Return of Sky Ghost Page 3

  He got to his feet somehow and staggered back toward the porch. All the windows had been blown away and the wind was howling madly through his living quarters. He stumbled out onto the balcony and beheld yet another scene from a nightmare. The huge locks had been destroyed and now water was pouring in with a great gush from the Pacific. All the support buildings on both sides of the lock station were either on fire or simply gone. The remains of the crashed airplane were scattered for more than half a mile in every direction.

  Wolf reached to his forehead and came away with a handful of blood. There was a cut above his eye, but this did not matter to him now. He was slipping into shock. His brain simply couldn’t accept what he’d just seen. He grabbed his radiophone and started dialing madly. His addled brain somehow believed he could call down to the barracks next door and tell his men … well, tell them what? To take cover? It was already too late for that.

  No, he must have them assemble, and they would aid in the rescue effort. Yes, that’s what they would do!

  But now there was another strange sight. His men were already assembling. They were running out of the barracks and lining up on the parade ground right below his veranda. Wolf felt a surge of pride run through him. His men were already one step ahead of him.

  Still bleeding heavily, Wolf ran back into his quarters, grabbed his combat pack, and started toward the door. But then he heard yet another sound, one that went right down to his toes and back up again.

  Airplanes. More of them. Coming this way.

  He turned on his heel and made his way back out to the porch. His guess was right. There were three airplanes approaching from the west. They were nowhere near as big as the airplane that had smashed into the lock station, but they were still substantial in size. The thought ran through his head that they were cargo aircraft of some kind. He could clearly see the national markings on their wings and fuselage. White field with a big red ball in the middle.

  Japanese? Wolf asked himself. Really?

  The three aircraft flashed by him a moment later. Each plane was trailing a plume of faint yellow smoke. Wolf watched in horror as this mist quickly settled all along the edge of the overflowing canal, coming down right on his men assembled below.

  The stink hit his nose an instant later. Suddenly Wolf was doing two things at once. Two crazy things. He was simultaneously screaming down to his men to get their gas masks, while pulling out his own mask from his combat pack.

  But it was way too late for his men. They began dropping even before the mist settled on them. Many had been looking skyward at the three airplanes going over and thus the fast-moving smoke entered their noses and mouths very quickly. Many were dead before they even hit the ground. Wolf barely had time to save himself. He got his mask on just before he was about to inhale a large quantity of the gas. Still the stink filled his nose and he knew what it was right away: Cyanide-sulfate. Poison gas. Lethal chemical weapons.

  The Japanese were covering this part of the canal with it like crop dusters dusting a huge cornfield.

  Thousands would die before the air around Fort Davis was breathable again.

  The Japanese paratroopers began arriving about ten minutes later.

  Jumping from huge lift planes flying very high above Fort Davis, they drifted to Earth by the thousands, gas masks in place, weapons ready to be fired as soon as they hit the ground.

  But they needn’t have worried. Their landing would go off unopposed. Most of the 3,500 men assigned to Fort Davis were already dead. Those who lay dying were bayoneted to death by the first-arriving Japanese troops. It was all over in a matter of minutes. Nearly 7,500 Japanese paratroopers had landed around the damaged locks and more were coming ashore in large LSTs, landing craft disgorged by three huge troop-carrying submarines which had surfaced offshore.

  A similar operation at the opposite end of the canal had gone off just as flawlessly. The major lock system there had been destroyed, too. But those in the middle of the vast waterway had remained untouched—just the ends had been sealed. No one could get in, no one could get out.

  Which was just the way the invaders had planned it.

  By sunset that terrible Sunday, the entire canal was in Japanese hands.

  Watching all this from the top of a heavily shrouded hill, Wolf felt tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.

  How could they have been caught so unawares? Was it his fault? Out of the thousands of Americans killed, why was he the only one to survive?

