Tonight was the night, Dennis Chambers decided. He could no longer live with the thought of two Jap planes and four Jap airmen being so close to him. He would have to do something about it. He knew he wasn't being terribly logical, but he was also driven to distraction by the bags of rice that the four men had stashed in their tent. If he could only get ahold ofthat food, he stood a chance of lasting for months, and perhaps the war would be over by then.

While the weather was still mild, the night air had a definite chill, and he could visualize his source of vegetation and insects literally drying up. If that happened and he had nothing to fall back on, he'd starve.

Desperately trying to be quiet, he crawled over the crest of the hill and down through the grasses and small evergreens to within a few yards of where the two pilots and the two mechanics sat facing each other. They had not lit a fire. The glow of fires might attract unwelcome visitors from the sky, but the Japanese had cooked and eaten during the day, and the scent of the cooked food was almost overwhelming to Dennis.

The four Japanese were jabbering on about something that Dennis couldn't understand. At first he thought it was a dialect that his limited knowledge of Japanese didn't allow him to comprehend. But then it dawned on him and he thought that his foray might not be as risky as he had first thought. The four Japs weren't speaking an unknown tongue; they were shit-faced drunk.

He crawled to a point that was almost insolently close to them. They had several bottles of what looked like American whiskey that they passed around and swallowed with abandon. Obviously they felt they would not be called upon to fly this night. He chuckled as he realized he could stand up and they wouldn't even notice him in their alcoholic stupor. Dennis's only fear was that one of them would fall over him on his way to relieve himself. He grasped the sharpened piece of metal that was his only weapon and waited.

After a couple of hours, the drinking bout ended and the four men staggered to sleeping mats that had been laid on the ground. As they snored loudly and occasionally belched or made other noises in their sleep, Dennis crawled up to the closest of the four. Cautiously, he took the piece of metal from his belt and, grasping it as firmly as he could, leaned over the sleeping enemy. Then, with strength and quickness he'd forgotten he had, he slashed across the Jap's throat. The man's eyes opened and he convulsed, but made no sound other than a gurgle as his blood spouted out all over the two of them. The first Jap was dead.

Dennis looked at the others and saw no sign of their awakening. Then he checked his victim. The dead man's eyes were wide-open and looked to the sky in disbelief. The Jap had bled profusely on Dennis, and the sticky feel of the liquid sickened him.

He steeled himself to his task and crawled to the next mat. Again, the makeshift knife slashed and blood poured out. This time, however, the second victim's death throes included a wild swing of his arm that hit Dennis across the face and knocked him back. Dennis tried to get up, but the world began to swim and he realized he was hurt and at the end of his strength. He tried to will himself to stay conscious but it was futile and he sagged to his knees.

As darkness enveloped him, he saw the silhouette of another Japanese soldier standing over him and he groaned. Somehow he had miscounted. There were five, not four. Where the hell had the fifth man been hiding? He could only hope they would kill him quickly and not torture him to death as he knew he deserved from them.

Shit, thought Joe Nomura as he looked over the prone body of an emaciated white man wearing the ragged remains of an air force uniform. He had to be either a downed pilot or a captured crewman. What a helluva fool to try something like this. The guy was obviously too weak to have finished the task even if he hadn't gotten bashed in the head by the man he'd just killed.

Joe had also been stalking the little Jap air base when he'd caught sight of someone else trying to skulk through the trees. When he'd figured out what the other man was up to, he'd been aghast. Not until he'd gotten much closer did he realize that the assassin was an American.

And, Joe thought grimly, one who was in bad shape as well as a whole lot of trouble.

Joe moved toward the two remaining Japanese, who still slept deeply and drunkenly. He drew his knife and, far more expertly than Dennis, killed the third Jap. The fourth was lying with his throat covered, so Joe sheathed his knife and brought the heel of his hand down on the back of the man's neck in a vicious chop. He waited a few seconds before checking for a pulse and found none. The money he'd spent for karate lessons as a kid had finally paid off.

Now what? This slaughter hadn't been in Joe's plans, but it was done and he'd better cover his ass or the kempei would be all over the area once it was discovered. He thought for a moment and then smiled.

First, he dragged the unconscious Dennis Chambers away from the area and well into the trees. Then he placed the four corpses around the planes and then pulled off much of the camouflage. It mainly consisted of evergreen boughs and moved easily even for a man with one arm. Within minutes, the planes were open to view from the sky.

Good, he thought. The next task was to take those precious bags of rice. He carried them in his one arm up over the hill and to presumed safety. Then he returned and scouted around a little and found what he was looking for- cans of gasoline. After all, didn't a plane need gas to fly? He set the containers under the planes and rigged a fuse out of cloth.

By the time he was done, he could see the hint of false dawn off in the east. Soon the sky would be filled with searching hunters. Well, he'd give them something to find.

Joe made certain that the still unconscious Chambers- he had checked his dog tags in the growing light and now knew his name- was still safe and even pulled him farther back along with the food sacks. One last look at the Japanese camp brought a new discovery- several unopened bottles of Johnnie Walker Red. How the hell did four dumb Japs get good Scotch on a hillside in Kyushu? Who cared? he answered, but there was no need for the liquor to go to waste. He lit the fuse. It would take a couple of minutes for the flames to reach the gas. He tucked the bottles under his arm and ran up the hill.

Joe had just crossed over the crest when he heard the whump of an explosion quickly followed by a second. He turned and saw the flickering glow of flames over the hill. It was time to really put some distance between himself and that fire.

A familiar growling noise stopped him in his tracks and he looked up with a grin on his face.

The first plane merely flew low over the fire to see what was causing it. A moment later, three more swept over the flames with their machine guns blazing. This caused more fires and explosions as the ammunition for the planes, along with other gasoline stores, went up. Now Joe felt much safer. With only a little luck, everyone would think that the four Japanese were victims of either their own stupidity or the dumb luck of the Americans.

Jesus Christ, Joe Nomura thought in admiration, if only the police at home could arrive as quickly as the planes had. He chuckled and wondered just how his new companion would react to having his life saved by a one-armed Jap. Then he realized something else. He, a Japanese American, had just killed two of his brethren. What he found most interesting was that he felt no remorse. They weren't his cousins; they were the enemy. Fuck 'em.