The Final Storm (51 page)

He swallowed the last of the tea, thought, they are an amazingly inferior people. They observed all the work we did, did much of it themselves, giving up their tombs so we could anchor machine guns among their ancestors. They chopped and shoveled to build Yahara’s caves, they saw our guns, they saw our soldiers, and when the Americans came they suffered the bombardments worse than we did. And yet, through all of that, so many of them have kept to their soil, their meager homes, their primitive protection, as though they believed all of this
noise
would just … pass them by. When we left Shuri, we warned them what would happen there, and yet so many of them chose to remain. We told them we were occupying these heights, and yet, right here, in these villages close to this hill, they still keep to their huts. Are their lives so miserable, so limited that their only source of hope comes from staying in their homes?
Hope
is not a part of anything we do now, and the Okinawans should know that. If they do not, it is not my fault. If they insist on remaining in the line of fire, that is a choice I cannot help. If my men find them to be of use, either in fighting the Americans or in other ways, then my men shall have what they need. He knew that his soldiers carried a new desperation, that the urgent retreat from the Shuri Line had crushed their morale. He had stopped paying attention to any protests from Okinawan officials, who begged him to give protection to their people. There are only so many caves, he thought, and only so many places where my men can fight the enemy. That will take priority over any civilian’s safety. Yes, civilians have been massacred, some in their own homes, some huddling beside the urns that hold their ancestors. But there is no time for pity. I have nothing to give them, and Tokyo has nothing to give me. There is no more mercy, for any of them, for any of us. It is, after all … war.

For the past two days, as the Americans understood that Ushijima’s diminishing army was now anchored in a much more compact area, the intensity of the American bombardment had increased dramatically. Worse for the Japanese, the Americans were using a new weapon, napalm,
dropped from aircraft on those places where the Americans suspected anyone could be hiding. Often they were accurate, the gelatinous fire engulfing the occupants of a cave, usually with no survivors. The blessing, of course, was a quick death, and Ushijima had convinced himself that it was the best way, that his soldiers accepted that as he did. The Yasukuni Shrine will welcome us all, he thought. There need not be suffering in this life for men who have done their duty.

Outside, the American loudspeakers could be heard, broadcasting messages in perfect Japanese, that his soldiers surrender themselves, that no one would be tortured. The civilians were receiving those messages as well, a rain of paper leaflets in every populated area, urging them to come over to the American positions, where food and safety awaited. Ushijima doubted that many of the Okinawans would believe the promises, the people too ignorant and too easily swayed by the Japanese propaganda that had been fed to them even before his army had arrived. Reports had also reached him of mass suicides, civilians and soldiers both, assembling in groups within the caves, grenades most efficient when detonated amid a tightly packed gathering. For his soldiers it was the proper way to die, to pass on to the afterlife without the humiliation of capture. For the civilians … Ushijima pondered that for a moment. I have no explanation for what they do. They believe the enemy is evil, and so I suppose that death is a preferable choice to capture. Whether they have honor at all … he stared at the earthen walls close to one side of him. I have no idea. Some of them serve us in honorable ways. For that we should be grateful. The women, certainly, and not in the ways Cho uses them. The nurses, yes, I do respect the nurses. He felt better now, as though some part of his conscience had been addressed.

The few doctors still serving his army had long exhausted supplies of useful drugs for treating the wounded, and even bandages were rare. Now those same doctors had begun to respond to the misery of their patients by administering one of the few drugs they had in their arsenal, cyanide. Some was used to silence the worst of the suffering, but more was given to those who asked for it, soldiers who might survive the caves, who would not accept that their fight was over. Some of the doctors had dealt with the overwhelming futility of what they saw by using the cyanide on themselves. Beyond the wounds there had been new suffering, outbreaks of every tropical ailment imaginable, diseases birthed by the deepening pools of blood and filth. In the larger caves, where hundreds of men might be
packed side by side, those few doctors who kept their spirit were aided by nurses who suffered from the same disease and who endured the filth and starvation diets alongside the soldiers and medical men. But there had been a singular tragedy as well, a note brought to Ushijima that even he could not dismiss.

