It was not that Lieutenant Kuwahara was normally a brutal person. In fact, he disliked using force when dealing with his underlings. But the simple laborers and rough infantrymen who were assigned to Supply Base Three understood nothing but force. Moreover, they believed they were digging a bomb shelter, although the cavern was already more than large enough to accommodate all the personnel on the island.

Actually, the cavern was being enlarged to store the military supplies off-loaded on the island and slated for ships reported sunk. As the war continued to go against Japan, more ships failed to arrive to pick up their supplies. Rather than reroute the thousands of tons of war material of every description, the supply officers conspired to store it. They knew, after the loss of the battle of Midway, Japan's defeat was inevitable. So they were storing the material to be used in the resistance in the event that their homeland was invaded.

The memory of those days often returned, even after forty years. Now an aged Shinto priest, Kuwahara's injured brain continually took him back to his island supply base. He remembered vividly the shiploads of war material still stored in the bowels of the nondescript outcropping of rock in the Pacific.

The machine guns, pistols, rifles, mortars, ammunition, uniforms, helmets, grenades, etc., were still there. And only Kuwahara was alive to know of the treasure worth millions to collectors.

He knew the material was well-preserved, even now. But to those with whom he had shared his secret, he was simply a pathetic old man, crippled and brain-damaged when the Americans had invaded the island. As his brain healed itself, he told of the island and its treasures less often. Finally, he quit talking about it altogether, lest someone besides himself should find it.

As often as he remembered the island, he thought of his fellow officers who had died there. Captain Anoka, the intellectual who had planned and talked of being a journalist when the war was over. His higher rank was of no importance in his dealings with his junior officers. His attitude toward them was that of an older brother and friend.

It was his idea to store the materials rather than send them back when the ships they were meant for were sent to the bottom of the Pacific. He believed they could be smuggled back to supply those on the home islands who would continue to fight.

Then there was Sergeant Tanaka, the poet, who saw beauty in everything, even the Hellcats which occasionally strafed the island as the war reached its bloody hand ever closer to his Japanese homeland. On one occasion when he was outside contemplating the indescribable beauty of the sunset in the Pacific, a lone Corsair approached It first circled the island, then dove straight at the sergeant. With guns blazing, it sent six fifty caliber furrows of destruction only inches away from Tanaka.

Instead of running for cover, he stood transfixed with awe. He could even see the inscrutable Caucasian face in the cockpit. Even as the bullets tore into the ground near him, Sergeant Tanaka waved. As the strafing run was completed, the pilot of the beautiful gull-winged metal bird waggled its wings in reply to Tanaka's wave.

As it flew off into the dusk, Tanaka said a silent prayer that the pilot would find his carrier before darkness forced him into the sea. That evening, he wrote a poem entitled, "My Friend Who Tried To Kill Me".

He was indeed a soldier and perfectly capable of killing had he been in combat instead of being a supply clerk. Yet, his artistic temperament made him unable to hate men he could not know. Although his impersonal attitude toward the war made him seem strange to his comrades, they liked him and depended on him to keep up their morale. He was always ready with a joke or clever observation to beak the monotony. He often entertained his fellow officers with recitations from plays he had learned as a budding actor before joining the army.

Kuwahara also fondly remembered Sergeant Ohnishi, who worked at keeping the records of all the materials off loaded for pickup by the warships and freighters ranging the Pacific. He delighted in inventorying all the stock and was a wizard at creating simplified systems to record the supplies. He also excelled at making the records account for the material secreted underground. Seldom did a snoopy bureaucrat ask what had happened to all the supplies not picked up.

There was also Lieutenant Saito, who was obsessed with detective novels and would have joined the police force had it not been for the war. His prized possession was a set of Arthur Conan Doyle's books on Sherlock Holmes translated into Japanese. His powers of deductive reasoning were a credit to his fictional hero. Whenever any supplies were pilfered by the infantrymen or laborers, he always ferreted out the culprit.

Another friend was Lieutenant Genda, who studied law books in his spare time. He dreamed of a political career. His legalistic mind enabled him to explain anything, whether he was familiar with the subject or not. He could also argue both sides of a case in ways that made his comrades give in even when they knew he was dead wrong. Whenever anyone from the mainland seemed about to ask for an accounting of certain hidden supplies, Lieutenant Genda could make him believe they had never been sent to the island in the first place.

Also fondly remembered was Sergeant Sakai, the quiet one. He was a mathematician bent on being a mechanical engineer. Although a genius, he had the appearance of a lout. His ever-expressionless face frightened all who did not know him. He was short and squat, built like a gorilla and nearly had the strength of one. His preoccupation with machinery and inventing kept him from throwing his weight around except on occasion.

