The Rising Sun

Beneath, soft white sand. Behind, birds and monkeys chattered, already awake in the pale gray of false dawn. In front, waves broke upon the coral reefs. To the left, a bottle of Kill Devil Hills rum rested against his thigh, its cork long lost and its contents mostly absent. To the right, a cigarette burned lazily between his fingers.

Not bad, Martin thought. Not bad at all.

In more than twenty-five years of business, he had traveled all over. But this was the first trip he had taken for himself and the first location where he could find absolutely no reminders of home.

No reminders, that was, until someone spoke to his left.

“Ah, hello there,” came a female voice that sounded right at home in the dustiest corner of a Cambridge library. “Martin, was it?”

Martin didn’t turn to face the speaker. Instead, he looked down at the Kill Devil Hills bottle. Stronger stuff than I thought. I didn’t even hear her walking up.

Finally, he glanced up and took in his unexpected visitor.

Auburn hair curled around her shoulders. The face seemed familiar, and yet his vision swam a bit at the realization that he was drunker than he thought possible after so many years attempting to drown his demons. Must be the tropical air affecting this poor boy from Birmingham.

The more he studied her sharp-featured face, the more he thought he saw a familiarity. She carried the air of someone who had gone through life with a certain confidence. A self-assurance fostered within the environment of one born into prestige.

Martin held himself back from spitting into the sand. Royalty. Somehow, one of these pricks has found me in the farthest reaches of their so-called empire.

He finally responded. “How do you know my name?”

She smirked. “You really don’t remember?”

Blinking again, Martin realized it wasn’t just her royal bearing prickling the back of his skull. Her face had a certain acquaintance.

Then it hit him. Gunfire. Spilled soup. Her, a hostage one moment, shooting a Communist the next.

“The cabin,” he exclaimed.

She nodded and sat in the sand beside him. They watched the waves foaming over the reefs as gray turned to pink on the eastern horizon.

Tessa—Martin had finally recalled her name—then turned to face him. “So, who are you here to shoot?”

Martin chuckled. “No one this time.”

Her eyebrow rose. “Oh? I thought that was your business.”

“It is, but even those who do what we love need a vacation sometime.”

“If that’s the case, then can I have one of those?”

Martin followed her gaze to the burnt-out cigarette in his hand. Flicking away the stub, he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the pack of Imperials. Cheap luxuries were what had drawn him to this small island nearly three thousand miles northeast of Australia. Martin had shown up on the dock with a suitcase full of gold coins that the locals loved over the official currency of the British Western Pacific Territories.

Tessa leaned over the offered lighter. “Thank you.”

The pink rim had now stretched farther into the sky, giving way to the first glimmers of gold. The jungle behind them jabbered with more birds and monkeys than Martin could have thought possible.

“So, what are you doing here?”

Tessa gestured to the gray object bobbing on the sea at the southern cape. “Trying out my latest toy.”

Martin squinted, then blinked. “That’s your seaplane?”

“Indeed.”

“So where’s your pilot?”

When she didn’t answer, he turned back to find her beaming at him.

“No...”

Her smile widened.

“When did you learn to fly?”

“Right about the time I realized the only way to escape my ‘family’ was to go somewhere they’d never think to look.”

“And a seaplane means that anywhere with water is a landing strip,” Martin concluded.

Before them, the first rays of the sun broke over the foaming green crests. As if to emphasize Tessa’s revelation, the sound of a piston engine grew until the birds and monkeys screeched in alarm. Martin looked up to find a seaplane approaching from the south. It appeared to be lining up for a landing directly off their beach.

Martin turned to Tessa. “Friends of yours?”

Her furrowed brow gave all the answer he needed. This can’t be good.

Together they watched as the dull gray pontoons skipped across the wave crests until the plane slowed enough, leaving a foaming wake. The engine idled, and the back door swung open. With a speed that defied belief, a squat man scrambled down the pontoon struts and, pausing only to inflate a rubber raft, started rowing ashore. Directly toward where Martin and Tessa sat above the tideline.

The closer the stranger got, the more Martin felt the hair rising on his arms. “It can’t be...”

