A letter from the perspective of a soldier or civilian on V-J Day

August 15, 1945

To My Dearest Eleanor,

Today, the war is over. I write to you from a ship anchored in Tokyo Bay, where we have just witnessed the signing of Japan’s surrender. The deck buzzes with exhausted relief, cheers breaking out between the solemn silences. It should feel like a victory, and in some ways, it does. But, my love, I must admit, my heart is heavier than I expected.

For years, we have fought with the belief that this war would bring peace and that our sacrifices would ensure freedom. And yet, standing here, watching the defeated bow their heads in submission, I see not only the end of the war but the beginning of something else—something uncertain, something that weighs on my soul.

I do not expect you or anyone back home to understand fully. The parades will start soon, and the streets will be flooded with joy and relief. Rightly so—this war has cost too much, and no one should feel ashamed for celebrating its end. But here, in Japan, it is different. The people look at us not just as victors but as the force that brought ruin upon them. I see their faces—some too numb to react, others holding back grief so deep it cannot be spoken.

I do not question what we fought for, but I wonder—what will happen now? We bombed their cities into ashes, their children walk barefoot among the ruins, and their soldiers return home to nothing. And yet, they, too, are people. They, too, believed they were fighting for their homeland, their families, and a future they thought was right. And now, they must reckon with defeat, just as we must reckon with victory.

I think of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I think of the unimaginable devastation that ended this war in a matter of days. We say it saved lives, perhaps even mine, perhaps even the lives of our future children. But did we truly understand what we unleashed? Could we? The horror of those weapons cannot be confined to history; it will live on in the minds of the survivors and in the conscience of the world.

Eleanor, I long to come home. I long to hold you and forget these past years of blood and fire. But I know that even when I step off that ship and embrace you, part of me will remain here, in these war-ravaged streets, wondering what comes next. Victory, it seems, is not as simple as we had hoped. We will all have to carry this war in different ways, and we must ensure that in remembering, we do not let history become a single story but a shared lesson.

With all my love,

Rudolph

Lucrezia Rachele Zito