1945

"Leave them," Uji commanded as the leaflets settled about them. Reading American propaganda was forbidden. However, it was a useless command as everyone grabbed a sheet. If nothing else, American propaganda leaflets made halfway decent toilet paper.

Yokota stared at the paper in his hand. On it was a picture of Hirohito standing alongside a little white man who was identified as Truman, the president of the United States, and they stood together as equals with the bulk of Mt. Kagoshima in the background.

In disbelief, he read the text. And then he read it a second time. The war was over. An honorable peace had been made. The integrity of Japan and her culture would continue. The emperor commanded that everyone withdraw from the American positions and head north to safety.

Uji crumpled the copy he'd been reading and threw it on the ground. Tears streamed down his face. "We attack."

Yokota stood and glared at the lieutenant. "No! You read the emperor's orders. We are to withdraw."

Uji was on the edge of hysteria. "They are lies, all lies. Even if we cannot succeed, we must give up our lives for Japan."

This enraged Yokota. Did the fool want to kill all of the remaining lambs? He grabbed the lieutenant by the collar of his jacket and jammed the paper in his face. "Would you disobey your emperor? Read where he forbids further suicides. To do what you now wish would bring shame to us, not glory."

Uji sagged and began to sob. After a moment, he managed to speak. "You are right, Sergeant. Even though it is hateful, we must obey the emperor. Take the men to the rear. I will follow."

Yokota looked about at the surviving boy soldiers, who watched him with hope, fear, and confusion mixed on their faces. "No, Lieutenant," he said gently, "you will not follow. You will lead us back to safety. Just like the emperor orders."

CHAPTER 84

ROUND TOP

General Monck and Colonel Parker left their jeep at the base of the hill and began the climb to the top of the battle-scarred mound. Both men were shocked by what they saw. The ground itself had been scorched, and the Japanese dead still lay where they'd fallen. Burned and blackened bodies with their clothes burned off gestured to them with charred limbs thrust upward. Body parts, many unidentifiable, had to be avoided as they walked. Monck slipped and recoiled in revulsion as his hand came to rest on what might have been part of a skull.

As they reached the crest, they stepped over the trench. There were bodies in it, but others were strewn about as if they had been pulled from the trench.

"Someone was looking for our boys," Parker commented softly. "And making sure the Japs were really dead." American dead and wounded had just been evacuated from the killing ground.

"The smell is awful," Parker added in understatement. The smell was nauseating. "I don't think I'll ever be able to eat roast beef again."

Monck corrected him. "It smells like pork." He wanted to gag.

They passed the blackened skeleton of a crashed plane. Its tail was pointed incongruously to the sky. They had seen many like it in their inspection of the regimental area. Kamikazes had caused almost as many casualties as the Japanese banzai attacks.

An American walked around the hill taking pictures while a second took notes. "Correspondents," said Parker. "I just hope they get the story right for once. It deserves to be told."

Monck led the way through the breach in the earthen berm. Numerous pairs of eyes were on them, but there had been no attempt to challenge or call out to them. For all their rank, Monck and Parker might as well have been invisible. They looked at the living men, many of whom walked or stood like zombies. Finally, one disassociated himself from the group and walked over to them. Monck was hard put to recognize the exhausted and filthy man as Lt. Paul Morrell.

Monck stopped Morrell from saluting and put his arm around the younger man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, General," Paul said, his voice and body quivering.

Monck was confused. "Sorry? For what?"

Paul's voice was choked with emotion. "I lost half my men."

"No," Monck said with gentle firmness. "You saved half your men. You and your men are heroes. You stood off at least a battalion of Japs and you're still here to talk about it. Son, I'm the one who should apologize. I tried to get you more help, but there was nothing to give you."

But Monck wondered what he could have done that would have saved lives on Round Top. Fewer than seventy had survived unhurt. Monck's doubts would haunt him for the rest of his life, just as Morrell would have to live with his. The fury and intensity of the Japanese attacks had stunned them. Someone who wasn't there had picturesquely described the assaults as waves from a stormy sea crashing over rocks with the rocks finally prevailing. Only the rocks and the waves were flesh and blood, not granite and water.

Paul was not consoled. "I should have used the tank sooner."