"Pop's right. That's gotta be why we're going south. Replacing those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. I bet they're either going up north or they're getting hauled out of here altogether. They do a little dirty work and some general gives them a vacation. I bet they'll sit up north and use our foxholes and slit trenches. Too lazy to dig their own."

Adams saw Porter now, the lieutenant climbing up on the back of the truck.

"You boys through acting like a.s.sholes? Listen up. Captain says we're heading down a little farther. Once these doggies get out of our way, we'll be rolling again."

Porter dropped down, was gone, hustling back to the next truck in line. The last truck in the army caravan pa.s.sed by now, a swirl of dust engulfing it, the canvas pulled tightly closed. Ferucci said, "Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds know to keep their a.s.ses hidden. I'd like to have a little chat with General Buckner, or whoever else thought any army dogs could do this job. They probably took one mortar sh.e.l.l and the whole line collapsed."

The trucks rolled to life again, the road in front clear. The men rocked against one another, the b.u.mping rhythm returning, more dust, the sun straight overhead now. They rumbled for another half hour, and then, just as before, they slowed, moving into line alongside dozens more. But this time the engines did not shut down. Adams blew the dust out of his nose, coughed it out of his throat, wiped at the grime in his eyes, saw Ferucci up, jumping down, out the rear of the truck. The others followed, filing out through the stink of exhaust, men slapping at the red dust in their clothes, and Porter was there, pulling them off the road.

"Get out this way! The company's in this field. s.p.a.ce out, dig in, and wait for orders!"

The lieutenant moved away to the next truck, the same instructions, and Adams dropped down off the truck, held his backpack in his hands, his rifle slung on his shoulder. He saw Ferucci eyeing him, then looking toward the others in the squad.

"All right, you heard him. Let's go."

As the trucks emptied, they moved away in a roar, the empty caravan rolling back northward. The Marines had been unloaded on a broad hill and to one side were the unmistakable signs of a distant airfield, low buildings and rows of tents, scattered patches of camouflaged netting. Around him the men moved past, most of them with heads down, still spitting out the dust of the miserable ride. Adams began to move, the hillside drawing his eye, and now he stopped, along with a half-dozen men from the truck. On the far side of the hill, away from the airfield, the hill fell away in a gentle slope a mile long, maybe more, and just as wide. To the right he could see the ocean, and southward, in the far distance, he could see a wide swath of smoke settled along another ridge. There was smoke in the deepest part of the valley as well, thin and drifting, and beneath it, the snaking line of a river.

"Move it! Dig in!"

He followed Ferucci, kept his eyes out to the long hillside, caught a smell now, carried on the soft breeze. Around him some of the men were reacting to it, a stink like nothing he had ever experienced. As they moved out into the field, the smell grew worse, the wind driving toward them from the south. The lieutenant had spread them in one section of the wide hilltop, men already digging in on the slope of the hill that faced the airfield. He moved that way, then closer to the ridgeline, the smell curling his face, sweet and bitter and sickening. He stepped up onto the highest point, could see all across the wide sloping ground, saw that the ground was churned and blasted, trees ripped to splinters, sh.e.l.l craters small and large.

"Let's go! Get off that ridgeline! The enemy can see these heights!"

Adams turned, saw Porter moving along the high ground, waving at him, at the others who had been as curious what lay in front of their new position. Porter moved up past him, slowed, said, "There's gonna be h.e.l.l to pay, kid. Right out there ... that's j.a.p-land. The party's over."

PART TWO.

15. USHIJIMA.

BENEATH SHURI CASTLE,.

THIRTY-SECOND ARMY HEADQUARTERS, OKINAWA.

MAY 4, 1945.

He had allowed a rancorous debate between his staff officers, unusual for someone in his position. But in the end, no matter how pa.s.sionately Colonel Yahara had argued against it, Ushijima knew that, finally, he would go along with General Cho's fiery insistence on launching a significant offensive counterstrike at the Americans.