  He watched from the hill now as the sun dipped below the watery horizon and more Japanese troop-carrying subs surfaced offshore. It was like a bad nightmare starting all over again. The U.S. had just defeated Germany after a titanic fifty-eight-year struggle, only to be hit from the rear by the formerly docile Japan.

  It just didn’t make sense to Wolf; it didn’t feel right. As if some higher hand was actually pulling the strings. He looked up into the bloodred sunset and saw a huge fist, pulling on what looked to be millions of long, slender silver strings.

  Yes, he thought, what happened here was something beyond human control …

  Wolf shook his head and the strange vision went away. He realized he was probably becoming delirious, and after that, shock would set in, and then he’d be no help to anybody.

  Taking one long last look at the incoming Japanese troopships and the enemy displacement around the canal locks, Wolf memorized the scene.

  Then he plunged back into the jungle.

  Three

  Coast of Peru

  The next day

  THE WATER OFF THE coast of Lima, Peru, started bubbling just as the first rays of dawn hit the surface of the calm Pacific Ocean.

  The Japanese aircraft-carrying submarine—they were known as Kawishee-ma—broke the surface with a huge gush exactly one mile off the beach at Callao. No sooner had the waves settled down around the huge ship, when a second Kawishee-ma came up just 1000 yards away. Then, a quarter mile from this monster, a third gigantic submarine surfaced. Then a fourth. And a fifth.

  Warned in advance, Peruvian troops were rushing to the beach. In trucks, jeepsters, tanks, cars—they were using anything that would carry them. A full division of special operations troops, the famous Peruvian Quinto Division, quickly took up positions along the dunes and inlets lining the five-mile-long beach. They’d been practicing this deployment for weeks. Now they were finally doing it for real.

  By 0700 hours, the horizon was dotted with twelve Kawishee-mas and sixteen other support ships. All of them were huge. All of them submersibles.

  There were now thousands of citizens lining Callao Beach as well. Gaping at the vast armada which had so suddenly materialized off their shore, all of them knew that from this day forward, Peru would be changed forever.

  At 0715 hours exactly, the fronts of three Kawishee-mas opened and with a great roar, aircraft began flying out. These were attack planes and fighters—dozens of them were suddenly shooting from the mouths of the great ships. Their numbers grew so quickly, they looked like huge mechanical bees leaving a hive. A gasp went up along the shoreline; soldiers and civilians alike were astonished at the number of airplanes that were so suddenly in the air. Soon reaching into the hundreds, the aircraft climbed and began forming up into intricate holding patterns high above the sea.

  Meanwhile, the mouths of the other nine Kawishee-mas had opened and begun disgorging combat troopships. These huge landing craft were filled with soldiers, as many as 500 per craft. Like the airplanes above, the landing craft went into intricate holding patterns, interlocking ovals running rings around the giant troop-carrying subs.

  It took just twenty minutes for all the airplanes and all the soldiers to be out of the ships and circling. Again, the crowds onshore just gasped. The display of military power and projection was simply frightening.

  At 0745 hours, there was another great roar. As one, the landing craft stopped circling the motherships and began a mad dash for the shoreline. At precisely the same moment, the ci
rcling aircraft all turned as one and headed toward the beach as well.

  Now a great cry went up from those onshore. There were at least 20,000 Japanese troops heading for the five-mile-long beach. No less than 500 aircraft were speeding inland too. There were barely 4,000 Peruvian troops on hand to meet them, and no Peruvian planes in the air. If a battle was to be fought here, it would be terribly onesided.

  But that was not going to happen….

  For as the approaching Japanese landing craft reached a point one-half mile offshore, the Peruvian commanders shouted an order to their troops. Quickly the Quinto soldiers began running down to the beach itself. Their weapons up, they stood at rigid attention as the first Japanese landing craft reached the waterbreak. Another order was shouted and the long line of Peruvian troops went into present arms.

