1945 (32 page)

"Or he could have run off and tried to save himself. I hope this doesn't offend you, Captain, but Onichi did not strike me as a strong-willed person. Certainly he did not have your combat experience. Where did you say you lost your arm?"

"Guadalcanal. I was wounded in the early fighting and was fortunate to be evacuated." He managed to look sad as he said that as if in memory of lost friends. The vast majority of the Japanese sent to fight the Americans on Guadalcanal were dead and rotting in the jungle. The Japanese navy had performed marvels in getting at least some of them off, but many thousands did not make it.

Sakei examined a fingernail. "How were you evacuated? Destroyer or submarine?"

Joe wondered, Is he trying to trip me? "Colonel, I really don't recall. My arm was badly infected, gangrenous, and I was heavily sedated. My only recollection of the entire trip is that of pipes overhead. I have no idea whether they were from a submarine or a destroyer. To be honest, sir, I really don't care."

To his surprise, Sakei laughed. The nonanswer seemed to satisfy him. "Someday you'll have to find out which it was and thank them properly. And now, what is your reason for being here in Camp Seven?"

"Sir, I was directed to work with Captain Onichi and you regarding the American spy and the radio broadcasts that we've intercepted."

Sakei registered surprise. "Why do you think he's an American?"

Oops, Joe thought. Shouldn't have said that. "Sir, it's the opinion of those who've read his reports, which are in English. The speech patterns are distinctively American."

"Ah," said Sakei. "Do you speak English, Captain?"

"Yes, sir, and quite well if I might say so."

"And do you agree with that assessment?"

Joe took a deep breath. "Sir, I believe it is either an American or someone who has spent a great deal of time in the United States."

"Is he of Japanese descent, in your opinion?"

Joe hoped Sakei's next question wasn't whether the spy had only one arm. "Possibly, but not necessarily," he answered, forcing himself to be calm and dispassionate in what amounted to a discussion of himself. "The spy, and we do think there is only one although he is traveling with an escaped POW, could be another escaped prisoner, or even a pilot who crashed and has managed to escape detection. Either alternative would raise the question of how the spy got his radio. Therefore, it is most likely someone who was landed by submarine or small boat. In that case it does not necessarily follow that the person would be Japanese. Someone who is stealthy, good at disguises, or perhaps just extremely bold might get away with what he's doing."

Sakei took a cigarette from his jacket pocket and offered one to Joe, who took it gratefully. It was a Chesterfield and he wondered how Sakei had gotten it this late in the game. Probably off a POW, or even a body.

"Captain Nomura, I want you to continue looking for the spy. I don't think Onichi will ever turn up, and I want you to work directly with me. Is that a problem?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Do you understand why I am so concerned about this one spy?"

"No, sir, I am not. I do presume that it has something to do with the presence of you and your men in this compound and the fact that you are disguised as medics." Joe decided to add another truthful statement to his story. "At Camp Ten, I read Onichi's files and they made reference to someone of importance being in this hospital. Again, I presume that is the reason."

Sakei looked at him thoughtfully. "Captain, do you play chess?"

Joe blinked in surprise. "A little. Truthfully, I haven't played in years." Joe recalled being taught by a thirtyish schoolteacher who'd been on vacation one summer when he was seventeen. She'd also taught him some amazing new sexual adventures that had been much more interesting than chess.

"Are you intimidated by extremely important people, Captain?"

"I don't think so, sir. I respect them, of course, but I am not intimidated to the point where I am unable to function properly."

"Good. Somehow I did not think that a veteran who'd faced death in the jungles of Guadalcanal would be incapable of thought or action in the presence of a high-ranking personage. The individual we are protecting is an extremely important member of the royal family. Let's just say he is not fully behind the current war effort and is being kept out of the public eye for his own good as well as that of Japan."

"I see," Joe said thoughtfully. Who the hell was it? One of the princes? Hirohito had two brothers and a son.

"The gentleman is bored and is constantly after me to play chess with him. While playing, he harangues me with reasons why we should quit the war. If he were a lesser personage, I would beat him with my fists as well as at chess. He is but a mediocre player, and I am confident you would be able to hold your own with him as well as refute his misplaced logic, or at least not be affected by it."

