by Vincent Yee
There were more rifle shots and he heard another explosion from below on the far side. Then he felt another explosion directly below. The vibration shook through the roof and rumbled weakly across his stomach. Someone must have tossed a grenade into the second-floor window from the street. There were additional, muffled rifle shots, and then there was silence.
Hiroshi straightened up and took out his side arm and crept carefully back to his rifle.
“Home Run!” shouted Kenji as his voice traveled aimlessly in the aftermath of the situation.
“Yeah, who’s that?” asked Hiroshi as he shouted toward the edge of the roof. Hiroshi made his way to the edge, as his ears pulsated. He peered over and saw the back of one of his fellow troops’ helmets leaning out of the second floor window. The helmet turned upward and Hiroshi caught Kenji’s smiling face.
“Hey Home Run! Damn! Looks like you almost took them all out all by yourself!” said Kenji in admiration.
“Trust me, Kenji, I’m still glad to see you guys,” said Hiroshi appreciatively.
Another head peered out and it was Akira’s. There was a stern look on his face but he shouted out, “Shit, I have to admit, you’re a blast to be with. Hey, one of them is still alive!” Akira’s head then pulled away followed by Kenji’s.
Hiroshi holstered his sidearm and strapped on his rifle. He slung himself over the roof and slid down the closest downspout and landed with a light thud. He brought the rifle back into his hands and advanced to the sandbag bunker furthest away. As sand slowly oozed out of the sandbags of the first bunker, Hiroshi saw the bodies of two Nazi soldiers sprawled out on the floor. The mangled machine gun and ammunition boxes were lying in disarray, blown apart by the grenades. The second bunker was actually set up in a large hole of the building created from some earlier blast. The sandbags were blown apart, along with the bodies of the three Nazi soldiers. One soldier’s head was missing as if something had ripped it off and a sizeable portion of his torso was torn away. The second soldier had his face shredded by the blast. His upper torso suffered a direct blast revealing a bloodied chest cavity that was moist with blood and blackened elsewhere, cauterized by the blast’s heat. A third Nazi soldier lay on his back and was riddled with bullet holes. He hadn’t suffered much damage from the blast. Two of the other Japanese American soldiers were surveying the position from the outside. Peter was at the bottom of the staircase and walked toward Hiroshi with a sullen look on his face.
“Thanks Hiroshi, you saved my life,” said Peter.
“No I didn’t. You were just pinned down. You were relatively safe,” said Hiroshi as he placed his firm hand on Peter’s left shoulder when a heavy thud came from above.
“Well, thanks nonetheless,” said Peter.
“Don’t mention it, we’re all here to watch each other’s backs,” said Hiroshi as he made his way up the staircase to investigate the noise. Peter followed close behind.
When Hiroshi reached the second floor, he entered the room where the snipers had been holed up. He saw the fireplace on the left. The grenade blast had widened the opening. He could only imagine the explosion sending shrapnel and bricks outward toward the Nazi snipers. Two of the snipers, including the one he saw from the window, were sprawled out on their backs, motionless. He then turned to Akira, who had propped the third sniper up against the wall. The sniper was still alive, but barely, judging from the guttural and heavy breathing from his throat. Blood was dripping down from the side of his mouth, and there was a silent wild look in his eyes.
Akira turned to look at Hiroshi and smiled at him as Kenji and the other soldier looked on from behind.
“I think this is the fuck that shot and killed Fujimori,” Akira said accusingly.
Akira turned back to stare into the Nazi soldier’s blue eyes. He was undoubtedly in pain. Akira held him by the collars of his grey uniform as his arms hung limp by his sides. The soldier no longer had any noticeable control over them.
“Maybe I should just let him die slowly in my hands instead of being merciful,” taunted Akira. The Nazi stared back into Akira’s dark brown eyes that reflected his own eventual and painful mortality. Every breath was painful, as if a heavy weight was being wedged down his throat. He no longer had any control over his body. It looked as though unthinkable pain was searing through his body and mind like molten lead being poured into his very head. But he could barely even make the facial expressions to express his pain. He was dying with excruciating slowness.
