The Sea's Reflection

A Story by Nathan Fretz

The story of a Japanese suicide bomber.

The troops poured into the large, steely-gray room like drops pouring into canteen, at least two score, all wearing their navy blue uniforms. On top of the stage that stood in front of them, the admiral and his advisers stood, along with their own colonel, an older man in his mid-forties. He wore black-rimmed spectacles that drooped down to the bottom of his nose and a full military uniform, just as all the pilots wore below him, except his bore more badges and honors. Setsushi stood near the left end of the front row where if he chose to look forward he would stare directly into the rising sun of Japan plastered on a white flag. Silence began to reign on the room very quickly as each of the pilots were filled with the same dreadful thought. The admiral began with a quiet yet stern voice that echoed across the steely chamber like a ball bounces from wall to wall.

“I want to thank Colonel Utsumi, as well as my own lieutenant Kuroto. I also want to thank all of you, for your brave service to the great empire of Japan.” He held his arms behind his back, and began to slowly pace. “I know you all have done so much in the name of our country, and Japan is proud of you. However, there is one more thing you can do to help our great empire. We require a number of volunteers to carry out a certain operation for us. As you all know, the Tokkō Tai squadrons always need new recruits to execute their Kamikaze attacks. I would ask all of you to volunteer.”

The words fell upon the group of pilots there as a wave on rocks, although from sight their faces seemed made of stone. They had heard of the Tokkō Tai, the group of pilots that carry out suicide-missions, and many of them, including Setsushi, secretly dreaded the prospect of being asked to volunteer, where honor dictates only one choice as viable.

Colonel Utsumi stepped forward and spoke with a much deeper and more demanding voice, heavy with pride. “I personally chose you pilots to present to the admiral, as each of you posses much honor. Those that wish to volunteer, please raise your hand.”

The choice the colonel gave them would be laughable, if humor came to any of the pilots’ minds. One would have to be without a shred of honor to decline when personally asked, as they were, especially in front of the admiral himself. An insult not only to them, but their families. And so, at differing paces, each hand was raised.

The first to go were the bolder ones, the ones renowned for their courage yet not much else. They covered their fear under their bravery, hoping to show their own strength. Soon, the followers raised their hands, the ones who find themselves in others. Setsushi looked around, and found that he was among a very few, under ten, who kept their hands down, yet the colonel did not continue, but he waited for his fruit to fully ripe. Their number dwindled, and Setsushi raised his hand with the others.

“I did not expect anything less from you all.” Utsumi spoke a few seconds after Setsushi joined his brothers. “You are the greatest pilots I have had the pleasure to command, and Japan will not forget your brave actions.”

“Kaito, stay out of the deep water. It’s dangerous.”

Kaito heeded his mother’s advice, and took care to avoid the deeper end of the lake. The shallow area he was playing in was about three feet deep, going up to his shoulders, but he knew that in the middle it went far above his head. He kept to the water where he could see through it, and didn’t going out far enough to where the water was a deeper shade that reflected the rising sun back onto him.

It was here that Kaito first learned to swim, as a small child, inching deeper into the lake with his mother’s watchful eyes following him. He knew not to go out too far, though, lest he cause his mother to panic. Ayako would often swim with him, although she never went out as far out as he did, and never troubled herself with trying to swim as fast. But she swam much more gracefully than he, copying the strokes of those she saw almost to perfection. For him, the strokes were all too hard to learn, and so he found his own ways of doing them. His swimming was more awkward and odd, to the point where those that noticed might point or laugh at him. At first, he tried to ignore them, and act as if he didn’t care. Acting it was, because at every laugh or jest thrown at him, like a rock thrown at a wooden board, left their mark. So, one day he decided, instead of turning to metal, he would move away from the rocks, and began to pick up the same swimming strokes Ayako had mastered at this point. It took him a while, and many laughs not at his awkward strokes but his ineffectiveness in the water, but he did it. His strokes now, less successful than his own, were as commonplace as the next boy’s.

“Hey, Kai-to! Kai-to!” The thin, shrill voice of another boy resonated through the air. Kaito looked up, and began treading to the shore. This was a voice he knew.

“Kai-to! Come here, Kaito!” Kaito followed the voice back onto the beach,and found the boy who made it.

“Took you long enough, Kaito.” A pearly-white grin appeared on the boy’s face.

“I was out swimming.” Kaito noticed a ball-cup toy in the other boy’s hand. “What’s that?”

“It’s a toy I got in the city.” Akio flipped up the ball, hit it with the end of the grip, then landed it down neatly in one of the cups.

“Can I try it?” Kaito’s eyes lit up as green as the tree’s around them.

“Sure, but you’ll never be as good as me!” Akio handed him the toy, and he tried to copy his trick with it. He flipped the ball up, managed to hit it with the grip, but the ball continued rotating around without landing in the cup. So, he tried it again, and again he couldn’t succeed.

“Here, let me show you.” Akio took it back, and did his trick again. “You have to let the ball fall into the cup.” He took Kaito’s hand and put it through the motion.

After a few minutes, Kaito was finally able to do it. His motion was slower, and his movements stiffer, but that paled next to his achievement. Then, Akio showed him a new trick. This one took much longer for Kaito to learn, but he was able to do it.

“You’re getting almost as good as me! Still not, but almost.” Akio’s joking laugh was accentuated by the huge grin he made, and broke through the thick, greenish-yellow spring air. A woman’s voice pierced the beautiful scene. “Akio, come back! We need you to help us unload!”

Akio looked back, and said “I guess that’s my que. Here, keep it. I got one for both of us. Practice, and we can learn some new tricks tomorrow.”

“I will. Thank you, Akio. Bye!” As Kaito said this, Akio left, waving his hand back.

