1945

Shit, thought Joe Nomura as he looked over the prone body of an emaciated white man wearing the ragged remains of an air force uniform. He had to be either a downed pilot or a captured crewman. What a helluva fool to try something like this. The guy was obviously too weak to have finished the task even if he hadn't gotten bashed in the head by the man he'd just killed.

Joe had also been stalking the little Jap air base when he'd caught sight of someone else trying to skulk through the trees. When he'd figured out what the other man was up to, he'd been aghast. Not until he'd gotten much closer did he realize that the assassin was an American.

And, Joe thought grimly, one who was in bad shape as well as a whole lot of trouble.

Joe moved toward the two remaining Japanese, who still slept deeply and drunkenly. He drew his knife and, far more expertly than Dennis, killed the third Jap. The fourth was lying with his throat covered, so Joe sheathed his knife and brought the heel of his hand down on the back of the man's neck in a vicious chop. He waited a few seconds before checking for a pulse and found none. The money he'd spent for karate lessons as a kid had finally paid off.

Now what? This slaughter hadn't been in Joe's plans, but it was done and he'd better cover his ass or the kempei would be all over the area once it was discovered. He thought for a moment and then smiled.

First, he dragged the unconscious Dennis Chambers away from the area and well into the trees. Then he placed the four corpses around the planes and then pulled off much of the camouflage. It mainly consisted of evergreen boughs and moved easily even for a man with one arm. Within minutes, the planes were open to view from the sky.

Good, he thought. The next task was to take those precious bags of rice. He carried them in his one arm up over the hill and to presumed safety. Then he returned and scouted around a little and found what he was looking for- cans of gasoline. After all, didn't a plane need gas to fly? He set the containers under the planes and rigged a fuse out of cloth.

By the time he was done, he could see the hint of false dawn off in the east. Soon the sky would be filled with searching hunters. Well, he'd give them something to find.

Joe made certain that the still unconscious Chambers- he had checked his dog tags in the growing light and now knew his name- was still safe and even pulled him farther back along with the food sacks. One last look at the Japanese camp brought a new discovery- several unopened bottles of Johnnie Walker Red. How the hell did four dumb Japs get good Scotch on a hillside in Kyushu? Who cared? he answered, but there was no need for the liquor to go to waste. He lit the fuse. It would take a couple of minutes for the flames to reach the gas. He tucked the bottles under his arm and ran up the hill.

Joe had just crossed over the crest when he heard the whump of an explosion quickly followed by a second. He turned and saw the flickering glow of flames over the hill. It was time to really put some distance between himself and that fire.

A familiar growling noise stopped him in his tracks and he looked up with a grin on his face.

The first plane merely flew low over the fire to see what was causing it. A moment later, three more swept over the flames with their machine guns blazing. This caused more fires and explosions as the ammunition for the planes, along with other gasoline stores, went up. Now Joe felt much safer. With only a little luck, everyone would think that the four Japanese were victims of either their own stupidity or the dumb luck of the Americans.

Jesus Christ, Joe Nomura thought in admiration, if only the police at home could arrive as quickly as the planes had. He chuckled and wondered just how his new companion would react to having his life saved by a one-armed Jap. Then he realized something else. He, a Japanese American, had just killed two of his brethren. What he found most interesting was that he felt no remorse. They weren't his cousins; they were the enemy. Fuck 'em.

CHAPTER 21

Col. Tadashi Sakei forced himself to wait outside the local police station near Nagasaki while the local representatives of the kempei carried out their interrogations.

Normally, kempei questionings were carried out with some delicacy and subtlety, and over time, acknowledging that fear of pain and the dark unknown was often a greater motivator to confess than pain itself.

However, time was of the essence, and any recalcitrance on the part of those being questioned was being met with blows from fists, boots, and clubs. He noted that one enterprising young officer was getting some results by using lit cigarettes and burning matches jammed into sensitive parts of the suspect's anatomy, while another was carving chunks of skin off living flesh. As the interrogations went on, the kempei were becoming even more creative in their endeavors.

It was incredible that so much had gone wrong so quickly.