Tomorrow We'll See Morning

Chapter Fourteen

Attu Island, AK. March 27th, 1943.

       "There are no letters for anyone today; there will not be a letter call anymore forthcoming."

The news was delivered with no inflection; just a hollow, defeated tenor that matched Officer Shigemitsu's spiritless eyes. He was standing in front of his men with his back straight, his eyes wandering distractedly toward the snow-blanketed valley sloping down sharply to their right. Isamu was standing next to Hirō in a puddle of mushed-up grass and mud, standing at attention and fighting the violent bouts of shivers that wracked his muscles. 

"This is not old news, but some of us seem to have missed the announcement. I will repeat myself; this is not a cause for the tears of little boys," Officer Shigemitsu continued, beginning to stride up and down the gaunt ranks with a sudden swiftness in his step. "We are men under the Emperor, and our duty does not waver in the face of hardship. We were chosen for this task because the Empire believes in our resolve, in our strength, and in our willingness to sacrifice all for our country. We will not receive letters because there is no longer a need for them. Our families, our loved ones—they know the path we have chosen. They know we are prepared to give everything. Our resolve will be our final message to them!" He stomped a boot and swept his gaze over them. "Our RESOLVE!"

       "He looks like he's about to shit," Hirō murmured lowly, discreetly nudging Isamu and earning a horrified side glance.

"Do you want to get shot?" he hissed back sharply.

"I won't. Shigemitsu has aim as bad as yours."

Isamu bit his cheek to prevent himself from smiling. He couldn't break front, not during muster; even Officer Shigemitsu's eternally dragging one.

Isamu scooted ever so slightly to the side, so that the man in front of him bore the full weight of Shigemitsu's inspection, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "How long do you suppose he'll talk?"

"Until we are icicles, of course."

     Shigemitsu swung back around to march through the ranks, and Isamu straightened back up again.

     "—we do not fear hunger. We do not fear cold. We do not fear death. These temporary afflictions—" he waved a hand, "are tests of our spirit. What we should fear is failing in our duty to the Emperor, failing to uphold the honor of Japan." He stomped suddenly again to punctuate his point. "And we will not fail! We will stand our ground until the last breath leaves our bodies."

       Isamu stared ahead. He was back home, listening to his father explain that only some people—"The pure Japanese"—deserved to live. Listening to his father prepare flowery speeches he would use to throw flurries of hateful petals into desperate crowds. Except that it wasn't the same—there was something off, something critically different. Officer Shigemitsu's words were driven by fire and emotion, but his father? His father could never get that part right. The emotion was never there.

"We will show those dogs the strength of the Japanese spirit. We will meet our fate with piety and honor."

    Shigemitsu's thick mustache twitched as he stopped, planting his feet and swiveling around to assess them all. "I never lie to any of you, and I will not lie now. It will not be easy. We will suffer. But we will suffer enduringly. Not as individuals, but as soldiers of the Emperor. No more letters, no more comforts, only duty. For Japan!"

       With a final sharp salute, he stood still, waiting for an answer to his call.

       "For Japan!" Isamu raised his voice among the other troops as loudly as he could manage.