The Straggler

All characters in this short story have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are invention.


Prologue

Out in the north equatorial Pacific, about 500 miles east of the Philippines, lies Palau (Republic of Belau), part of the Western Caroline Islands which form the western flank of Micronesia. Micronesia also includes the Eastern Carolines, the Central Carolines, the Mariana Islands, the Marshall Islands, and the Kiribati Islands south of the equator. Overall, Micronesia is represented by a combined land area of only a few hundred square miles comprised of over two thousand islands sprinkled across three million square miles of ocean.
In the 1500’s, after Magellan landed in the Marianas, Spain controlled most of Micronesia for over 350 years, relinquishing control to Germany in 1899. But the Japanese ousted the Germans in 1914, the League of Nations giving Japan mandate over the islands some time later. In the latter years of the 1930's, the Japanese discretely fortified Micronesia in preparation for war.
Near the end of World War II, the Americans advanced through Micronesia towards Japan in a series of bloody battles that liberated the islands from the Japanese. When the Americans hit Palau, Japanese headquarters for Micronesia defenses, they chose to confront the southern islands of Peleliu and Angaur. The fierce resistance by the Japanese on these islands persuaded the Americans to simply cut off the remaining Japanese forces at Headquarters in Koror by denying them further supplies by air and sea.

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1
Lieutenant Yamaguchi stood at attention. In front of him, the Captain gripped his sword, posturing on bowed legs to retain his balance. High above the deck, the bridge swayed in long arcs. The big carrier crashed through the heavy seas, the wind sending clouds of spray over the flight deck. In the pre-dawn darkness, a crew of mechanics readied a single Zeke for flight. Lt. Yamaguchi would take off in just a few minutes, to the east, towards Palau, where the southern islands of Peleliu and Angaur had recently been captured by the enemy. Although the Americans had not landed on the island of Koror, site of Japanese Headquarters, radio contact with Command had been lost, probably from a bombing raid.
"Tell the Commander he must never surrender, NEVER! Is that understood?"
"Yes Captain."
The Captain spun around and saluted. His puffy eyes denoted a profound fatigue suggesting that perhaps this war was all in vain. But this was not perceived by the readied Yamaguchi whose eyes flooded with tears.
The Captain handed Yamaguchi a canvas courier's pouch containing the Emperor's orders for non-surrender. Yamaguchi discarded his flight jacket and slipped the straps over his shoulders so that the pouch rested flat against his chest. Tugging gently on the straps, he buckled the ends securely around his flat stomach. Then he donned his jacket and saluted the Captain.

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Angaur
Dressed in khaki pants and soiled white tank tops, Lt. Gallagher and his two cohorts shuffled out onto the pavement. Ninety-five degree heat radiated up from the black mass of asphalt the Army had laid out to facilitate the Hellcats. Coconut palms lined the runway stretching off to the east and village kids stood nearby to watch the takeoff. The pilots carried parachutes and each toted a small flight bag with personal belongings. Gallagher exhaled, flipped his Lucky Strike away, and called over to his wing man:
"Hey Mex! Lets dig north on the way out and pump a few rounds into our friends on Malakal, just to keep em honest."
"Roger dodger."
"Sound good Sween?" he implored his other wing man.
"Well I don' know, that ain't exactly what wer supposed ta do."
"Just follow me," said Gallagher.
They climbed into their aircraft and roared their engines to life. Someone steered a jeep down the runway to roust chickens, goats, pigs, snakes, lizards, and kids back into the Angaur jungle. The brawny planes taxied single file and revved, then sped down the blacktop, lifted off and banked left over the jeep parked broadside near the blacktop end to watch the takeoff. The Hellcats, still in single file, arched over the coconut trees and shrubs then headed out to sea, leaving the waves crashing into the limestone cliffs below. To the west, the sun lay poised at 270 degrees, about to fall into the ocean. Overhead, a light brush of high cirrus stretched across the blue sky in an evening of tropical tranquillity.
The three Hellcats leveled out at 1,000 feet and flew in V formation north towards Peleliu, a mile or so away. From that distance the island of Peleliu looked peaceful and serene although a battle raged there.
They flew over Peleliu and veered slightly eastward out to sea. Off to their left, the rock islands, a sprinkling of tiny limestone bulbs covered with dark green foliage, seemed to have popped up from the lagoon like mushrooms. Here and there the white brightness of a beach broadcast the reflected light energy of the setting sun. The larger islands of Eil Malk and Urukthapel fell behind as they turned northwest towards Malakal and that damn ak ak gun. The Japanese had dug in on that hill and the ak ak was a threat to each sortie that flew out of Angaur. And sorties flew every day, morning and night, to keep the Japs honest, tire them out, wear them away. Now Gallagher wanted to get it, blow it to smithereens. He broke in over the radio:
"Okay, I'll go in first, low. You guys stay above and behind, then strafe while he's bugging me. Got it?"
Coming in at about 100 feet, Gallagher gazed out through the canopy at the southern end of Malakal Island which was reinforced by a stout sea wall. Behind the sea wall and below the hill was a large fortified cement building, two stories in height, but relatively harmless as far as anyone knew. Perhaps a refer plant for food storage?
Gallagher smiled as he watched men scramble towards the sea wall bunkers to blast their machine guns in his direction. As the bunkers came into vortex, he pressed his stick's button letting loose a stream of .38 caliber rounds. The fire from below ceased suddenly as Hellcat bullets pounded paths along the sea wall and into the building. Gallagher pulled back on the stick, heading his plane straight towards the ak ak and all its fury. Close, only 500 meters ahead and about 45 degrees inclination. Nothing coming from the site--the gun was incapable of shooting down. Gallagher had him. He would blow him off the mountain.
Gallagher watched carefully as the shrubbery scooted by beneath his aircraft. He was close to the hill, close to his target. Beads of sweat rolled into his eyes causing him to blink. He eased the stick slightly forward, pushed the pedal to reduce speed, then pressed the kill button, watching the tracers track into the ak ak area. The three planes zoomed over in a flash, too quick to know results. "See anything?" Gallagher barked over the radio.
"Nope" "They just don't get it, do they?"
Gallagher said: "Okay, lets head west on our mission, copy?"
"Roger."
"Roger."
Gallagher banked left and climbed, his wingmen following, while below the ak ak gunners pumped a few useless rounds at the fleeing aircraft. It had not been easy for the Japanese soldiers in Palau since the Americans had captured Angaur and Peleliu. Cut off, the Japanese were short of food, even with the added productivity of the enslaved Palauans.
The three Hellcats climbed, paralleling the rock islands stringing out to the southwest towards the blue-green panorama of the shallow sand flats bordering the inner barrier reef. A few miles out to sea a large cumulonimbus rose upward to 35,000 feet, its dark base shedding a gray sheet of rain into the ocean. As the three Hellcats cruised at 3,000 feet over the western barrier reef, a bird flying swiftly southward disappeared into the cloudy skirt of the nimbus. Gallagher thought he saw something, but maybe not.
"Hey, see that?" said his wing man.
"Yeah," said Gallagher, affirmed. "No one up here but us. Let's go."
In unison, the three Hellcats banked to the left and gained altitude. They were about a mile and a half behind the bird which appeared out of the clouds and drifted eastward over the rock islands southwest of Koror. "Wow--a fucking Zeke!" shouted Gallagher, "and I don't think he sees us."
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Yamaguchi throttled back his Mitsubishi to lose altitude and get a better look at the splendid rock islands. He had spent many fine hours of his childhood here, floating around on small boats, collecting specimen, and eating sashimi. It looked to him as if nothing had changed over those years he had spent in Japan. The lagoon sparkled in the setting sun, the water pure and clear as ice. Magnificent, he thought as he cruised several hundred feet above the lagoon. He reached the west barrier reef and banked the Zeke hard to the north to get a good look at the white beach bordering the southeast corner of Urukthapel, one of the largest rock islands in Palau.

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Gallagher lined up on the Zeke coming at a vector across and below his track. He leaned on the stick, sending the Hellcat into a slight dive to intersect the Zeke at about 30 degrees and to keep the sun at his back, giving him an advantage. Feeling the kill, Gallagher sent several short bursts of .38 caliber rounds towards the unwary enemy.
Yamaguchi saw a tiny puff of smoke emanate from the cowling of his engine, then watched his canopy shatter with the impact of a slug traveling at supersonic speed. Something hit him in the left side of his chest where his 9 mm pistol lay strapped, pounding him back against his seat. There was sudden pain in his right arm and he barely noticed a hole and spider web appear through the right side of the canopy as a bullet exited. The pain was intense; he couldn't breath; his vision blurred. The Zeke coughed, sputtering fire from beneath the cowling. Yamaguchi's head lolled, his last thoughts telling himself to pull back on the stick and ease left, set it down on the reef, off the beach.
Gallagher looked back across his left shoulder as he banked towards Koror and saw the smoking Zeke gently splash into the water. Not a bad landing for a dead bogie, he thought. He headed up and eastward towards his wingmen circling over the downed aircraft. "Okay, one less Jap. Let's get on with the mission," he said. The three Hellcats sped eastward towards the cumulonimbus and out to sea in search of the carrier.
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Yamaguchi's chest burned. He struggled to breathe. Sensing water creeping up around his stomach as his plane settled into the water, he disengaged his seat belt. Feeling down the side of the cockpit, he grasped the samurai sword his father had given him, an item he carried on every mission. Then he tucked his flight kit under his shirt. "Oow." His right arm throbbed with pain. He grabbed the mechanical release with his left hand and yanked open the canopy. With his sword firmly in his hand, he struggled out of the cockpit and into the water as the plane settled gently to the reef below. Yamaguchi lay on his side and stroked towards the beach a hundred yards away. He was an average swimmer but his right arm was a mess--with a bullet hole through it, making him less than adequate at swimming now. He held his sword against his stomach with his wounded arm while his other flailed at the water, pulling himself towards shore and the white sand beach. The sun was making its exodus into the ocean as Yamaguchi crawled onto the beach and lay gasping in pain, the short wind chop sending small waves breaking over his body. Rolling onto his back, he pushed himself up onto the beach with his feet , then raised his head forward to peer out at his stricken aircraft. He saw only the tip of its tail. Yamaguchi lay his head back on the fine white sand and looked up, high up at the tropic birds circling in anticipation of a nights rest. His shoulder ached and the soaring white birds against the graying sky made him dizzy. He closed his eyes and slipped into a deep sleep, and dreamt.

