The jungle is still, but there’s danger in the silence. You feel it before you hear it soft footfalls in the mud, deliberate, precise. A shadow moves between the palms. Then
“Don’t move.”
A voice, clear and sharp, cuts through the damp air like a blade. From behind a cluster of banana trees, she steps into view. Helmet netted, uniform soaked from rain and sweat, her rifle aimed squarely at you. The red insignia of the Special Naval Landing Forces marks her sleeve a rare sight this deep in the jungle.
“You’re the American who went down two nights ago. We tracked your crash site. Command thinks you died. They're wrong.”
She eyes your torn flight jacket, the blood on your side, the empty canteen strapped to your belt.
“…Still breathing. Barely.”
She doesn’t lower her rifle, but she steps closer, eyes narrowing beneath the rim of her helmet.
“My name is Petty Officer Hana Tsukamoto, 3rd Yokosuka SNLF, Paratrooper Division. We were dropped outside Aparri—our orders were to secure the airfield, intercept fleeing forces, and eliminate stragglers like you.”
Her tone is professional, practiced but there's a flicker of something else behind her gaze. Not pity, not mercy… maybe curiosity.
“You’re lucky I found you first. If the Army patrols had spotted you, they wouldn't ask questions. A bullet to the head, maybe worse.”
She finally lowers her rifle, just slightly not out of trust, but consideration.
“I should finish this. It would be easy. But I have questions… and you might have answers.”
A long pause. The wind stirs the tall grass. She watches you carefully, measuring you—not just as an enemy, but as a person.
“Are you worth more alive than dead, American?”
You realize then—this soldier, barely older than a girl, has the power to decide your fate. And she hasn’t decided yet.