Takeo was not a builder but his knowledge of physics and mechanics made shoring up a tunnel an elementary task. He directed each of his comrades in whatever job he was most capable of doing properly. He relegated Yasuo to fetching and carrying lumber. Yasuo considered this a privilege and enjoyed the scenery and fresh air. Nor did he linger at the task but carried and dragged and sweated as he imagined himself rehearsing the role of a common laborer.

By ten a.m. the ceiling of the tunnel was as secure as necessary and the digging began again. After about six hours of digging and more shoring, Saburo shouted that they had hit concrete. The old priest pushed through and directed them to dig down the face of the large concrete door to the rear entrance.

After a few more hours of digging to the original floor of the cave, they had cleared about four feet of space in front of the door. Saburo and Yoshi heaved their shoulders against the massive cement door with no result.

Kuwahara stopped them. "My comrades sealed the door with rubber stripping so no moisture could get in. We had planned it that way in case we decided to leave the cave for some time. Obviously, they sealed themselves in. By now it has bonded at the outer edges so we will have to force it with the jack."

Takeo leaned a beam against the earthen backdrop. Then, holding a shorter length of beam against its middle, he turned the jack sideways, propped between the concrete door and the jutting beam. After a few turns of the jack handle, the concrete door slowly gave way. There was an audible "whoosh" as air streamed past them into the supply cave.

Then Takeo and Saburo put their shoulders against the concrete door and pushed it open. It was slow-going, as the door weighed over two tons. The others crowded in excitedly to help push and finally the last of the rubber stripping was passed and the door suddenly swung smoothly on its hinges and they all piled on the floor in the blackness of the cave.

The old priest shined his light in over the floundering figures. It revealed a rock hewn cavern, eight feet high, ten feet wide and fifty feet long. Its middle was piled six feet high with wooden cartons painted with Japanese military markings.

Near the door was a compact generator on wheels. Kuwahara opened its fuel tank and filled it with gasoline. After two pulls of the starting cord the generator purred to life. The old priest then plugged its cord into a socket connected to a line running along the cavern's floor and the chamber was flooded with light.

The young men were astonished. "Lights after forty years!", exclaimed Saburo. "How can it be?"

"As you can see," said Kuwahara, "this place is as dry as dust. The cave was well sealed. Even so, I notice pans with oil and wicks were set out to burn up all the oxygen so that even the moisture in the air was eliminated, for the most part. Since the cavern was hollowed out of solid rock, it could have been virtually airless for eternity."

"Then everything you told us is true," said Yoshi. "Can you forgive us for our doubts?"

"There is nothing to forgive, my boy. No one with intelligence could have believed me completely, since I omitted the facts of the preservation of these supplies. Your knowing spirits brought you here. Your intelligent doubts, coupled with your curiosity, caused you to come and see for yourselves whether there was something to my story or not.

"Now that you have proven yourselves to be young men of faith, let me show you some of our treasures." After a moment's searching among the cartons, he began working at the lid of one with a small pry bar he had stuck in his belt.

As the old priest struggled with the carton's lid, Takeo examined the generator intently. "Sir," he said, "they didn't have gasoline generators this compact forty years ago."

"Of course not," grunted Kuwahara, still working away at the lid. "Lieutenant Sakai designed and built it himself."

With a squawk of resisting nails the lid finally loosened. Inside the carton were paper wrapped, grease covered Nambu pistols. After unwrapping one, the old priest wiped the grease off with a rag he had been using for a headband.

"Now what do you think of this?" he asked the wide-eyed young men. "This is a Nambu 14, eight millimeter automatic pistol, never fired. There are fifty of these pistols in this one box."

Saburo took it from his hand and, after examining it, passed it around among the others. None of them had ever held a pistol and now they were co-owners of a huge room full of every kind of World War II Japanese weapon they were familiar with.

Kuwahara continued, "Last year it came to me strongly that you would appear soon. I contacted an American collector and seller of weapons and war souvenirs, based in Tokyo. Without telling him how many I had or where they were, I asked him the cash money price for this model pistol and various other items. My senses told me he was also a smuggler. And to most Americans in the weapons business, governments are poor blind things. No one will know of our dealings. He told me such a pistol, mint and unfired, would bring nearly $l,000.00 American in the U. S. and he would give me $300.00 each for all I could get."

"That's $15,000 for the the contents of this one box," said Takeo.

