The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Lieutenant!” He bellowed, lowering the radio for a moment and immediately securing the attention of the nearest junior officer, waiting nervously a few yards away. The man’s head was bare, and a large, blood-stained shell dressing covered a wound on the right side of his head, secured there by a liberal use of tightly-wrapped bandages low enough to almost obscure his vision.

  “Sir…!” The young man barked in return, instantly stepping up to the side of the vehicle.

  “Gather your men, rearm and resupply: we have a troop of tanks being dispatched from Paso to assist that will be here within fifteen minutes… we’ve also been assigned a company of infantry from the Ambon barracks and a pair of anti-aircraft units to deal with this rabble!” He spat angrily, waving a dismissive hand toward a Sabre as it howled past across the water to his right. “With armour in support, there will be no resistance!”

  “Hai…!” The lieutenant replied instantly, his stiff stance at attention transforming momentarily into a short, sharp bow of acknowledgement, after which he immediately turned on his heels and jogged away toward a nearby group of resting soldiers, all of them displaying bandaged wounds about their heads and bodies.

  “Damn them… damn them all…!” Hasegawa snarled softly under his breath, glaring out over the beach at the ruins of some of the Imperial Navy’s finest warships. “We will find them, and we will crush them!”

  A pair of cross-like Bushrangers roared past again, this time heading southward. As he looked up, eyes filled with rage and hatred, he realised that this time they weren’t coming back around for another attack. This time, they appeared to be leaving at what must have been full throttle, and as he turned his head to take in more of the surrounding environment, he could now see many more enemy aircraft doing exactly the same thing.

  Staring up through the shifting haze of smoke and dust, he could now see at least a dozen jets streaking away to the south at high speed, all climbing high into the sky as they went. Even for an army officer, it was perfectly clear from their behaviour that there was no likelihood of them coming back any time soon. Off to the east, the terrible sound of those deadly gunships floated faintly through to his ears, and as he turned his gaze in that direction, he could pick out the tiny but unmistakeable shapes of three Crocodiles in formation, flying low above the jungle canopy as they too made off in the same southerly direction, quickly disappearing behind the far side of Mount Nona as it rose up through the shifting mists at the centre of the Latimor Peninsula.

  “Finally, their courage has broken!” He muttered softly, desperately trying to keep the quaver of relief from his rasping tone as his hands began to shake faintly. He reached out and gripped the upper rim of the Jeep’s windshield in an attempt to control his nerves, his rational mind already seeking solace in denial as it put a tenuously positive spin on what he was seeing. “They’ve seen that they cannot break out resolve, and they have withdrawn…!”

  Already he was practising his rhetoric for the briefing he was certain to be called into with General Itō in the aftermath of this disaster, as blame and accusation were inevitably cast about seeking their blood sacrifice. The general himself would never be found wanting, of course, and it would undoubtedly take some careful phrasing and some deft passing of responsibility to ensure he too was left free of any suspicion.

  Releasing a long sigh of frustration and relief at that moment, Shōsa Hasegawa Itaru glanced down at watch strapped to his left wrist and was surprised to find, that despite what had seemed an eternity of battle, it was still just a few seconds short of noon. With a shrug of resignation, he lifted his gaze once more and again stared out across the smoky waters of the bay, momentarily cursing the beached bulk of the German raider before him that had caused the whole mess in the first place.

  His mind never registered the initial flash. The microseconds that spanned the infinitesimal gap between ignition and the formation of the fireball that followed passed so quickly that there was no time for a human brain to process the information. There was no time to register any pain or fear as that fireball expanded and enveloped them all, instantly vaporising everything it touched out to three hundred yards in every direction.

  A supersonic shockwave rippled away from ground zero, tearing through the barracks and the surrounding jungle, flattening trees and destroying everything in its path out to a distance of almost a mile before it collapsed back in on itself once more, drawn up into the wake of the boiling fireball itself as it began to rise and the terrible, unmistakeable mushroom cloud began to form. Nothing had survived within that mile radius. Thatched huts and bamboo shelters offered no resistance whatsoever to the cyclonic blast wave and they were torn apart with ease, along with anyone unlucky enough to have still been inside.

  Massive doses of lethal radiation saturated the area, and it was perhaps fortunate for most within that deadly blast zone that shockwave itself had ended their lives quickly. The few who survived would inevitably die anyway within the hours and days that followed as their bodies succumbed to the effects of radiation sickness and doses far too great for any human to bear cooked their bodies from the inside out.

  There were remarkably few casualties among for native Ambonese for all that. The huge majority of the local population of the Ambon Township itself had already taken to the hills during the Japanese invasion, and most had not yet returned, quite reasonably fearing for their safety in the current climate. Those few who’d remained or returned had for the most part again headed into the jungle the moment the air raid had begun, fearing any attack on the Japanese barracks there might result in collateral casualties against others in the vicinity.

