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| Americans at rest in Guadalcanal. |
Chapter 1
World
War II, 1942: a humid, temperate rain forest on the riverfront of Hiroto River
on the Japanese island of Guadalcanal. In the damp riverside, American soldiers
are pinned down by a larger group of Japanese soldiers.
Gunshots
and grenade explosions reverberate throughout the battle, creating a symphony
of hostility. Yelling and screams of pain are shouted from both sides, adding
in a faint harmony to the ongoing ensemble.
A
small group of reinforcements come for the Americans, including James, a
machine gunner who turns the tides of the battle both swiftly and decidedly.
James is a young man, around 26 years old. He has thick, brown hair, moss green
eyes, and lightly tanned skin. He has a lithe frame with a height of 5"11
and a weight of 150 pounds. He breaks through the bulk of the Japanese force,
allowing the Americans to gain a firm position.
Eventually, the Americans power through the Japanese foothold. Both sides of
the battlefield are cluttered with cadavers, suffering extensive losses.
However, the Americans are much better off. They head to their camp on the
outer edge of Guadalcanal, tallying their losses and preparing for the next
skirmish.
A group of soldiers are sitting by the fire, including James. They all sit in
silence, demoralized. Even though they had achieved victory, it didn't feel
like victory to any of them. Some lost some of their closest friends. One
soldier pulls out a small, beat up, blue-striped box and says, “Poker, anyone?”
All the soldiers practically jump for joy as he brings out a deck of cards from
the box. They finally escape from the horrid reality of war for a brief moment
of solace. They then find their way to sleep. Well, the majority of them,
others shiver and quake as they slowly break down mentally, feeling the
spirits of war churn within them.
The Americans wake and venture onwards. They stumble upon a heavy, thick rain
forest. Bushes all around them begin rumbling, the sound growing louder and
louder with each passing second. Soon, the forest has become a cacophony of
rustling and whirling as the wind joins in. The Americans tread carefully, but
the oncoming ambush is still a surprise. The first shot is fired and the
soldier targeted immediately falls. Mass hysteria. Wails and shrieks aching in
agony resound in the ears of the troops as they fight on. Again, we find James,
shifting the sands of combat once more. It is just enough to deter the Japanese
forces and both sides resolve to retreat. The two parties endure arduous
casualties.
As they withdraw from the fight, James notices a familiar face on the
battlefield, lifeless and stiff. He sifts through the body, searching all
pockets and depositories. From the corpse's inner chest pocket, he pulls out
the all familiar blue-striped box. He pulls out the deck of cards and quietly
says to himself, "Poker, anyone?" James smiles in reminiscence. Later
that night, with his remaining comrades gathered around him, he repeats the adage
that everyone has come to love. The consolation is short-lived, and soon the
gears of conflict begin to crank and twist once again. And so James treads on,
living day-to-day, night-to-night, reveling in the daily moment of peace and
homeliness that has been passed on from his fallen comrade.
