Beside a Burning Sea

by John Shors

  He smiled at her, kissing her gently. He was always surprised at the softness of her lips, and this moment was no exception. She felt almost impossibly tender and warm. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “for telling me of those two lives.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Akira kissed her again, savoring the feel of her. His whole life he had enjoyed opening his senses to the world. As a boy he had listened to cicadas, and savored the sweets his mother brought him. As a young man he had marveled at the sights of ancient temples and gardens. And as a man he had touched a great many things. But he’d never felt anything that gave him as much pleasure as Annie’s lips.

  And so Akira used all of his senses to revel in her extraordinary company. He removed her clothes and found her to be a greater beauty than he had seen. He listened to her whisper his name and believed her voice to be the most intimate and alluring sound he’d heard. He felt her eyelashes against his neck and delighted in the unexpected discovery of this intimate sensation. He smelled and tasted the soft curves of her flesh.

  And the combination of these wonderful sensations so overwhelmed him that he felt as if he’d left one world and entered another that was almost entirely unknown to him.

  LATER, WHEN THE SUN WAS ONLY AN HOUR or so from setting, Akira and Jake left camp. They carried a canteen, the machete, the pilot’s dagger, and some dried fish. Knowing that they’d spend the night hiding in the jungle and that mosquitoes would assault them, they had stood near the campfire for some time, inundating themselves in smoke. Akira had used some old coals from the fire to darken his flesh and clothes. Jake had done the same to his shirt and pants.

  After they passed deeper into the jungle, away from the tearful and reluctant good-byes of Annie and Ratu, they paused near a stream. Akira had suggested that they talk for a few minutes, because once they neared the harbor, any further conversation would likely result in their deaths.

  “I will always lead,” Akira said softly. “Please watch what I do, and little else. If I stop, you stop. If I go, you go. Kindly stay ten steps behind me and imagine . . . imagine that you are a mouse and that a very hungry snake is nearby. You must be as quiet as a mouse if we are to live. You can do that, yes?”

  Jake nodded. “What best we do if the snake sees us?”

  “If he sees us, we run. At least, you run. I will try to surprise him as he chases you.”

  “And when we get to that harbor?”

  “We will arrive after the sun has set. In the darkness we will hide. And when the morning comes, we will wait for him to reveal himself. And when he is distracted, when he is defecating or drinking or talking on his radio, we will strike.”

  “Why me and not Nathan?” Jake asked suddenly. “I ain’t a soldier. I spend my days killing weeds and grasshoppers and varmints. And though Roger is a varmint, he’s an awfully big one, I reckon.”

  Glancing toward the shrouded sun, Akira said, “Annie told me once . . . of how you wished to fight for freedom. Of how that fight is important to you. I want such a man beside me. Such a man will do anything . . . to be free.”

  Jake nodded slowly, wishing that his mother could see him. She would be proud. She wouldn’t say a thing to anyone, but her eyes would tell him everything. “You fight for the same?” he asked.

  “Yes, I now fight for the same. For years, I have fought because I was told to. But no longer. Now I fight to be free.” Akira looked again at the sun, which clung stubbornly to the sky. “Do you have . . . freedom on your farm?”

  “It’s my family’s land. And it’s fine land. And I reckon that’s got some freedom to it.” Jake watched a hermit crab shuffle toward a dead tree. “But my people to the south, they often live in shanties, places not fit to house my darn pigs. And to them, freedom ain’t but a word with no meaning. So I expect that I’m really fighting this war for them.”

  “I am glad that you are with me, Jake,” Akira replied, bowing. “I am honored to have you with me.”

  Jake shook his head. “That honor’s mine.” When Akira smiled and turned to leave, Jake reached out. “If something . . . something ill happens to me, will you see that Ratu gets home? He needs to get home in an awful bad way.”

  Akira nodded. “But, Jake, do not think of Ratu now. Think only of being a mouse. We each . . . have people to think about. But not again until Roger is dead.”