  The Japanese fared far worse. Added to the hundred soldiers or so still operating within the Tan Tui area, there’d been three companies of infantry billeted in tent camps to the south at Ambon, and perhaps a hundred more dotted about the area at guard posts, anti-aircraft emplacements, supply depots and other ancillary facilities. Hundreds died almost instantly, killed by the blast and the fireball itself, and most of those who remained would also be dead within minutes as, out beyond that initial one-mile blast radius, intense heat was still able to set buildings alight and inflict terrible third degree burns on anyone caught out in the open, many of whom had also been instantly blinded as they’d happened to be staring in the direction of the flash at the time of detonation.

  The results of the devastation were quickly swallowed up by dust, smoke and flying debris as that huge mushroom cloud of darkness and orange flame continued to roll skyward, rising quickly into the upper atmosphere atop its long, slender pillar of black smoke. More than six miles away now, the Emily crossed low over the beaches of Ambon’s north-western coast as the tail-gunner called out his first warning, his eyesight saved only by the fact that the flash of the explosion itself had been obscured by the intervening landmass of the isthmus between the two great peninsulas.

  Even at that distance, that terrible, rising cloud was quite visible, and the diminished blast wave that struck and passed them by a few moments later was still powerful enough to rattle the flying boat’s airframe and give them a few tense moments as Ritter struggled to bring her back under control. Taking a moment to peer out and take in the distant devastation through one of the aircraft’s blistered fuselage gun positions, Reuters could only shake his head and whisper a faint plea for forgiveness to a God he’d all but forgotten throughout most of his adult life.

  “Bad…?” Schiller asked softly, taking note of his CO’s broken expression as the man returned to the seat opposite him at the small navigator’s table.

  “You have no idea…” Reuters croaked, feeling weak and sick to his stomach.

  “Do you suppose they made it clear…? That she made it clear…?”

  “I… I hope so…” he replied, momentarily at a loss for words.

  “Really…?” Schiller asked in return, surprised by the honesty of that answer considering how obsessive the Reichsmarschall had pursued both Donelson and Tho
rne in North Africa just months before.

  “It is a fate I would not wish upon my worst enemy… literally, it appears…” he conceded, accepting the irony in the absolute truth of that statement.

  “Or upon our allies…?”

  “Ahh, well…” Reuters gave a mirthless smile over that query. “Who is to say what has caused such a terrible tragedy? These are the sort of ‘accidents’ that can happen when rogue elements commit acts of treason. Considering their own actions regarding our treatment,” he continued, speaking seriously now, “I suspect there will be little complaint from Tokyo. They can hardly afford to alienate Germany with the rest of the world now against them in the Pacific… even if we continue to help, the greater likelihood remains that the Americans will destroy them…”

  “It doesn’t bother you: that you are responsible for setting off this device?” There was real interest in Schiller’s eyes now as he regarded his commanding officer with a piercing stare that didn’t go unnoticed.

  “You think I would do such a thing without compunction?” Reuters countered with a raised eyebrow, not so much offended as sadly surprised. “Of course, it bothers me…” he added finally, unable to meet that gaze in that moment. “The circumstances that brought the bomb to this island were not of my doing but… but…” he repeated, cutting off the protest Schiller was clearly about to voice “…nevertheless, the decision to detonate this thing was mine and mine alone. It was not a decision made lightly…”

  Schiller detected the waver in the old man’s tone then, and the faint shake in hands clenched before him on the table, and he did feel some empathy in that moment as he was given at least a glimpse of the guilt the Reichsmarschall was currently feeling.

  Guilt enough for a few hundred Japanese and perhaps as many islanders… his own thoughts growled softly at the back of his mind. More guilt for them than the millions destined for our own gas chambers…

  “Of course, Mein Herr,” he acknowledged with as much sincerity as he could muster, that fleeting moment of sympathy dissipating as quickly as it had arrived.

  Well, that’s buggered the neighbourhood…! The voice in Thorne’s head observed drily as cyclonic winds tore through the jungle around him, stinging his face and body with flying debris and leaving him short of breath as he instinctively flung himself to the ground and cowered behind the bole of a tall palm.

  “No shit?” He snarled back hysterically, completely inaudible over the thunder and rumble of a close-proximity nuclear detonation. “Fuck me gently with a barge pole: any other pearls of bloody wisdom you wanna share?”

  The voice remained notably silent as the force of the returning winds swept back over him in the opposite direction a second or two later and the surrounding environment finally began to settle back to something resembling a broken and tattered ‘normal’. Spitting a few times almost daintily – if that were even possible – to clear some errant vegetable matter from his lips, he raised himself onto his haunches and took a moment to pear out from behind the tree.

  “And now the radio’s completely dead as well!” He hissed in frustration, dragging the ruined unit from his belt and hurling it into the undergrowth. “Fuckin’ EMP…!”