The banquet had begun late, nearly midnight, a feast to celebrate the commencement of the great battle. The display of luxury had been rare and wonderful, platters of fish and meats prepared by the Okinawan servants, supervised of course by Ushijima's own chef. Throughout the late evening, the spirits had flowed, sake and the homegrown Okinawan wines, dulling the talk, so that in the early morning the conversation among some of the staff officers had become jovial, almost giddy. The energy for that had come not only from Cho's boisterous mood but from the girls who served them, who brought the food and drink, who lingered even now, cooing with birdlike compliments for the bravery and the manliness of their j.a.panese masters. Most of that had been directed at General Cho, who would appreciate it more than anyone on Ushijima's staff. He had long accepted Cho's bad habits, mainly because he had little choice.

Ushijima had drunk far too much sake himself, but that had stopped two hours ago, when he had withdrawn from the greater festivities, returning to his private room. He sat now, his usual pose, knees bent, his feet pulled in tightly, fighting off the effects of the sake. With the attack not more than a couple of hours away, he needed clarity, a sharp mind. He pulled out his pocket watch, nearly four. His energy was returning, the effects of the partying wearing off, and he focused on the planning, on what was to come. Less than two hours, he thought. And then we shall have our say, we shall find out what kind of enemy faces us.

For several days the spies and observers had brought in word of a major shift in the American deployment. Across the southern front, many of the American infantry units had absorbed a terrific pounding from his well-fortified and perfectly camouflaged artillery. The j.a.panese machine gun placements, engineered by Colonel Yahara, had been brutally effective, and for the most part the American army units had made impressive a.s.saults into positions that almost guaranteed failure. But still they had come, and slowly Ushijima had consolidated his defenses, driven back meter by meter by the infantry units he had come to respect. Cho did not share his feeling of admiration for the American tenacity, and Ushijima understood that the ploddingly slow progress of the Americans was costing their infantry enormous casualties. They do not respect death, he thought. They find no glory in sacrifice, and so they will find another way. With their resources, they will merely pull the depleted units away and replace them with fresh men who have not yet run from our guns. And that is why we must strike now. For once, General Cho is correct.

Ushijima knew that the American commanders would be agonizing over their lack of progress, that surely no American general had the stomach for such a high casualty rate. Unlike the j.a.panese, who fed their people only what the Imperial High Command chose to reveal, he knew that the American newspapers were sure to announce openly the kinds of losses their soldiers were suffering. It is astounding, he thought, that they believe such openness is a positive thing. War is not about truth. It is about morale and spirit and what officers can drive their men to do. The civilians have no place in such things, and the Americans can never understand that the cost of waging war is honorable death. None of their generals can withstand the pressure that will come from that. j.a.panese mothers are inspired by the emperor to sacrifice their sons, knowing that every death brings glory and honor. The Americans fight for ... what? Because they hate us? Because we humiliated them at Pearl Harbor? That kind of inspiration has no solid foundation, and so, if we kill enough of them, their mothers will not be so accepting. Washington does not have the power of our emperor, or our high command. They will listen to the mothers. And that is perhaps our only advantage.

Cho had insisted that the Americans were losing two thousand men every day, a number that Ushijima knew was ridiculously high, but he did nothing to correct his chief of staff, even if the bl.u.s.ter of that made Colonel Yahara cringe. The Americans might know how high their losses are, but surely they are listening to our communications. Someone out there might believe Cho's figures, or at least might believe it is possible. If their soldiers who kneel in mud and filth stop believing what their generals tell them, we will have won another kind of victory. We may defeat their morale. Cho's boasting is certainly improving our own. If we receive no more support from Tokyo, morale might be the only thing my army will have left.