“No, dying is too good for this son of a bitch. If he’s going to die anyways, he should feel every ounce of pain possible before he goes,” said Akira menacingly.
A glint of fear shone in the Nazi’s eyes as Akira pulled out his bayonet. Akira showed the soldier the shiny metal blade and moved it menacingly in front of him. Akira drew the blade down and out of the soldier’s view. Akira then stared into the trembling eyes of the soldier and smiled reassuringly. Suddenly the soldier’s eyes bulged outward as his face tensed up. For a moment his arms went rigid as Akira thrust the bayonet deeper into the soldier’s lower abdomen with the blade facing upward. With unseen strength, Akira forced the knife upward, cutting through fabric, skin, muscle, and organs until it finally reached the bony sternum. Akira watched the beads of sweat form on the soldier’s temples. The soldier’s eyes shuddered in pain until finally, the pupils went still and the guttural sounds from his throat were no more. Akira angled the blade to his right and cracked through the soldier’s ribs and forcefully sliced his heart apart. Akira pulled out the bloodied bayonet and wiped the blade along the sleeve of the dead soldier’s uniform. The gutted body slumped to the floor as his torso split open yielding its purplish, yellowish and bloodied organs.
Kenji immediately ran to the window and threw up over the side. The other soldier simply turned his head away in disgust. Hiroshi looked up at Akira, studied him and saw that he was smiling.
“Was that really necessary?” asked Hiroshi in a stern manner.
Akira looked up annoyingly at Hiroshi. He quickly switched to a friendly tone. “Hey, I helped him. He didn’t even deserve to die so quickly, but why let him suffer needlessly? Besides, that’s for all the Jews that they’re murdering in Germany.”
Hiroshi simply looked at Akira in disgust. “I didn’t think you would be like this.”
“Hey, he killed Fujimori, if you don’t fucking remember. And need I remind you, we’re at war! Besides, what I did wasn’t any different than gutting a cow.”
Hiroshi ignored Akira. This dark side of his was an inevitable part of him. He had suspected this back at Camp Shelby. Hiroshi turned away and simply said, “Whatever. Let’s secure this area and then meet up with the rest of the company. Kenji, are you okay?”
Kenji leaned away from the window, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and nodded.
“He’ll be fine. Kenji will be a fine soldier yet,” said Akira as he sheathed his bayonet.
“Fine, let’s meet downstairs and get out of here,” said Hiroshi. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and forget what had just happened. He turned and saw Peter staring down at the gutted body of the Nazi soldier, who was slumped in a dark pool of his own blood.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” said Hiroshi solemnly and Peter looked up and nodded. But Hiroshi saw a troubled look on his friend’s face and he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Perhaps Peter was coming to terms with nearly escaping his own mortality. Or perhaps, it was from watching Akira disembowel the dying Nazi soldier. It was a lot for any man to endure and absorb in one day. The harshness of war was a lesson in itself, revealing just how much pain man could inflict. It no doubt challenged the very fabric of Peter’s naïve belief in a compassionate humanity. Or maybe it was simply that Peter started to have doubts about his own confidence as a soldier.
Physically, Peter was a fine soldier. The training at Camp Shelby did him a world of good, and his heart was in the right place. But Peter was having some doubts about his own resolve to pe
rform what was expected of a soldier. In his day-by-day duties, he was still learning that. Military training couldn’t teach death or how to face the possibility of one’s own death. It could come close, but it couldn’t duplicate the actual brutality of an enemy who would employ any means to kill.
When Peter had landed in Italy, he and the 442nd marched toward the town of Belvedere and met light Nazi resistance. Their objective was to push the Nazi positions north in the Arno River campaign. The 442nd dug in and with the assistance of artillery that bombarded the Nazi positions, the 442nd surrounded the enemy and secured their surrender. Then came Hill 140, which was heavily fortified. This tested the soldiers: The 442nd was initially held at bay. Many of them were newly minted troops and not yet battle tested. It was the first time that many of them sensed the possibility of their own mortality as artillery shells landed just feet away from them, followed by showers of bullets chasing soft human flesh to rip apart. It took the battle-tested 100th Battalion to move the fight forward. With their brazen charge leading the way, the combined 2nd and 3rd companies of the 442nd fought together as they remembered why they had joined the army in the first place: To fight for their families’ freedom.
