Ushijima felt a stab of alarm.

"How close is that?"

"That is why I am here, sir. In the east, the enemy has broken through our last defensive position. Reports have come that they are within a thousand meters, and we do not have the means to hold them back. Their tanks are ... unstoppable."

Ushijima felt a hint of a spark in Yahara's voice, said, "And so, you have a plan?"

"I have a.s.sembled those troops who are positioned in proximity to this cave. It is a strong platoon force." Yahara paused, and Ushijima caught the meaning.

"A single platoon?"

"Lieutenant Matsui has volunteered to advance into the village of Mabuni. All reports indicate that the enemy has occupied the village. Sir ..." Yahara lowered his head. "They will be here very soon. We must make some effort to distract them, and possibly to drive them back."

"With one platoon?"

The cave shook suddenly, a deafening blast. Yahara stumbled, dirt falling on him, and Cho was there, at the doorway, shouted, "They have struck the primary entrance. A direct hit!"

Cho moved back out into the narrow corridor, and Ushijima followed. There was only silence, little movement, most of Ushijima's guard already sent to the front lines. One man rushed toward him, emerging from the smoke, choking, a brief stumble. He held a rifle, dirt crusted on his face, made an attempt to stand at attention.

"The cave opening ... there is great fire."

Ushijima put a hand on the man, calming him.

"Return there. Gather up the troops you can find. Fire means a sh.e.l.l, or a bomb. But the enemy troops might follow. Be alert!" He looked at Cho. "Probably from a ship, a lucky blow. But make sure the enemy troops are not coming at us on the cliffs below."

Cho bowed crisply, moved away, the soldier following him. Yahara said, "Sir, please. We must get you to safety. If the enemy succeeds in breaching this cave from the land side, you and General Cho will be most vulnerable. The shaft must be sealed off from that direction. The main entrance that faces the sea ... if you are correct, sir, and certainly you are, there is less danger there. The enemy will not come at us by those cliffs. We can defend that section with a minimal force."

Yahara waited for a response, and Ushijima chewed on the word.

"A minimal force is all that remains, Colonel."

"Then perhaps, sir, we can make our escape by the routes that lead down the cliff. There are still boats, and in the dark we can make our way to sea."

Ushijima looked out toward the primary entrance, could smell the smoke from the blast, but there was no shooting, no other sound at all.

"Gather what troops you can, seal off the smaller openings that face the enemy."

"Is that all, sir?"

Ushijima looked into the eyes of the man he admired, knew that Yahara would find a way, would do whatever it took to secure the safety of his commander.

"I will not seek escape. I should not have to tell you that."

Yahara looked down, and Ushijima could see the emotion.

"What would you have me do, sir?"

There was a sound at the entrance to the room, and Ushijima saw Cho, sweat on his face, his uniform ragged, covered in dust.

"You were correct. The enemy fired a lucky shot, probably from offsh.o.r.e. They are not on the cliffs."

Ushijima looked again at Yahara.

"Colonel Yahara has a gift of genius, wouldn't you agree? Has he not demonstrated a loyalty we should admire?"

Cho stepped into the small room, said, "Yes. Without any doubt. His loyalty to the emperor is beyond question."

"I am not speaking of the emperor. I am speaking more of this command. Colonel, it is essential that someone in authority survive this battle. Tokyo must know what happened here, in the kind of detail only you can provide. General Cho and I will face our duty soon enough. But you ..."

"Sir, I would not disgrace myself by offering myself to the enemy, or by abandoning this command."

"There is no disgrace in following orders. You will make every attempt to escape this place, and make your report to the Imperial High Command."

Cho rubbed his chin, nodded.

"Yes. I agree. This army has fought a gallant fight, and their story must be told. A full report must be made." He looked at Ushijima now, a stern glare. "I would not be so hasty in judging this battle to be lost, sir. With all respect, of course."

"I make no such concession. I only wish Colonel Yahara to make preparations, that if events call for him to make his exit, he be prepared to do so. You will carry out my order, Colonel."

Yahara glanced at Cho, seemed to fight the emotions, kept his head low, then bowed.

"I will obey. But I will not make such a plan while there is still a fight to be made."

Ushijima looked up, reacting to the thumps above, the cave echoing with a new round of incoming artillery.

"Then make your fight, Colonel. For now, there is little else we can do."

JUNE 22, 1945.