The shift in the American position had been carefully doc.u.mented, reports confirming that the battered infantry was being pulled back, especially along the western flanks. Ushijima knew that those lines were now filling with Marines who were being trucked down from the north. The first to arrive had been the Marine First Division, filling the positions vacated by the badly mauled Twenty-seventh Infantry. Directly behind the First, he knew that the Sixth Marine Division was moving into place, and it was inevitable that once those forces were in position to attack, they would. He shared the grudging respect many of his commanders felt for the Marines, knew that all throughout the Pacific island campaigns, it had mostly been Marines who had come across the beaches and crushed the j.a.panese defenses. Whether Tokyo acknowledged that or not didn't matter. On Okinawa his own defenses had held up well, despite being vastly out-manned by American infantry, and the toll suffered by the Americans had been deeply satisfying. It was after all his primary mission, that if his precious Thirty-second Army was to be sacrificed, they would take as many Americans with them as they could. But the butchery inflicted on the American infantry had not sent them scampering back to their ships as Cho had long predicted. With fresh troops moving in to face him, Ushijima had finally consented to Cho's wishes that the Americans be attacked in a ma.s.sive show of j.a.panese force. Despite Colonel Yahara's pa.s.sionate opposition, Ushijima had to accept Cho's logic, that with so much shifting of troops, there could be confusion and uncertainty in the American lines. There might be no better time.

A young girl appeared in his doorway, holding a tray, made a short, respectful bow. He waved her in, and she moved close, bent low, offering him a single gla.s.s of sake. He shook his head and the girl backed away, a silent exchange that had been repeated for the past couple of hours. She shuffled slowly away and he watched her, focused on her colorful floor-length dress, the slight shift of her hips, hidden by the soft silk. She has no place here, he thought. None of them. Even the nurses. If Cho's plan is a failure, this army can prepare itself for what we must do. If we fail, it will mean an inevitable withdrawal southward.

He tried to drive those thoughts from his mind, punched the side of a fist into his leg. You owe your army more confidence than this, more faith in what they can do. What is wrong with you? Is it the sake? He had tried to convince himself that Cho's counterattack would accomplish all that Cho insisted it would. But I am not a dreamer, I do not embrace fantasy. There is a simple truth to this plan. I sanctioned this attack because it will be our best opportunity, perhaps our only opportunity to extend this campaign. He saw the girl at the doorway again, holding another tray, some kind of food. He shook his head, tried not to notice how pretty she was, a small flower who was there only for him.

"You may retire. I have need of nothing further."

She bowed again, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, disappeared into the corridor.

He felt a strange sense of pity, thought, I am not her master, I am not her sanctuary. I cannot be anything to her, to any of them, except ... protector. Of everything that surrounds me here, the girls are most vulnerable. If our army does not succeed in driving the enemy back, this place will become far more dangerous than it is now. Whether or not these girls are innocent, whether or not they are here by choice, I will not allow them to be slaughtered alongside our soldiers.

The ongoing disagreements among his staff had come to a noisy head on April 29, the occasion of Emperor Hirohito's birthday. The insistence on a change of strategy had been bolstered by Cho's emotional appeal that a sharp counterstrike at the enemy could be offered as a gift to the emperor that would demonstrate Ushijima's unwavering dedication. Colonel Yahara had been outraged that Cho would tie the two together, as though by waging the most logical and intelligent kind of defense against an overwhelming enemy, they were somehow insulting j.a.panese pride, violating sacred traditions. The arguments had risen to hot-tempered confrontations between Cho and Yahara, and it was not the first time Cho had belittled Yahara for his emphasis on defense. This time Cho expanded his arguments, even going so far as to badger Ushijima with the uselessness of Yahara's war of attrition. It had been indiscreet and insubordinate, but to Yahara's disgust, Ushijima had allowed the display, had encouraged a surprised Cho to present his plan in detail. Throughout the campaign thus far, Yahara had been the primary engineer, the colonel operating with Ushijima's blessing, both men understanding that the power the Americans brought to Okinawa could not be defeated by old ways, by what had worked in China. But Ushijima was now taking Cho's arguments to heart, not because of the absurd patriotism Cho was ramming down their throats, but because Ushijima knew that with the infusion of fresh power on the American side, the inevitability of total defeat for Ushijima's army had just been amplified. Despite Yahara's intensely effective defenses, the Americans had shown far more tenacity than Ushijima had expected, and with the sinking of the Yamato, Cho's arguments took on new significance. The sacrificial loss of j.a.pan's greatest warship had been a clear sign that the Imperial Navy had made its last best effort, and in the end, that effort had been a terribly useless waste. Now, with no great battle fleets to protect the supply ships, those ships would not come at all. Despite the cheery radio messages from the j.a.panese mainland, Ushijima also understood that the only air support his men would receive would come from the Divine Wind flights. Operation Floating Chrysanthemum had certainly wounded a number of American ships, but thus far, despite all the mindless optimism from the mainland, the suicide planes had done nothing to drive away the enormous American fleet.

