Chapter 48

On a normal evening, the rugged coastal hills of the nearby island of Kyushu would have been plainly visible from the equally harsh coast of Honshu. But this, Field Marshal Shunroku Hata mused happily, was not an ordinary evening. This was a wonderful evening. It was one of those nights when the marriage of the cold wind from the north and the warm sea from the south had turned the night air into a dense fog that would last for many hours.

If he was shrouded in the fog, the American bombers and fighters would be blind to his actions. All along the shore, a mighty host had assembled, and its crossing of the mile-wide straits separating the larger island of Honshu from the smaller island of Kyushu would be a military triumph that would ring through Japanese history. Hata mentally compared it with Hannibal's crossing the Alps against the Romans. In this case, it would be the arrogant and supposedly invincible Americans who would be shocked to find that the battle-torn army on Kyushu had been so stunningly reinforced by two fresh and well-equipped infantry divisions.

For weeks he had planned, hoarded, and hid his thousands of men in places along or near the coast. Patiently, he had waited for the right weather conditions that would ensure that the two reinforced divisions of infantry would be able to cross that maddeningly narrow body of water without great harm.

Along with men, Field Marshal Hata had used his skills and power to accumulate hundreds of small boats that could hold anywhere between ten and fifty soldiers each. They were filling with men and would soon rush across the straits. There they would unload their human cargo and return for another trip. Hata's staff had felt it would take only two or three trips to complete the transfer. Thanks to the weather, it would all occur this one evening. The two divisions, thirty thousand men, would be safely across and inland on Kyushu before the weather changed. They would swarm the narrow straits like locusts crossing a field.

Japanese weather forecasters along northern Honshu and Korea were confident that the bad weather would hold at least throughout the night. Hata laughed silently at the term bad weather. He considered it marvelous weather. Some other day he would appreciate the sun and the blue sky; tonight he adored the gloom and fog. If the kamikazes were the divine wind, then tonight was the night of the divine mist.

The sixty-six-year-old Field Marshal Hata was in overall command of three area armies: the Sixteenth on Kyushu, which was currently fighting the Americans; the Fifteenth, which was based on the part of Honshu facing Kyushu; and the small Fifth Area Army, which was based on the northernmost island of Hokkaido. While the Sixteenth and Fifteenth faced the Americans, the Fifth looked nervously across the waters toward Sakhalin and Siberia, where the Soviets lurked.

At least he did not have to worry about the Red Army at this time. He had been assured that the Soviets would not move against Hokkaido or anywhere else. This enabled him to strip garrisons and exchange units without fear of the Russians stabbing him in the back.

The Russians might be a threat in the future, but the immediate problem was the American invaders, and an additional force of thirty thousand men might be enough to tip the scales in the favor of Japan.

The signal was given. As far as his limited vision would allow him, Hata could see hundreds of men pushing off into small boats while their comrades cheered them on, exhorting them to move more swiftly so they could make the journey themselves. It was glorious and made him think of a medieval pageant as the little boats disappeared into the fog.

Under normal circumstances, having so many men gathered in ranks along the beaches would have been suicidal, an invitation to the Americans to bomb and strafe, but this night the mist cloaked them. Hata's two divisions would go ashore and head inland, skirting the radioactive ruins of Kokura as they began their trek to the front lines.

"Banzai!" someone yelled, and a thousand nearby throats repeated the cry. Hata's chest nearly burst with pride and an unbidden tear swelled in his eye. These were good troops, the best Japan had left, and they would stop the Americans.

Field Marshal Hata walked the rocky beach, letting his men see him. They saluted and cheered him, and he saluted back with an uncharacteristic broad smile on his face. He knew it pleased them to know that he shared the night with them. Not many generals, much less field marshals, got this close to the men who would die for them. Hata knew it would further inspire the brave young soldiers in their fight for Japan's survival.

He checked his watch. It had been more than an hour, and the first wave should be across the straits. He received confirmation of this from a radioman, who said that many were already unloading and the men were heading inland. Some of the swifter boats had already made it back to Honshu and were loading again. He squinted out into the dark waters and wished he could see more clearly.

And then he could.

There was no mist. For a fraction of a second, he could see every small craft that bobbed on the waves and the dark columns of infantry beyond that snaked into the hills of Kyushu. Then a light brighter than a thousand suns washed across him, baking him. A second later, a shock wave blasted across the straits and blew his charred body into a thousand pieces. The shock wave continued up the hills of Kyushu and Honshu, draining the life from many of those who had not been killed by the fire of the initial blast.

Those who survived the heat and shock wave watched in agony as the evil-looking mushroom cloud lifted toward the heavens. At its base, a massive tidal wave formed and hurled itself onto the land, washing away further thousands of those who had lived through the first seconds of the explosion and dragging their bodies down to the sea.

When it was over, few remained to tell of the catastrophe, and most of those who did live were sickened and later killed by the rain of radioactive water and debris that blanketed the area. Had more been alive when this deadly torrent occurred, the deaths from radiation poisoning would have been greater. As it was, only a handful were left to sicken and die.

As the angry wave receded back into the churning straits, the mist soon returned and covered the water. If someone had walked into the scene and not known the truth, it would have appeared peaceful and serene with only a moderate rain falling to mar the night. No one would have believed that the thirty thousand men of the Japanese 81st and 214th Infantry Divisions had been there and then ceased to exist.