More shots and this time he dropped to the ground. He recognized the sound of a Japanese rifle, followed by a rain of shots from Springfields. A moment later came the crump sound of a grenade going off, followed by yells from American soldiers. Another Japanese fanatic had decided to swallow a grenade. Jesus, he thought, what crazy people. Who would ever prefer death to surrender and living? Then he thought about the atrocities committed by the Japanese on American POWs and captured civilians and wondered just what he would do if confronted by the choice of dying or surrendering to Japanese mercies. Damn, he thought. What a hell of a way to run a war.
* * *
Farris had spent much of the time since he’d been wounded floating in and out of consciousness. He’d dreamed sometimes, and the dreams were often terrible. He kept seeing Stecher being blown up and then a montage of Japanese faces, their mouths open and all of them screaming that he should die. What was worse was that he couldn’t force himself to wake up, as he could as a kid with a nightmare. He’d heard people’s voices saying that they were keeping him sedated until his injuries had healed enough.
Injuries? What the hell were they talking about? He felt like he was underwater and trying to reach the surface. His mind strained and reached for the light. He opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dimly lit and he had trouble focusing. He looked around and saw another bed, but it was empty. The room was stark and sterile and obviously a hospital.
Then he realized he was looking through only his right eye. Oh Christ, he wondered, have I lost an eye?
He mumbled something and a man appeared and stuffed a drinking straw in his mouth. “Drink this. You’ve got to get yourself lubricated before you can talk properly.”
Farris did as he was told and the cold water was an elixir. “Drink all you want, buddy, just take it slowly. I don’t want to have to clean up your puke.”
With each successive swallow, he felt his strength returning. A distant memory recalled his aunt watering her potted plants and how some of them would perk up almost immediately. He decided that’s what he was, a house plant, a house plant with one eye.
Shit and double shit.
He tried to move and realized that his left arm wasn’t responding. He reached over with his right and found his left side was swathed in bandages. He gingerly checked his head and the left side of his face was also bandaged. Damn it, was anything working? He groped between his legs and was relieved to find that everything seemed at least present and accounted for in that department.
Another face appeared and this was clearly a doctor. His nametag said so. “I’m Doctor Greeley and you’re in a military hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia. You were wounded a couple of weeks ago and were flown down here for treatment once your wounds had stabilized. You are very lucky.”
“Am I blind?” Farris managed to say. His voice came out raspy and he wondered if he could be understood.
The doctor took a deep breath. “Not really and maybe not at all. Obviously you can see out of your right eye, but we are a little concerned about your left. We are also concerned about your left arm. We’re not totally certain what happened, but you may have lost some use of your left side as a result of being buried under a pile of bodies. Maybe you were pinned for too long and there was some nerve damage or other problems resulting from oxygen deprivation or something else we don’t quite understand. Tell me, do you recall what happened to you?”
Farris closed his eyes and tried to remember. At first it was snapshots, then he saw Japanese, like in a movie, screaming and yelling, and coming straight at him. Only this time it wasn’t a nightmare. Then he was inundated and buried under a pile of flesh.
“I remember,” he said. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”
“Good reasoning. But it does tell me that your mind is working and that is a very good sign.”
“If my mind worked all that well in the first place, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this stupid situation. By the way, Doc, what am I doing in Canada?”
“Kindly recall, Lieutenant Farris, that Canada and the United States are allies, and that we Canadians have pretty good doctors and hospitals. We use anesthetics and some of us have been known to clean our hands and our surgical tools before operating, even though we’re not sure why,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“Either that or we could have left you up north in the care of some well-meaning medics who would have called on an Eskimo shaman if they needed a second opinion. Which would you prefer?”
“I think I like it here. What happens next?”
“That’s somewhat up to you. Now that you are fully conscious and likely to stay that way, we are going to wean you off of morphine and then arrange for you to be flown south, either to San Francisco or San Diego. Not that it matters to the military, but do you have a preference?”
“San Diego, if you can arrange it. I have an uncle down there and maybe a girlfriend, a nurse, and she can maybe take care of me.”
Jesus, he thought. Would Sandy even want to see him if his arm was crippled and he had only one eye?
“Excellent choice. I’ll put you in for Kansas City and see what the army comes up with.”
“Doc, when I get out of this bed, you know I am going to have to kill you.”
Greeley smiled. “Ah, but you’ll have to catch me first, which would mean you are quite well indeed. By the way, you have some mail.” He handed Steve a thin bundle of letters and left.
After Greeley left, a male nurse took pity on his fumbling one-handed attempts to pry open the envelopes and did it for him. The first letter was from Colonel Gavin praising him for his bravery and hoping he would recover quickly. He was also being put in for a medal. Stecher was getting the Silver Star, posthumously, of course.
The second was from Dane, also hoping he’d get well and come down to San Diego. He added that there was a surplus of beer and steaks. Well, Farris thought, that was a plan.