Ushijima had finally silenced Yahara's protests by pointing out that Cho's arguments carried an unusual amount of military logic. A sudden counterattack would certainly catch the Americans completely by surprise. The results could be spectacular, an all-out strike that might so shred the American positions that they would have no choice but to retreat. Cho's song had not changed, the man still believing that kind of retreat would take the Americans all the way back to their ships. But Ushijima had finally allowed himself to be convinced that if this fight had an inevitable outcome, his duty lay in the most effective way he could damage the enemy. If the Americans could be thrown into chaos by a sudden counterattack, it would buy precious time. The longer the campaign, the greater the number of American casualties. Ushijima knew that, ultimately, those casualties were the only gift he could hope to offer the emperor.

It would not be a mindless banzai attack. There was a plan, carefully structured, and despite Yahara's grumblings, Ushijima had demanded his partic.i.p.ation. Yahara was the best strategist in his army, and if the colonel did not believe in the plan, he was still obligated by duty and Ushijima's order to help carry it out. For four days the troops had been prepared, the artillery furnished with as much ammunition as could be gathered, j.a.panese tanks put into position for the most effective strike they could launch. As the time drew closer, Ushijima had allowed himself some optimism, had accepted Cho's suggestion for the banquet celebration as a tribute to the men who would put this plan into motion. For once Cho's fire had warmed Ushijima to the possibility of success.

He glanced again at his watch. It could work, he thought. It is all we can do, and so it must work. Even Yahara will celebrate our success, will understand that sometimes we must do the outrageous, throw our sound, sensible strategies to the winds and do the unpredictable, the reckless. If it does not work ... we are no worse off.

"Ah, General, here you are! You should come out and see these girls do their dance. I offer credit to the Okinawans. They show remarkable ... um ... flexibility."

Cho's shirt was partially open, his uniform a sloppy mess. He staggered slightly, steadied himself against the wooden beams that framed Ushijima's doorway.

"I am quite satisfied to remain here. Thank you."

"Oh, come, come, General! A little revelry is a wonderful tonic! And tomorrow there will be celebration like we have not yet seen! Victory is in the wind, I feel it! I smell it." He hesitated, laughed, his knees giving way for a brief second. He tossed a wink toward Ushijima. "I have tasted it!" His laughter continued, and Ushijima smelled the party in the man's clothes, perfume and alcohol, had all he could take.

"Please return to your revelries. I am fine here. I would rather sit alone, for now."

Cho shrugged, sagged against the timbers.

"If you insist, sir. But we shall soon toast the emperor in his palace! There will be medals and gifts for us all. You will see! Ask your Colonel Yahara, the soft little man with all those papers. He will tell you, he will go behind my back as he always has, and he will tell you that I stood tall in front of my men and told them that I have wagered my life on their success! Victory is a.s.sured!"