“The day after tomorrow is a good day for the funeral itself. If you can do the wake tomorrow, that would be best.” The monk spoke in a pleasant voice, understanding but not overly mournful.

Kaito nodded without speaking, and began to leave the temple. He opened the huge wooden doors, revealing the beautiful sun shining upon the grass. His house was about a mile from the temple, but Kaito set off at a walking pace. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set.

Streaks of yellowish grass turning to brown covered the hills for as far as he could see. A few trees dotted each hill, their previously green leaves brown and dead.

When he arrived back, he saw a familiar face standing outside. Akio looked up as he saw Kaito approaching, but neither spoke a word, and Kaito seemingly ignored him as he walked into his house.

Kaito didn’t know where he was supposed to put her, so he just laid her onto their table. Her motherly grace had all but left her face, leaving a cold, heartless shell. He left the light off, making the whole scene appear dark-gray, pulled up a chair, and sat down. His eyes found a paper laying down next to his mother, and he grabbed it. Without reading it, he stared into every character. The black ink filled him with an unwarranted anger; to him, it brought death on two fronts.

Akio entered after a few minutes of waiting. He pulled up a chair near Kaito, and silently sat by him. This silence rung for a few minutes, until Akio uninvitedly broke it.

“I don’t know what to say to make you feel any better.” His eyes reflected with a blue light. “I’ve never been as good with words as you have, both of us know that. But I have to say I’m sorry. Your mother was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and I know how close you two were.”

Kaito made no response, and so silence rung again. Akio looked very uncomfortable, and couldn’t seem to relax. After a few minutes of fidgeting, he once again broke the silence.

“I’ve got something to tell you. I’m sorry that I have to do this, with all your going through, but I got a letter. I’m gonna go into the army.”

That statement shouldn’t have surprised Kaito. Akio was about half a year older than him, and the war was ever-becoming a bigger part of their lives. And yet, he still was surprised. The idea of so much being taken away from him, and now Akio going off to war, was too much for him to handle. His emotion, which he had tried so hard to contain, broke out, and tears began to fall. He couldn’t summon an answer.

Akio, not looking at Kaito to see his reaction, took his lack of answer for apathy, and got up to leave. Once his hand touched the door, he turned back around.

“Why do you have to do this?!? Why can’t you just talk? Let me help you!” By this time, tears were already falling over Akio’s face, and more fell as he saw the state of Kaito. He looked around, unsure what to do, and went back to his chair.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” Kaito’s face was red with sores. “I’m sorry Akio. I’m sorry for you being drafted. I’m sorry for me not listening to you. I’m sorry.”

Once more silenced rang, but this time not for a lack of communication. A noiseless understanding appeared between them as they dried their tears.

Akio picked up the paper Kaito was reading before he entered. Without reading it, he asked, “Whats this for? You’re not of age yet.”

“My mother was reading it when she… She hid it from me. It was sent a week before. My father...” Akio understood what it was when he read it. He closed his eyes, placed it down, and got up to leave. This time, he stayed on his path, and only stopped to say “Goodbye, Kaito”.

Setsushi entered the small shack, along with the rest of the students, to get his mail. Most of the others got packages from their mothers, usually food and the like, and Setsushi sometimes got something from Ayako. This time, however, there was no package from her, just a letter. He took the letter and placed it on his bed when he got back. Many other students would open them with everybody else, but he preferred to do so alone.

After their evening meal, the rest of the students went to the dormitories talk together. So Setsushi brought his letter outside, in the dusk. There was a part where the walkway stretched just over the sea, showing a beautiful ocean scene. He went there to open his letter, with nobody to watch him.

The stamp was dark, almost black, and showed a conquered area in Malaysia. He opened it to reveal a single paper, without much writing on it. Of the writing, though, only one phrase stuck out to him. It made his eyes water, and a teardrop fell into the sea.

“Akio is dead.”

Setsushi reached into his pocket, and found something he had made sure to hold onto. He took out a ball-cup toy, and as another teardrop fell onto it, he threw it, and let the dark sea envelope it.

It was still night when they rose up, and were greeted by their colonel. Utsumi didn’t talk much, but gave them promises of being honored for their sacrifice and remembered throughout all of Japan. Setsushi wondered if any of the other pilots believed him.

The walked out onto the top of the carrier, where each of their planes had already been laid out and prepared by the mechanics. He stepped into his plane, a cold and dark Aichi-D3A. It aligned with each of its brothers, creating a row of gray death.

The takeoff and flight there seemed almost too quick. By this time dawn had started, and the small amount of sunlight gave them their eyes. It took about three hours, and when he found the ships that were his targets, Setsushi checked his fuel level. It read almost empty, with enough to go maybe another half-hour. But that was fine, as they were already closing into their targets.

American shells pounded on unlucky members of the swarm, the soldiers having no idea about the eventual purpose of their mission. When the first plane hit, Setsushi could feel their surprise. Setsushi’s plane approached closer, and he felt as though he could see the American troops. A young boy, no older the nineteen, rushing from here to there trying to find cover, or maybe ammo. An older man, jumping behind a box containing rations. He knew that he was dead, dead as he could ever be. So why should they be dead? Are they what killed him? Yet he didn’t owe them anything. There was no compassion, no love between them, not even a lack of hatred.

He saw in each soldier’s face the same thing, not a singular person, but many. He saw his sister, swimming through the waters with her perfect strokes. He saw his mother, hawk-like eyes staying ever-vigilant. He saw Akio, a pearly-white grin appearing on his face. He saw Utsumi, an old man yet with so much power and authority. He saw someone else, a man without any future, a man about to die.

Setsushi crashed his plane into that rising sun, that reflection off of the sea.