Fiends of the Rising Sun (13 page)

You shouldn't weep for me
, her dead husband's voice whispered in her mind.
My spirit has been freed. I am one with the winds now, one with the stars.

"Zenji!" Aiko wanted to look at him but found she couldn't.

Don't try to open your eyes
, he said.
I am but a ghost, a spirit from beyond this life, sent to say goodbye to you one last time. Open your eyes and you will see nothing. Keep your eyes closed and let your other senses show you what your eyes cannot. Feel my lips against your lips, my skin against your skin. Hear my words and be happy that we have this one last chance to be together.

"I will," Aiko whispered. "I am... but how can this be?"

Don't question it
, the voice said, soothing away her worries.
Just surrender yourself to the moment and we shall be one once more.

Suzuki sat in the officers' mess of the Akagi, watching the navy pilots file in. He had hand-picked them personally, choosing the best of the best that this vessel had to offer, men who had proven themselves in combat. But there had been other criteria too, stipulations laid down by Hitori about who could and who couldn't be offered the chance to join the vampyr samurai, a unit known to Japanese military authorities as the kyuuketsuki. None of the men could be married and none of them could have children. Suzuki had argued long and hard against these restrictions, knowing how many experienced and superior flyers it would eliminate from consideration, but his commander had been adamant.

"I sacrificed everything to become the first of the kyuuketsuki," Hitori had said to his oldest friend. "We ask enough when we ask the men to give up their lives and their souls for the greater good of the empire. I will not have their minds fogged by thoughts of the wives and children they've left behind."

So Suzuki had begun the long sift through every military personnel file of the Imperial Japanese Navy and Army, eliminating those with dependent families. Now he was travelling from base to base and ship to ship, carrying a list of those he wanted to recruit for the kyuuketsuki. Not all had taken the chance when it was offered, either fearful for their own lives or none too eager to join a fledgling unit with a vague and apparently suicidal future ahead of it. Suzuki had learned to judge in advance those who would jump at the chance and those who would shy away. He discovered Hitori had been right to restrict the offer to unmarried, childless men. They were more likely to accept this chance and more willing to sacrifice everything they held dear for the empire.

Once all the pilots were gathered in the mess, Suzuki barked at them to be seated. They responded at once, all well trained and disciplined by Vice-Admiral Nagumo. Excellent, the vampyr thought. That will make my task easier. He rose to his feet and addressed the men, strolling around the mess, moving between them as he talked. Suzuki spoke in generalities, outlining the challenges inherent in joining the kyuuketsuki: they could never see their families again, their lives were forfeit and considered expendable, their names would be erased from all military records and their exploits would never be celebrated or mentioned in despatches. For all intents and purposes, they would cease to exist, and become part of an invisible unit known only in whispers.

But the news was not all bad. The kyuuketsuki were guaranteed the best planes, the best equipment, and the best mechanics. They would be at the forefront of every battle, leading the charge as the Japanese Empire rose like the sun to attain its rightful place as ruler of the south-east Pacific. They all knew war with the Americans was imminent; join the kyuuketsuki and you would be a crucial part of that war, a first strike weapon spreading fear and terror among the empire's enemies. They would become gods of the skies.

"Soon, I will ask those of you who still wish to join the kyuuketsuki to come with me. You will not have time to say goodbye to your shipmates, you will not even have time to go back to your bunks for any personal possessions you might treasure. I will expect you to leave everything behind, to walk away from your old life and embrace your new existence without help or hindrance. But before you can do that, you need to answer these two questions. If you hesitate before saying yes to either of these questions, don't bother following me when I walk out of this door. Where I am going, you cannot. Is that clear?"

The pilots murmured a dutiful response, some nodding more eagerly than others. Suzuki let those gathered fall silent before continuing with his speech. He had made this address more than a dozen times and suspected he already knew how many of these men would follow him into hell. But the formalities had to be met, the rituals followed, as ordered by Hitori. The kyuuketsuki leader did not want any man in his ranks who did not wish to be there with every fibre of his being. There was too much at stake to risk the fate of the war on those without the courage of their convictions.

