Fiends of the Rising Sun

by David Bishop

  Cochrane watched the Japanese bomber fly away, his gaze fixed on the plane as it became little more than a speck in the sky. Ever since that moment in the colonel's office when he had heard the word Stop in his mind, the sergeant had been fighting for control of his actions. Cochrane felt as if he was a prisoner in his body, a puppet being controlled by invisible strings. His limbs did the bidding of another master, no matter how hard he battled to stop them. His body committed atrocities for which he could never forgive himself. He had murdered indiscriminately, gunning down his colleagues in the hall outside the colonel's office.

  After executing the last of them, he stole a sub-machine gun from the dead hands of his best friend, Matt Davis. The two of them had grown up together in Tulsa, they had volunteered together, and they had gone through basic training side by side. The army had torn them apart after that, but chance had brought them back together at Hickam. Now Matt was dead and Cochrane had murdered him. It didn't matter that the slaying was an involuntary act, in fact that made it worse somehow. The two friends had always promised to look out for one another. Instead Cochrane had slaughtered his closest buddy, too weak to resist the urgings of some unholy monster.

  Hitori had made Cochrane go first as they stepped outside. When the ground crew came running towards them, the sergeant knew what was going to happen and had closed his eyes, unable to witness the murders he was perpetrating. He felt the sub-machine gun jerking in his grasp, heard the cries and torments of his victims, and tasted the salty tears of grief running down his face, but he couldn't stop himself, couldn't control his own body.

  He had stood in the centre of the runway and watched as the Kate took off and witnessed it swoop back to bomb the building housing the colonel's office. Cochrane looked at the burning building where he had butchered Davis and the others. He stared at the corpses of the ground crew, killed by his hand.

  All the witnesses to his involuntary treachery were dead, and nobody ever need know it was him who had slain his brothers in arms. But the thought of trying to forget what he'd done, let alone trying to forgive himself for doing it, was too much for the sergeant. Cochrane knew he'd never be able to look in a mirror again. He'd never be able to look himself in the eye without reliving his crimes, without seeing the ghosts of those whose lives he had stolen.

  End your misery, a voice whispered in his thoughts. Was it his own mind speaking, or was it one last, lingering command from Hitori? In truth, it did not matter. Cochrane jammed the end of the sub-machine's barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  [Public Law 328 - 77th Congress]

  [Chapter 561 - 1st Session)

  [S. J. Res. 116]

  Joint Resolution

  Declaring that a state of war exists between the Imperial Government of Japan and the Government and the people of the United States and making provisions to prosecute the same.

  Whereas the Imperial Government of Japan has committed unprovoked acts of war against the Government and the people of the United States of America: Therefore be it resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of American in Congress assembled, that the state of war between the United States and the Imperial Government of Japan which has thus been thrust upon the United States is hereby formally declared; and the President is hereby authorized and directed to employ the entire naval and military forces of the United States and the resources of the Government to carry on war against the Imperial Government of Japan; and, to bring the conflict to a successful termination, all of the resources of the country are hereby pledged by the Congress of the United States.

  Approved, December 8, 1941, 4:10pm. EST.

  FOUR

  Martinez rolled over and smiled when he saw Angela, Mrs Martinez, beside him in bed. Mrs Martinez, that sounds weird, he thought. Mrs Angela Martinez. Well, it would take some getting used to, but what the hell. They'd spent a glorious night together, savouring each moment as if it might be their last. Angela was transferring south to Manila on the midday transport, so who knew when they'd have the chance to spend another uninterrupted night together. Everybody kept talking about war, how it was only a matter of time before the Japanese attacked. Even if it was inevitable, it was still in the future, right? They still had a few hours before Angela had to leave.

  Martinez moved nearer to his new wife, intent on giving her an unexpected reason to wake. Her eyes were still closed, but she couldn't help smiling as he got closer. "I never knew you Latin lovers were so insatiable," she murmured. "If somebody had told me, I would have gotten married years ago."

