[HF] Shuri: A WW2 Story
As we inched closer and closer to Shuri Castle, I felt watched. It was too quiet. Right as that thought popped into my head, the ground opened and the jungle seemed to scream with enemy soldiers shouting "Banzai!". I picked up my M1 firing at whatever moved. I saw a man drop. He didn't look much older than I was. He was 25 at most. We lost 10 men in that ambush, but we killed every last Japanese soldier.
My unit kept walking toward the castle, and we saw it. The castle was in ruins, but their tired but honorable guards were ready for a fight. A 30. cal team set up to the right, just out of view. When my CO gave the order, bullets rained down. We advanced through the castle. There was a burst of adrenaline as I cleared out a mortar pit, which kept me fighting until I heard a bayonet sink into my side.
Everything went black.
"Corporal! Get up! You're not dying like the poor bastards that got ambushed!"
I woke up to my sergeant dragging me from the fighting to a nearby medic where he disinfected and dressed my wound.
"Sir, I can get back in the fight," I insisted.
"Corporal, that's suicide in your condition! You're staying here, and that's an order!" my sergeant barked.
Without hesitation, I replied with "Sergeant, I can still fight, so with all due respect, I will take this castle!"
The sergeant didn't reply. I guess it was okay. I picked up a Thompson and joined back into the fight. The first main entrance was a mess of mangled Japanese and American troops. There were some survivors who I mercy killed. I felt something I hadn't this war. Guilt. These men were doing a desperate last stand for their country. The second gate was even worse. These soldiers appeared to have surrendered, their guns were 10 feet from where they died.
As I got through the Shureimon gate, I saw a mess. Japanese troops were slaughtering my fellow Americans with MGs. I picked up a dead man's rifle. An SMG couldn't take down an MG crew, so I knew a rifle would work. Without hesitation, I fired on the first squad. The bullets traveled cleanly through the first man's head, and the second man was hit through the heart. My comrades made quick work of the rest of the crew, and the cycle repeated until they were all dead. That didn't end the battle though, not until our radio operator called an airstrike anyway.
When the dust settled, there were surrendering Japanese troops. As I searched them, one did a desperate lunge with a knife, but I easily dodged it and then shot him dead. The battle was over. The shooting stopped. I stood there, rifle hanging at my side, waiting for it to start again. But it didn’t. I collapsed as I clutched my side. Blood. That soldier might have cut me after all, or maybe he tore open my wound. However much blood I lost, it wasn't good. As the world faded for the second time in a day, I didn't fight it.
I woke up in a hospital somewhere far from any sort of fighting. It looked unscathed. There was an IV in my arm and blood going into my veins. I felt weak. Hollow even. I reflected on that last day I was fighting. War isn't glorious. When I enlisted, I thought it would be one grand adventure. I noticed a note in my left palm. It was short and simple, talking about how the war was won and when I recover, I'm on the next ship home. That felt good in a way. We won the war, but at what cost? We lost so many good men, and we left Japan's economy in shambles, ruining thousands of lives. But I would have to get reaccustomed to civilian life. That would be difficult, but I think I can do this.
I always have.