Breeze.

The wind blew onto my dry skin. The moon illuminated the earth like a night lamp.

The world around me started shivering, and then it began to form. My eyes doodled around softly, trying to gather my thoughts. My whole body felt like it got hit by a tank. Sweat dripping off from my chin and it molded into a puddle below me.

A small lamp. Trees. Several trucks. Men. A flag, the red sun. 

A rope. It tied my hands and strapped me to a metal pole, and the pole was cold as hell.

John, with his blond hair and brown eyes, stared at me like a dog waiting for its master to wake. His beautifully formed cheeks and jaws didn’t seem like an amusement park anymore, more like an abandoned grave yard stroke by a meteor. 

“John!” My voice deep and small. Men around us carried their Arisakas, stood tall and proud. Their gazes maintained to form poker faces, but the smiles behind those faces were smiles of victory.

They were keeping us alive for a reason. 

“I’m here,” John said, acknowledging that he was okay.

“We need to get out of here. We’re Americans. They’ll torture us for information.”

“And you get any idea?”

Dozens of Japanese soldiers marched around, jogging here and there, standing in every corner and every plausible escape route. Small tanks parked almost everywhere, and the Japanese controlled the Dutch watch tower.

“No.”

−

Water.

Water can feed you. Water keeps you from dying. But it can also hurt you.

Rain poured and got thicker and thicker every second. The Japanese men worked a bit faster. My hands started to lose their feels. It probably bled out, and I didn’t know.

A serious looking man with two soldiers walked toward us. Every step they took, we wondered what will happen. The man stared to us, menacing and cold, challenging and proud. His green trench coat spoke that he was someone important, and two American privates like us being approached by a Japanese high rank officer was never a well sign.

He towered before us after stopping his march. He squatted in front of us with a smug face.

“My name is Colonel Akira Yamako from the Imperial Japanese Forces,” he said with proper English but Asian accent. “You two are?”

I hesitated. His breath felt warm and constant. It splashed to my face like a sniffing dragon, ready to burst flame out of its nose any second. 

“It would be very wise to answer my question, soldiers. That is if you want to keep breathing when our flag flutters in the White House’s courtyard.”

It wasn’t my voice that came out, but John’s. “I’m McGale. John. This is Jules Buchanan.” His voice was raspy and shaky. His heart pumped. His breath energized by adrenaline.

Colonel Yamako surprisingly smiled, but it was vicious and irritating. He got back to his feet. “I am going to ask you some questions. Now, I have a pretty good instinct when people are not telling the truth. So please, for your own sake, be honest.”

I had no idea what he would ask. It could be some classified information or maybe some target attacks or something. We clearly had no clue about anything like that because we were privates. I really wished he didn’t ask those.

“Did you escape your boat with other men?” I sniffed out my exasperation. My tense calmed when he spitted the question.

I shook my head. “It was just us. We fled when the ship was on fire.” I tried to add horror to my voice, but obviously he didn’t care.

“Did you see or meet other people when trying to escape?” I thought what he meant was that we were in contact with a Dutch or not.

“No.”

“Did you know about the supplies your boat brought?”

At that, we cringed. Our forehead frowned. “Our ship was a destroyer, not cargo,” John slayed.

“I’m aware of that, private. But do you know that your ship actually carried three large boxes full of explosives, five barrels of gunpowder, eight ton of ammunition, heavy and light, hundreds of five caliber guns, fifty crates of Panzerfausts with eight barrels of their rockets, eight hundred more crates full of American made guns, and dozens of tear gasses?”

I leered at John who made the same expression as me, confused and startled. “We were assigned to aid the English fleet in battle, but we lost a lot of ships and fled here.”

“I assume you also did not know that your ship’s navigational system was fine and you could just land in Surabaya safely.”

My brain twisted. I lost to this conversation. He knew more than I did. “That’s impossible. Our captain−”

“Sailed toward battlefield to get to Central Java and aid the enemy,” Yamako pushed. 

“What?” John’s voice rose. He respected Captain Bramberg more than any men alive. “He was not a traitor. He was loyal to the American Army and will never help the Japanese by any means necessary.”

“Oh you don’t understand, Private McGale. Your captain was not helping us. He was supplying the locals here to fight us.”

“But that’s just ridiculous. We were sent to help allies fleet defeat yours, not to smuggle guns. Why would he risk passing an active battlefield to Central Java with hundreds of men? Also, how the hell did he get his go? How would he explain himself to his crews?”

