The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [107]
He glanced again at his watch. It could work, he thought. It is all we can do, and so it must work. Even Yahara will celebrate our success, will understand that sometimes we must do the outrageous, throw our sound, sensible strategies to the winds and do the unpredictable, the reckless. If it does not work … we are no worse off.
“Ah, General, here you are! You should come out and see these girls do their dance. I offer credit to the Okinawans. They show remarkable … um … flexibility.”
Cho’s shirt was partially open, his uniform a sloppy mess. He staggered slightly, steadied himself against the wooden beams that framed Ushijima’s doorway.
“I am quite satisfied to remain here. Thank you.”
“Oh, come, come, General! A little revelry is a wonderful tonic! And tomorrow there will be celebration like we have not yet seen! Victory is in the wind, I feel it! I smell it.” He hesitated, laughed, his knees giving way for a brief second. He tossed a wink toward Ushijima. “I have tasted it!” His laughter continued, and Ushijima smelled the party in the man’s clothes, perfume and alcohol, had all he could take.
“Please return to your revelries. I am fine here. I would rather sit alone, for now.”
Cho shrugged, sagged against the timbers.
“If you insist, sir. But we shall soon toast the emperor in his palace! There will be medals and gifts for us all. You will see! Ask your Colonel Yahara, the soft little man with all those papers. He will tell you, he will go behind my back as he always has, and he will tell you that I stood tall in front of my men and told them that I have wagered my life on their success! Victory is assured!”
Cho half fell back out of the doorway, disappeared into a chorus of happy calls. Ushijima closed his eyes, blew out a breath, tried to cleanse himself of Cho’s odor. A girl staggered past the doorway, stopped, seemed as inebriated as Cho, said something he couldn’t understand, a slur of words, then staggered away. I should not have allowed this, he thought. This is not a celebration, it is debauchery, and no matter what Cho says, the emperor would not find this appealing at all. He had nearly recovered from the effects of the sake, felt a wave of sadness. What we have done tonight is celebrate a plan. And if it is a good plan, then we shall die a little later. If it is a bad plan … then it will not matter. It is all we can do.
The artillery barrage began at four-fifty in the morning, a cascade of shells into the American position that was met at first by return fire from the American ships. But the Japanese guns did not do as they had done every day before. They did not fire a quick burst and then slide back into their holes. The guns stayed put, kept up their fire in a torrent of steel that caught the Americans by complete surprise. After more than an hour, the fire subsided, many of the guns exhausting their ammunition. But many more were silenced by the very act of keeping up their assaults. With the big guns staying outside the protection of their hiding places, their muzzle blasts offered the naval ships clear targets, and so frustrated American gunners suddenly had an opportunity they had never expected. For Ushijima’s artillery, the results were a disaster. Guided first by the flashes of fire, and then by the awakening daylight, the Americans pinpointed their targets so effectively that a majority of the largest artillery pieces were completely destroyed. All across the rugged hillsides, so much of the Japanese firepower that had devastated the American ground forces was now obliterated.
The same was true for the Japanese armor. The Japanese tanks were primitive compared to the Shermans, but any