2016/2017
Vol. 12

War Zone Waves

The ocean liner had trudged through the battering waves of the stretch of ocean between Japan and Taiwan that splashed against the hull. It was mid-afternoon — the warm sun’s rays had eagerly reached out to the passengers on the deck, while frothy white clouds hung lazily in the azure sky.

It was 1942. My great-grandparents from my father’s side were moving back from Japan to their homeland — Taiwan. A few years before, in 1939, World War II had started. The warring nations were divided — the Axis and Allied powers. The Axis powers consisted of Germany, Italy, and Japan. The main Allied powers were Great Britain, the United States, and the Soviet Union (USSR).

My great-grandma was on the deck of the ship with her first child, an infant boy, wrapped carefully in soft bundles, nested in the crook of her arms, with my great-grandfather by her side. They enjoyed the pleasing weather, oblivious to the dangers that would lie ahead.

Suddenly the heavy humming of planes approached the ship, and battle planes streaked across the sky. From another direction, enemy planes had also arrived. In the next few seconds, catastrophe descended. Bullets and explosives were fired across the battleground of the sky, followed by their deafening booms and bursts of light. One of the planes exploded and crashed into the back of the ship, tearing through the hull as if it were made of paper.

Then came the water. It swelled from the damaged hull and began to overflow the ship like water bursting forth from a broken dam. Quickly the ship began to sink, pulling people down who were still in their rooms. The ship had been caught in the war zone, and the remaining passengers flung themselves into the water. Something exploded nearby, and my great-grandparents were tossed into the ocean. Bullets that were fired into the waters tore and ripped through the targeted passengers, dyeing the water crimson.

When my great-grandmother resurfaced, she couldn’t find her child. She tried to tread water and look around, but there was no sight of the infant or the blankets that had so carefully been wrapped around him. My great-grandfather had to guide my frantic great-grandmother to a piece of stray driftwood from the ship so she wouldn’t drown while searching in vain. Great-grandmother was in too much shock to cry. They floated in danger, with grief, and in clinging, soaked clothes throughout the battle — until they were rescued by another ship. They were exceptionally lucky to have survived.

World War II took something precious from many families. The loss of my grandfather’s older brother would remain a reminder of death in the war. Through this family tale, I’ve learned to appreciate life more than ever. I am extremely thankful I live in a country where I do not have to experience war firsthand. On September 2, 1945, World War II finally ended. I truly hope it’s the last war to take as many lives as that war did.

Caroline Y. Tu; North Carolina, USA

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