Ferucci responded, "April Fool's Day. The joke'll be on those j.a.ps. If there's any left. Leave it to the navy to blow h.e.l.l out of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and spoil all our fun."

The talk began again, nervous chatter, the voices louder, an urgency no one could avoid. Adams thought back to San Diego, studying the maps that hung on the office walls, killing time by searching for the islands whose names had become so well known. He had seen Okinawa, wished now he had studied the place in more detail. He couldn't avoid a strange excitement, knots in his gut. That's close to j.a.pan, he thought, closer than anyplace we've been yet. I guess that's good. He felt a shiver, but it was not the sweat in his shirt. Beaches, he thought. Finally. Killing those j.a.p sons of b.i.t.c.hes. The words rolled through him, pushed by the energy of the others. Through the hum of antic.i.p.ation, there was something else, unspoken, no one offering those mindless cheers. Too many of these men were veterans, and those men knew that every a.s.sault brought casualties. There were glances, the curious, the angry, morbid examination of the men around them. Who would not come back? Who would do the job ... who would fail? Adams saw men looking at him, brief, cold stares. He knew the meaning, looked down, his hands pulled tight, arms crossed, holding down the thunder in his own heart. They're wondering about me, he thought. Just like the d.a.m.n replacements. When we get out there ... cross that beach ... what'll I do? He could not answer his own question, felt the shiver again. He glanced toward Ferucci, the sergeant leaning back in his bunk, staring away into some other place. Follow him. He knows ... he's done it before. Just kill the d.a.m.n j.a.ps. That's all you have to think about. Adams avoided the others, the low talk, the probing eyes. Men close to him were looking down; he knew that some of them had done this before. They're as scared as I am, he thought. Scared of what? Being a Marine? He chased that away from his mind. Dammit, Marines aren't scared. We're the toughest b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the world. He shivered again, his arms tightening into a harder grip across his chest. He looked at his boots, his boondockers, clean, the soles barely worn. New. Not for long. He took a breath, loosened the grip against his chest, looked up toward Welty's bunk. The redhead had put on his wire-rimmed eyegla.s.ses, was sitting upright, staring silently at a photo in his hand.

4. USHIJIMA.

BENEATH SHURI CASTLE, OKINAWA.

MARCH 30, 1945.

The barrage from the warships had slowed, then finally stopped completely, thick clouds of smoke drifting up from the coastline, all through the hills. The artillery fire had lasted for more than an hour, and he knew it would come again, like the perfect chime of a precise clock. There would only be a short time for his men to emerge from the cover of the caves. His officers knew it as well, and the orders had been given, the soldiers scrambling out over the hillside, some retrieving wounded, others doing what they could to secure and strengthen the camouflage that blanketed most of the troop positions closest to him. For more than a week now the barrages of fire from the great warships had been a magnificent spectacle, aimed at every part of the island, streaks of red and white light, bursts of fire, thunderous shaking that sent dust even through the deepest caves. But the caves were secure, no cracks in the concrete, no sign of weakness in the rocks that surrounded him. He knew that several times the Americans had been lucky, direct hits, a single sh.e.l.l coming down straight into a cave. The results were catastrophic for the men inside, entire squads blasted to b.l.o.o.d.y shreds, sometimes nothing left at all. But those were rare, and all over the island his men kept their positions, low in the earth, far back in the natural and man-made caverns that ran beneath so much of the island like some great honeycomb.