  "Yeah, but you only met me in the last couple of months," he replied, grinning at her playfulness. "You might have been disappointed with someone else. And how would you know they were a real Latin lover? Never accept any substitutes, that's my policy when it comes to love."

  "You better not," she said, opening her dazzling green eyes. "I hear any rumours you've turned into Don Juan Martinez while I'm stuck down in Manila, I'll be back here faster than you can say unscheduled castration."

  "Ouch," Martinez grinned. "Don't even joke about a thing like that."

  "Trust me, it's no joke." She slid a hand down his chest until it nestled between his legs. "Now, where did we get to last night?"

  "I thought we gave each other a thorough examination."

  Angela smirked. "True, but would you value a second opinion?"

  "Maybe a third, too."

  "Only if we've got time. Come here, lover-" Their flirting was interrupted by hammering on the door.

  "Martinez," Buntz shouted from the corridor, "you in there?"

  "You better believe it, Arnie."

  "Well, finish whatever you're doing and get dressed. The Japs have attacked Pearl Harbour. The sarge wants everybody at their posts, now!"

  "What did he say?" Angela whispered.

  Martinez jumped out of bed and pulled on his trousers. "Buntz, if this is your idea of a practical joke, I'm gonna rip you a new one!"

  "It's no joke. The Japs have been bombing the hell out of Pearl all morning. They hit the Arizona, other ships too. Radio says there could be hundreds, maybe thousands dead on Oahu. Word is we're next in the firing line!"

  Martinez fastened his trousers and opened the door. Buntz was standing in the corridor, biting his fingernails. "Jesus, you're not kidding."

  The other soldier shook his head. "Aimes sent me to find you. Says if you're not back at the battery and ready for action by eight, he'll have your nuts for paperweights." Buntz peeked over Martinez's shoulder and caught a glimpse of Angela pulling on her brassiere. "Trust me, with a woman that good-looking, you don't want to be minus your manhood."

  Martinez pushed Buntz away from the door. "Keep stealing a peek at my wife and you'll be the one minus his testicles, Arnie, not me."

  "Sure, sure, look, I'm just passing on the message, okay? What you do with it is up to you, but I suggest you stop your grinning and hitch up your linen. Sounds like we're gonna be in for a bumpy ride." With that he was gone, waddling away along the corridor, pausing to hammer on each door as he passed it. "Everybody up! Get moving! The Japs are coming!"

  Martinez went back into the bedroom and found that his wife had already finished dressing. "This is it, isn't it? The war, it's really happening."

  Angela pulled on her shoes. "Sounds like it. First thing I've gotta do is contact Manila, see if they still want me on that transport. If the Japanese start bombing the Philippines, it's a safe bet Clark Field will be a prime target. Half our planes in the Pacific must be over there. The base hospital's gonna need more nurses, not less." She threw the few personal possessions she'd brought into a canvas bag. "We'll need more blood, too. Once the wounded start coming in, we'll be lucky if our supplies last a day."

  Martinez watched her, unable to believe how calm she was, how reasoned and efficient her response to the situation. "You're already planning how to treat the wounded and I haven't got my shirt on yet," he said.

  She smiled at him.
"Yes, you'd better get dressed. I don't mind looking at my husband whether he's half-naked or not, but Sergeant Aimes might." Angela finished packing her bag and checked under the bed to make sure she was leaving nothing behind. "Well, who knows when either of us will make it back here?"

  "Didn't you hear what Arnie said, love? We're going to war."

  Angela stopped what she was doing and walked across to him "I know. Five minutes ago we were making love and now..."

  "It doesn't seem real, not yet."

  "It will when the bombs start falling."

  "I know." Martinez touched a hand against her face. "I just wanna remember this moment, savour it. Who knows when we'll see peace again?"

  Angela kissed him, her hands in his hair, her body pressed into his. Distant voices were bellowing orders, and heavy feet ran past their room. Finally, Angela broke off the kiss, but she stared into her husband's eyes. "You look after yourself, Mr Martinez. Don't do anything stupid and don't try to be a hero. Nobody wins a war on the first day, but plenty of people get killed trying. Don't you be one of them, okay?"

