Toni Morgan

“Night had fallen. They marched toward Japanese-controlled Manchuria, or Manchukuo as it had been renamed, through an area mostly held by the enemy. Almost without thinking, Toshio reached beneath his tunic and touched the soft white fabric and red stitching of the thousand-stitch belt sewn for him by his mother and his wife. Wrapped double around his waist, the spirit of the belt would ward off bullets.
Single-file, they made their way along a narrow path through what recently had been a battlefield. Tanks had churned up the ground, making walking difficult. Although no one spoke, the total silence of one hundred-fifty men passing through the dark was not possible. A twig snapped. Fabric rubbed against fabric. A rifle butt clinked against a canteen. Someone slipped and uttered a whispered curse.”
― Toni Morga