A Short Story - Cherry Blossom Rising

[Bayushiseni]

The dawn sun rose and didn’t catch him by surprise. As he dressed up his combat uniform he drank his last tea. The sun was blood red as it was proper. His last doing, his last effort to protect his home was a desperate one and - he thought - probably pointless. But fate was set and duty would be honoured. He met the others in the airstrip. They were all silent and circumspect when they drank the small bowl of sake.
Their leaders had betrayed them all and further disrespect was made as they bolted the canopy of his Zero fighter so that he couldn’t repent and jump away. As if he would...
 
They had told them that the Americans were weak. It was false, the Americans kept fighting when they were losing and now that they were winning they were returning in kind previous injuries suffered. Now all that was left to him was the will to make such a sacrifice that the Americans would prefer to negotiate peace. But he knew that the American resolve was strong. And he wondered how would they react to this extreme attacks. He would never know.
 
The heavily loaded Zeroes rose, their engines crying with effort in the morning light. He looked around and saw their escort squadron behind and above. They went up as seagulls, gaining altitude slowly before the clash against the mighty American fleet. He lost a moment looking at the paint peeling from his fighter. He knew it better than he ever knew a woman. Its lines, its quirks, the sound of its engine... Now, like desperate lovers they would meet together their final fate.
 
The anti-aircraft gun bullets pierced his Zero’s left wing. A pang of fear and despair consumed him for a moment. He froze as the American destroyer grow under his sight. Then his mouth formed silently a word. Banzai. And the word grew in his mouth louder and louder and louder as it pushed away his fear, as it pushed away his dreams, his life, the wife he would never have, the children he would never nurture, the house he would never build. Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!
 
“Why?! Why do they do this?!” Cried Johnson again. “It works.” Replied Robertson. He scanned the debris and the waters around him to look for survivors. “What?! Are you crazy?” A white plane wing with a red roundel floated for a moment and then was swallowed by the ocean. “No. I’m not crazy. A man died and took with him a warship. It’s a good trade, I would say.” He kept scanning the waters. He didn’t want to look at Johnson’s face again. “Why?! Why do they do this?!” Cried Johnson again. Robertson wanted so much to punch him in the face.

[Bayushiseni]

The Unbalanced HurricaneThere are no unbalanced Hurricanes, there is death in the shores of the morning. "I'm scared. I fear that you'll leave one day and that I will never see you again." There were tears in her eyes as he finished dressing his uniform. How terribly he wanted to comfort her, but lies he never told her. He cleaned his throat to speak clearly. "The Laughing Gnome will bring me back in one piece, my love." She was the one who had invented his plane's name. The Laughing Gnome. And it had stuck. Every pilot in his squadron, the mechanics, the squadron Leader, they all called his Hurricane by that name. And sometimes, as he throttled up its engine, he could almost hear the gentle laughing of his plane. But not now. Not today. Today his plane was roaring a challenge against the German fighters, turning and evading them, trying to sidestep them and reach the bombers with their bellies filled with can-stored death.

He banked hard to the right, went down a thousand feet and delivered a long stray of bullets against a double engined bomber. It opened up like a flower of light, the screaming of a seagull. Then he felt the bullets raking the Laughing Gnome and a painful punch in his body, a spear of lead and gunpowder, and then his lover's face covered the sky in front of him. For a moment there darkness followed. And then the Laughing Gnome roared at him. Challenged his will, mocked his weakness, reminded him of his promise. And he fought the pain, he spat the blood on off his lips and he focused again. A second had passed by? Three seconds? The beautiful grey sharks were still following him like hunters leading a prey.

He kicked the stick hard left, then right, then left again forcing the enemy fighters to guess, to loose their tight formation and then he dove hard only to appear behind one of them. One shark wasn't fooled by this. The other took the bait. His eight parallel machine guns screamed in delight. Eight angels of destruction. Eight fingers of death. The enemy fighter took it all and down he went. A trail of smoke and fire appeared like a line drawn in the sky by a child. Then again the Laughing Gnome was shook by bullets of machine gun and cannon. Too close. But this time pilot and plane were as one. He cut sharp in his enemy's way. They crashed against each other. His propeller making a terrible work of vengeance in the German fighter's tail. And then both went down into the Channel. Fellow enemies, pilots, friends that could have been. He saw the German's parachute open and he was glad of it.

His conscience was fading. He tried to lift his plane's nose so that he could crash land in the waters of the Channel. Darkness was pressing in, against his will. "Don't go to sleep, my love", he heard her voice. And the laugh of his plane, keeping him awake, his hands on the stick, sweat coming down mixed with blood and will. He finally lost conscience. For a short time. For a long time. Eternity didn't come.

He was being pulled out of his floating Hurricane by two British seamen. "You were lucky", one of them was telling him while they were taking him to the patrol boat, "your plane was still floating when we arrived. And you made a damn good landing, I'll say". He raised his head painfully. The Laughing Gnome was now sinking. He wanted to scream. "Save him! Save him, please!" But darkness called on to him again.

In the hospital, only his love, embracing him, knew why he was crying.