Tessa turned from observing the raft’s progress. “Friends of yours?”

“Friend is far too generous a term for that worm.”

Despite Martin’s hope that the raft would run aground on the offshore reefs or get caught in one of the breakers and flip, the squat man avoided all chances of drowning and stepped smartly onto the beach.

“Good morning,” he called to Martin. “Nice to see you’re already up, Mr. Williams.”

“It’s never a good morning when I have to see your face, Filchers.”

His snake-like grin never wavered as he worked his way up the beach. His hair shone in the tropical sun from the gallons of grease he used on it. Martin held his hand up against the glare.

Filchers held out his hand to Tessa, who took it after a moment’s glance at Martin. “Johnathan Filchers. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Duchess Tessa Windsor.”

Filchers let go of her hand and nodded at Martin. “My, my, but aren’t we keeping company of high station these days? A stark contrast than when I was first assigned to you.”

Tessa turned to Martin. “Ah, so this is one of your ‘business’ colleagues?” Her eyebrow cocked at ‘business.’

“We’re not colleagues.” Martin glared up at Filchers. “And I’m on vacation. How in all the bloody rings of hell did you find me here?”

Somehow Filchers’ smile grew even wider. “As much as I’d like to get into how I managed to track you down on the opposite side of the globe from the home isles,” he straightened up, “I’m afraid we have pressing business and not much time.”

Martin snorted. “What business could I possibly have on this tiny island?”

Filchers withdrew a wax envelope from his flight jacket. “All will be revealed on the assignment sheet, Mr. Williams. Now, I must be off. They’ll be here soon.”

With a clip just short of a run, Filchers ambled down the beach to the rubber raft. He paused before launching into the surf. “Oh, and a pleasure to meet you, duchess,” he called back to Tessa. She waved in response.

“Wait,” Martin shouted after him. “Who’s ‘they?’”

But Filchers had already started rowing back to the seaplane. With no other avenue for answers, Martin cast his gaze down to the wax envelope Filchers had laid at his feet.

“Guess it was too much to hope that someone won’t die each time I see you, Martin.”

Martin was too shocked by the words in front of him to reply.

Colonel Izuki Namoto leads the 8th Kure Special Naval Landing Forces, Imperial Japanese Navy. Underworld rumors and intercepted intelligence suggest his force will soon be occupying the island you are currently shirking your professional obligations upon. He is a hardline Japanese nationalist that has resisted all attempts by the Firm to establish black market trade with his unit. In addition, it is alleged that he and his unit took direct part in the massacre of Chinese civilians following the Battle of Nanking in 1937.

See that business is taken care of with all haste.

Before Martin could even begin to process the assignment, his gaze was wrenched away by the renewed drone of the seaplane. The four-seater strained to break free of the swells, skipping from crest to crest before finally lifting its nose high enough to escape the sea’s grasp.

As Martin and Tessa watched, another noise grew in their ears to fill the void left by the departing seaplane. It had a similar ring, but higher pitched. Almost a whine. The two looked to the south once again to find the silhouette of a second plane approaching.

“Don’t tell me,” Martin muttered to himself. “I’m going to be working overtime.”

But the second intruder showed no signs of slowing down for a landing. Instead, it maintained its altitude, only dipping its nose slightly. The path appeared to put it on a direct course to intersect Filchers’ seaplane.

In that moment, Martin realized what was happening. A split second later, the rapid staccato of machine guns joined the chorus of engine noise. Pieces of aluminum flew off Filchers’ lumbering beast as the rounds struck home. The pilot attempted to turn out of the line of fire, but the fighter kept easy pace. Another second passed before the engine burst into flames and the mortally wounded bird rolled onto its side before slamming into the waves.

The fighter streaked over the wreck, giving Martin a momentary flash of a green fuselage with red circles.

Drunk and still not entirely sure he hadn’t hallucinated this barrage of incidents, he glanced back down at the paper fluttering in his hand. Huh, guess the lads back at the home office got this one right after all.

“Martin,” a voice murmured at the edge of his hearing. “Martin!”

He looked up at Tessa’s face to find the color had drained from it.

