Far East Theater in WWIII 1946
In the ruined city center,
On the one hand, Tetsuo Miyamoto, former major in the Imperial Army, was perversely grateful for the new war in accelerating the repatriation process from Malaya. On the other hand, while he understood that his former enemies were trying to extend the hand of friendship to his people, the mistrust born out of seven or more years of constant warfare was a very difficult obstacle to overcome. He had just come from one of the U.S. Army induction centers for the Japanese Home Defense battalions and had to submit himself to one of the most rigorous – and humiliating – questionings that he had ever endured. Not even the Kempei-Tai had been this brutal in interrogating him for his former position in the Imperial Japanese Army as the executive officer of the Emperor's Household Cavalry Regiment. When he spoke out of turn and lost face, he was simply shipped off to Malaya, and not allowed the dignity of committing seppuku, or ritual suicide. He rotted away, commanding a garrison battalion in Kuala Lampur, until the end of the last war, then as a representative of the Japanese prisoners in Malaya until his repatriation, about a month ago.
Now that he was heading back to his camp, back to the U.S.-donated tent that served as his temporary home, Tetsuo-san took his time to contemplate the current state of his life: his wife had left him for the life of a geisha in Tokyo. He had recently learned this from one of his former neighbors. Before the last war, he would have felt some shame over it, but he did not. He simply felt that his marriage was just one more casualty of war, and did not allow it to concern him overly much. While job prospects were picking up with the beginning of the new war, many prospective employers were leery about hiring people of former officer rank, that could not be vouched for first, lest they face strict sanctions from the occupation authorities for failing to do their due diligence. This made it extraordinarily difficult for Tetsuo to find work, because while he knew that he had followed all the rules of war to the best of his ability (even though as an unstated policy, Japan never considered the Geneva Conventions on Warfare to be more than a diplomatic nicety that they gave the appearance of adhering to, as it was signed but never ratified), there was no one left alive or that could be found that could vouch for his character and the Australian officer in charge of his detention camp refused to grant him a good-conduct letter out of sheer hatred, because the officer's son had been captured in Singapore in 1942 and had died in the Changi prison camp – the former British military base known as Selarang, as opposed to Changi Prison - shortly afterward.
Though Tetsuo-san was not personally responsible, he fully understood the power of the hatred that he was up against.....he hears the rustling of the flap of his tent, and looks up to see a policeman “Is this the tent of Tetsuo Miyamoto?” he nods “You have a telephone call at the public phone kiosk around the corner” the officer told him. Tetsuo-san nods his thanks and gets up, while the officer patiently waits for him to guide him to his call. As they reach the public phone, the officer nods and walks away to resume his beat. “Hello?” “Hello, Major Tetsuo? This is the Emperor's Chamberlain. The Emperor remembered your service in his household cavalry, and only now has been made aware of the grave injustice done to you by higher-ranking officers to whom you were subordinated. His Imperial Majesty would like to meet with you at your first convenience, sir. When would be a good time for you?” Numbly holding the phone up to his ear, Tetsuo-san stood there in a obvious state of shock. “Sir, are you still there?” “Yes, I'm here” replied Tetsuo-san “I am at the Emperor's service whenever His Majesty desires, Chamberlain. Please inform His Imperial Majesty that if he would command the arrangement of my transport, lodging and meals, I will be there immediately.”
“That is very good, Major, the appropriate paperwork will be waiting for you at the Nagoya Central Rail Station. The Emperor will indeed be very pleased to see you. May you have a safe journey.” The Emperor's Chamberlain hung up the phone. Tetsuo-san stood there in a state of total disbelief for a good 10 minutes, before recovering and going back to strike his tent, and collect his meager possessions, to start journey to Tokyo. He cleaned himself as best as he could, and found his best civilian clothes (occupation authorities frowned upon the wearing of the former Imperial Army or Navy uniforms, even devoid of insignia or distinguishing features) and set off for his long journey.