It was not yet midnight, but the lack of daylight meant very little inside the dismal cave. Above him the thunder of artillery had been replaced by new sounds, machine gun fire, sounds both familiar and foreign. He knew what was happening, that those officers still remaining who controlled enough men to make a stand were doing so right above him. It was a desperate attempt to drive the Americans off the hill. In the dark corridor, men had been a.s.sembled, a scattering of stragglers from various units close by, brought together by staff officers, the only officers these men could find. He knew that Yahara was there, could hear voices, the frantic words of men who were preparing for their last fight. Yahara was at his doorway now, the only light a candle to one side, and Yahara said, "We are prepared, sir. Major Matsubara has given the instructions, and Lieutenants Tsubakida and Yab.u.moto will coordinate the effort as best they can. We have the advantage of darkness, and the enemy cannot withstand our will!"

Ushijima waved him away, knew the plan was already in motion. There was nothing else to say. The commotion beyond his room increased, the men ordered out toward the main entrance. Ushijima sat silently, stared at the flicker from the candle, thought, at least he did not call this attack a banzai. I would rather them die with dignity, killing the enemy. There is no glory in hurling oneself into the abyss.

He had no illusions that this attack would be successful in removing the Americans from so close to his headquarters. But his troops were still willing, had accepted their role in this horrible drama with as much honor as anyone could hope for. He glanced at his pocket watch, the dial reading just after seven o'clock, completely wrong. Wonderful, he thought. Even my timepiece fails me. He tapped it gently, useless, slipped it back into his pocket. There were no voices in the corridor now, the only sounds coming from above, the m.u.f.fled struggle rolling across the hillside a few meters above him.

JUNE 23, 1945.

He found sleep, the steady roar of the fight offering him a strange comfort. But now there were voices, and he lurched awake, blinked in the darkness, the candle extinguished. A light flickered outside, and he pulled himself up, straightened his uniform, the light close, illuminating his room. The voice came softly, one of his aides.

"Sir, I beg your forgiveness. You asked to be notified when it was three o'clock."

"Yes. Please summon General Cho."

"As you wish, sir. Shall I leave the candle?"

"I prefer you not stumble about. I will be fine in the dark."

The man was gone, the light flowing away. At first Ushijima's room had received a single lightbulb, hanging tenuously from an unconcealed wire. But the power was out now, the cave no more than a warm, damp tomb. The fight still raged above but seemed to slow, the machine guns and thumps of mortar fire exhausted by the long night, a battle of attrition that had spent itself in blood and the death of too many men. He stood, moved in the dark s.p.a.ce by memory, thought of Cho, the room next to him, the man's thunderous snoring apparent even through the thick dirt walls. He heard commotion from that way, knew that Cho had spent much of the evening consuming a generous amount of spirits, and Ushijima had no patience for that now. After a long minute, the candlelight returned, and Cho was there now, said, "Sir. It is time, yes?" Cho's words were slurring, and there was a strange cheerfulness to the man, something Ushijima had seen before. "I have been waiting for you to awaken, sir. You took a good rest."

Ushijima fastened the b.u.t.tons on his coat, said, "You as well, General. Your snoring carries more thunder than the enemy's guns."

Other aides appeared now, and Ushijima knew it was the work of Yahara, that word had been pa.s.sed. Ushijima saw a familiar face in the candlelight, said, "Captain, summon Colonel Yahara."

Cho stumbled into the room, sat heavily on a small bench to one side, and Ushijima could smell the man's drunkenness, saw the bottle still in his hand, something stronger than sake. Cho said, "So. Who will go first? You or me? Shall I die first and lead you to another world?"

"I will take the lead."

Cho laughed, took a slug from the bottle.

"Sir, you will go to paradise, I to h.e.l.l. I cannot accompany you to that other world."

Ushijima ignored the comment, could see more men gathering outside the room, emerging from the offices that spread out down the musty corridor. One man stepped forward, dropped to his knees, soft cries.

"Please, sir, accept my respects. It is my honor to serve you."

Another man came in, one of the staff officers, and the man seemed drunk as well, said aloud, "Sir, I wish to inform the general that our final message has been transmitted to Imperial General Headquarters. I need not read it. The words are imprinted upon my brain, as it has no doubt been received so many times by those in Tokyo. *Your army has successfully completed preparations for the defense of our homeland.' " The man laughed, slicing through the somber mood of the others. "Is that not what we are supposed to say, sir? Is all well here? Victory within our grasp, then?"