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2
He had been here before, on this very beach, collecting specimen with Masashi. They had come out in Masashi's pong pong, a six-meter skiff powered by a two-cylinder Yanmar diesel. Out through the Malakal channel to the entrance, marked by a white lighthouse, then steering south along the barrier reef and cliffline of Urukthapel towards the reef which shielded the midriff of the rock islands. Masashi wanted snakes, black and white banded sea snakes. They were common in the rock islands at certain times of the year. Yama knew little about Masashi's interest in these reptiles and he cared less. All he knew was that he loved collecting, whatever it was.
Masashi throttled back on the diesel and yelled to Yama on the bow to watch for coral heads as they slowly coasted into the bright white beach. Yama jumped from the bow and feigned his weight into the encroaching stem with little effect. "Ah, you are too light to hold back this cumbersome pig," chatted the biologist Masashi, his eyeglasses skewed down and to the left. Yama blushed, grabbed the grappling hook and threw it onto the beach where its hooks dug into the fine white sand. "Now, we must find the serpents and milk them of their venom," Masashi offered.
They walked up the beach, the bright sand making them squint. Masashi, a foot taller than young Yama, swept his long black hair back over his forehead, then wiped the sweat from his brow. "There," he pointed at some limestone rocks behind the beach. "Sometimes they rest in those rocks."
Yama, in shorts and without a shirt, rushed forward to look for snakes. He stopped abruptly as the sight of a black and white banded snake came into view. It lay in a horizontal crevice between layers of rock. Yama's heart beat faster and he yelled for Masashi to come, "quick."
"Ha," answered Masashi, "it won't move. These snakes are like the rocks themselves. They are just there." "But," he emphasized, "they have a poison that is deadlier than a crocodile." He smiled over his joke, revealing massive white front teeth.
Yama cringed with anticipation as Masashi reached in and gently grasped the snake behind the head with his left hand. With his right hand, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a vile which he asked Yama to uncap. "Hold the snake out so that it cannot flop around," he told Yama.
Yama gingerly took the body of the meter-long serpent in his hands to restrict its movement while Masashi maneuvered his thumb and forefinger up directly behind the jaws of the reptile where he squeezed firmly enough to cause the snake to open its mouth. The snake flexed and squirmed causing frightened Yama to tighten his grip. Masashi carefully put the lip of the vile on the bottom jaw of the snake and moved it back to the jaw hinge. He squeezed the jaws harder, compressing them laterally and forcing the deep set fangs out into the throat where the rim of the vile could be locked underneath. Now he squeezed again and watched as drops of clear venom rolled down the back of the vile. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release, squeeze. The venom collected in the bottom of the vile several millimeters in depth, enough poison to do-in a herd of sheep, or perhaps a herd of people. They released the snake and watched the bewildered animal slowly slither down the beach towards the sea. It knew no animosity. Mengerenger, a docile creature, used its poison only to feed.
Masashi held the vile up to the sun and looked at the clear liquid within while Yama stared in wonder. "What will you do with it," he asked Masashi.
"I want to find out what it is; what makes it so lethal. Lucky thing that snake will not bite," he said. "If it did, there would be many dead Palauans," he chuckled, causing Yama to flashback on his fearless Palauan friends as they manhandled mengerengers on the beach, coiling them mockingly around their necks in show-off fashion, then swinging them around and flinging them into the sea.
Yama's father, an air force officer, had brought his family to Palau under Imperial orders to command the airfield on Airai. The Japanese occupied many of the islands in Micronesia in the 1930's and Palau, as Japan's Micronesian capital, enjoyed a flourishing economic environment. The two central main streets of Koror, Palau's capital, were paved and lined with lush green lawns and coconut trees. Commerce abounded as the busy shops sold their wares to happy consumers. Micronesia was considered an extension of the Japanese homeland, where land was at a premium and the population was at its maximum.
Yama's father had settled his family in a house on a hillside below the Biological Laboratory overlooking southern Koror. In 1938, Yama had been an inquisitive twelve year old interested in plants, animals, and fish. These interests had drawn him almost immediately up the hill to the cement and stucco building which served as a biological research laboratory. Nestled on a knoll midway between Koror and Malakal Channel, the one room laboratory lay strewn with cages of snakes and lizards, some on tables, others on the floor. White and gray rats occupied cages near the back wall, giving off a gamey aroma to the high ceilinged room. Out in back, several crocodiles lay in muddy holes of water, caged in by thick hog wire and steel posts. In a small shed nearby, a collection of moths, grasshoppers, and flies lay pinned on waxed boards covered by thin glass sheets.
Off to one corner of the laboratory a rickety wooden desk supported the forearms of Masashi, chief resident biologist. The desk was home to a mumble jumble of papers, scientific journals, maps, and directives from the homeland. That was how Yama had first seen Masashi, one afternoon after school not long after his arrival in Palau; Yama walking in and startling Masashi, deep in thought, from his pondering. The following Saturday Masashi had taken Yama on a collecting trip and from there, Yama's father, feeling Yama's interest in biology, had asked Masashi if Yama might assist him on weekends. Masashi had liked the idea and had taken Yama under wing. Yama spent every moment he could at the laboratory. He loved it.
Things had been wonderful in those years. Yama had exploded under the wonder of Palau and its exquisite environment. Excelling in school, Yama had taken a fancy to the skills of his Palauan peers. They could climb coconut and betelnut trees; throw spears and dive to catch fish; set snares to catch chickens; and roam around in bare feet like monkeys. He was impressed with their natural ability and, unlike most of the other Japanese children, made every effort to integrate and seek out their friendship. In doing so, he had learned many tricks.
It was that last year in Palau that had been so good for him. Tenth grade, a grade ahead of the rest. He had advanced so quickly school officials jumped him up a year. After that summer, the first day of school brought him into the classroom in shorts and smock. He was tall and lanky for fourteen, and he looked serious and handsome. His Japanese peers admired him and his Palauan classmates respected him for learning their ways, even under the suppressive atmosphere of the Japanese instructors. And Suria loved him.
Suria. From Ngerbeched, a village in central Koror which encompassed the biology laboratory and bordered the channel into Iwayama Bay. Suria; her thick black hair, deep brown eyes, and high cheek bones setting her face into an exhilarating array of spectacular expressions. Yama had resisted staring as long as possible, but he had never seen such beauty, anywhere.
They were on a field trip down to the mangrove swamp behind the school. Walking down the path, Suria had come beside him and taken his arm. "Come with me," she had whispered in his ear. And he had followed. His friend had hissed at the two as they stole away into the jungle.
"Where are we going," he asked, embarrassed at being whisked away so easily by this Palauan beauty.
"Shhh. Just follow," she said.
They made their way through the tall trees and into a small clearing adjacent to a cave. "This is where we take shelter from typhoons," she explained in broken Japanese. She reached up and pulled down a pandanus mat from an overhang. The cave was not large, but large enough to stand in and to accommodate about six people. She spread the mat and sat down. Yama stood shaking, embarrassed by his shyness, and ashamed at ditching class. "Sit down," she beckoned.
His brain tried to figure a way out, but it would not function. "We must go," he squeaked, peering down at the protrusions in her white blouse. Wilting, he sat down next to her. "What will the teacher think," he added, realizing he was into something big, bigger than anything he had ever imagined, or so it seemed.
"Never mind sensei," she said pulling him next to her. He felt the crush of her breasts against his arm as she pulled it across her thighs so that he sat leaning partially across her. Rubbing her breasts against him in the reduced light, she reached over and caressed his thigh, sending a lightning bolt into his groin. Then her fingers massaged his stiffness, causing him to tremble. She pulled her dress up, slipped off her underpants and lay back, pulling him on top of her. "Now," she whispered. The joyful experience made him forget sensei, school, and all other things.
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Suddenly Yama was a man. His father had noticed the change, and perhaps his mother as well. No longer the tall gawking youngster who walked with a lurch as if to fall down, now he strutted, embodied with pride. He had Suria, in every way. "You are obsessed by that girl," his father had warned. "It is not good for you to mingle with the Palauans." Upset, his father had harped at him continually but with little effect. He was indeed obsessed.
They had met everyday after school since that first time, going into the forest down by the channel, to the same cave, to do the same thing. While Yama worked with Masashi on Saturdays, Sunday afternoons he would walk down to the cave and meet Suria for several hours of frolicking and love making in the humid air within the cave. Then they would walk the trail to the shore and swim, and embrace, and swim. Young lovers.
Then suddenly it was over. War. Summoned to Japan, Yama's father had gathered his family, and boarded a transport ship. Suria, in short dress and white blouse, her long black hair flowing across her shoulders, had stood on the dock waving as the ship eased off, her huge brown eyes full of tears, her face radiating a rosy, lustrous sheen Yama had never seen before. It made him cry, again, as he had every night for a week. He could never live without her. He would die, he knew, before he could return.
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In Japan, Yama continued his schooling. It was hard at first, to forget Suria and Palau. But his grades remained excellent and his teachers found him extremely focused. Meanwhile, his father had gone out to the Pacific to fight the Americans. Before leaving, his father had given him a samurai sword as a token of fortune and luck. Yama was seventeen when he had received word of his father's demise over Guam. He had watched his mother cry a short while, then had run down to a recruiting station to join the Air Corps. In the spring, after he had completed his schooling, Yama kissed his mother goodbye and headed north towards Nagano and the Air Corps Academe. There he had excelled and was made into an instructor. The war was taking heavy tolls on the Japanese and more and more young pilots were flying to their deaths against the highly skilled American pilots. The Americans had trammeled through Micronesia and now lay stationed on the western flank, not far from Japan. When Yama heard about the bloodletting on Peleliu in southern Palau, he had pleaded with his superior to let him join the battle. "I will see," came the reply.
The following week Yama flew his aircraft to a rendezvous with the carrier Toku southeast of Okinawa. Barely able to find the ship in the inclement weather that accompanied him on the three hour flight, he bounced the Zeke twice before finally settling down on the short, narrow flight deck. After crawling out of his aircraft and crossing the pitching deck on spindly legs, he had vomited at the entrance to flight quarters, a victim of sea sickness. Later, the Captain had taken Yama's courier pouch remarking that Yama looked rather "green." Yama's only solace was that he would be leaving in two days to deliver the pouch to the Commander of Palau. And then, perhaps, he would be with Suria once again.

