Battlefield Diary [Full Text]

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(Preface)

March 20, 2010

I am the leader of a small unit. As the war against Japan progressed, the main force of our army had begun landing on the Japanese mainland, while the armed police were responsible for domestic defense. Therefore, the task of maintaining order in the occupied territories of Japan fell to the H country troops, who shared our hatred of Japan. Our mission was to maintain order, suppress any form of resistance, guard civilians and prisoners of war, and provide various forms of support to the front.

Since the war had been going on for nearly three years, any male citizen who had received military training and was not disabled had been absorbed into the regular army, or at least the armed police. I was nominally a company commander with more than 100 men under my command, possessing sufficient light weapons and vehicles, which was the envy of other similar units. Therefore, no one cared whether my men were originally hooligans, criminals, or drug addicts.

This morning, I ordered the entire company to assemble and announced the order.

Today's mission was to take over a civilian hospital 15 kilometers north of our base, guard the 200 prisoners of war brought from the front and the hospital's original personnel, and collect the hospital's medicines and facilities to supply the field hospitals at the front.

Thirty minutes later, when we arrived at the hospital entrance, we found the problem to be quite simple: 200 disarmed prisoners of war were being held in the basement, guarded by a squad of our troops, while the hospital's existing 200-plus doctors and nurses were in the lobby—enough to keep us busy.

During the handover with the squad leader, I whispered, "Brother, have these prisoners been interrogated?" The squad leader understood, "Of course, we've kept all the useful ones. The situation up ahead is very tense; you can handle anything that comes up." He stubbed out his cigarette, shook my hand, and then the squad hurriedly returned.

Everything proceeded according to plan: one platoon guarded the prisoners, one platoon handled the hospital staff, and one platoon was responsible for perimeter security.

In fact, we'd done this kind of mission countless times in the past six months. Since we weren't regular troops, as long as we succeeded, the higher-ups wouldn't care what methods we used.

I toured the hospital; it hadn't been hit by artillery fire, and the facilities were relatively complete. Then I had two guys who had been doctors before the war check the operating room and the laboratory—everything was usable. Excellent.

It was already noon. I ordered the platoons to take turns eating. A platoon leader reported via walkie-talkie that the prisoners of war below hadn't eaten for two days and were demanding treatment under the Geneva Convention. I told this platoon leader what the previous squad leader had said, adding that if any prisoners were still making noise after half an hour, he would be relieved of his post. Then I turned and went upstairs.

In the warden's office, I politely shook hands with the warden and, through the interpreter, asked him for a favor: to prevent the spread of infectious diseases, all his doctors needed to undergo medical examinations. The warden hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement, and I then instructed the staff to prepare.

The screening was simple: infectious diseases, blood diseases, and sexually transmitted diseases. Women were given priority, of course. We had just finished eating when the results came back: 8 out of 120 female medical staff had STDs. The hospital director looked somewhat uncomfortable and asked when we would begin screening the prisoners of war and male doctors downstairs. "No rush," he said. "You stand with them and wait for roll call in the basement."

A few minutes later, the platoon leader in charge of the basement calmly came up with all his men, greeted me, and went to eat. Dealing with over 200 prisoners of war and doctors who had been starving for two days was a negligible achievement.

In the afternoon, the day's work had just begun. Originally, disposing of the remaining female doctors and nurses in whatever way possible and collecting usable medical supplies to send to the front would have been a successful mission. However, I knew that the field hospital at the front desperately needed blood plasma and skin samples, while what the country always desperately needed were corneas and kidneys.

Twenty young and pretty female nurses were taken to a ward near the operating room on the fifth floor. This ward had previously been used as an intensive care unit, with two beds in each room. When the translator coldly ordered them to take off their clothes, the nurses began to cry and try to resist, until they saw…

(I)

A female doctor, around 30 years old, was brought into the room. She ignored the translator's order to take off her clothes. The soldiers behind her didn't even glance at her.

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