Ushijima retrieved his newest uniform coat from his trunk, said quietly, "Thank you for your service, Major. You will retire to your room."

The man stumbled into the others, took some of them with him, the crowd thinning, nothing else for them to say. Yahara was there now, and Ushijima saw his face in the candlelight, the colonel not hiding the tears. Ushijima pinned a large medal upon his own chest, something he had not displayed in over a year, the uniform coming together in a grand show that few in this command had ever seen. He looked toward Yahara, the man seeming to wait for him to speak first.

"Colonel, is there any change?"

"No, sir. I have not been outside myself, but the last report I received indicated that the enemy was ma.s.sing near several entrances to the cave. We have blockaded them as effectively as we could, but with their high explosives, and the guns of their tanks, I do not see how we can hold them away. The flamethrowers will certainly follow, sir."

"They shall not capture us, Colonel, and they shall not have the satisfaction of destroying us." He paused, looked at the few remaining faces, flickers of candlelight, saw many tears, and now the face of Captain Sakaguchi. "Captain, I am pleased you have come. Are you prepared?"

"I am at your service, General."

"Then it is time. General Cho, are you able to walk?"

Cho ignored the insult, removed his coat, tossed it on the floor, was now opposite in appearance from his commander, who stood now for a long silent moment, straight backed, one hand touching the display of medals on his chest, each one a small memory of some ceremony, utterly meaningless now. Cho stood unevenly, and Ushijima moved past him, past the others, out into the corridor. The candlelight followed him, lighting the way, and after a short march the cave's wide opening was visible. Without any order the candle was extinguished, no opportunity offered the enemy to target the entrance from some lookout at sea. Ushijima stood at the opening, felt the warm breeze, could see moonlight on the water, felt a mist rising up from the cliffs below, a spray of salt air. He stepped outside, a ledge to one side, saw that the preparations had been made, exactly as he had requested. A soft mat had been spread on the rocky flat ground, a white ceremonial cloth draped on the rocks just behind. He moved without a word, sat, curled his legs in, faced the sea. Cho followed, settled down clumsily beside him. Cho leaned low, as though peering off the edge of the cliff, one last glimpse of something Ushijima knew nothing about, and he avoided the thought that somewhere below, a woman huddled low in some shacklike corner of this grotesque h.e.l.l. With Cho's back revealed to the moonlight, he realized there was writing on Cho's white shirt, large brushstrokes, the details made clear not just by the moonlight, but the hint of dawn just rising in the east.

With bravery I serve my nation; With loyalty I dedicate my life.

Ushijima said nothing, thought, he is right, of course. There is nothing more valuable we can claim, no greater message to bring our ancestors. He stared out at the water, knew that very soon the daylight would reveal this piece of ground to the American ships, the white cloth a highly visible target. There was little time to waste. Ushijima turned, a half-dozen men standing close to one side of the ledge, and he saw Yahara, the man's head low, more tears.

"Colonel, please compose yourself. You may order the staffs to depart. And you will carry out my order for yourself."

Yahara snapped to attention, made a short, crisp bow. He turned, the word pa.s.sing quickly, quietly, the men emerging from the cave as though awaiting this very moment. They moved in a single line, no hesitation, dropping onto the steep pathways that wound down the cliff. Ushijima turned again toward the sea, could hear new sounds now, from above, the thump of grenades. He felt a pang of urgency, his fingers fumbling, then finding the control, loosening the b.u.t.tons on his coat, and then his shirt. His abdomen was bare, and beside him, the small grunts told him that Cho had done the same. He turned to see Sakaguchi, who held the sword at his chest, the sword that would bring the final blow to both men. Ushijima saw the strength in the man, trained for this ceremony, the man who understood exactly what his duty would be. But first there was a task that only the two men could perform themselves. The aide was there, dutiful, nervous, holding the white cloth that held the ceremonial knives. Ushijima slid one toward him, stared at it for a long second, heard a sharp blast meters behind him, the hillside awakening with more of the fight. Men were shouting on the hill above him, and a Nambu gun erupted a few meters to one side, just beyond the curve of the hill. Ushijima forced that from his mind, did not look at Cho, held the knife out straight in front of him, stared at the point of the blade, aimed just below his heart. He closed his eyes, a brief second, but a soft breeze brought the smell of the salt air up the cliff, erasing the stink of powder, and he opened his eyes, one last glance at the sea. But there was no serenity now, the dawn revealing the spatter of so many ships, the vast display of power from the enemy he could not hope to defeat. He gripped the small sword, let out a breath, and jammed the blade hard into his stomach, twisted, fought the gasp from his lungs, ripped the knife to the side, slicing across. His hands gave way now, dropping down, warm wetness flowing, his mind weakening, the ocean gone, his head falling forward. Close behind him the swordsman raised his blade, swung it down with a mighty shout, finishing the job.