Lastly came Sergeant Kozono. Although a dutiful servant of His Imperial Majesty, he wanted nothing more than for the war to end so he could get a job in a stock exchange and rise in the world of finance.

Kozono had his post-war empire all mapped out. His knowledge of war material and its continual improvement helped him anticipate new products invented for war but which would become peace-time necessities. He meant to rake in millions by investing in electronics and automobiles.

Even though they all had plans for future non-military careers, they were soldiers to the core. Their deep seated belief in their emperor and their nation's cause made them just as willing to die in combat as any other group of Japanese soldiers.

From the time they had been assigned to the tiny island in 1938, they had become as close as brothers. Over the years, each had developed such a bond with the others, they meant to pool their talents after the war.

Kuwahara often cursed himself for outliving his comrades. True, he had to leave them after the bombardment to see what had happened outside. True also, his head wound had clouded his mind so that he could not join them in death.

So great was his affection and yearning for them that he had built up in his mind the idea that they still lived. He knew their bodies had died. But he also knew, somehow, that their spirits lived on and they would be drawn to him in time.

For years he had looked for them in the faces and attitudes of all the young men he met. Occasionally, he would think he saw something of one of his comrades in men passing through the little seaside town he had been returned to after the war.
But there was always some contradiction in the character of everyone he examined. Over the years, he had studied so many prospects that he had developed a sensitivity akin to mind reading. He could pick up from any mind the basic ideas the person was thinking. Instead of using this ability, however, he hid it, lest the few people who came to his shrine might fear him.

In the past few months he had been getting a feeling that his comrades were finally about to make contact with him. He could not explain the premonitions, even to himself. But as the days passed, he became increasingly excited.

At this time he yearned all the more for his friends as he needed help against the only people who had ever been his enemies. These were students in what passed for a karate school. But instead of learning only karate, the students were actually training for careers in organized crime.

For the most part, they were arrogant ruffians. They swaggered around the little town wearing jackets on the backs of which were the spider emblem representing their school.

Most of the town's merchants were preyed upon by the karate students. Their main tactic was to take what merchandise they wanted from a shop and then walk out without paying. They threatened bodily harm against any merchant who reported them to the police.

The merchants would confide in the old priest, at the same time begging him not to tell the police. What they wanted was for him to implore the gods to rid them of the menace. Kuwahara did not deal in spells but wracked his brain for a method of ridding the town of the karate students. That was why he was so excited by the growing impression that his comrades would come to him soon.

He knew they could contend with the karate school students. Also, the incredible wealth stored below ground on the island would enable them to finance a war against the criminals who ran the school. But haste was necessary as the situation between the karate school students and merchants was getting worse.

Only the night before, one of his old friends had been beaten and robbed of the money he had taken in that day. This had never happened before. And since the older merchants were too timid to react, Kuwahara was determined to do something.

He believed that putting himself in danger would somehow force his comrades to come. They would have to heed the pleas for help he mentally broadcast continually with all the powers of concentration he could muster.

As a samurai he had no fear of injury or death. Even so, he was too crippled to use force against the karate students. But he could at least tell them he knew what they were up to and so make them aware that their activities were being noted. This might make them reconsider further violence. And if they continued to do violence, he would be a victim. Then, if his comrades still did not come, he would stop waiting for them. He would then accept the common belief that he was senile and that his comrades did not exist.

On this day he was taking his morning walk past the karate school when he met the two identified by the merchant they had beaten and robbed. He confronted them and said, "So now you have gone beyond simple extortion and advanced to violence. You believe you can gradually take over the town without the police knowing. But I will learn enough about you to make a case. I will draw up a very long list of grievances against you people. The police will then have to investigate."

One of the young thugs then said, "Old man, everyone knows you're crazy. You even wear your priests' robes in public. Why would the police, or anyone else, take you seriously?"

The old priest replied, "Don't count on my apparent senility to save you. I have friends who will believe me and act against you."

The other karate student then said, "But you really are senile and no real danger to us. Even so, we don't like being threatened, even by a useless old fool like you." With that, he shoved Kuwahara, causing him to fall to the ground.

Just then, seven young university students on holiday, riding baggage-laden motorcycles, wheeled around the corner. Upon seeing the old priest pushed and falling to the ground, they stopped, dismounted and charged the two bullies.

They had some skill and were holding their own against the untrained university students when several of their colleagues poured out of the nearby karate school and created a full-scale riot. One of them kicked over the nearest motorcycle, which knocked down all the rest of the machines. Within moments, two police cars appeared and the officers set about separating the fighters.

