Black Dragon

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Like a flaming thunderbolt crashing into the earth, the doomed transport plane struck the ground and exploded into a blinding, orange and red fireball. Overhead, a couple of dark shapes raced through the clouds before turning back out to sea to look for another hapless victim to bring down. Anti-aircraft guns ringing the airfield roared to life, filling the air with lead, but it was all in vain; their tormentors had already vanished into the clouds.

A black plume of smoke curled up into the leaden sky, marking the death of yet another Japanese plane sent to evacuate those still trapped on Matua Island. With fear in their eyes, the soldiers looked over at the flaming wreckage, knowing that the noose was steadily tightening around them. They were next and they knew it.

A loud, protesting squeal escaped from the jeep’s brakes as the battered vehicle came to a sudden halt outside of a long, wooden building. Painted green to match its surroundings, the building was guarded by several tired-looking soldiers who unenthusiastically stood outside, with their long rifles slung over their shoulders. The men were actually mere boys conscripted into the Imperial Japanese Army for the defense of the homeland from invasion by the encroaching allies. With their ill-fitting uniforms hanging off their emaciated bodies, the soldiers looked miserable and dejected. Shuffling their feet on the wet ground, the boys breathed into their hands trying to warm them up. Wearily climbing out of the passenger-side seat, a slender man with short black hair, dressed in dirty, rumpled clothes, said a few quiet words to the driver of the jeep before politely bowing and walking away. Clutched tightly under his arm, as if it were the most important thing he had ever held, was a worn, brown leather briefcase.

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