Fiends of the Rising Sun (11 page)

"Father, are you planning to throw that or pray with it?" Martinez asked.

"Sorry?" Father Kelly said, shaken from his private thoughts.

"I was asking if you planned to throw that in the water. I got talking to one of the locals, back on the island. She said if you throw a lei into the water when you sail and it goes back towards the island, that means you'll return one day, but if it floats out to sea, you won't ever come back to Hawaii."

"Oh, I see," the priest replied. "Well, by rights, all vessels coming back from the Philippines usually make a stop at these islands. Let's find out, shall we?" He tossed the lei away from the boat and it landed with a gentle splash on the churning blue and white waters. Both men watched the floral necklace intently. Slowly, gradually, the currents took the lei away from the islands.

Martinez frowned, a bitter thought occurring to him. "Well, it's just an old wives' tale. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything really. The propellers on the boat probably pushed your lei the wrong way, that's all."

Father Kelly smiled politely. "I'm sure you're right, Juan." He turned his back on the ocean. "How are your tour guides faring?"

"Wierzbowski and Buntz? They both got arrested by the MPs. The commander threw the book at them, no mercy. I was lucky you didn't let me go back inside." The young soldier shook his head at the memory of what had happened at Tokyo Joe's. "Of course, Wierzbowski ain't complaining, since he never complains about anything. But Buntz? He's been bellyaching twenty to the dozen, saying I should have caught as much flak as he did for what happened. I tried telling Buntz that if he hadn't been hitting on the Japanese serving girl, none of it would have happened, but..."

"He doesn't want to hear that?"

"Pretty much. I don't know how long it's gonna take him to get over it. I ain't holding my breath, let's put it that way."

"A wise course of action," the priest agreed.

"Anyways..." Martinez said. His nostrils flared at the smell of hot food leaking out from the nearest doorway. "They're serving lunch, if you want it."

"That's very kind, Juan, but I'll stay here. Your sea legs are better than mine, so I tend not to eat the first day of a voyage."

"Okay, father. Well, it was good talking to you."

"You too, Juan." Father Kelly turned back around and stared out across the ocean to the receding profile of the Hawaiian Islands. Martinez looked at the priest for a moment before going inside to eat lunch. He wanted to get that sad image of the lei floating away from Oahu out of his head. When they left port he had thought of the floral garland as a happy, cheerful tradition. But the garland Father Kelly had thrown into the water looked more like a funeral wreath, and there was nothing happy or cheerful about that.

Hitori remained on the balcony after Constanta had gone, watching the horizon as dawn crept nearer, the imminent sunrise already lightening the distant sky. Night was becoming day once more. For most people, that was something to be celebrated, but Hitori knew it would be fatal for him if he remained out on the terrace. Perhaps that would be for the best, Hitori mused, a kind of vampyr ritual suicide, seppuku for the undead. He had drained the blood from six people in the night, had drunk their life as if it were water, had feasted on their essences. What kind of monster did that make him? What right did he have to take their lives to sustain his own?

Killing on the battlefield was regrettable, but that was the nature of war. Trainee soldiers were told that it was not murder, but killing in the furtherance of a greater cause. Hitori grimaced. Did he believe that anymore? Had he ever believed it? No matter. The past was irrelevant. He had a decision to make, here and now: embrace the future as a creature of the night, or sacrifice himself to the daylight. The latter choice might keep the vampyr taint away from Japan for a while longer, but there was little doubt Constanta would return and offer the same opportunity to another soldier. No, if anyone had to carry this burden, it had better be me, Hitori decided. I will serve the empire as best I can and for as long as I can, until the hunger undoes me.

He walked inside as the first beams of sunlight stabbed through the clouds to illuminate the morning. General Tojo was waiting for Hitori, his face betraying nothing. "Well? How do you feel? Has this Rumanian made you stronger, more powerful?"

"Yes, general," Hitori conceded.

"Excellent. Word of your demise in Manchuria has already been posted and I sent my adjutant to break the news to your beautiful young wife, Aiko."

"Thank you, sir."

