Fiends of the Rising Sun (16 page)

"Monday. I'm to hitch a ride on the dawn transport, and start my new posting in Manila the next day, December ninth." She managed a weak smile. "Never thought I'd be sorry to see the back of Fort Stotsenberg."

"You can't go," Martinez said.

"My orders say otherwise, Juan." Angela rested a tender hand against his face. "We always knew this would happen one day. I just didn't think that day would come so soon. I'm going to miss you."

He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "Marry me."

She smiled. "You're only saying that because I'm leaving."

"No, that's what I came here to ask you, once your shift was over. I want you to be my wife, Angela Baker." Martinez smiled at her. "I'm down on one knee and everything. Please, at least tell me you'll think about it?"

Angela frowned and shook her head. "I don't need to think about it."

"You mean..." But Martinez couldn't finish the sentence, a sudden fear clutching at his throat and stealing away his words.

"I've already made my mind up," she continued. "Yes, I will marry you."

"You will? But I thought... You're sure you want to marry me?"

Angela nodded, fresh tears running down her face, but these were tears of joy, not sorrow. "Yes, Juan, I do."

Martinez threw his arms around her, kissing her sweet lips over and over. It was only the arrival of Ruth for the night shift that stopped things getting out of hand. She cleared her throat several times before they noticed.

"You two ought to get a room," the nurse commented.

"We will, on our honeymoon," Martinez replied, his voice full of joy.

"You're getting married?" Ruth asked. Angela nodded. "When?"

"Before I get shipped back to Manila next week, I guess." She looked at Martinez. "If that's okay with you, Juan?"

He grinned. "The sooner, the better. How about this Saturday?"

"Not so fast, loverboy," Ruth cut in. "We've got an inspection on Saturday, all the nurses will be run off their feet until then. After that, you'll be fine."

"Sunday it is, then. We'll have the wedding on December the seventh."

From the diary of Angela Baker, Fort Stotsenberg - December 5th, 1941

I can hardly believe I'm writing these words, but it's true, I'm getting married on Sunday. Juan asked me after I got my transfer papers. The corps decided Sternberg General Hospital needs more nurses and so I'm going back to Manila next Monday. The idea of leaving Fort Stotsenberg meant little to me, compared to the thought of never seeing Juan again. Sure, he might get a posting to Manila in time, but it'll be months before we see each other. Imagining that left me hollow inside, as if someone had stuck a cold ice-cream scoop in my chest and ripped out my heart.

I guess Juan must have felt the same way because he asked me to be his wife as soon as he heard about my transfer. I said yes before I'd even had time to think. I want to be with him so badly. I want to spend every minute I can with him. Juan's not like all the other recruits on the base. Most of them just want what they can get from the nurses, and to hell with the consequences. Give in to them and you're easy, refuse them and you're called all kinds of names. At times, being part of the Army Nurses Corps here is like being back in high school, except the ratio of men to women is a hundred to one. I always swore I'd never get involved with a soldier. Then there was Juan.

He makes me laugh. I think that's what I like the most about him. He's sweet and kind and gentle with me. He doesn't try to push me into doing anything I don't want, and I know he cares about me, I can see it in his eyes. That's not to say he isn't all man. There are times I want to rip his clothes off and... Well, you can guess the rest! Just thinking about him like that makes me blush, but it makes me wish he was here, too. I don't know much about being with a man, not like some of the other nurses, but I know being with Juan will be something I'll never forget. Let's hope we can keep our hands to ourselves until the wedding night!

The thing is, I'm excited but kind of scared too. How do I know this is the right thing to do? How do I know Juan is the right man for me? We feel so comfortable together, but what if that changes? There's the war to think about, too. We aren't fighting it yet, but everyone seems to think that it's a matter of when, not if. I'm still getting to know Juan. How would I cope if I lost him? I don't want to be a widow before I'm 25.

Then there's my transfer. That's still going ahead, no matter whether we get married or not. We'll have one night together and then months apart, keeping in touch by letter and a few phone calls. We might get leave at the same time, but I doubt that. The army tends to set its own schedules, and married couples in the ranks just have to cope.