Cho half fell back out of the doorway, disappeared into a chorus of happy calls. Ushijima closed his eyes, blew out a breath, tried to cleanse himself of Cho's odor. A girl staggered past the doorway, stopped, seemed as inebriated as Cho, said something he couldn't understand, a slur of words, then staggered away. I should not have allowed this, he thought. This is not a celebration, it is debauchery, and no matter what Cho says, the emperor would not find this appealing at all. He had nearly recovered from the effects of the sake, felt a wave of sadness. What we have done tonight is celebrate a plan. And if it is a good plan, then we shall die a little later. If it is a bad plan ... then it will not matter. It is all we can do.

The artillery barrage began at four-fifty in the morning, a cascade of sh.e.l.ls into the American position that was met at first by return fire from the American ships. But the j.a.panese guns did not do as they had done every day before. They did not fire a quick burst and then slide back into their holes. The guns stayed put, kept up their fire in a torrent of steel that caught the Americans by complete surprise. After more than an hour, the fire subsided, many of the guns exhausting their ammunition. But many more were silenced by the very act of keeping up their a.s.saults. With the big guns staying outside the protection of their hiding places, their muzzle blasts offered the naval ships clear targets, and so frustrated American gunners suddenly had an opportunity they had never expected. For Ushijima's artillery, the results were a disaster. Guided first by the flashes of fire, and then by the awakening daylight, the Americans pinpointed their targets so effectively that a majority of the largest artillery pieces were completely destroyed. All across the rugged hillsides, so much of the j.a.panese firepower that had devastated the American ground forces was now obliterated.

The same was true for the j.a.panese armor. The j.a.panese tanks were primitive compared to the Shermans, but any tank can be a deadly threat to ground troops. As the Americans hunkered low in their foxholes, enduring the sh.e.l.ling from j.a.panese artillery, the j.a.panese tanks rolled forward to do their damage as well. But outside their cleverly designed cover, crossing open ground, they were no match for American anti-tank weapons, aided by more of the navy's accurate fire. In a matter of hours, the bulk of j.a.panese armor charged with leading the counterattack had been destroyed.

As the Americans scrambled to react to the surprising change in j.a.panese tactics, the j.a.panese ground troops began their a.s.sault. At first daylight waves of men emerged from their perfect camouflage and swarmed headlong into the American positions. A few of the advances by individual regiments were effective, punching holes in the American lines, driving past stunned and panicked troops, pushing into supply depots and rear echelon positions. But those successes were few. As the j.a.panese troops rushed headlong into the guns of the Americans, most of them met the same fate as their armor. Entire units were virtually wiped out. Despite the enormous losses, the j.a.panese pushed forward for a full day and into the night. The next morning what was left of the j.a.panese offensive forces obeyed their officers, who obeyed the plan given them by General Cho. They attacked again. Though the tenacity of the j.a.panese impressed the Americans who faced them, the outcome was never in doubt.

BENEATH SHURI CASTLE,.

THIRTY-SECOND ARMY HEADQUARTERS, OKINAWA.

MAY 5, 1945.

He read the latest report, Yahara standing close, impatient.

"It is a disaster, sir! Here, look! Captain Oka reports his troops are completely surrounded. He does not expect to survive. It is the same in every part of the field. You must stop this!"

Ushijima looked at Yahara, a stern glare.

"You do not tell me what I must do."

Yahara lowered his head.

"No, certainly not, General. Please forgive me."

Ushijima looked at the others, the men standing alongside the map, no one speaking. The gloom was in all of them, the men who knew the reports, whose job it was to record the progress of the attack on the great map. But the men had been silent for some time now, nothing on the maps for them to change.

"Where is Cho?"

One of the aides close to the doorway said, "I will summon him, sir."

"Yes, summon him." He did not look at Yahara, said, "Return to your office. I will call for you shortly."

Yahara made a quick short bow, was gone without a word. Ushijima saw the expectant looks on the faces of the aides, said, "I shall be in my room. When General Cho arrives, send him to me."