  He nodded, emotion choking him. "You be careful in that hospital. You're supposed to be a nurse, remember, not one of the patients."

  Angela smiled as a tear ran down her face. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before going, striding away along the corridor, not looking back.

  Suzuki and his cadre of vampyr pilots had been sitting in the black tinted cockpits of their Zeros since before dawn. They had spent so long preparing for war that none of them wanted to miss the first sortie over enemy territory. Now they were taxiing down the airstrip, waiting for the signal to accelerate into the sky. The bombers were first to take off, more than a hundred and eighty Mitsubishis ascending into the clouds before assembling into their flying formation. The Zeros were next, nearly a hundred of them, including Suzuki and his six kyuuketsuki. The fighters' principal task was escorting the bombers to their targets and engaging any enemy combatants in the sky.

  Once the aerial bombardment was complete, the Zeros would have an opportunity to strafe the American facilities on the ground, causing as much damage as possible. That was where Suzuki expected his pilots to come into their own. Kyuuketsuki units were still an experiment as far as Tokyo was concerned, just another weapon in the empire's war arsenal. Suzuki knew there were already mutterings among those who controlled the naval aviation programme, complaints about him requisitioning the navy's finest planes and pilots for some ill-defined mission. It was vital that the kyuuketsuki perform well in this attack, proving their worth as pilots and weapons.

  Suzuki listened as Otomo contacted the others via radio, confirming that all the vampyrs had gotten off the ground without incident. The seven black Zeros assembled into a flying V formation, with Suzuki at its head and Otomo at his right wingtip. "History awaits us all," Suzuki told his vampyr samurai on the frequency reserved for the kyuuketsuki, the signal transmitted at a pitch too high for most humans to hear.

  "Our fellow fliers will be aiming to devastate the American ground facilities, destroying any planes still on the ground when we reach the target and disabling support facilities. I have a different mission in mind, brothers. Our objective is to strike horror and dread into the hearts of the Americans. We shall hunt them down and slaughter them, one by one if necessary. We shall put fear in their hearts and doubt in their souls. We will kill without mercy or remorse. Men, women and children will all die before our machine guns. Let the legend of our black fighters and our savagery begin today. Let them know fear as they've never experienced it before. Let them know terror!"

  "Where the hell have you been?" Aimes folded his arms when Martinez raced across the grass to the anti-aircraft gun. The rest of the unit had been in position and running drills for ten minutes when the private arrived. To make matters worse, Martinez was out of breath and half his shirt was hanging out of his trousers. "You look like you've only just gotten out of bed!"

  "That's because he has," one of the other recruits quipped, getting a cheap laugh from the others. A glare from the sergeant silenced them.

  "If I wanted any comedians in my unit, I would've become an entertainment officer, not an artillery sergeant!" Aimes bellowed. "The next man who cracks wise near me can do a hundred press-ups with me sitting on his back." None of the soldiers felt the urge to demonstrate their gift for humour after that. Satisfied, Aimes turned back to Martinez. "Well?"

  "Sorry, sergeant, I was on my honeymoon."

  "Honeymoon's over, loverboy, we decided to have a war instead."

  "Yes, sergeant, so I've been told."

  "So good of you to join us for it."

  "Yes, sergeant."

  "Yes, sergeant," Aimes echoed, mimicking Martinez's accent. Several of the other recruits giggled, but quickly stifled their amusement, lest they be next for one of the sergeant's razor sharp tongue lashings. "Now, since Wierzbowski has chosen the most inconvenient possible moment to get hospitalised, we're a man short. But something tells me the Japanese won't pay any attention to that. We've never actually had the chance to test fire our weapons during our many, many drills, because some genius never saw fit to supply us with any ammunition fit for that purpose, but I doubt the Japanese will bother about that, either. What ammunition we do have is no use beyond an altitude of twenty thousand feet, so it'll probably be next to useless against the enemy's bombers. As a result, even if we get one of the Japanese planes in our sights, chances are our shells won't reach them. So, you might well be asking yourself, what the hell are we doing out here?"

