"Enough, enough," Maeda said, waving his friend's words away, "no more, please! I do not want to know the sordid details of your love life, okay?"
"So you'll help me?" Paxton asked, trying to keep the desperation from his voice and not having any great success.
"Yeah, I'll help," the other marine replied, shaking his head in dismay, "but I've gotta be insane to let you talk me into this."
"Cool," Paxton grinned. "Let's get moving. Hicks will be back on base soon and I don't want to take any more chances than I have to."
The two of them emerged from the barracks a minute later and marched across the parade ground to the nearest gatehouse. A taxi was driving away from the gatehouse as they approached. Paxton tried to wave it down, but his efforts went unnoticed by the driver. As the vehicle departed the marine saw that there was already a passenger in the back.
"We'll just have to walk to Tokyo Joe's," Maeda said.
At the gatehouse, a sentry challenged them to hand over their papers. Private Piper's sour expression was obvious proof he'd rather not be spending Saturday night standing guard at the base. "You lucky dogs," he said while casting an eye across Maeda's pass. "What you got planned for the night? Dancing, drinking, a little hanky panky with the locals?"
"All three with a bit of luck," Paxton replied. "Now, can we get going?"
"Sure, sure, once you show me your pass, hotshot."
"You already looked at my pass."
"Like hell I did," Piper retorted. "Hand it over, Paxton!"
"Why? You stamped it once. You wanna stamp it again?"
"Prove to me I already stamped it and you can leave."
Paxton noticed a solitary figure marching along the road towards the gatehouse, keeping a brisk double time. "Look, Piper, you're right, I ain't got me a pass. But if I don't get out of here tonight, I'm afraid certain parts of my anatomy are liable to explode with frustration."
"Take a cold shower like the rest of us, lover boy," the sentry smirked.
"He'll make it worth your while if you turn a blind eye," Maeda offered.
"I will?" Paxton spluttered.
"Of course you will!"
"How much of my while will it be worth?" Piper asked, his gravelly voice a rasp amid the sounds of crickets and cicadas in the early evening air.
"Whatever you want," Paxton hissed, all too aware of the approaching figure. He had a horrible feeling he knew who it was. "Anything, just name it!"
"Boy, you've got it bad for this dame, ain't ya?"
"What dame?"
"Nobody gets that excited unless there's a dame involved."
"Just tell me what you want to let me through, okay?"
The sentry stroked his chin. "Gee, it's hard to say. I mean how often do I get an opportunity like this? How often does a humble solider like me get the chance to put the screws on an arrogant jerk like you? Not that often."
Paxton glanced once more at the approaching figure, and what he saw made him curse in despair. "It's him," he hissed to Maeda.
"Who?" The other marine followed his gaze. Maeda saw Hicks twenty yards away and closing
fast. "Oh no, that's just what we need!"
Outside the makeshift chapel at Fort Stotsenberg, Father Kelly waved farewell to the happy couple, their friends and colleagues. It was too long since the priest had conducted a wedding service and his rustiness was obvious to the small congregation, but that hadn't mattered. All eyes were on the blushing bride and her proud groom. Father Kelly thought it odd that Nurse Baker chose to get married in her uniform, but he had few illusions a white dress would have made any difference to her purity; the base was rife with rumours about Sergeant Aimes catching the two lovers in bed. Despite her garb, Baker was still beautiful and as radiant as any bride the priest had seen.
Once the wedding party had gone, Father Kelly went back inside his chapel and removed his vestments. He went through the same ritual after every service, cleaning the communion plate and chalice that had borne the wine and wafer, the body and blood of Christ on Earth. As he went through the rituals made familiar by thousands of repetitions, his mind wandered to something that had been nagging at him during the service. No, the feeling had haunted him for longer than that, ever since Nurse Baker had come to see him a few days earlier. Of course, he realised. It was her radiance, the glow in her eyes and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Seen from the right angle, she had an uncanny resemblance to his beloved Catherine.
