Japanese Women POWs WWII: The Terrifying Demand ‘We Need to See Your Marks’
That was all.
No explanation. No shouting. No threats wrapped in profanity or steel. Just a sentence spoken calmly, almost politely, in English—then repeated in halting Japanese by an interpreter whose voice shook despite the uniform he wore.
“We need to see your marks.”
Eleven words.
Twenty-three Japanese women froze where they stood.
The war had ended yesterday.
But for them, captivity had only just begun.
It was August 15th, 1945.
The Emperor’s voice had crackled over radios less than twenty-four hours earlier, thin and unreal, announcing surrender in words so formal that many people did not understand them at first. Some soldiers had wept. Some had stared at the ground. Some had simply stopped moving, as if the machinery of obedience had lost power all at once.
For the women now standing in the former Japanese supply barracks on the outskirts of Manila, the announcement had changed nothing.
The building still smelled of old bamboo, damp earth, and fear soaked too deeply into the walls to ever be scrubbed out. The rainy season pressed down like a hand on the roof, drumming steadily, relentlessly. The air inside was thick—almost chewable—heavy with sweat, mildew, and the metallic tang of disinfectant that never quite masked decay.
Sweat gathered beneath collars and between shoulder blades, sliding down spines whether one moved or not.
Yuki felt it trace the same path again and again, slipping over skin that was still tender.
Her wounds were three days old.
No one here knew that yet.
Across the room, the other women instinctively stepped backward until their shoulders touched the bamboo walls. The sound of reeds creaking under pressure rippled softly around the room.
No one spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Fear had already synchronized them.
They had all heard the stories.
Victorious armies did not ask politely.