He had no fear for himself, knew that no matter how much artillery came down around him, or burst into the enormous walls of the castle above him, there was almost no danger. The cave behind him wound deeply into the hillside, a labyrinth of offices and living s.p.a.ce for hundreds of his troops. No one had yet seen a bomb or a sh.e.l.l from the great warships that could penetrate a mountain. And yet, he thought, they continue to try. Can they truly believe that we would spread ourselves out on open ground, that I would position my army in shallow trenches, perfect targets for their fire? They must believe it, or they would not continue this ... absurdity. Day after day the fire begins precisely on schedule, as though we will have forgotten the sh.e.l.ling that came the day before. The Americans are an amazing people, possessed of wealth and resources and utterly without wisdom. He stepped forward to the very edge of the cave's opening, watched the quick work of the men down below, most of them already scampering back into hiding, the hillside growing quiet again, no movement but the drifting smoke. He raised his eyes to the sea again, still marveled at the amazing variety of ships, and their number. No country on this earth has a navy this large, he thought. The British perhaps. But the Americans have outshone even them, and now they send those ships to me, anchor them around my island as though I should cower in fear, as though I should be intimidated by how superior they are, and how hopeless our fight will be. No, I will never be intimidated. Arrogance does not defeat an enemy, and certainly, by this grand show, they display their arrogance. He scanned the ships, spread out far to the horizon, the smaller patrol boats, torpedo launchers, supply and troop carriers, and farther away, the warships, destroyers and cruisers and the enormous battleships. It was those that intrigued him most of all, hulking giants whose fire engulfed each ship in enormous clouds of smoke, their heaviest guns launching artillery sh.e.l.ls that rolled through the air like railroad cars. The impact of those sh.e.l.ls had thundered beneath his feet, as though the whole island quivered from the mighty blasts. Many of those heavier sh.e.l.ls came closest, and he knew why, thought, they are trying to find me, my staff, my headquarters. They know we are up away from the beaches, and they must believe that this great castle above me is a symbol that we will grasp in our hands until they force us to let it go. Perhaps we will. But they can fire every sh.e.l.l in their a.r.s.enal and they will not harm us, no matter what they do to our symbols.

He focused on the smaller ships, closer to sh.o.r.e, could see motion, newly arrived transports, moving in behind and beside the destroyers that would protect them. He had asked the question already. How many are there, how many ships can they bring to this one place? He had tried to count them himself, but his field of vision was limited to the southern coasts. Someone on my staff will have done that by now, and I will see the number on paper, but then, tomorrow there will be more, as there have been every day for a week. He shook his head, a wave of despair. There are some in Tokyo who still believe the Americans will strike us at Formosa, that all of this is merely a feint. Those people hold so tightly to their own arrogance, and perhaps they have more arrogance than our enemies. They read my reports and dismiss my staff for exaggerating, insist that we are in a panic because of a few ships. Who among them will come here and see this? Who will stand on this ledge and watch what I have watched? How many of them still believe that all we must do is stand up and wave our swords and cry out the name of our ancestors and the Americans will melt away into the sea?

They were foolish questions, answered months before, when he had been a.s.signed to command the enormous garrison on Okinawa. In the beginning he had more than a hundred thousand troops on the island, good troops, veterans, skilled commanders. But the Imperial High Command was not confident that the enemy would come to Okinawa, j.a.panese intelligence reporting often that there was debate in the American headquarters, that Formosa could be the target instead. And so the order came, the order he fought bitterly against, to remove the Ninth Division, twenty-five thousand of his finest soldiers, and transfer them to Formosa. And now, he thought, when it is so clear what the Americans have planned, will I receive those good men back here? Of course not. It is too late. It would be suicide to send those transports through the American fleet. He rolled those words over in his mind. Yes, that is after all what I am being asked to do, what every soldier in my command is being asked to do. We will be sacrificed in the desperate hope that we will draw the Americans down with us, that by giving up our lives for our emperor, we might also kill so many Americans that they will give up this war.

That ... is arrogance.

The first puff of smoke came again, a small gunship close to the beach to the north, and he knew it was a signal, that in seconds the entire fleet would begin their sh.e.l.ling again. He knew the staff would be concerned, the secretaries fearful, knew that his aides were lurking anxiously in the earthen corridor behind him. But the larger ships were not yet firing, and he had learned the routine. The smaller ships would pepper the beaches first, intense clouds of smoke rising up far below. Yes, he thought, they are certain we are there. It is an a.s.sumption I would make, in their place. Strike hard at the first line of defense, obliterate any troops along the water, those men I should have put close to the landing places, where their troops are the most vulnerable. He made a weak smile, allowed himself one small piece of satisfaction. There is no one there, you foolish people. All your admirals and generals and the brilliant minds that design your a.s.saults ... you think you know the j.a.panese ways. You think we are predictable. But I will surprise you, as you have been surprised so often before. You do not learn. You have been bloodied on so many islands where you thought you would waltz ash.o.r.e to festivals of half-naked native girls. So, now you will correct that mistake by erasing us with your artillery, as though we would sit in our holes along the beach and wait to be destroyed. Good. Waste your ammunition. Convince yourselves that we have been annihilated. And then, when you do not find our bodies among the sand and rocks, you can wonder if we have run away. Perhaps we have been so frightened by you that every night, thousands of us have slipped off this island and fled back to j.a.pan.

