Chapter 22 The Stranded Stowaway Cat of Iwo Jima (1/2)

Eiji spat out his blood to the trampled, defiled ground. His hand clung to the radio he had used to announce his squad's defeat and the banzai charge of his unit on Iwo Jima's shores. They couldn't hold back the overwhelming surge of US Allied Forces.

His life was swiftly seeping away from him, turning his body numb and unfeeling to all the fiery devastation around him.

The war was over. He had lost. The honour to live was no longer permissible to him. He would bleed out on the beach, alongside his valiant fallen comrades. Carrying what little honour he had left into the after life.

”Hina-chan. If only I could see you one last time.” He breathed his final words and wishes into the salty sea air.

The waking sun and flashing gunfire flickered over his droopy eyes, stirring outlines of human shadows around his face.

”Hinata. Sorry I couldn't honour our promise,” he whispered again.

_”Who's Hinata?”_ A foreign voice breathed into his ear with his own language.

He closed his eyes, not caring to answer. His mind and body drifted into a numbing peace, carrying him away from his troubles and loss.

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The sound of slow dripping water stirred Eiji's mind back to consciousness. He groaned as he opened his eyes, feeling his head throbbing and chest burning with pain. What was going on? Didn't he die? He wasn't at the gates of Yomi-no-kuni?

”Good. Not dead I see.” A thick slurry voice clumsily addressed him.

Eiji frowned, reluctant to move.

”If you're wondering whether you're dead, you're not.” The voice crudely answered his hope. ”Sorry pal, but I won't let you perform seppuku either. You're gonna live whether you like it or not.”

WHAT?! This foreign voice that could barely articulate Nihongo, dared to dishonour him before he could move his body!

Eiji pushed past his pain to sit up.

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”Hey! Easy pal. Don't be a hero!” The foreigner cursed him. ”This isn't the Samurai period.”

Eiji shook off the hands that tried to steady his shoulders as he heaved into a sitting position. The sight of a makeshift office swam into view.

Instead of his Rikugun-Chūsa sitting in the office chair and power desk, he saw an American soldier. He clicked his tongue at the sight of this foreigner making himself comfortable with his feet up on the desk that had once held important battle strategies.

Suddenly a bizarre thought flashed through his mind at how cruel and ironic life was to plant him in this position. He was unable to hold back his laugh, which ended up as a nasty gurgle filled with blood.

”Man, you of the Yamato Minzoku do like to suffer.” The foreigner stated matter-of-factually.

It both unnerved and made Eiji angry at the fact that this man was flaunting knowledge of his own country back at him.

”To fight and die with honour for your country is not suffering.” Eiji forced his voice to say.

”I see. Then could you fight and die for love? Is that not honourable enough of a cause?” The man answered with a rhetorical question. His voice was sober and deadly serious, making his Japanese clear.

Eiji frowned. Who was this man? He spent a few moments in silence, making an observation. The American's khaki shirt and slacks didn't hide the muscle tone around his arms and stocky legs. The stiff cotton was heavily stained with grime and blood, his boots were dirtied with dried sand and mud pressed into the sole's teeth. At least he wasn't a Nancy Boy. He frowned when his shirt was free from rank insignia.

He peered at the man's calm face with deep laugh-lines to his green eyes and corners of his lips. His freckly reddish-pale skin still had supple youth despite weathering the harsh sun for days. Blond stubble covered his square split-chin and his hair was clipped low to his scalp in the usual army style. He deduced the man's face was the type foreign women would fall in love with and possibly some of his own kind as well. Not his type at all.

”Checking me out, are we? Are you a homosexual?” The man tested for Eiji's reaction.

Eiji hated himself for starting to feel at ease around this stranger. He figured it was because the man was speaking fluently in his language.

_”Keep your wits Eiji. This man is dangerous.”_ He reaffirmed in his head.

”Observing.” Eiji answered in English and held back his chuckle at the man's fleeting change in expression.

”Oh, so I can speak in my native tongue. Well, let's do that since we're winning this rock and battle.” The man crudely rubbed salt into Eiji's wounded pride.

”What do you want?” Eiji soberly demanded, forcing himself not to feel the pain in his chest from his heart racing too much.

”What do I want? Well, I'm a soldier of war like you. Not like I can call my own shots, but I can offer you something of a purpose.”

Eiji responded by spitting blood on the man's boots, foreseeing where this conversation was heading. He readied himself for the punch to his gut and face that was likely to follow.

”IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT PRIVATE?!” The man shouted, grabbing Eiji by the collar.

His rant ended with a weary sigh. He released his hold on Eiji and returned to his place at the power desk.

Eiji's frown deepened, confused by the man's vulnerable expression. This was wrong. His country was falling to men like this?

”If you're thinking why your country is losing Iwo Jima. Japan stands alone.”

The man answered on Eiji's thought. ”I'll be honest, we wouldn't have been able to set foot on this godforsaken rock otherwise.”

”Why're you telling me things?” Eiji gasped, not understanding this man's intentions at all.

He realised he was in a far worse situation. This man was most definitely dangerous.

”I can see from your stoic expression, I'm not going to get through to you with hints.” The man grabbed the chair and offered it to Eiji.

Eiji shook his head and slowly rose to feet, so he stood eye to eye with the foreigner. ”Never.”

He cursed when the man secured his arms behind his back and forced him out of the lone standing office that overlooked the Nanpo Bunker, and the caves and tunnels surrounding the naval air fields. His heart broke at the human travesty all around him.

A morose dawn broke over the litter of dead bodies stinking the air with a foul stench of iron and that sickly sweet smell of blood; ruined artillery was smoking, barbed wire barriers were broken and mangled over thousands of corpse piles, busted sand bags and damaged beach littered with hunks of metal and burning shrapnel. His honour as a Japanese man left him as he realised the atrocities of war more deeply than he had ever felt before.

”Look to the bunkers.” The man's voice was sober, expressionless.

Eiji forced down his tears and gasped at the fresh clouds of smoke and sporadic flashes around the tunnels and caves. Sounds of rapid gunfire and rush of cries filled with desperate bravado pained his ears. He saw the US armed forces pressing their attacks like clock-work ants going for a complete takeover of the island. His people were being overrun.

”It won't be long before we flush your general out, and the rest of his men.” The man continued to speak with a sober voice. ”It was you who announced your defeat on the beach before the banzai charge wasn't it?”

The man peered into Eiji's surprised eyes. ”I was fighting near you when I heard you announce Mount Suribachi taken and the fight lost.”

”It could've been anyone.” Eiji coolly defended his honour.