Honor and Duty

[Viridian]

Honor and Duty
By Viridian

We did a circle around the island, scoping out the wide blue sea and the bright lagoons that pierced through the jungle shroud. I gently banked, allowing Stephanie and Hana to take photos. There was no sign of human habitation or development, despite the Indonesian government’s need to exploit more natural resources for the economy. It was clear that the island’s days were numbered though, and this was perhaps the last opportunity to get some solid data on the island’s flora and fauna.

“That’s the perfect spot,” said Stephanie, pointing towards the lagoon. It opened into the sea via a narrow mouth, but it was easily wide enough to get the boat-plane through. I circled the island once more before approaching the lagoon, touching the surface of the water and easing the throttle as we entered the lagoon proper.

“Ten out of ten,” said Hana. “You know, we could use you more in the field, Mike. Ever thought about doing marine biology?”

I chuckled. “I’ve spent enough years as a Marine. In a place like this, you need some jarheads to cover you, not more lousy scientists.”

“Watch what you’re saying,” warned Stephanie. “You’re outnumbered by them.”

“I’m a pacifist,” I declared, raising my hands in surrender. The girls laughed, and we joked as we unloaded the plane.

Getting this job was the best thing since I left the Corps. I had been looking forward to going back to college to pick up a degree in literature, but I had the itch to be behind the stick again. Little did I know that applying for this research organisation would bring me to the battlegrounds of the Second World War, the very soil on which the Marines fought and died against the Japanese. Of course my role was not to invade and liberate, but to get scientists between, to and from the islands scattered throughout the Pacific. To me, it was a pilgrimage; something I felt I needed to do, and ironically it was science that gave me that opportunity.

Our detour into Indonesian waters wasn’t without drama, but we were cleared through for a short time. I had only been with this particular crew for a week, but they were a great pair of scientists who took their work professionally, but always maintained a sense of humour that got them through their line of work. Plus, being with two gorgeous women was something I couldn’t say no to.

Stephanie was a San Diego girl – the same place I did my training. She had long, shiny blonde hair and reasonably tanned skin from her field work. She was very open in personality and had no reservations about working in a bikini top and denim cutoffs. Hana was a bit younger, was born in Japan and grew up in San Francisco. She had a look that most would call cute and was shyer than Stephanie, but she was happy bouncing off Stephanie’s enthusiasm. Hana was competent but could at times be rather clumsy. Fortunately she had Stephanie and me to watch out for her.

We swiftly moved supplies from the plane. Stephanie was the first to get out, hopping onto the sandbar. She gasped as she sank to her calves.

“Ooh! Quicksand!” she crowed, pretending to sink deeper.

“Might be a bit of that around here,” I cautioned, making last checks on the plane.

We ferried our equipment to the shore and found a place to set up camp. We had enough supplies for several weeks, but otherwise we had no contact with the outside world. I suppose another guy would have envied my position – being on a tropical island with two sexy babes. But, a job was a job, and my part was mainly to act as their muscle when things got tough – whatever that meant to a scientist. We were all hungry by now, and Stephanie was already getting something cooked up in our makeshift kitchen.

“Hey Mike,” she said, tossing a packet to me. “This is from our director.”

I caught the brown bag. I shook my head but grinned. It was an MRE – Meal, Ready to Eat. Chicken fajita – the worst. Out of habit I put it into my pocket. I was actually wearing combat fatigues I bought from a surplus store, replicating the uniform worn by the World War II Marines – something I felt was more appropriate to our new environment than a bikini top, though I wasn’t complaining.

The first week went by without much event. I helped the researchers with heavy lifting and tried my hand at camera work. I kept my head out of the science stuff, as interesting as they made it out to be. I helped prepare meals, checked on the plane, and spent a lot of time with a paintbrush and canvas. Stephanie even came over a few times to admire my novice talent.
“Is that me?” she said, pointing at an indistinct blur that, to me, looked more like a tree trunk. “Curves in the right places.”