  That’s when it became obvious: This was not a combat force waiting for the Japanese—it was an honor guard. The citizens lining the sand dunes had not come out to meet their end. They were waving flags—of both Peru and Japan.

  The first wave of Japanese landing craft hit the beach just a few moments later. Overcome with emotion, many citizens broke from the sand dunes, ran past the honor guard, and swamped the incoming troops with flowers, hugs, and kisses. Somewhere a band began playing. The gaggle of Japanese aircraft roared overhead, their formation now in the shape of a huge Japanese flag.

  A silver landing craft disgorged from the first Kawishee-ma finally made it to the beach. From it stepped a small man in a big uniform, his baggy shirt weighed down by several pounds of war medals.

  A hush came over the beach as the man reached the shore. He was Supreme Commander General Hilo Wakisaki, the highest-ranking officer in the Nipponese Imperial Forces and its main strategist. It was he who had masterminded the twin attacks on Pearl Harbor and the Panama Canal. It was he who had negotiated this massive unopposed landing.

  A phalanx of Peruvian officers was on hand to greet him; they too were in awe of such a powerful man.

  Wakisaki grunted at their barrage of salutes. Finally one Peruvian general stepped forward. General Ramos Lamos, the highest army officer in Peru, bowed deeply before Wakisaki and, in very halting Japanese, said, “The forces of Peru are at your disposal, sir.”

  For the first time, Wakisaki actually smiled.

  In halting Spanish, he replied, “Thank you, and greetings to your people. This is a great day for us. A new day. A new beginning.”

  The crowd cheered lustily.

  “The people of Japan wish to thank the people of South America for the opportunity to come here for the good of all….”

  More cheering.

  “And at a future day,” Wakisaki continued, “we will all march together….”

  Even more cheering. Now some tears of joy too.

  “And together,” Wakisaki concluded, “we will defeat the norteamericanos….”

  To this, the crowds along the shoreline—both military and civilian—gave out the loudest cheer of all.

  The Japanese occupation of South America had begun.

  Four

  The Falkland Islands

  The next day

  THE PLACE WAS KNOWN as Summer Point.

  It was an ironic name because the weather here was usually anything but summerlike. Cold, wind, rain, and snow were more the norm. Located on the northeastern edge of West Falkland Island, it was a tiny settlement built onto a cliff which overlooked the frigid, frequently stormy South Atlantic.

  This cliff was so windswept, its trees grew sideways. The scattering of buildings located near its edge also boasted a pronounced lean to the east. The rocks on the cliff and on the beach below were as smooth as pearls, so long had they been battered by the raging winds roaring off the ocean.

  The largest building at Summer Point was the Government Hall. It was a combination post office, fire station, health clinic, and grocery store. Two members of the British Royal Administration Corps manned this facility. The three other main buildings at the Point were related to the area’s only visible means of support: fishing. One structure held a deboning operation. Another was a fish-drying and packing building. Beside it, and right next to Government Hall, was a warehouse for storing nets, spare engines, and sundry equipment. A few small stone houses surrounded these structures. In all, less than a dozen people lived at Summer Point year-round.

  One-half mile up the main road was a large rugged farm surrounded by a sheep pasture. This place was known as Skyfire Downs. The farmhouse itself was rather unspectacular. It too leaned to the east, even more so than the buildings in town. The farm was actually higher in elevation than Summer Point, so the winds were even more acute.

  Only two stories of the farmhouse could actually be seen. Its roof had been patched over so many times, the shingles formed several nonsensical multicolored designs. Its windows were so loose they shuddered in their casements day and night. The front porch was so creaky, it actually whistled when the wind hit more than thirty-five knots.

  It was what surrounded the farmhouse that made it unusual. A squadron of six SuperChieftain tanks lay hidden in the small woods nearby. These huge machines carried enormous firepower, including two 188-mm guns, four triple-.50 caliber machine guns, plus various rocket launchers including ones adapted with antiaircraft projectiles. Each vehicle held a twenty-two-man crew, members of the elite Special Tank Service of the British Royal Army. The tank crews rotated in twelve-hour shifts. Those not at work could usually be found sleeping in the basement of the Government Hall downtown.

