1945 by Robert Conroy Page A

"Funny," Paul concluded, "but all I was trying to do was the right thing."
    Ruger nodded. "The road to hell is paved with people trying to do the right thing or something like that. I presume you've learned a little discretion."
    Paul grinned. "A lot."
    "Fine. Let's get back to you in those combat situations. Were you scared?"
    "Shitless."
    Captain Ruger nodded. "My first time was in the Philippines last year. I was so scared I maybe did shit, although the place already stank so bad I don't think anybody could tell, and I suppose I'll be scared again when we invade Japan."
    Paul's heart sank. "Then it's official?"
    "Yep, and you're gonna be part of it. Since you look reasonably human and have almost satisfactorily explained yourself, I'm taking you for my company. We are part of a now-forming infantry regiment, the 528th, Brigadier General John Monck commanding. We are going to be assigned as a reserve force for one of the divisions that's going to invade. We'll be shipping out from here faster than you can say jack shit, so don't even think about unpacking or even leaving this tent without me as a chaperone."
    Paul sagged. That soon? Not even a few days' respite? "Do I have time for a phone call? How 'bout a shave and a shower?"
    Ruger looked at his watch. "If we move fast, we can both make a phone call. Unless somebody changes their minds, we'll be on a C-54 in about two and a half hours. You can forget the shower. The plumbing around here is terrible at best."
    Ruger stood up and Paul realized the captain was not as tall as he'd first thought, only an inch or so taller than he was. Ruger held out his hand and Paul took it. Ruger's grip was firm. "Morrell, welcome to whatever the hell we're getting into. Now, let's go find us some phones, some food, and maybe even something to drink. You mind eating and drinking in an ugly old tent?"
    Despite his apprehensions, Paul smiled. "Not in the slightest, Captain. Uh, do you have any idea where we're going from here?"
    "Paul, after a few stops for food and fuel, we will be catching up with our enlisted personnel on that resort spot of the Pacific, Okinawa, and God help us."
    Paul's first steps in the Pacific theater would come soon.
     
Chapter 7
     
    The third atomic bomb followed its precursors at Hiroshima and Nagasaki and fell on Kokura, with the same devastation. Gen. Korechika Anami, minister of war, stared at the small group of grim-faced men who sat with him in that same bunker where Emperor Hirohito had been taken prisoner. The austere walls were now covered with maps and reports that charted the flow of the war that was raging over their heads as American bombers pounded targets in Tokyo and its suburbs. The new leader of Japan wondered what was left for them to destroy in Tokyo .
    Beginning with the March fire raids, the city had systematically been destroyed. More than a hundred thousand of her people had burned to death as the fragile wooden dwellings that housed her population of 3 million had gone up like matches.
    It was the same in the other cities of Japan. Fire and death.
    As news from the bombed city of Kokura filtered in through the shattered lines of communication, and as the death toll from Hiroshima and Nagasaki continued to mount, the sixty-three-year-old General Anami wondered if he had done the right thing by supporting the rebellious young officers whose palace coup had caused the killing to continue. He dismissed the brief spark of doubt. What had been done was right and Japan's fate. Japan would fight on and so would he. He had to. He was samurai and bound by the oath of Bushido to never surrender. But what would Japan fight with? They had to stop the rain of nuclear terror from the skies.
    Grudgingly, he acknowledged that the traditional definition of war had been changed. Japanese bravery would count for naught unless he could find some way of halting the bombings. Not for the first time he wondered if he had been born too late. Better that he was