But that earlier fight wasn’t nearly as harrowing as the one they had just encountered. Before, they were always firing from afar, the killing had already been done when they finally did see Nazis. The 442nd was then ordered to move north to flush any Nazi positions from the northern towns.
Hiroshi and Akira adjusted quickly to war. They were true warriors and were aggressive about their mission objectives. Kenji was no longer the boy that he was when he first arrived at Camp Shelby. His innocence was a casualty of war. Any initial fears he may have had were soon conquered by a young man’s instinctive aggressiveness. For Kenji, the drive to win meant shooting as many Nazis as possible. Kenji’s primal need to kill was sparked and grew like a silent fire within him. But his false sense of mental armor masked the fact that he could still become a casualty of war.
Peter, however, still thought too much about what he was doing. He sometimes second-guessed his own actions. In battle, when bullets are slicing through the air or blast-propelled shrapnel is flying, second-guessing becomes even more dangerous. But there was no doubt that Peter had only the best intentions for his brothers in arms. He joined the army to fight, and he believed that what he was doing was absolutely right. But he questioned his ability to perform under pressure. He wasn’t sure if the other men could sense this, and he didn’t want them to. If they did, they would forsake him. They needed to be able to rely on him just as he relied on them, and Peter hoped that their confidence in him would not be tested. He hoped that any self-doubt that brooded within would fade in time to allow the hidden warrior to emerge.
Peter had never faced loss. He had never faced death in any manner in his entire life and now he was thrust into death’s greatest companion, war.
He feared his own possible death. A true soldier is one who believes that every battle will be his last, so that he no longer fears dying. Peter rarely expressed any physical bursts of rage fueled by vengeance, vindictiveness, or any other dark emotion. He had never even been in a real fistfight. But whatever lingering self-doubt he may have, he knew he could at least hold, point, aim and fire his rifle. But would that be enough?
Peter watched Hiroshi walk down the steps, followed by Kenji. He turned to look into the room as Akira and the other soldier searched the pockets of the two dead snipers for intelligence or possibly for souvenirs. Peter turned away, walked down the steps, and saw Hiroshi reach the ground floor. Kenji, being his usual excitable self, leapt over the banister in front of Hiroshi.
“That was pretty gross what Akira did, wasn’t it, Home Run?” Kenji exclaimed.
“It’s not what we’re supposed to do, Kenji. What Akira did up there, there was no justification for it.”
“But we’re here to kill as many Nazi bastards as possible,” Kenji retorted as he aimed his rifle out into the street and pretended to shoot off a round.
“Listen, Kenji,” Hiroshi said. He raised his voice, which caught Kenji’s attention.
“Yes we’re here to kill and yes, I want to kill as many Nazis as possible. What they’re doing to the Jews is awful and creating this entire war is even worse. But I still will not mutilate or torture anyone simply because I feel like it. As much of a hell that we may be in right now, we have to perform like honorable soldiers. When we return home, you don’t want to be a worse man coming out than going in. You don’t want to bring back any unnecessary demons from the war that may haunt you for the rest of your life. Got it?” asked Hiroshi. Kenji nodded as Peter listened from the middle of the staircase.
Everything that Hiroshi said made absolute sense. As much as the men were asked to risk their lives by killing other men, they didn’t need to sacrifice their own humanity to do so. They may need to put it aside for a while but ultimately, when they return home, they will be men again. They should return home as much as the men when they left, because that’s who their loved ones are waiting for back home. Not killing soldiers.
Kenji pondered Hiroshi’s words for a moment. There was a glint of understanding in his still-youthful eyes as he stared at Hiroshi. For a moment, the soldier within Kenji faded away and the shameless girl-chasing youth came back. This was who he was, not the soldier. Kenji admired and respected Hiroshi, and though it wasn’t customary for soldiers of the same rank to do so, Kenji stood at attention and saluted Hiroshi. It was something that Hiroshi did not expect. Maybe it was because of Kenji’s foolish clumsiness, but Hiroshi chuckled and saluted him in turn.