Joe allowed himself a smile. "I share that confidence, sir, but how will it affect my search for the spy?"

"You will have to do both, Captain. I will give you a small traveling chess set that I have. Please refresh yourself and practice. If you would like, I will play you and give you some pointers."

Joe smiled ingratiatingly. "At this time I do not think I would be a worthy opponent for an infant. I will, however, take you up on your challenge in a couple of days."

Sakei laughed. "It is good to be with a soldier. You have no idea how weak Onichi was. He was so squeamish during interrogations of civilian suspects that he had to turn them over to his underlings. He did not know that a few painful and necessarily brutal deaths were but a small price to pay for victory."

Joe took the small case with the chess set, saluted, and left. He hated chess, but if he was going to find out what was going on in Camp 7 and determine whether it was important enough to report, then he would play the damn game. But Sakei's comments about interrogating suspects surprised him. The
kempei
in Japan rarely physically abused Japanese citizens. They might kick or punch someone, but Sakei had strongly implied brutal torture. The
kempei
preferred more subtle methods of intimidation to inspire terror.

So what then was so important that people had to die for it? Who the hell was the haggard Colonel Sakei trying to protect? Who could be so important? Then it dawned on him. Sakei hadn't been referring to one of the princes or even the crown prince when he said it was one of the royal family. The man in the hospital was Hirohito himself!

"Marine, you die!"

Lt. Paul Morrell nudged Sergeant Collins. "Maybe we should tell him we're U.S. Army and not marines."

Collins coughed deeply and spat on the ground. Like most of the men, the chill air had given him a bad cold. "Let'm die happy, sir. If he wants to think we're marines, it's just fine by me. I'm just a little surprised he pronounced his r so well. Don't they have difficulty since it's not in their alphabet?"

Once again, they lay prone on a hill and faced upward at a Japanese strongpoint. This one was a cave that had been pounded by artillery without destroying it or killing the occupants. The machine-gun fire from its narrow opening had stalled the advance, and the ground leading to it was too steep for Sergeant Orlando's tank to negotiate. Attempts to burn them out with a standard infantry flamethrower had also been futile. They were less than a hundred yards away from the cave and the inhabitants had started yelling at them in bad English.

"You die like MacArthur!"

One of the men near Paul asked, "Should we yell back, sir?"

"Don't let me stop you."

Morrell checked the shadows on the ground. In a few minutes it would be night and the advantages would shift, but to whom? Maybe he could get some men close enough in the dark to throw in a satchel charge and blow up the cave entrance. He thought back to the lecture on Okinawa and shuddered at the thought of people, even Jap soldiers who had it coming, being buried alive. He hadn't had to do that yet, but it looked as if the time was coming.

On the other hand, there was the distinct possibility that the Japs in the cave were working up enough nerve for a banzai attack, which would end it all and take them out in a blaze of fanatic glory. If that was the case, he didn't want his men out of the holes they'd dug when it occurred. They'd wait awhile.

The sky darkened and the cloud layer made it even more gloomy and difficult to see. Paul checked by radio with Captain Ruger and was told that mortars with flares were ready for firing. Paul and Ruger wished they weren't so damned close to the cave. As always, the Japs had waited until the platoon was on top of them before revealing their existence. Once again, he had wounded to care for.

"MacArthur dead! You dead too!"

"How the hell do they know these things?" Sergeant Collins wondered. "They get a newspaper in there or something?"

"Beats me," Paul answered. "You have any thoughts as to how many of them are in that cave?"

"I gotta guess at least ten or so, but not too many more. Goddamn cave just doesn't look that big."

That was close enough to what Paul was figuring. Not that many Japs, but they were so damn close to them. If only the flamethrower had killed them, but it hadn't. Maybe the cave was deep enough for the Japs to hide in and save oxygen, which also meant that there might be more Japs inside than they thought. Or maybe the enemy had built baffles or walls within the cave that the fire from the flamethrower could not negotiate its way past. It hadn't taken long for the Japs on Kyushu to figure out that a flamethrower's stream could be deflected by a wall of rocks and that the persons behind the barrier would be reasonably safe as long as their air held out.