  Picking up a long blade of grass and placing it between his teeth, Jake tried to suppress thoughts of Ratu as well as his own nervousness. “Well, as they say, the early bird gets the worm. We’d best get going.”

  And so they went, past logs and streams and millions of creatures that didn’t care whether they lived or died. For the first few minutes, Akira was painfully aware of Jake behind him. The big man stepped on twigs, slid down rocks, and even breathed too loudly. But as they continued, a remarkable metamorphosis happened, for more than anything in life, Jake understood the land. He’d never tried to be quiet on his farm, but he understood the farm’s silent ways. He’d glimpsed such workings, and he soon mimicked the silence that he had so often appreciated within his crops.

  As much as Jake would have enjoyed thinking about his mother or Ratu or the search for freedom that might claim his life, he focused only on the jungle. He became a part of it, and he felt empowered and enlightened by the merging of himself and the land. And though his heart quickened when they finally neared the harbor, and though he didn’t want to die, he felt as if a thousand friends were beside him. In their company, his fear didn’t dominate him. And so he was able to crawl forward in the darkness, glance at the sparkling sky, and hope.

  DAY SEVENTEEN

  I will give my life

  So my second heart endures.

  Spring survives winter.

  For Love and Honor

  In the utter blackness of night, dawn came slowly, rising like a tide of distant and muted color. Lying within clusters of ferns, Akira watched the edge of his world gradually lighten. He knew that it would possibly be the last sunrise he saw, and its simple and timeless beauty caused his eyes to dampen. He’d been thinking for the past several hours of Annie, and for the first time in days, musings of her hadn’t been dominated by joyous emotions. On the contrary, a profound sadness consumed him. This sadness was different than the despair that had haunted him after Nanking, but was an equally powerful emotion also centered on loss.

  Akira knew that disarming Roger would be an exceedingly difficult task. The man was capable, cunning, and carried a gun. All Akira possessed was the element of surprise. And even with this advantage, sneaking up on Roger would be fraught with danger. If Roger saw him coming, Akira would throw the dagger and hope for the best. He could do little else.

  Though the unseen sun dimly illuminated the western sky, the night was still dark. Knowing that he had only a few more minutes until he must completely focus on Roger, Akira allowed himself to ponder Annie. Thinking of her, after all, was one of the greatest pleasures he’d ever known. She made him want to write poems, to reflect upon wondrous sights, to run like the boy he once was. She emanated joy and grace and beauty, and he loved more things about her than he did about himself.

  Akira longed to lie beside her and listen to nothing more than the sound of her lungs filling with air, to see her face change with time, to help deepen the laugh lines about her mouth, to explore and learn and grow with her. And yet he might have already looked upon her for the last time. If Roger killed him, he’d only be able to try to pull a sliver of her along with him as he began the journey toward rebirth. And the thought of perhaps not even being able to hold on to that sliver produced a nearly unbearable sadness within him. With his death she would be stolen from him. Moreover, her sadness at his passing would be acute. And he did not want to think of her as broken. For to him, she was like a white-winged crane, and she would not soar with shattered wings.

  The sunrise strengthened, and Akira cautiously wiped his eyes of tears. Annie lingered in his mind, and, knowing that he had
to force her from him, he bit a knuckle on his thumb until it bled. The resulting pain helped to direct his thoughts, and he studied the jungle, which was still remarkably quiet. Though Jake was just seven or eight feet away, Akira was almost completely unaware of him.

  Akira felt the dagger’s hilt in his hand. He inhaled deeply through his nose, thinking that perhaps he could smell the campfire smoke that so often dominated Roger’s clothing. However, he could only detect the scent of the moist soil—the acute combination of decay and new life. Knowing that he’d have to be patient, Akira listened for any sound out of the ordinary.

  When the earth twisted enough so that the sea was faintly illuminated, Akira saw the silhouettes of the four warships. They were anchored a mile offshore. Surprised that he’d heard or seen nothing from them during the night, he scrutinized the vast swaths of gray, discerning movement on the long decks. The ships’ guns were pointed defensively toward deeper waters, and he suddenly wished that they’d be attacked.

