Read Online Fortunes of War by Stephen Coonts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen Coonts
Ads: Link
throw him to the floor, and slap handcuffs on him.
Even if they let him go up to the apartment, they would come for him there. They would never let him leave the building.
These thoughts zipped through his head in the time it took for him to take just one step toward the doorway.
He would not go in.
He turned right, down the sidewalk, and began to walk briskly.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the man in the car looking his way and holding a radio mike in front of his mouth.
Even though he knew he shouldnât, Masataka Okada began to run.
He had had a good life, and he didnât want to give it up. Those fools who killed the emperor, committing hara-kari, voluntarily ended the only existence they would ever have. Ah, was life so worthless that a man should throw it away, as if it didnât matter?
He darted into the street and managed to avoid an oncoming bus. He made it to the sidewalk on the other side and swerved into an alley. Down the alley a ways was a brick wall, which Okada climbed over with much huffing and puffing, severely skinning his ankle.
He found himself inside a cemetery. The headstones and little temples looked weird in the reflected half-light of the city, sinister. This was Japanâs futureâhe saw it in a horrible revelation: a nation of tombstones and funeral temples, ashes in urns, a nation of the dead.
Sobbing, Okada threaded his way through all this masonry and crawled across the wall on the other side. His ankle hurt like fire, but the collapse of his world and his vision of the future hurt worse.
His wifeâ¦what would she think? Oh, how he had abandoned her, poor, loyal woman.
He was now in another alley, this one lined with little woodenhouses, relics of old Japan. He thought about stealing a bicycle but couldnât bring himself to do it.
At the end of the alley was a street. Although he was severely winded already, he managed to work himself into a trot. As he rounded the corner, he met a man running the other way. Fortune favored Okadaâhe reacted first and got his hands up, bowling the other man over as he went by.
He didnât look back, just ran. Alas, his gait was a hell-bent stagger, his lungs tearing at him as he gasped futilely, unable to get enough oxygen.
Ahead was a subway station. If he could catch a train, he could get off anywhere, could lose himself in Tokyo, perhaps even make his way to the American embassy.
Those Americans, they said that someday this might happen. He had refused to believe, even when he knew they spoke the truth.
He was close to passing out from the exertion, almost unable to think. He smoked several packs of cigarettes a day, had done so for years, and he never exercised.
Okada could hear footsteps pounding the pavement behind him.
Thereâthe stairs into the subway! He ran down them, grabbed the turnstile, and leapt over.
More stairs. He took them two at a time.
He could hear the running feet behind him, closer and closer, but he used the last of his energy, forcing himself to run even though he could scarcely breathe and was having difficulty seeing. Spots swam before his eyes.
A train was coming.
If they catch meâ¦
The train was still moving at a pretty good clip when Masataka Okada did a swan dive off the platform, right in front of it.
Chapter Four
He could see it above him, at least two miles up, a flashing silver shape in the vast, deep blue. Jiro Kimura used the handhold on the canopy bow to hold himself upright against the G forces. He grunted, kept his muscles tense so that he would not pass out, fought to keep his eyes on that flashing silver plane so far above.
If he lost sight of that plane, it might take several seconds to reacquire it, seconds he could ill afford to lose. The other pilot was undoubtedly looking down at him, watching him twist and turn, waiting for an opening when he could come swooping down with his gun blazingâlike an angel of doom. Or the bloody Red Baron. To
Even if they let him go up to the apartment, they would come for him there. They would never let him leave the building.
These thoughts zipped through his head in the time it took for him to take just one step toward the doorway.
He would not go in.
He turned right, down the sidewalk, and began to walk briskly.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the man in the car looking his way and holding a radio mike in front of his mouth.
Even though he knew he shouldnât, Masataka Okada began to run.
He had had a good life, and he didnât want to give it up. Those fools who killed the emperor, committing hara-kari, voluntarily ended the only existence they would ever have. Ah, was life so worthless that a man should throw it away, as if it didnât matter?
He darted into the street and managed to avoid an oncoming bus. He made it to the sidewalk on the other side and swerved into an alley. Down the alley a ways was a brick wall, which Okada climbed over with much huffing and puffing, severely skinning his ankle.
He found himself inside a cemetery. The headstones and little temples looked weird in the reflected half-light of the city, sinister. This was Japanâs futureâhe saw it in a horrible revelation: a nation of tombstones and funeral temples, ashes in urns, a nation of the dead.
Sobbing, Okada threaded his way through all this masonry and crawled across the wall on the other side. His ankle hurt like fire, but the collapse of his world and his vision of the future hurt worse.
His wifeâ¦what would she think? Oh, how he had abandoned her, poor, loyal woman.
He was now in another alley, this one lined with little woodenhouses, relics of old Japan. He thought about stealing a bicycle but couldnât bring himself to do it.
At the end of the alley was a street. Although he was severely winded already, he managed to work himself into a trot. As he rounded the corner, he met a man running the other way. Fortune favored Okadaâhe reacted first and got his hands up, bowling the other man over as he went by.
He didnât look back, just ran. Alas, his gait was a hell-bent stagger, his lungs tearing at him as he gasped futilely, unable to get enough oxygen.
Ahead was a subway station. If he could catch a train, he could get off anywhere, could lose himself in Tokyo, perhaps even make his way to the American embassy.
Those Americans, they said that someday this might happen. He had refused to believe, even when he knew they spoke the truth.
He was close to passing out from the exertion, almost unable to think. He smoked several packs of cigarettes a day, had done so for years, and he never exercised.
Okada could hear footsteps pounding the pavement behind him.
Thereâthe stairs into the subway! He ran down them, grabbed the turnstile, and leapt over.
More stairs. He took them two at a time.
He could hear the running feet behind him, closer and closer, but he used the last of his energy, forcing himself to run even though he could scarcely breathe and was having difficulty seeing. Spots swam before his eyes.
A train was coming.
If they catch meâ¦
The train was still moving at a pretty good clip when Masataka Okada did a swan dive off the platform, right in front of it.
Chapter Four
He could see it above him, at least two miles up, a flashing silver shape in the vast, deep blue. Jiro Kimura used the handhold on the canopy bow to hold himself upright against the G forces. He grunted, kept his muscles tense so that he would not pass out, fought to keep his eyes on that flashing silver plane so far above.
If he lost sight of that plane, it might take several seconds to reacquire it, seconds he could ill afford to lose. The other pilot was undoubtedly looking down at him, watching him twist and turn, waiting for an opening when he could come swooping down with his gun blazingâlike an angel of doom. Or the bloody Red Baron. To
Similar Books