"I want a flare," Paul ordered. A few seconds later, the hillside was illuminated with a harsh, artificial light that floated down to the earth, where it gradually faded away. There were no Japs under it.

"Nimitz eat shit!"

"Nimitz's a sailor," Paul found himself saying. "What'd you expect?" That got more laughter from those who heard it, causing Paul to wonder again just how men could find humor in such deadly circumstances. The resiliency of both himself and the men under his command was incredible.

"Banzai!"

They froze. Was there motion by the cave? Paul called for another flare. It revealed nothing.

"Banzai!" The voice was a lament and a scream. A frightening call to arms.

"Sergeant," Paul said, "you know what the hell they're doing?"

Collins was chewing gum nervously. "I think they're working up the nerve to come out. Probably liquored all to shit as well."

"Banzai! Banzai!"

"Flare," Paul ordered, and again the lights came on. Still no Japs.

Then, just as the light faded, Japanese soldiers spilled out of the cave like ants erupting from a disturbed colony. In an instant of shocking clarity, Paul could see that only a couple of the dozen or so Japanese running at them had rifles. Most carried grenades and ran toward them with their mouths wide-open and screaming incoherently. In front of them, one man, obviously their leader, waved a sword and exhorted them on.

"Fire!" Paul screamed. "More flares!"

Rifle and BAR fire rippled down the American line. Japs were hit, tumbled, and jerked about. Within seconds, a half dozen were down and writhing on the ground, but another handful had made it through. More gunfire erupted and additional enemy soldiers thrashed and twitched and rolled downhill. They were dead, but their momentum carried them forward.

A couple of them were still unhit. The officer with the sword was nowhere to be seen, but two men with grenades in each hand were almost on them. Then there was one. He stopped a few yards in front of them and hurled both grenades just as his body was ripped to bloody pieces by a score of bullets.

One grenade exploded harmlessly in front of them, but Paul watched in horror as the second grenade arced through the air toward the soldiers to his left. First, he heard screams of panic, then a loud
PHUMP
! and finally a call for a medic.

While the rest of the platoon continued to shoot the fallen Japanese to make sure they were dead, Paul raced to where the cry for a medic continued with rising intensity. He leaped into a ditch where two previously wounded men looked on in shock at the body of their medic, Corporal Wills. Wills lay facedown with his arms stretched out. Blood and gore saturated the ground on all sides around his abdomen. Sickened by what he knew he would find, Paul turned the man over.

Wills's body from the chest cavity to the hips had been hollowed out as if a giant scoop had spooned out his body organs. Paul could see his heart along with his spinal cord and hip bones. The heart twitched a couple of times and stopped. Wills's face bore a look of surprise.

Paul turned away and vomited while the two wounded men began to whimper. He returned Wills to his facedown position and the whimpering stopped.

When he could finally speak, Paul asked the two wounded men what had happened. One spoke while the other nodded agreement. "Sir, the grenade rolled in and Wills jumped on it. Maybe he thought he could throw it out, but there wasn't time. He jumped on it and it blew him all to shit."

A second medic arrived, and a shaken Paul Morrell left the site to find Captain Ruger. Collins told him Ruger had arrived and was at the Jap cave. Paul climbed the darkened, body-cluttered ground to the cave mouth. He flinched as someone emerged from the cave and into the night. It was Ruger.

"Try not to shoot me, Mr. Morrell."

Paul's left hand had started shaking. "Sorry, sir."

"The cave is empty. A couple of dead bodies, but nothing else." Ruger ignored Paul's nervous reaction to the fight. "The place wasn't booby-trapped and they left nothing useful. Just some ammo cases and a few bottles of what looks like home-brewed whiskey. The filthy swine drank everything before they attacked and didn't leave a damn thing for us. Good job stopping them, Paul. That was a helluva fight."

Paul disagreed. "One of them got through and killed Wills. I had thirty men on line and they couldn't stop a dozen Nips who were at point-blank range."