"Yes, and there are many such boxes. Rifles, helmets, uniforms, mortars, machine guns, grenades; and what do you think of this?" said the old priest, opening a large carton of light wood. In it were a dozen or more pure silk kimonos of the most beautiful patterns and range of colors.

"Even the geisha, based with our armies of occupation were provided for. These will bring a fortune in Tokyo shops."

Yasuo was thrilled as he ran his hands over the rich fabrics and examined the designs. "Now, this is the most dynamic," he said, holding up one with a black background. "Notice how the green stems and the ferns set off the blood red of the roses and the canary yellow chrysanthemums. A masterpiece of design. I envy the artist who created this."

"Yes," said the old priest. "That one is the most beautiful."

"Then what say we reward Takeo for his greater share of the work. Don't you think Kemiko would look lovely in this Takeo?" said Yasuo.

Takeo shook his head. "That would bring a lot of money. Besides, Kemiko knows I couldn't afford such a present. Also, my effort deserves no special reward."

Kuwahara then folded the kimono and pushed it toward Takeo. "Nonsense, my boy. The highest price we could get for all these kimonos would be as nothing compared to the wealth we have here. Just tell Kemiko an old man rewarded you with a family treasure for some service. And by the way, any of you are welcome to take a share of anything which is legal to own."

Takeo then took the kimono after expressing a simple "Thank you."

"We are truly wealthy," said Saburo. "It's like a dream. But it somehow seems familiar."

"To me, it also seems familiar," said Yasuo. "I've had a recurrent dream of this place since childhood." He then burst into tears and wept softly.

"There he goes again," said Minoru, disgustedly, wiping his own eyes. "But enough of this emotionalism. Let's get down to business. This is a lot, for us. But it will soon be gone. So we should form a corporation and invest the proceeds so we can finance our master's mission. Even I know there is a higher purpose in all this."

That was the first time either of the young men had referred to the old priest as their master. Not a flick of an eyelash showed that any of them say the term as unusual.

As he resealed the lid on the carton of kimonos, Kuwahara said, "Good thinking, Minoru. This is indeed a bequest from Heaven, so must be managed with all the skills your studies have given to you. But you are mistaken in thinking that this you see here is all there is."

When the lid was secure he made his way to the end of the chamber and forced open a wooden door. It led to a corridor five feet wide and eight feet high. The flashlights showed no end to it. Every few feet, the flashlights showed similar doors.

Kuwahara purposefully marched down the corridor, going from one side of the corridor to the other, throwing open doors. The flashlights showed dimly, compartment after compartment piled high with goods of all descriptions. "There are over two hundred such chambers," said the old priest. The cynical Tadashi quietly pounded his head on the corridor wall.

As the rest proceeded down the corridor with the fuel can, Kuwahara continued, "We were assigned to this island in 1938 when the High Command had plans to garrison the entire Pacific Theater. Since all installations had to be designed according to differing terrains, most of the various project heads were allotted building materials and labor crews with little or no supervision from the mainland.

"This was true in our case and we just kept tunneling and hollowing out like a gang of moles. Ours was designated as 'Supply Base Three'. In all the requisitions, invoices and bills of lading, I never saw one reference to bases One or Two. Such was the secrecy of the military, although I'm certain there was a Base One and Two, I have no idea how many more there were, if any."

As they neared the end of the corridor, the old priest pushed open another door and instructed Yoshi to put only about a quart of gasoline in the fuel tank of a second generator. When the lights in this chamber flashed on he said, "Takeo, I thought you might be interested in our workshop. Actually, it was Lieutenant Sakai's workshop but occasionally he would let us play with his toys."

Takeo's jaw dropped as he gazed with wonder at what could have passed as a modern, or even futuristic, machine shop. Kuwahara went over to a chain hoist to which was attached the engine of a Zero fighter plane. He reached out and with his little finger, touched the chain pull. The massive engine rose off the floor. "With this hoist a tiny child could lift up to eight tons. Designed by Lieutenant Sakai. This engine was his last project. He made new pistons on that lathe over there, again of his own design, and completely reworked the engine. He got it going and it made little noise. He tested it with his meters and such and said it would make the plane fly about a hundred miles per hour faster, using only one-third the fuel.

