Mr. Tsubaki, the ancient owner of the launch, shuffled about, rearranging the cargo and polishing the engine. The young men speculated on their chances with him as captain when the old priest said, "So you came. Good. Which of you will drive the boat?"

Saburo was astonished. "We're not seamen. What about the old fellow?"

Kuwahara replied, "Tsubaki's too old. Besides, he seldom goes out of sight of land. He can't dig, either. But don't get excited boys. One of you can handle the launch or I'm wrong. And I'm not wrong."

"I can handle the launch," spoke up Takeo.

"You never mentioned it," said Yoshi.

"It never came up," answered Takeo. "But my uncle owns six fishing boats. I spent all my summers with him on the Sea of Japan from childhood until I came to the university. I can navigate, too, if I have the coordinates."

The old priest handed him a piece of paper filled with figures. After a few moments of study, Takeo said, "This puts the island 608 miles from here." Then to Mr. Tsubaki, "What does your engine do?"

"Twenty knots, steady. She's a good one, overhauled not a year ago. I know engines. I was a machinist's mate on a freighter during the war. You don't think I know my engines?"

"Let me tell you something," Tsubaki said, his voice rising. "I kept that old freighter's engines going with spit and wire. A year and a half without an overhaul. Do you think those desk-riding Naval fools in Tokyo cared? The carriers, cruisers, destroyers; of yes. That's where the glory was. But we merchant seamen? To hell with us and our worn out boats. No headlines from us but we were the backbone of the war. The backbone, I tell you." He was shrieking now.

"A year and a half without an overhaul or replacements. Spit and wire, that's all. Then, two hundred miles from port, dead in the water. It wasn't our fault. Can you blame me?"

The old priest patted his shoulder. "Not your fault at all, my friend. It's over. It's in the past."

"To you, it's in the past," said Tsubaki, sobbing. "But it was yesterday to me. Dead in the water and the enemy's planes descending on us like crows on a dying hawk. Bombs, bullets; she broke in two. Only one raft free and only twenty of my mates out of the forty-eight floundering in the water, holding on to whatever wood floated up out of the hold."

"I was on the raft with the radioman. Then the sharks. At least a million sharks! Every shark in all the oceans! Pulling my mates down. I can still hear their screams. One shark even raised up and pulled the radio man off the raft. He screamed, 'Tsubaki, Tsubaki', as if I could help him. But it wasn't my fault. Spit and wire!"

Kuwahara continued to comfort old Tsubaki and he finally calmed down and his weeping subsided.

Tears were running down Yasuo's face. Only Takeo seemed unmoved. Having met few survivors of the shooting part of the war, it's horrors and scars on individuals were foreign to most of them.

Takeo went on, as if to himself, "Well, the launch is old but seems in good repair. The engine's old, too, but I've seen worse. Checked the weather last night. We have a week of calm. If the engine fails, there's a mast in the hold I can rig. We can get back. So if all goes well we should be there by ten tomorrow morning."

"Well then," said the old priest, "since our safety is assured, let's go. A day to get there, two days digging and a day to get back. Four, maybe five days."

After a half-hour of rearranging the cargo to satisfy Takeo's demand for proper balance, they were on their way. As they left the shore, Mr. Tsubaki shouted, "Be sure to bring me back a bottle of sake."

Kuwahara shouted back, "We'll bring you a whole case, my friend."

Unused to water travel, all the young men but Takeo shifted around to find comfortable spots to stretch out. Takeo stood at the wheel, keeping his eyes ahead or on the compass. He could have been a piece of sculpture, motionless except when he would secure the wheel and bound to the engine to give it a bit of oil or tighten a loosening part.

He would let no one else steer or touch the engine. He would not sleep until the goal was reached. He was a part of the launch, feeling every tremor of the engine. He was conscious of the ocean's drift and was quick to correct the course as the current pulled at the launch.

Yasuo, in his own way, also became a part of the boat. He seated himself on the bow, his feet dangling and his hands clinging to the bow and leaning forward so he could see nothing but the ocean in front and the sky above.

As he peered into the depths he could see in his mind's eye, the mates of old Tsubaki. Their arms reaching upward, their mouths gaping open, silently crying for help that never came. Americans were there, too. All one in death, killed not by each other, but by the mindless, unrelenting Pacific.

To the poet it was senseless and tragic. Such a waste of young men who only wanted to live and work and play with their children. Children unborn because the fine young men on both sides of the stupid conflict never got back to their wives and sweethearts. It was beautiful and sad and Yasuo's tears added to the ocean a bit of maudlin compassion.

Kuwahara leaned back against the side of the launch and pretended to doze as the young men talked. Saburo was saying, "What if the old man is right and even some of the war supplies are intact? How would we market them?"

Hideki spoke up, "I could market them among criminals, with whom I could make contact. But I wouldn't want to do that."