At the back of my mind, I can't help thinking we're rushing into this. I always imagined I'd have a big white wedding, with all my family there. Instead I'll be getting married in a makeshift chapel, wearing whatever the other nurses can find for me between now and Sunday, with none of my family beside me. They probably won't get my telegram until after I've become Mrs Juan Martinez. How are they going to react to the news? All these questions are going round and round in my head, and it's starting to drive me crazy. Putting my thoughts down on paper in this diary helps a little, but I need to talk with someone about all of this, and I think I know just the person.

TWO

I-17 slowed its engines as the submarine came within range of the Hawaiian island of Oahu. The submerged vessel waited until day became night before surfacing briefly beneath the full moon. Commander Kozo went up into the conning tower to see the American territory for himself. He was close enough to hear music drifting out from the bars of Waikiki, and neon lights were visible in the distance. Several years before, he had commanded a Japanese tanker that took on crude oil at the Ellwood refinery north of Santa Barbara. He had slipped while walking to a welcoming ceremony and fallen into a prickly-pear cactus. His face still flushed an angry red at the memory of workers on the nearby rig laughing at his discomfort. Kozo was looking forward to the war, and reclaiming his honour from those hyenas. Satisfied with the submarine's positioning, he went below and ordered a descent to periscope depth.

As midnight passed, an American minesweeper on its way back into Pearl Harbour approached the I-17. This was the opportunity Hitori and Kimura had been waiting for. The US Navy had anti-submarine nets stretched across the harbour entrance, but they were retracted to allow the coming and going of surface vessels. The lumbering minesweeper would be the perfect decoy, clearing a path through the nets and churning the water to such an extent that the midget sub could follow it in, unseen.

The commander went to his private quarters where both passengers were waiting. They'd been unwelcome guests on board before Itami's tragic loss, but in the days since the executive officer's disappearance, wild rumours had circulated among the crew about Hitori and Kimura. Some claimed they were Black Dragon agents on a covert mission to infiltrate American naval defences at Pearl Harbour. Others believed they were actually spying on the crew before reporting back to Tokyo. One tale suggested the passengers had killed Itami because he discovered the truth about them, and now they were blackmailing the commander into following their orders.

Kozo kept his own counsel, knowing almost all the rumours had an element of truth, but that none of them told the whole story. If the crew had discovered the real nature of these blood-drinking parasites, he shuddered to think what the consequences could have been. Now, at least, he could get these monsters off his vessel. That couldn't happen soon enough for him.

He'd learned what to expect on entering his quarters, but still could not disguise his revulsion. Kimura had disposed of the two dead POWs at the same time as Itami, but the final prisoner was still alive. Hitori and his murderous associate had been slowly draining their captive of blood until he was close to death, before giving him a day's respite. By this method the passengers had sustained themselves and their food source. Kozo walked in to find Kimura supping at the prisoner's throat, a wet splash of crimson on the POW's uniform all too obvious amid the many older, drier stains.

"It's time," the commander announced, keeping his gaze fixed on Hitori.

"How long do we have?"

"The minesweeper will take an hour to reach the anti-submarine nets. That's long enough for us to surface and get you into the midget sub. Once you're ready, we submerge again and release the cables before starting the engine. You get behind the minesweeper and follow it all the way in."

"Good," Hitori agreed. He nodded to Kimura. The other vampyr finished drinking from its victim before snapping the prisoner's head sideways. The POW died, a pool of yellow liquid spilling out of the corpse and mingling with old and new blood on the floor. Kozo felt certain he'd have to scrub the room for weeks to remove every trace of the horrors perpetrated in here, not least the slaughter of his executive officer.

"Once the minesweeper is inside the harbour, the anti-submarine nets will be reinstated," the commander said. "You'll be trapping yourselves within Pearl Harbour, and the midget sub's batteries have a limited lifespan. It cannot stay submerged indefinitely. Besides, you'll run out of air long before that happens."

"Don't worry on our account," Kimura replied, baring his still bloody fangs at Kozo. "We don't need to breathe. We only need to feed."

