"You take care of everything like I told you?" Ruger asked.
"I did. I told the men that if something happened to you, I was taking over the company and that Sergeant Collins would be responsible for the platoon. Or if something happened to me, for that matter, it was still Collins. I ran down a complete chain of command involving all the NCOs and made certain they knew just who was next in line."
"How'd they take it?"
Paul laughed softly. "It went okay until the PFCs got into the act and figured out that Private Randolph was the most junior man in the platoon. Randolph then said if he was ever in charge of the platoon, he was taking it and him home right away and flick the war."
Ruger chuckled in the night. It never ceased to amaze him how men found humor in the darkest of situations. The black humor showed that morale was fairly high. "Good for them. You told them to make wills?"
"Yeah, but most of them didn't. They said it's bad luck to make a will on the eve of a battle. I didn't, either. I rationalized my way out of it by deciding I didn't have anything to leave anyone."
And I really don't, Paul thought grimly. What the hell kind of a mark will I have left on this world if some Jap shoots me? No wife, no kids, nothing. My parents would mourn for me and Debbie would too, but, after a while, life would go on. My parents would go about their own lives, and Debbie would find someone else. God, she would have to. She had a life to lead. At least his parents were older, almost fifty. He had written Debbie and told her not to waste herself on his memory in case he got killed, and that he wanted her to live a life that was full, whether it was with him or not. He'd started to cry while writing it.
"I did write some last letters, though," Paul said. "If worse comes, they'll know that I loved them."
Ruger nodded and Paul realized it was difficult for the other man to speak. Ruger had kids and a wife. Maybe it was better not to have family like that.
Finally, Ruger recovered his voice. "Everyone's writing letters. Are you censoring them?"
"Hell no!" Paul snapped. "I don't want to read what may be their last words. Besides, what kind of secrets could they give away? Dear Mom and Dad, I'm on a transport and we're headed for Japan and- oh, by the way- I'm scared shitless. Sure as hell aren't any secrets in a letter like that, are there?"
Ruger smiled in the darkness. "Agreed, and that's one of the little reasons you're my heir apparent. I actually had to tell young Lieutenant Marcelli to lay off reading the men's letters for just that reason. Let them know they have privacy. I put you in for first lieutenant, but I don't expect you'll get the promotion officially before this is over."
Paul muttered his thanks. "What happens now, Captain? When do we go in?"
Ruger took a deep breath and watched it mist as he exhaled. "Word is that the first waves have been mauled pretty badly, a lot worse than expected. That means we could be landing as early as tomorrow. I guess they're trying to figure out exactly where."
"Jesus." He'd been hoping for a few days, maybe even a week before going ashore.
"Yeah. We all should be getting a good night's rest, but I think that's kind of impossible under the circumstances. I can't imagine anybody able to sleep much this night."
Paul felt his heart race and he tasted a surge of bile. "Whatever you do, don't let them hurry us in on my account."
Ruger stood and looked over the railing. The captain was staring in the direction of Japan, and a distinct glow was now on the horizon. The ship and the entire convoy had been zigzagging, and the motion was enough to cause a standing man to sway, but they were still moving inexorably closer to Japan.
"Is that the battle?" Paul asked in wonderment.
Ruger gripped the railing. The Luce had changed course again, and their bodies tilted slightly. Ships always zigzagged now. What had happened to the cruiser Indianapolis when she had failed to do so was on the minds of everyone. She'd been sunk with enormous loss of life by one Jap sub.
"It sure ain't the dawn," Ruger said hoarsely. His throat was suddenly dry. "That would arrive from the other direction. Yeah," he said, still in little more than a whisper, "it's the landings. We're moving slowly but still getting closer with every minute."
Paul stood and walked the couple of steps to the railing. Others had seen the strange light in the distance, and the rail was soon lined with silent men straining to look and listen. The light, an orange-reddish glow, seemed to flicker slightly, and the men became aware of a dull, rolling, thundering sound. Guns. They could hear the big guns from the ships.
"Before I saw you sitting here," Ruger said softly, "I went up top as far as I could in this tub and I saw the lights from off in the distance. Funny thing about a ship, you can see for twenty miles, maybe more. I just stared at it until someone from the crew asked me to get down."
"The fires of hell," Paul rasped. Now the quivering light extended for miles in each direction, painting numerous ships in its satanic glow. "How far away from Japan do you figure we are?"
"Maybe fifty miles. Maybe a little less."
Suddenly, light flashed above them, followed by the booming sound of an explosion. In the flaring light of the explosion a plane disintegrated and fell into the sea in flaming pieces, some only a few hundred feet away. Men pointed and yelled at the sight.
"Oh my God," gasped Paul.
"I think we just saw our first suicide attacker, and it looks like one of our planes got him."
The decks of the Luce bristled with 20mm and 40mm Oerlikon antiaircraft guns, whose crews strained to see in the night skies. What would have happened if the Jap hadn't been seen by the American pilot? Both men shuddered and concluded that there was no safety on the USS Luce, or anywhere else in the world.
Lines of tracers from other ships illuminated the night as gunners sought out targets that neither Paul nor Ruger could see. A helmeted sailor ran by and told the soldiers to get their asses belowdecks. A few complied, but most remained on the deck. They would take their chances where they were.
The Luce's antiaircraft guns added to the angry, deadly chatter. Still, no one could see what the guns were shooting at. Paul and Ruger crouched on the deck. All around them, men removed their boots and some of their clothing in case they were plunged into the water. They could hear yelling and screaming from below.
"Jesus Christ," Ruger yelled, "we'd better get down and try to calm them." He turned and raced toward the sound of the tumult. They didn't want a hysterical mob on their hands.
There was another burst of light. A ship was on fire about a mile away as a kamikaze drew blood. Then another ship was hit as more kamikazes struck home, and both wounded vessels became plumes of flame. What if those ships were full of men like the Luce? How many hundreds were dead or wounded in what had to be a pair of charnel houses? He caught the silhouette of a destroyer against the flames as it raced toward one of the stricken ships to pick up survivors.
Oh, God, he moaned again as he headed below to escape the carnage.
Chapter 30
The young and disturbingly neat kempei officer stood at attention, looking elsewhere and avoiding eye contact, but was otherwise undaunted as Col. Tadashi Sakei vented his wrath.
"It is inconceivable that you have been unable to find one radio and one spy with all the resources at your disposal. It is even further inconceivable that you have been taken off the assignment. Is it your commander's intention that the traitor wander about Kyushu until he dies of old age?"