“Private McGale, your captain was assigned to help your fleet at the Java Sea and he took that opportunity to flee here and aid the locals.”

“So why keeeping us alive?” John wasn’t even scared anymore. He backfired almost every statement Yamako spitted. “Why didn’t you just kill us on sight like you did to all of our friends?”

“Because, Private John McGale,” his voice softened as he pressed his mouth between our ears. “you two are the only survivors of the Battle of Java Sea. Two thousand and three hundred crews and officers are dead and you two are the miraculous survivors. The Americans are always pleased to make a deal with us to save two heroes that witnessed horror, and we can take advantage of this matter.” He said that we could be used for prisoner exchanges, basically.

He rose and shouted to his men. The two Japanese helped us up and rounded us toward a brown truck.

−

Fire.

Fire is a monster, an engaging rage that consumes men without effort. 

Fire rose in the tree line after a huge explosion. Japanese men with their commands flew here and there. Panic rushed the entire beach as fast as quicksilver. 

The two men that hauled us got distracted. I immediately crouched and planked the man’s chin with my hairy head. Blood levitated above me and sprung toward the earth as my left foot aimed for his testicles. The hit was crucial and painful. The man screamed and shouted some words, probably curses.

Besides me, John strangled the other guy’s neck, but his mouth tried to bit his arm. They both gasped and screamed, dancing and kicking the sand agonizingly. I grabbed the unconscious man’s pistol and blew the trigger five times toward the struggling soldier at John’s hug. 

The man grew limb and dropped.

Another explosion. Japanese men deployed themselves to the garrison. Rifles hunched back in their grasps as bullets started to travel. The trees shook and birds flew away, rushing off for the sake of their lives.

“John, we must escape!” 

We stepped down and hid before two rushing men passed us hurriedly. They didn’t seem to care if we didn’t hide anyway.

“This truck! We can use it.”

 “Shujin wa dasshutsu shita!” A Japanese man shouted from outside a tent. They shot us with their cunning looks and sprung their Arisakas with panic. Three men. Three guns.

“Shit. Get behind the truck!”

Shootings still occurred all around us. Explosions and screams echoed and filled the night sky. Death came to every man every minute when the bullet finally caught them. But we currently tried to take down the three privates in order to escape.

Their bullets clung after hitting the truck’s armored body, bouncing in the air and dropped harmlessly to the sand.

“Shoot back, genius!” John yelled while clipping his stolen rifle toward the three enemies. They hid behind wood crates, shielding them from John’s nefarious shots.

I hunched and twisted my Nambu Pistol. Bullets rushed out. Metal scratching metal. 

−

Flesh.

Flesh is weak. Flesh is fane. Flesh cannot protect us from darkness or danger. Flesh fails us when we need them to shield us.

John screamed as his left shoulder stimulated back, punching him to the air and down the ground. His flesh, opened and wounded. Blood burst whilst he barked with panic. Dark red liquid went down, following the gravity, staining the pale beach to red.

“You’re gonna be fine, John. You hear me?” I tapped his cheek with my palm.

Japanese words touched my ear, louder than the sound of the battle. The men approached us when one of them shot John. 

Sands flew upward, touching the horizon along with fire and smoke. The three men plunged above us as their limbs rained the earth. The three men blew up. The attackers blew them up.

I stayed focus. I ripped part of my sleeve and bandaged poor John.

I piggybacked the passed out mate and his body slumped down when I threw him to the back seat. My foot kicked the gas pedal after shifting, the truck lunged forward. The tires skidded, cutting waves of dead men and rough sand out of the way.

Bullets hitting our trucks, but the situation kept me thinking. 

Now, two identical trucks locked on us. Their headlights bladed like raining radiation. Their inconsiderable speed charged lethally, trimming the branches and leaves when we reached the tree line.

“Shit.” More bullets. More holes on the truck. More possibilities of me dying a tragic death. More chances of John dying because of me.

The dirt road wasn’t kind. The truck almost went off track and turned, but luck kept me going. 

I moved my eyes to the rearview mirror. The two trucks chasing us seemed to move a bit faster and more aggressive. My sweat ran down through my cheeks and my chest. The cold wind didn’t ease me.

Metals clanged. I jerked forward and almost hitting my nose to the steering wheel. 

I banged the truck left, surprising the chasers and managed to lose them for some seconds.