25. ADAMS.

The mopping-up phase was continuing all across the peninsula, men who did their brutal work in proximity to the narrowing front, some on the hills that bordered the ocean. Flamethrowers and grenades continued to be the weapons of choice, and there was little mercy shown to any j.a.panese soldier who still showed a willingness to fight. The casualties continued on both sides, j.a.panese snipers finding targets, carelessness punished, just as before. The officers and medical personnel were still prime targets but performed their work with no hesitation. Often the dead in the caves included civilians, Okinawans who were still afraid of the Americans, and kept up a loyalty to the j.a.panese that no American could explain. Even in surrender the Okinawans could be complicit in the most treacherous acts, and so the American soldiers and Marines who continued to press forward were kept on a razor's edge. From every cave death might emerge in the guise of pitiful innocence, pockets of Okinawans or j.a.panese offering their surrender, only to ignite hidden grenades as their captors moved in close. The civilians were often not civilians at all, thus the Okinawans were considered to be the enemy still, some eliminated before questions could be asked. Some of the dead inspired a furious guilt in the Americans who had killed them before discovering how innocent they truly were. The dead included mothers with their babies, the sick and horribly wounded, the feeble and the old. Some of the Americans vowed compa.s.sion, to be more careful, more selective before unleashing a horrible death on those hidden in the caves. That care would lead to hesitation, or an act of kindness that might explode in their faces, so the conscience would be shoved aside by the anger, the hate, the viciousness.

It was the face of war.

Many of the Americans had seen too much, had slept in the blood of their friends, had wiped brains and guts from their faces, had suffered through the worst of human behavior, enduring an astounding struggle against an enemy who kills because it is his only reason for existence. Many of the Americans responded in kind, any sense of mercy erased by hatred for an enemy that had become less than human. There had been prisoners, j.a.panese soldiers offering their surrender with hands high and no treachery. But those were not nearly as plentiful as the number of desperate civilians. It had been a painful lesson for the Americans all across the Pacific that the j.a.panese troops who surrendered were doing so with the understanding that they were disgracing themselves and their ancestors, and that if they were ever returned home, their shame would make them outcasts. Even those who accepted the kindness shown them by American doctors rarely showed joy. If there were no smiles, there was certainly relief and stoic gratefulness from men who had been hungry or wounded for days, marching out into sunlight, to find, not cannibals and torture, but medicine and water and food. As the caves were exposed and the enemy obliterated, the Americans began to explore, shocked that the shattered remains of the dead were not always the worst that awaited them. In many of the caves, stolen American equipment and food was found, trinkets and souvenirs that showed very clearly that the j.a.panese showed no mercy either. Letters from American wives and mothers lay among the ruins in the caves, along with photographs of children, Bibles and notebooks, diaries, the forbidden journals written by American GIs who had kept them out of sight of their officers, personal thoughts recorded on burned pages that no one would ever read. Some of the caves held American weapons and K ration boxes, canteens and dog tags, what some must have thought the appropriate spoils of war. But the Americans responded in kind, gathering their own souvenirs, some with a horrifying disregard for the humanity of their enemy. On both sides gold teeth were pulled from the jawbones of the dead and dying, jewelry ripped from fingers and necks. Some of the wounded were killed by torture and physical abuse that caused comrades to turn away in disgust. The fight for Okinawa had brought out the worst in everyone involved, but in that it was not unique. The veterans had gone through this before, some of them itching to begin again. To some the end of the fight was anticlimactic, the stirring in their gut needing to be fed by a new fight, another invasion, more blood, more death to the enemy they knew only as the j.a.ps. There was very little doubt among any of those men that the j.a.panese who awaited them on the next island, the next landing zone, felt exactly the same way about them.

