Light the Horizon

A Japanese officer feels ill omens in the air

August 6th, 1945.

Yurihishi looked down at the map again, as if staring at it would change the circumstances to his advantage. But no matter how he rearranged the battalions and divisions, there simply weren't enough soldiers to cover the entire island. Even the recent conscription of children and old men would only delay the inevitable.

He cursed himself immediately for his moment of disloyalty. The Emperor said "defend," and defend they would! The Gods spoke through the Emperor, so they must have had a purpose for what looked to Yurihishi like a hopeless cause.

"Then what's the plan, my Lord?" he muttered to himself. "What is the plan to keep these pale hordes from usurping our beautiful land of poetry and chrysanthemum?"

The moments passed as he sweated over the maps, finally deciding on the best—or the least worst, in any case—arrangements and axes of attack, lines of defense, and orders of battle.

The hour struck for the time for the war council. With impeccable punctuality, the officers filed in. They took seats on the plank benches, rigid with formality and obedience.

"Blessings to the Emperor for long life!" Yurihishi opened.

"HAI!"

"We must hold," he continued without preamble. "We must hold, but the wind is not out friend; it blows ill fate on our operation."

He beckoned the men to the table and went over the battle plan several times, until each man knew his role by heart. They would go to instruct their subordinates, and so on down the ranks.

Yurihishi stepped out of the rickety command shack and looked south, wondering how many would die. "Too many," he muttered, wondering about the intense glow on the horizon. "And so many have already!"

He would think later how ironically right he had been.

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 298
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words phrase "What's the plan?"