Flying to Pieces

by Dean Ing

  "No, you'd just bring a rockfall down on me." 'Is that what he-were you

  ' hurt?"

  "Do I look hurt?" Lovett warmed with pride; Chip was maintaining his advantage like a pro. Where do they learn these things? he asked himself. Maybe from their mothers, his internal imp replied. "I cannot see you well, Chip. Was anyone hurt?"

  "You'll find out. No thanks to you, either way."

  "I warned you," Keikano said in a voice so gentle it made Lovett angry.

  "Yeah, and then you came back to try again," Chip accused.

  "No! I came here to reason with hiryl I thought, when I heard you enter, that you were him, I wanted to wait and surprise him but I heard no more, and then I waited longer. Then you made a noise and spoke' "

  "Bunged my elbow. Had no idea you were already here," Chip said, in tones less truculent.

  "When I knew, I called to you."

  "Smooth move, Ex-Lax. If you hadn't, I might've put a hole in you," Chip said. "So who's this he? Pilau? Merizo?"

  "No and no. They are simple folk. Merizo, perhaps; but no.,,

  "I'm going to find out, Kei."

  "Not from me." Soft, but adamant. "And if he comes with you here-please, just go," Keikano begged almost as a woman might beg.

  "I forgot," said Chip, and the light flicked from existence. "I've still got some rat-catching to do."

  "You will not speak of him that way!" The shift from entreaty to a hissed command was abrupt.

  "Any way I like," Chip said. "Whoever the hell he is, I'm still not sure it's not you, Kei."

  Sullenly: "You will speak with respect of him-and to him. And you cannot!"

  "Could if I wanted to," said Chip, like a child challenged.

  "I mean that he would not understand you. Ah, this is not possible. My position is not. Chip, please, one thing: do not harm him. I could not live with that."

  "Listen, little bitty buddy, if he tries to harm any of us again, he might not live with that," Chip insisted.

  "Then I have no choice but to stay with you. If you force me to leave I shall wait outside."

  "And do what," Chip demanded.

  "Whatever I can to avoid harm. I set this in motion." And then small sobs in the darkness. Oh, you slick little faggot, Lovett said to himself. You ',ve even got me feeling sorry for yotc "Cut it out, Kei.

  Look, I'm climbing up there with you and we're gonna be quiet as rats, okay? I'm in no hurry to shoot anybody but I'm a by-God sentry and these are our by god air chines." Lordy, he even sounds like a B.af., Lovett thought. "You and your rats," Keikano said in petulance. 'Hush! Stop moving around," Chip said.

  "Give me your hand then. I will not run," Keikano replied. And then, for so long that Lovett eased back outside the hole, the cave was silent.

  Once Lovett thought he heard Chip say, "Good God," and was tempted to make his presence known. But he had dealt himself this hand-each of them had, for that matter-and decided to play it through.

  It could have been an hour later, or perhaps two, when Lovett realized he had been dozing on his log. The thing that waked him was a broadleaf stroking the net over his face, and from his place in the undergrowth Lovett could see a silhouette against the stars. A double-arm span away, someone stepped past him, moving with glacial slowness. A tiny tink as of metal on stone stopped even that movement for many seconds, and then the figure slid without sound through the hole.

  Lovett waited for others to follow and was gratified when none ghosted past. He eased up from his seat, silently cursing himself when the machete made the faintest wind song against his trouserleg. Then he squatted in the cave entrance.

  When he heard footfalls softly, unerringly climb the internal steps in total darkness, Lovett eased inside the cave absolutely blind, one hand held before him. He could not recall the exact position of each aircraft and was damned if he wanted to announce his presence by crowning himselfagain!-against a wing. When at last he felt an aluminum leading edge, he moved forward, finally to kneel beside a landing gear strut.

  Chip and Keikano, he knew, were--or had been-sitting on another of the Tojo fighter craft. God only knew where they might be now. Gone, maybe; he hoped so. Whatever they might be doing? his imp asked. Whatever, he told it, and now kindly bug off.