  A whistle carried over the water to where Akira hid. Not long afterward, he realized that a flotilla of landing craft was headed directly toward the beach. These vessels were about fifty feet long—highlighted by a double bow that bordered a raised ramp. To Akira, they looked and sounded like approaching dragons. Certain that the familiar boats carried everything from light tanks to artillery pieces to men, he tried to keep his heart from speeding forward. He breathed deeply, searching through the jungle for Roger. Once the Japanese landed, there would be little he could do. His entire plan, after all, depended on catching Roger as he waited for the approaching force.

  Cursing silently, he continued to scan the jungle. Where could Roger be? Why wouldn’t he show himself? Akira resisted the powerful urge to rise and look for his adversary. He reminded himself that in war, plans were most often useless, and the people who didn’t panic when plans failed were the people who tended to survive. “Patience,” he whispered to Jake in a voice so low that he barely heard himself.

  The landing craft, of which there were four, didn’t slow until they struck the island. Immediately, the raised ramps dropped and scores of soldiers jumped into the shallow water. Hearing the familiar and terse shouts of his countrymen, Akira watched as formations of soldiers secured the beach. The soldiers fanned out, spreading across the beach, settling into the sand. A few heartbeats later, an undersized tank rolled forth from one of the boats. Belching black smoke, the tank climbed the beach as if some sort of monstrous crab. The tank’s turret swayed to and fro as its crew searched for possible threats.

  The landing crafts’ drivers put the powerful engines into reverse, and the boats yanked themselves from the shallows. Understanding that the vessels would make many trips to and from the transport ship, Akira briefly closed his eyes in frustration. Already, more than a hundred soldiers occupied the beach. While most of the men remained in a defensive perimeter about the landing site, others began to dig trenches. Akira watched one soldier plant a pole that bore the Japanese flag. The image of the rising sun on a white background caused memories to leap to the forefront of Akira’s mind. Forcing them aside, he continued to scan the area, hoping that Roger would reveal himself.

  Several sets of binoculars studied the jungle. Akira steadied himself, for a moment not even breathing. Discovery now would mean death. The binoculars continued sweeping. As he lay motionless, he listened to familiar orders being issued in his native tongue. Having spoken little Japanese in several weeks, he felt disconcerted listening to it once again, as the sounds seemed slightly foreign to him.

  The binoculars finally dropped, and Akira was again able to breathe and blink. In the distance, a second wave of landing craft was headed toward the beach. Suspecting that his countrymen would likely cut down a section of the jungle near the beach, Akira tried to slow his heart. He and Jake wouldn’t have much more time here. If they lingered too long, they’d be discovered.

  As much as Akira’s instincts screamed at him to leave, he resisted the urge. If he left now, he left with nothing but the knowledge that he’d soon die. Roger would lead a strong force into the jungle, and protecting Annie and the others from such a force would be impossible. Realizing that he had no choice but to steal some weapons, Akira studied the scene as it unfolded. The landing craft were again throwing themselves onto the beach. More men and arms and supplies were offloaded. The Japanese appeared unduly nervous, for they acted with immense haste, dragging artillery pieces from landing craft and setting them up around the beach. Do they expect to be attacked? Akira wondered, thinking such an occurrence would be too good to be true.

  A giant centipede, longer than Akira’s hand, crawled across his arm. The creature stopped on his elbow, its head swaying back and forth like a cobra’s. To take his mind off the hideous-looking thing, he watched his countrymen perform their tasks with discipline and efficiency. As he watched, he thought of Annie. He asked himself if he’d willingly die for her, and knew that the answer was yes.

  Two weeks earlier, Akira would not have minded dying. In fact, he’d have found immense peace in the process, for it would have rescued him from his demons. But since then, Annie had rescued him. And even though he’d give his life for her if necessary, he’d never wanted to live as much as he did at that moment.