"There are two questions you must answer before my kinsmen can accept you," Suzuki continued. "They are the same two questions our leader had to answer, before he became the first of the kyuuketsuki. Think long and hard before you reply. Firstly, would you sacrifice your life for the emperor?"

"Yes, sir!" the pilots replied in unison.

"Good. I should expect nothing less of you all," Suzuki said. "It is the second question that decides your future. I will stand by the doorway and whisper the question in your ear as you file past me, one by one. If I decide your answer is an instant and unequivocal yes, I will tap you on the shoulder. Upon leaving the mess you should turn left and wait in the corridor outside. If I am not satisfied with your answer, I will shake my head and you will leave, never to see my face again." He nodded to the man nearest him, beckoning the flyer over. When the perspiring pilot was close enough, Suzuki leaned in to whisper his interlinked questions. "Would you sacrifice your soul for the emperor? Would you make a deal with the devil himself to become one of the kyuuketsuki?"

The first pilot frowned, hesitating too long for Suzuki's satisfaction. He shook his head and the flyer stumbled from the room, turning right and walking out of sight. The second man was already waiting to be asked, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. Suzuki asked his questions and the flyer did not pause for a moment before nodding in agreement, a broad smile evident on his features. Suzuki tapped the pilot's shoulder and moved to the next man.

Within twenty minutes he had selected eleven recruits. Once the last of the eleven was selected and the final failure sent away, Suzuki summoned his chosen few back into the mess. He congratulated them on their courage and bravery, but said those qualities were about to be tested further. Suzuki shut and bolted the door into the officers' mess. "What I'm about to show you is highly classified, a secret more closely guarded than any other secret in the empire. You will be transformed into the ultimate weapons of war, creatures that will tear apart the souls of our enemies and feast on their blood. You will become immortal warriors, vampyr samurai."

Suzuki gritted his teeth and willed his wings to unfurl, the mighty spans of skin, bone and sinew bursting out from the back of his uniform. The pilots were startled but, to their credit, they did not scream as some had done before them. Suzuki grinned, letting his lips slide back from his teeth to reveal the massive, elongated fangs jutting down from his upper jaw. "Tonight I shall feast on your blood and allow you to sup on mine. I shall make you all my kinsmen, my kyuuketsuki, my brothers in blood. Let the feasting begin!"

Hitori left his wife sleeping in bed, still murmuring his name and sighing with pleasure. The vampyr knew he could not risk coming back here again. Aiko had long believed in ghosts and spirits, so he had used that belief and his new abilities to disarm her. He had hoped the experience would sate his hunger for Aiko, and give him the chance to say goodbye properly. Instead he stumbled away from their home, feeling as if a fresh hole had been torn in his chest. To be with her again and have to leave was the worst torture of all, reminding him of what he had sacrificed to become a vampyr. But perhaps it was worth all the pain, just to see his son once.

Whatever the truth, he could not go back there again, couldn't trust himself not to tell Aiko the truth. She would want to be with him, no matter the cost to her soul, and he could not steal that away from her. Aiko and Noriyuki were the purest things left in his life. He would not corrupt them any further with his taint. He must stay away from his family. He was dead to them and he must stay that way. Better to sate his hunger with blood and terror and warfare, than destroy the only two people he had ever loved without question or hesitation.

Besides, his elite cadre had less than eight weeks until the point of no return, the moment when war with the Americans became inevitable. Hitori had been briefed on the plan of attack. The US Navy's Pacific base of operations in Hawaii was the key target, but Japanese forces would be striking in many other places at the same time. He had to have his vampyr samurai trained and ready, able to operate without his direct supervision when the time came. If all went to plan, these multiple strikes would cripple the enemy and leave the rest of the region wide open for invasion and conquest. It all depended on what happened at a place Hitori had never heard of before his intelligence briefing, a place known to the US Navy by a simple, two-word name: Pearl Harbour.