“Aren’t you going to try and save your friend?”

Martin shrugged. “I’m on vacation. And the world would not suffer for a lack of one more Filchers.”

“Then we should probably get the hell off this beach.”

Martin started to ask why before catching sight of the reason. In the brightening sky, the Japanese fighter had turned and was coming back toward them.

Maybe we shouldn’t be standing out in the open.

By the time his rum-addled brain had processed the thought and started to translate it into movement, Tessa’s arm had wrapped around his chest. She hurdled them both into the trees. As Martin raised his swimming head from the bed of dead palm fronds, he found the air had a certain buzz to it. Like hornets.

The "hornets" raced across the white sand where he and Tessa had stood. Robbed of their human prize, they settled for the consolation prize. Martin had to stop himself from leaping out in a vein attempt to save the Kill Devil Hills bottle. Instead, he was forced to watch it explode into a hundred pieces.

“You bastard.” His shout proved no match for the plane’s roar as it passed overhead. “You’re going to pay for that in full!”

“So, you can’t be bothered to save a man’s life or even shed a tear for his passing,” Tessa said, getting to her feet. “But rum brings out every passion?”

Chest heaving, Martin turned from waving his fist at the silhouette vanishing between the trees and shrugged. “That bottle never hurt a soul.”

“Be that as it may, I think it’s time to cut your vacation short. Looks like the Japanese have decided to declare war on Britain, and I can’t imagine there’ll be much of a defense force to meet them.”

“Quite right. I don’t think I’ve seen a single gun since I got here.” Martin paused, then smirked. “Besides the ones I brought with me.”

Tessa offered a slight smile. “Suddenly, I’m glad I ran into you, Martin.”

The two started to pick their way through the jungle before Martin paused. “You weren’t before?”

The skies remained quiet, but they knew the real threat would be coming from the sea. And they would have to make it to the other side of the island to get to Tessa’s seaplane. Assuming it was still intact when they made it there.

But no sense in worrying about that, Martin thought, debating just how much rum remained in his system as he nearly skipped between the palm trees.

Finally, they made it to the shack Martin had rented at the edge of the village. Despite the fact that the entire island would soon be the latest possession of the Japanese Empire, Martin made sure to wipe his feet at the entrance.

Inside, they took a moment to scoop water from a basin in the slight reprieve the shaded interior provided from the surging tropical heat. Then Martin opened his suitcase, feeling along the brown leather seams until he located the concealed flap. Tugging on it, he revealed a hidden compartment stocked with two Browning automatic pistols and six magazines.

Martin loaded one Browning and stuffed it into the back of his trousers. He reached back for the other to find it missing.

“What, you think you were going to have all the fun?” Tessa asked, pulling back the slide and chambering a round with a metallic clack.

“I suppose I can share,” Martin said. “This time.”

She winked. “Much obliged.”

Voices murmuring outside the hut drew both their gazes. Pulling back a window shade, they looked down to the end of the single lane through the village. Men in tan hats and white shirts strolled between the houses. They held rifles but appeared to be in no great rush to use them as they kept slung on their shoulders.

Martin slunk along the wall to the hut’s doorway, about to peer around the corner to see if they could make a break of the jungle when the edge of a rifle barrel slid in front of him.

A voice called out. It wasn’t the sharp, demanding tone he’d expected, but a furtive, curious query. As if the soldier had asked if anyone was home.

A gentle soul or not, the soldier had come to the wrong hut. Martin waited until one boot and then the other stepped inside. The man looked to the right toward the empty side of the space. As his head swiveled, Martin lunged from his periphery.

“Should have wiped your shoes,” Martin hissed as he grappled with the man, wrapping his left arm around the man’s neck and tightening the vice with his right.

The Japanese soldier gasped. Desperate to break free, he let the rifle drop and brought both hands up. Martin flinched, waiting for the crash that would alert the entire rifle company.

But the only noise was the man’s gasping and wheezing. Martin looked down to find Tessa had dived and caught the rifle an inch above the floor.

Turning his attention back to his squirming captive, Martin focused on squeezing even harder. His foe refused to yield, however, and shoved a hand between the arm and his neck.

