Overhead, the thatched roof splintered, flooding the hut with debris and blinding him momentarily. He drew a wheezing cough, lungs filled with dust and smoke. And irony was that he never smoked, but if the bullets didn't get him, lung cancer would. One way or another, he thought, they had all bought a one-way ticket to this wretched hellhole, and most of them would never be able to go home.
He rummaged through his muddy pockets. He found a ration bar and tore off the wrapper eagerly, not stopping to chew but almost swallowing it whole. It was dry and tasteless, but it would do. Not that he had much of an appetite anyway. Not after the morning raid.
He shuddered. The Japs were a ruthless tough bunch, and if you hesitated they would have dropped you without a second thought. But there was this one kid..
It was wrong. It shouldn't be this way.
His sweaty hands fingered the dial on the radio. Slowly it crackled into life. It was Orphan Ann, her voice soothing and ever nostalgic.
"And next, it's my all-time favourite that our listeners have requested for: "Love's Old Sweet Song". And for all you brave soldiers out in the cold and in pain, your wives and children miss you and send their wishes for you. Hopefully you'll be able to go home soon."
He wept quietly. It was Tokyo Rose alright. Tokyo Rose with her Nip accent and staccato pronounciation. Tokyo Rose with her choice of nostalgic songs that were meant to tug at the heartstrings of the remaining soldiers, trapped by the war and listening to the radio hoping to find escape. Tokyo Rose with her gentle propaganda and nudging them to give up the fighting, give up the war. Tokyo Rose, with her seductive truth but oh so painful truth, it's true Tokyo Rose, it's true oh Tokyo Rose won't you stop the pain won't you stop the pain won't you take me home...
He slept after awhile, with only his rifle for company.
. arigato .
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