  His heart leaped like a rabbit when he heard another footfall because it was so near. Was it Chip? Should he whisper a warning? Caution ruled him; and a moment later he was glad it did. Small muffled noises suggested someone moving at the workbench, and then a series of brilliant sparks strobed the outline of a small figure wearing an odd cap, facing the bench, bent at some task. A sudden glow, prospering and paced by vitreous clinks, proved that the man had lit an oil lamp. As he lifted the lamp and turned, his face was illuminated for the first time, beard and all. Lovett almost cursed aloud.

  "Hold it," Chip's command echoed through the cave. "Freeze!"

  Instantly the lamp fell from the hand, and its wick extinguished as the man whirled in a crouch. Knowing every one of them was blind for the moment, Lovett stood erect and moved silently across several paces of free space. And when Chip's flashlight speared the man, he had grasped a rifle of really extraordinary length. With its thin-bladed bayonet, the thing was longer than its user as he swung it toward Chip.

  A high-pitched yelp, almost a scream, erupted from someone; not Lovett or Chip because it was language, but none they knew. And also because Lovett was busy in his own language. Stepping in close from slightly behind the little man, Lovett laid his machete, edge-on, against his unprotected neck. "Drop it," he said harshly, and wiggled the blade when his order was not followed instantly. "Or you're a dead man."

  And now, as the little man turned to view his ambusher, it was Keikano who leaped down from his perch, hands up, eyes wide. He rushed to the feet of the rifleman stammering out word s Lovett could not follow;, threw himself literally at the feet of this stranger; kept talking in a rush of gibberish, grasping the man's shins. As the man lowered his ancient rifle, Lovett flicked on his own flashlight to make certain of his first impression.

  The little fellow finally spoke; and when he did, it was a word Lovett did know. "Hai," he said, lowering his rifle. It meant "yes," and with that word, from a distance of two feet Lovett realized he was gazing into the face of a Japanese in his seventies, perhaps older. The man's gaze was unwavering despite the flashbeams, and he spoke briefly with the stoniest of expressions.

  "Get up, Keikano," Lovett said. "Chip, take the rifle."

  As Chip kept his big flashlight trained on the little fellow, Keikano scrambled to his feet and hugged the old man around the chest. "He surrounds. Suffenders! He will not hurt anyone.'

  "Goddamned straight he won't," Lovett said as Chip took the rifle.

  "There should be another lamp over there." Then, because neither he nor Chip was a smoker, he said, "Keikano, make him light it."

  Keikano gave a soft burst of Japanese and the old man turned, stiffly erect, to the workbench. His lighter was a clurious little gadget that could have lit a bonfire on sparks alone. In a moment, the remaining lamp shed its glow on this ill matched quartet.

  "Jeezus Christ," Chip breathed, pulling Keikano back gently as he stared at this apparition from the past. Rail-thin, wearing leg-wraps to the knee, the old fellow with the wisp of beard was in uniform, short-billed cap and all.

  Keikano would not step away until the old man gave a brusque order and after that, for a moment, no one moved. Thbugh tears were now streaming down Keikano's face, the old fellow seemed in command of himself, standing at rigid attention. Yet he seemed to be gauging the distance to the bayonet affixed to that rifle Chip held, and Lovett's intuition briefly worked overtime. "Chip, put the rifle away," he said, patting the old fellow down. He found a small-caliber automatic pistol under the man's shirt and pocketed it. He also took a small canvas bag of what felt like rifle cartridges, tossing it to Chip. As he did, the old man turned to face him, and Lovett flinched. Either the oldster kept a stash of Limburge
r cheese, or he had the worst case of halitosis since buzzards were invented. Lovett demanded, "Keikano, who the hell is this?"

  Keikano said something to the old man, who replied briefly, and the schoolteacher said, "He wishes you to know that he is Ohtsu Yohei, fligfit mechanic in the Army of Nippon. Attached to the naval air arm in 1945 when supply lines were cut. You would say Yohei Ohtsu," the youth stam mered.

  "Tell him he can't be connected to something that hasn't existed for fifty years. He's retired. Honorably discharged."

  Keikano spoke in Japanese. Old Ohtsu's gaze flickered, and though he said nothing, his expression said he wasn't buying it. "Is Ohtsu one of the people taking care of these planes "No. For many years, he has been the only one. It was the responsibility given him," said Keikano.