The two soldiers then laughed. Kenji’s smile showed off his slightly crooked teeth when the gunshot shattered the silence. Hiroshi looked about for the shooter.
“Home Run,” muttered Kenji.
Hiroshi suddenly turned to Kenji. His hand was on his chest and blood had started to soak through his uniform. “I think I’ve been shot,” Kenji said as he tumbled forward into Hiroshi’s arms.
“No!” shouted Hiroshi as he caught his fallen friend. His own rifle fell to his side. He gripped Kenji as he peered over his left shoulder and could see one of the wounded Nazi soldiers, still lying on his back and pointing a pistol toward them. Another shot suddenly ran out.
The Nazi soldier’s arm slumped to the ground as blood wormed out of the bullet hole from his head. Then another bullet entered his chest, then another until finally five bullets riddled his chest spewing blood on his uniform. Hiroshi looked up the steps and saw Peter. His rifle was still aimed at the Nazi as smoke slowly drifted from its muzzle. He seemed motionless as he stood there but when he turned to look at Hiroshi, there was something unfamiliar in his eyes: It was rage.
Hiroshi carefully brought Kenji down and laid him onto his back. Peter rushed down the steps as Akira followed, to see Kenji on the floor with his chest bloodied.
“Kenji, hang in there,” said Hiroshi reassuringly. He took off Kenji’s helmet as a trickle of blood oozed from the side of his mouth. But there was a strange calm look on Kenji’s face.
Peter knelt down alongside Kenji and took off his own helmet as he reached for his medical pack. Peter told Akira what had happened, and this sent his temper flaring as he rushed to every single fallen Nazi soldier and put a couple of bullets into their heads to guarantee their death.
Hiroshi frantically removed the gear from around Kenji’s chest and then ripped open his shirt, which revealed a bloody mess. The bullet had exited his chest and lodged itself in one of the magazine clips strapped to his chest. This was probably what saved Hiroshi’s life.
“Kenji, look at me,” urged Hiroshi as he took a bandage from Peter and applied pressure to Kenji’s chest. It was soaking up blood way too fast, so Hiroshi reached for his own medical pack as well. Kenji was bleeding profusely from the inside, and Hiroshi didn’t know what horrible damage that single bullet had done.
“Home Run,” muttered Kenji as he fixed his eye
s on Hiroshi. His body was shivering as he lay there.
“Don’t talk, Kenji, you’re going to be fine.” Hiroshi knew he was lying.
“Home Run, I need you to…” Kenji paused as his throat started to fill with blood, preventing him from speaking clearly. But he continued, “…tell my parents I love them.”
“You can tell them yourself, Kenji and…” said Hiroshi just when Kenji found some unknown strength to grip onto Hiroshi’s right hand.
Hiroshi was startled, but held onto Kenji’s hand firmly and looked down into his eyes.
“Was I a good soldier?” asked Kenji.
“Yes, you’re a great American soldier,” said Hiroshi.
Kenji’s eyes rolled back for a moment but then came back to focus on Hiroshi, who had placed his left hand on his forehead. His coarse black hair was matted down, but his smooth skin revealed his youth. There was grave concern on Hiroshi’s face as Peter applied pressure to Kenji’s wound. But the blood was pouring out from his entry wound as well and started to soak the floor that Kenji was lying on. Still, he found the strength to continue speaking.
“Miho is pretty cute, isn’t she?”
Hiroshi was a bit puzzled by Kenji’s question, but he smiled back at Kenji and said, “She is, and you’ll see her again.”
“If I marry her, we can be like brothers, right?” asked Kenji.
“Yes, we can be like brothers, Kenji, you and I.”
“Tell Miho…” Kenji paused as his breathing became shallow. “Tell Miho, she’s the cutest girl I’ve ever seen,” he whispered as his crooked smile faded away forever.
T W E N T Y T H R E E
Losing Kenji was difficult for the men, especially Hiroshi. When Kenji died, Hiroshi held him in his arms and wept. Peter stood over the two as tears welled up in his eyes. Akira expressed his grief by tossing things around to suppress his own tears. The four men had started out together, but they wouldn’t finish it together.