And so the days passed slowly but pleasantly. My acquired observation skills allowed me to quickly develop my artwork and I was able to use the camera for some artistic photos. But I had been keeping myself honed as well. While the scientists were busy elsewhere, I had taken the chance to explore more of the island on my own. I had wondered whether this particular island had any role to play in the war; what it would be like for a Marine to storm these very shores, fight through the jungle against determined resistance. I was so captivated by the experience that I was beginning to feel about things that weren’t really there. Maybe a ditch had once been a trench or a tree had been a sniper’s nest. While I found no skeletons or plane wrecks, I had a sense that something was out of place – the same sense you get when you’re trained to watch your own back; the feeling you get when someone has a bead on you and is watching intently. It wasn’t the tropical heat getting to my head. I know the feeling well. I had been doing it for years.

Midway through our second week on the island, Stephanie approached me during one of my painting sessions. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt and bikini briefs. Her erect nipples and jiggling chest indicated she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Mike, I need to talk to you,” she said. Something in her voice sounded shaky. “You’ve got keen eyes. Have you noticed anything…unusual recently?”

“About what?” I asked.

“Anything.”

“Apart from two scantily clad women walking around the island?”

“What about them?”

“Um,” I was trying not to make an obvious reference to her breasts. “More scantily clad than usual?”

“You mean with our tits hanging out?” she blurted, more out of resignation rather than frustration. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re a good guy; most would have gone mad by now. Listen, this is a bit of personal request. Don’t tell Hana.”

An hour later I was nestled between a few tall rocks. It was the highest point in the immediate surroundings, but the dense foliage didn’t give much in terms of surveillance. I was no stranger to guard duty, but something didn’t quite feel right about spying on Hana bathing. I tried to avert my eyes away from her curvy frame, large soft breasts and dark nipples. It was hard to ignore, especially when she started playing with them. But I had a mission to do and that required my eyes to be elsewhere.

It turned out that the women weren’t walking around in various states of undress to get my attention. Hana had in fact asked Stephanie not to mention it, but Stephanie was growing concerned. She explained that they bathed regularly at this particular pool, but each time they did, something would go missing: food, cameras, and even their clothing. Yet each time they would not be able to see who had taken them. Stephanie confided that Hana was beginning to get mistrustful of me, but Stephanie believed it was probably some monkeys. I would’ve liked to believe so too, except I had never seen a monkey on the island.

It was a problem that threatened their research more than their modesty, and it was one of the unique situations that my set of skills would come in handy. Hana was oblivious to us – she bathed as she regularly did. This time, however, we had two sets of eyes on the surroundings. I had the high ground with a clear view of the lake; Stephanie was concealed in a different spot and kept eyes on Hana’s pile of clothing. It gave me a nostalgic feeling, though the notion of putting a guard post to spot monkeys did sound a bit ridiculous.

It didn’t occur to me that our monkey friend wasn’t going for the clothing with us watching. There was one time when I was on deployment that I nearly met my end when a sniper’s bullet grazed the side of my head when I was on patrol. Had I not turned my head instinctively, I would have been dead. Had I not acted in the same way in this moment, the same would have happened.

I turned just as the blade lunged towards the back of my neck. It nicked my shoulder. I turned and grabbed my assailant, but I lost balance and fell to the ground below my guard post. My attacker leapt onto me and I could see that it was not a knife he was holding but a bayonet attached to a rifle. He attempted to impale me again but I rolled with him. He was a cunning fighter, eluding my grapple and kicking dirt into my face. He backed off, took a ready stance and lunged at me again, wielding the bayonet with expert finesse as if it was a spear. When he lunged at me a third time, I stepped into the attack and parried his thrust with my bare hands. I pulled him off balance and closed my hand around his neck, but he bit at it ruthlessly. Before he could ready himself for another attack, I had already unsheathed the knife I carried on my belt. I lashed out at him, cutting him squarely across his stomach. I turned the blade and slashed across his chest. Suddenly, he threw all his weight forward, shoving me backwards. He might have continued to fight had he not seen Stephanie running towards us. He turned and fled.