  ON A HILL overlooking the beach, Roger shielded his eyes from the sun and awaited Edo. Sitting atop a boulder with his pistol on his lap, he studied the metamorphosis of the beach. In a matter of minutes it transformed from an idyllic, unspoiled stretch of sand into a mass of men and machines. As a young boy, Roger had stuck sticks into the openings of anthills, removing the twigs after a few minutes. Hundreds of ants had often then poured forth, and the Japanese below reminded him of those ants. The soldiers swarmed over the beach and started moving into the jungle. Roger heard the dull thud of axes striking wood. Several large palm trees swayed and fell.

  Despite the awful pain in his side, Roger was pleased with himself, for late yesterday afternoon he’d traveled back to the cave and watched his enemies pack up the lifeboat and head to sea. Though he’d been tempted to shoot Joshua and Nathan, Edo’s instructions had been specific on that matter. And so Roger had stayed still, watching the lifeboat as it struggled into the waves and then headed north. Akira and Jake, oddly enough, had been nowhere to be seen. Believing that they’d come for him, Roger studied the jungle near the beach. Were the maggots there? Did they know that they’d soon scream for an end?

  Glancing at his side, Roger was surprised to see significant redness and swelling around his wound. Perhaps all his running about the island had further damaged his rib. In any case, shutting out the pain was becoming increasingly difficult. Each breath sent a jolt of agony through his system, starting at his side and traveling up his spine. Cursing, he wondered if movement was causing the broken rib to tear at his flesh from within.

  Having decided that he’d tie Akira down, break each of his ribs, and leave him alone to die, Roger tried to escape his pain by imagining his foe’s cries. Maybe I’ll let the little bitch save her monkey by sacrificing herself, he thought. Maybe she’ll see his agony and do anything to make his suffering stop.

  Yes, Roger decided, I’ll test their love. I’ll see how far down it reaches. Her actions will let me know.

  THE PREVIOUS EVENING, Joshua had rowed them north for almost an hour. In the dim light, they’d spotted some vegetation near the beach that would provide good cover for the lifeboat. After dragging the craft across the beach and hiding it beneath palm fronds, they’d erased the deep groove its keel had cut in the sand. Sleep had been fitful for some and nonexistent for others.

  The following morning, they’d located various outposts from which they could watch anyone who might approach. Joshua and Isabelle had split up near the shore, their eyes scanning the sea and beach. Annie, Ratu, and Nathan were posted at the edge of the jungle so that they’d be aware of any approach from the rear.

  Annie now sat atop a log and tried to be still, tried to study the
land before her. But her mind was wholly fixated on Akira’s absence. She felt naked without him, as if unable to awake from a dream in which she saw herself run unclothed down a street thick with gawking bystanders. The thought of Akira facing death out in the jungle caused her to tremble, to beg God for his safe return.

  Throughout the morning, Annie had dreaded hearing the sound of a gunshot, for she feared that if she did, Akira would be dead. If she heard such a sound, she knew that she’d run to him. He could be wounded or dying, and leaving him to suffer alone was something she couldn’t do—regardless of the price she might pay. Better to endure whatever Roger might do to her than to let Akira bleed to death in the jungle.

  Suddenly, Annie heard Ratu sniff, despite the fact that he was posted more than twenty feet away. Though Joshua had told them not to make unnecessary movements, Annie immediately rose and hurried to where Ratu sat crying. He had his arms around a slender tree and his face was streaked with tears. Wordlessly, Annie hugged him, squeezing him tight, pressing her cheek against the top of his head. As she rubbed his arm, she noticed that he was trembling.

  “He’ll come back,” she whispered, trying to be strong. “I promise he’ll come back.”

  Ratu shuddered against her, his fingers wrapped about his necklace. “He can’t die. I tell you, Big Jake can’t die. He’s my mate. My very best mate in the whole world.”

  “Let’s rest,” Annie said, lowering him to the ground, placing his head on her lap. She began to stroke his face, and he moved even closer against her. She used her thumb to gently close his eyes. “Tell me . . . tell me about your home,” she said. “What makes it special?”