The Invasion

The shells stopped exploding around me. The acrid smoke of cordite choked my lungs as I lay hidden among a pile of boulders. A shattered tree collapsed atop the rocks, its burnt and twisted branches in grotesque mimicry of its previous life. The beach in front of me was pocked and torn apart as craters slowly filled with dirty salt water from incoming waves.

I pushed aside a gnarled branch and cautiously raised my head above the gray granite of my shelter. Beyond the breakers, turtle-headed Japanese soldiers packed in dozens of steel-grey craft brushed aside the green water in their zeal to conquer the coast. Trade winds blew the stench and the drone of diesel engines into my nostrils as the blunt vessels forced their way through waves toward my hiding place.

My hands squeezed the sun-heated rock, and my legs trembled in anticipation of the coming fight. I jerked when chains rattled and the heavy iron ramp hit the sand. Bullets buzzed through the air above me to pierce the camouflaged flesh of foreign men running towards the rocks.

I looked to my right, where my friends cowered behind the frontal dunes. The shelling from the ships offshore had bloodied them, but they were alive. I could see the fear in their eyes as they looked at me for reassurance. What could I do? I was as terrified as they were.

A machine gun began to rattle to my left, and I saw brass cartridges, emptied of their lethal lead, spin in the air, shining in the bright tropical sun before they fell lifeless onto the hot white sand. Helmeted heads poked cautiously up from the craters, unwilling to expose themselves to the swarm of hot bullets zinging through the air above.

I saw an opportunity and brought the heavy rifle onto the top of the boulder. I squinted my left eye and lined up the iron sights. Despite all my training, nothing had prepared me for this moment as I gently squeezed the trigger. I felt the jarring shock as the heavy rifle butt slammed into my shoulder. Fear robbed me of other emotions as I saw my target jerk and collapse onto the sand, his shapeless form awkwardly embracing the beach. Another green shape came closer, and I instinctively adjusted my aim and squeezed the trigger. Fear had not robbed me of my purpose but gave me the confidence to seek out another and another until I heard the lifeless click of the rifle bolt.

I took a fresh magazine out of my top pocket and pressed it into the opening as the adults had taught my class. There was little time to waste. The Japanese were swamping the beach, pouring out from a never-ending stream of landing craft.

More and more of these strange green uniformed men poured onto the wet sand like ants spilling from a nest. The dead carpeted shallows with red foam as waves washed over their bodies and backwash rolled their corpses towards the deep ocean from where they came.

I fired bullet after bullet at the continuous stream of fanatical, screaming soldiers as they ran toward me with contorted faces. My anger rose, pushing back the sick bile that threatened to overwhelm me. I ripped out the empty magazine and felt in my pockets for another. I had none. I was out. I called out for more ammunition, but no one responded. I saw my friend stop firing, fumble through his pockets, then drop his overheated rifle on the sand. He took a glance at me and turned to run.

Gone was my resolve. I had no power. I was useless against the enemy. Now, I felt vulnerable, and I had to flee for my life. I quickly laid my rifle against the rock, turned, and fought my way through the broken branches of the oppressive tree that had once been my shelter. Now, it was my prison.

I made a short distance towards safety when I felt my arms grabbed from behind. I struggled as soldiers dragged me through branches and out onto the sand. My captured friends were standing in a tight group, surrounded by strange-looking people from a land I had never known. Soldiers pushed me towards them.

I snatched an opportunity to dive between the legs of one of my captors. I quickly regained my footing and sprinted for the shelter of a nearby dune. I didn’t make it. I was dragged back and brought in front of an angry officer. Suddenly, he struck me with the back of his hand, knocking me to the ground. He barked a command in an unknown language, and a private hoisted me to my feet.

One by one, we were forced onto our knees. My face smarted from the slap. I tried to rise, but a large hand held me in place. I felt fear, and yet I had hope. I was alive, but I had no inkling of my fate.

I felt the blade push deep into my back and punch through my stomach, slick with blood from the thrust. I watched in horror as the soldier withdrew his bayonet, and my blood pumped freely onto the dry sand at my knees.

“Mom! Mom! Help me! He’s killing me!” I cried.

⁂

Her palm rested upon my damp forehead as her fingers gently stroked my fine hair.

“Shh. It’s okay. Everything will be all right.”

She turned to my father.

“Grandpa shouldn’t have let him stay up late to watch that war movie. What was he thinking? He’ll have nightmares for weeks!”