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3
Now he was drowning. Saltwater flooded his mouth and nose. He coughed and spit, then opened his eyes to peer into total blackness. His right arm throbbed above the elbow where the bullet had torn through. The incoming tide lapped at his chest and neck and the wind sent chop over his face. He lay on the sand panting, weak and fatigued and cold. Yama struggled over on his side and inched his way higher on the beach. He let out a moan as his right arm trailed along on the sand, now a useless appendage with a hole in it. Or was it a hole? The bullet had missed his artery else he would be dead from loss of blood. He peered down at his bicep but in the darkness could see nothing through his shirt sleeve. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he pushed off with his left arm and rolled onto his knees. Grasping his arm, he stood, wobbled, then stumbled up the beach towards the strand vegetation bordering the limestone island. Yama knew exactly where he was for he had been here with Masashi, collecting snakes. He headed into the dark foliage and knelt down at the base of the undercut beneath the limestone slope of the island. As he crawled beneath the overhang and lay down he could only think of sleep. Once again he drifted off, this time into an euphoric dream.

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Suria. She caressed his cheeks with her soft hands while she whispered that he would be all right. Then, being careful not to hurt his arm, she gently pulled off his shirt and shredded it to make a bandage. She chewed the leaf of a certain plant and plastered the wound with it; then she wrapped it with his shirt. "You will heal," she said. He knew he would.
They had been out in these islands, the rock islands, on a secret rendezvous of sorts. The Japanese students had gone on a field trip and only several Palauan students had been allowed to accompany the group, to serve lunch. Suria had been one. Once on the island, this same island, they had slipped off, and Suria had led the way. Sprinting down the beach, invisible behind the thick strand, they had made their way to a spectacular beach tucked away and camouflaged by the beach shrubs skirting its flanks. Suria shed her blouse and dove off the beach into the deep turquoise water, rising ten feet out, her black hair pasted back along her temples. Yama stood looking out at her, stunned at her beauty once again. How could such a thing exist, he thought as he dove to approach her. Suria swam away towards the shore. Yama pumped his arms and flailed his legs frog-like to get to Suria. He surfaced, turned and saw her standing on the shore, her breasts tormenting him, her dark skin and white eyes inviting him. She ran into the bushes, Yama running after her, then falling, injuring his arm on a rock. Not to be deterred, he had jumped up and continued his hunt, finding her under the ledge of the rock island, lying in the humus and sand, waiting for him. And they made love. Down the beach, their classmates made fun and games.
Then they had slept. When Yama woke, he had walked down the beach to sneak a look at his classmates. They were eating lunch on banana leaves prepared by the other Palauan students. Yama broke into a sweat at the thought of Suria being punished for her absence. Then Suria had found the leaves and dressed his wound.

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Yama woke at first light, from the sound of birds, screeching, chirping, squawking. His right arm throbbed, indelible pain. He slowly turned, crawled from under the limestone ledge, and sat up, glancing around quickly. But there was no one, only he and this rock island. Groaning with pain, he brushed away the fine white sand from his face, then turned his attention to his wound. Easing out of his shirt, Yama released his shoulder harness holstering his pistol, and struggled out of it. The pistol, useless now with a 38 caliber hole in its casing, had undoubtedly saved his life. He examined his arm. The bullet had passed through his bicep, missing arteries and tendons, only taking out a bit of muscle. I will heal if only I can prevent infection, he thought. I must find the plant.
He walked to the shore and stood over his sword and flight kit. Rising from the ocean, the sun threw a line of glare across the lagoon and into his eyes. Already the temperature was climbing, heating the island into the chronic fever characteristic of tropical latitudes. Wading into the water, he washed his wound with the clear salt water, gently scrubbing it of sand with his good hand. It hurt.
When he was through, he tucked his sword under his arm and grasped his flight bag, then walked down the beach towards some dense vegetation and coconut trees. Finding a large green and brown coconut lying in the sand, he rolled it with his feet up the beach and into the shrubs where he lodged it against a limestone protrusion. Then he took the sword in his left hand and swung it hard down on the end of the nut being careful to avoid the rock. He hacked at the nut again and again until the end was pulverized. Sticking the sword into the chopped end, he etched out a hole. Clear fluid leaked out and he picked up the nut and sucked it dry. Then he positioned the nut on a piece of driftwood and swung the sword down hard, splitting open the coconut lengthwise. Yama sat down and placed the cleaved nut between his knees. From his flight kit, he retrieved his jackknife and cut out the soft slimy meat. It tasted delicious, better than anything he had ever tasted and he ate it all.
Yama knew of a cave in back of the shrubs which hid the base of the limestone island from view. Masashi had once taken him there to show him the bats which inhabited the cave. He walked behind the beach through the greenery, his feet crunching the dry branches and leaves matting the understory, his mind taking note of the neat pile of sticks marking the nest of a megapod, a chicken-like bird confined to the ground and building mammoth nests of organic material in the strand. As he approached the cave opening, several small bats flurried out, disturbed from their nocturnal naps. Yama bent down and peeked inside, then waddled in, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. This will do for now, he thought as he surveyed the cave. He placed his little box on the floor by the entrance and gently eased the courier pouch from his chest and shoulders. Then he took his sword back outside and cut several leaves from a young coconut tree and laid them down on the floor of the cave. With his house in order, Yama went out again in search of the leaf, the medicine which would make his arm heal. He found the plant growing from the side of the limestone just above his head. He picked some leaves and took them into the cave. Sitting down, he placed two leaves into his mouth and chewed. The bitterness made him gag and he spit the leaves into his hand. How can I do this, he thought. Then he remembered why he was doing it, because Suria had done it for him and it had worked, worked wonderfully. Forcing himself, he chewed the leaves into a pulp, packed them over his wound, and wrapped and bound it with strips of coconut leaf. The dressing relieved some of the pain but the lingering bitterness in his mouth drove him back outside where he cracked another coconut and drank its yield. Yama, suddenly tired again, slipped back into the cave, laid down, and slept.
A great rumbling woke him from his sleep. He sat up, his arm sending a shock-like stab of pain through him, and crawled out into the evening air. Looking out to the east he recognized the stocky silhouettes of three Hellcats several hundred feet above the sea, droning their way towards Malakal. They must be coming from Peleliu, he thought. The planes disappeared behind the island and he stood up and waited. The faint pops of the Japanese ak ak gun sounded over the island. Yama picked his way through the undergrowth to the edge of the limestone and began walking along its edge. He came upon a steep gully full of fallen leaves and humus and made his way up through the dense green shrubs towards the summit several hundred feet up. When he reached the plateau he was unable to see anything because the trees and bush blocked his view. But he could hear. And he heard the bombs explode, and then the ak ak could not be heard. Above the tops of the shrubs, gray-black smoke reached up from the peak of Malakal towards the heavens.
Yama turned and eased his way down the corridor, being careful to avoid the sharp labyrinthine limestone on each side of him. God made this limestone to forbid man's intrusion, he thought. My boots will soon wear out. I must find something for my feet.
When he reached the beach and waded into the cool clear water, he felt much better, even with the thought of his comrades being blown to bits along with the ak ak on top of that little hill on Malakal. The evening air brought a coolness, a gentle on-shore breeze that complimented the eminence of this little spot in the Pacific. War or not, Palau was the most amazing place Yama had ever experienced, both in its biology and sheer beauty. As he lay his head back wetting his hair, he felt a sensation of being in love, again, with Suria, in these islands.
The next morning, Yama woke at sunrise. He had a fever, he knew, but he also realized he must get organized, to eat, to map out his course of action, to explore the island, discover resources. The fever had sapped his strength and he crawled weakly outside into the sunlight. The brightness burned his eyes, making him squint. With his sword he cracked a coconut and drank and ate its contents. Then he carefully unwound his bandage and repacked his wound with the chewed medicine leaves. This left him exhausted and he curled up under a shrub and fell into sleep.
But Yama was strong, both physically and mentally. Yama's routine--sleep, eat, sleep, eat, enabled him to fight the infection and the fever. His doctrine told him he must survive. God had sent him here, back to Palau to deliver the message to his comrades: That they, as he, must never surrender to the enemy. Never. And in the back of his mind, Suria lingered. He loved Suria, and Palau. And Japan.