  Thorne instantly felt an icy stab of shock and fear right to his core as stared out through the shattered remnants of a heavily defoliated jungle and watched that terrible mushroom cloud roll skyward, already towering over the peninsula on the other side of the bay.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ…” he muttered softly, any thought of anger or personal discomfort gone now as the reality of it all sunk in. He’d been born far too late to have ever before witnessed a live, above-ground nuclear test during Realtime, and Thorne now discovered that watching every film and video tape in existence could never have prepared him for the majestic horror of unleashing the most powerful destructive force ever created by mankind.

  Your ‘mates’ are still down there…

  He glanced across to the left and caught sight of the squad that had been pursuing him through the jungle. No more than twenty or thirty yards away, they too were trying to pick themselves up and recover in the aftermath of those hurricane winds.

  “They got a radio with ‘em, you think…?”

  I – I’m not sure… the voice answered after a moment’s pause, sounding as if it were trying to remember something long forgotten. “I think that maybe they do, yes…

  “Good enough for me,” he growled in resignation, recognising he had little other option in any case as he drew the pistol at his belt once more and checked there was a round in the chamber.

  The men who’d been after him had been equally terrified by what they’d witnessed, although they could never have even begun to guess as what had just occurred, and that moment of bewilderment was enough to slow their reflexes and distract them from any more immediate danger as Thorne came crashing toward them through the scrub, screaming his vengeance with weapon held high.

  Two men fell instantly, taking two shots each to the chest as he drew within a few yards, and another two died a second or two later as they began to dive for cover and he shot them in the back anyway. The remaining trooper lasted a little longer, cowering behind a tree with his submachine gun clutched to his chest, however it took no more than three or four purposeful strides for Thorne to cover the intervening distance and step around the trunk as the terrified private was cautiously looking the other way. Two more rounds at close range, and he was left alone with five corpses and one Japanese Model 94-5 company radio set in perfect working order.

  The Crocodiles were spared the worst of the blast as they sought egress to the south-east, keeping shelter within the lee of Mount Nona and the rest of the higher ridges running through the centre of the Latimore Peninsula. They too were buffeted by the force and roar of the shockwave as it swept over and around Mount Nona and – significantly dissipated – continued out to sea ahead of them, carrying dust and shredded foliage in its wake. Seated together within the back-to-back metal seats fitted inside the main cabin, neither Donelson nor Langdale had any reservations over displaying the momentary fear they both felt as the blast wave overtook the aircraft.

  Also feeling nervous and left ill at ease by the sudden roar and turbulence, John and Victoria Watson were nevertheless at an advantage in that moment, in that they were both too relieved by the other’s safe return to think much about anything else. There was also the added benefit of having no idea what a nuclear weapon actually was, thereby saving both of them from the abject terror that came with knowing how close they’d all come to complete obliteration.

  “Lost my radio…” Langdale observed shakily, unclipping the unit from his belt and lifting it for inspection. “Just went dead… EMP from the blast…” He grimaced, throwing a nervous glance at Donelson. “Jesus, it’s warm! I bloody-well hope we’re safe…!” He added fearfully, thinking of the helicopters.

  “Transistors affected, mostly…” Donelson replied with a vague shake of her head. “Valves handle it better, if I remember my science classes… Don’t think the choppers have anything solid-state in ‘em…”

  “Thank Christ for that…! Andy…!” Langdale called out, shouting his words at the co-pilot over the howl of the engines. “Can you try to raise our units on the ground and check status please?”

  He was handed a spare headset a few moments later and spent some time talking before he was able to finish up and hand it back to the crewman manning one of the door guns.

  “Jinkins’ boys and the commandos from Eagle have managed to get clear,” he advised, relief showing clearly on his features. The assault squad the Crocodile had originally carried into the battle zone had remained behind to leave space for their evacuation, and possibly leaving those men to die had weighed heavily on all of them. “Their sets are out too, but they’ve managed to join up with some Dutch holdouts with a valve radio. As far as they can tell, pretty much everyone got clear. He reckons the Dutchmen have been in contact with Roach and the rest of our b
oys down south – they’re gonna try to head that way and link up.”

  “We’ll have follow up attacks to support them…” Donelson nodded slowly, trying to make a brave show of it. “Now the Japs have had their backs broken, maybe our lot can mop them up with a little help from the Fleet Air Arm.”

  There was a long pause, both of them staring off in differing directions, before Langdale finally worked up the courage to broach a subject that had been bothering him since they’d left Tan Tui.

  “Eileen…” he began carefully, hesitating as her head snapped in his direction and her eyes registered fear in reaction to his gentle tone. “Eileen… what happened… I mean…”

  “It’s all right, Mal…” she began, forcing herself to appear outwardly calm. “They escaped, and I was part of that… there’s no avoiding that fact…”

  “I can’t even imagine…” he persisted, swallowing his own fear and fighting through the awkwardness. “What happened to you… that they protected you…” He shook his head, the immensity of it almost too much to comprehend. “If they did what they said, then there was a debt to be paid, I reckon…”

  “Carl was one of us…!” She moaned softly, closing her eyes and tilting her head back against the seat frame as if that might hold back the tears trying to escape. “Everything he’d worked for was right there for the taking, and he protected them…!”