Another truck suddenly appeared in front of me out of nowhere. 

“Shit.” I sprawled the brake with my foot. The car drifted forward, slithering on the coarse road and bumped the blocking truck. 

I shifted the gear and reversed. The gunner in the front truck aimed, shot, missed. The bullet almost fisted my skull, but pierced the air besides me instead. My truck backed as fast as I could push it to. The two chasing trucks behind me were so close now. 

My foot accelerated the gas and avoided the front truck. Now three of them kept on shooting me, trying to derail and kill me with incident.

Men shouted in Japanese. Their voices blended in with the roaring of four trucks. 

The moment didn’t happen. The moment slipped by like nothing happened. The moment passed, and I didn’t realize.

Blood stained the steering wheel and the dashboard like tar. It oozed down on my left hand and my eyes blared after seeing what happened. They blew my pinky out of my hand. The jolting pain came rushing after the sudden realization. I screamed and lost focus. The car swayed. The last thing I remembered in that moment was the giant tree, and the sound of smashed glasses. 

−

Wind.

It whistled all around me, filling every corner of the place like liquid. It rustled, and it rushed.

I came back to reality. The environment started filling in like smoke inside a building. 

Tall trees. Green leaves. Sunlight. Japanese people murmuring not afar. Bandage on my finger. John.

He was tied up, again, behind me. We settled in a different location. Only some few Japanese soldiers and five trucks with plenteous supplies that I saw. Colonel Yamako among them, chatting to a private.

The colonel tilted his head and noticed me waking. I jounced John’s arm, but he didn’t twitch. He still fainted.

“Ah, you are awake. I got to admit, that was really impressive for two privates. Are all of you American soldiers like you, or just you?”

I didn’t answer.

The colonel smirked a bit. “We were attacked by more Dutch. They were pathetic, though, we got rid of them. Anyway,” the colonel crouched, “we will be moving very soon. Better wake up your friend so we don’t have to drag them to the truck.”

He walked away with a smile.

“John.” No reply. “John. Wake up, now!” I banged my head back and bumped his. 

John grasped back to reality. He panted. “Ouch... Why does everything hurts? What the hell happened?”

“You passed out, car chase, they blew my freaking finger off, hit a tree, now we’re here.”

“Woah. I missed all those? Damn. Sorry about the finger, though.” 

One soldier brought a knife and gently cut our cuffs free. He held his pistol and escorted us toward the rear truck. We sat on the middle seat while the same soldier sat behind us. The colonel jumped to the front after the driver. He yelled a word in Japanese and the party of trucks moved on.

The trucks in front of us carried large crates and barrels. I assumed these were the supplies Yamako talked about. The supplies that our captain tried to smuggle to help the locals.

They drove mediocrely. The birds chirping and the leaves swaying and the sunlight braced toward our skins made up the stress. Rice fields started to form before our eyes as we drove by it. Acres of green beauties with dozens of farmers and buffalos and scarecrows hampered beneath two mountains, calming out our tired eyes with the incredible view. 

More forests.

More fields, but this time, tall spheres were everywhere, planted narrowly and destroyed the wholesome view. I pitied the farmers who needed to work with these pointy stuffs there. The upward spheres were to intercept and kill paratroopers, but looking it with both our eyes reminded us on how messed up this world became.

Villages. Smokes, babies crying, men crying. Stiff and brutally beat up people lying on the ground. Soldiers pushing them around, knocking them out. Children with scars and malnutrition welcomed us.

John whispered to my ear. “This is so messed up.”

“Yeah.”

“Be quiet,” the corporal commanded.

We dove deeper into the valley, passing hundreds of villagers’ homes and lands, seeing more brutalities, insanities, inhumanities. 

The disturbing sight got more disturbing as three kids no older than ten lied face down on the road while people just walked passed them. The mother sobbed her tears as it drowned her face. My heart shattered seeing the sight.

“Why are you people so evil? These people deserve better.” John finally opened his mouth, unbearable to stand by.

Colonel Yamako slued his head toward us dramatically, sighting us with a weird, disgusted, mysterious look. “You thought you allies were any different?”

We passed the village and those nauseating views. The trucks severed back toward deeper rainforests. The warm heat of the morning sun blasted our skins, and it felt rather nice.

−

Echo.

It bounced off between the trees, slipped pass everyone in a hurried tone, making everyone braced themselves.