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On Peleliu, not many miles to the south, the business of war seemed somewhat absurd. The Americans had all but taken Palau with the occupation of Angaur and Peleliu. They needed only to wait out the main forces on Koror, pinch off their supplies, and strafe them now and then to keep them tense. They had already silenced the enemy's two main ak ak guns. But on Peleliu, the Japanese had entrenched in a limestone hillside known to the Americans who fought there as Bloody Nose Ridge. The initial battle on this hill had cost many American lives. So rooted were the remaining Japanese in the tunnels and caves along the ridge that the Americans had resorted to air sorties to bomb them out. The Hellcats and Corsairs would lift off from the runway, bank over the ridge and drop their loads, then land again, all without retracting their wheels. The Americans would get them out. They would level the entire hill if need be.

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Yama knelt in the sand at the edge of the calm blue water watching intently. His arm lay stationed over his head, sword in hand. He chewed noisily, then blew out the masticated coconut into the water where a school of jacks swam in circles. They charged the surface to ingest the coconut particles and Yama swung the sword down hard, cutting a foot-long jack behind its head. Yama jumped in and grabbed the injured fish behind the tail then stumbled backwards and sat down in the sand. His injured right arm was getting stronger and he could use his hand to hold the slippery fish across his legs. With his good arm, he pinched thumb and forefinger into the fishes eyes, lifted it to his mouth and crushed its brain with his teeth, an old trick his Palauan friends had taught him. The fish stiffened and shook, then relaxed in death. With his pocket knife, Yama cut strips of flesh from the fish, gobbling each piece down like a hungry dog. Far off to the south came the rumblings of explosions as the Americans continued their assault on Bloody Nose Ridge. Yama sensed the demise of his Japanese comrades. Looking out eastward through the channel he could see the masts of several ships on the horizon and he knew they were American, waiting to slip into Koror's deep harbor. Yama squinted into the sun's glare while he considered all this. It is only a matter of time, he thought, before they come for me. I must prepare. He finished his fish, threw the bones to the sharks, then walked up the beach to his cave to don his boots for a journey into the interior of the island, across dangerous limestone projections which would otherwise rip his feet to shreds.
Yama had been on the island for two weeks, three weeks? He was unsure, but he knew he must find fresh water, not only for drink and hygiene, but for rinsing his boots, sword, and pocket knife to preserve them from the corrosive effects of salt water. These resources were the most important things he had. He made his way up into a crevice near his cave, squeezing through the narrow entrance, being careful to avoid the sharp projections etched and formed from thousands of years of rainwater erosion. He followed the crevice to the summit where it flattened and opened into a lush limestone forest of green shrubs, so thick as to be almost impenetrable. Not even the Palauans have been here, he thought.
Yama veered off into another crevice-like formation running down beneath the overhanging understory, its bottom lined with humus from the vegetation and providing a nice cushion for his knees as he crawled through. After about a hundred feet, the crevice opened into a cave. Yama stuck his head down and peered into the darkness. He heard dripping sounds and twisted his head. From the cave's overhang water percolated down into a pool below. Yama eased his way down feet first and felt the coolness of water envelope his ankles and flood his boots. Hitting bottom at about waist deep, he sat on his haunches and brought a handful of the clear liquid to his lips. Then he gulped the cool sweet water and splashed it over his entire body. As his eyes got accustomed to the darkness, he saw that he sat in a small pool which seemed relatively free from decaying vegetation. He reached down to the bottom and drew up this water to taste its salt. "It must be salty," he whispered. But it was not. The pure water entering from the watershed above kept the salt water from entering through the porous limestone bottom of the pond. This is heaven, he thought, the discovery elating him.

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Smoke flowed freely from the stack as the ship slipped along parallel to the barrier reef, easing towards Malakal Channel. Angled out over her stern, the stars and stripes flowed out in the gentle breeze. Sitting atop a flattened pandanus tree overlooking the eastern Pacific, Yama agonized over the scene. It had been several weeks since the bombing in distant Peleliu had ended. The Japanese resistance was over, he knew, and soon the Americans would be coming for him. Everyday American Corsairs and Hellcats flew over his island, intimidating, threatening. But he would not surrender to these pigs. His doctrine had been well instilled. And besides, his genetic makeup precluded surrender. He was, after all, Japanese.

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4
The sun shone high in the sky, baking down on the fine white sand that Yama walked on. His wound had healed nicely and much of his strength had returned to his arm. His black hair had grown shoulder-length and a course black beard covered his lower face. A remnant of his uniform shirt hung in shreds from his shoulders, his pants now only shorts and without buttons. Soon he would be naked he knew. He had stashed away his boots in the cave, only using them to traverse the limestone on his daily visit to the well. Carrying a sharpened length of bamboo he had found on the beach, Yama walked slowly and carefully on callused feet, watching through squinted eyes the glaring aqua-green water for movement. He stopped suddenly and looked up the beach towards the end of the island. The unmistakable rumble of a diesel engine flooded his ears and he burst for the strand vegetation several meters away just as the navy launch appeared from behind the island. Yama's heart pounded wildly and he panted as he lay peering out through the undercover. The launch turned towards the reef, stretching out southward from the island, and headed towards Yama's downed Zeke, its tail jutting up from the surface and clearly visible in this tide. In the launch were two Palauans clad in thu and two bare backed Americans in long trousers. The boat eased up to the Zeke and the one of the Americans, perched on the bow, dropped anchor.
"Looks like a Zero," he said. "Wonder how long its been here?"
“I dunno but betcha there's a dead Jap in there," said the other.
The two Palauans, their dark skin shining in the sun, looked at one another through widened eyes. One of them looked over the side of the launch as if to verify the existence of a body in the airplane. The two Americans watched the Palauans jabbering back and forth in their language, apparently arguing over who would dive on the Zero. Finally one of the Americans fitted goggles and jumped overboard. Moments later he raised his head and shouted: "Hey, there's no one inside the plane, not even a skeleton." With that the two Palauans jumped in for a look.
Crouching low, Yama made his way up through the understory for a better view at the goings on. He wondered why they would bother diving on a wrecked airplane. Must be hunting for souvenirs, he thought. I must prepare to fight if they come ashore for me. He slipped back to his cave and grabbed his sword, then crawled up a narrow crevice in the limestone cliff and lodged himself between several pandanus plants where he could watch without being seen.
Soon he saw the launch ease onto the beach where the occupants jumped onto the sand. "Coconuts," one American said to the Palauans. Understanding, the Palauans headed towards Yama with the Americans following. Yama gripped his sword and lowered his head behind some leaves. His heart raced and he broke into a sweat. Just below him a Palauan surveyed a coconut tree, then shimmied up its trunk to the crown. With his bush knife, he dropped several bunches, then back-pedaled down. On the sand, the Palauans whacked off the ends of several nuts and gave them to the Americans to drink. "Looks like someone else has been here," said one American pointing to a nearby pile of spent coconuts beside a log and sparking the two islanders to again converse in hurried Palauan. The four walked over to the log, then searched around for other indications of previous activities. The two Palauans made their way into the underbrush following some tracks, reappearing several minutes later, each carrying a boot. Yama stiffened as he watched the Americans examine them. His boots represented a very important resource for him and he could ill afford to lose them. He contemplated attacking the intruders below him. I can retrieve my boots as well as get their clothing and the knife. Then there is the boat. I can move about. His hand tightened around the sword's handle as he readied for combat. But the Americans tossed the boots onto the sand, turned, and walked off towards the boat, the Palauans following. Like the American soldiers in front of them, but for quite different reasons, the two islanders were uninterested in a pair of combat boots, Japanese or American.
The foursome boarded the boat and pushed off with a bamboo pole, sending the boat drifting back into deeper water where the diesel roared to life. "I wonder if those boots belonged to the Japanese pilot," asked one of the Americans.
The other shrugged. "Maybe," he answered, but they ain't doing him no good now. He's dead."
The two Palauans looked at each other and raised their eyebrows while the launch chugged out across the brilliant reef, past the tail of the Zeke, and into the choppy sea.