PART TWO: December 1941

FITNESS REPORT: Buntz, Arnold.

DATE OF ASSESSMENT: December, 1941.

Private Buntz was sent for an assessment of his physical fitness for duty, following repeated spells in the sick bay complaining about dizziness, nausea and shortness of breath. His sergeant noted that each incident of illness coincided with Buntz being assigned to more physical duties, such as digging latrines, heavy lifting and other instances of hard manual labour. The sergeant also noted that the symptoms reported by Buntz were all non-specific, difficult to refute and easy to imitate. The purpose of this fitness report is to ascertain whether Buntz is, indeed, as ill as he suggests or, as Sergeant Grant believes, merely malingering.

The subject is twenty-five years of age, but has the physique of a man ten years older. He is overweight by at least forty pounds, and could soon be approaching clinical obesity if his tendency to gain weight continues at its current rate. His urine is discoloured and his stool is remarkably small, both indicators of dietary problems and intestinal difficulties. His pallor on the appointed day for testing was ashen and his uniform was soaked with perspiration, suggesting Buntz is a prime candidate for cardiac arrest.

However, a discolouration was also noted in his mouth and the subject was kept overnight for observation, permitted neither food nor drink. He complained long and loudly about these deprivations and asked to be returned to his posting in the stores depot at Fort Stotsenberg. The doctor who had first examined Buntz caught the subject eating a small piece of cordite the next morning. It is well known among certain soldiers that consumption of cordite produces symptoms easily mistaken for those of a far more serious condition. When Buntz was kept without food and drink for another twelve hours, his symptoms soon desisted.

In conclusion, the physical wellbeing of the subject is compromised by his poor diet and lack of exercise. If he put half as much care and effort into his physique as he does into avoiding exertion, Private Buntz would be one of the fittest and strongest men in the regiment. While his weight stays at a dangerously high level, he will continue to be at risk from the usual conditions and maladies associated with obesity: fatigue, bad breath, heart disease and diabetes. The subject's health makes him a liability to his unit and efforts should be made to enhance his physical fitness. Whether such efforts can have any hope of success is another matter.

ONE

Commander Nishino Kozo stood alone in the conning tower of his submarine, designated I-17 by the Imperial Japanese Navy. It was less than a year since the vessel had been commissioned from Yokosuka Navy Yard, and the submarine was on its first offensive mission, bound for the island of Oahu. The final destination remained a closely guarded secret, known only to a handful of officers on board. Fewer still knew the true reason why their commander had been obliged to surrender his private quarters for the two strangers that joined I-17 shortly before it left Japanese territorial waters.

Kozo pressed a pair of binoculars to his eyes, the magnifying lenses enabling him to better study the ocean ahead for enemy craft. They were still several days from the target and it was imperative that I-17's approach did not become known to the Americans. Representatives of the Japanese Empire and the US government remained locked in negotiations at Washington DC, searching for a way beyond the impasse that separated the two nations. The discovery of a Japanese submarine en route to America's naval stronghold in the Pacific would be problematic. The fact that it had a midget submarine strapped to the aft deck would be even harder to explain. Both governments knew war between them was fast becoming inevitable, but it was unlikely the Americans expected Japanese forces to launch an attack against Pearl Harbour. The submarine had already been forced to take evasive action to avoid a US Navy battle group headed towards Wake Island.

The commander felt a cold shiver run up his spine as one of the unwelcome passengers joined him in the conning tower, climbing up the metal steps into the open air. It was night and the moon overhead was almost full, casting a pale blue hue across the dark sea. But it was not the cool evening breeze that chilled Kozo's blood. The submarine had left Japan in the middle of November for its journey halfway across the Pacific. The vessel maintained radio silence all the way, but the I-17 didn't submerge until it neared the US controlled Wake Island at the end of the month. In all that time, neither of the passengers had ventured into the conning tower during the hours of daylight.