ARA SAKI HILL, SOUTHERN TIP OF OKINAWA.

JUNE 21, 1945.

The American command had received no response to General Buckner's letter, no hint at all that any j.a.panese officer was ready to offer a surrender of his troops. So the fights went on, mostly in isolated holes, ravines, and hillsides where j.a.panese troops had lost all contact with their senior command. The Americans had pushed all the way through the Kiyan Peninsula, entire units of Marines and soldiers reaching the southern coastline, finding they had no more enemy to pursue. In response the American command had declared that effective June 21, Okinawa was secure. But that designation meant very little to the j.a.panese, or to the Americans who engaged them, the sounds of various fights echoing still across the hills, pockets of resistance, cl.u.s.ters of j.a.panese who clung to their duty, who still offered a deadly strike against the unwary.

The men climbed the hill in a slow procession, some noticing with comfort the others out along the perimeter, formations of men in every direction, guarding the procession with rifles at the ready. The tanks stayed below, no sounds, the engines shut down, jeeps and trucks nearby, some men huddled there, groups who kept their talk low. To one side there was a chattering of machine gun fire, far distant, beyond another ridgeline no one could see. There was smoke as well, small arms fire, the faint thumps of grenades and mortars, a battle that seemed to contradict the strange peacefulness of this procession. But the order had come from above, General Geiger reinforcing his edict that the victory had been won, and so the ceremony would take place exactly as the commanders decreed it.

Adams moved behind Mortensen, walked in slow steps, saw a hand go up, holding the men back. Mortensen stopped, Adams beside him, the taller man seeming taller still. The ground to one side fell away, a sharp cliff that dropped to the ocean, the ships offsh.o.r.e seeming to stand in silence, observing the moment as did the Marines from the Twenty-second Regiment who moved up high on the hill. At the peak of the rugged coral ridge was a mound, and Adams felt the thick silence close by, the distant sh.e.l.lfire seeming to fade away for a long moment. He looked out across the far hills, smoky ridges spreading inland, away from the sea, tried not to think of what was to come out there, how many more fights there might be, the desperate and dangerous enemy. But his thoughts returned to the moment close by, his eye caught by a procession of four men moving up, climbing to the center of the mound, the highest point. Three were Marines, men he didn't know, the fourth a navy corpsman. They carried what seemed to be a skinny tree, long and crooked, stripped of branches, chopped at one end by a rough blade. The men moved slowly, appreciating the silence and the solemnity of the audience who watched them, appreciating that out beyond this one piece of high ground, men might still be dying by the hand of the enemy.

He had seen the photograph, they all had, the symbolic raising of the American flag on Iwo Jima, a photograph that so many letters from home spoke of, a photo that had graced the front page of every American newspaper. No one on Okinawa thought ill of that, no one cursed the good show that the photo offered, the American people allowed to absorb and enjoy that single moment of triumph from a fight that was far more brutal than the newspapers would say. But it was not the only triumph, and Iwo Jima was not the most deadly fight.

Adams felt the wind picking up, watched as the rough tree was jabbed hard into soft ground, the men steadying it with careful hands, hovering close, and now another man moved up, raised a bugle. The notes cut through them all with mournful familiarity, and Adams stared through tears as the men unfolded the cloth, attaching it to the tree, releasing it now, the flag fastened securely to the top of the makeshift flagpole. The bugler completed his task, and Adams heard soft cries, sobs close by, Mortensen, and Adams fought it no longer, held his hand up in a brief salute, the tears flowing hard.

On the mound, another man stepped up, older, an officer, and the man spoke out through strained emotions.

This has been a hard fight. In raising this flag we pay tribute to the memory of those brave men who have fallen in action. We shall ever be mindful of their glorious deeds as we continue along the road to Tokyo, and victory.

Beside Adams, Mortensen grunted, seemed to compose himself, and Adams felt his gaze, turned that way, saw the sergeant looking at him, a hint of respect. The sergeant's eyes were past him quickly, out toward the others who stood along the windy cliff. After a long moment Mortensen said, "Tokyo. Well, we better get ready, boys. There's gonna be one more fight."

Adams saw the others beginning to move, Mortensen turning away, the ceremony concluded. He followed his sergeant, fought the memories, the faces he could never forget, stepped over rugged coral, stayed in the footsteps of the others, moving down off the hill, Mortensen's words still inside him.

One more fight.

PART THREE.