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“Mine doesn’t have an entrance there.”
“Trust me,” Hayward said. “It’s there. That is, if the Japs didn’t seal it.”
Kekoa assumed the captain had read his file and knew his mother was Japanese, like the parents of many of the men in his division. But Hayward didn’t seem at all concerned that Kekoa was a potential traitor, which boosted the captain a few notches in his eyes.
Kekoa cautiously guided his men to the place Hayward had pointed to on the map, and, sure enough, there was a tunnel opening concealed by the remaining shrubbery that hadn’t been destroyed by the bombardment. If the captain hadn’t led them here, they never would have seen it.
Kekoa called for more tank support and was surprised when he got an instant response in the affirmative. Obviously, Hayward must have had more pull than he realized.
Another Sherman trundled its way to the tunnel entrance. This time, Kekoa ordered everyone to cover before it fired. The tank blasted the tunnel with a high-explosive round. There was no secondary explosion. Anyone inside had to be dead, but Kekoa ordered the tank to fire three more shells as insurance.
He called his flamethrower team forward and ordered the platoon to follow them in. Every twenty feet, a jet of fire would shoot forward to clear the path of hiding Japanese Marines, illuminating the otherwise darkened tunnel.
Kekoa didn’t like having daylight framing him in silhouette as he moved into the tunnel. He glanced behind him to see Hayward clinging to his carbine as if it were a talisman.
“Should be two intersections down,” Hayward whispered. “On the right.”
Kekoa motioned for his team to keep going until they reached the intersection and turned. They got another twenty feet when banshee-like screams wailed from down the pitch-black tunnel, followed by pounding footsteps.
“Light ’em up!” Kekoa yelled and dropped to the ground, pulling Hayward with him.
The flamethrower gushed to life, shooting thick sheets of blazing liquid down the tunnel. That should have stopped the Japanese in their tracks, but they kept coming despite the inferno. Four men rushed through the wall of fire as if it were nothing more than a light breeze and launched themselves at the soldier handling the flamethrower and his partner. Before his partner could get a shot off, they viciously stabbed both Americans with bayonets even as they burned.
Seeing that there was no way to save his flamethrower team, Kekoa shouted, “Open fire!”
Bullets poured down the tunnel from every available man. Even Hayward was firing.
Yet the Japanese still kept coming. Kekoa could see the rounds hitting them, but incredibly they wouldn’t go down, like they were straight out of a Superman comic.
Kekoa got onto his knees and fired at the head of the closest one coming at them. His body went down in a heap, still on fire. At least they weren’t indestructible.
He turned to the next one, who pounced on Kekoa before he could bring his weapon to bear. Kekoa blocked the bayonet with his rifle and kneed him with a savage hit to the midsection. It didn’t seem to do a thing.
In the dim light, Kekoa could make out a few details. These Marines weren’t like the nearly starving soldiers who were charging at his fellow troops on the rest of the island. This man was muscled like a bodybuilder, and the single glimpse of his eyes that Kekoa saw flashed a feral lust for blood.
Kekoa could feel the bayonet getting closer to his throat. He was unable to push the enemy back, despite the terrible wounds the man had already suffered.
Then the Japanese soldier’s head flew sideways as a shot rang out from Kekoa’s right. Hayward still had his carbine at the ready as the enemy fell.
Before Kekoa could say his thanks, the last Japanese soldier rushed at Hayward, slashing at him with a machete. Hayward screamed and dropped to the ground. Kekoa unloaded the rest of his Thompson submachine gun’s magazine at the attacker, who finally lay silent. They prepared for more attackers but none came.
The remnants of the flamethrower’s output provided enough light to see. Kekoa knelt down beside Hayward, who was holding his side. Blood oozed from between his fingers.
Kekoa lifted him up. “We need to get you to a medic.” He started walking to the exit, but Hayward stopped him.
He grimaced in pain as he spoke. “Not before . . . I see what’s in this tunnel.” When Kekoa hesitated, he added, “That’s an order, Sergeant.”
Grudgingly, Kekoa supported Hayward as they walked farther down the tunnel. Two of his soldiers led the way, one of them now holding his dead squadmate’s flamethrower.
A hundred feet in, they reached a laboratory, with equipment that must have made sense to Hayward. There were also several file cabinets and a desk littered with papers. A faint hiss came from the tunnel.
“My camera,” Hayward said. “It’s in my pack.”
Kekoa reached in and found the camera, with a flashbulb attached. He handed Hayward off to another soldier while he snapped a photo of the equipment. When the flash went off, Kekoa noticed something on the ceiling down the tunnel.
“What is that?” he said to one of the men, who took a flashlight to investigate. When he lit up the spot, Kekoa realized in horror what he’d been hearing. On a set of dull gray bars strapped to the ceiling he could make out the Kanji characters for Explosive. The hiss was burning detonation cord.
“It’s rigged to blow!” he yelled. “Everyone out of here!”