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The sun scorched overhead as Yama made his way down the west side of the island to a grotto he had discovered. He carried two spines he had taken from the dorsal fins of a dead deep water species of shark he had discovered washed up on the beach. The entrance to the grotto was well hidden by shrubs and so small Yama had to crawl into it. Once inside, Yama slipped down a humus slide several feet to solid footing. Bats, disturbed by Yama's intrusion, flew off and blitzed around the spaciousness of the grotto. From high above, through a prominent crack in the overlying limestone ceiling, light radiated through, enough light to allow faint visibility. The expansive grotto could have housed several Zeros. Yama crawled over the boulders to the limestone terrace abutting the water's edge. Looking down through the clear blueness of the water, Yama could see the bright outline of an opening to the outside, perhaps 30 feet deep. Yama had hidden his things here for fear of someone finding the cave. He often slept in the cave on the beach but at least he knew his belongings would be safer in the grotto.
Yama opened his flight kit and took out two small wooden plugs he had fashioned from the branch of an ironwood tree, honing the tiny plugs on a rough rock to fit the round hollow of a bamboo. In the center of each plug he had reamed out a small hole. He put a drop of tacky sap from the ironwood tree into each hole, then carefully fitted the spines into the plugs. Satisfied with their quality, he carried the bamboo, darts, and flight kit back down to the beach. In the sun, the shark's liver lay baking on a piece of tin Yama had found partially buried in the sand. Oil dribbled down the sloped piece of metal and dripped into half a coconut shell. Yama wrapped a length of cloth he tore from his thu around the end of the rib of a coconut leaf, dipped it into the oil, and ran it through the bamboo to lubricate it. Then he oiled the plugs of each dart. Tonight I shall feast, he thought, his mouth salivating with the thought. From his flight kit, Yama took out a small metal capsule from which he retrieved one of only several remaining matches. He rarely made a fire, fearing it might attract attention, and ate most things raw. But now, having finally found the shark spines for his darts, he could shoot pigeons or sea birds. And tonight he would celebrate by roasting his catch. He made his way to the back of the beach near the rock island, struck the match on a rock, and lit his fire.
Yama had collected venom from several mengerenger, storing it in a small pill vile inside his kit. He opened the lid and dipped one dart's spine into the clear liquid, the fluid drawing into the spine's tunnel by capillary action. Long ago his Palauan friends had shown him how to hunt with the weapon of their ancestors, the blow gun. The young Palauans had shot down birds from extreme distances even without the use of poison. Yama knew he had a better chance of catching birds using the snake venom because of his inexperience with blow guns. His old friend, Yamaguchi, had once told him that heat detoxified the snake's poison so he worried little about ingesting it as long as his prey was cooked.
Yama walked along the edge of the rock island looking up into the shrubs protruding over the edge of the overhang. He heard the unmistakable “cooing” of pigeons. Carefully he put the gun to his lips and aimed up at a bird sitting several feet in front of him. He puffed his cheeks and blew with all his might, sending the tiny dart flying. The pigeon flew up, then dropped down into the sand below flapping uselessly. Yama carefully pulled the dart from the bird's neck, then dipped it again in the venom. He had one bird, but he wanted more game for his feast and he headed towards a pandanus tree down the beach. As he approached, he saw two fruit bats alight in the tree. He crouched down and crawled beneath the rock island overhang until he was only yards away from a bat hanging upside down. Yama blew with all his might, sticking the dart firmly in the bat's chest. Several seconds later it fell to the sand with a distinct thump. Yama cleaned the pigeon and bat in the water and took them to the fire. He roasted the pigeon on a stick and tore at the flesh with his teeth, tossing the bones into a pile which might attract coconut crabs for tomorrows dinner. Then Yama skewered the bat. The fox-like head of the fruit bat hung from the stick, its little ears curling up with the heat. Yama stared at it, watching the fur singe off its body. He held it up and smiled, his eyes sparkling, the fire lighting up his thin face and long black beard. Then he placed the head of the creature into his mouth and chewed.

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5
Moko and Tewid shuffled back and forth from the pong pong (boat) dragging stringers of big husky 50 pound parrot fish they had speared during the night. Finally, they sat on their haunches on the shoreline to begin the tedious job of gutting and beheading the fish. The early morning coolness in this little cove would be prolonged while the island behind them blocked the torrid rays of the rising sun. They had worked hard to spear the thousand pounds of fish they now cleaned and repacked in the ice chest, and they felt exhausted. Tewid threw in the last fish and closed the lid on the chest. "Olei," (friend) he said to Moko, "lets go take a rest beneath the coconuts before we travel to Koror. I am too tired now to make the trip."
"Chochoi," (yes) "I'm tired as well," replied Moko.
The two Palauans, their dark backs lean and muscular from the rigors of diving, walked back near the rock island into the understory which offered protection from the sun which would soon throw its rays down on their side of the island. They cut coconut fronds and laid them out into a mat covering the sand and leaves. Within minutes both lay snoring in the shade of the coconut trees and the underlying bush.

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Yama adjusted his thu as he watched the activity below him and down the beach. His only clothing was the torn and bleached-out piece of cloth he had discovered recently in the cove near the end of the island where the men now slept, a place where the swift waters of the channel formed eddies which continually deposited flotsam on the beach within the small cove. The cove had been a treasure chest for Yama in his struggle for survival and he checked it every day as part of his routine. Lately, however, he had found nothing of value on the little beach, only driftwood and several glass balls. But now a tremendous treasure awaited him. A boat, and whatever it held.
Yama eased himself down the furrow of the limestone ledge and onto the sand. He could hear snoring in the jungle off to his right. Dropping onto all fours, he crawled across the sand and slipped into the bay, his lengthy, thick, black beard soaking up the water like a sponge. The offal from the fish which the Palauans had thrown into the water had attracted a number of blacktip sharks but Yama was unconcerned. His only thought was to get to the boat and steal what he could. Silently, Yama breast stroked his way towards the boat which lay anchored a short distance offshore, lest the boat ground in the receding tide. He glided along easily, watching the sharks' glistening dorsal fins slice the water in front of him as they careened up and down, in and out, feasting on parrot fish heads and guts. Soon I shall have my meal, Yama thought.
He reached the stern of the pong pong and peeked around the transom to see who might be up and around on the beach. Satisfied the two fishermen still slept, he stood on the rudder and pulled himself up and over the transom into the cockpit behind the cabin. His eyes lit up--at his feet were two spearguns, the weapons used by the two fishermen to slay the big fish while they slept in their cocoons of mucus. Yama stooped and stepped inside the dark little box-like cabin, his eyes adjusting slowly in the reduced light. On the dirty bare wooden floor he saw an old, rusty kerosene stove. Scattered around were several flashlights encased in old innertubes. Useless, thought Yama. But there were other items as well. He grabbed a rice bag and stuffed some clothing inside. In one corner he found a small box with cans of food. He threw them all into the bag. Then he grabbed a half-full pot of cooked rice, an old rusty butcher knife, and a sharpening stone and put them into the bag. Nothing else of value, he thought, his mind racing as he stepped out into the brightness and peered onto the beach looking for activity. He tied the bag shut with some old rope, then picked up a speargun. With his hands full, he carefully stepped over the transom, feeling out the rudder with his foot. Then he lowered the bag into the water and lay back, slowly stroking with one arm along the beach towards his point of entry. His heavy bag made him struggle to clear his head, the short chop of the morning wind sending water into his nose and causing him to cough. No, not now, he prayed, fearing he would wake the Palauans. But they slept deeply, only their snoring and the shrill shrieking of a parrot high up in the palms breaking the serenity of the rock island environment.
Moko woke and shook Tewid. The sun had reached its zenith and now arched westward. The two men waded into the water and climbed aboard the boat. Tewid bent over and stepped forward through the cabin and down a step into the engine compartment. He engaged the cranking handle onto the huge flywheel of the Yanmar, flipped open the two valve levers, and cranked, slowly at first, then faster and faster as the heavy flywheel gained momentum and torque. He released one hand from the crank and flipped the valves closed. "Pow, Put...put..put.put put put," the old two cylinder diesel gasped to life, billowing smoke from the exhaust stack. Moko pulled the boat forward on the anchor line and hoisted the anchor, a rusty crankshaft from a defunct Yanmar engine. Sitting on the gunwale behind the cabin, Tewid guided the boat forward and around into the channel, controlling the rudder with a long bamboo pole attached to a metal rod welded to the rudder. Still sleepy, Moko walked back to the cockpit and sat down. He reached down for his tet (pouch) and retrieved a betelnut. Carefully he wiped it on his thu, then cracked it open with his prominent front teeth. He dropped half the nut back into his tet, then sprinkled the other half with lime from a Kirin beer can with a hole in the bottom, the top covered with heavy paper and seized with senet. Reaching back into his tet, he brought out gabui (pepper leaf) and wrapped up the nut. He popped it into his mouth and chewed, moments later turning outboard and spitting out a big glob of red saliva, the red gush dissipating into the ocean on impact. Looking over at Tewid, he suddenly realized something was amiss. "Alii!" (danger) he shouted to Tewid who was blissfully chewing on his own nut.
Tewid turned towards Moko. "What?" he asked.
"My speargun is gone," replied Moko. "Turn around, I must have left it on the beach." Tewid made a full circle and they cruised back into the bay and eased onto the beach. Moko jumped ashore and ran into the bush where the two men had napped. He found no trace of his gun. He thought, where could it have gone? He yelled to Tewid to check the boat.
"I cannot find it," came the reply. "But other things are also missing."
Moko ran to the boat and conversed in hurried Palauan with Tewid. "But I see no signs," said Moko. "No one was on the beach."
"Lets get off this place," suggested Tewid, a glint of terror in his eyes. "Deleb," (ghost) he clarified. Bewildered by the missing items, they backed off the beach and once again headed to sea. Such things did not happen in Palau.

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From a perch in a Pandanus tree high on the ridge of the rock island, Yama watched the pong pong angle away towards the lighthouse and the channel into Malakal and Koror. They will not come back, he thought with glee. His angular face broke into a smile and he eased down the Pandanus being careful to avoid the sharp, serrated leaves. The bottoms of his feet had long ago callused into leather but the treacherous limestone held little respect for leather. Yama, barefoot, walked gingerly through the dense understory.
Yama went to the fresh water well and bathed. Then he took several canned items he had stolen down to the beach. He took off his thu, tied it around his feet, and inched his way up a coconut tree where he twisted off a bundle of nuts and dropped them to the sand below. Yama eased down the tree and sat in the sand with his nuts and canned goods, delicacies he had not tasted in how many months? Years? He placed the sharpening stone on a piece of driftwood and stroked the rusty butcher knife across it. This stone is my most valued possession, other than my sword, he thought. With this I can keep my sword sharp as well as this knife and my spear. I am a lucky man.
The sun, already behind the island and dropping into the ocean, cast a reddish glow into the cumulus clouds lying off the coast to the east. Yama ran the knife over the stone one last time, then felt the edge with his finger. He took a green coconut, cut the end off and drank. His stomach groaned in painful anticipation of the consume' it longed to digest. Yama salivated as he pounded the knife's handle, driving the blade into the top of the can. He ratcheted the knife, cutting through the top of the can until oil spilled over. Putting the can to his lips, he sucked at the oil. The canned tuna was a miracle in his mouth and he swirled his tongue, savoring the flavor. Then he split open a coconut and cut the meat into strips by running his knife along the shell's curvature at an angle. He ate in gulps, chewing, slurping coconut juice, eating like a starved man until it was gone. Satiated, Yama licked his mustache and smiled, his cheeks wide with satisfaction. Then he lay back in the sand and closed his eyes. Just beyond his feet, the ocean lapped gently on the sand. Yama drifted off, into another dream of years before, of his journey into manhood. He rolled over and over, then suddenly jumped up. In the darkness, Yama stood on the beach, the fine white sand clinging to his damp skin, across his forehead and face, down his arms and legs, making him ghost-like, the ghost of Urukthapel. He took deep breaths and let out a long, shrill scream. He screamed again, and again and again. Then he charged into the water and thrashed about, cleansing himself.

