Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.
Just a lad of eighteen summers,
Still there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning,
He proudly held his head on high.
Sung to the melody of Rolling Home to Dear Old Ireland, the song Kevin Barry was a famous one of rebel protest that told the story of an eighteen-year-old IRA volunteer who became one of the ‘Forgotten Ten’, a group of men executed at Dublin’s Mountjoy Prison during 1920-21 at the height of unrest during the Irish War of Independence. An incredibly popular song over the years, it had made a household name of its namesake and had cemented its place in Republican history. It was Terry O’Hanlon who sang it now, making a reasonable job of it as he stood at attention, his eyes facing forward in Kelly’s direction as a sign of respect as they dragged him past.
Shoot me like an Irish soldier.
Do not hang me like a dog,
For I fought to free old Ireland
On that still September morn.
All around the little bakery
Where we fought them hand to hand,
Shoot me like an Irish soldier,
For I fought to free Ireland
Two others joined in for the chorus. There was no chance of any of present not knowing the words, and they added their voices to his as the volume rose and began to echo off the walls of the cellar.
Just before he faced the hangman,
In his dreary prison cell,
British soldiers tortured Barry,
Just because he would not tell.
The names of his brave comrades,
And other things they wished to know.
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered “No”.
The rest joined in now, a chorus of men proud of their heritage and of the compatriot they were now singing for as a final show or respect. The guards, feeling even more nervous now that they had when the prisoners had simply been shouting, had no idea how to react. Aggression and resistance they’d seen before and knew how to counter… singing was another matter entirely, and without Stahl’s presence, they ultimately opted for inaction as the appropriate response, seeing no point in wasting further energy on something so irrelevant as song.
Proudly standing to attention
While he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother
Whose grief no one can tell.
For the cause he proudly cherished
This sad parting had to be
Then to death walked softly smiling
That old Ireland might be free.
Another martyr for old Ireland,
Another murder for the crown,
Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish,
But can't keep their spirit down.
Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From the foe they will not fly.
Lads like Barry will free Ireland,
For her sake they'll live and die.
Even in his stunned, broken state, Eoin Kelly heard the words and felt the courage of it flow through him, replenishing his failing strength. With renewed energy he fought against the pain coursing through his body, the grimace of pain replaced by the calm serenity of a faint smile, his good eye closed as he let them drag him out through the door. Instead of suffering and torture, the song gave him far more pleasant memories of his childhood home, and of growing up amid the strong bonds of brotherhood formed within the Republican cause.
The singing halted for a time as the others were marched upstairs at gunpoint and across the courtyard to the waiting truck, but as they all climbed into the open cargo bed of that three-tonne Opel, it began again with renewed vigour, the words of Kevin Barry again ringing out and filling the air with its solemn, respectful melody. Kelly was still smiling as the final shot came. Kneeling with his head bowed and his arms tied behind his back, he nevertheless continued to smile as the rifle bullet took him in the chest and threw him backward, sprawled across the hard cobblestones in the shadow of the red brick tower near the main entrance.
As he took his final breath, Eoin Kelly dreamed of rolling Irish countryside and his parents loving arms, and last sound he heard as his life slipped away was that of his brothers singing him home.
9.Synchronicity
Headquarters, IJN 2nd Imperial Fleet
Samah Naval Base, Hainan Island
December 6, 1942
Sunday
Japanese naval infantry of the South China Naval Force first landed on the northern shores of Hainan Island on the 9th of February, 1939. In concert with Imperial Army units, the defeat and subsequent subjugation of the native populace was swift and brutal, with over a third of the island’s entire male population lost during the campaign either to forced labour, deportations or killed during the guerrilla campaign that followed, waged by local communists and the native Li people. The island had been considered strategically important both for its raw materials – predominantly iron and copper – and for its geographical position.
Air fields offered forward bases for possible offensive operations against Burma, Thailand and the Malay Peninsula. A huge naval anchorage at Samah in the south of the island (formerly known as Sanya prior to invasion) also offered a perfect step-off point for further naval expansions to the south and west, directly threatening British and Commonwealth interests in the region.
Those same airfields and naval facilities were of great interest to Allied forces in the area, and the interception and diversion of RAF reconnaissance aircraft out of Burma (and some American units flying from the Philippines) was a relatively commonplace occurrence. Already that morning, an RAAF Hudson flying out of Rangoon and a US Navy Catalina from Manila had been turned away while still some distance out to sea. The third foreign arrival that Sunday morning had been expected however, and had approached Hainan Island from a completely different direction, having come in from the north.
The Messerschmitt T-22A Goliath was a long-range transport, intended to replace the capable but far less advanced T-1C Gigant in Luftwaffe service. Powered by four huge turboprops and able to fly almost four thousand miles with maximum fuel, the aircraft was actually faster than most Japanese fighters currently in service and promised to provide an incredible boost in logistic capabilities.
