The Kamikaze's Guide To Freedom

Ken'ichiro's P.O.V

Nobody stirred in the barracks; there was no yelling or commands. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop—or even a tray smack on someone's head (sorry, I couldn't help myself). But today, there was utter silence. The usual hustle and bustle of soldiers preparing for the day, the clanking of metal against metal, and the murmurs of early morning conversations were all absent. Instead, a heavy, oppressive stillness hung in the air.

The barracks, typically filled with the scent of sweat and metal, now smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale air. Beds were neatly made, with no sign of the usual disarray of sheets and personal items. The men, who usually moved with purpose and urgency, lay motionless, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

The soldiers, aware of the significance of the silence, remained still, each lost in their thoughts. They knew that today was not like any other day. The silence was a prelude to something much more ominous but nobody knew what it was.

It was finally noon, and to our surprise, there was no roll call or advisors around at all. What do we do? We all looked at each other, our stomachs rumbling in unison, performing a standing ovation of hunger and uncertainty.

Our usual rigid schedule was disrupted, leaving us adrift in the unexpected freedom.

"What now?" I muttered, breaking the silence.

"Something's not right," minato said, his voice steady but eyes reflecting the same worry we all felt. "We need to stay alert."

I suggested we head to the mess hall, hoping to find something to eat. The thought of food was a welcome distraction from the gnawing anxiety that clung to us. We moved as a group, cautiously navigating the empty halls that now seemed unfamiliar without the constant presence of authority figures.

As we walked, the sound of our footsteps echoed ominously, amplifying the surreal nature of the situation. The mess hall, usually a cacophony of voices and clattering dishes, was eerily quiet.

We marched in, and to our surprise, all the Advisors were standing there, waiting for us. They formed a long line that seemed to stretch as far as a football field, each one standing at parade rest. .

An Advisor snapped to attention and barked an order, instructing everyone to get in line and grab food. We obeyed without question, but as we approached the serving area, something felt off. The food assortment was different from our usual fare. Since the first incident, our meals had been limited to rice, soup, bread and a single thinly cut piece of steak. But today, the spread was extravagant: steak, eggs, muffins, sushi, lobster, shrimp, squid, and sweet potatoes and more.

(For anyone fasting or dieting, I apologize for the indulgence.)

This had to be a trap. It was too good to be true, and we all knew it. Every single recruit, suspicious and cautious, purposely picked the same food we had eaten for the past three months. The air was filled with the aroma of delicacies, but the bitter taste of distrust lingered on our tongues.

We sat down, eyeing each other warily. The Advisors watched us intently, their expressions inscrutable. Whispers of doubt and fear rippled through the ranks. What was the purpose of this sudden change? Were they testing us? Or was there something more sinister at play?

As we ate our familiar, bland meal, the feast before us felt like a cruel mockery. Our minds raced with questions, each one more unsettling than the last. Why now? What did they want from us? And what would happen if we took the bait? would we end up like that one guy?

Kaiser emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding the room. He carried plates laden with succulent lobster and shrimp, the aroma wafting through the air, tantalizing our senses. His advisors followed closely behind, each bearing their own dishes of mouth-watering delicacies, meticulously arranging them in front of us with the precision of a well-rehearsed ritual.

Kaiser spoke "There's a saying in the U.S.," he intoned, his eyes locking onto each of us in turn, "if you're served steak and lobster, it means you're probably going to war soon."

"Well, gentlemen, let ye cast the first stone," Kaiser began, his voice echoing in the mess hall .

"Today's orders are simple," he continued, pacing slowly. "Eat, sleep, and be in bed by 4 PM. At 8 PM, you will rise and prepare to board the bus. We are going on a field trip."

The announcement sparked a wave of murmurs and whispers among the men. Field trips were non-existent. The air buzzed with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

The men nodded, understanding the gravity of Kaiser's words. They had learned through experience that questioning orders was futile, and that Kaiser always had a reason for his commands.

As the men settled into their routine, the barracks fell into a hushed rhythm. Plates clattered in the mess hall as they ate their meals in near silence, the weight of the unknown journey hanging over them. Conversations were muted, punctuated by the occasional nervous laugh or whispered speculation.