The echo of the explosion laughed to our ears horrendously. The screams and the fire and the people shouting and the rush and every other voice bashed our skulls.

The truck in front of us flew upwards. Flame bloomed over the body of the vehicle, burning the men inside it. 

“Land mind,” John said toward me in a half screaming voice.

Our truck reversed. A pine tree fell on purpose, blocking the road. We almost got smashed by a giant plant, but if the tree didn't kill us, the bullets would.

Shootings. Smoke. Fire.

“The locals are attacking,” I said while watching the trucks in front of us battled the dozens of Javanese resistances. Bullets and bamboos sprung here and there, cutting limbs and spilling blood.

The Japanese man behind us panicked. The corporal told them to reinforce the others and fight the resistance.

The driver died. A hole in his head produced the blackish blood, falling down and dipping on his uniform.

“Get up!” The corporal commanded us. He drew his pistol and lunged forward. He led us toward the other soldiers and ducked behind the parked trucks. I breathed as many air as I could, but the dying men all around made me feel like I drowned in a pit of grave. 

Four living Japanese soldiers including the corporal. Five others died. Dozens of resistances, locals. The Javanese outnumbered the Japanese. Pistols against bamboos. Rifles against pine spheres. Grenades against slingshots.

Yamako cocked his pistol. The bullet spitted out smoothly, but it went somewhere I didn’t expect.

His own men.

Five bullets exited the corporal’s gun and entered the remaining Japanese soldiers’ skulls. 

Dead. They all died. The green forest turned red. 

“Did he just?” John couldn’t believe what the corporal just did. I couldn’t too. “Did you just shot your own men?”

The corporal stood up. He stood up and holstered his gun back to his waist. The locals stopped shooting after his face popped. One Javanese walked to him and hugged him.

“What the hell is happening?” I asked to the smiling corporal.

“We got the supplies for you," he said to the local man, ignoring us complete. "Captain Bramberg couldn’t make it. He passed for the right purpose, you should know that. He died for your freedom.”

The Javanese nodded. Men started bringing the crates and barrels and loaded them toward wagons. They looted the dead soldiers.

“Dutch?” The Javanese man asked Yamako while staring at us.

“No. They’re Americans. They were with Bramberg before their ship sunk.”

−

Peace.

There is no peace without turmoil, no life without death. There is no freedom without sacrifices and no justice without anguish.

Now, we walked pass towering trees with the resistances. Their clothes brown and with holes, ragged and stinky. 

Finally, houses and tents. Kids stiff like bones, women unclothed, men with broken jaws and burned cheeks. 

Yamako led me to a green tent where a large table with hand-made chairs settled. Inside, a couple of locals with nicer suits and two Japanese men welcomed us.

“Can you tell us what’s really happening?” John asked politely in front of the serious looking men.

Yamako softly demanded us to sit. His behavior rotated backwards. He was like another person.

“So,” Yamako smiled and leaned his head toward John. “I’m basically a soldier who signed to the military for defending my nation, not suppressing others. You see those people out there, on the streets? Those people suffered, enslaved, raped, and I thought I could make a difference although I’m Japanese. Everywhere in this part of Asia, everyone suffers. Nations with powers alternately suppressed them for hundreds of years.”

“Are you telling us you’re a defector?” John asked.

“I’m a warrior who wants to protect these people. I’m a person who thought the world would be better without invasion and slavery.”

“Wait.” I realized something. It was like a slap to the back of my head. “Were you and Captain Bramberg working together?”

“I was supposed to intercept Bramberg’s vessel and captured them, not slaughtering and sinking the damn boat to the ocean. I was to take arrange a local attack, and the locals would win, and they would take the supplies with them. I would cut loose everyone free afterwards.”

“Then why was the whole boat got slaughtered and sunken to the ocean?”

“Because, Private McGale, there was another Japanese officer who came to supervise me. I did not expect him. He called the attack and sunken your boat to the ocean.”

“Then why are you not killing us? We’re Americans.”

“Firstly, Private Buchanan, I do not care for a slight second about you two’s lives. But, you two can be useful.”

“For what?” I asked, getting more and more curious.

“You two will live here and observe the sufferings of the people and the struggle of them to gain independence. You will feel how terrible it is to be suppressed and enslaved, starved and beat up, and losing every child every day to mistreatment. You will be freed after some time and you will fight for these people’s freedom. You’re Americans, your voices are heard. You will help regain independence for the country of Indonesia.”