But then, some seconds later, staggering over the crest of a sand dune, came a horse bearing Yamamoto. I surveyed the area, finger still on the trigger, but no one else appeared- neither the Mongol who had come for him nor enemy soldiers. A large white moon hung in the eastern sky like some ill-omened megalith. Yamamoto's left arm seemed to have been wounded. The handkerchief he had wrapped around it was stained with blood. I woke Corporal Honda to see to the horse. Heavily lathered and breathing hard, it had obviously come a long way at high speed. Hamano stood sentry in my place, and I got the first-aid kit to treat Yamamoto's wound.
The bullet passed through, and the bleeding stopped, said Yamamoto. He was right: the bullet had missed the bone and gone all the way through, tearing only the flesh in its path. I removed the handkerchief, disinfected the openings of the wound with alcohol, and tied on a new bandage. He never flinched the whole time, though his upper lip wore a thin film of sweat. He drank deeply from a canteen, lit a cigarette, and inhaled with obvious relish. Then he took out his Browning, wedged it under his arm, removed the clip, and with one hand deftly loaded three rounds into it. We leave here right away, Lieutenant Mamiya, he said. Cross the Khalkha and head for the Manchukuo Army observation post. We broke camp quickly, with hardly a word among us, mounted the horses, and headed for the ford. I asked Yamamoto nothing about how he had been shot or by whom. I was not in a position to do so, and even if I had been, he probably wouldn't have told me. The only thought in my mind at the time was to get out of this enemy territory as quickly as possible, cross the Khalkha River, and reach the relative safety of the opposite bank.
We rode in silence, urging our horses across the grassy plain. No one spoke, but all were thinking the same thing: could we make it across that river? If an Outer Mongolian patrol reached the bridge before we did, it would be the end for us. There was no way we could win in a fight. I remember the sweat streaming under my arms. It never once dried.
Tell me, Lieutenant Mamiya, have you ever been shot? Yamamoto asked me after a long silence atop his horse.
Never, I replied. Have you ever shot anyone? Never, I said again. I had no idea what kind of impression my answers made on him, nor did I know what his purpose was in asking me those questions. This contains a document that has to be delivered to headquarters, he said, placing his hand on his saddlebag. If it cant be delivered, it has to be destroyed-burned, buried, it doesn't matter, but it must not, under any circumstances, be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Under any circumstances. That is our first priority. I want to be sure you understand this. It is very, very important.
I understand, I said.
Yamamoto looked me in the eye. If the situation looks bad, the first thing you have to do is shoot me. Without hesitation. If I can do it myself, I will. But with my arm like this, I may not be able to. In that case, you have to shoot me. And make sure you shoot to kill. I nodded in silence.
When we reached the ford, just before dusk, the fear that I had been feeling all along turned out to be all too well founded. A small detachment of Outer Mongolian troops was deployed there. Yamamoto and I climbed one of the higher dunes and took turns looking at them through the binoculars. There were eight men-not a lot, but for a border patrol they were heavily armed. One man carried a light machine gun, and there was one heavy machine gun, mounted on a rise. It was surrounded by sandbags and aimed at the river. They had obviously stationed themselves there to prevent us from crossing to the other bank. They had pitched their tents by the river and staked their ten horses nearby. It looked as if they were planning to stay in place until they caught us. Isn't there another ford we could use? I asked.
Yamamoto took his eyes from the binoculars and looked at me, shaking his head. There is one, but its too far. Two days on horseback. We don't have that much time. All we can do is cross here, whatever it takes.
Meaning we ford at night? Correct. Its the only way. We leave the horses here. We finish off the sentry, and the others will probably be asleep. Don't worry, the river will blot out most sounds. I'll take care of the sentry. Theres nothing for us to do until then, so better get some sleep, rest ourselves now while we have the chance.
We set our fording operation for three in the morning. Corporal Honda took all the packs from the horses, drove the animals to a distant spot, and released them. We dug a deep hole and buried our extra ammunition and food. All that each of us would carry would be a canteen, a days rations, a gun, and a few bullets. If we were caught by the Outer Mongolians, with their overwhelmingly superior firepower, we could never outfight them, no matter how much ammunition we might carry. Now the thing for us to do was to get what sleep we could, because if we did make it across the river, there would be no chance to sleep for some time. Corporal Honda would stand sentry first, with Sergeant Hamano taking his place.
Stretching out in the tent, Yamamoto fell asleep immediately. He apparently hadn't slept at all the whole time. By his pillow was a leather valise, into which he had transferred the important document. Hamano fell asleep soon after him. We were all exhausted, but I was too tense to sleep. I lay there for a long time, dying for sleep but kept awake by imagined scenes of us killing the sentry and being sprayed with machine gun fire as we forded the river. My palms were dripping with sweat, and my temples throbbed. I could not be sure that when the time came, I would be able to conduct myself in a manner befitting an officer. I crawled out of the tent and went to sit by Corporal Honda on sentry duty. You know, Honda, I said, were maybe going to die here.
Hard to say, he replied. For a while, neither of us said anything. But there was something in his answer that bothered me-a particular tone that contained a hint of uncertainty. Intuition has never been my strong suit, but I knew that his vague remark was intended to conceal something. I decided to question him about it.
If you have something to tell me, don't hold back now, I said. This could be the last time we ever talk to each other, so open up.
Biting his lower lip, Honda stroked the sand at his feet. I could see he was wrestling with conflicting feelings. Lieutenant, he said after some time had passed. He looked me straight in the eye. Of the four of us here, you will live the longest- far longer than you yourself would imagine. You will die in Japan.
Now it was my turn to look at him. He continued: You may wonder how I know that, but it is something that not even I can explain. I just know.
Are you psychic or something?
Maybe so, though the word doesn't quite seem to fit what I feel. Its a little too grandiose. Like I say, I just know, thats all.
Have you always had this kind of thing?
Always, he said with conviction. Though I've kept it hidden ever since I was old enough to realize what was happening. But this is a matter of life and death, Lieutenant, and you are the one who's asking me about it, so I'm telling you the truth.
And how about other people? Do you know whats going to happen to them?
He shook his head. Some things I know, some things I don't know. But you'd probably be better off not knowing, Lieutenant. It may be presumptuous of someone like me to say such big-sounding things to a college graduate like you, but a persons destiny is something you look back at after its past, not something you see in advance. I have a certain amount of experience where these things are concerned. You don't.
But anyhow, you say I'm not going to die here?