  "And he thinks he's still fighting that war?"

  "He continues to do his duty," Keikano said.

  Lovett recalled the stories of Japanese soldiers and even civilians with children hurling themselves from cliffs rather than surrender. No wonder this old guy was studying the bayonet on his own rifle. "Tell him he has covered himself with honor and that we're amazed. Tell him Japan and America are at peace and no one wants to hurt him."

  Keikano, blinking tears away, began to translate. The old fellow's reply was much shorter, and Lovett had heard that phrase before, a famed example of polite disbelief. "Ahh, so desukaa," he murmured, meaning, Is that a fact, and I don't believe a word of it.

  Lovett smiled and shoved the machete into his belt. "Ask him to relax, Keikano." On hearing the translation, Ohtsu smartly shifted his left foot forward and out a half-pace, arms still at his sides, in a motion that might have simulated his version of the military parade rest.

  "This isn't what I meant. Tell him there is no need to act in a military way. I was an officer in our Air Force but at present, there-is-no-war.

  I am now a civilian. And whether he likes it or not, so is he."

  Now Keikano embarked on his rhetorical mission to the past, nodding briefly as the old man made a few comments. Finally Keikano said, "He has heard these things, but one hears many things that are not necessarily true. But he wishes to know, in that case, why you captured him and are trying to steal property entrusted to him."

  Whoa, that could be a tough one, Lovett thought. li moved back to the workbench, hopped up to sit on it in a attempt at informality. And at last Ohtsu slowly sat dow cross-legged to face him with an air of expectation. After few moments to gather his thoughts, Lovett said,

  "After you ministers signed Japan's surrender on the deck of an Amer can battleship, we shipped some of Japan's warplanes t America. The Japanese helped us destroy the rest. A few mor airplanes were found hidden later, and now they belong t, whoever finds them." Not always true, but whatthehell... Keikano explained, and the old man replied. Keikano saic

  "He says that if this is true, he wishes you to know the because he found them first, naturally they are his."

  This, Lovett felt, was not going well at all. He tried agaiin "If they are his, what does he intend to do with them?"

  This time the old fellow took his time answering. "That i not Your affair," Keikano said nervously. "He has his orders."

  "Then let me tell him about those orders. Everyone know: now that Japanese officers expected to wait with their grea kamikaze armada until America attacked the home islands Then they would tear down the cave wall, fly the planes t( the nearest American ships, and dive into them.

  Tell him Keikano."

  The old man's face fell as he heard Keikano but his repl3 was stolid.

  "If you knew, he says, you did not need to ask,' Keikano said.

  "This is crazy. Look; those pilots of his who aren't dead are probably owners of Japanese companies, driving expensive German cars, wearing expensive Italian shoes, and selling expensive electric gadgets to Americans!"

  Keikano translated but Ohtsu remained impassive.

  All but shouting in his frustration, Lovett blurted, "Nc eighty-year-old Japanese pilot is ever going to come to Fundabora and demand to fly any of these planes! They all think the kamikaze armada was shameful now.

  Even if one did Come, he couldn't fly across an airstrip covered with small trees, even if the planes could still fly, which they can't."

  When the translation and its reply were complete, Lovett understood the knowing smile now on Ohtsu's lined face. "Of course the planes will fly.

  It was a simple matter to a master mechanic. The most difficult part has been finding fuel to run the engines."

  Lovett squinted in perplexity at Keikano, though this stunning revelation explained some more peculiar facts. "He still runs up the engines? When?"

  Without consulting the old man, Keikano replied, "Every year during the leadership games, when all the people in Pelele's village are out of their minds with drink."

  "You know all this without asking." Not a question.

  "Of course. Someone had to help him," Keikano shrugged. "Before me, it was my father."

  "And how does he find fuel," Lovett said, smiling.

  "He knows where it is, because I tell him. A drum of Jeanclaude's fuel can be rolled into the jungle with ropes, and from there we move it bit by bit," Keikano admitted.

  That told Lovett how relatively fresh gasoline came to be in the cave.

  It didn't explain a hell of a lot of other things, though. "Does he start the engines with that generator cart we took to the sheds?"

  "Yes. He will not be pleased that you took it."