By 3:30 PM, the barracks were quiet. The men had retired to their bunks, trying to catch a few hours of sleep. The room was filled with the soft sounds of breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric, and the distant hum of activity from the rest of the compound.

At 7:45 PM, an alarm sounded, stirring the men from their slumber. They moved with practiced efficiency, dressing quickly and gathering their gear. The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of excitement and unease.

Kaiser reappeared, his demeanor calm and collected. "Time to move out," he commanded. The men formed a line, their expressions a blend of determination and anticipation.

As they boarded the bus, the night sky stretched above them, a canopy of stars casting a faint glow. The engine roared to life, and the bus lurched forward, carrying them into the unknown.

Kaiser took his seat at the front, his mind already several steps ahead, planning and strategizing. He glanced back at his men, their faces illuminated by the dim interior lights.

The road stretched out before them, a dark ribbon leading into the night. This field trip, shrouded in mystery, was just the beginning of another chapter in their shared journey.

The time was 11 PM when they reached the landing strip, the darkness enveloping them like a shroud. Nervousness hung in the air like a lightbulb flickering with a surge of electricity when an idea is born. The night was heavy with anticipation, each breath a mixture of excitement and fear.

Kaiser spoke, his voice calm but authoritative. "Look out the windows. What you see here is the Mitsubishi Ki-57. These planes will be our transport to watch the celebration." His words cut through the tension, momentarily distracting the recruits from their anxiety.

The aircraft stood on the tarmac like silent sentinels, their sleek bodies glinting under the sparse lighting of the airstrip. The hum of their engines created a symphony of controlled power, ready to be unleashed into the night sky.

We all loaded up, one advisor and one recruit to each plane. The assignment was clear and precise, a calculated move to ensure efficiency and order. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see KIYO, his face stern but with a hint of reassurance in his eyes. "You're coming with me," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I nodded, following him into the plane. The interior was cramped but functional, filled with the hum of machinery and the quiet murmur of anticipation. The plane took off, the ground falling away beneath us as we ascended into the night. The sensation of lifting off was both exhilarating and terrifying, a plunge into the unknown.

As we climbed higher, the city below transformed into a sea of lights, each one a beacon in the darkness. The air outside the plane was crisp and clear, the sky a vast expanse of stars. Inside, the atmosphere was charged with a sense of purpose. We were a part of something much larger than ourselves, a game where the stakes were life and death.

KIYO sat in front of me, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "This is it," he murmured. "The culmination of our efforts, the celebration of our mission.

The plane soared through the air, carrying us towards our destiny. Each moment felt like an eternity, the weight of the mission pressing down on us. The celebration awaited, and with it, the true test of our resolve and courage.

The time was 7:45 AM. We had been traveling for hours, the endless ocean stretching out before us, when KIYO finally broke the silence.

"What is the difference between a morning person and a night owl?" KIYO asked. I shook my head, unable to answer, let alone comprehend the odd question in our current circumstances. KIYO's eyes gleamed with a cryptic amusement. "The difference is, owls are nocturnal."

"Drop the alarm clock!" KIYO suddenly yelled, his voice urgent and commanding.

Before I could react, a short, metallic whine pierced the air. I looked up just in time to see a torpedo streaking down from the sky, hurtling towards the ships below. The impact was immediate and devastating, a fiery explosion erupting upon contact.

"Time to wake up the sleeping giant," KIYO said, a grim smile playing on his lips. "Welcome to Hawaii, son. Our first glorious vacation together."

Fire engulfed the ships, thick plumes of smoke billowing into the sky. People scurried around like ants, their screams and cries of confusion filling the air. The date was December 7, 1941, 7:55 AM. To us, it was a celebration and a vacation. To the people of America, it would be remembered as the attack on Pearl Harbor.

The serene beauty of the Hawaiian morning shattered by chaos and destruction, the contrast was jarring. Flames reflected in the water, a hellish mirror of the inferno above.

The ship's alarms blared, and the crew rushed to their stations, trying to make sense of the sudden onslaught. In the midst of the pandemonium, KIYO turned to me, his expression unreadable. "This, my boy, is history in the making. Our so-called vacation has just become the front line of a war."

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. We were no longer mere observers. Guns on the ship pointed towards the sky.

Missiles came flying at us at an alarming rate.

Was this the End?