The third was from Sandy and he looked at it hesitantly. She hoped he was well. Hell, if he was well he wouldn’t be in a hospital. She wanted him to come down to see her. She was friendly but curiously noncommittal. She said they’d started something very nice, kind of like Amanda and Tim, and she wanted to know where it would end. Well, so did he, but he wondered just what lay under the bandages. Did he have an eye? If not, would he get a glass eye? He’s seen people with glass eyes and they looked so terrible and out of sync with the rest of a person’s face. Maybe he’d just wear a patch. Or was he so scarred under the bandages that he’d scare her away? Tim had mentioned a buddy of his who’d been burned when the Enterprise sank and whose scars were very slowly disappearing. Was he going to be like that or would his situation be even worse?
Damn it to hell. First, though, he had to get out of the hospital and out of Vancouver, no matter how friendly the natives were, and go south. In order to do that, though, he had to quit feeling sorry for himself and start working what was left of his body into shape.
* * *
Krause was bored to tears. But, he consoled himself, at least he was alive. He had been billeted in a rather pleasant two-bedroom bungalow on an American naval base and he was being treated with at least a small level of respect. The Yanks had made a promise and he was relatively confident they’d live up to it. He had decent food, comfortable furniture, and even a small garden that he found surprisingly pleasant to work in. The house had once belonged to an officer who’d been killed in the Midway debacle. A shame, he thought, but at least he could put the house to good use.
Of course, the Americans didn’t trust him any farther than they could throw him. He’d done his part and now wanted to be released from this genteel captivity as soon as possible. He was guarded by military police under instructions to keep conversation to a minimum, although he was permitted a radio and local newspapers that kept him abreast of the course of the war.
The news reinforced his decision to throw in with the Americans. Germany was not succeeding against the Sovie
ts and had not expelled the Americans and the British from North Africa. He was convinced that Hitler had not succeeded on either front because the German army simply didn’t have the numbers or resources to fight both the Soviets and the Americans. It would take a while, but Germany would be defeated. So too would Japan. Yes, he thought, he had definitely made the right choice.
Every day either Harris or Dane would come and visit. The occasions were not social. Today was Dane’s turn.
“Commander, I’m bored.”
“Forgive me for not caring,” said Dane. “At least you’re still alive. There are those who feel you should be hanged.”
“For what?” Krause said incredulously, even though they’d had this conversation several times. “Are your people angry because I helped derail a couple of trains? Please, those were all acts of war. What do you think British and now your bombers are doing to trains and other targets in Germany? Trust me, they are not making distinctions between freight trains and passenger trains. Nor are they avoiding civilian areas when you and the British bomb German cities. Luebeck, Rostock, and Cologne have been severely damaged and many civilians have been killed or maimed. Even Berlin itself has been bombed.
“And don’t bring up the issue of those poor Mexican boys. They were criminals and they would have betrayed Braun and me. They were unfortunate casualties of a cruel war. Wasn’t it an American who said that war was hell?”
“You weren’t in uniform, which is a violation of the Geneva Convention.”
“And you are not a signatory to that ridiculous document, even though you did agree to abide by it, a distinction that confuses me. I also have it on good authority that you and your so-called Allies are sending saboteurs in to France and elsewhere and I am quite certain that they would not be so stupid as to wear American or British uniforms.”
Dane glared at him. “Is this all we’re going to do, rehash old arguments? If so, I’m going to leave you to feel sorry for yourself.”
“Of course not, Commander, and I assure you I am not feeling sorry for myself. I have a suggestion that will help expedite the process of drawing the Japanese into your trap. Are you interested?”
“Of course.”
“You are building a mock carrier task force down in the Gulf of California, are you not?”
Somebody has a big mouth, Dane thought, and then realized that maintaining such secrecy on a huge base was virtually impossible. Besides, who could Krause tell, and, more important, what would encourage him to? Information was his lifeline to a life of freedom.
“Of course we would be interested in any ideas you might have.”
Krause smiled, looking almost pleasant. “I knew you would. So, here is my idea. You had me tell the Japanese that one of your carriers, the Saratoga, would be in the Gulf. Well, they say that Yamamoto is a gambler. Therefore, why not make it double or nothing?”
CHAPTER 19
AMANDA LOOKED STERNLY AT HER FRIEND. “WELL, MAKE UP YOUR mind. Are you in love with him or not?”
Sandy grimaced and wiped away a tear. Her eyes were red from crying. “I don’t know. We only went out a couple of times and now he’s badly wounded.”
Grace inhaled deeply on her cigarette and smiled as she exhaled a perfect smoke ring. “Let’s face it, Sandy dearest, you are afraid that you’re going to wind up with a war hero who’s a cripple and so badly mangled that you won’t want to be seen with him, much less wind up screwing him, even with the lights off.”
Amanda smiled. “You do have a marvelously tactful way with words, Gracie.”
“The hell with tact,” Grace said. “I think it’s time to be blunt. When young Mister Farris went north, Sandy moped and then did what she does best at a time of crisis, she ate. Sandy, did anyone ever tell you you’re getting fat again?”
“I am not getting fat,” Sandy said loud enough for the handful of the others in the restaurant to hear. They stifled grins and turned away.
“All right,” Sandy said and wiped away another tear. “You’re right, I am gaining. I’ll stop eating, so don’t call me a baby.”
