The Final Storm

by Jeff Shaara

  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 glass 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 Japanese 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 Japan’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 Japanese 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 participation. 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, Japanese 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 assured!”

  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 morn
ing, a cascade of shells into the American position that was met at first by return fire from the American ships. But the Japanese 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 assaults. 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 Japanese firepower that had devastated the American ground forces was now obliterated.

  The same was true for the Japanese armor. The Japanese 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 shelling from Japanese artillery, the Japanese 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 Japanese armor charged with leading the counterattack had been destroyed.

  As the Americans scrambled to react to the surprising change in Japanese tactics, the Japanese ground troops began their assault. 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 Japanese 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 Japanese pushed forward for a full day and into the night. The next morning what was left of the Japanese offensive forces obeyed their officers, who obeyed the plan given them by General Cho. They attacked again. Though the tenacity of the Japanese 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 embarrassed. 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 shell 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 assistance, 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 assets we have, most especially this ground.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Is General Cho in his office?”

  “I just saw him, yes, sir.”

  Ushijima nodded, knew that Cho’s proximity meant that he had heard everything Ushijima had just said. He glanced that way, toward the wall, thought, he is standing close, making sure he misses nothing. Good.

  “I am not ready to end this fight, Colonel. I was sent here with specific orders that we not destroy this army by engaging in one massive suicidal charge. Those kinds of attacks are no longer appropriate, and as you know, they do nothing at all to bring victory.” He raised his voice, aimed the words at the ears of Cho. “A military victory.” He paused. “We have one duty now, to kill as many of the enemy as it is possible to kill. I am counting on you to see that we accomplish that.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  There was a commotion behind Yahara, an aide, holding a piece of paper. The man seemed agitated, excited, and Ushijima said, “What is it?”

  The man stepped into the room, tried to hold himself at attention, his energy making that impossible.

  “Here, sir! A message has just come through from the Imperial High Command.”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  The man held out the folded paper, and Yahara took it, passed it on to Ushijima without looking at it. Ushijima opened the paper, read.