He knew his tactic was controversial, that his instructions from the Imperial Command in Tokyo had forbidden any unopposed landing by the enemy. He had been furious with the inflexibility in Tokyo, was furious about that now. You tell me how to fight this enemy and then you cut off my hand, strip me of a quarter of my strength. You tell me that this island must not fall and then you offer me no way to prevent that, no way at all. So I will fight the Americans with the weapons I have, not the weapons that you dream of. Every man in my command will give up his life by taking ten of theirs. That is the fantasy I must believe. That is the fantasy my army already believes. And the decision makers in Tokyo will never dirty their minds with the truth. They will continue to play with maps and pretend that we are invincible.

"Forgive my intrusion, sir!" The voice was loud, as it was always loud, the fat-faced man pretending to grovel toward Ushijima's authority. "I see the enemy still chooses to spend his wealth by killing snakes and snails! Your plan is brilliant in its execution, sir. It will ensure total victory!"

Ushijima said nothing, respected the honesty of his subordinates. But he understood quite well that General Cho's words held no honesty at all.

Isamu Cho held the same rank of lieutenant general, but the command on Okinawa belonged solely to Ushijima. Cho had accepted the position of chief of staff, had served Ushijima with perfectly annoying deference. Ushijima knew more about Cho than he would ever discuss with the man, that Cho had been a fiery militant whose activities throughout the 1930s had nearly branded him a traitor. He was a rabble-rouser from the army's most disgruntled ranks, the men who thought the emperor too pa.s.sive, renegade officers who insisted that the j.a.panese army should destroy every enemy with a swift and b.l.o.o.d.y hand, whether or not that strategy had any basis in reality. Implicated in various plots to overthrow the army's more moderate command, Cho had survived politically only by accepting a post in China during the earliest days of the brutal invasion of Manchuria. Later Cho had been a primary force behind the destruction of the Chinese city of Nanking, which included the slaughter of its citizens, an act of barbarism that had shocked even the most aggressive militants in Tokyo. But there was little soul-searching in the j.a.panese army, their mission accepted by the careful and utterly efficient indoctrination that spread to the entire j.a.panese people. Every schoolchild had been taught of the shido minzoku, the outright cultural and genetic superiority of the j.a.panese race. That the j.a.panese should claim territories far beyond their island borders was accepted as perfect justice. The civilians had been educated to believe that it was only by a cruel trick of fate that the j.a.panese islands had been denied the wealth of natural resources, and so oil and rubber and iron would be taken from those inferior lands who had been so unjustly blessed. If the people of those far-distant lands were not grateful to a.s.sist in strengthening the j.a.panese culture, then the j.a.panese army would subjugate them and use them for labor. Already armies of slave labor had been used to build the bridges and roadways and airfields necessary for j.a.panese transportation. It mattered little to the Imperial Command if some of those laborers were in fact enemy prisoners of war. The Geneva Convention was an inconvenient irritant when the priority was to put food into j.a.panese mouths and fuel into their homes. What the civilians had not been told was that if any of those hordes of slave laborers became unfit, by disease or the abuse of their captors, few of the j.a.panese commanders in the field had any qualms about eliminating them altogether. The viciousness among the j.a.panese soldiers who dealt with the captives had concerned some in the Imperial Command, but no one there had issued any kind of order that it be stopped. The army's militants were far too powerful and far too dangerous to the moderates in Tokyo. And many of those who fought a private war of conscience had come to accept that j.a.pan's desperate need for raw materials meant that sacrifices had to be made, and that no one outside j.a.pan was qualified to judge j.a.panese morality.

