The plane lifts off the ground, carrying twenty one year old James Menah. He holds the yolk with his sweaty hands, and carefully presses down on the pedals.
This is James Menah, twenty one. Dark hair, dark eyes, his skin pale with the fright, his helmet going hot from the heat that James is extracting from his warm head.�
He feels hot, almost passing out hot. He looks to his right, and sees his backup man, Kimbly. Rian Kimbly. Rian doesn't look scared to James, but he does have a hint of a tense look in the way he tightly holds his yolk.
The two American Air-Force men are heading to Japan, while the other team of two is headed for Germany. They wait for the long flight, but they are prepared.
Meanwhile, the Japanese are at the ready, holding on to their breath, their hearts thumping in their ears. They wait; they know something will happen.
Yoshimitzu Matagami, like James, holds tightly on the trigger of the gun he holds. Like the others, his heart pumps in his ears. He stares at the distant sky of the west. The ones they had been waiting for for a long time to visit. For a long time to go to. But that promise had not been fulfilled for Yoshimitzu. He waited at his post, almost daydreaming about what could be over there. The lights; New York City; the cars, buses, and planes.
But for now, he won't be able to see it.
The day has almost finished. James and Rian are heading down for Beirut, where they are to stop to get gas, take a break, and be refreshed, until they had to leave again at five thirty in the morning.
James couldn't wait to sleep, and, he couldn't wait to see Japan. His father had been there, and said it was an amazing sight, with many people, many friends, and everything you can imagine.
James couldn't wait.
But the next day, after James was rested, he had to take off again, and they would reach Japan by five o'clock.
And at five o'clock, Yoshimitzu heard the roar of the engines coming closer and closer to their base. All the men cocked and raised their guns and waited.
"" their genral announced, holding tightly to his handgun. One or two men ran beside their 'almighty genral' to protect him from the rapid gunfire that was about to take place.
But Yoshimitzu wasn't thinking about that. Would he survive this blood-and-gore battle? Would he be allowed? Could he step back now? Could he let himself go?
But it wasn't an option.
He had to fight.