Father Kelly was still weeping bitter tears of grief when Buntz bustled into the chapel, a small notebook in one hand and a stub of pencil in the other. "Hey, padre, I was wondering if you were interested in making a little wager. I know the church and the turf are friends of old, so I figured you wouldn't be averse to a little flutter..." Buntz's voice trailed away as he noticed the priest wiping away tears. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't... I can come back later."
The priest shook his head. "No, it's fine. I was overcome by the emotion of the day, that's all. What were you asking me, Arnold?"
"It's Arnie, if you don't mind, padre."
"Of course, Arnie, forgive me, and it's Father Kelly, if you don't mind."
Buntz arched an eyebrow at the priest. "Yeah, right." He licked the tip of his pencil. "So, like I was saying, I'm running a kind of sweepstake and I was wondering if you wanted to get in on the action."
"Well, I don't really approve of gambling, as such-"
"This isn't gambling, padre. It's more in the way of a game of chance."
"And how is that not gambling?"
Buntz sighed. "Did you want in or not, Father Kelly?"
The priest smiled. "Why not? What are the stakes?"
"Winner takes half the pot."
"And the rest of the money?"
"I've got expenses to meet, certain administration costs to defray."
"I see. And what's the wager?"
"We were going to bet on how long Martinez lasted in the sack with his blushing bride, but since the two of them have already done the dirty deed, that kind of took the novelty element away. Besides, getting exact verification of the result would be tricky, to put it mildly."
"I'm glad to hear that saner heads prevailed," Father Kelly replied.
"Instead we're betting on how many enemy planes our boys here on base can shoot down the first day we're attacked by the Japs." Buntz's hand hovered expectantly over his notebook. "I can offer you five, 11 or 22, everything else between none and forty has already been taken."
"But we're not at war with the Japanese," the priest said.
"Not yet, true, but I figure it's only a matter of time. Look at it this way: we're the biggest US airfield between Tokyo and Hawaii, right? Even the Japs wouldn't be crazy enough to attack Pearl, so it stands to reason that when the war starts - and it will happen, you can trust me on that, padre - our little yellow friends are gonna come here first and bomb the crap out of us."
"You're taking wagers on how many lives our batteries will end?"
"Yep. Think of it as a kind of incentive scheme. Not that I figure anyone will need much incentive once the Japs attack, but it keeps people interested while we wait for the inevitable. So, what do you want, five, 11 or 22?"
"I'm not interested in placing a wager on murder," Father Kelly scowled.
"It'll be war, not murder, padre. Don't the church think killing's all right during a time of war? I mean, if it didn't, would they send you here with us?"
"My job is to provide spiritual comfort, that's all."
"Tell the Japs. I reckon they'll shoot just as happily as the rest of us."
"Nevertheless, I will not gamble on the taking of lives."
Buntz stuck the worn down stub of pencil behind one ear and shoved the notebook into a pocket. "For a man who just married the two happiest people on the base, you sure don't seem happy, padre. Try lightening up!" He stomped out of the chapel, leaving Father Kelly alone with his thoughts.
The priest sank back down on the nearest pew. "I wish I could," he murmured, his thoughts still full of Catherine's joyous face, the memory intermingled with an image of her blue, bloated features after death. Would he never be free of the guilt? Would he never be rid of that thorn in his soul?
"What's the damn problem here?" Hicks bellowed. He marched up to the gatehouse and stamped to attention, glaring at the trio standing across the entrance. "Well? Is somebody going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"
The sentry swallowed hard before replied. "Sorry, sergeant, I didn't see you coming. I was telling these two they needed a pass before I could let them off the base, but Paxton here wouldn't listen to reason."
"You lying bastard!" Paxton spat. "Sarge, this asshole was soliciting a bribe to let me pass. If anybody's in trouble here, it should be him."
