"Then not working with the 41st is no great loss," Parker mused, and Monck agreed.

Monck looked at the sky. It was getting darker by the moment and the rain was beginning to come down heavier. The two men turned and walked toward the command tent. "You've seen the maps," Monck said. "There aren't very many roads on Kyushu, and those that do exist tend to be sunken, which makes them readymade ambush sites and strongpoints. Just like here on Okinawa, there'll be a lot of caves and bunkers for the Japs to hide in and for us to root them out of. The valleys that run inland all tend to end in sharp inclines, which will make vehicular traffic almost impossible."

"Marvelous," Parker murmured. "And they've had all these months to prepare for us. Did you get a feel for Jap numbers, or does MacArthur still think it'll be a walkover?"

Monck chuckled grimly. "Without MacArthur gracing us with his presence on Guam, there was a fairly frank exchange of opinions, and it does look like Eichelberger and Krueger have pretty well convinced Mac that his estimates are way too low. A couple of months ago, the guess was maybe one hundred and twenty-five thousand Japs on Kyushu; now the intelligence boys are estimating maybe half a million, with more coming each and every day. The only good news is that most of them are still in the northern portion of the island and having the devil's own time getting to the southern part because of our air superiority. Oh, yeah, they know that we're coming, and it looks like they've figured out exactly where we'll be landing."

"Jesus," Parker gasped. "We're the attacking force and we'll probably be outnumbered."

"That's why we need control of the air and a lot of firepower on the ground. Our troopships will be prime targets for the kamikazes, so we'll be moving out of the transports and onto the landing craft as soon as possible, and before that, we won't get on the transports that'll take us to Japan until the last minute."

"Makes sense, sir. Smaller targets are harder for their planes to hit."

"Agreed, but don't forget that the term kamikaze means a helluva lot more than just suicide planes. Nimitz's boys say there'll be a lot of midget-submarine activity, along with manned suicide torpedoes and rockets, and there are at least a dozen Jap destroyers unaccounted for. Hell, they've even got suicide divers who'll be waiting to attach mines to our ships. We've got to figure that all of them will be making suicide attacks against us."

"General, those Jap people are fucking crazy."

They had just reached the tent flap when one of the NCOs burst out, almost running into General Monck. "Jesus, General, we got real bad news."

"What now?"

"Sir," the sergeant almost stammered, "this ain't no rainstorm. Just got word from the navy that it's a full-fledged typhoon and it's even got a name now- Louise. It's gonna hit Okinawa dead on."

Monck and Parker looked at each other, aghast. The 528th was scattered all over Okinawa, engaged in various types of training. They would have to communicate the news as quickly as possible to the disparate units. Thousands of men would have to hide and ride out Typhoon Louise as best they could.

Monck then looked at their frail tent and thought of all the other temporary structures that housed his regiment and its equipment. Tens of thousands of other, similar facilities covered Okinawa. Typhoon Louise had the potential to wipe out much of the American presence on Okinawa.

As if on cue, the wind picked up and shrieked. "All right," said Monck, speaking loudly to be heard over it. "Tell everyone to grab shovels and literally dig in. The hell with the tents and supplies. They can be replaced. Everyone is to save their asses and start right now!"

First Sergeant Mackensen told the more than two hundred assembled men of A Company in Okinawa that he had just found the dead Jap in a nearby fold of the earth where the man had died.

At Captain Ruger's orders, the company gathered in a large circle around the cadaver. The Japanese soldier had a strangely withered, mummy-like look. Quite some time ago, he'd been burned to death, probably by a flamethrower. His bones were only partly covered by charred flesh, and most of his left leg was missing. A helmet covered the top of his head, and the corpse smiled at them through a half dozen teeth.

They were near what the Japs had called the Shuri Defense Line. When the Americans had invaded, the Japanese had retreated to the hilly southern third of the island to make their defensive stand, and the Shuri Line, anchored on what were now the ruins of Shuri Castle, had cost both sides dearly.

Captain Ruger strode up to Mackensen, who nodded and stepped away. Ruger glanced up at the darkening sky. Shit, Ruger thought, his men were all going to get wet. Paul Morrell caught the glance as well and shivered slightly. He was exhausted.

"All right," said Ruger. "Did everybody get a good look at the little son of a bitch? That's a Jap lying there, and one of the best kind- a dead one. Somebody toasted his ass good, didn't they? But look at him. You know they've got shitty rifles and bad tactics, but this joker wouldn't give up, would he? No, he fought with that shitty rifle of his and died with it. I wonder how many Americans he killed before somebody saw where he was shooting from and got him."

Paul watched in fascination. The lesson was ghastly, but it had the company's complete attention. Only a few months before, that Japanese soldier had been trying to kill Americans, and dead or not, that man was one of the enemy.

In the weeks of training since they'd arrived on Okinawa, Paul's platoon, the company, the entire regiment, had worked hard to replace skills lost over months of inactivity, and to acquire those they never really had. They'd exercised and marched early each day, then spent the afternoons and evenings in weapons training and small-unit tactics. They'd gotten better, and Ruger had managed to get rid of those who were unable to cope with the demands of training.

But that's what it had been, training. At least until now. The presence of a real dead Jap changed everything. Before them lay the enemy as well as the brutal reality of death.

Ruger's eyes swept the assemblage. "And just because he's dead, don't think he's forgotten how to kill. The Japs have a nasty habit of booby-trapping their dead comrades in hope that some stupid GI will come along to take a souvenir, like that helmet for instance. Look good on a wall, wouldn't it? Or maybe something nice for the missus like a gold filling, or maybe a dried ear, or maybe one of those shitty rifles or a real good pistol. Well, if they've booby-trapped the corpse, and they likely have, you've got to be real careful." He turned to his first sergeant. "Sergeant Mackensen, show us what to do."

"First," said Mackensen, "all you people step farther away." There was a shuffling as two hundred plus men complied. "Now you'll notice that I very carefully tied a rope around his one remaining leg. I'm gonna step back and pull on it real hard. If he's trapped, it'll trigger whatever he's hiding."

With that, Mackensen walked a couple of paces away from the cadaver, lay flat on the ground, and yanked the rope. There was a split second of stillness, then a flash of light and the crash of a grenade exploding, sending bones and pieces of dead Jap into the air. Several of the men got parts of Jap on them, and a couple of them started to gag.

Mackensen got to his feet and saluted Ruger. "Captain, the fucking Jap is now well and truly dead."

Ruger nodded. "Very good, First Sergeant. Carry on with training."

As he said that, it began to rain, and the already strong wind started to pick up in power. They had no real rain gear with them, so Paul started to form them up for more work. If it rained, they were going to get wet and that was that. After all, how often did they call off a war because of rain? He wondered how their tents were holding up in what was rapidly becoming a downpour. Captain Ruger, who was only a few feet away, seemed unperturbed.