Hitori said something to his associate, but the words were spoken too quickly for the commander to catch them. Whatever they were, they sent Kimura back to the prisoner's corpse. He resumed twisting the dead man's head, as if he was unscrewing the lid from a bottle. Kozo could hear the ligaments and other connective tissue within snapping and ripping apart. Kimura tore at the neck in frustration with his fangs and talons, tearing through skin and sinew. At last the head came off, rolling unevenly across the floor before coming to rest by the commander's boots. Kozo swallowed hard to stop the bile rising in his throat from becoming a stream of vomit. He glared at the smirking Kimura.

"I don't know what kind of monsters you are, but a Japanese warrior would never torture and debase his captives like that."

"You'd be surprised at how savage people can be," Hitori replied.

Kozo gestured at the decapitated head by his boots. "Nothing human could have done that."

"True, but you're talking about brute strength, not force of will. I saw our soldiers commit atrocities in Manchuria that defied belief: murder, rape and wanton butchery. Why should my kyuuketsuki be any different?" Hitori nodded to Kimura, who trod on the dead prisoner's chest as he walked out. Hitori followed, pausing at the doorway. "I apologise for leaving this mess behind, but our mission must take precedence. Have a good war, commander."

Father Kelly sat at the back of his makeshift chapel and sighed. Business had not been brisk since he arrived at Fort Stotsenberg with the 200th Artillery, if you could call saving souls and offering spiritual counselling a business. At most services he considered himself fortunate to get more than a handful of worshippers, those hardy few who kept faith with their beliefs this far from home. Sundays were his busiest day of the week, naturally, but even then there was no guarantee of more than a dozen people in the congregation.

Tomorrow would be different, the priest told himself. Tomorrow he was performing the wedding ceremony for Private Martinez and Nurse Baker. That was guaranteed to draw a crowd and, with a little luck, some of them might be moved into making the Lord a more regular visitor into their lives. If only I can find the right words to persuade them, Father Kelly thought, and discover the way into their hearts and minds. He had been sitting at the back of the chapel for more than an hour, a pencil and paper in his hand, waiting for inspiration. He had prayed for guidance, offering novena after novena to Heaven in exchange for the hope of inspiration, but no angel whispered in his ear, no vision told the priest what he wanted to hear. His page remained blank, his faith bankrupt.

The trouble comes from lies, Father Kelly realised. I've been living with my lies for so long that I've started to believe they might be true. I've even lied in the confessional. It's the most holy place I know, and I broke the commandments to conceal my shame. I betrayed you, my Lord, and I betrayed my vows. Is it any wonder my soul is so barren, my heart so empty?

The priest put the pencil and paper aside before dropping to his knees. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, determined to renounce all the falsehoods and confess the truth to the only being that truly mattered. "Forgive me, oh heavenly father, for I have sinned," Father Kelly began, his voice a hoarse whisper of fear and guilt. "It's been three months since my last confession." He stopped, thinking back to what he had said on Oahu, the lies he'd told then. "No, it's been much longer than that. I can't remember when I last told you the truth, the whole truth. I know you see into my heart and already know all of my sins, but I must confess them to be worthy of your redemption. I must acknowledge my sins and show remorse. I must."

Father Kelly opened his eyes and saw the crucifix atop the cloth-covered trestle table that served as his altar. The silver representation of Jesus on the cross seemed to be staring at him, daring the priest to admit the dark secret that gnawed at him like some malignant cancer of the soul. Father Kelly looked away, unable to stand the unspoken accusation. He wanted to repent his sins, but the shame of what had happened, the shame of what he-

"Father? Father Kelly?"

The priest spun around to see Nurse Baker in the chapel doorway. "My, you startled me, Angela! How long have you been standing there?"

"Only for a few moments, father. It looked like you were praying. I can come back later, if that's more convenient for you."

"No, no, this is as good a time as any," Father Kelly replied as he got up. He brushed the dust off the knees of his trousers before walking over to the nervous nurse. "How can I help you, my child?"