Communications with the three posts were limited to clicks, not words. Collins's command post would send one click out, and a one-click response meant everything was okay. The command post would then send one back as confirmation that the signal had been received. In case of possible danger, the men in an outpost would click twice and withdraw from their exposed position. They didn't have to wait for a response. A series of three or more clicks meant that everybody should run like hell. The posts were to respond to the clicks from Collins every few minutes. It was hoped that the discreet and muffled sounds would not carry.
The system was far from perfect. Several false alarms had led to precipitous retreats back to Round Top. These had been followed by sheepish crawls back to their positions by the men who'd just run from them. Lieutenant Morrell hadn't chewed out anyone for his actions, but the continued unnecessary alerts caused stress and fatigue. Collins chewed his gum and wished for a cigarette. Why the hell wouldn't the Japs come and get it over with?
It had been several minutes since the last outpost check. "Hit 'em, Hanks," he whispered.
Hanks grunted, crouched over the walkie-talkie, and made a clicking noise with his mouth. A few seconds later he looked up. "One reports okay, Sarge." He returned to his task. Then there was a pause. "Nothing from two."
"Do three." Two was at the crest of Mt. Ugly, while the others were on the lower ground flanking it.
"Three's okay. Should I try two again?"
"Of course." Collins's mind raced. Was something wrong? A delay in responding had happened before, and he'd chewed ass for it. People were supposed to pay attention, not scare him half to death.
Hanks looked up from his crouch, concern on his face. "Still nothing."
They tried a third time and again no response. Outpost two was a little more than a quarter mile away and well within the range of the handheld radios. Were they malfunctioning? No, in that case either of the two men would have realized they hadn't heard from Collins in a while and used the backup set each group had. Kerns and Fellows were good guys and wouldn't just be sitting there with their thumbs up their asses.
Shit.
Collins's next alternative was to crawl out there and find them, which he dreaded. It was bad enough that he had to take the men out there when their shift started and return to get them when it ended. At least then he had their replacements with him and wasn't alone. Maybe he should get some help from Lieutenant Morrell? Under any circumstances, he would have to notify Morrell of the problem. The situation was the stuff of nightmares and his fears were as normal as the next guy's. Christ, if only he could see!
The wind swirled and he thought he picked up movement in the distance, maybe a couple of hundred yards away. It couldn't be Kerns and Fellows, it was too broad a sensation.
But it couldn't be the Japs because they always began their attacks with yells and all kinds of noise to inspire them.
His mind raced. It couldn't be the Japs, could it?
Then he realized the cold truth: the Japs weren't yelling!
"They're coming," Collins blurted to Hanks, who immediately began making clicking sounds as fast as he could. Kerns and Fellows hadn't answered because they were dead. Now he had to recall his other men and get the hell back to Round Top. There was no time for a phone call to warn Morrell and the others. The Japs might be right on top of him in seconds. He simply began firing into the air. With all need for secrecy gone, the approaching Japanese began to scream and howl like a chorus of devils.
Chapter 79
General Homma was frustrated. He was now the de facto premier of Japan and commander of all the empire's armed forces, yet he found himself unable to function effectively in either capacity. Once again his communications officer had sadly informed him that they were still unable to reach Sixteenth Area Army headquarters on Kyushu. Damn the Americans! If they wanted the war stopped, they had to let him restore some semblance of communications so that he could contact his commanders and tell them to cease firing.
He had just completed meeting with Admiral Ozawa, who had taken control of the Foreign Office, where he had ousted Tojo. Field Marshal Sugiyama had killed himself when confronted with arrest, while Admiral Toyoda had disappeared; thus, they had no serious rivals. Many peace-inclined diplomats had been arrested by the previous regime, while others were in hiding, but the remainder, such as Togo and Marquis Kido, were now frantically trying to make contact with the Americans. Ozawa was confident that the Potsdam Declaration could be utilized as a basis for ending the war on terms that would guarantee that the Japanese world would not disappear. It would be shameful, but better than dying uselessly.
Lt. Gen. Shiro Ishii knocked. He entered and bowed. Homma wanted to dislike Ishii for all the despicable things he had done with his chemicals and germs, but the little man with the thick mustache had performed an invaluable service by providing the means to eliminate Anami and would be compensated by being allowed to live. Ishii would disappear.
Homma drummed his fingers on his desk. "Have you stopped the gases?"
"Like you, I have been unable to raise General Yokoyama on Kyushu. I have been able to ascertain, however, that very little in the way of chemical shells or grenades actually made it across the straits to Kyushu, and absolutely none of the bombs. Most are still in vaults here on Honshu or were on boats sunk in the straits by American planes. I now doubt that more than a couple hundred chemical weapons are on Kyushu."
Homma did not consider this entirely good news. Even a little bit of gas used on the Americans might provoke a devastating reaction from them. It was imperative that they somehow reach General Yokoyama and cancel the final phase of Ketsu-go #6, the plans for the defense of Kyushu.
"What about the submarine?" Homma asked.
The submarine, one of the large R-class types, carried a floatplane in a waterproof deck-hangar. The sub had more than enough range to cross to North America. There its orders were to launch its plane, which would be loaded with a number of small ceramic bombs that carried plague-infested fleas kept alive in an oxygen mixture.
"It attempted to leave two days ago. It was sunk by American destroyers."
"Thank God," Homma said, and wondered why he wasn't distressed by the additional deaths.
America was civilized, clean, and possessed excellent medical facilities. After the initial terror, the plague would easily have been eliminated and would only have added to America's fury with Japan. The attempt to spread germs in America had been total madness.
A staff officer interrupted. His expression was one of deep relief. "General Homma, we have finally established contact with General Yokoyama."
Homma virtually ran to the radio set. The reception was weak and distorted by static, but he convinced General Yokoyama that he, not Anami or Sugiyama, was now in charge.
"General," Homma said, virtually yelling to be understood, "you must not use the gas shells you have received."
"I wasn't going to," Yokoyama answered. "Apart from the fact that such weapons are not an honorable means of waging war, there were too few of them to make a difference, and we have no real way of delivering them effectively. I had them put in a cave and the entrance sealed."
Wonderful, Homma thought, such good news. "Excellent. Now, it is imperative that all aspects of Ketsu-go be halted. Do you understand? You must not launch your attacks. Neither your army nor the remaining kamikazes must attack."