Minobe Kawasaki ran to the decapitated tank. He grabbed the radio from his driver and began speaking in a high, excited voice.
Jiro Isuzu almost dismissed the first report as the excesses of a victory-drunk salaryman-turned-soldier. But then more reports started coming in, all loud, all excited, all tinged with the unmistakable oil of fear.
The New Japanese Imperial Forces had lost five tanks in short-lived encounters with a single opponent every vanquished unit insisted upon referring to as "it."
"Be more specific," Isuzu barked at the first unit to call the opponent that. "Is 'it' a war machine?"
"It," the arid reply insisted, "is a man with death in his eyes and steel in his arms."
And that was actually the most coherent description of the several that followed. Isuzu ordered more tanks into the area of the last sighting of "it." He waited. Some of the tank commanders reported back, some could not be raised. The surviving tank commanders told stories of defeat and shame. One, after completing his report, dropped the microphone and gave out a tremendous grunt that was mixed with a ripping-of-cloth sound.
Isuzu understood that the man had sat down at the scene of his defeat and opened his stomach with his own bayonet. Seppuku.
Every report agreed on one impossibility. The opponent was a lone unarmed man. And he was walking remorselessly, unstoppably in the direction of city hall, as if guided by radar.
Jiro Isuzu ordered his forces to pull back to city hall. Then he rushed to the office where Nemuro Nishitsu lay on the couch. His eyes were closed.
Gently Jiro Isuzu touched his leader's shoulder. Black slit eyes opened feebly. Nemuro Nishitsu opened his mouth to speak, but only a dry rattle came out. Jiro touched his forehead. Hot. A fever.
Jiro Isuzu put an ear close to Nishitsu's mouth. He felt the warm breath and, mixed with that hot moistness, came faint words.
"Do your duty," Nemuro Nishitsu said. "Banzai!" Then Nemuro Nishitsu turned his face to the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He slept.
Jiro Isuzu got to his feet. It would be up to him now. He went out to issue more orders. He wondered when the bombers would come.
The Master of Sinanju stared at the bleak horizon like an idol draped in scarlet cloth. The wind whipped his kimono skirts around his spindly legs.
Bill Roam came up behind him, clearing his throat noisily. Chiun did not acknowledge his approach. "The women have tucked in the children," he said, taking his place at Chiun's side. He looked in the direction Chiun's wise old eyes stared. There were flashes of light beyond the low horizon.
"There is fighting in the city," Chiun intoned.
"That sure ain't heat lightning," Roam agreed. "You know, I feel right sorrowful about Bronzini. "
"Every man pays a price for his actions in time," Chiun said dismissively. "Some pay for their failures, some for their successes. Bronzini's successes brought this down on all of us. I have lost my son because of him, and with him goes the hope of my village."
"I know what you mean. I'm the last Sunny Joe." Chiun turned, sympathy smoothing his wrinkled features.
"Your wife bore you no sons?"
"She did. He died. A long time ago. I never remarried. "
Chiun nodded. "I know that pain," he said simply. He turned back to the display of red and blue lights that lit the sky. They were too far away from the city for the sounds of conflict to reach their ears.
"When I'm gone," Sunny Joe Roam said, "there'll be no one to protect the tribe. What's left of it."
Chiun nodded. "And when I am gone, there will be no one to feed the children of my village. It is that fear that has made every Master of Sinanju reach beyond his limitations, for it is one thing to give up one's own life, another to surrender those who depend upon you."
"Amen, brother."
"Know, Sunny Joe Roam, that I do not hold you responsible for anything that has transpired in the last two days. But I intend to make those who brought this pain down upon me to suffer for their evil. I cannot, as long as they hold innocent young lives hostage. For all children, not just those of our blood, are precious to Sinanju. Is this so among the Sun On Jos?"
"I think that's one of the universal ones," Roam said.
"Not to the Japanese. When they took my country, no one, from those who sat on the Dragon Throne to even the babes suckling at their mothers' breasts, were safe from the bayonets."
"This can't go on much longer. The Marines ought to be landing soon. Washington isn't going to ignore this."
"And then how many lives will be lost?" Chiun said, looking back toward the flashes of light that shook the sky. After a pause, his dry lips parted.
"Your son. What was his-"
"Sunny Joe! Sunny Joe! Come quick!"
Roam spun around. Sheryl Rose was in the doorway of an adobe house, her face a mask of horror. "What is it?" Roam called.
"They're going to hang Bronzini! It just came over the TV."
"Come on," Roam said harshly.
Chiun followed him into the house. Sheryl led them to the TV, talking nervously. "I don't know why I turned on the TV. Reflex, I guess. But Channel Eleven is on the air again. Look."
The TV screen showed a scene out of Dante's Inferno. A group of policemen were marched, blindfolded, their hands tied behind their backs, into a room festooned with Christmas decorations. A red-and-white banner with the words "Peace on Earth Good Will Toward Men" hung mockingly above their heads.
"Oh, dear God," Sheryl choked out. "That's the studio commissary. I used to work for this station."
Off camera, a high-speed whine started up and then casually, with ruthless efficiency, a Japanese in desert camouflage stepped up to the blindfolded police and, holding their heads steady with one hand, one by one drove the bit of a drill into their temples.
Sheryl turned away, making sick noises in her throat. "Why are they doing this?" Bill Roam asked, clenching his fists. No one had an answer.
"They ... they announced that they were hanging Bronzini at dawn," Sheryl choked out. "This harmless-looking little Japanese man said it. He claimed it would prove America was too weak to stop them."
"Can this station be seen in other cities?" Chiun demanded coldly.
"They get it in Phoenix. Why?"
"The Japanese can be a cruel people, but they are not stupid," Chiun said thoughtfully. "They must know that this will force the American armies to strike."
"That's what I've been saying all along," Sheryl said.
"We hold out long enough, and Washington will put a stop to this."
"It is as if they wish this to happen," Chiun said softly. "But why?" His hazel eyes narrowed. He turned to Sunny Joe. "Do you have a copy of the script?"
Roam looked startled. "The script? Sure. Why?"
"Because I wish to read it," Chiun said firmly. Roam went out the door. He returned with the script.