The Final Storm (11 page)

The captain turned, slipped out through the hatchway. Porter stood with his hands on his hips, eyed the men slowly.

“Right now, we’re headed for Okinawa. We cross the beach on one April. We’ll go in alongside the First Marines, and south of us, two army divisions are going in with us. Two more will be in support, and one more Marine division will be in reserve. You don’t need to know any more details than that.”

The inevitable laughter came, one man raising his hand.

“Sir, has the army finally learned that it takes a whole lot more of them
ground pounders
to do the job …”

“Can that, Marine! This is no damn beach drill. There could be a hundred thousand Japs on that island, and we don’t know exactly where they are. For the past few days, the navy’s been shelling hell out of every inch of that place, and the air boys are dropping every bomb they can haul there. The word that’s come down to us is that you might wade ashore into one big damn mess of Jap bodies. Don’t count on that. I’m betting it’ll be hot as hell. Japs have already shown us they can dig holes, and recon tells us that there are holes all over that place. Lots of concrete too. The captain mentioned the Okinawan civilians. There’s hundreds of thousands of them, innocents, likely to be caught in the crossfire, or, if they’re stupid, helping the Japs fight us off. They’re not savages. A lot of farmers, and there are regular cities too. Nobody in this platoon has ever fought an enemy door to door. The navy says they’ll level every building for us, but I’ve heard that before. You don’t need to know this, but I’ll tell you anyway. We’re hitting Okinawa for one very good reason that the captain didn’t mention. That damn island is three hundred fifty miles from the Jap mainland. We secure that place, and we’ve got us one hell of a good staging area for an invasion of Japan. But that comes later, and you’re not supposed to think about that. Me either. Our primary mission is to get across the damn
beach as quick as possible, establish a hard perimeter, and hold off any Jap counterattacks. By the second day, we’ll make a hard push inland, extend the beachhead into the farm country. By the third day, we are expected to occupy and secure the Yontan Airfield. You won’t need any maps. It’ll be right in front of us.”

He stopped, seemed to wait for the mission to sink in. No one spoke for a long moment, and then Ferucci said, “Sir. What’s the army doing there? They backing us up?”

There were low comments, and Porter did not smile.

“Quiet. Once we establish control of the airfield, we will drive north, securing the northern half of the island. The army divisions will come across the beaches to our south, and once they establish their own beach-heads, they will drive south and do the same thing. The objective is to divide Okinawa into two theaters of action, driving the enemy in both directions until their backs are to the wall, so to speak. We do not expect the enemy to surrender. So far, he never has. Command anticipates a great deal of banzai attacks, and a whole hell of a lot of hari-kari when we pen those bastards up in a tight space. You want points with me, you bring me back a hari-kari knife. I want a whole damn collection of those things.” He paused, now a smile. “I got a bet going with an army lieutenant. Old pal of mine from Baltimore. I told him my boys would scoop up a whole pile of those fancy-assed knives, and he’s told his boys to do the same. Whoever gets the most gets a night on the town when we get back home. I might just bring some of you along with me. Don’t let me down, boys. Can’t let any damn
ground pounders
show us up!”

The response was loud, raucous, Adams joining in, punching a fist in the air. Porter had his hands on his hips again, nodded in approval, then silenced them with a wave of one hand.

“One April. Four days from now. You get a chance to go topside, do it. Take a good look at what’s around us. We’ll be part of the biggest damn fleet ever put together. Bigger than what they did at Normandy. One April is ‘L-Day.’ In case you’re wondering,
L
stands for
love
. Somebody back at Guam came up with that, thinking it would confuse the Japs.” He paused. “None of those admirals asked
me
what I thought of that idea.”

The noisy cheers came again, and Porter held up his hand.

“One April, well before dawn, we’ll board landing crafts and head straight into the beach. The coral reefs are not nearly as big a pain in the ass as we’ve had to cross before. It’ll be a sight. If any Japs survive what the
navy’s doing to ’em right now, there’ll be so many of you ugly bastards hitting that beach, you just might scare ’em away.” He paused again, seemed to realize the stupidity of his comment. “But I doubt it. Use your rifles, use your K-bar, use your damn fists if you have to. Those of you … well, some of you know what the Jap is all about. Kill those bastards, every damn one of them. ’Cause they sure as hell will be trying to kill you. All right, I’m done. Go back to whatever the hell you were doing. You sergeants … keep these boys under control. No fights, and keep the damn gambling under wraps. Anybody in this platoon ends up in the brig … well, I’ll make sure
you’re
the first ones across the beach. You got that?”

Porter didn’t wait for a response, turned, leaned low through the hatchway, and was gone. Adams felt the thick silence, the fog of clarity that spread through them all, the men absorbing the briefing. One man said in a low voice, “Four days.”

Ferucci responded, “April Fool’s Day. The joke’ll be on those Japs. If there’s any left. Leave it to the navy to blow hell out of those bastards 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 Japan, 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 Jap sons of bitches. The words rolled through him, pushed by the energy of the others. Through the hum of anticipation, there was something else, unspoken, no one offering those mindless cheers. Too many of these men were veterans, and those men knew that every assault 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 damn 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 damn Japs. 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 bastards 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 eyeglasses, was sitting upright, staring silently at a photo in his hand.

B
ENEATH
S
HURI
C
ASTLE
, O
KINAWA
M
ARCH
30, 1945

T
he 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 shell coming down straight into a cave. The results were catastrophic for the men inside, entire squads blasted to bloody 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 space for hundreds of his troops. No one had yet seen a bomb or a shell 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 shelling 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 shells that rolled through the air like railroad cars. The impact of those shells had thundered beneath his feet, as though the whole island quivered from the mighty blasts. Many of those heavier shells 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 shell in their arsenal and they will not harm us, no matter what they do to our symbols.

He focused on the smaller ships, closer to shore, 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 assigned 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, Japanese 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.