As j.a.panese forces extended their empire to the limits of what their military could support, there had been the rare circ.u.mstances where Emperor Hirohito had blunted the behavior of his armies, holding back the sword, which the army saw as an annoying compromise. When the eyes of Tokyo looked elsewhere, those officers would often continue with the same viciousness against their conquered peoples that the more moderate officials in Tokyo found appalling.

The navy was entirely different, but in the j.a.panese hierarchy that mattered little to the army commanders. The two branches of the j.a.panese military were completely separate, no overlap of authority. And so there was very little cooperation in the various campaigns that had spread j.a.panese troops, ships, and planes across such a wide swath of the hemisphere. As difficult as it was logistically to maintain j.a.panese successes across Burma and Indochina, New Guinea and the Philippines, as well as China and the ocean of islands to the east, the lack of cooperation between the two services also produced a crippling handicap for their overall strategy. The army and navy commanders spent too much of their time and energy competing for the resources each needed to make war. To the disgust of the senior admirals, the army more often prevailed, and everyone close to the emperor understood why. Emperor Hirohito had a much greater grasp of ground tactics than anything that happened at sea. If the army had needs, they would be met.

Cho stood to one side, allowed him to pa.s.s, Ushijima adjusting his eyes to the lower light from the bulbs along the walls of the corridor. Behind him the larger guns from the battleships had begun their sh.e.l.ling again, the rumble coming up through the floor as the sh.e.l.ls impacted.

"The Americans will run out of powder before this is over, don't you think?"

Ushijima did not look back, let Cho's idiotic glee drift past him. He saw the light of an office ahead, turned through the doorway, saw four women, neatly dressed, perched behind a row of desks, working in unison at typewriters. Standing behind them, like a mindful schoolmaster, was Colonel Yahara, who, after General Cho, was Ushijima's most senior staff officer. Yahara seemed to avoid looking at Cho, made a short bow toward Ushijima, said, "Sir! We have nearly completed the reports of enemy activity from last evening. I have alerted the radio room to be prepared to transmit. Is there anything you wish to add?"

Ushijima had enormous affection for Yahara, the man totally opposite in personality from the abrasive and conniving Cho.

"Nothing to add. The Americans will certainly continue their sh.e.l.ling until it is too dark to see. They take pride in their work, and certainly their admirals wish to see the damage they are inflicting on us. Today should be no different than yesterday."

"We shall drive their pride into their bellies at the point of the bayonet!"

Ushijima avoided the bombast coming from Cho, but the man did not wait for a reply, was quickly gone. Yahara seemed not to notice, moved close to the back of a chair, leaned over the shoulder of one of the secretaries, a pretty woman who did not acknowledge him.

"Yes, you may complete that for my signature."

"As you wish, sir."

Ushijima studied the woman's face, saw no fear, thought, good. She is not one of the playthings. And Yahara is not so crude. We will all leave that to General Cho.

"When you have completed this task, Colonel, come to my room. I should like you to give me your latest reports on the progress of the construction of the caves."

"I shall be there in two minutes, General, if that is acceptable."

Ushijima tried to maintain the formality, but Yahara was far too likable, a cheerfulness in the man that showed clearly how much he loved his work.

"You may have three. I do not wish you to break an ankle running through these dark hallways."

"Do you miss your days in the cla.s.sroom, Colonel?"

Yahara was still standing in the doorway, seemed surprised by the question.

"I am pleased to be here, General."

"Sit down, Colonel. This is not an inquiry. You may relax. If General Cho insists on joining us, then we will b.u.t.ton our coats and stand at attention. Please. Sit down."

Ushijima was seated on a small rug, his legs bent inward, a small cup of tea beside him. Yahara made a short bow, sat across from him, and Ushijima pointed to the teapot, said, "Pour yourself a cup. I'm not in the mood for alcohol just now. Is that acceptable?"

"Of course, General. Thank you. Tea is always acceptable."