"Yes, sir."

He moved out into the corridor, slipped quickly into his room, hesitated, leaned his back against the wood that lined his earthen walls. A hard knot rose in his throat, choking away the air, and he fought it, straightened, stretched, forced air into his lungs. He felt dizziness, pulled himself away from the wall, reached down, settled on the mat on the floor, his usual place. I need water, he thought. He knew the servants would hear him, but the words did not come, and he scolded himself, no, do not bother them. You should be made to suffer for this. Do not bother anyone. They all know what this day means.

"Sir! You sent for me?"

Cho stood stiffly in the doorway, and Ushijima said, "You were not in your office."

"No. I was at the mouth of the great cave. The radio there continues to send in reports, though most of the reporting stations have been lost. So, General, is it time for us all to die?"

There was a strange levity in Cho's voice, and Ushijima looked at him, saw the hint of a smile, said, "You are aware that we have not been successful?"

"I know our situation, General. If this is to be the end, then it is ordained for us to die together. I welcome my place at the great shrine. I have done my best for the emperor."

Ushijima understood now, thought, so, he is abdicating any responsibility for our failures. This was all part of his glorious plan.

"General Cho, despite your eagerness to join your ancestors, I am not yet ready to die. There is still a fight to be had here, a duty to perform."

"If you insist, sir."

"I do insist. Return to your office. Remain there until I summon you again. I want you close, in the event our situation requires some immediate action."

"Of course, sir."

Ushijima heard the sarcasm in Cho's show of obedience. He was gone now, and Ushijima felt the anger, Cho's smugness digging into him. He tried to relax, stared at the bare floor, took several long breaths. The lump in his throat was growing, a pain in his chest, and he clenched his fists, no! I will not be a victim of this disaster! He continued to breathe heavily, the pain subsiding. Outside there were voices, and he waited, knew someone would appear. It was Yahara.

"Sir, we have received a report from Colonel Kujima. He has been forced to withdraw from his forward position. He claims he has no choice but to return to his original position."

Ushijima thought of Kujima, another of the academy graduates.

"He is a good man. If he has withdrawn it is because it was the right thing to do. I will find no fault with him. With any of them. But this must end." He paused, thought of Cho, the man's eagerness to throw himself into the glorious abyss. No, I will not make it so easy for him. His plan did not work, but, still, he cannot be embarra.s.sed. He would lose his effectiveness as a commander.

"Colonel Yahara, as you predicted, this offensive has been a total failure. Your judgment was correct. I am determined to stop this. You will see that my order to every field commander is communicated in the most effective way possible. I am ordering a ... temporary halt to the offensive." He paused, saw the undisguised anger on Yahara's face. "You have been frustrated because you believe I have not used your talents wisely. In that you are correct. Sometimes a man in my position must do the unwise, in the hopes of a positive outcome. But I do not wish this army to commit meaningless suicide."

Nothing in his words calmed the anger in Yahara's eyes. He knew how valuable Yahara was, felt suddenly like the father who has disappointed the son. He avoided Yahara's stare, said in a low voice, "What else would you have me do?"

Yahara did not respond, and Ushijima felt a sudden wave of emotion, tears in his eyes, the hard sh.e.l.l cracking for just a brief moment. He lowered his head, tried to hide it, said nothing for a long minute. Yahara waited patiently, and Ushijima felt the control returning.

"Our main force is largely spent. But our fighting strength remains. This army is loyal and dedicated to our cause. If we must, we will withdraw to the southernmost hills and make our final stand there. I will require your a.s.sistance, Colonel. Your logistical skills will be crucial. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir."

There was cold in Yahara's words, and Ushijima still avoided his stare.

"I want you to see to our position as it stands now, and draw in our lines to the best possible defense. The Americans will come again, and this time they know we are wounded. Make the best use of those a.s.sets we have, most especially this ground."