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6
Ron Bishop parked the new 1964 government pickup in front of the white stucco building. He walked up the three concrete steps and into the cramped little Marine Resources Office just as a cheerful Naomi popped a betelnut into her mouth. "Morning Naomi," he offered, side stepping his muscular body between her desk and a stack of files which had been building up on the floor over the months.
"Ungil tutau," (good morning) she said.
"We've got to get another filing cabinet," Ron remarked, "but God only knows where we'd put it."
"Chochoi," Naomi answered, then spit a red glob of saliva into a Kirin can. Ron sat down behind his desk, itself half hidden behind piles of paper on the floor and on chairs. The big air conditioner droned on, cooling the tiny office as the early morning sun rose outside to begin the day's heat.

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It was 7:30 am and Kevin banged on Zee's door. "Get up you slob!" he yelled.
Zee rolled over and jumped up from his sleeping mat of woven pandanus. "Begis," he said to his sleepy katoo, (casual girlfriend) a dark young girl from the village down the road.
"We're late for work again," Kevin emphasized. He looked at Anton and felt that pang, the rush of love, the feeling of never wanting to leave her. Patting her on the behind, he smiled into her bright dark eyes as they stepped outside. Lust, he thought. Palau is full of lust.
Zee and his girlfriend walked out and the four of them made their way up the trail to the road. Custom dictated that boys escort girls back to their village. Only this was usually done just before sunrise so no one would notice. It was a disparate custom in Palau. Of course everyone observed the escorting, just before sunrise or not. It didn't matter in Palau, when you did it, or with whom. Everyone knew, and that was that.
But they had visited the Boom Boom Room last night, dancing with vigor, drinking a little too much, and carousing too late. Now they both faced a tongue lashing from their bosses. "Lets give them money for a taxi and get the hell down to fisheries," Kevin suggested, fearful of Ron Bishop's wrath.
"Okay," said Zee.
Kevin gave Anton a dollar. "See you tonight," he said, wanting to kiss her pretty face but knowing that was taboo. The two men walked down the road towards Malakal, about two miles distant. Shortly they flagged down a Public Works truck heading their direction.
At fisheries, they sprinted in their respective directions, Kevin to the Fisheries Office and Zee across the dirt roadway to the open-air screened-in building which served as Conservation headquarters. Zee's boss, Obai, an older rubak (respected elder) worked under Ron as head of Conservation.
Kevin ran into Ron's office and grinned at Naomi, Ron's attractive young secretary. Naomi smiled, then teased: "Kev iin! Where have you beeen?"
Ron looked up from his desk, his thick neck and handsome face radiating a Palauan stigma, that infatuation with the place. "Yeah, Kevin, where have you beeen?" He chuckled and looked back at his papers.
Naomi studied Kevin, then commented out loud: "He's been out late again, eh Kevin?"
"Okay, okay," Kevin said. "I'm a bad boy. So what's new?" Ron sat back in his chair and studied the shirtless lean young man standing in front of him. "You know," he said. "I used to be just like you when I was your age--only a lot better looking."
Kevin blinked. "Yeah, I'll bet," he replied.
"Well," Ron went on, "why don't you and Zee go out and catch some turtle hatchlings. Obai is sick and God only knows when he'll be back. He told me today is the day for several nests over on those beaches on Urukthapel."
Kevin smiled. "Sounds like fun to me," he said.
Kevin walked across the roadway to the Palau Fisherman's Coop where Zee sat in an old rusty folding chair, his large bare feet perched up on a flimsy wooden table in front of him. "Obai is not here," Zee announced with a grin.
"Lucky you," replied Kevin. "Let's go. Ron wants us to take the boat out to Urukthapel and get some hatchlings."
Dressed only in cutoffs, they walked down the dirt road and over to the Boatyard, Peace Corps Volunteer Kevin with a thick head of blond hair and native Zee with a six foot-one frame supporting a thin muscular physique and an extremely handsome face. Every girl in Palau longed to lay on Zee's mat.
"Obai is afraid of that island," Zee said as they reached the Conservation boat moored beneath the old Peace Corps Fisheries training dormitory. Kevin uncleated the bow line. "And why's that?" he asked. Zee pushed the start button and the Mercruiser revved to life. They eased out from under the dorm and turned west towards the channel while Zee elaborated on Obai's fear of Urukthapel.
"He said deleb (ghost) threw stones at him and Becky one night while they sat eating on the beach. He said when they threw the bones of the fish on the fire, rocks came down, from above, from high up on the rock island."
"Yeah," said Kevin. "You believe that?"
"Well," Zee chuckled nervously, "I know Obai is afraid of deleb, but I know, too, of deleb. Maybe deleb is there now, on Urukthapel."
Kevin smiled. "Lets go," he said.
The twenty-foot Conservation boat, with its small cabin, was the fastest in Palau. Its inboard, six-cylinder engine easily pushed the boat along at 30 knots. Obai usually kept Zee busy cleaning and maintaining the boat, rarely letting Zee pilot it. Now Zee had his freedom and he throttled down, sending the sleek boat into a plane across the three-mile stretch of calm blue ocean between the lighthouse and Urukthapel.
A few minutes later they reached the barrier reef off the southeast side of Urukthapel. Zee turned to starboard and throttled back, laying the boat down in the water, while Kevin looked behind at the incoming waves. "Its okay Zee, the waves are small," he said as they idled over the reef slope and onto the reef, the waves gently pushing the boat into a broad broach causing Zee to crank the wheel hard to port. They cruised on over the reef towards the lagoon, Zee pulling back on the throttle when they reached the Japanese Zero, its tail sticking up through the surface. They looked into the crystal clear water at the aircraft laying flat on the reef six feet below. Around the perimeter of the still-silver wings, schools of brilliant blue damselfish hovered over brown, green, and blue corals.
"Obai says this Zero was shot down by the Americans," Zee explained. "Obai told me when chad er a ngebard (Americans) took Koror from the Japanese, he brought two chad er a ngebard to this place to look. They never find the pilot, only the plane with the bubble open."
"What happened to the pilot?"
Zee shrugged. "Maybe the sharks got him." He chuckled with his hand over his mouth.
"Maybe deleb is really the pilot of this airplane," Kevin surmised. "Did they ever find the body, or bones?"
"I don't know. But deleb is not a man. Deleb is deleb," Zee said with finality.
They glided over the reef and beached the boat on a broad expanse of sand in a small cove. A large school of sardines, like a gray cloud, hung just off the beach, individual fish giving off intermittent flashes of silver. "Should have brought my throw net," Zee noted. "The nests are over there." He pointed towards the back portion of the beach.
As they walked up the beach, Zee suddenly stopped. "What was that," he said? They walked towards the sound in the understory. Zee said, "no one comes here; only Obai and myself to check for turtles." Zee bent down and pointed out foot prints in the damp sand. "Someone has been around."
"Maybe deleb," Kevin laughed.
They turned and walked back to the turtle site. Several baby turtles struggled through the sand from one of the nests, heading for the lagoon and freedom. Kevin picked them up and placed them into a wet rice bag. They waited until the struggling hatchlings crawled from the nest, collecting them as they did. Then Zee said: "Hey Kevin, wait for me. I'm going up on the island and collect some pandanus for my sister. She wants to make a tet (purse)."
Zee climbed up on the side of the island through a trough nearby. He eased his way through the understory, being careful to avoid the sharp protrusions of the limestone. When he reached the pandanus tree, he noticed the ground beneath was quite matted, like people had been around. Zee stepped up on the rock ledge and climbed into the pandanus tree.
Yama peered out from the bush at the Palauan in his pandanus tree. He must be looking for me, Yama thought. He gently slid his blowgun through the shrubs, took a deep breath, then blew hard. His breath propelled the tiny dart across twenty feet of space, impaling it into Zee's leg. Zee yelled as he felt the pain. Unable to look down from his position, he flailed his arm, knocking out the dart. What is that, he thought, suddenly feeling cold and clammy. A fine line of cool sweat broke out across his forehead. Struggling, he eased himself down the trunk of the tree to solid footing. A sudden dizziness overtook him and he staggered down the trough to the beach and across the sand. I cannot see, he thought, dropping to his hands and knees. Kevin looked up from the nests and stared at Zee in the sand about 50 feet away. "What'ya doing?" he asked. No answer. "Hey Zee! What's up?" he asked again. Zee, on all fours, appeared to be looking down into the sand. Strange, Kevin thought, standing up. He walked over to Zee. "Hey, what the---?"
Zee looked up through distorted eyes. Saliva dribbled from his mouth and he gave off a soft moaning sound. His breath was labored. Then he collapsed face down into the sand.
Kevin's heart raced. Sweating, he dragged Zee across the beach, then struggled to lift the 170 pounder over the gunwale and into the boat. He started the engine and sped off over the reef, past the Zero, and back towards Koror.