Tojo took a piece of paper from his desk and handed the document to Hitori. It was marked with the emperor's seal. "This gives you power to requisition anyone and anything you need to further your cause. War with the Americans is imminent and you will play a vital part in ensuring our first strike is an effective one. The greater the surprise, the deadlier our blow will be." A knock at the office door interrupted them. "Come!" the general snapped.

Suzuki entered and bowed low to both men. "Aiko Hitori has been told of her husband's unfortunate demise," he reported.

"Very good," Tojo said. "There is no turning back for you, Zenji. Your future is bound up in the inevitable war to come. The same will soon be true for all of Japan, all of the empire. I have much to do in preparation for that glorious day, and so do you. Dismissed." The general returned to his desk and sat down, doing his best to ignore the others.

Hitori let his friend usher him out. But the vampyr paused to look back over his shoulder at one of Japan's most powerful men. Tojo was trying to drink from a steaming cup of green tea, but his right hand was shaking too much. The general was forced to use both hands to hold the cup steady, his fingers visibly trembling. He's terrified, Hitori realised, terrified of me. The Minister of War for Japan is afraid of me.

Suzuki closed the office door. "I'm sorry, Zenji, he made me tell Aiko about you dying in Manchuria. She's... She didn't take the news well." Suzuki waited, but his friend did not react. "Zenji, did you hear what I said?" He grabbed Hitori by the arm. "Zenji!"

Hitori frowned. "Don't touch me," he warned.

"But you were-"

"It doesn't matter, not anymore."

"What about Aiko?"

"I can't think about her, not now." Hitori looked along the corridor in both directions. From his time as Tojo's adjutant, he knew that this early in the morning most of the building was still empty. "Your office, is it still by the stairs?"

"Y-Yes... Why do you ask?"

"I need your undivided attention and I don't want us to be disturbed."

The two friends strode to Suzuki's office, locking the door once they were inside. Hitori was careful to keep away from the window, where sunlight was already flooding into the chamber. "Yesterday, you offered to take my place. Would you still do that?"

"Of course."

"Would you give up everything and everyone you know if I asked?"

"Zenji, you know I would."

"Good," Hitori said, a smile curling his lips. "Then you will become my lieutenant, my second in command for the dark days that lie ahead."

"Whatever you want of me, it's yours to take," Suzuki replied.

"You have access to all the efficiency reports, citations for bravery and valour in combat, yes? You can identify the best of the best among all of our soldiers, pilots and sailors, the men who would sacrifice anything and everything if they believed it was in service of the emperor?"

The adjutant gestured at filing cabinets behind his desk. "It's all in there. Anything else you need I can summon from records."

"Excellent," Hitori said. "Those men will be our weapons, bringing terror to the skies, seas and soils of the Pacific. They will become like us."

"Like us?"

"Yes, like us. Loosen your collar, Shiro, I'm going to drink your blood, before letting you drink a little of mine. After that we shall be bonded together for eternity, our fates intertwined for all time. What more could any friend ask?"

TO: Sister Marie Kelly, Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Convent, Chicago

Dear Sis,

Well, we're due into the Philippines tomorrow and I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to being off this boat. I knew becoming an army chaplain would have its hardships, but thought the vocation we've both chosen would leave me well prepared for such things. I hadn't grasped the need to spend so long in such uncomfortable conditions. A natural sailor I am not, as you'll recall from that time we went out on the boating pond. Sadly, my sea legs have not improved over the years.

As chaplain, I've been fortunate enough to be afforded a little more privacy than most of the men. They're a good group, earthy and likeable, although that applies more to some than others, of course. Young Juan Martinez is a wonderful fellow, kind and generous to a fault, always willing to come to the aid of his fellow recruits. At the other end of the scale is Arnold Buntz, who would steal the pennies from a dead man's eyes. I know that sounds harsh, but Buntz has all the morals of a sewer rat, and none of the charm. My silver crucifix, the one you gave me last Christmas, went missing on the first day of our voyage.

Martinez returned it to me a week later. At first he wouldn't say how or where he found it, but I later discovered Buntz was responsible for the theft. He may not have taken it himself - Buntz rarely gets his own hands dirty - but it came to rest in his possession. As a result, I've taken to locking my tiny cabin each time I leave. A priest should be able to trust his parishioners, but I suppose Buntz would argue he's not among my flock, no matter how many times I invite him to mass. Yes, I know Sis, I should consider him a challenge. Something tells me I'll have challenges enough in the weeks and months ahead.

