Fiends of the Rising Sun (7 page)

The bishop leaned back in his chair. "She killed herself, didn't she?"

Father Kelly nodded. "I returned to my sacristy after saying mass one Friday and found her hanging from a curtain rail, naked, with the sign of the cross carved into both her wrists. Her face was blue and the blood was-" He broke down, overwhelmed by his memories of that terrible day, by what he had witnessed in the little room off the main body of the church.

His confessor waited until the tears subsided before speaking again. "What did the girl's family do afterwards?"

"That was the worst part," Father Kelly said. "They forgave me. It seems they knew about their daughter's imbalance, her obsessions, but they were too ashamed to get her the help she needed. They didn't blame me at all."

"You wanted to be blamed?"

"It was my fault, wasn't it?"

"Not if what you've told me is true. This girl needed help and you tried to give it. We can't save everyone, Father Kelly. We can only do our best."

"I know, but..." The priest sighed, brushing the blond hair from his eyes. "I couldn't understand how God could have abandoned that girl. If she was made in his image, how could she be so troubled as to take her own life? Where was God when she was hurting herself, when she was killing herself? How can her death be what God intended? Why did she have to die? Why?"

The bishop stood and went to a stack of Bibles beneath a window. He selected one and opened it, retrieving a small bottle of whisky from within. "When I have too many questions, I give myself a sip of Ireland's finest export," he announced, pouring a liberal jolt of whisky into Father Kelly's coffee cup. "It doesn't provide any answers, but sometimes it helps numb the pain of knowing how little I do know, and how much less I understand."

"Drink your way to happiness?"

"Would that I could, I'd be the happiest man in the world by now," the bishop replied. "It's no surprise you had a crisis of faith after what happened, but how did you end up a chaplain in the army?"

Father Kelly shrugged. "I wanted to be somewhere the same thing couldn't happen again. The army seemed like the safest place."

"Hmm, I'm not sure I've ever heard the army described as a safe place," the bishop said, a wry smile on his lips. "Besides, there's more than one kind of love, no matter what the Bible may have to say on the subject."

"I'll take my chances."

The bishop returned the whisky bottle to its hiding place. "It's obvious you're still haunted by what happened in your parish. Running away from that won't change the past, and it won't get the image of that dead girl out of your thoughts, or your nightmares, either."

"How did you know?"

"The black rings under your eyes are something of a giveaway in someone so young. It's obvious you haven't been sleeping well lately."

"No," Father Kelly admitted, "but what can I do?"

"I can't offer any easy answers. All priests must face the same questions, the same uncertainty at some point. We get hurt and we see hurts done to other people when we're helpless to intervene. Over time those wounds will heal and become scar tissue. Eventually, you start to wonder if you're nothing but scar tissue. Your particular wounds are an extreme example, but most men who take the cloth face such dilemmas in their lives."

"You haven't answered my question. What can I do? What should I do? How can I find my faith again?"

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to find that answer for yourself." The bishop rested a comforting hand on Father Kelly's shoulder. "When you do, write and let me know. In the meantime, I'll keep you in my prayers."

"You may stand," Emperor Hirohito said in a quiet, humble voice. Hitori rose from his knees, but kept his eyes fixed on the ornate rug covering the floor.

"Forgive me, my lord, I did not-"

"You have done nothing that needs my forgiveness," the emperor said. "But our conversation will be much easer if you look me in the eye."

"Yes, my lord, of course." Summoning all his strength of will, Hitori lifted his eyes up to gaze upon Japan's supreme ruler. He was surprised to see how small the emperor was, slight of build and unremarkable of appearance. When a man is worshipped as a living god, you expect him to have the stature of a deity. But Hirohito reminded the soldier of his father, with kind, concerned eyes and a small mouth. "It is an honour to be in your presence, my lord."

The emperor waved the remarks away. "My minister of war asked me here so we might talk. You have met the Rumanian?"

"Lord Constanta? Yes, my lord."

"And you know what he is."

Hitori nodded.