"Relax, please. Perhaps I should have brought you some sake. It is not necessary that you be so nervous around me. General Cho has secured a case of rather outstanding Scotch. I can summon him, if that would be more to your liking."

Yahara seemed to know that Ushijima was toying with him, shook his head.

"I would not ever consider depriving General Cho of his fine whiskey. I have learned that when he is in a festive mood, it is best to stay in my quarters."

"I would never admit this to anyone else, Colonel, but Cho makes me somewhat uncomfortable as well. I suppose he does that to everyone. I think he rather enjoys that. I would suppose that when he was a boy, he was the schoolyard bully."

"I would agree with you, General. But, no, I have come to respect General Cho, and to obey him when it is appropriate."

Ushijima laughed.

"When is it not appropriate?" He saw hesitation, laughed again. "Yes, I understand. If I tell you one thing and he tells you another, you know very well whom to obey. I cannot fault General Cho for his enthusiasm. He is the picture of the samurai, is he not? He will attack anyone at any time with complete disregard for himself. Is that not what we are all supposed to do?"

Yahara seemed puzzled.

"Yes, certainly, sir."

"So, what's wrong? Is the progress on the caves in the south going well?"

"Oh ... yes, quite well, sir. I have tried to employ the Koreans and the Okinawans whenever possible, rather than overwork our own troops. But our people are much better at the labor. I am sorry to say that within the last few days, our schedule has been altered by the arrival of the Americans. I do not believe we will have time to complete my design before their ground a.s.sault begins."

"No, we will not. They will come any day now. But not today. As long as their cannons fire, their troops shall stay put. Perhaps tomorrow. They do prefer dawn."

Yahara looked down, ignored the teacup.

"I must admit, sir, that I do not believe we can defeat them."

It was a rare show of honesty, but Ushijima knew that he had Yahara's trust, and had tried to use the man as a confidant as much as any commanding officer could.

"Why? General Cho believes we will drown them in their own blood. General Cho is very good at quoting history. The j.a.panese people have not suffered a military defeat in twenty-three hundred years. Did you know that? Well, certainly you do. You had to teach that to your own students at the military academy. I certainly did. They wrote down every word I said with delightful enthusiasm. Some of those boys are right out here, in this mountain. I have no doubt that every man in this army has faith in our future, in our inevitable victory. Isn't that how General Cho puts it?"

"I am sorry I spoke, sir."

"Never mind. I am not mocking you, Colonel. I speak only what we are to believe. Tokyo has never accepted that we can be defeated, and General Cho supports that philosophy. He certainly believes that the louder he shouts about it, the more genuine it becomes. Perhaps if we scream out our dreams, they become real." He paused, sipped the tea. "You don't agree."

"Sir, the reports from Tokyo continue to insist that the Imperial Navy is on its way here, to relieve us, to destroy the American fleet. If shouting that will make it true, then I will shout it until my voice is gone. I have seen nothing of our fleet, or of the great flights of bombers that were promised us. Every morning I go to the mouths of the caves and I wait for the enemy to begin his a.s.sault. The enemy has their own plan, and once they begin their landings it will be too late."

"Not according to Tokyo. It matters little what the Americans are doing on our soil. Once their fleet has been blasted to smoking wreckage, the Americans will have to admit defeat. Yes, I've heard everything you've heard. I recall hearing much the same after our attack on Pearl Harbor. Didn't you? I recall hearing the reports of our great victories in the skies over Midway, our navy's great triumph at Leyte Gulf, and only last week I received word that General MacArthur has had his army butchered in the streets of Manila. I have asked myself the question: How is it that we have struck such triumphant blows at the Americans and yet they manage to anchor a thousand warships off my beaches?"

Yahara blinked at him, and Ushijima knew the man would not say the words.

"Is it possible, Colonel, that we are not being told that this war has been lost?"

Yahara lowered his head, said in a low voice, "I have refused to believe that, sir. I ... cannot believe it. But I felt a great despair when we had to abandon the islands, when the Americans took our bases in the Marianas. I have thought that once they broke through our inner ring, we could not drive them away. Is that what you believe as well?"

