The Final Storm: A Novel of the War in the Pacific

by Jeff Shaara

  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.”

  JUNE 22, 1945

  It was not yet midnight, but the lack of daylight meant very little inside the dismal cave. Above him the thunder of artillery had been replaced by new sounds, machine gun fire, sounds both familiar and foreign. He knew what was happening, that those officers still remaining who controlled enough men to make a stand were doing so right above him. It was a desperate attempt to drive the Americans off the hill. In the dark corridor, men had been assembled, a scattering of stragglers from various units close by, brought together by staff officers, the only officers these men could find. He knew that Yahara was there, could hear voices, the frantic words of men who were preparing for their last fight. Yahara was at his doorway now, the only light a candle to one side, and Yahara said, “We are prepared, sir. Major Matsubara has given the instructions, and Lieutenants Tsubakida and Yabumoto will coordinate the effort as best they can. We have the advantage of darkness, and the enemy cannot withstand our will!”

  Ushijima waved him away, knew the plan was already in motion. There was nothing else to say. The commotion beyond his room increased, the men ordered out toward the main entrance. Ushijima sat silently, stared at the flicker from the candle, thought, at least he did not call this attack a banzai. I would rather them die with dignity, killing the enemy. There is no glory in hurling oneself into the abyss.

  He had no illusions that this attack would be successful in removing the Americans from so close to his headquarters. But his troops were still willing, had accepted their role in this horrible drama with as much honor as anyone could hope for. He glanced at his pocket watch, the dial reading just after seven o’clock, completely wrong. Wonderful, he thought. Even my timepiece fails me. He tapped it gently, useless, slipped it back into his pocket. There were no voices in the corridor now, the only sounds coming from above, the muffled struggle rolling across the hillside a few meters above him.

  JUNE 23, 1945

  He found sleep, the steady roar of the fight offering him a strange comfort. But now there were voices, and he lurched awake, blinked in the darkness, the candle extinguished. A light flickered outside, and he pulled himself up, straightened his uniform, the light close, illuminating his room. The voice came softly, one of his aides.

  “Sir, I beg your forgiveness. You asked to be notified when it was three o’clock.”

  “Yes. Please summon General Cho.”

  “As you wish, sir. Shall I leave the candle?”

  “I prefer you not stumble about. I will be fine in the dark.”

  The man was gone, the light flowing away. At first Ushijima’s room had received a single lightbulb, hanging tenuously from an unconcealed wire. But the power was out now, the cave no more than a warm, damp tomb. The fight still raged above but seemed to slow, the machine guns and thumps of mortar fire exhausted by the long night, a battle of attrition that had spent itself in blood and the death of too many men. He stood, moved in the dark space by memory, thought of Cho, the room next to him, the man’s thunderous snoring apparent even through the thick dirt walls. He heard commotion from that way, knew that Cho had spent much of the evening consuming a generous amount of spirits, and Ushijima had no patience for that now. After a long minute, the candlelight returned, and Cho was there now, said, “Sir. It is time, yes?” Cho’s words were slurring, and there was a strange cheerfulness to the man, something Ushijima had seen before. “I have been waiting for you to awaken, sir. You took a good rest.”

  Ushijima fastened the buttons on his coat, said, “You as well, General. Your snoring carries more thunder than the enemy’s guns.”

  Other aides appeared now, and Ushijima knew it was the work of Yahara, that word had been passed. Ushijima saw a familiar face in the candlelight, said, “Captain, summon Colonel Yahara.”

  Cho stumbled into the room, sat heavily on a small bench to one side, and Ushijima could smell the man’s drunkenness, saw the bottle still in his hand, something stronger than sake. Cho said, “So. Who will go first? You or me? Shall I die first and lead you to another world?”

  “I will take the lead.”

  Cho laughed, took a slug from the bottle.

  “Sir, you will go to paradise, I to hell. I cannot accompany you to that other world.”

  Ushijima ignored the comment, could see more men gathering outside the room, emerging from the offices that spread out down the musty corridor. One man stepped forward, dropped to his knees, soft cries.

  “Please, sir, accept my respects. It is my honor to serve you.”

  Another man came in, one of the staff officers, and the man seemed drunk as well, said aloud, “Sir, I wish to inform the general that our final message has been transmitted to Imperial General Headquarters. I need not read it. The words are imprinted upon my brain, as it has no doubt been received so many times by those in Tokyo. ‘Your army has successfully completed preparations for the defense of our homeland.’ ” The man laughed, slicing through the somber mood of the others. “Is that not what we are supposed to say, sir? Is all well here? Victory within our grasp, then?”

  Ushijima retrieved his newest uniform coat from his trunk, said quietly, “Thank you for your service, Major. You will retire to your room.”

  The man stumbled into the others, took some of them with him, the crowd thinning, nothing else for them to say. Yahara was there now, and Ushijima saw his face in the candlelight, the colonel not hiding the tears. Ushijima pinned a large medal upon his own chest, something he had not displayed in over a year, the uniform coming together in a grand show that few in this command had ever seen. He looked toward Yahara, the man seeming to wait for him to speak first.

  “Colonel, is there any change?”

  “No, sir. I have not been outside myself, but the last report I received indicated that the enemy was massing near several entrances to the cave. We ha
ve blockaded them as effectively as we could, but with their high explosives, and the guns of their tanks, I do not see how we can hold them away. The flamethrowers will certainly follow, sir.”

  “They shall not capture us, Colonel, and they shall not have the satisfaction of destroying us.” He paused, looked at the few remaining faces, flickers of candlelight, saw many tears, and now the face of Captain Sakaguchi. “Captain, I am pleased you have come. Are you prepared?”

  “I am at your service, General.”

  “Then it is time. General Cho, are you able to walk?”

  Cho ignored the insult, removed his coat, tossed it on the floor, was now opposite in appearance from his commander, who stood now for a long silent moment, straight backed, one hand touching the display of medals on his chest, each one a small memory of some ceremony, utterly meaningless now. Cho stood unevenly, and Ushijima moved past him, past the others, out into the corridor. The candlelight followed him, lighting the way, and after a short march the cave’s wide opening was visible. Without any order the candle was extinguished, no opportunity offered the enemy to target the entrance from some lookout at sea. Ushijima stood at the opening, felt the warm breeze, could see moonlight on the water, felt a mist rising up from the cliffs below, a spray of salt air. He stepped outside, a ledge to one side, saw that the preparations had been made, exactly as he had requested. A soft mat had been spread on the rocky flat ground, a white ceremonial cloth draped on the rocks just behind. He moved without a word, sat, curled his legs in, faced the sea. Cho followed, settled down clumsily beside him. Cho leaned low, as though peering off the edge of the cliff, one last glimpse of something Ushijima knew nothing about, and he avoided the thought that somewhere below, a woman huddled low in some shacklike corner of this grotesque hell. With Cho’s back revealed to the moonlight, he realized there was writing on Cho’s white shirt, large brushstrokes, the details made clear not just by the moonlight, but the hint of dawn just rising in the east.