At this point I might have disengaged, but Stephanie was already in pursuit. I gave chase, hoping she understood the attacker’s ability. Like his fighting strength, he demonstrated agility in his retreat. He obviously knew the layout of the island and where the best paths were, if they were any to be trod. Stephanie was surprisingly athletic, quickly breaking away and following her own trail. I was beginning to hurt fairly badly and let myself go onto a knee to catch my breath. Extending this far was a poor tactical decision. As I anticipated, Stephanie found herself in trouble. I dashed towards her cries for help.

Stephanie had blindly run across a clearing and found herself up to her hips in quicksand. Her bikini bottom was disappearing into a mire of soft, white grainy sand, glistening with moisture on the surface and quaking from her sudden entry. The pit formed gentle ripples as the sand underneath encased her legs, solidifying around her lower body and pulling her in deeper inch by inch.

I stopped to help her out. Only then did I realise how cunning the mysterious assailant was. We had taken his bait hook, line and sinker. I felt the sting in my shoulder before I heard the crack of the bullet. Having taken one of many paths around the quicksand, he had set up the perfect ambush by allowing his pursuers to fall into the natural trap, leaving himself free to dispatch any help that came. My commander would have been proud.

I slumped behind a tree. My shoulder was burning in pain. I was applying as much pressure as I could with my hand. I was bleeding freely. Stephanie was in a state of panic. She was thrashing wildly, worsening her predicament.

“Don’t struggle!” I shouted. I grunted in agony.

The biggest danger to Stephanie was miring herself deeper. Our attacker was keeping up with his bait. I was banking on the assumption that he was going to let the quicksand finish Stephanie off. One wrong move from either of us we would be fatal.

Hana appeared just then, running up the path we had just come from.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Get behind cover!”

Hana reacted swiftly to my order. She kept herself behind a tree across the path from where I was leaning. Hana could see me in my wounded state as well as Stephanie sinking up to her waist in the quicksand. Seeing our dire situations, Hana was preparing to move across to us, but I held my hand up to wave her off. I was fearful that she would run into the shooter’s sights. Hana looked hesitant, as if she understood what I was thinking. Stephanie looked at us pleadingly; the soft sand rising up her ribcage.

Time was running out and Hana wasn’t going to wait any longer. She shot out from her tree. The split-second she was crossing the open path was the scariest moment I had ever witness. At any moment another shot would shatter the tension. Nothing happened. She made it over to my side. She immediately stripped off her shirt and began tearing it up to bandage my wound. The sight of Hana’s bare breasts in front of my face might have triggered a nosebleed, but I didn’t need to lose any more blood.

“Hold on,” she said calmly to Stephanie. Stephanie nodded nervously.

Hana finished patching me up. It didn’t do a whole lot to relieve me, but I knew it was a lot better than bleeding out. She turned her attention to Stephanie. Unable to reach her, Hana waded into the mire. The sand opened up as she stepped into its inviting surface, eagerly giving way and accepted her smooth legs. She dared not go any further; or rather she could not go any further. A few steps in and the quicksand was already licking at her bikini bottom. Stephanie pulled off her top and threw it to Hana for more reach; both now topless and sinking into the sandy trap.

It was much later when I realised I had lost consciousness. Now awake, I had a searing pain my shoulder. The wound had stopped bleeding, though my fatigues were covered in dried blood. My left arm felt limp and any movement brought enough pain to nearly cause me to pass out again. My throat was parched and my head didn’t feel it was steadily supported. The sky was orange with a brilliant tropical sunset heralded by the evening cries of native birds. I heard Hana’s voice nearby, whispering my name.

Both of the girls were still in the quicksand pit. Stranded, they could do nothing to free themselves without help, which Hana had been expecting before I passed out. Realising their helplessness, they kept as still as possible to slow their sinking. Now there was nothing left except for their heads. The surface was smooth and motionless, but the girls were suspended only by the barest of margins. Any movement would upset the equilibrium and send them underneath.

Now I was their only hope. There wasn’t much for me to work with. Stephanie’s shirt was lying nearby; tossed perhaps out of desperation. I shuffled to the edge of the quicksand, still in pain but more or less recovered from the shock. I took hold of the shirt and flung one end to Hana.

“Can you reach?”

“Our arms are under the surface,” she replied. “We’ll go under if we move.”

“I can’t pull you out,” I said. “Listen, slowly move your arms up. Slowly! You won’t sink if you take your time.”

