When Mount Takazuma erupted that morning, Onodera was flying over the North Central Region in a small Defense Force helicopter on an inspection mission. Since the entire population of the region had supposedly been evacuated, he and the pilot were startled to see a group waving up at them from in front of a mountain shelter house. They landed, and Onodera got out of the helicopter to discover three parties of mountain climbers, fourteen people in all, students and young office workers. They had come into the region despite the evacuation orders and had been trapped by the cumulative disasters and bad weather. Two of them had already died from injuries and exposure. A girl was ill with pneumonia, and a young man was badly injured.
Onodera was enraged: “What the hell did you people have in mind when you did this? Did you have any idea at all of what was going on?”
“Yes, we did,” said a youth with high cheekbones in a weary voice. “Our parents and everybody else tried to talk us out of it. But we love mountain climbing. It’s what we live for. If these beautiful Japan Alps are going to disappear from the face of the earth, we wanted to bid a last farewell to them. What’s so bad about that? We came knowing that we might die here, and, if so, well and good.”
“I see,” said Onodera, turning around and starting back to the helicopter. “Well, if that’s the way you feel, it’ll make things a lot simpler for us.”
Onodera’s mood was a bleak one. What’s happened to me? he thought as he returned to the helicopter. The memory of Reiko came to him, a memory that had to be repressed violently lest it tear at him. The day that he had run blindly out of Plan D headquarters, volcanic ash had been falling on Tokyo and the trains had stopped running. He had had but a single thought: to get somehow from Tokyo to the Izu Peninsula, to the spot where Reiko had called from. He had run to the Defense Force helicopter base at nearby Ichigaya and demanded to be flown there. After an officer had refused him, Onodera had grown violent and had to be thrown off the base. Later, however, he had been able to get a ride on an armored troop-carrier. At Odawara, at the head of the Izu Peninsula, however, ash and falling rock had blocked the vehicle’s way. When Onodera had leaped down to the ground, his feet had sunk more than three feet into the gray wasteland. He had screamed out in frustration. After his return to Tokyo he had gone to Evacuation Headquarters and, disregarding the pleas of Nakata and Yukinaga, had demanded to be used in the most dangerous rescue missions. And so he had gone on these past weeks, sleeping and eating less than even his hard-driven companions, growing ever more haggard and desolate, and making a name for himself by the reckless heroism of his conduct. What am I doing to myself? he wondered groggily. I’m like a man already dead.
“Sergeant Tomita?” he shouted to the pilot above the roar of the rotor. “How many can we carry?”
“Two. Ordinarily it would be six, but there’s the equipment, and there’s no time to dismantle it.”
“Make it four. One of them’s sick. Two others are injured.”
“Can’t be done,” said the pilot, gesturing behind him. “No matter what you do, there’s not enough space for four.”
“I’ll stay here. So you can put one beside you and squeeze two more back there with the equipment somehow. You can do it, can’t you? And as for these other idiots, do you think you can get a helicopter to come from the squadron at Matsumoto?”
“No, I don’t think there’s any chance— But wait. A UH-1B is at Matsumoto Airport. It developed engine trouble the other day and had to stop for repairs. If it can fly, maybe I can have them send it. It would take all of you . . . but the problem of fuel . . .”
“Okay,” said Onodera, looking at his watch. “See what you can do, anyway. We don’t have much time.” Onodera turned away and walked back toward the youths, four or five of whom were standing a short distance away with worried looks on their faces. One of them, a young man with long hair and glasses, spoke to Onodera: “You weren’t really serious, sir, were you? Before, I mean. You wouldn’t just fly off and leave us, would you?”
“We can take three. Get the sick girl and the two injured on board. Hurry up.”
“There’s one more girl. She’s not in good shape. Can she go, too?” asked a strongly built youth.
“No. Only three. Even with me staying behind. So let’s get moving!”
Onodera went into the dimly lit cabin with the young men, and as the sick and injured climbers were being carried out, he noticed a young girl standing as though in a daze, with the side of her face pressed against the cabin wall.
“Better leave her alone, sir,” said one of the youths, frowning. “She was almost out of her head before. She’s suffering from shock.”
Disregarding this advice, Onodera walked up to the girl and put a hand on her thin shoulder and shook her. Her cheeks and clothes were stained with tears, and from the gaudily stylish cut and color of her mountain-climbing attire, it was obvious at a glance that she was not an outdoor girl. She was frowning and her body shook from time to time as though with sobs.
“Let me alone!” She shook off his hand, her voice like a scream, and shrank away from him. “I can’t walk any farther. . . . Mama! Please help me!”
Onodera took hold of the sobbing girl and gave her two light slaps across the face.
“Pull yourself together. Another helicopter will come to pick us up soon. Now help us load up these people.”
The girl stared up in shocked surprise, her eyes swollen from crying. Onodera thought that in the dim light of the cabin he saw a sudden awareness come over her face, but with no time for such considerations, he turned and ran out of the cabin.
“When you get them back, Sergeant, don’t tell anybody what really happened.”
“I understand. They’re refugees who were trapped by landslides. And as soon as I find out the situation on the helicopter, I’ll contact you.”
Onodera slapped the pilot on the shoulder, slammed the door shut, and turned to see a slight figure in bright-colored mountain-climbing garb walking unsteadily toward him.
“Mr. Onoda!”
Onodera was stunned. Then something stirred faintly in his memory.
“You’re Mr. Onoda, aren’t you, sir?”
“Onodera,” he said, staring at the girl.
“Why . . . imagine you here, sir!”
It was Mako. It was the little hostess he had met on the Ginza what now seemed long years ago. She threw herself into his arms and sobbed like a little girl as he stood buffeted by the wind and by the blast from the rotor.