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Where they might have taken four hours to cover the ground to the airshaft, he gave ’em two. It was still slow going, but to De
Barbaro was his best guy on point. For an Italian city kid he was a natural in the jungle, and he adjusted to the increased tempo a lot better than De
De
The double-canopy jungle reached out for them with thorny creepers, gnarled roots, and stinging vines. The steep floor was a boggy mulch of rotting vegetation, crawling with snakes and centipedes. It threatened to give way in small localized mudslides at random intervals.
Once, they had to stop and wait while a twelve-man enemy patrol moved along the nearby path, just yards away. The terrain had forced them closer and closer to the track, which looped back on itself a couple of times as it descended. Barbaro waited until they could confirm that the Japanese had made it all the way down to the coastal plain. They had just moved off again when Pete Hastings hand-signed…
Stop.
De
The marine pointed up in the direction of the rock face again and silently mouthed, Look.
De
The palm trees swayed again and he distinctly saw the supposedly solid gray rock flex in and out a couple of inches.
Goddamn, he thought.
The news from home was the best tonic Lieutenant Yukio’s men could have hoped for. There had been no official a
The treachery of the Communists, the technology of the Americans-in the end none of it was proof against the warrior spirit of the Nipponese fighting man. The gaijin went on with a lot of rubbish about loving life, but in the end they simply feared death and eschewed sacrifice. They were weak, and they would fail.
Yukio walked down the line of waiting Ohkas, stopping every now and then to share a word with a ground crew chief or one of the other pilots, some of whom had also quite obviously heard of news from Okhotsk. It was amazing how just a glimmer of hope could change a man’s whole outlook. Yukio had been assiduously tending to the men’s morale, as was his duty. And for the most part they had remained steadfast in the face of their approaching deaths. But now he could sense a real eagerness to launch themselves at the enemy. Everyone here knew that their sacrifice could make a real difference, and that was all they needed to dedicate themselves anew.
As he passed a rocket plane with its cowling open and three technicians messing about inside, he noticed a small sheet of paper by a toolbox at their feet. Someone had inscribed a few lines of poetry that seemed to sum up the feelings of everyone on the island.
Little clear streams rustle
Down through the mountain rocks
And finally let the battleship
Float on the sea.
Tiny drops of water they might be, as individuals, but together they would be a mighty flood sweeping their enemies away. One of the techs looked over his shoulder, his face lighting up as he recognized Sekio.
“A fine day for a walk, Lieutenant,” quipped Onada, the oldest and most experienced of the crew chiefs on the island. “So su
Yukio snorted at the joke. They were buried beneath millions of tons of rock. The cavernous space smelled of oil, rubber, chemicals, and body odor. And none of the ground technicians had felt the sun on his face for weeks.
“A fine day, indeed, Chief Onada. A fine day for it.” He smiled in reply. “No sign of our German comrades, then?”
“They are working in the southern cave this morning, Lieutenant. I ca
Yukio made a helpless, accepting gesture. “What are we to do about it, Chief? We wouldn’t be here without their help.”
Onada pish-poshed the very idea with a grunt and the wave of a thick-fingered, oil-stained hand. A true nationalist, he simply would not hear of it. “Tinkerers and copycats, that’s all they are,” he insisted. “Anyone can copy the design for a rocket if they have the blueprint. But only a truly creative culture would devise a use for such things in the way that we have. And-”
The lieutenant essayed a dampening gesture with both hands. “You do not need to convince me, Chief Onada. I agree with you. But now I must continue my inspection. Has anyone checked the tu
“Bah! You worry needlessly. Here is this morning’s real work,” Onada said, patting the dull white nose cone of the Ohka.
“Then I shall do it myself,” Yukio said. “I know you think it a waste of time, but what would happen if falling rocks blocked a launch rail, hmm? This whole base might be blown into the sky like Krakatoa. So I will check.”
He set off again, purposely striding toward the sheer rock wall at the end of the cavern. It was clear at the moment, but come launch day it would be a maze of cranes and gantries as the Cherry Blossoms were moved into place for takeoff.
It really wouldn’t do not to check the tu
And just like a good soldier, Yukio felt the need to clean and check his gun every day. So he headed for the closest of the steel ladders that led up to three circular openings about ten meters off the floor of the cave.
Looks like an old mine shaft or something, De
The tu
Japs.
De