  Several recruits exchanged worried glances, but Aimes was not asking for their opinion. Instead he thundered on with his speech. "We are here because our gun is a deterrent. I've never been in a Japanese plane, but I'm guessing they won't like the taste of our flak. The more we can do to make their job difficult, the better this battle will go for our side. If we can shoot one or two of them out of the sky, that's a bonus. Our task here is to fight back and to show them we're not afraid of their sorry, yellow asses.

  "Make no mistakes, gentlemen, we are at war with the Japanese Empire. The President might not have said so yet, Congress and the Senate might still be arguing in Washington DC about whether or not to declare what everybody knows is a simple fact, but we are at war. No quarter asked and no quarter given. Everything you've ever done has been about preparing you for this day, this battle, this damn war. Prove you've got what it takes by making yourself, your family and your country proud. Chances are, some of you won't be alive by this time tomorrow. Hell, I think it'll be a miracle if any of us are still alive by the time this war is won. We are in harm's way here, and the Japanese are coming to do us that harm. Well, we've got a chance to turn them back, a chance to show them what Americans are made of: grit and determination, hellfire and vengeance. Today's the day you learn what it means to be a soldier. Today's the day you earn that uniform you wear."

  The MPs transporting Paxton reached the navy yards at midday. They were forced to stop several times en route by civilian disturbances that threatened to disrupt the rule of law on Oahu. More than a third of Hawaii's population were Americans of Japanese parentage, something that gave the attack by Japanese planes on the American island an extra, unhappy dimension. One intersection was blocked by Japanese residents cheering the enemy aircraft overhead. The MPs felt obliged to put a halt to their demonstration, fearful that it would provoke retaliations by other citizens. Closer to the navy yards the MPs intervened to prevent an angry crowd that was vandalising a store run by a Japanese American family. The owner had been brutally beaten and his wife was in danger of suffering the same rough justice.

  Paxton stayed in the jeep both times, not wanting to get involved. His mind was still rebelling at all he had witnessed that morning. He could picture the reaction of people across America, hell, across the whole damned world, upon hearing that Pearl Harbour had been attacked by the Japanese. Folks would be shocked that the US had been caught flat-footed, Paxton thought,
stunned that a little nation like Japan could catch America cold.

  How would they react if someone told them that the Japs were using vampires as spies on our territory? Nobody would believe it, of course; he could hardly believe it himself and he had seen Kissy transform into one of those monsters, seen her burned alive by exposure to nothing more harmful than sunlight. Try to warn others about this danger and he'd be thought a madman or a malingerer, acting insane to get himself discharged now that war had broken out. No, I must keep what I've seen to myself, Paxton decided. I've got enough guilty secrets, so one more will make little difference.

  When the jeep delivered him to the navy yards, Paxton thanked the MPs and waited for them to drive away before approaching the gatehouse. He expected to be arrested at any moment, but was surprised to find that his return made little impact. The sentry at the gate recognised Paxton and ticked his name off a list on a clipboard. "I went absent without leave," Paxton said.

  "Then count yourself lucky the Japs attacked this morning," the sentry replied. "Captain's declared a temporary amnesty on all AWOL recruits so long as they report back to barracks before sundown. He said we'd need every man we could get and military justice would have to wait awhile."

  "So I'm off the hook?" Paxton asked, unable to believe he'd dodged punishment for his attack on Sergeant Hicks.

  "I said a temporary amnesty. Captain's offering suspended sentences for outstanding offences. Keep your sheet clean for a year and then you'll be off the hook, assuming you live that long, of course." The sentry arched an eyebrow at the marine, intrigued by Paxton's obvious relief. "Why d'you ask? What did you do that was so bad you decided to go AWOL?" Once the marine had explained, the sentry gave a low whistle. "You're the one who laid out Hicks? I wouldn't want to be in your boots when he recovers!"