Minoru then said, "My sister is a secretary for Americans at the Army base near our town. My mother gave her my grandfather's pistol he had hidden after our army was demobilized. Hisako sold it to an American sergeant for more than a month's wages. Americans are crazy for weapons, especially war souvenirs."

Tadashi entered the conversation with, "So I suppose you would just load the weapons into a truck and drive it onto the nearest American base. Even I would have a long white beard before I finished explaining where we got them."

Yoshi then put in, "My mother was eight years old when the war ended. Shortly after the occupation began she was on her way from school with some of her friends. Several drunken American soldiers were coming toward them. My mother and the other girls panicked and ran out into the field beside the road. The Americans chased them and caught them. The girls were sure they going to be killed and eaten. To little Japanese girls in those days, Americans were gigantic and fearsome, with red faces. They considered themselves white, except for the brown ones, who consider themselves black.:

"Anyway," he continued, "the Americans held them and forced them to eat chocolate bars, which they all seemed to carry. The girls were sure it was poisoned but it was good and after a few minutes, they lost their fear. Then the Americans led them back to the road and let them go."

"Well," snapped Tadashi, "what does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, I suppose," said Yoshi, lying back and going promptly to sleep.

Listening to them, Takeo sneered contemptuously in his mind; his face an expressionless mask. He cared not a bit how the material would be marketed. With his share he could develop his envisioned super motorcycle. It would be a machine to which one could relate.

He preferred machines to people. He could reason with a machine. A few tools and a machine would show one what it could do. A machine never babbled on senselessly or made excuses. It performed rationally.

He remembered himself as a quiet, painfully shy child on his first voyage on one of his uncle's fishing schooners. Being timid, he was afraid of the rough, but good-natured fishermen manning the schooner.

In the summer heat, bare to their waists, he was awed by their muscular arms and heaving chests as they hauled in the nets. The fish squirmed and their silver scales flashed in the sun as the nets were emptied and the fish flopped around on the deck before being shoveled into the ice-filled hold.

If Takeo ever had a childhood friend, it was Takijero Ota. Ota was a barrel-chested, brawny machinist whose second love was the schooner's engines. His first love was a combination of brawling, drinking and womanizing.

When drunk Ota would fight anyone, for no reason apparent to the wide-eyed little boy he sometimes took to the bars he frequented. Takeo's uncle often left him in Ota's charge while he visited the sleazy brothels dotting every port town.

To Takeo, Ota was a god who worshipped only his higher gods, the engines in the schooner. As Ota pampered them, talked to them, often cursed them, Takeo found the only religion he was ever able to understand. The machines, more powerful by comparison than even the strength of Ota, commanded his respect from childhood.

As Ota explained the working of the engines, little Takeo committed himself to the worship of the power in the machine. On land, in a world made false by teachers and baths, his life was one of loneliness and alienation. But on the schooners, he happily dreamed of becoming a willing servant to the engines.

In Takeo's early teens, Ota was stabbed to death during a drunken altercation with several Spanish seamen. Helpless to act in Ota's defense, young Takeo resolved never to drink or visit bars. He took Ota's place serving the engines. And aside from his association with his six university comrades and Kemiko, he cared nothing for any other human besides Kuwahara.

As Takeo was running these thoughts through his mind, a sudden swell caused Yasuo to lose his balance and fall straight forward into the water. On reflex, Takeo turned the wheel hard aport and the barnacle-studded keel of the launch barely missed the self-hypnotized poet.

Takeo cut the engine and turned, on the launch's momentum as the others reached out for Yasuo. When he was dragged back on board, Takeo shouted, "Fool, no more of that. Stay inside the boat from now on."

The chastened Yasuo removed and wrung out his clothes. After putting them back on, he boasted to the others that his whole life had flashed before him. Saburo told him he hadn't been in the water for more than a minute and was only fantasizing, as usual.

Then Yasuo crawled under a tarpaulin and went to sleep while the sun boiled the moisture out of his clothing. After the others discussed the event until bored, they all slept until the late afternoon chill awakened them.

Then they ate a cold supper from the large hamper Kuwahara had stocked with enough non-perishable foods to last the trip. After eating, they discussed the island's ownership and the likelihood of its habitation by anyone.

The old priest expressed doubt that such a small island, so far from anything, would be of interest to anyone. He assured them that as no real battle had been fought on the island, its location would probably be absent from all but the most detailed of nautical maps.

Tadashi questioned the legality of the island and any war material on it. Kuwahara said, "Whichever nation claims the island would be legally entitled to everything on it. And, of course, the weapons would be illegal in Japan. But I know an American arms smuggler who will dispose of the goods to people outside the country."

Minoru interrupted, "Let's not sell our treasures before we get them. If that boat approaching is the Japanese Coast Guard, we may not get to the island."

Takeo looked back at the oncoming Coast Guard cutter and said, "From her bearing, I'd say she was out of Kyushu. Hard to say what she'd be doing out this far."
Takeo held the course and in a few minutes the faster boat cut to the side and edged in front of the bow, forcing Takeo to put the engine in neutral. The captain of the cutter was an officious type, fond of impressing civilians.

