In this hostile environment, the unique friendship between Lt. Gen. Masaharu Homma and Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa somehow first developed, then flourished. Both were in their late fifties, and each had experienced glory and despair. Both men had pragmatic feelings about the war and felt that it had to be concluded quickly before Japan disappeared.

They also thought that the code of Bushido, which required fighting to the death, was nonsense in the current circumstances. Homma, who had served two terms as liaison with the British army, was well aware of the fighting capabilities and the industrial might of the West. Ozawa had seen that might in more recent action. He had watched in agony as ship after ship of his fleet sank as a result of the hammer blows inflicted by the overwhelmingly powerful Americans.

In 1941, Homma had commanded the Fourteenth Japanese Area Army in the invasion of the Philippines. He had succeeded, but had paid a terrible price for the victory. Instead of the quick and easy conquest that intelligence estimates had promised, the American and Philippine soldiers had fought bravely and held out for months longer than anticipated. The defense of Bataan and Corregidor had upset the Japanese timetable for conquest, and Homma, upon ultimate completion of his task, had been returned to Japan and left in administrative limbo.

Homma was further stung that the Americans had blamed him for the Death March and other atrocities committed by his subordinates. He had ordered that prisoners be treated fairly, but these orders had been ignored. Homma accepted the blame. Morally, he felt responsible. He had conquered a nation but had lost his career.

Ozawa, on the other hand, had merely lost his fleet. Highly regarded and respected, he had been an early proponent of airpower and had skillfully led his carriers in combat until the last of them was overwhelmed in the climactic Battle of Leyte Gulf. A quiet and basically humble man, he knew there was nothing more useless than an admiral without a fleet, and he no longer had a single major surface ship, much less a fleet.

Each man understood the other and their relationship grew. Had the government of General Anami been aware of it, it might have expressed disapproval. But the Anami government had many other and more compelling problems to resolve than to worry about two old officers getting together for drinks and idle conversation.

General Homma's vivacious and tiny wife, Fujito, beamed happily as she answered the door and admitted the admiral. She bowed and took Ozawa's soggy hat and raincoat, then departed to let the admiral and her husband have their talk.

"Your journey here was uninterrupted?" Homma inquired.

"Safe enough," Ozawa replied. "One innocuous car is not going to attract an attack."

Both men knew it was not quite that simple. With fuel rationing so strict that civilian car usage was virtually nonexistent, American pilots had easily concluded that any car or truck on the road was a legitimate military target. Ozawa had been both prudent and lucky. He did not burden his host with the fact that he and his driver had twice bolted from the vehicle during his ten-mile journey out of fear that he had been sighted by Yank planes. He had wiped most of the mud from his uniform trousers from his having hid in a ditch. Homma was too tactful to comment on the stains.

"You are fortunate," Ozawa commented, "that you live far enough away from Tokyo proper to be relatively free of the bombers and the fires." Ozawa's own small house had gone up in flames during a bombing. He now lived with relatives.

Homma nodded. His home in exile was only twenty miles from the Imperial Palace, but it might as well have been a thousand miles from the source of power. At least until recently.

After tea was drunk and the amenities observed, Homma brought out some rice brandy that a local entrepreneur had made. If not good, it was at least potent. Ozawa smacked his lips in appreciation, then leaned forward and smiled slyly. "Should I congratulate you or offer condolences, my friend?"

Homma chuckled. "A little of both would be in order."

As a result of the death of Field Marshal Hata in the latest nuclear bombing, the army commands had been reorganized. General Homma had been recalled from exile and given command of the Twelfth Area Army, which encompassed Tokyo and most of the area surrounding it.

"At least you have an army," Ozawa said softly. "While I have no surface ships at all. The last destroyer was sunk a couple of days ago. A few submarines remain, but the enormous American fleet is largely unmolested. My trips to headquarters are little more than exercises in futility."

"Good friend," Homma replied, "the truth is that my situation is as bad as yours. The Twelfth Area Army largely exists on paper and in the confused mind of General Anami. Once it consisted of eighteen infantry and two armored divisions, but it now lists but eight infantry and one armored, and these are but terribly depleted shadows of themselves. The other divisions have been sent to the slaughterhouse in Kyushu, while the remaining units have been stripped by transfers and then pounded to pieces by the ever-present American planes. I doubt that I could field fifty thousand trained men and twenty tanks. My soldiers cower in their bunkers all over the Kanto Plain. It would be virtually impossible for me to assemble them into a true fighting force under the circumstances. For all intents and purposes, Tokyo is undefended by the Japanese army."

Ozawa was shocked. "I had no idea it was so bad."

"Nor did I. Until my recent appointment, I was uninformed of the situation. It is the same elsewhere on the home islands. The Fifth Army on Hokkaido has been reduced from five divisions to two, the Eleventh north of here from six divisions to one, the Thirteenth to my south from six to two, and the Fifteenth, which is adjacent to Kyushu, from eight to three. Large numbers of civilian militia have been formed, but they are unarmed and untrained. They will be useless when the Americans come."

"Is it possible that they won't come?" Ozawa asked hopefully, even though he knew the dreaded answer.

"They will come. It is only a matter of time. Anami thinks otherwise of course. He feels that the recent slowdown in American operations on Kyushu means they have been defeated, or at least so bloodied that they have no will to continue. Anami feels the time is ripe for a counterattack that will drive the Americans back into the ocean. Another Decisive Battle, he says, and the war will be won to the extent that we can have a negotiated peace with honor."

Ozawa laughed in derision. "A Decisive Battle? Just how many of those will we fight? Pearl Harbor was a Decisive Battle, as were Midway, Leyte, a number of others. Leyte Gulf was supposed to be the battle that ended the war and it almost did. We lost what was left of our navy in it! What a fool he is to believe in that discredited doctrine!"

As the smaller nation, Japan had always looked for a way to deliver a knockout blow against the overwhelming might of the Americans. The naval war had been predicated on sucking the American fleet into a decisive battle with the Japanese fleet off Japan that would end in an overwhelming victory for Japan. It was a shame the Americans hadn't cooperated, Ozawa thought ruefully.

Homma poured a little more brandy. "Major Hori, who has been so successful in anticipating American actions, told Anami the Americans have not been defeated. Instead, Hori feels they have taken all they require of Kyushu for use as a staging area and are now preparing to invade south of Tokyo. For the first time, Anami disagreed with Hori and sent him away after a tongue-lashing. I agree with Hori. The Americans will invade Honshu and will do it soon."

A plane flew low over the house, and the frail structure began to shake. Both men looked at each other as they recognized the now distinctive growl of an American P-51. It was so symbolic of their total helplessness that an American fighter could gaze down on them from only a few hundred feet and nothing could be done about it.