Standing, Tessa rolled her eyes. “No time.”

Before either man knew what was happening, she yanked a knife from the soldier’s belt and drove it into his throat.

His shirt sleeves suddenly slick and warm, Martin released his grip. The soldier took a teetering step before crumpling to the floor. Rolling over, the Japanese soldier gazed up at him, a confusion similar to Martin’s own plastered over his draining face. Martin shrugged at him. Tough roll of the dice, mate.

Without skipping a beat, Tessa picked up the dead soldier’s rifle.

“What?” she murmured at the sight of Martin’s raised eyebrow.

“You know how to use that?”

Now it was her turn to cock an eyebrow. Instead of speaking, she gestured to the dead soldier at their feet.

Suppose she has earned a bit of credit between this bit of agile thinking and shooting that Russian the last time we met.

“Still, hoping we won’t need that.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, new voices came from the other side of the wall. Like the first, they did not carry an air of authority or aggression. Instead, they sounded more like schoolboys telling their friend to hurry up and stop messing around.

Martin sighed, then turned the corner.

As he had predicted, the two men standing in front of the hut showed no signs of caution. Their rifles rested butt-first in the sand, and it took a moment for the pair’s smiles to fade. That was all the time Martin needed as he raised the Browning.

“Come on,” Martin called back to Tessa as he vaulted over the dying soldiers, only to find she was racing past him.

A solitary gunshot whizzed behind his head from the far side of the village as the two ran for the cover of the trees. Tessa dropped to one knee and let loose with the rifle. A split second later someone screamed.

Martin fought to think straight as they raced into the jungle. Four down, Lord knows how many more. And we’ve certainly lost the element of surprise by now. Maybe we’ll get lucky and no one saw where we’re going.

He smirked. No one besides that poor blighter Tessa just got.

Once the village was out of sight, they slowed their flight to avoid making unnecessary noise. Listening for several moments, they were relieved to hear no accompanying sounds of pursuit. Damn lucky.

The only unfortunate part was they were now heading to the southern end of the island. The same direction as the soldiers had come.

Keeping their ears open, they picked they way through the palm trees, but they encountered no patrols of vengeful Japanese.

Ahead, the trees thinned, and Martin thought perhaps their luck streak would continue. Until they found themselves looking at the entire landing party gathered around a particular sword-waving gentleman.

He appeared to be whipping them into a fury, no doubt declaring war on the interlopers foolish enough to resist. Worse, it appeared to be working.

Martin checked his Browing’s clip, doing the math. One in the chamber, six in the clip, twenty in the belt. I count thirty of the blokes. Between me and Tessa, that’s fifteen a piece, but how does that bolt action rifle of hers compare—

His calculations were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. He looked up, finding Tessa holding a grenade of all things.

“Where—” he caught himself. “That dead sod in the hut.”

She nodded.

“Brilliant, now toss it into the middle of them and thin their ranks.”

She rolled her eyes, instead pantomiming throwing it far off to their left.

Martin’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, a diversion. Suppose that will work, too.”

She snuck to the edge of the clearing, checking to make sure her throw wouldn’t intersect with any palm trees that would send the grenade bouncing back at them. Then she hefted with all her might.

Five seconds later, the explosion from deep in the forest made several of the soldiers drop their rifles in alarm. The sword-wielding officer screamed at them, and they quickly retrieved the weapons before following his gestures as they charged off into the trees. Everything was going exactly to plan.

Except, Martin paused his slow creep through the foliage as they attempted to move farther out of the path of the Japanese, he’s not going with them. I could swear he’s looking right at me.

His unease rose as the officer barked a command and two riflemen from the back of the patrol turned around.

“I think we’re made,” Martin said to Tessa. “Time to go to work.”

She raised her rifle. “I’ve got left.”

“I’ve got right.”

The left-most soldier’s skull exploded as the rifle barked, depositing its contents across the sand. The other rifleman started to pivot toward the trees when he felt two fists slam into his chest, and his legs went limp a moment later.

Now alone, the officer showed no signs of fear. Instead, he raised his sword and charged toward Martin and Tessa, letting loose a battle cry that made Martin’s veins freeze.