Painted in a standard European camouflage scheme of overall olive green with large dark green patches above light grey undersides, that particular T-22A carried no unit insignia save for the standard balkankreuz (black crosses) on the wings and fuselage, the ubiquitous swastika adorning the rudder and, on either side of the nose below the cockpit windows, a smaller square of bright red displaying a golden border of tiny swastikas and, at its centre, a larger golden swastika in a white circle, surrounded by a wreath of grey oak leaves. The nose insignia was the official pennant of the German Reichsmarschall, and it was the only identification necessary for any member of the German Wehrmacht to instantly recognise who might be aboard.
The main IJAAF (Imperial Japanese Army Air Force) airfield at Samah was a little more than six or seven miles west of the city’s main naval anchorage, and it was well into the middle of a warm morning as the Goliath taxied up to a specially prepared hardstand close to the main hangars and administration buildings. As the side door behind the cockpit opened and folded down to form a set of steps, a small entourage of officials – both in and out of uniform – was waiting patiently a few metres away by a pair of large, black sedans and an old, flatbed Ford that looked old enough to be an original Model T.
As a four-man SS escort stepped out down onto the tarmac beneath the hot, humid sun of that morning, Ritter, Schiller and Reuters following in that order, one of the waiting officials stepped forward and walked briskly across to greet them.
“Herr Reichsmarschall… Heil Hitler…” he began in clear, crisp German, surprising all three men as their escort watched him suspiciously, hands on the sidearms a
t their belts. “My name is Miyagi Ryo: I have been given the honour of welcoming you to Japan…” And with that he snapped to attention, raised his hand momentarily in a Nazi salute and then executed a stiff, respectful bow that was matched by every man standing back at the vehicles. Short, thin and also surprisingly young in Reuters’ opinion, Miyagi wore a slightly rumpled grey three-piece suit and matching tie, with thick glasses perched over a pointed, almost European-shaped nose.
“I thank you for your hospitality and look forward to seeing as much of your country as I am able,” Reuters replied graciously, putting on his best diplomatic smile as he also came to attention and gave a perfect, regimental ‘Heil Hitler’ in return. “We were advised that Admiral Kondō would be receiving us…”
“My apologies, sir,” Miyagi bowed again, this time as a request for forgiveness. “Admiral Kondō-san has been detained unexpectedly, although he has sent one of his executive officers in his stead.” Ritter raised an eyebrow at that response, noting not only the nervousness of the tone but also the suffix used to denote the officer mentioned. He said nothing, but filed that information away for later discussion. “If you will allow me, we have cars waiting…” he added, extending an arm back toward the waiting group. “Your escorts may travel in the lorry, if that is acceptable.”
“Of course, Miyagi-san,” Reuters agreed immediately, bowing his head slightly and making use of some of the basic lessons in Japanese he’d been taking over the last few months. “Please… lead the way…”
“You honour me, Mein Herr…” Miyagi declared, bowing lower than ever as he acknowledged the importance of Reuters use of the suffix ‘-san’, one that clearly indicated the user considered the other man someone of approximately equal social status.
“Nice…” Ritter muttered under his breath, nodding faintly in recognition of the compliment his CO had just handed out and recognising the intelligence behind it.
More greetings were made beside the cars, with the trio introduced to a naval captain, two colonels and another civilian diplomat from the Prime Minister’s office.
“Daigensui-Rikugun-Taishō Reuters,” Miyagi began in formal Japanese, using the closest rank for Reichsmarschall he could think of in his language, the honorific equating to ‘Grand Marshal General’, “…may I introduce Kaigun-daisa Honda Masaharu, commanding officer of the 1st Kure Kaigun Tokubetsu Rikusentai…”
“Naval captain… 1st Kure Special Naval Landing Forces… marines…” Ritter whispered quickly in German, not expecting Reuters’ basic grasp of Japanese to stretch that far.
“An honour to meet you, Honda-san,” Reuters nodded in slow, careful Japanese, coming to attention and giving a military salute and again making an attempt a schmoozing by inferring they were equals in spite of his far greater rank.
“I am at your service, Reuters-dono,” The officer replied, this time appearing completely unmoved by the attempted compliment. “It is an honour to welcome such important guests on behalf of the admiral: we will do my utmost to ensure that you are well accommodated during your visit.”
Short, hard-faced and stocky and wearing standard tropical dress with pistol and ceremonial katana at his belt, he spoke all the appropriately diplomatic words with a clear tone of disinterest that might have bordered on insubordination, had the Germans been fluent enough to pick it up. One or two of the Japanese officers raised an eyebrow at such an overt display of disrespect, however the whole thing had obviously sailed straight past their guests, leaving them with a clear indication of how well these men spoke and understood Japanese (or did not, as the case might be).
“If you would care to come with us,” he added coldly, “we can make sure you’re all taken straight to your quarters for a rest after such a long flight.”
“The officers will ride with me, Honda-san,” Miyagi said sharply, showing no indication of subservience or timidity now that he was addressing one of his own.
“This is a navy matter,” Honda growled back, both men facing each other and standing stiffly at attention, neither ready to break the other’s gaze. “These men were not supposed to arrive for another week! Do you think this is a coincidence with that cursed ship of theirs now so close? You know they have their entire fleet searching for it: we cannot afford for the Germans to find it before it can be unloaded! You would dare ignore the orders of the admiral?”