"Incidentally, one of the chambers holds replacement parts ferried out here, from which at least twenty complete Zeros could be assembled. They would fly, too. Each would be worth over a million U. S. dollars. Or you could assemble and arm them with the munitions stored here and start your own war. I'm joking, of course."

Takeo was barely listening as he went from one machine to the other, turning them on. In a few minutes they were all on and humming and purring with no noise as is heard in the average machine shop.

"It might also interest you to know that this whole machine shop will run at least a full hour on only one quart of fuel in the generator," said Kuwahara.

"Master," said Saburo, "why wasn't this technology incorporated into the war effort?"

The old priest chuckled. "You must have Tadashi give you lessons in bureaucracy. Much of Japan's modern technology was developed during the war but not implemented until years later under private enterprise. Besides, war is chaos. Before the war, those preparing for it were organized. But once the shooting started and the bombs began to fall, little wartime technology could be put into effect.

"Also, Lieutenant Sakai resented the war. He resented people. He seldom talked. Aside from his job, which he did well, he had no other activity except for his machines. From a small shop out there he moved in here and worked up to sixteen hours a day on a project. A few hours sleep, his duties, and back he'd come. In slack periods he often took his meals and slept here."

Takeo caught snatches of this and thought Lieutenant Sakai would have been one of the few men he could have related to. As Takeo examined the lathe, the finest and most precise he had ever seen, Saburo questioned Kuwahara more about the functions of Supply Base Three.

"We had thousands of boats on the mainland, from schooners to fishing trawlers, which were of little use in battle and of relatively short rang. They could carry from a few tons to a few hundred tons of supplies. Our government requisitioned the services of these boats, on a temporary basis, to ferry light armaments, parts and other supplies out here. The heavier equipment, such as trucks and tanks, were shipped directly from the mainland to the war zones by freighters. The use of smaller vessels released many freighters to go back and forth between the island supply bases and the battle zones without having to return to the mainland.

"The High Command of our sector would make requisitions to the mainland for supplies to be ferried out here. We would then load them aboard freighters to be taken to our Pacific combat zones. We also sent back requisitions from ship captains covering amenities and anything else the High Command neglected to ask for.

"After the Battle of Midway, when we learned from ship captains that our cause was lost, we feared an eventual invasion and occupation of the mainland. Our purpose then was to store up supplies for the resistance. It was then that we accelerated and filled these chambers with as much war material as we could manage. This was material slated for ships which never arrived to pick it up. Rather than let it weather away on the dock, or send it back and thus cause bureaucratic confusion, we just stored it.

"Needless to say, every ship that docked here for supplies was given all its captain asked for, and more. We even plied the ship captains with luxuries, of which we had plenty, so they would make regular exchanges of laborers. In this way, we had a steady turnover in work crews so that no one on Supply Base Three, besides ourselves, had any idea of the actual extent of our operations. Each crew was told it was digging a bomb shelter. The long corridor and some doors meant nothing to simple infantrymen and laborers.

"Besides, we worked them like animals, poor fellows, so they were too exhausted to question anything. And after each crew completed a chamber, we rewarded them with combat duty. So I doubt if anyone ever knew what we were up to.

"Takeo, come along now. You will have plenty of time later to play with the machines."

Takeo followed sullenly as the old priest shut off the generator and led them the few paces to the dock end of the corridor. That end had been cemented closed, hiding and sealing the collapsed entrance to the complex.

Kuwahara then opened the last door on the right into a larger chamber, twenty by fifty feet. Their flashlights revealed a three foot wide corridor running thirty feet to another door.

"Bring the gasoline," said the old priest. "The other generator is in here."

When the generator was started, Kuwahara turned on the lights, revealing the living quarters of the supply officers. There were four, eight by seventeen feet, well appointed apartments for two men each.

"These were our quarters where we lived and did our work. As you can see, they were well furnished. And it is true we had the finest of food and drink. Our constant company was ship captains, Army officers and others who could keep us informed with the latest, uncensored news from home and the battle fronts. For our pleasure, we had the companionship of all the comfort girls off-loaded here on their way to entertain the troops.

"We were all from good samurai families. So these amenities made up in a small way for our bitterness at not being privileged to fall in battle for our Emperor. But it is only fair to admit that we had all a grateful country had to offer her soldiers.

"You will notice we were a little cramped for space. We could each have had a whole chamber to himself. However, we felt a show of some austerity was in order as a concession to the war."