I was being more optimistic than I normally was, but we all needed. It felt like hours before Hana managed to get her hands through the surface. The quicksand quaked slightly. She grasped the shirt. I tried giving it a tug, but without any leverage I was only pulling my arm out of my socket.

“Hana, I need you to pull yourself out. I’ll anchor myself here. Take it slowly.”

Inch-by-inch, Hana did just that. No sudden movements. She leaned forward gently to shift her weight, allowing herself to slide forward with more ease. The sand moved around her, sliding against her submerged body until I was able to hold onto her hand.

“Guys!” Stephanie cried. She was up to her chin now.

“Grab my foot!” Hana shouted.

Stephanie was about to protest, but her face was disappearing. She snapped her arms up, forcing herself to submerge. A few tense seconds passed before she got hold of Hana’s ankle. She pulled for dear life. Hana was pulled back. I was being pulled in myself. Desperate to keep myself anchored, I used my other arm to grab onto the nearest shrub. The sharp branches dug into my hand and my shoulder-wound was screaming in pain, but I hung on. Hana was keeping herself horizontal. Stephanie’s head suddenly emerged, gasping for air. She clawed at Hana’s legs and hips, crawling over her. The next few seconds were a clumsy but urgent fight to escape. I let go of Hana and grabbed onto Stephanie, yanking her to the solid edge. I reached for Hana again, who had been pushed under the quicksand. I got hold of the back of her head and kept her up while Stephanie squirmed free of the trap. With Stephanie now on solid ground, she turned to help Hana out. The three of us collapsed onto dry ground exhausted and unable to say a word.

In the morning, we returned to the camp. The MRE pouch that had remained in my pocket gave us enough energy to get us back. Stephanie and Hana had both lost their bikini bottoms in the quicksand and walked naked, though none of us mentioned it. Once we made it back, they put some clothes on and tended to my injuries with the limited medical supplies we brought. I assured them that I was still able to fly the plane, seeing that an early departure was likely. But I wanted to solve the mystery before we left. The others agreed.

At noon, we went back to the pond and retraced our steps, recalling what had happened the previous day. Now that I was able to examine the scene carefully, I saw how our attacker was able to observe us so covertly. Around the island were disguised observation posts – the ditches and nests weren’t my imagination after all. The paths he knew well and kept unmarked, and we managed to track his escape by following the broken branches and crushed undergrowth, finding the spot from which he shot me. A cartridge case on the ground marked the exact location. He fought as the perfect hunter.

We followed the blood trail further into the island’s interior until we reached a cave. We found him – dead, but not from his wounds. Knowing that his wounds were fatal, he took his own life by cutting his stomach open and piercing his abdomen with his bayonet. Now that we were in his final resting place, we discovered who he was. A rifle over half a century old; a ragged uniform and a faded banner of the rising sun on one of the walls. It was difficult for me take in. How had one survived for so long, alone, and unaware that the battle he fought had been over forty years ago? It was fate, perhaps, that brought his hated enemy – a United States Marine – in the same uniform he bloodied in his youth.

The three of us gave him a proper burial along with the rest of his belongings. In time we would learn about other cases of Japanese soldiers holding out on isolated islands across the Pacific, refusing to believe that Japan had surrendered to the Allies. Their war continued until they either died or were persuaded to give up their arms. Retired generals and admirals were dragged from their civilian lives to call these soldiers home. The last of these – Private Teruo Nakamura – surrendered in 1974. We had discovered one more who had given his life for his country and his Emperor; one who would not make it home.

When we finally packed our equipment and took off, I made one last circle of the island. \Silently, I saluted the unknown soldier.

[schlamm]

*

[PM2K]

I agree! A very cool read.

Might I add, this would have been a great story even without the quicksand in it. Testiment to its quality.

[Aiko]

Excellent story! Reading this felt like actually being there and watching the story unfold. But what makes it really special is the final resolution which gives much food for thought.

[quagmire_uk]

Yep that was a highly entertaining read.

[Mwam]

Excellent story, i liked it's every seconds.
Thanks.

[jack c]

Very realistic and with real present tension. Well done.