  The farmhouse was also surrounded by many strands of barbed wire, most of which were hidden in the overgrown brush ringing the place. Five TV cameras also stood sentinel on various parts of the property, perpetually sweeping the nearby fields, woods, and cliffs for intruders. Should one be found, the men in the tanks had permission to shoot on sight.

  A separate mobile radar station, towed by another huge armored vehicle known as a Roamer, was located behind the farmhouse itself. It continually swept the surrounding skies for 150 miles around. At all times two men inside each SuperChieftain tank had their eyes glued to the readout from this radar. The main danger to the farmhouse at Skyfire Downs was an air attack. That’s one of the things the rocket-firing SuperChieftain tanks were on hand to prevent.

  The interior of the farmhouse was unremarkable, at least the top two levels. On the first floor was a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, and a den, all small, but cozy. The floors were wooden and covered in several layers of rugs, as was the west wall. The other three walls were covered with photographs and other framed pieces.

  One photograph was a split-screen image depicting a small Cessna airplane. The left visual showed the plane intact; the right showed it battered and broken, as if it had plunged from a great height onto a hard surface. Next to this picture was a watercolor portrait of a young boy. Blond hair, bright face, quick eyes, a hint of the devil above the left eyebrow. If one looked closely at the painting, one would see several teardrops splattered in the lower right hand corner where the female artist had signed her name. The teardrops had dried along with the painting, and now were simply part of it.

  Next to this painting was a diploma of sorts. It was handwritten, in pencil. Each letter had been printed very meticulously, though some of the Latin words had been misspelled. The diploma claimed to be for a doctorate in advanced aeronautical theory given by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. No such school existed in this world, but the person who had written out the diploma knew that. In fact, that was precisely the joke.

  He now sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea with his wife. She was the artist in the family. Only a checkerboard separated them, and the woman was laughing a bit. Her husband, despite his “diploma,” was easy pickings at this game. She beat him at checkers regularly, yet he kept coming back for more. It was a lopsided contest that had lasted more than ten years. In all that time he’d prevailed only twice.

  That was how long the couple had lived
in the farmhouse; they’d always been surrounded by tanks and barbed wire. They’d always played checkers. They’d been together just about every minute of every day in all that time and still they could not get enough of each other. Such was love in a very isolated place.

  It was a dark afternoon as usual, and the couple had whiled away the hours playing game after game, sipping tea, laughing and conversing in thick Boston accents. Despite all appearances, this was a typical day for them.

  It was about 4 P.M. when the knock came at the door. The man got up and answered it to find one of the STS tankers standing on the porch. He was bearing a yellow piece of paper known as an EMS, for electronic message sheet. The soldier looked worried, but was trying hard not to show it. He passed the EMS to the man, had a few friendly words, then saluted and disappeared.

  The man stood in the doorway, and as the wind howled, read the message. It was a direct burst from Washington D.C, transmitted to him from the British Foreign Office through a staggering array of scramble systems and decoding stations and finally to the lead SuperChieftain tank. The words the message contained made his jaw drop. He read it three times over, just to make sure he understood it correctly.

  Somewhat staggered by the news, he walked back into the living room where his wife took one look at him and let out a little cry.

  “My god, what is it?” she asked him.

  He handed the EMS to her. She read it and felt the breath catch in her throat.

  It was a simple message. It said that two huge American bases in Hawaii had been attacked by Japanese military forces, as well as the city of Honolulu itself. Furthermore, Japanese forces had apparently attacked and taken over the Panama Canal.

  But it was the third part of the message that the couple found most startling. It told of an “unopposed” landing of Japanese troops in Lima, Peru, as well as other coastal cities. This was relatively close to where they were.