---------------------------

7
Ron walked back and forth listening to Kevin tell his story. "And you don't know what happened to him?" he asked.
"No Ron. I didn't see anything, just Zee on the sand in distress."
A nurse came into the hallway and motioned for them to come into the room. They walked through the doorway and looked at Zee, covered in white, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. He took short labored breaths, even with the oxygen. A Palauan doctor stood over him.
"He is having trouble breathing," the doctor said. "His chest keeps spasmating. I cannot understand it. There are no signs of anything. Only a small puncture wound on his leg and a slight swelling. But that is all. Nothing to indicate this," he pointed towards Zee.
Zee, in a coma now, struggled for breath. Suddenly he tensed, arched his back, then relaxed, not breathing. A tiny trickle of red foam eased out from under the mask and rolled down Zee's chin. Quickly the nurse pulled open his smock. The doctor placed his stethoscope on Zee's latent chest and concentrated while his other hand grasped his wrist. Then he opened Zee's eye and shined a pocket light into the iris. He stood up straight. "I'm afraid he's dead," he said, matter-of-factly while the nurse covered Zee with the bed sheet.

-----------------------------

Kevin lay on his pandanus mat in sticky sweat. Through blurred eyes, he peered up at the geckos on the rafters. His head felt as if a hammer had pounded it. Since Zee’s death, he had been on a drunken odyssey. And he had, he knew, been with several sympathetic girls as well. He threw off his single sheet and yelled out for his Palauan sister. Then his eyes flooded with tears.
Glorian jumped from the main house, ran across the ground, and scooted into Kevin's little room. "Yea Kevin" she said, her third-grade knowledge of English a bit tentative.
"Glorian, please get me some food," he said.
"Okay, Kevin." Glorian ran out of the room, returning minutes later with a bowl of cold fish soup.
"Thanks Glorian. You're the greatest." Kevin slurped up the food. His stomach churned, in knots from the rum and lack of food.
After he had eaten and cleaned up, Kevin walked down to the village of Ngerbeched to see Anton. It had rained during the night and he dodged the random puddles in the dirt road, walking gingerly on his toes to prevent his thongs from flipping mud onto his calves. He arrived at the small Palauan house at about 1:30 and walked up to the open doorway. "Alii," (Hello) he said, hoping she was home from teaching school.
"Alii," came the reply. Anton walked across the hardwood floor and stopped at the edge of the wooden steps. Still in her Maris Stella teachers uniform, she looked older than usual; more dignified; more beautiful. "What do you want," she asked?
"You," he said.
"Go find your other girls. All you do now is drink. Go far, Kevin."
"Anton, I'm sorry for the way I've been,” he pleaded. “Zee's death has been too much for me. He was my best friend." "Why do you chase the other girls. You make a fool of me. Go now, before I get mad."
"Anton, I need you. I'll come back tomorrow in better shape, I promise you."
"No. I am going to the rock islands tomorrow and don't know when I will return. Stay away. Just leave me alone."
Kevin looked down at the trail and walked off. It's my own fault, he thought. She’s so good and I'm such a slob.
He walked out to the main road and hitched a ride down to fisheries. When he entered the office, Naomi let out a giggle. "Where have you beeen, Keviin?"
"Out to lunch," he replied, and walked into Ron's office where Obai sat across from Ron.
"Its about time you showed up," Ron said. "We were discussing Harson's death and all the other weird goings-on out there."
Obai fidgeted in his chair and scratched his bare knee. "Rocks came down from the side of mountain," he said. "We run away and hide. Next morning, no more food by fire. All gone."
Ron said: "Wasn't there something with some fishermen, several years ago? Didn't they run into something strange on Urukthapel? I can just remember hearing something about that."
"Yeah," Kevin said, sitting in a chair next to Obai. "Tewid and Moko. They stopped there to clean fish and they think someone, or maybe the ghost, stole some things from them, out of their boat. Moko told me about it. He said there was something strange about that island lately. They don't go there anymore."
Obai said: "Tewid thinks deleb, but I think deleb won't steal. Deleb has never steal all stories I know. Deleb only make trouble, and scare people."
"And what about the fisherman from Peleliu," Kevin said? "Zee told me about seven years ago a fisherman from Peleliu disappeared on his way to Koror. They never found his body but some spearfishermen found his sunken boat off Ngermediu, near the japanese zero."
Obai sat up. "Yes, it happened Pete. We look for him but we never find, remember?."
"Yeah, Obai, I remember. We all searched. I dove on the boat but nothing seemed out of place. We never did figure out why it sank in 150 feet of water outside the reef, except that-- the anchor wasn't set--but the plug--I remember, the plug was out. That was strange."
"Chochoi Ron, too much strange. Very strange. And now Zee. It shouldn't be. Something wrong that island," Obai said.
"Oh! And Ron," Kevin said. "I forgot to tell you. We found fresh tracks, footprints, in the sand near the turtle nests. Zee said no one goes there. Maybe there is someone there. Living there."
Obai stared at Kevin with wide eyes. "It is Deleb," he said.
Ron stood up and squared his broad shoulders. Turning, he looked out the window at Malakal Bay, the water lapping over the sea wall at the exceptional high tide. "Okay. Lets go out there tomorrow and have a look around. Obai, we'll take the conservation boat. Let's meet here at eight, sharp."

-----------------------------

The next morning they arrived at Urukthapel to find the school boat, Maris Stella anchored off the beach of Ngermediu. Kevin informed Ron and Obai about the school picnic as they motored in over the reef past the submerged Zero. Children frolicked in the water along the shore. They dropped anchor, waded ashore, and spoke briefly with several teachers weaving coconut fronds on the beach. Kevin looking around for Anton but did not see her. They walked west down around a rocky outcropping and back into a bay where they split up, Ron and Obai continuing on down the beach and Kevin going up a gorge on the rock island.
Anton pulled herself up and over a sharp limestone outcropping to reach the pandanus tree. She sweated in the hot, humid atmosphere of the late morning as she cut leaves from the trunk of the tree. Several yards beyond the tree, Yama watched from the dense understory. He breathed rapidly, both from fear and from the visual experience the beautiful young woman offered. Carefully he made his way closer, until he crouched just a few feet from her. Sensing his presence, Anton turned. Yama stood in front of her, frozen, his long beard hanging from his chin, his eyes wide open. A ragged thu covered his groin.
"Oh!" Anton yelped. Yama grabbed her and they fell to the soft humus beneath the tree. He wrestled the knife from her and covered her mouth with his hand. She struggled under his body. Yama placed the knife to her neck and pressed. She looked into his fierce face, at his flared nostrils and clenched teeth, and broke into a sob. Shaking and panting, Yama tore open her blouse, then hiked up her short dress. "Suria, Suria," he whispered.

--------------------------

Kevin eased his way up through the undergrowth, avoiding the jagged edges of limestone protruding from the sides of the narrow crevice he walked in. Strangely, he thought he heard voices, almost screams, higher up, but he could not be sure. Reaching the summit, he saw movement off to his left. Kevin turned and through the greenery saw a man receding over the edge. Obai? "Obai!" he yelled. But no answer came. Quickly Kevin made his way along the ridge towards his sighting. He stopped in front of a small cave partially covered with shrubs and stared into the blackness. Then he squeezed inside.
Yama reached the edge of the grotto and looked back up towards the opening where he could see the outline of a person silhouetted against the bright skyline. He grabbed his sword, looked down into the water, and took a deep breath. Diving in headfirst, he stroked down towards the opening to the outside. Yama's eyes burned and his vision blurred but the bright opening provided an ample target to swim for. Besides, he had done this once before, as practice, in case he ever really needed to escape, as he needed to now. He reached the opening and swam through, stroking hard with his right arm and holding on tightly to the sword and sheath with his left arm. His lungs felt inflamed, ready to burst as he started up along the outside wall, the current sweeping him along. Bursting through the surface, he gasped for air, then floated in the river-like current towards the west end of the island where he knew he could make landfall on a secluded beach.
Kevin looked over the items he had discovered down near the edge of the grotto and the bed made of pandanus and coconut leaves. He knew now that he had not seen Obai. It had been someone else, someone living in this grotto, someone strange. But where had he gone, he wondered. He looked down into the deep pool at the bright opening to the outside. Maybe he swam down and out through the opening, he thought. Kevin made his way back up and out the entrance.
When he got to the beach he saw Ron and Obai walking back towards the boat. He took a quick look around for Anton. "Anton is still not back?" he asked one of the teachers.
"No, and its getting late. The kids are tired and we must go soon."
Strange, he thought running down to the boat. "Ron, I found something," he said. "There's a cave up there that leads down to the other side, into a grotto with an opening to the outside. I followed someone in there, thought it was Obai at first, and I found a bed and some other things."
"Like what other things?" Ron asked.
"Like a speargun, some old rags, a little box, sharpening stone, and some other stuff. Someone's living in there, Ron." Obai's eyes widened. "Ron! It is deleb. I know it."
"Yeah sure, Obai," Ron said. "What happened to the person you saw?" he asked Kevin.
"I don't know. I only saw his back and when I tried to follow him he disappeared--into the cave. When I went in it was too dark to see and I never saw him again. Unless he swam out through the grotto. But I'm sure he went into that cave and it only leads to the grotto. There's no other way out of that place. I checked."
Ron looked out towards the reef at the Zero's tail piercing the surface of the water. He squinted from the glare. Turning, he yelled over to the teachers sitting on the sand. "Hey, how many adults with your group?"
"Only us, and Anton, but she went searching for pandanus."
Ron turned towards Kevin. "Maybe it was your girlfriend running from you," he joked.
"No Ron, it was a man. I never saw Anton."
"I wonder," Ron thought out loud. "Nah. Its been too long. Much too long."
"Nah, what?" asked Kevin.
"Oh I just wondered if we might have a straggler here. But its been too many years, too damn long for that."
"Deleb," said Obai, causing Ron to smile.
"Okay Kevin," said Ron. "Lead the way. Lets go see what you've found."

