1945

"You gonna approve it, General?" Redwald asked hopefully.

"I don't know." Monck wasn't going to recommend something he didn't believe in. "Wills's going to get something, but I don't know just what. You know as well as I do that it might get knocked down to a Distinguished Service Cross or a Silver Star before the whole process is over. Both of them are high honors, but neither one is the Medal. Parker, what do you think?"

Parker ignored the talk and looked instead at the surrounding desolation. The area they were driving through had been heavily fought over, and a multitude of shell craters made the terrain look like a moonscape. At least the dead had been picked up. American graves registration had interred U.S. dead in temporary cemeteries, while Japanese dead had been buried in mass graves or plowed over where they'd fallen.

As on most of occupied Kyushu, no Japanese civilians were around, which was prudent on their part. Even civilians stood a good chance of being shot on sight. There had been enough suicide attacks on the part of old men, women, and even children to justify the quick response by the GIs. The few Japanese who did remain on southern Kyushu were housed in camps.

"Personally," Parker finally answered, "I'm glad I don't have to make that decision."

Monck grinned. "Thanks for your help."

"What's really important," Parker continued, "is why the shiny major in the front seat hasn't been shot at by the Japs. I mean, he is so clean he glistens."

Redwald laughed. The teasing was old hat. "Just trying to set an example for my men."

The jeep lurched through a large shell hole in the dirt road, then made a wide turn to avoid another one. They were less than a mile behind the slowly advancing front lines and traveling conditions were primitive at best. What few roads there were had been chewed up by the war. In many areas, supplies had to be hand-hauled up to the front, which further slowed the regiment's advance.

The situation was the same for the rest of the invasion force. Requests for mules had gone out and would be filled. Mules had been used with considerable success in Italy and in other rugged areas, but the need for them had not been anticipated in Kyushu, which was becoming more and more reminiscent of a World War I battlefield instead of a modern World War II killing ground.

In Monck's opinion, the lack of mules was just another after-the-fact screwup. A great big book would someday be written about what could have been done better in Kyushu. By that time, of course, it would be too late for the participants.

The jeep came to a virtual stop as they inched their way past a large pile of loose rubble. Suddenly the pile exploded and a demonic screech filled the air. Monck was paralyzed by the apparition that emerged through the dirt and dust. It was a Japanese soldier, his mouth wide with his scream, and a samurai sword gripped with both hands. With incredible quickness, he brought it up from his waist to over his head and swung it expertly.

With a near-silent swish it sliced off Redwald's head, sending it flying through the air to land on the ground with a dull thud. He swung again. Monck threw himself out of the jeep and the blade clanged against the metal side of the vehicle. Parker had scrambled out the other side, but the driver was trapped and had started to scream. Monck fumbled for his pistol, pointed it at the Jap, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. He had forgotten to remove the safety.

The Japanese soldier again shrieked his fury and the sound was recognizable as "Banzai." Just as he was about to kill the driver, one of the guards from the rear jeep ran up, jammed a Thompson submachine gun into the Jap's chest, and fired a burst that shredded their attacker's torso. He howled and fell backward. The GI stood over him and fired another burst, which further pulverized his body, sending flesh and bone spraying through the air.

Monck checked the driver, who was shaken and sobbing but otherwise okay. Parker was on his feet and unhurt, although almost equally shocked. The blood on Monck's uniform had come from Redwald's headless body, which still sat primly in the front seat beside the driver, who had begun vomiting over the other side.

Good idea, Monck thought. His own stomach was heaving at the grisly sight. He looked over to where Redwald's head lay faceup. Incredibly, it looked as if he was smiling.

"Parker," Monck gasped, "what the hell just happened? I thought this place was safe?"