"Is that a fact?" Hicks enquired, before his gaze moved inexorably to the third man standing at the gatehouse. "And what have we here? Private Maeda, I should have known. Wherever there's trouble, that's where I'll find you, won't I, Maeda? I swear you must go looking for it."
"He didn't have anything to do with this," Paxton insisted.
"Was I asking for your opinion?" the sergeant snarled.
"No, sergeant, but Pat-"
"This slant-eyed, yellow-skinned SOB has been lousing up my unit from the day he arrived," Hicks sneered. "Don't tell me he's got nothing to do with this! I know a traitor and a coward when I see one, and Private Maeda here has got a streak of yellow a mile wide running down his back."
"Actually, Paxton's right," the sentry chipped in. "I've already stamped Maeda's papers, he's free to go into Honolulu."
"You think so, do you?" Hicks snapped his fingers for Piper to hand over Maeda's pass. The sergeant glanced over the paperwork before slowly, methodically tearing it in half, then into quarters and finally into eights. "That's what I think of your pass, Maeda. What have you got to say about that?"
"I thought it was an offence to destroy official documents, sergeant."
"Smart guy, huh? Think you're so clever, so much more intelligent than the rest of us, is that it?" Hicks leaned so close to Maeda's face that their noses were touching, their eyeballs only a few inches apart. Every time he spoke the sergeant's spittle flecked the private's face. "Well, I've got a news flash for you, my Oriental friend. You might have a smart mouth but you sure as hell haven't got anything of any value in that skull of yours, otherwise you'd have known better than to enlist in the corps. We want real soldiers, not a bad case of the yellow peril. Have you got that, Toshikazu?"
"Yes, sergeant, loud and clear," Maeda replied before smiling.
"What the hell are you grinning about, boy?"
"Nothing, sergeant. Just like I'm looking at nothing, nothing at all."
"You're looking at me, boy, and that means you ain't looking at nothing. You're staring at a sergeant major in the United States Marine Corps!"
"Still looks like nothing to me," Maeda murmured.
"What did you say?" Hicks bellowed, his voice close to a scream.
"Hey, sarge, leave him," Paxton interjected. "Pat's done nothing wrong."
"Keep out of this," the ser
geant warned, "you're in enough trouble."
"Yeah and that's my own stupid fault, but Pat's done nothing wrong." Paxton reached out a hand to pull Hicks away from Maeda. The sergeant whirled around and grabbed Paxton by the arm.
"You try laying hands on me again and I'll break your damned wrist!"
"Is that a fact?" Paxton snarled at Hicks, his temper fast evaporating.
"You better believe it, boy!"
"Oh, yeah? Well, try believing this, asshole!" Paxton smashed a fist into Hicks's face, the sergeant's nose breaking with a satisfying crack. Hicks stumbled backwards, utter disbelief crowding his features. His feet got tangled with each other and the sergeant tripped over backwards, falling towards the guardhouse. The back of his skull smacked hard against the concrete slab of a step, the impact making a noise like an egg cracking. A gasp escaped Hicks's lungs, but that was all. He didn't speak, didn't move, or do anything.
Piper crouched beside the body, searching for any signs of life. After a moment he rested back on his haunches and looked up at Paxton. "Sweet Jesus... I think you've killed him!"
Mike Danner stopped his taxi outside Tokyo Joe's in downtown Honolulu, all too aware of the malevolent presence sitting in the back seat. The Japanese passenger was paying him well for the privilege of being driven around Oahu, but Danner couldn't shake a feeling of dread lurking in his gut. After five years of driving a cab on the island, he'd learned to trust his instincts about such things. He knew when a passenger had drunk too much and was gonna throw up; marines were the worst, they always overdid it, in his experience. He knew when a passenger didn't have the money to pay for their fare by the twitchy way they kept looking at the door handle in the back. And he knew when somebody had violence in mind from their posture, the way they caressed their knuckles or kept one hand buried inside a bulging pocket.
