Lighter Than A Feather

LIGHTER THAN A FEATHER

1.

Superior Private Yoshioko's body cried for rest, but he had long ago learned to deny his physical cravings.  His mind was master over his body.  His mind was strong, willful, and dedicated to the glorious and eventual victory promised by the Emperor of the Japanese nation, over the bold, but weak stomached Americans and their allies.  The Americans may have their advanced technology and large army and air force, but they could never hope to match good Japanese spirit in battle!  Any worthy soldier of the Emperor could, and would, take at least ten of the Yankee dogs with him in death!  And that was another stupid thing about the Americans:  they feared death!  They would go so far as to surrender in battle if victory proved elusive and death imminent.  What honor could they hope to gain by such actions?  Yoshioko looked forward to his death with eagerness!  What better way to die than fighting to keep Yankees from stepping onto Japanese soil?  Indeed, he would serve his Emperor well!  And at the same time bring honor upon himself and his family.  He had ended his last letter to his father, the last he knew he would ever write, with the Imperial Rescript to Soldiers and Sailors:  Be resolved that duty is heavier than a mountain, while death is lighter than a feather.

Yes, he thought, let the Americans come.  Japanese spirit will drive them back into the sea!

He was alone in his position in the front of the main line of defense.  Originally, there had been a tunnel to the next position where the machine gun and the Honorable Platoon Leader were.  But that had been destroyed last evening by a lucky American shell, so now Yoshioko was in sole command of his position, and himself.

His position was sealed, so he could not leave it.  But what did that matter?  He did not intend to leave!  The thought did occur to him that when he finally fell, his body would remain underground without the proper burial due a soldier of the Emperor.  But he took heart knowing that his soul would join all the other brave warriors who had ever died in battle, at the shrine at Yasukuni!  He prayed the Americans would hurry.  He had provisions enough for three days, though he thought he could stretch them into a week if need be.  Oh, how his body cried for sleep!  But still he refused.  He feared if he slept now, the Americans might begin their attack and bypass his position, robbing him of his glorious death!

2.

He was awakened by sand stinging him in the face.  From his emplacement, it sounded as if the world were exploding!  He leapt to the firing port, his stomach knotted in fear... Ah!  Fortune smiled still!  This was only the bombardment prior to the troop landings.  He could, however, see the American landing craft steaming toward the beach.  Overjoyed, he fetched up his rifle, checking its operation once again to be sure there would be no foul-ups once the Yankees landed.  As he knocked sand from the sight, he recalled the visions he'd had of stupid Americans rushing his position all at once, and how he calmly dropped them one after another.  He hoped it would truly be so!  He wanted to be the first rifleman on the beach to kill one of the enemy.  It would be a special honor indeed.

It seemed hours before the landing craft with the enemy troops reached the beaches.  And once they had, the Japanese mortars and machine guns had ripped into them as soon as the doors dropped.  Yoshioko could see the water line littered with the bodies of Americans foolish enough to attack Japanese soil!  He was happy to note that the main body of the enemy would come directly into his position.  He was nearly nervous with excitement and anticipation.  But he knew when the proper time arrived, his mind would take full control of his body, and he would deal with the Americans, as only a Japanese soldier brimming with true Japanese spirit, might.

3.

Superior Private Kiku Yoshioko, sweating profusely, fired the last three rounds in the clip, killing two more of the enemy and missing with the final shot.  He rebuked himself for that!  With so many Yankees about, especially now that they had discovered his position, he could not afford to miss targets.  Why did the Japanese mortars not continue firing on the insolent attackers?  Surely they presented a worthy enough target?  He could not take the time to answer himself; the surging mass of Yankees everywhere, continuously pressing!

"Ha!"  He cried!  "You feel the fury of Japanese spirit at last, Yankee Swine!  And how do Japanese bullets taste, for you have surely eaten enough of mine to know!"  How many of the enemy he had killed already he was not positive, for many were falling all the time, nearly one after another.  But he was almost positive he'd accounted for at least twenty, and hoped for at least that many more if his ammunition lasted.  The mountain was indeed pressing on Yoshioko today!  But he bore the weight with pride, and the ever present Japanese spirit.  He remembered the Code of Bushido:  The death of a Samurai is like a falling Cherry Blossom.

4.

Where were all of these Americans coming from?  They must be concentrating their whole force on this one beach!  What could they possibly hope to gain?  They did not have the spirit of the Japanese, nor the blood of the Samurai!  He reached for his last clip, ejecting the now empty one, and as he reached to feed the new rounds into his smoking rifle, there came a searing, shocking pain in his chest which threw him up against the earth on the opposite side of his bunker!  He could not think- he did not try to.  He raised his rifle in the direction of the firing port before it fell from his hands.  He could hear the Yankees yelling just outside his position now, in their harsh, barbaric sounding voices!

"It is not so pleasant on the ear as is the Japanese tongue", he thought to himself.  He noticed that the weight of the mountain no longer pressed down on his tired, weary shoulders, and smiled.

His last sensation was that of a feather, settling softly, gently, onto the ground.


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