  "Yes he will," Lovett said. "Tell him we took the can away to help start that -earth moving machine in the sheds. With that, we can clear the runway again." And it was truly interesting to see the waves of consternation, suspicion, and hope that chased across Ohtsu's face.

  "He wishes to know why you want to clear his runway," Keikano said.

  "We intend to fly an airplane in here soon," Lovett said. It was a half-tnith at best but it left the old man trying to hide a glimmer of hope.

  From Chip, who had -been standing near, eyes like saucers: "Pop, you think these planes will actually fly? Just as they are after all this time?"

  "Somebody found a 1911 experimental seaplane boxed up in Minnesota, a few years back," Lovett told him, "and it was flyable. But these-4

  dunno. He sure thinks so," he said, nodding toward the old Japanese.

  "It's academic, because we're going to ship these out."

  "Even though they belong to him," Keikano interjected.

  "I thought I explained that."

  "Not to him, I think," Keikano insisted. "I had hoped to avoid trouble if you took the planes quickly, because I knew they will never be of use to him as they are. But he can still walk many miles in a night to make an occasional inspection. Even though it may kill him. I think he should not have such excitement as this."

  Chip laid a gentle hand on Keikano's shoulder. "Kei, is this who the blood pressure medicine is for?"

  A nod, while gazing sadly at the old man,

  "You've taken some big chances for this old guy. I don't understand why you'd go to such lengths for him," Chip persisted.

  "That is odd. I have no difficulty understanding why you would go to such distances for your grandfather," Keikano said.

  Lovett looked from Keikano to the silently watching man. This old soldier's your grandfather?"

  "And the head of my village," Keikano said quietly, proudly.

  "This is the damnedest thing I ever," Lovett began, then Stopped. "Is there a village of Japanese soldiers on Fundabora?"

  "Only my grandfather now," Keikano replied. ,Many years ago when Fundabora was abandoned, the Japanese left five men to care for the planes. When the islanders broke free a few days later, they hunted the soldiers down like animals.

  Lovett knew why, but this was not the time to say that what goes around, comes around, and he nodded for Keikano to go on "My honorable grandfather and one other had made friends among the islanders with food and kindness. One of t
hose friends became my grandmother. They were very young, very brave. They went away with their few friends to the north end of the island. As you have seen, Fundabora is almost like two islands and it is easy to defend the north end, easy to see war parties approaching. Finally the south village stopped making war and accepted Europeans with their hotel. Grandfather felt that it was best to stay forgotten so that he could do his duty. The Pelele faction would never tell Europeans of a small village they could not defeat, only a few miles away.

  "The other remaining soldier died before I was born, but by then it was understood that visitors and Pelele's villagers were still not welcome in the north. Still, there was some trading by canoe; there still is.

  The rice terraces are all on the north end. We trade for the modern medicines and machines that traders bring to the south village." What kind of modern machines," Lovett asked.

  "Drills for metal," Keikano shrugged, miming a hand operated brace and bit. "Food grinders. Things to replace those that have worn out. My grandfather's food must be made soft and he does not want my mother to spend hours each day preparing special food."

  Chip saw the implications of this immediately. "Kei, your family still lives in the north village?" A nod. "But not you. Why not?"

  "My father was a fine sailor of canoes. Because his mother was islander he could pass as one of them, and my mother was islander, too." At this point Keikano said something to the Japanese and, for the first time, Lovett saw the old fellow smile. It was a gentle smile, full of memory and rotten teeth, and he said something very softly. "When I said I was speaking of@-my father, Grandfather said he was a bird, skimming his canoe. When he died of an infection, the village mourned for a year."

  And Keikano fell silent.

  "Don't stop now," Lovett urged.

  "Most of my mother's kin chose to stay among Pelele's people, and it was a simple thing for me to spend weeks at a time among my kin in the south village. One or two others did the same. Jean-Claude's father, Matai Pelele, knew it, I think. I believe he thought it was a good thing.

  "As a small child, I enjoyed the rich tourists. During my visits here in the south I learned English and showed tourists the south village. Once I met a Japanese tourist and tried to interest him in a visit to the north. He was very much interested in the fact that I also spoke Japanese, but I could not tell him why."