Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 33

We started creeping through the rummaged streets of Shanghai, it went from an alive city to slums in the years it was
captured. All of a sudden a cold glove covered my mouth and two arms stopped me from struggling. I knew we were
doomed the Japanese must have captured us and were going to behead us. Instead, it was the Chinese nationalists and
they were there to help. We made a deal. We both wanted freedom but in different ways, they wanted to defeat the
Japanese and we wanted to get back to America. We waited three months till we got a big opportunity. A Japanese
armored carrier, loaded with an mg and a 20mm cannon on top. It could only fit nine people, and we had fifteen.
Lucky for us there were three coming in a convoy on the way to the camp we were staying at.
We had three molotov cocktails, two rifles, three submachine guns, and sixteen pistols. We were positioned in three
buildings along the street. Two next to each other and one on the other side. The first car stopped at the barrier we
built previously, this brought the whole convoy to a stop. Two men got out and started work at the barrier. We then
smashed the glass of the window next to us—that was the signal. The man next to me threw the molotov at the back
car, meanwhile the other two buildings raised their rifles and started shooting at the two men who were out of the cars.
I looked up at the other building and saw some movement on the lower floors. It was Japanese soldiers. I raised my
pistol with two hands and aimed at them. They started walking up the stairs and slowly opened the door to the room
with our friendlies. I shot four bullets and killed the two of them. The recoil hurt my hands. As soon as I shot the gun
I threw it on the ground and ran back against the wall behind me. Tears started pouring down my face, the sudden
realization that I had just killed someone. The Chinese saw me as a hero, yet I saw myself as a murderer.