From one of the high schools on the island had come more than one hundred fifty young Okinawan girls who had volunteered to serve the Japanese as nurses, though their medical skills were nonexistent. With the number of sick and wounded increasing dramatically, with stacks of corpses and every kind of misery infecting everyone in the caves, the girls endured the same suffering as the dying men and overburdened doctors. The Himeyuri girls were relegated to the worst tasks imaginable, and what had once been carefully guarded innocence had been ripped away by the filth and horrifying duties they were forced to perform, the most basic tasks for the sick and broken men who could do nothing for themselves. When the Americans approached the cave where the Himeyuri girls were hiding, most of the soldiers who occupied the miserable place were already dead, or too sick to respond to the American calls to vacate their hiding place. The loyalty from the girls meant silence, and silence from a large cave brought the usual response from the anxious and exhausted Americans, who had already endured booby traps and all forms of deadly trickery. With few inside willing to surrender, the cave was bombarded by phosphorus grenades and blasted by flamethrowers. Nearly all of the girls were annihilated. In time the Okinawans who became aware of the astounding tragedy were calling the blasted hole in the ground the Cave of the Virgins.

Ushijima set the teacup aside, thought, girls die. Boys die. Babies and the elderly. The Okinawans can mourn their own, their farmers and their fishermen, their virgins and their grandmothers. I did not bring this upon them, and I will not accept that any of this is my fault. That is another antiquated notion, that the general will be blamed for the deaths around him. My
army
is dying, is nearly dead now. Even for that I will accept no blame.

He felt suddenly defiant, thought of the High Command. They accept none of the responsibility and yet it is their orders that put me here. They make the decisions. So they must bear the burden. Instead, they wash their hands of failure and ask the emperor for forgiveness. And he will oblige them. That is what he does, after all. He will accept this defeat as his own,
and as long as we have served him with loyalty, we shall carry none of the guilt. For that we should be grateful.

It wasn’t working, nothing in those words soothing to him at all. That speech had been driven into him for too many years, but his faith in the perfect logic of his own culture had been battered. He had been surprised by his own reaction to the sight and the astounding smell of the dead from his army, spread out on the hillsides close to the cave. The unmerciful heat of the Okinawan summer was working quickly, driving their smell inside, into every small room, every dismal corridor. No, I do not care about virgins and farmers and goat herds. But my army … no, there will be no asking forgiveness from the emperor for what has happened to us here. I will not stand up and explain that we have done our
best
, not when Tokyo has forsaken us. These men have done what I asked them to do. How can any one man expect so much loyalty …

“Sir. Forgive me.”

“One moment, Colonel.”

Ushijima turned away, retrieved a silk handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at his eyes.

“I can come back later, sir.”

“No, come in, Colonel.”

Ushijima saw gloom on Yahara’s face, the same expression the man had worn for days now.

“You bear no responsibility for our defeat, Colonel.”

Yahara seemed puzzled by the comment, said, “Thank you, sir. I do not agree, but I bow to your authority. I have been speaking with many of the officers. Your message to them was received with much appreciation. They have communicated that to their men, whenever possible.”

Ushijima nodded.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

The message had gone out two days earlier, a broad offering of congratulations for the fighting spirit of his army. But there was one line that sat heavily inside him even now, the message that he knew some would dismiss.

Now we face the end
.

“They are fighting, still?”

“Of course, sir. It is the only course. We have mobilized a force to rush the enemy positions closest to the headquarters.”

Ushijima felt a stab of alarm.

“How close is that?”

“That is why I am here, sir. In the east, the enemy has broken through our last defensive position. Reports have come that they are within a thousand meters, and we do not have the means to hold them back. Their tanks are … unstoppable.”

Ushijima felt a hint of a spark in Yahara’s voice, said, “And so, you have a plan?”