While the university and karate students shouted at one another, a large, black limousine pulled up and from it emerged Mr. Namoto, the owner of the karate school. Namoto was also a kingpin in the highest level of the Yakuza, Japan's equivalent of America's Mafia. He had founded the school to train young toughs to fit into his ever-expanding criminal organization. He was into prostitution, drugs, extortion, murder for hire and even political manipulation.

His driver and bodyguard, Hirada, a hulking ex-sumo wrestler, joined Namoto as he ordered the karate school students to quiet down and go inside. Hirada had been barred from professional sumo wrestling due to his murderous temper. He was known as the neck breaker. His favorite method of killing was to pick up a victim by his head and with a half-spin to the left and then sharply to the right, snap his neck, killing him instantly.

While the police were preoccupied, Hirada flicked a lighted cigarette at the nearest motorcycle, whose fuel tank was leaking gasoline. It went up in flames and the fire spread to the other machines. Three of the fuel tanks exploded. When the explosions stopped, the university students beat out the flames with their jackets as the police officers completed the job with small fire extinguishers carried in their patrol cars. Between them all, they finally put out the last of the flames.

While this was going on, the old priest had gotten up and was looking at the university students with astonishment. These were his comrades! They could not have been quicker to help. He believed their instinctive hatred of the bullies identified them. Their appearance at the very moment they were most needed reinforced his belief.

While the police took names and talked with Namoto, the old priest stood off and examined the faces of the university students. It was uncanny how much they resembled his fellow officers of forty years past.

Their faces and movements were so like his comrades on the island that he knew them all. During the brawl, the shortest one had lifted the biggest of the karate students like a rag doll and flung him against the school wall. This had to be Lieutenant Sakai.

He recognized Sergeant Tanaka from his boyish good looks and his catlike movements. He had lashed out with both fists at once, one atop the other, and shattered the face of his opponent. Kuwahara remembered him using the same tactic against a sailor he had quarreled with on the island. He had never before or since seen anyone use that mode of attack.

The old priest was almost faint with excitement and so leaned against a wall. Forty years of waiting and he had found them at last. It had to be them. He had no doubts on that score.

When the karate students were back inside, the police arranged for the damaged motorcycles to be taken to a machine shop. Namoto assured the police that the incident was simply a matter of youthful exuberance, started by the university students and would never happen again.

During the commotion, the old priest was ignored. When the police left, he approached the university students and thanked them profusely. He was so filled with emotion and excitement in his belief that he had at last found his comrades that he trembled uncontrollably.

The young men noticed his unsteadiness and two of them helped him to a bench where he could sit until he recovered. Their leader assured him that thanks was unnecessary. They would have done the same for anyone under the circumstances.

"Of course you would," said Kuwahara. "But it was no coincidence that you appeared at just this time. Either your spirits directed you here or my prayers were answered. In any case, I've been waiting for you for years."

"You are so like my comrades during the war. I feel you are all samurai. Am I right?"

"As it happens," said Saburo, the oldest of the young men, "we are all from samurai families. But that is coincidence. Besides, none of us feel drawn to a military career."

"No matter," said the old priest. "I could tell you were samurai by the way you fought those first two from the karate school. You did not hesitate. And when their friends joined them and you were outnumbered by those naturally more skilled at fighting, not one of you pulled back."

"I can tell that it is your nature to fight for a just cause, even if it would mean giving up your lives. Oh yes, I know you, although we have never met in this life."

"Let me prove to you that there is indeed a bond between us which I realize even if you don't."

To Saburo he said, "You want to be a journalist."

Saburo was taken aback. "How could you know?" he asked.

The old priest simply motioned impatiently. "Don't bother me with questions. I'm too excited."

To Yasuo he said, "You are a poet."

To Yoshi he said, "You collect and record knowledge."

Yoshi then said, "My goal is to become a computer programmer. I don't under-stand how you could know. You must be a mind reader."

Kuwahara answered, "No, my young friends, I'm not reading your minds. I'm remembering. But let me go on."

"You," he said to Hideki, "your interest is in criminology."

To Takeo he said, "Your main enjoyment lies in mathematics and engineering."

To Minoru he said, "You wish to be great in the field of finance. Now, have I been mistaken about any of you?"

"No," they answered in unison, amazed and intrigued.

Yoshi then said, "There has to be a logical explanation for this. Please tell us how you know so much about us and why you believe there is a bond between us. Actually, I feel I know you. But we've never been here before so the mystery deepens."

"Then come with me to my home across town and maybe I can clear up the mystery", said Kuwahara. "There I'll explain the bond between us. I'll also tell you how our meeting will lead you to wealth beyond your wildest dreams and the realization of all your ambitions. And more, I will tell you how you can accomplish immeasurable good for our nation."

Although the young men were skeptical, they could not resist the old priest's sincerity. So as they accompanied him, each in his own way hoped the old priest was right.
 
 

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