Well, I can hear the other men making their way to the mess for our evening meal, so I'd better finish this if I want to eat tonight. Please write with all the news from home. I miss it and all of you terribly.

All my love,

Shamus.

FIVE

"Make no mistake, men, you have not come to the Philippines for a holiday!" Douglas MacArthur was standing on a raised dais, hands on his hips, a pipe clenched in the corner of his mouth. The commanding general of the United States Army Forces in the Far East looked out over the assembled ranks of the 200th Coast Artillery, all of whom were standing at attention in the blazing, midday heat. "You have not been sent to this place to work on your tan or to fraternise with the locals. You are stationed here as America's first line of defence against the threat posed to our great nation from the Orient. The politicians back home will tell you that America has no interest in starting a war, and that is how it should be. But if someone picks a fight with us, I'd like to think we'd be damn well ready to fight back!"

Buntz, Wierzbowski and Martinez were standing shoulder to shoulder at the back of the assembled troops, under the watchful gaze of Sergeant Aimes. The stone-faced disciplinarian had been on their backs since the incident in Honolulu, berating Wierzbowski and Buntz for their part in the brawl at Tokyo Joe's and for disgracing the good name of the regiment. Martinez had escaped punishment for his part, but not the sergeant's suspicion. "I'm keeping my eye on you," Aimes snarled once a day at the young private, "my good eye!" The sergeant had lost one of his eyes in a regimental boxing match ten years earlier and the glass eye that replaced it was slightly too large, bulging grotesquely from the socket.

"Make no mistake, we're in harm's way here," MacArthur continued. "I believe we will be at war within a year, maybe sooner. The Imperial Japanese Navy has been aggressively rearming itself for the best part of a decade. It is one of the few armies in the world with practical fighting experience, thanks to four years of battling the Chinese in Manchuria. You may think of them as little slant-eyed, yellow-skinned cowards, but I believe they pose the greatest possible threat to our position within the Pacific. All the negotiations in the world won't change the fact that war in this region is inevitable. When that war comes, and, by God, it will come, you men will see all the action you ever wanted and more. We need to get you ready for that action. We need to defend these islands with our hearts, our minds, our weapons and our lives!"

Buntz snorted. "No way I'm putting my ass on the line for some two-bit rock in the middle of nowhere, not me. Hell, if the Japs want to come around my old neighbourhood and start something, they'll find plenty of people there spoiling for a fight."

"Put a sock in it, Buntz," the sergeant hissed.

The general pulled the pipe from his mouth and used it to gesticulate at his troops. "I have confidence in all of you. You've already proven yourselves in non-combat situations. Each of you has undergone eight months of hard, rigorous training at Fort Bliss in Texas. It was due to the quality of your efforts during training that you were selected for this assignment. Hell, the 200th is officially the best anti-aircraft regiment in the entire US armed forces, regular or otherwise. That takes some doing. I am confident that with men of your calibre we'll defend these islands with honour, with strength and with precision!"

"Three cheers for the general!" Aimes bellowed. The assembled troops replied in unison, some two thousand of them cheering their new commander.

MacArthur smiled, accepting the honour with a nod. He waited until the cheers had died down before continuing with his address. "Now, I know you're all tired from the long voyage and no doubt eager to get to your new postings. I won't keep you out in this sweltering sun any longer than I have to, you'll be glad to hear. But I believe we should all pray for the success of your mission here. Would the regimental chaplain please join me on the dais?"

Father Kelly was standing near the back of the assembly, his thoughts elsewhere. It took a nudge from behind by Martinez to get his attention. "Hey, father, the general's calling for you!"

The priest looked around and realised everyone was staring at him. "Father, would you join me up here on stage?" the general asked. "That's if you're not too busy." That got a laugh from the men, further embarrassing the priest. Blushing to his blond roots, Father Kelly fell out of line and hurried towards the dais. He almost stumbled on the stairs before reaching MacArthur. The general shook him by the hand and welcomed the nervous priest to the Philippines. "The men and I would certainly appreciate it if you could lead us all in a prayer of thanks for their safe voyage, and of hope for the future."