The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [159]
He focused again on the artillery, a low thunder, a strange kind of silence to it. He looked up, the mist on his face, thought, for one brief moment, this war is very far away. But you are not allowed to think that. This war is inside you, you carry it with you even now. The Americans are still pouring out their vast firepower. But we will surprise them. So many of those shells are falling on empty spaces, caves we have already left behind. This might actually be working, he thought. So far there is no indication that the enemy knows what we are doing. General Buckner must believe that we have been crushed beneath the weight of his steel and that the Shuri Line is just a mopping-up operation. The rain has helped us, has kept his reconnaissance planes on the ground, and so has kept him blind to our plans. Yet he knows he has all the advantage. A good general would have been prepared for a final blow, would have sensed our collapse. He would keep strong reserves in position to push past the worst of the fighting, seeking what lay behind. Buckner relies on his eyes in the sky, and of course, that is his greatest advantage. But the weather is ours. If there is anything about this miserable island that I should be grateful for, it is that the weather has helped equalize the fight, has given us precious days, lengthened our war. Now we will lengthen it again.
The truck erupted in an uneven rumble, coming to life, success for his aides. He stared out through the black mist, took a deep breath of the soggy air. His guard was still there, patient, waiting, and Ushijima moved that way, the guard letting him pass, then following him to the truck. The guard joined the others, climbed up in the rear of the truck. Inside the truck itself, Ushijima pressed in close beside Yahara, Cho just behind them, and Cho said, “It is not wise to drift off in the dark like that. We thought you had gone over to the enemy!”
“That would leave you in command, General Cho. Tell me this. If I was to present myself to General Buckner, what should I tell him? What great secrets could I carry to the Americans that would label me a traitor? Oh yes, I forget. Just by the act of surrender, I am a traitor. That is one of my own lessons, of course. I taught that to many of the officers who still fight in those hills. Do you truly think I would … wander off?”
Cho’s joke was silenced now, his reply unusually meek.
“I would not suggest that any of us would do such a thing. Forgive me for my poor judgment.”
It was the wrong word, and Ushijima knew that beside him, Yahara would chew on that, would know that Cho’s judgment had been the greatest failure of this entire campaign. Ushijima leaned forward, tried to see the driver’s face, knew only his name, Inko. Yahara seemed to read him, said, “We have four kilometers to the next station, sir. There is a radio there, with reports of the flank attacks. I admit, sir, that I am anxious to receive whatever word awaits us.”
“You should be.”
Ushijima sat back, tried to be as comfortable as possible on a seat that had not offered any kind of comfort for years. The truck rattled along in total darkness, no lights of any kind, the road scattered with the glimpses of moving shadows, no way to see if they were soldiers or civilians. The next station, he thought. Well, we might receive some good news.
Yahara held his ear to the radio receiver, stared down. Cho stood close to him, energized, rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at Yahara with brutal impatience. Yahara spoke into the radio, said, “I have received your report, Colonel. I shall communicate it directly to General Ushijima. You have performed your duty with glory and loyalty. There is no greater gift you can give our emperor.”
Yahara set the receiver down slowly, a deliberate