The emperor clasped his hands together, staring down at the interlinked fingers. "The power this creature possesses, the abilities Constanta is willing to share with us - it is a kind of weapon, we suppose, albeit a weapon of merciless savagery. We fear we shall have need of such weapons in the months to come."

"For our war with the Americans," Hitori said.

"It is not yet certain we will go to war with the Americans," the emperor insisted. "We know the likes of Tojo and his friends within the Black Dragon would have us attack as soon as possible, but we believe we should continue to negotiate until the last. Our battles in Manchuria have been costly enough. To go to war with the Americans, it may be a battle too far, even for us."

Hitori acknowledged the wisdom of these words with a nod, not trusting himself to say more in such august company. Yes, he had fought in China, but merely as one soldier in a much larger army. To stand in the presence of the emperor and have him talk with such candour, it made Hitori dizzy. He felt some small inkling of how the weight of history and the expectations of a nation must bear down upon the narrow shoulders of the man standing opposite. What price divinity in such circumstances? He realised the emperor was looking at him, waiting for an answer to a question Hitori hadn't heard. "I'm sorry, my lord, I was too busy thinking about what Lord Constanta is offering."

"Indeed," Hirohito said, his brow furrowing. "We asked what you thought of our prospects in a war with the Americans."

"In truth, I know little about them as a nation. From this distance they seem scattered, lacking in unity, a people without the sense of community or collective purpose to be found here in Japan. I've heard it said the Americans lack the stomach for war; otherwise they would have come to the aid of Europe long before now. If we strike a great enough blow against them, I believe it will cause one of two reactions. Either they will retreat in shock, or they will strike back with a force ten times as strong as the injury they suffered."

"We fear the latter will probably be the case," the emperor sighed. "The United States is a young nation, but a proud people. We'll need all possible weapons against them if a war is our collective destiny. That is why we're asking you to surrender yourself to Constanta, to sacrifice yourself for the greater good of the empire. It is not an order, Hitori, but it is the wish of your emperor. Will you do this terrible thing, in the hope it may turn the tide of war?"

Hitori bowed his head, picturing the face of his young wife, trying to imagine what his infant son must look like. He would weep for them another day. "Yes, my lord, I will do it, for my family, my country and for you."

"Thank you. Few will ever know the truth of the sacrifice you are making, but we believe it is for a higher cause and all will be well." The emperor took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. "It is good that you enter into this devilish pact of your own will, with the best of intentions. Remember that in the dark times that lie ahead. You do this for the noblest of reasons."

"Yes, my lord."

"There is one more thing we must ask you to do for us."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Always remember where your true loyalties lie. No matter what this monster says to you, no matter what temptations Constanta may offer, always remember you are one of us. Zenji Hitori is a true servant of the Japanese Empire, and he always will be. Constanta may lay claim to your soul, but we own your heart."

FROM: Military Police Sergeant J. M. Hook, Honolulu City Station.

RE: Incident at Tokyo Joe's Bar and Grill.

Multiple reports detailing a disturbance of the peace at the above-named establishment were received at around eighteen hundred hours. Due to the number of reports received and the suggested level of disturbance indicated by these reports, it was decided prudent to send all available MPs to the scene. Upon arrival, the nature of the disturbance was ascertained. It proved to be a free-for-all within the establishment, involving men of all ranks and services. A brief assessment of the situation adjudged there to be significant property damage in addition to the violent conduct, and swift action was deemed necessary.

Half the detail of MPs was despatched to the south side of the establishment and entered from the beach, while the rest of the men entered from the street. Upon securing both access points, those engaged in violent activity were given ample warning to cease and desist all such activity. This warning went unheeded and direct action was required.

Appended is a listing of all those arrested at the scene of the affray, along with notes about the nature of their individual offences. When possible, specific culprits were singled out as ringleaders. They were subdued with all necessary force. A list of those still receiving medical treatment is appended, as is a summary of the injuries sustained by MPs in the course of this action.