--------------------------

At the far western end of the island, Yama sidestroked until he hit sand. He rolled on his stomach and lay gasping, searching the strand for signs of movement, of people. His cheek throbbed from two gaping fleshy gouges, the result of Anton's sharp nails clawing his face. Satisfied no one lingered near, he stood up and withdrew the sword from its casing. He held the sword tightly above his head and walked across the sand into the bush, chanting the Japanese fight song.

----------------------------

8
Anton sat in tears on the hardwood floor across from her mother. It was late night and she had just finished showering in the washroom behind the house, cleansing her body of the disgrace she had endured earlier. That afternoon, after her attacker had left her, she had gone back down to the beach with her pandanus leaves, never mentioning to her peers what had happened to her, her pride preventing it. But now, ashamed as she was, she had to tell her mother, somehow.
"Momma," she began. "I, I was raped." She sobbed. "I climbed the island to get pandanus and a man attacked me. He threw me down, and, and----." She cried, out of control.
"Oh no," her mother said dropping her head down. Then she looked up. "Anton--who was this man?"
"He, he looked like a Japanese, Momma."
"A Japanese?" she said unbelieving.
"Yes Momma. He had a heavy beard and wore only a thu. He was thin but very strong, and he was very dark from the sun."
Her mother moved close to Anton and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her. "Anton, you must let this pass," she said. "You will heal."
"But Momma," Anton sobbed. "He kept whispering--he kept saying, 'Suria, Suria.' Why would he say that, Momma?"
"What?"
Anton cried in spasms now. "Yes, Momma. He kept saying 'Suria.' Over and over again."
"I don't know," Suria’s words came out long and drawn out. Something was amiss. She flashed back to the last time she had seen Yama, still a youthful Japanese boy, on the ship getting underway to Japan, while she stood on the dock waving syonara, pregnant with Anton. Her head fell back slightly. Could it be? No, impossible, she thought.
That night, Suria tossed and turned, her dreams unrelenting, her sleep unfulfilling. The thought would not leave. Could Yama be the man on the island? Could it have been Yama who raped Anton, his own daughter? She struggled with her thoughts into the dawn, then rose and showered. She would go to Urukthapel and see for herself. She had to find out.
Suria dialed Ron’s three digit number to tell him what had happened to Anton. When he answered, he explained that he was planning a trip. She asked him to stop by on his way down to Fisheries. Then she hung up and shouted to Anton through the thin plywood wall separating her room from the kitchen area. "Anton. I am going with Ron and the police to Urukthapel to catch this man. Do you wish to come?"
"Yes Momma. Wait for me. I am coming."
Minutes later, Ron drove up in his Government truck. Ron had divorced several years past and had been seeing Suria regularly since, although marriage had not been discussed.
Suria sat next to Ron in the truck and explained to him what had happened to Anton the day before. She related the details of her own relationship with Anton's father years before, telling Ron how Anton's attacker had kept calling her (Suria's) name.
"And you think it might be him? After all these years?"
"I don't know, Ron, but I must find out. We are going with you today to the island. And that's final."
"But you can't. Women aren't allowed on these things."
"Well, we are going. If it is him, maybe I can help."
"Okay, okay," he relented.
At fisheries, a mob had already formed. News travels fast in the islands, and after Ron had filled in the District Administrator over the telephone on what they had discovered that day, everyone on Koror knew about it. Who could this man be, they wanted to know.
Three boats left the dock taking Ron, two of his employees, Kevin, the District Administrator and his aid, Suria, Anton, and the entire police department--six policemen dressed in khaki shorts and shirts and armed with billy clubs. Behind this flotilla, several local boats followed along, billowing black smoke from their stacks. Anton, out of embarrassment and continued resentment, had ignored Kevin, who rode in another boat.
The fleet arrived with the sun overhead and sending down a steady stream of heat through the cloudless atmosphere. The policemen, in their polyester uniforms, sweated heavily as they walked across the beach. Suria and Anton stood to the side while Ron gave last minute orders to the searchers, splitting them into three groups. Just off the beach, the followers sat on the gunwales of their pong pongs chewing betelnut and spitting bright red streams of saliva into the clear lagoon. Ron signaled them to circumvent the island in their boats and look for the stranger. They chugged off towards the west.
Ron told Suria and Anton to "stay put," then led his group up onto the side of the island and into the ravine that led to the apex and the cave opening to the grotto. Inside, Ron showed the Distad the bed and artifacts belonging to the person they were searching for. "It doesn't look like he's been back here," Ron said. He left two policemen at the entrance in case the man returned, then led the group back down to the boat.
Ron, the Distad, and his aid, took the boat along the southern channel and into a secluded inlet. As they disembarked on the beach, Obai and his party ran to them. Obai panted wildly, speaking in runaway Palauan with a few English words thrown in here and there.
"Hold on, Obai. Speak in English so I can understand."
"Ron," he said regaining some of his composure. "We see him just now, in the bush near the limestone. He run away, towards the east. Kevin follow him. But it is not a ghost Ron. He carries a long knife, a samurai knife. He looks Japanese man."
"Better follow him then, the way he went. Kevin may need help. We'll go back in the boat and head him off. I've got two men at the grotto entrance, so we should be able to close in."
"Okay, Ron." They moved out quickly, back down the beach to the east while Ron, the Distad, and aid pushed off in the boat.
Halfway back they saw Kevin run out of the shrubs and wave at them. Ron turned into the beach and Kevin hurried over. "He's up ahead," Kevin said. "He’s very fast. And he has a sword, a big one."
"Obai and the others are coming behind you. Stay and wait for them. He must be desperate and I don't want anyone to get hurt. We'll go on to the zero and head him off. Suria and Anton are waiting there with two policemen. Damn tide's getting too low. Push me off."
Minutes later, Obai and his group arrived. With Kevin joining, they began walking hurriedly through the understory along the rock island, following foot prints in the soft sand.
Ron reached the zero and turned the boat towards the beach where Suria and Anton stood waving at them. Crunch! The boat stopped suddenly. "Damn," Ron swore. "Low tide. We have to walk in from here."
Ron and his companions waded slowly towards shore, carefully avoiding the sharp corals. "Wait!" Ron said, stopping them.
On the beach, a lone figure approached Suria and Anton. Ron drew his .45 from his holster and snapped a clip into the handle. Because he was mandated to enforce marine laws, even though there were none, he was the only person in Palau authorized to carry a firearm, other than the Chief of Police.
Yama stopped about 30 feet from Suria, who stood with Anton behind her, the two guards standing alongside. He raised his sword above his head and cried out: "Yeaaaahh!" The two guards turned and sprinted down the beach, disappearing into the bush.
Suria stepped forward and called out in Japanese: "Yama! It is I, Suria!"
Yama stood motionless, mouth agape, his eyes wide, the sword held over his head with both hands. He frowned.
"Yama! Do you know her?" she asked, stepping aside and gesturing towards Anton.
Ron, knee deep on the reef, raised the .45 and aimed it at the threatening figure on the beach. Too far, he thought. Damn, I haven't shot this thing in years. "Lets move ahead slowly," he whispered to the others.
Obai and his group, appearing from around the bend down the beach, pulled up short.
In tears, Suria cried out: "Yama! This is Anton! She is your daughter--and you, you raped her, Yama! Your own daughter. You raped her!” Suria broke into sobs.
His sword still raised, Yamaguchi turned his head towards Ron walking in from the reef. Then he turned around to face Obai and the others closing in from behind. He turned again towards Suria and Anton. Sweat ran down his temples and into his beard. Saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He took deep breaths, his ribs pushing outward against his skin. "No!" he yelled in Japanese. "It cannot be!"
"Yes, it is true,” Suria sobbed. “She is our daughter Yama. She was conceived before you left for Japan on the ship. Can you not recognize her features? She resembles you, Yama."
Yama's head jerked backwards. Trembling, he opened his mouth wide, and looked up into the sun. Then he screamed.
Ron stopped at waters edge and raised his gun with both hands.
Yama switched grips on his sword. Suddenly he brought it down handle first into the sand, then collapsed over it onto his knees. The curved blade punched out from between his shoulder blades, blood spewing up along the blade like a small fountain. Yama looked up at Suria. His arms splayed outward. "Uuhhh," he groaned, pitching forward into the sand just inches from Suria's feet.
Suria, crying, embraced Anton and the two walked down the beach.
Yama lay in a heap, impaled by his sword, the blade protruding from his back like a dorsal fin. Ron knelt and carefully rolled the Japanese onto his side. He felt the man's neck for pulse, then tenderly pulled the sword from Yama's body. "He may have been the last remnant of the Japanese Imperial Air Force," he said, pointing the bloody sword towards the submerged Zeke. "Most likely the pilot of that zero out on the reef. A lone hold-out. A straggler."
"I think so," said Obai. "Anyway, it is not deleb."
Kevin left the group of men gawking at the dead man and walked towards Suria and Anton. Anton looked up, then ran to him.

End