"No. We lost this war when we attacked Pearl Harbor. If we had kept our focus on Southeast Asia, if we had invaded Australia, if we had penned the English up in India, this war would be over. Nothing could have prevented us from establishing our new boundaries over lands that would become our new empire. But it was decided by those far more wise than I am, that instead of consolidating our strength in those places we could control, we should creep up upon the world's greatest monster, and chop off his tail. And now, right out there, we are facing the monster's wrath. Were you not told that the attack at Pearl Harbor destroyed America's ability to fight at sea?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then who might those ships belong to out there? Did the great monster cower away, only to produce a twin whose tail is quite intact?"

Yahara continued to look down, and Ushijima knew what the man was feeling.

"Colonel, you took the same path in your younger years that I did. You chose to teach young soldiers the art of war. Teaching is a n.o.ble profession. Educated soldiers make for educated officers, and educated officers make for a superior army. We have that army. You should be proud."

"I am, sir. I did enjoy teaching."

"Ah, but look at all the time you wasted. Men like Cho, they spent their time serving themselves. They chose to advance their careers instead of shaping the careers of others. There is no blame for that. Cho is ambitious, and an excellent commander. He believes we will win this war and he will do everything he can to make it so. Of course, we do not agree on how that should be accomplished. Your plan for the defense of this island is our best chance to delay the enemy's invasion of j.a.pan. That is their goal, of course. Everything they have done shows us that they will not stop until American troops stand on j.a.panese soil. I know very well that General Cho considers your strategy here to be ... unacceptable."

"He is far more vigorous in his criticism, sir. He believes that my plans here are traitorous. He believes that we should meet the enemy at the water's edge and prevent them from landing a single soldier on these beaches."

"Yes, yes, I know all that. I have heard his arguments. He would sacrifice our good men in the sand. He is not skilled in mathematics, is he? You know as well as I do how many Marines the enemy is capable of sending to our beaches. You have seen their warships. Your strategy is our only chance to prolong this fight so that some good may come of it. But that good will be of little consequence. Now, of course, General Cho insults me with his deference to my decisions, because unless he chooses to a.s.sa.s.sinate me, he has no choice but to obey."

"Sir ... do you believe ..."

"No. General Cho has chosen to fight the best fight he can, and he has inspired this army to do the same. He will die in his efforts." He paused, saw a slow nod from Yahara. "So, you are prepared as well?"

Yahara looked at him, a sadness in the man's eyes.

"Certainly, sir. I know my duty."

"Ah, yes. The words of the samurai. We do not ask about the wisdom of our mission. We seek only the opportunity to die with glory."

"Of course, sir."

There was no enthusiasm in Yahara's words. Ushijima emptied the teacup, reached for the pot, poured again, said, "General Cho believes that there is shame in putting up an effective defense. He would have us charge to our deaths in one great blaze of fire. I will no longer entertain his musings on that subject. Your men have positioned themselves as I have instructed, and we shall do what we can to make this a good fight. I do not concern myself with what will follow. The end is inevitable, and the only variable is time. I no longer concern myself with anything Tokyo will say, and I do not care how history will judge what we do here. There is no confusion or doubt what all those American ships mean to us. They have come here to kill us. In that, Colonel, the Americans will do us a favor."

5. NIMITZ.

HEADQUARTERS, CINCPAC, GUAM.

MARCH 31, 1945.

He tried to lose himself in the music, closed his eyes, conducting the orchestra with his fork, but the distraction didn't help. The specter of what he had seen on Iwo Jima had stayed with him, no escaping that what the Marines had done there had come at a dreadful cost. It had become a recurring theme in nearly every battle for the islands. The enemy fought as though they had no other alternative, and the Marines had come to understand that when the enemy had no intention of surrendering, you had to kill every man you saw.

Nimitz had very little appet.i.te, forced himself to finish the meal. The orderly waited to one side, prepared to take away his plate, and Nimitz sat back, waved his hand, spoke over the music.

"Go ahead, son. I've had enough. Tell the cook he did another fine job. It's just my gut. And send Lieutenant Lamar in here."

The man moved quickly, the table cleared.

"Right away, sir."