Bloody hell, he’s coming right for me!

Then he looked down at the Browning in his hands. Oh, right.

He fired his five remaining shots in quick succession. Incredibly, their attacker slowed but kept coming. Kept coming, that was, until a shot from Tessa’s rifle sent him hurtling backward.

Keenly aware their gunshots would be heard by the other twenty-eight men still standing, they raced past the figures staining the white beach with their blood.

Still, Martin couldn’t help but catch sight of markings suspiciously similar to a high-ranking member of the British Army on the dead Japanese officer. Damn me if that isn’t Colonel Namoto beneath my feet.

He’d never know for sure, but the thought of working on his vacation—even inadvertently—sent bile up the back of his throat.

He claimed the wickedly sharp sword in the colonel’s limp hand as recompense.

Tessa had turned when she realized he wasn’t behind her anymore. “Looting the dead? Really?”

Martin grinned back. “Better than leaving it for the enemy.”

Even so, the sword proved a hindrance as Martin found himself at risk of slicing off his other arm with each stroke as he swam through the surf toward the float plane. Then he recalled a film he had seen about the pirate Bartholomew Roberts and placed it between his teeth. And they say all show business is fake.

Scrambling up the ladder from the pontoon, Martin found Tessa already in the pilot’s seat.

“Flaps... check. Ailerons... check.”

“Uh, is this all necessary?” Martin asked as he watched figures emerging from the trees on shore. They first looked down at the bodies on the beach before shifting their gaze to the seaplane. It’s a bit far from here, but I could swear they don’t look too pleased.

Tessa turned back, her brow furrowed. “It’s the preflight checklist. It’s mandatory.”

“Sure, but...”

“It’s critical to ensure the aircraft’s ready to fly, Mr. Williams.”

Martin ducked as the first soldier on shore raised his rifle. “Whether it’s ready to fly or not, I think we’ve only got one chance at this.”

As a bullet sank itself into the fuselage with a thunk, he continued, “Soon to be no chance.”

Tessa threw up her hands. “Fine, but if we die, it’s on you.”

“I can live with that.”

Despite the air now buzzing as the rifleman on shore followed their comrade’s example, Martin chuckled at his own wit. Thank goodness these boys don’t seem to have learned much on the rifle range.

Turning the engine over, Tessa jammed the throttle forward. The seaplane lurched, nearly spilling Martin out the back doorway before he grabbed hold of the back seat. He kicked the door shut and latched it, scrambling his way up to the co-pilot seat as the plane’s pontoons cut and bounced their way through the waves.

Finally, the plane lifted and the rolling ceased. Tessa eased back on the throttle as they climbed away from the island.

After a moment, they both exhaled and relaxed their shoulders.

Martin took in the clear morning sky in front of them for a moment before looking over. “Well, I probably would have still made it out of there, but I’m not sure it would have been as much fun.”

She glanced up from the controls and smiled. “Coming from you, that’s a compliment.”

“And that’s all you’re getting.”

She chuckled. “So, Mr. Williams, where to now?”

“I have to assume if the Japanese are bothering to claim that tiny piece of the British Empire then they have attacked the juicier targets as well, so no Hong Kong or Fiji. If we have the range, I believe the safest place in all of the Pacific at the moment is Hawaii.”

Thinking for another moment, Martin nodded. “Yes, the Americans it is. After all, with that big fleet at Pearl Harbor, who would dare attack there?”

~~~

Follow Martin on another adventure as he must battle the winds of change by shooting his way through a mountain cabin full of Communist agents in...

The Complete* Martin Williams Collection

1. Sinking Prospects (1912)
2. For King and Country (1916) — print exclusive
3. Black Thursday (1929)
4. The Lindbergh Job (1932)
5. A View to Die For (1936)
6. The Rising Sun (1941) — you are here
7. Run for the Border (1943)
8. Down on Main Street (1946)
9. The Airlift (1948)
10. Into the Valley of Death (1951) — print exclusive
11. Epilogue: Retirement — print exclusive

*When paired with A Bloody Business, the official Martin Williams novel: