Corpse walker the night.., p.1
Corpse Walker: The Night Parade, page 1
Corpse Walker
The Night Parade
RALYNN KIMIE
Steely Co. Publishing
CORPSE WALKER: THE NIGHT PARADE Copyright © 2022 by Ralynn Kimie.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of historical fantasy fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
www.ralynnkimie.com
Illustration by Vitalia Streltsova
First Edition: December 2022
Dedication
for my grandfather,
Retired LTC John R. Jones of the Army
World War II
Korean War
Vietnam War
INTRODUCTION
Pearl Harbor
Black clouds swallowed the blue sky. From beneath the clear ocean surface, flashes of reds and yellows could be seen illuminating the expanding darkness overhead. Translucent and glassy from the water, the light show continued above while sinking further into an abyss. The water was not cold to the touch but boiling hot from the surrounding flames eating away at the sinking ships. Screams and explosions echoed hauntingly in the ears of many before dimming into a constant ring, then deafening to nothing.
The water grew darker as it cooled in the depths, now polluted with debris, oil, and blood. All eight of the present U.S. Navy battleships were damaged, with four sunk in the harbor. Two thousand four hundred and three Americans died during the early morning hours on December 7, 1941. A date that would live in infamy.
1
Guam, December 8, 1941
08:06 a.m. — local time
Captain George McMillin, lids heavy over bloodshot eyes, sank back in his creaky wooden chair. The top edges of the backrest were worn from his palms constantly resting upon it when he’d stand behind his chair rather than sit. Captain McMillin didn’t like to sit, but that morning, he couldn’t help it. It was the first time in hours he was able to catch a break. The day was dry and hot, and he rubbed the sweat and oils beading on his face with a handkerchief. Nearly four hours passed since he was informed by the Department of the Navy of the attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawai’i, both as governor and overall commander of the garrison in charge of naval forces in Guam.
McMillin was compelled to act quickly.
Under extreme pressure, he ordered the evacuation of various civilian populations throughout the island, along with the immediate jailing of all Japanese nationals. Churches, banks, schools, and other public places were to be closed until further notice. McMillin was on high alert since the information reached him, knowing they were not equipped with the proper defenses to stand a fighting chance in protecting Guam from an Imperial Japanese assault should one be headed their way.
He continued to pat his forehead rapidly with the soiled handkerchief. His brown eyes were red-rimmed, and they watered from the pressure of defending the island. He put a cigarette to his lips and fumbled with a lighter as he made several attempts at lighting it. The thumb of his shaking left hand made it nearly impossible to ignite a flame. He threw it back on the desk in frustration, letting the cigarette fall from his mouth.
Guam’s guard ship, the USS Gold Star, which had sailed to the Philippines to pick up supplies and allowed the crew to buy Christmas presents, had since been directed to remain docked there, leaving behind two hundred and seventy-one personnel and four nurses, most of whom were unarmed, untrained, and unprepared for war.
Out at sea sat only the minesweeper USS Penguin, the immobile oil depot ship Robert L. Barnes, and two old yard patrol boats.
McMillin sat with two Naval officers. One mentioned the Marine barracks at Sumay.
“How many again?” McMillin asked.
“One hundred and forty-five men,” answered the officer. “They’re quickly organizing into a company armed with rifles and some machine guns.”
“There’s also the Guam Insular Force Guard—I believe that’s at least an additional two hundred—maybe almost three hundred men.”
McMillin sighed as he closed his eyes. He massaged his temples with his fingers.
“The Insular Force Guard only recently underwent expansion in May,” he said. He lifted his head from his hands and slowly opened his eyes to look at the officer. Slowly, he began shaking his head. “Most of them have little to no proper training. They’re not prepared.” His worn wooden chair creaked more beneath his weight as he sat back, fumbling with the cigarette. “We’re not prepared.”
“There’s also the police force,” the officer suggested, while the other continued to make phone calls. “That’s almost a hundred more.”
“They’ve only got pistols.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Captain.”
After making calls for the last several hours to prepare them for what would likely come, McMillin sat dejected.
Defeated before an attack had even started.
In his head, he replayed the United States government’s abhorrent decision that it would neither be possible nor practical to defend Guam should there be an attack during the war. Low priority and discarded, his heart sank for his people.
“We’re going to be severely outnumbered and outgunned,” McMillin said firmly, sticking the cigarette back into his mouth. “But we won’t go down without a fight. And we’ll give it all we got.” Steadying his left hand with his right, he finally managed to light his cigarette. The two Naval officers with him managed to smile as they exchanged glances with one another.
At 08:27 a.m., three minutes after McMillin lit his cigarette, fire rained from the sky as he blew smoke from his mouth. They all thrusted themselves out of their chairs and onto the ground. Scuttling across the floor, the three of them darted in different directions as McMillin shouted orders. A Japanese aircraft from Saipan had attacked the Marine barracks first, and the Battle of Guam began.
That morning, the beauty of the small island full of tropical forests and wooded hills lit up in flashes of explosions and rampant fire as the aerial assault ensued. Planes roared violently overhead as they swarmed Guam with their fury. The Japanese further attacked the Piti Navy Yard, the Libugon radio station, the Standard Oil Company, and the Pan American Hotel.
The island was ablaze.
The minesweeper, USS Penguin, managed to shoot down one of the Japanese aircrafts only to be sunk soon after. The USS Robert L. Barnes was ignited, the reflection illuminating brightly in the ocean water below. It was quickly captured by the Japanese forces. Throughout the morning and all over the island, the air raids terrorized people and their villages. They were screaming and crying, men and women, noises that were soon drowned out by explosives and death. They reached pitches that were inhuman and choked violently on the smoke.
The attack lasted throughout the day, carrying on into the late afternoon. Fire rained from the sky as the Japanese aircrafts circled the small island of Guam.
Were they gone? Was it over?
There were murmurs of hope. Whispers, begging, and prayer.
Civilians and the military looked to the skies for reassurance. Many of the Chamorro people had fled from their homes and crowded the churches for shelter while they held hands and sat in prayer. Tears were streaming from many faces. Eyes were red, bodies were shaking. Families were huddled together. Parents consoled their children, and couples consoled each other. They waited patiently with water in their eyes, watching from church windows while their world burned around them.
For a moment there was hope, until the sky raged above them the next morning when nine Imperial Japanese aircraft returned.
The same targets were attacked with vigor. In addition, the Japanese further destroyed what was left of several Chamorro villages. The only thing louder than the air raids were the screams that came from the terrified children. It was the screams, the sudden cutoffs, and then the silence that truly haunted the people of Guam. The day was long, but the night would be even longer.
Later on the evening of December 9, a Japanese invasion fleet of four heavy cruisers, four destroyers, two gunboats, six submarine chasers, two minesweepers, two destroyer tenders, and ten transports left Saipan for Guam.
The small U.S. Navy and Marine Corps units fortified their positions and put up their best defense against the Imperial Japanese aerial assault to protect the Plaza de España, but the battle lasted only until the early morning of December 10 when they met a much larger military force led by Major General Tomitarō Horii. The screams and clamor of barbaric combat grew louder inland with the advancement of the Japanese, who were just as deadly on the ground as they were from the sky.
It was a mistake in the Japanese intelligence gathering that caused Japan to overcommit resources and attack Guam with disproportionate force.
In the process of the battle, the Americans suffered losses and casualties of nearly one-third of their entire force, severely overwhelming the four nurses left to care for the ones who remained—most of whom were injure
From earlier that same year, the Empire of Japan already planned to capture Guam. It was spring of 1941 when the Japanese sent an aircraft to fly photo reconnaissance sorties over the island, and the plans for the invasion were completed by fall. The South Seas Detachment was selected to be the prime unit responsible for executing these plans, made up of the 144th Infantry Regiment and other units detached from the 55th Division. While the South Seas Detachment appeared to the world to be commanded by Major General Tomitarō Horii, the experimental division of Yamata no Orochi, led by Flight Commander Isamu Mori, pulled all strings from behind a well-hidden curtain. Commander Mori had special plans for the Pacific War. Plans that would change the world as humanity knew it.
And he truly answered to no one.
Imperial Japanese Flight Commander Isamu Mori of Yamata no Orochi arrived the morning of December 10 with his beautiful Akita dog, Tadeo, at his side, and a fleet of over four hundred troops at Dungcas Beach, north of Agana, with every intention of conquering Guam once and for all. After they attacked and quickly defeated the small Insular Force Guard, the fleet advanced on Piti, headed toward Sumay, and then finally the Marine Corps barracks, leaving a trail of bodies and a river of blood in their wake.
The air smelled of smoke and burning flesh.
The once-clear sky was cloudy and full of ash.
The small United States units gave it their all and defended the territory with their lives. It was more than McMillin could have asked for.
Only on the governor’s orders, did what was left of the U.S. Marines finally surrender. At 05:45 a.m., McMillin ordered the sounding of a car horn three times, which both sides recognized as a sign to cease fire.
They lost.
Past the Spanish San Antonio Bridge that crossed the Hagatna River and across the street of the Dulce Nombre de Maria Cathedral Basilica, the governor himself surrendered at 06:00 a.m. when Japanese troops captured him in the reception room of his living quarters. Still, a few skirmishes took place all throughout the island before the news of the surrender spread and the rest of Guam’s forces laid down their arms.
The Imperial Japanese Military force officially defeated the American garrison of Guam on December 10, 1941, with the surrender taking place only a few days after the initial bombing of Pearl Harbor. Twenty-one American military personnel and civilians died during the attack. Thirty-five were wounded. Six U.S. Navy seamen evaded capture, but the rest were to be imprisoned in Japan.
At Agana’s Plaza de España, within a beautiful white three-arched gate, Commander Isamu Mori approached Captain McMillin, who was the first American prisoner of war held by the Japanese. The Commander was dressed in a single-breasted tunic with a stand and fall collar, five buttons that ran down the front, and two internal pockets with scalloped flaps. He wore long trousers along with puttees and tapes. His feet were covered with leather ankle boots that had hobnailed hard leather soles with better heel J-cleats. His oddly shaped head was covered by a cap with a neck flap hooked to the bottom and made from four cloth rectangles.
Captain McMillin was already accompanied by Major General Horii. After the two Japanese officials addressed one another, Major General Horii retreated to his own detachment—who had their official landings at Tumon Bay in the north, on the southwest coast near Merizo, and the eastern shore at Talofofo Bay—to give further instructions on their new occupation as Major General Tomitarō Horii would become the new governor of Guam. Mori circled McMillin like a shark with its prey just in front of a beautiful and elaborate hexagon fountain.
While the U.S. Navy Captain stood surrounded by Imperial Japanese officials in the courtyard, he remained poised and unthreatened by Mori’s presence, just as he was in Horii’s presence despite being stripped of the freedom he once knew—and may never know again. To keep his calm demeanor, McMillin focused on the beauty of Guam, finding himself blessed to be surrounded by the greenery year-round, though disheartened now by how much of it remained on fire and smoking from the battle. But the leaves continued rustling in the wind without a care in the world, and life went on, regardless of the war between humanity. It was something to be cherished. McMillin looked down and noticed a small shrub growing in the crack of the concrete. A small, barely noticeable smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Men would always fight, but nature would persevere.
“We surrendered,” the former Governor said calmly, returning his gaze to the Japanese Commander standing in front him before glancing down at the Akita that stood proudly beside Isamu Mori. “What more do you want?” While his question was genuine, it was also dismissive. He knew he and the rest of the survivors would be taken prisoner. What he said no longer mattered, as he couldn’t bargain for anyone’s freedom. McMillin was almost baiting him.
Commander Mori readjusted the military cap on his head as he glanced out over Guam and the Imperial Japanese forces that had invaded. Inhaling the ashy air, he looked back at Captain McMillin and scrunched his brows together. Commander Mori tilted his head challengingly, tucking his chin down as his gaze darkened, brown eyes fading to black till the whites of his eyes all but disappeared. Black beady eyes focused on the American. Captain McMillin did his best to not appear threatened by the sudden demonic change in his appearance, but he was slightly taken aback. Captain McMillin’s eyes were shifty, but he kept his expression blank and unreadable. He had heard stories, but he hadn’t seen anything like it.
“I think you know what I want,” Commander Mori said.
Captain McMillin’s expression fell with the realization of what Commander Mori sought, and unfortunately, the Commander was quick enough to catch it.
“You just missed it,” Captain McMillin said swiftly, collecting himself as he cleared his throat, making an attempt to cover his rather subtle slip up as he hardened his expression. Commander Mori sought Guam’s piece of an Infernal Artifact. He couldn’t let him know where it was. Captain McMillin glanced away from the Commander and looked out at the grounds of the plaza that, for the most part, had remained undamaged from the aerial assault. He opened his arms as much as his shackles would allow. “It’s not here. The USS Gold Star—” he nodded as he pointed out at the sea, “they’re guarding it in the Philippines. They were specifically instructed to stay there until after Christmas.”
Commander Mori smiled slyly beneath his thin mustache, unconvinced. He tapped his chin with his gloved hand as he shook his head in disappointment while stroking the small patch of scruff.
“You are a terrible liar, Captain.” Commander Mori turned away from Captain McMillin and looked around the plaza. He inhaled deeply, and Captain McMillin couldn’t help but observe the back of the Commander’s head and the way it pressed up into his military cap. “You see, I know much about this plaza—constructed in 1736—during the Spanish occupation when they found it first. But they did not have the strength to move it far, too many of their men died and they knew too little about it, so I know you didn’t move it either. Given your surrender,” Commander Mori taunted him, “I don’t think you have what it takes to risk the lives of your men in order to handle something you don’t quite understand.”
“And you think you do?” Captain McMillin asked, raising his eyebrows. It was fruitless to pretend he didn’t know what Commander Mori was talking about. Being the governor and commander of the garrison, of course he knew, and Commander Mori knew exactly what he was looking for—and he knew it was there.
Commander Mori was in search of one of the Infernal Artifacts known mostly by verbal myth and legend, and he was the last person Captain McMillin wanted to hand it over to. But in the chaos of the surprise attack and lack of preparation, they hadn’t thought to protect it. They were in a war between the Allies and the Axis powers, not one of gods and goddesses. Captain McMillin could only stall now.
“I know I do,” Commander Mori assured.
Captain McMillin rejected his claims. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“You don’t know who I am, Captain. Or what I am.”
Captain McMillin tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Commander Mori did the same as to mock him. He put his gloved hands behind his back as he paced the courtyard. He looked out into the distance, as though to recall a lost memory.
