Death, it's the one certainty we have in life. Why are we so afraid?

I had been thinking such things for a while now. I guess that's what happens when you're a skeleton under your threadbare uniform walking through the jungle, the canopy of death hanging over you.

One-by-one we dropped off, our bodies lying in the thick foliage. As the seasons pass the bodies will decompose. They will be nothing but skeleton, their skulls smiling up as if to say "Ha! You couldn't save me! Now I'll haunt you forever!"

I don't have that long to go. I tell myself as the darkness rises and falls, light taking its place. I feel content, for the first time in many months all thirty of us slept with full stomachs. Thank God for Jim, his quick mind and nifty fingers. Even back when we were training he could steal like a shadow, known but never seen. He probably gave us a few more days.

Sweet thoughts are interrupted by the gruff voices of the Japanese soldiers.

"Get up!" they shout, "Stand in a line!"

I'm used to gruff wakeup calls but in the many months we had stumbled through the jungle we had never been told to line up. Soon we emerge, in a neat orderly fashion, just like how we were taught to back while we were training to show off our discipline and regalia. Yet there is no one to impress.

I feel my hand rising to give salute but restrain myself. I'll never salute the enemy, not under any circumstances.

Officer Naoji walks back and forth along the line, blackening our already raging hearts with fear.

"One of you stole from us." He says with an accent. "Tell us who it was or I shoot you all."

Not one muscle moved. No sound could be heard except the blood pounding in our ears. Tension filled the air as thick as the humidity. No one dared reveal who it was, even though we all knew.

Jim was beside me. I know he showed no emotion. But on the inside I also know he is torn, between loyalty to his comrades and the fear of stepping forward.

Naoji strokes the gun at his side and it brings me too my senses. Conquering the fear inside me I step forward. He frowns; no doubt he was expecting our deaths. I'll not give them the satisfaction of killing all my comrades in one go because I want them to know we'll survive anything they throw at us.

I know Jim's face is full of disbelief, but I don't look at him. He must be tearing apart inside knowing that his friend took his place. But I don't want to see him die. I'm not ready for that.

What do I think as I kneel facing my comrades, wrists bound, the cool metal of the gun kissing my neck?

If death's the one certainty we have in life then why are we so afraid?