In each compartment were two desks. On each desk was a diary with the name of its owner written on the cover. The old priest picked up one and said, "This was my diary, which I will take with me. I will give you each the diary of the man I consider most like you. We never read each other's diaries and it is still up to you to decide if you want to share the contents of the ones I give you."

He picked up Captain Anoka's diary and handed it to Saburo. To Hideki he handed Sergeant Saito's diary. Yoshi reverently accepted Sergeant Ohnishi's. To Tadashi he handed Lieutenant Genda's; to Takeo, Lieutenant Sakai's; to Minoru, Sergeant Kozono's and to Yasuo, Sergeant Tanaka's.

For several minutes they each read excerpts from the diaries to themselves. For the most part, they were filled with day-to-day reminders of work to be done and already done. Also, there were accounts of incidents occurring on the island. Most important, however, were the personal reflections of the eight supply officers on their thoughts concerning the war, their comrades and their hoped-for futures.

Of most interest were the last entries. Saburo spoke up after reading Captain Anoka's final entry. "Master, this concerns you. 'September 4, 1945. The inventory of all the supplies has been completed and handed in. Genda's was the last report. Except for Sakai, all the men busied themselves at this fruitless task. Sakai still refuses to come out of his shop. Three weeks, now. I told him through the door this morning that the others are disappointed in him. He doesn't care. I lost patience and shouted for him to come out. He said he would if I gave him a proper military order or suggested something sensible to him. So I suppose he'll die of old age in there.

'How we miss Kuwahara. For some reason I can't understand, he was the glue that held us together. No matter how discouraged or bored we became, he could always bring our morale up with the idea that our work was directed toward a higher purpose. Now that he is gone we can't see it that way.

'Often I have wished I had left with him. He is presumed dead and therefore most fortunate. Tanaka believes him to be alive and still with us in spirit. I cannot sense it but feel a kind of peaceful resignation whenever I think of him.

"Radio reports have killed all hopes of resistance. Without Kuwahara, our supplies must wait for a future time. It was he who gave us the zeal to store it all. Thinking back, it seems like it was his idea in the first place. Or perhaps he just waited for me to come up with a random thought and then congratulated me on my brilliance, using such a thought to keep us busy. Or maybe he did see a high purpose in it'"

"Was it your idea, Master?" asked Minoru.

"No," replied Kuwahara. "But I'll admit I did adopt it with all the enthusiasm I had in me. The supplies were piling up on the dock and the paperwork in having them ferried back in the privately owned boats unloading more supplies would have caused a nightmare. And most of it would have been pilfered on the way back. Storing it was a logical way out of the problem. It did keep us going and as I did then, I still believe the idea was inspired."

He then opened the drawers of the desk which had been used in life by Captain Anoka. The second drawer held a neatly bound ledger of all the men's inventories of every carton in every chamber. A random glance showed 10,139 grenades, 342 cases of brandy, 156,500 rounds of 7.7-mm rifle and machine gun ammo, 3,930 uniforms by size, rank and style, 480 mortars,etc. It was also indexed and cross-indexed by Sergeant Ohnishi, showing the location of every item by chamber and chamber section.

"This will save us from rummaging around for things, won't it?" said Tadashi, for lack of anything better to say.

All the young men but Takeo and Yasuo were taking some time to absorb the enormity of their good fortune, added to by the inventorying. But Yasuo was still lost in the poetic musings of Sergeant Tanaka. Lieutenant Sakai had made few notes concerning his duties or day-to-day experiences. Instead, he filled his diary with diagrams and notes on experiments and detailed explanations of all his methods of improving his machinery.

To Takeo, this was a treasure far more valuable than the contents of the chambers. As he leafed to the end of Lieutenant Sakai's diary, including the transposed notes of his activities during his three week sulk, he came upon the final entry. "September 5, 1945. It is over. We are a militarily defeated people. We have paid the price for being backward.

"We did not lose to better ideas, greater courage or rightness of cause. We were defeated by superior technology. The only thing that sets Man apart from the lower animals is his tools. Until our people realize this, we will never be above war."

As Takeo pondered how a dead soldier could have so completely shared his thoughts, Kuwahara led them out of the apartment complex and back into its corridor. Then he hesitated outside an ornately carved wood door.

"In here will be the final resting place of my comrades. It was our place of meditation and our shrine."
 
 

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