Hideki couldn’t sleep. He either paced the floor or lay in bed awake, bleary-eyed, and sobbing quietly. His pillow was damp. It had been a month since the battle, and he had been on a few more patrols, but nothing happened to the extent of the events leading up to and including the Double Snake River Incident, as it was called.
As he later gazed out of the barracks’ window, he found some comfort in the open sky above. The distant stars were cold and remote, if only he could rise into the air and travel to them. His friends and enemies celestial beings. He would bow to them and ask forgiveness.
When he joined the military so long ago now it seemed, he knew he would be in battles and killing would happen, but he thought he would find glory. His own death would be sunlit, immaculate, and encapsulated in the glow of the Emperor. He thought of Shigeru, his body lying on the floor, the mess of blood from his gaping throat underneath and beside him.
Desertion means disgrace for the family.
And in Shanghai, he constantly saw the faces of Chai Yee Fung, the mayor, and Chiang. He shook in the pale light. Then there was the Snake River Incident; the boy combatant’s face was exceptionally clear. It floated before him.
Sgt. Hayashi was evil, as cold as the heavens above, capable of such a callousness that stunned Hideki. His stomach crunched into knots, aching with an indistinct pain.
He soon learned that Honda and Tsujiyama had died in the ambush. Both were as inexperienced as he. Honda was young, younger than Hideki, and had been nervous about the coming fight. His face bled innocence in the face of battle. Hideki could see his eyes trembling, even in the darkness within the trees. His small hands also shivered as he gripped his rifle tightly. Tsujiyama, a soldier of fierce, unwavering patriotism, was clear about his duty and encouraged Honda as best as he could. He was anxious to get into the fray and said so, his face taut with violent intention. He embraced the Three Alls as his reason for being and so was one of the first to engage the enemy. Almost immediately, he was shot through the heart. Hideki mourned both though he hardly knew them.
Hideki’s lack of sleep dizzied him, made him unsteady on his feet. He dragged through his duties, sometimes losing balance and flopping to the ground. He was indifferent to the insults and yelling of his superior officers and his fellow soldiers. He just didn’t care, no matter how many beatings he endured. Once sent to the hospital after a particularly savage thrashing by the sergeant, Hideki groggily saw the army doctor who gave him sedatives and confined him to his barracks. He slept, but he never really felt rested.
During his convalescence in late September, he received two letters from home. One came from his father, mailed last June. The second from his sister, Chiemi, dated at the beginning of August. Yet both arrived together on the same day.
His father sent him a tanka with no explanation. Curious.
Death has no meaning for me,
But when I give thought to the
Moment of death,
I grow sad at the loss of
Warm family memories.
He didn’t understand its purpose, not until he read his sister’s letter. Otousan was dead. No one knew why, the cause was never discovered. He just died in his sleep.
It seemed ridiculous to Hideki or at least anti-climatic given all the slaughter around him. Death is meaningless. He harrumphed and tossed the letters.
Hideki and his fellow troopers learned in early fall 1940 that they were ordered on the road to Nanking. He knew the old capital was the site of a major battle back in 1937 where some 4,000 Chinese soldiers had been eliminated, but the braggart Inefuku said otherwise.
“4,000? More like 400,000! They offered up much resistance, but we as the superior Emperor’s Army easily defeated them.”
400,000? Hideki was stunned by the number. How can you kill 400,000? ran through his mind constantly. Is it even possible? It stayed with him as they marched along the road to Nanking. Burned out houses and buildings, scorched fields and the ruined lives of people greeted them as they passed. Peasants staggered out to plead for water, food, anything. Half dead, hollow, with bloodshot eyes and emaciated bodies. But they were met with indifference, some with derision. Hideki, himself haggard, his body wasted, held a glimmer of understanding, which soon vanished as he passed-by.
Their mission was to deal with any force who would confront them. Some of the poor begged in front of Sgt. Hayashi but were simply knocked to the ground. He said, “Akamatsu, drop to the rear and throw out some provisions.”
Hideki did as he was ordered, falling to the back of the line to toss some of dried grub from his backpack along the road. No one said anything even as a mob of peasants swarmed the road behind the line of troops. He was perplexed at the sergeant’s sudden change of heart, change of character.
He later understood it was a lesson from him: he ate very little for about four days after having given away most of his provisions. The Sergeant ordered no one was to share food with him. Hideki felt the sergeant’s grin every time he walked by him.
Hideki and company were marching to Nanking (about 300 kilometres); from there, they were to move across the Yangtze River and then north towards Peking to relieve the 9th Division. All along the journey, Hideki mumbled to himself. Anger and hunger forced him to gather whatever green plants he could find and gnaw on the branches and leaves. His eyes widened, taking on a crazed look.