“I have assembled those troops who are positioned in proximity to this cave. It is a strong platoon force.” Yahara paused, and Ushijima caught the meaning.

“A single platoon?”

“Lieutenant Matsui has volunteered to advance into the village of Mabuni. All reports indicate that the enemy has occupied the village. Sir …” Yahara lowered his head. “They will be here very soon. We must make some effort to distract them, and possibly to drive them back.”

“With one platoon?”

The cave shook suddenly, a deafening blast. Yahara stumbled, dirt falling on him, and Cho was there, at the doorway, shouted, “They have struck the primary entrance. A direct hit!”

Cho moved back out into the narrow corridor, and Ushijima followed. There was only silence, little movement, most of Ushijima’s guard already sent to the front lines. One man rushed toward him, emerging from the smoke, choking, a brief stumble. He held a rifle, dirt crusted on his face, made an attempt to stand at attention.

“The cave opening … there is great fire.”

Ushijima put a hand on the man, calming him.

“Return there. Gather up the troops you can find. Fire means a shell, or a bomb. But the enemy troops might follow. Be alert!” He looked at Cho. “Probably from a ship, a lucky blow. But make sure the enemy troops are not coming at us on the cliffs below.”

Cho bowed crisply, moved away, the soldier following him. Yahara said, “Sir, please. We must get you to safety. If the enemy succeeds in breaching this cave from the land side, you and General Cho will be most vulnerable. The shaft must be sealed off from that direction. The main entrance that faces the sea … if you are correct, sir, and certainly you are, there is less danger there. The enemy will not come at us by those cliffs. We can defend that section with a minimal force.”

Yahara waited for a response, and Ushijima chewed on the word.

“A
minimal
force is all that remains, Colonel.”

“Then perhaps, sir, we can make our escape by the routes that lead down the cliff. There are still boats, and in the dark we can make our way to sea.”

Ushijima looked out toward the primary entrance, could smell the smoke from the blast, but there was no shooting, no other sound at all.

“Gather what troops you can, seal off the smaller openings that face the enemy.”

“Is that all, sir?”

Ushijima looked into the eyes of the man he admired, knew that Yahara would find a way, would do whatever it took to secure the safety of his commander.

“I will not seek escape. I should not have to tell you that.”

Yahara looked down, and Ushijima could see the emotion.

“What would you have me do, sir?”

There was a sound at the entrance to the room, and Ushijima saw Cho, sweat on his face, his uniform ragged, covered in dust.

“You were correct. The enemy fired a lucky shot, probably from offshore. They are not on the cliffs.”

Ushijima looked again at Yahara.

“Colonel Yahara has a gift of genius, wouldn’t you agree? Has he not demonstrated a loyalty we should admire?”

Cho stepped into the small room, said, “Yes. Without any doubt. His loyalty to the emperor is beyond question.”

“I am not speaking of the emperor. I am speaking more of this command. Colonel, it is essential that someone in authority survive this battle. Tokyo must know what happened here, in the kind of detail only you can provide. General Cho and I will face our duty soon enough. But you …”

“Sir, I would not disgrace myself by offering myself to the enemy, or by abandoning this command.”

“There is no disgrace in following orders. You
will
make every attempt to escape this place, and make your report to the Imperial High Command.”

Cho rubbed his chin, nodded.

“Yes. I agree. This army has fought a gallant fight, and their story must be told. A full report must be made.” He looked at Ushijima now, a stern glare. “I would not be so hasty in judging this battle to be lost, sir. With all respect, of course.”

“I make no such concession. I only wish Colonel Yahara to make preparations, that if events call for him to make his exit, he be prepared to do so. You will carry out my order, Colonel.”

Yahara glanced at Cho, seemed to fight the emotions, kept his head low, then bowed.

“I will obey. But I will not make such a plan while there is still a fight to be made.”

Ushijima looked up, reacting to the thumps above, the cave echoing with a new round of incoming artillery.

“Then make your fight, Colonel. For now, there is little else we can do.”