Flame and bodies erupted. Chifune hosed the area with the rest of her C-Mag, reloaded, and followed Oga around to the side of the tower and as she was running, firing recommenced from across the roof. The grenade had inflicted casualties, but the defenders were far from out of action.
The tower doorway was half-broken and still burning. Oga hit it at a run, went straight in, and rolled and came up shooting. There was no one there, just metal stairs that led straight up to the small control room and the roof.
A face looked down and Oga fired again. The face vanished, but Oga thought he had missed. He was furious with himself for having fired unnecessarily and thus alerting the guards on the roof.
Chifune crouched beside him. The stairs led to an open door. She mentally worked out the distance and the angle and what the effect of the blast might be. The alternative was to climb up the stairs under fire. The advantage would be with the defenders, and she and Oga certainly did not have surprise on their side.
She did not blame Oga for firing. Had the base been occupied, they would have been dead if his precautionary fire had been delayed for even a fraction of a second. Combat, like most things in life, was about choices. You made decisions and you pushed ahead and you took the consequences if you were wrong. Regret rarely made a useful contribution.
Oga was changing magazines, so Chifune kept a hail of fire going in a series of tight-aimed bursts at where she expected the opposition to be. She could see no one.
"Do you want to be shown up or blown up, Sergeant-san?" she said in a brief lull, and fired again. The hundred-capacity C-Mag was a thing of joy. If fed rounds effortlessly and gave the firepower of a full machine gun.
Oga got the point immediately. "Go for it!" he said, holding up his thumb. She could not hear him, but the gesture was unmistakable. She flashed him a grin.
Chifune, crouched near the base of the stairs, fired the grenade launcher almost straight up. She imagined she could see the projectile as it entered the control room, and envisioned it continuing and impacting against the roof.
She crouched down and put her hands over her ears. The blast was awesome in the confined space, and a wave of concussion hit her. Debris and dust filled the tower.
She reloaded and fired again at a slightly different angle, in case the roof had blown open at the point of impact the first time, and again there was a violent explosion, though the concussion seemed to be less this time. The roof or some part of the structure had definitely been perforated and was dissipating the shock wave.
"Let's go," said Oga, and bounded up the stairs. Chifune followed him. Thy had both received similar training for QCB, and without discussion they both fell into mutually supporting roles.
They found two bodies in the wrecked control room. The center of the roof had fallen in and there was a third body under the debris. A single flight of perforated steel stairs led to the remains of the roof.
Oga advanced up it, covered by Chifune. At the top, he vanished for a few seconds and then reappeared with a smile on his face. "I'm going to look after Renako," he said. "You'd better take a look, Tanabu-san. Don't worry. It's safe to look over the parapet."
Oga, grinning from ear to ear but saying nothing more, rattled down the stairs past her to look after his man. Somewhat mystified, Chifune ascended. Two more dead lay there, their bodies severely mutilated from the grenade blasts and their blood leaching into the dust that was everywhere.
Despite Oga's reassurance, she was extremely cautious in looking over the parapet. What she saw made her rise to full height.
Several guards sat crosslegged on the ground, their hands clasped on their heads. Sitting slightly apart, very dazed, hands also on his head, was someone dressed in what looked like the remains of traditional samurai armor. It was an incongruous sight in this late-twentieth-century battlefield.
Standing behind the prisoners, the unusual automatic weapon she had learned was the Calico in his hands, was Fitzduane. He was wearing a torn white shirt and slacks and his feet were bare, but he looked very much alive and he was smiling.
He cupped his hands. "Chifune, you have never looked more beautiful. But what I want to know is — who is rescuing who around here?"
Chifune felt a surge of emotion. She wanted to run down and throw her arms around this unusual man, to make love to him, to hold him. She felt tears coming to her eyes and fought them back. She did not move. She struggled to regain composure. Then she started to laugh. It was not easy at first, but then she felt so good she did not want to stop. Exhilaration gripped her. She abandoned the sense of control that was so important to her, that was so much a feature of her every action. She felt liberated and joyous and infused with a sense of optimism.
"I thought you were dead, gaijin," she said, smiling.
"I nearly was when you fired that 40mm grenade, Tanabu-san," said Fitzduane cheerfully. "Fortunately, my friend here" — he pointed at Goto in his shattered armor — "took the blast and he was equipped for it, though it did not make him happy."
Chifune's cheeks were wet with tears. I want you, Hugo, she mouthed silently in Japanese.
Fitzduane looked up at her and then blew her a kiss.
* * * * *
Outside Tokyo, Japan
June 28
Fitzduane felt too languorous and relaxed to open his eyes.
He did not know where he was and he did not much care. All he knew was that he was warm and comfortable and safe; and tomorrow, whenever that was, could take care of itself.
Eyes closed, he daydreamed. Images and thoughts floated in and out of his mind: Chifune looking at him in a very particular way, her face smoke-blackened, her neat business suit torn and grimy, a high-tech assault rifle hanging from her shoulder; police helicopters and heavily armed riot police; bright lights and police video cameras; body bags and uniforms in surgical masks; an angry police officer and Chifune's calm insistence that they make statements later; a calm authoritative voice on the radio and the policeman backing away and saluting; a helicopter ride in the darkness; a long, low house with a verandah and overhanging roof and shoji screen in the traditional style; a long, hot shower and water tinged with blood as the last traces of those he had killed were washed from his body, and the nausea he had felt; the steam rising from the hot tub as he climbed in and Chifune telling him not to move and that it would be fine and it was. And then nothing except a delicious sense of peace as he slipped into sleep.
He stretched. He felt weightless in the water and greatly refreshed. It was a delicious sensation, this sense of half-floating — free of cares and responsibilities.
Hot tubs were an invention of the gods. The Romans had used them and they had done pretty well. The Japanese were fanatical about them, and that probably accounted for most of their economic miracle. Hot tubs had not made it in Ireland, which explained a great deal.
In Fitzduane's opinion a that moment, hot tubs were the solution to most of the world's problems, and you could even float a plastic duck in one. This was excellent. He was a great believer in yellow plastic ducks. Boots adored his, though he liked to sink them and then watch them bob up again. Curiously, someone had once told him, ducks seemed to be a male thing. Was this really so? Was there some deep-rooted sexual significance to bath ducks? Was there a Freudian thesis lurking somewhere which might explain the whole thing? Well, what did it matter, anyway? If ducks were sexy, good for ducks. You couldn’t really do very much if you were plastic. Personally, he liked ducks, but he preferred women.