Creepypasta #1530: Somewhere Off The Coast Of Japan...
One of the residents- I’ll call him James- at the retirement home told me this once:
I was stationed in Okinawa after the war. They wanted us to keep an eye on the Japanese, and for good reason. In some parts of the country, the natives weren’t aware that the war was over. Or they weren’t ready to accept defeat. Either way, we had to constantly be on high alert, jumping at shadows and wishing we had eyes in the back of our heads. Within every clump of tall grass there appeared to be an enemy lurking with a knife, waiting to cut our throat once our backs were turned. Every tree contained a sniper lining us up in his crosshairs. I lived in a constant state of paranoia during my time on Okinawa.
I finally got transferred to work on one of the supply ships offshore. I thought this would calm my nerves a bit. It didn’t. Instead of worrying about banzai attacks and sniper fire I found myself keeping peeled eyes toward the sky, anxiously waiting for an attack. The crew was nervous, too, but with each passing day the tranquility of the sea helped us feel more and more relaxed. After a couple of weeks, we started to joke around, show each other pictures of our girls back home, and enjoy the wonderful climate. By then we started to think that the war was really over.
Our surprise came just before dawn. Our ship would have been attacked whether we were ready or not. There wasn’t anything we could have done to prevent it. Our only goal that morning was to survive. I learned an important lesson that day: chivalry and decency seem to disappear wherever there is panic. The pandemonium that happened shortly after the first plane crashed into our ship has left me with mixed feelings of reproach and guilt.
I was asleep when the first plane struck. At first I thought we somehow hit a rock as I was tossed from my bunkbed and onto the cold, hard floor. I heard frantic shouting above me and a sobering thought entered my head: we were under attack. I stumbled onto the deck and was greeted by a scene of chaos and anarchy. My crew mates were scrambling in erratic movements. Some were trying to contain the flames, which were rapidly swallowing the ship. Others were heading for the life boats. A few had opted to dive over the side, hoping to find refuge in the warm waters below.
None were following the orders of the captain, who was barking at us to remain our ground. We were, after all, only a supply ship. We had no firepower to return to our assailants. I quickly scanned the skies and my stomach dropped. Three more baka bombs were nose-diving toward us, bent on delivering a swift death. Had I not heard my name being called, I would have surely died right then and there.
“James! James! Over here!” My head snapped toward the starboard side, where I could see my crew mate, Kazuo (who we called Kaz), climbing into one of the few remaining life boats. He was waving his arms at me, and without a second thought, I sprinted over to him and dove into my only hope for safety.
Before I could suggest to pick up a few more fellow crew members, Kaz dropped the line and we plummeted into the sea below just as the second plane crashed into the ship. Our little boat rocked dangerously from the force and my ears rang from the explosion. All around us, I saw the hands of the drowning crew reaching for us, begging to be saved. Their screams as they were swept away to their watery grave was the last thing I heard before I slipped away into blackness.
When I came to, I was surrounded by nothing but that tranquil sea again. The water stretched on for miles. The carnage of our supply ship was nowhere to be seen and seemed like a distant memory. Kaz was busily rowing as I lethargically glanced around. I wondered how far we’d travelled.
“You’re awake, I was ready to toss you overboard,” Kaz said grimly, then gave me a waning smile. He was the ship’s translator. We had chatted a few times but to be honest I knew little about him. He had a few loose screws upstairs, but for the most part, he was alright.
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