The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [229]
The heat of the fires swirled around him, the cold in his legs passing, the shivering gone. His brain kept him there, and he wrapped his arms around his naked chest, squeezed, thought, stay awake … stay alert. The only sound was the firestorm, below, toward the center of the city, the flames coming together, one larger storm, smoke and darkness beyond. He thought of Hata, his old friend, in command of the garrison that would protect them, the man who knew so much of empire and power and the strength of will that would allow the Japanese to prevail. Hamishita glanced skyward, recalled the plane, the single reflection. It did not take an army to do this, he thought. It had to be … a weapon. And no matter what Hata or his generals believe, we cannot stand with our ancestors and pretend that our spirit is undamaged. The Americans will not be stopped by samurai. If they will do this to me … to Japan … we have lost everything.
Hata pulled himself to his feet, heard screaming down the dark corridor, stumbled, coughed in the dust, the air thick and smoky.
“What has happened?”
He fought to find the doorway, felt the heat rolling down through the dark caverns, more smoke, saw one man staggering close to him, an officer, no name, the man just one more wounded soldier. Hata moved past him, hugged one side of the earthen wall, felt the incline, pushed his feet up the hill, no sound but a strange roar, the smoke even worse, the taste of lead in his mouth, his body tingling, a swarm of invisible bees. He stopped, heard more screaming, somewhere in front of him, the stink and the heat driving him backward. Wait, he thought. There is safety here, down below. They must have made a direct hit on the castle. He thought of his men, the daily routine, drilling in the courtyard, men in formation for the morning rituals in the parade ground, his officers, the men who had come in from the outposts, gathering the night before for the strategy meeting. They are above, he thought, the guest quarters. I should go to them. Damn this smoke! You are in command, after all!
He pulled his coat off, wrapped it around his face, climbed again, furious at the ongoing screams, thought, some coward. I will deal with him. He could barely see, kept his eyes shaded with one bent hand, his bones aching, his legs stiff. Too old, he thought. They will tell me I am too old. But I am still the finest soldier in this city. I will show them that!
The smell of the fire engulfed him, a hard breeze, swirling directly down into the cave. He continued to climb, cursed aloud, thought, I will need to relocate my headquarters. The enemy has been fortunate this day. But they will pay for this rude interruption!
He saw light, the outside, surprising, the cave suddenly ending, far too soon. He expected to pass by the cages that held the Americans, but the earthen walls simply fell away, nothing at all above him. He pushed up the incline, exhausted, burning in his lungs. He was in the open now, smoke blowing past, saw flames, looked to the hospital, a short distance away, nothing there, smoky air. He turned, searching, the castle so familiar, gone completely, obliterated into a mass of smoking rubble. For a long moment he stared at the destruction, close by, and far beyond, so much of the city either bathed in a dense fog of black … or gone altogether.