"Who are you and what are you doing out here?" he shouted.

Tadashi stood up and replied in a tone of derision, deliberately insulting, "I am Tadashi Yoritomo. My father is Minamoto Yoritomo, member of the Board of Directors of Mitsubishi. My uncle is Ashikaga Takauji, vice-president of Honda. My aunt is Nyosan Kiohira, member of the Diet and indirectly connected to the Maritime Board. My companions and myself are students of the University of Tokyo. The old man owns the launch. We bet some of the other students that we could go out to the nearest island, collect some leaves and plants and photos for proof and get back by tomorrow at six p.m."

"You'll never make it," snapped the captain.

"Of course we'll never make it," shouted back Tadashi "if we waste much more time with you. And you might tell us what you're doing so far from shore."

"We are on official business," yelled the captain over the clatter of the launch's idling engine. "And you, pilot, turn off that engine."

"No," shouted back. "It's old and I may not get it started again. Now, sheer off and let us be on our way."

"Don't give me orders, you young rascal," boomed the captain. "I want to see all your papers. You make me suspicious. We might just tow you back to shore."

"But what of your 'official business', Captain?" sneered Yasuo. "What are you up to, anyway? Your face is flushed and there is a noticeable bulge in your pants. Are you having a drunken orgy below decks? I'd like to join you, that is, if you have women on board." He then shrieked with laughter at his joke.

The captain's face reddened and two of his crew snickered. He acted as if he were going to jump into the launch and go after Yasuo. "You impudent young bastard! Do you think you can insult your betters with impunity?"

During this exchange, Saburo was snapping photos of the captain, his crew and the boat. "Captain," he shouted, "I'm a journalism major. I think being towed back would be more fun and would give me a good story for the papers. Throw us a line."

"No, I will not throw you a line. I will not tow you back, you snot-nosed rich brats. And I hope your junkyard engine fails and you all drown." With that, the captain signaled to get under way and the cutter nearly swamped the little launch as it proceeded on its original course.

As the cutter increased its distance, Tadashi fell to the deck, laughing hysterically.

Hideki said, "Tadashi, Yasuo, Saburo, that was masterful."

Kuwahara broke in, furiously, "I am so ashamed of you. I have never seen such disrespect. How dare you talk to a Japanese officer like that?"

Hideki spoke up soothingly, "Sir, it was necessary. All police are like dogs. If you run, the dog will chase you. If you cower, he will maul you. But if you stand your ground and growl back, unless he knows you are in the wrong, he'll retreat in confusion. Now, had we identified ourselves, our presence out here, our coordinates and possible destination would be on record. Later, if you are right and we do bring back such materials as you describe, the authorities could piece enough together to have us all in jail."

"Besides," he continued, "when you were younger, everyone in uniform was a spokesman for his emperor-god. Today, they are simply public servants and must be treated as such if they are to be kept in line."

"Well," said the old priest, "that sounds reasonable. But in my day you would have been imprisoned for such conduct. I don't really know if I like the new ways."

By this time it was nearly dark. Takeo had the engine at full power again and was following the stars to their destination. Minoru asked Tadashi if there was any truth in the line he had fed the Coast Guard captain. Tadashi replied, "Basically, yes. My father heads a small department under one of the directors of the board at Mitsubishi. My uncle is a foreman on an assembly line at Honda. My Aunt Nyosan is an executive secretary to a member of the Diet."

Kuwahara listened as he dozed. Worries continually disturbed him in his half-awake state. Would these young men submit to his authority in the matter of the disposal and use of the proceeds from the treasure? If they would, could they, this strange new generation?

But as he pondered Tadashi's arrogance and audacity, Yasuo's almost suicidal insolence and Saburo's businesslike poise and air of command, he remembered the island. His comrades were likewise arrogant and manipulative. Never did a ship's captain leave with his hold filled with supplies that he did not thank them as if the supplies were a gift, instead of his due.

He also remembered an Army colonel and his staff, off loaded to be picked up a week later for the battle zone. The colonel started off giving orders and making himself at home. Within an hour, Captain Anoka and the others had him in his place, promising to keep out of the way and offering his staff for any work that needed doing.

These young men were samurai to the core, just as his comrades had been. A samurai would do exactly as he pleased unless expressly forbidden, and then only in the face of superior force.

The old priest lapsed into a deeper sleep. But dreams tormented him. These young men, his comrades, if not his original comrades, combined to make a monster. Could it be controlled? Could it be directed against Namoto, without being more of a threat than Namoto?

When he awoke dawn was breaking. Takeo was still at the wheel as the launch chugged unerringly toward the island. About ten o'clock, the island was spotted. The young men were disappointed, as it seemed to be merely a low hump, three-quarters of a mile long and a half-mile wide, covered with scrub and jungle foliage.
 
 

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