The rain had long stopped. The skies cleared, revealing a deceptively peaceful blue above the ravaged jungle. The air was fresh, mockingly so, as if the land wanted to show how clean it could be right after witnessing so much filth and blood. The jungle, slick with mud and misery, stank of rot and cordite. It was here, in the deceptive calm, that the full horror of Japanese capability unveiled itself. Not just in tactics but in cruelty.
Aman and Mei Lian crouched low behind a battered lorry, their breath shallow. The girl's small fingers clutched the fabric of Aman's torn uniform. Neither of them spoke as they watched a group of captured women dragged into the clearing. Some of them were barely adults. Others were elderly. Among them, Mei Lian's mother, a nurse just yesterday, now a prisoner.
They were made into toys comfort women, the Japanese called them though there was no comfort to be found in what followed. Mei Lian's mother had endured the worst, again and again, until her body gave out. When one soldier tried to force her to use her mouth, she retaliated. She bit down hard. The scream of the soldier echoed like thunder. The reprisal was swift. A sword flashed.
Her head dropped to the ground.
Mei Lian nearly screamed, but Aman clamped his hand over her mouth, shaking. His own guts turned inside out. He leaned to the side and vomited into the mud. It was shit. All of it. War, orders, courage lies.
And then, one of the Japanese soldiers spotted them.
He was laughing as he approached. He saw a boy and a girl. Easy prey. He beat Aman to the ground effortlessly and turned his attention to Mei Lian, whose eyes were frozen with terror. The soldier licked his lips.
That's when it happened.
A blade pierced the Japanese soldier's neck from behind.
The man who delivered the killing blow was lean, bloodied, and sunburnt. His eyes were hollow, yet burning. It was Lieutenant Henry Miller. The same British officer who once ordered the crops burned to deny the Japanese. The same man Aman had hated, now stood as their savior.
Henry wiped the blood off his blade on the dead soldier's uniform.
"Bloody bastards," he muttered.
Aman was still on the ground, dazed.
"Get up," Henry snapped. "You want to live, don't you?"
"I... I thought you were"
"Dead? No. Not yet. But give it time."
Mei Lian was still frozen.
Henry looked at her, then at Aman.
"Is she yours?"
"No. Her mother was... she... she told me to protect her."
"Then protect her," Henry said coldly. "Or you're worse than us. Worse than them."
He handed Aman a bayonet and crouched.
"You hate the Japs, right? Good. Hold onto that. Hate is all we've got left out here."
"I hate you too," Aman muttered.
Henry laughed. "Fair enough."
They regrouped briefly behind a thicket. Mei Lian finally spoke.
"My mother entrusted you to protect me. If you don't keep your promise, I'll kill you myself."
Her words, trembling but sharp, slapped Aman harder than any blow.
Henry raised an eyebrow. "She's got more spine than some of my sergeants."
Now a trio, they moved south. Jitra had fallen. Alor Setar was next. The Japanese were closing in fast. They had only one path left Gurun, then Penang.
Every village they passed was scorched. Dead bodies littered the roads, women strung up in trees, disemboweled or worse. Men crucified on broken fences. Children with bullet holes in their backs, clutching toys or bread.
The Japanese didn't just want to conquer they wanted to break the soul.
Henry knew it. He had seen the war in Europe. But this? This was hell without fire. Here, the devils wore neat uniforms and smiled as they butchered.
They reached a river near Gurun and tried to cross under the cover of night. That's when the shots rang out. They were ambushed.
Henry returned fire with all he had, killing at least five before taking a shot to the shoulder. He gritted his teeth and threw Aman his revolver.
"Get her out!" he barked.
Aman hesitated. "You're coming with us!"
"Not this time. I have family too. My wife. My boy. They think I'm already dead. Maybe now, I finally get to see them again."
He smiled. Not bitter. Just tired. Thinking funny he talk about family it true if he die now he gonna see them again ahh those Nazi bombing raid kill his entire family while he was here in Malaya now his turn to die and meet his family again.
Mei Lian wept. Aman grabbed her and ran. He didn't look back.
Behind them, the last thing they heard was Henry's voice, screaming curses in three languages before the explosion. He'd used his last grenade to blow himself and a dozen Japanese straight to hell.
They never found his body.
By dawn, Aman and Mei Lian were trudging south, barefoot and bloodied. But alive.
Gurun was close. But hope was far.
The world was broken. The war was not a story of heroes. It was a story of mistakes, of children forced to grow too soon, and of devils in uniform.
And of course, the chaos during battle. The unfairness of it all. The brutality that tore families apart. The cruelty that mocked humanity. The sheer, relentless hopelessness.
And the silence that always followed the screams.