“As much as you dare to ignore the orders of the Privy Seal…!” Miyagi countered, arching an eyebrow. Does Kondō-san have the confidence of the Emperor…? This is far more complex than the whereabouts of one worthless raider: make whatever report you wish; those men are under my supervision while they are here.”
“We will speak of this again, Miyagi,” Honda warned, giving clear disrespect by omitting the customary suffix. That his hand had also strayed almost unconsciously to his sword hilt hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone present.
“And I shall deal with this when it happens,” the diplomat shot back with feigned indifference, refusing to show any of the fear he felt over angering an armed officer. “Until then, try to keep out of my way!”
“Gentlemen…” he began again, all smiles once more as he turned to address Reuters and the others in perfect, welcoming German. “This way, if you please…”
“Did he just say what I think he said?” Reuters whispered to Ritter as them moved toward a large, black Packard Super Eight sedan, having struggled with the lightning-fast barrage of angry Japanese, the conflict in that exchange as clear to him as it had to everyone else.
“Yes, I think so, Mein Herr...” Ritter whispered back with equal lack of volume, no hint of emotion on his face. “He just made clear reference to finding the ship before we did, right in front of us, as if we weren’t even there.”
“Impudent little prick…!” Reuters observed, carefully voicing his affront without any tell-tale angry tone. “Why is it that every time I meet our ‘allies’, they seem to annoy me almost as much as our enemies…?”
“Don’t worry, Kurt...” Schiller observed under his breath from behind the others, an irreverent smile on his face. “I’m sure he’ll do much better once you’ve gotten to know him...!”
“Funny bastard...” Reuters growled softly, rejecting his initial urge to smile. “Very funny indeed…” He grimaced. “Let’s just hope we do find the ship before they get hold of it! I don’t like the idea of being ten thousand kilometres away from home when we have to ‘explain’ to these arschloch that they’re not getting a bloody thing!”
“Let’s hope...” Schiller agreed, not quite as irreverent now as he considered that point. “Did you see the way he went for his sword while they were arguing? Makes my neck itch every time I look at it...”
Following behind at a discreet distance, Honda’s face split into a wide grin upon hearing that remark. He’d been warned the Germans wouldn’t be co-operative and might have some hidden agenda behind their early arrival… it now indeed seemed that that would be the case. He made a face in recognition of a small miracle: it seemed Naval Intelligence had gotten things right for once.
Schiller nervously glanced over his shoulder at that moment, and Honda forced some innocence back into his own smile. He resisted the urge to lower his hand again to his katana just to unsettle the man, seeing no sense in giving away the secret that he also spoke fluent German.
Makes your neck itch does it, Schiller-san…? Honda thought with malicious glee. With what’s about to happen over the next few days, perhaps we’ll see how thick that neck of yours actually is…!
All three were then ushered into the rear of a huge Packard Super Eight, with Miyagi climbing into the front beside the driver. As they pulled away from the runway and headed out between the main admin buildings, the rest of the entourage followed on behind in a smaller, similarly-coloured Toyota. They were waved straight through the checkpoint at the main gates and turned out onto the main road, heading east toward town. A trio of Type-95 reconnaissance cars joined the convoy outside the gates, two
speeding off ahead and one taking up position behind as the group cruised away at a leisurely pace.
Ritter stared out through the open side window at the passing scenery, taking in the seemingly unbroken vista of tropical rainforest and low-level scrub that came right up to the road on the left side of the vehicle. There were very few tall trees, but he spotted quite a number of coconut palms and other shorter growths amid tall grasses and a multitude of different species of flowering plants.
All three men wore standard Wehrmacht M39 camouflage-pattern tropical dress, including the Afrika Korps-style tan kepis, and all three were already sweltering in the crippling humidity that made a temperature barely into the high twenties centigrade seem so much higher.
“I must apologise for that uncultured display earlier, Meine Herren,” Miyagi advised, leaning over the back of the front seat to speak to them. “A minor disagreement between colleagues, I can assure you…”
“Of course,” Reuters nodded, giving tacit forgiveness in the inclination of his head. “Something about a lost ship, I believe? I hope nothing too serious for the crew involved.”
That straight-up remark surprised Ritter and Schiller almost as much as it did Miyagi, and had been intended purely to gauge the diplomat’s reaction without ever expecting any kind of response in return.
“When we learned of your early arrival, Herr Reichsmarschall, we suspected it might have something to do with the whereabouts if the Kormoran,” Miyagi replied with polite but no less brutal honesty, taking his turn at surprising everyone. “The rest of your huge entourage is due to arrive in Tokyo at the end of this week, yet you personally arrive so early, by a most circuitous route, with just a day’s advance notice. Highly irregular, if you don’t mind me saying…”
“As irregular as your openness regarding this matter,” Reuters pointed out, suspiciously eying the driver, who remained unmoved and staring straight out through the front windshield. “Is this an appropriate environment for such a discussion?”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 47