Final impact

As he passed a rocket plane with its cowling open and three technicians messing about inside, he noticed a small sheet of paper by a toolbox at their feet. Someone had inscribed a few lines of poetry that seemed to sum up the feelings of everyone on the island.

Little clear streams rustle

Down through the mountain rocks

And finally let the battleship

Float on the sea.

Tiny drops of water they might be, as individuals, but together they would be a mighty flood sweeping their enemies away. One of the techs looked over his shoulder, his face lighting up as he recognized Sekio.

“A fine day for a walk, Lieutenant,” quipped Onada, the oldest and most experienced of the crew chiefs on the island. “So sunny, and such a fresh mild breeze.”

Yukio snorted at the joke. They were buried beneath millions of tons of rock. The cavernous space smelled of oil, rubber, chemicals, and body odor. And none of the ground technicians had felt the sun on his face for weeks.

“A fine day, indeed, Chief Onada. A fine day for it.” He smiled in reply. “No sign of our German comrades, then?”

“They are working in the southern cave this morning, Lieutenant. I cannot say I miss them. A surly bunch, those Germans. And only too happy to give the impression that they think themselves better than the emperor himself.”

Yukio made a helpless, accepting gesture. “What are we to do about it, Chief? We wouldn’t be here without their help.”

Onada pish-poshed the very idea with a grunt and the wave of a thick-fingered, oil-stained hand. A true nationalist, he simply would not hear of it. “Tinkerers and copycats, that’s all they are,” he insisted. “Anyone can copy the design for a rocket if they have the blueprint. But only a truly creative culture would devise a use for such things in the way that we have. And-”

The lieutenant essayed a dampening gesture with both hands. “You do not need to convince me, Chief Onada. I agree with you. But now I must continue my inspection. Has anyone checked the tunnels this morning?”

“Bah! You worry needlessly. Here is this morning’s real work,” Onada said, patting the dull white nose cone of the Ohka.

“Then I shall do it myself,” Yukio said. “I know you think it a waste of time, but what would happen if falling rocks blocked a launch rail, hmm? This whole base might be blown into the sky like Krakatoa. So I will check.”

He set off again, purposely striding toward the sheer rock wall at the end of the cavern. It was clear at the moment, but come launch day it would be a maze of cranes and gantries as the Cherry Blossoms were moved into place for takeoff.

It really wouldn’t do not to check the tunnels every day. They were effectively nothing less than the barrel of a gun out of which he and his men would fly at the Americans like human bullets, hopefully with the same success their comrades had enjoyed against the Bolsheviks.

And just like a good soldier, Yukio felt the need to clean and check his gun every day. So he headed for the closest of the steel ladders that led up to three circular openings about ten meters off the floor of the cave.

Looks like an old mine shaft or something, Denny thought.

The tunnel was obviously man-made. It was too regular to be a natural formation. A rough oval shape, it was much wider than it was tall. Chisel blows had disfigured the soft limestone walls, and two small rails ran downslope toward a much larger cavern beyond the tunnel mouth. It was well lit down there, and, he could see and hear that it was full of men and machinery.

Japs.

Denny’s heart hammered at the inside of his rib cage as he slowly inched downward, with Barbaro just behind him. What the hell the Japs were doing, he had no idea, but the rails had to be significant.

He breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm himself as they moved closer to the enemy. The tunnel was gloomy, but he worried about being spotted anyway. Only he and Barbaro had entered; the others were waiting for them back in the jungle, beyond the large canvas sheet that obscured the mouth of the cave.

It had been painted to match the surrounding rock face, with small plants stitched into the fabric-a cheap but effective disguise. He wondered how much work had gone into the facility. How much of the cave system was natural and how much carved out by men? Slave laborers, if he knew the Japs.

Yukio’s boots sang on the iron rungs as he climbed. The ladder was thin, and the drop to the floor of the cave would be nasty.

He kept his eyes focused on his hands as he climbed. It probably wasn’t necessary to inspect the launch tunnels every day, and it certainly wasn’t part of his duty, but he had made it his responsibility anyway. What if the American suddenly appeared on the horizon without warning? He’d heard sailors talk of invisible American ships, cloaked by some device from the future that had allowed them to sneak in among the Combined Fleet at Hashirajima and sink so many vessels.