It is suggested that all servicemen be banned from this establishment for the next few weeks, to allow tempers to cool. It seems the incident stemmed from a dispute between marines stationed on Oahu and men of the visiting 200th Coast Artillery. In the view of the fact the latter company is due to depart Honolulu tomorrow, it is believed reprisals are unlikely in the future, but all precautions are being undertaken.

End.

THREE

Walton wasn't sure who threw the first punch that transformed Tokyo Joe's from a peaceful establishment into a miniature warzone, but he suspected Paxton had something to do with it. The two of them and Maeda had stayed in the bar all afternoon, sampling almost every kind of food and drink available. For the first time since joining the marines, Walton found he was relaxing. The sound of waves lapping on the nearby beach blended with the strumming of the resident Hawaiian band in one corner of the bar provided a gentle underscore to the hubbub of happy customers.

Walton knew he could never keep up with Maeda and Paxton's intakes. They were older than him, and knew far more about the ways of the world. So he persuaded Kissy to make sure every second drink he got was unadulterated juice; fruit punch without the punch, so to speak. But his legs still felt as if they'd been replaced by rubber bands when the complaints of his bladder became so urgent they required immediate relief. The young marine got up and staggered, lurching sideways into a neighbouring table where three army recruits were sitting. The nearest of them was a bloated, red-faced slob with thinning hair and a greasy moustache. He sprang to his feet, anger in his eyes and spittle flecking his lips. "Hey, you gonna watch where you're going, or do I have to rip you a new one?"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Walton slurred, struggling to keep from giggling.

"What, you think this is funny?" his belligerent accuser demanded. The two soldiers with him tried to persuade their angry comrade to calm down. A young Hispanic trooper with a friendly face tugged at his colleague's sleeve.

"Hey, Buntz, there's no need to get mad; he apologised, okay?"

"No, it's not okay, Martinez! And keep your nose out of my business!"

Martinez held his hands in the air, as if surrendering. "Have it your own way if you want, Buntz. I was just saying the kid's said he was sorry."

"That's right," Walton slurred, unable to get the sloppy grin off his face.

"I notice you keep smiling at me. You think I'm funny?"

"No, not at all."

"You better not, or else I'll teach you what is funny!"

"Absolutely," Walton agreed, nodding slowly. By now his brothers in arms had noticed the argument brewing and decided to get involved. Paxton was up and out of his chair, his hands clenching into fists, while Maeda was also rising from his seat, ready to step in if required.

"Hey, Flinch, is that guy giving you a hard time?" Paxton growled.

"Not at all," the young marine replied. "He's been a perfect gentleman." Walton staggered away, squinting his eyes in the hope of getting his blurred surroundings into some sort of focus. He bumped into a surly Japanese man emerging from a side door bearing the word HEAD. "'Cuse me, is that the way to the bathroom?" The man didn't reply, just nodded wearily before walking away towards the bar. "Thank you," Walton called after him.

The youthful marine emerged several minutes later to find a massive brawl in progress. A bamboo stool flew past his face and smashed against the nearest wall, splintering apart on impact. "Did I miss something?" he asked nobody in particular. "I thought we weren't supposed to fight in here."

Maeda appeared beside him, grinning cheerfully. "Hey kid, there you are, thought I'd lost you!" He ducked beneath a swinging right hook from a snarling soldier and deftly kicked his attacker in the groin. The unhappy soldier went down with a groan and stayed down, nursing his crushed pride.

"What happened?" Walton asked. In front of him sailors, marines and soldiers were beating seven kinds of hell out of each other, using tables, chairs and stools as weapons to supplement their fists, foreheads and feet.

"That guy you bumped into tried to kiss Kissy," Maeda replied. "Paxton's kinda sweet on her and, well, you can probably guess the rest. Never get between a man and the woman he lusts after, that's my advice." An unfamiliar marine flew between the two of them and smacked into the wall. He slumped to the sandy floor, out cold long before his body had stopped moving.

"What should I do?" Walton wondered.

"Punch anybody that tries to punch you," Maeda said with a grin, "but try to punch them first." He rubbed his hands with glee. "You ready for action?"