“Good,” said Amanda. “Now what are you going to do about Steve Farris? If he’s coming down here, you are going to have to meet with him and deal with whatever problems he has. That is, if you want to have a future with him. Even though you two aren’t married and maybe never will be, that for better or worse thing still counts. Maybe it’s even more important before you get married, or even begin to take each other seriously. And, by the way, if he’s on his way down here, he can’t be all that badly wounded, can he?”
Sandy had gotten a brief note from Steve, written with obvious difficulty and just delivered. In it he said he was having trouble with his left arm and eye, but was otherwise okay and looked forward to seeing Sandy. All of this said that he wasn’t an amputee and strongly implied that he wasn’t confined to a wheelchair. But was she really looking forward to seeing him? He would be coming down by train in a few days and said he was delighted that a wounded army officer was being sent to recuperate in what was essentially a navy town.
Amanda pressed her. “Sandy, you are a nurse, remember? You’ve seen some sights that nobody should ever have to see. You’ve worked on patients so badly mangled it’s a miracle that they’re still alive. You’ve seen men missing limbs and eyes and faces, and you’ve seen relatives who’ve sucked it up and decided that they would take care of their son, their brother, their husband as best they could. You’ve heard grown men cry for their mothers and dying boys say they didn’t want to die a virgin. Steve got a medal for what he did, but those people are heroes too.”
Grace laughed. “And don’t think it was such a big thrill making love to Mack’s old and withered body.”
“It wasn’t?” Sandy said angrily. “I would have thought otherwise from all the noise you two made.”
“Well, actually it was. Not as good as Captain Billy Merchant, mind you, but quite nice.”
Sandy took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. I’ll be a big girl and deal with it as it happens. And I’ll skip dessert, thank you.”
Amanda smiled and turned away. Sandy’s situation had brought out her own unspoken fears. What would she do if Tim was badly wounded, crippled, blinded? He’d seen so much action it was a wonder he was still alive. Sometimes she thought it would be easier dealing with someone’s death. Then, when she thought that way, she realized her thoughts were stupid.
The two Australian cruisers were a mass of flames. So too were the pair of transports the fools had been escorting. Masao Ikeda turned his plane for another strafing run on the almost helpless targets. An antiaircraft crew on one of the cruisers was still firing at them. He dropped his Zero’s nose and his guns obliterated the response.
Aichi E13A seaplanes had spotted the ships earlier in the day. The cruisers were tentatively identified as the heavy cruiser Canberra, ten thousand tons and four turrets each with two eight-inch guns, and the light cruiser Hobart, seventy-one hundred tons and eight six-inch guns, and they were now burning and sinking. Australia’s navy had been small and now, he thought happily, it was even smaller. Rumor had it that Australia’s food situation was becoming as desperate as Hawaii’s, so maybe this setback would cause Australia to think twice about continuing to fight the Japanese Empire.
A number of lifeboats and rafts were in the water and some of the other Zero pilots, mainly the newer ones, thought it was great sport to strafe the helpless little boats. He watched in disgust as bullets ripped through the flimsy craft, sending men into water that was rapidly turning blood red around their floating bodies. He heard the pilots exulting on their radios and contemplated telling them to shut up. He didn’t, though. Let them have their way for a little while. Besides, even though he now had a dozen kills to his credit, they might not obey him. Their blood lust was up.
In earlier times, Masao had thought that way as well, but not now. He had seen far too many men die to think kindly on the idea of slaughter as a sport. Killing
the helpless was not the way of the warrior. Nor was it right for the gunners on the cruiser to have kept firing, forcing Masao to kill again. There was no shame in retreating to fight again another day. The Australian gunners had been fools and it would be justice if they were dead.
The newer Japanese pilots were not the same quality as the men they were replacing, the men who had fought and died for Nippon, the men he mourned as lost companions. The men replacing them were children in comparison, a point he’d frequently made to his good friend Toki.
The Canberra rolled on its side and then on its back. Australian sailors tried to cling to the slippery hull but it bounced obscenely in the water and they were thrown off. God help anyone trapped inside, Masao thought and permitted himself a shudder since no one could see him show weakness in the cockpit of his plane. When I die, he thought, let it be fast.
An hour later, his plane and all the rest of the pilots were safe on the Kaga. Two Zeros had been shot down by enemy fire and both pilots lost. They had been new pilots and now they would be replaced by two more who were even less well prepared.
Masao took a long drink of water and walked as close to the edge of the flight deck as his fear of heights would let him. The mighty ocean swells were hypnotically beautiful and deceptively peaceful. One could look and never see war.
“Don’t jump,” a familiar voice whispered from behind him.
“Go to hell, Toki,” he cheerfully said to his friend. Masao was glad to see him. There hadn’t been much opportunity to visit in the last several days.
“We may already be there, or haven’t you noticed? The men and the ship are wearing down. We need a long and slow refit in a harbor that actually has facilities and where the people don’t want to kill you like they do on Hawaii. And admit it, wouldn’t you like to walk on the ground just one more time before you die?”
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