The Lonely War (39 page)

Andrew smiled, thankful that the officer was still alive. He picked up the opium pipe at his side, but realized that the contents were completely charred. He needed to refill the bowl, but his stash was inside the hut. The thought of standing seemed too great an effort. He picked up Jah-Jai and brought it to his lips. Notes of a Chinese folk tune rippled through the damp air.

The rain turned into a fine drizzle at dusk. The camp sounds weaved together with the darkening night sky to form an intense gray mask. Clifford trudged down the muddy path to Tottori’s headquarters. Andrew met him on the terrace and they embraced. He had come for a bath and dinner.

They wasted no time pulling off their sarongs and soaping each other down. A quick rinse and they slipped into the tub. They embraced again before Andrew asked about Mitchell.

“H-h-h-he’s fine, happy, really. The whole camp is celebrating. Those new prisoners brought wonderful news. The war will soon be over. We won in Europe, the Americans and Russians are in Berlin. Hitler is dead. The Americans have taken Okinawa. That’s only three hundred miles from the Japanese mainland.”

“If it ends the war, then it can’t be bad,” Andrew said, but a note of doubt seeped into his voice.

“B-b-but there’s a problem. Maybe you can help. You see, a marine officer has vital information about the invasion of Japan. He must get to the island rebels so he can radio that information to the Allied Forces. You’ve been to the village.”

“This officer wouldn’t happen to be Lieutenant Hurlburt?”

“Ca-ca-ca-captain Hurlburt. How did you know?”

“Unlucky guess. What about old Darby? He knows the village elders.”

“H-h-he died two weeks ago.”

“Who died?” Tottori stood at the doorway.

“Nobody you know,” Andrew said. He smiled. “Join us. It feels great.”

Tottori shook his head and walked to his office.

“How about Hud? He’s been to the village.”

“H-h-h-he said he never met the villagers. He hid in the jungle while Darby did the negotiating. T-t-t-there’s something else. The guards are taking work details into the jungle to dig pits. The rumor is that they’re for mass graves and they’ll kill us all if America attacks the Japanese mainland.”

Andrew was not convinced. Rumormongering was a favorite pastime in the camp. Rumors were the only thing that spread faster than disease. It often seemed as though half the prisoners were pathological liars and the other half were willing to believe anything. It was all a harmless game to pass the time, and Andrew had learned to believe nothing until it was proven.

“Hikaru wouldn’t do that.”

“Ho-ho-hope you’re right.”

After their bath they joined Tottori for dinner—bowls of noodle soup accompanied by golden bits of tempura. The tempura was superb, with eel, squid, octopus, and shrimp.

Tottori ate in silence while Andrew and Clifford made attempts at small talk. Clifford supplied scraps of gossip about the Americans. Tottori became woozy on Suntory, a strong Japanese liquor. He could no longer procure the bottles of Haig & Haig Scotch Whiskey that he preferred, but the Suntory anesthetized his pain equally as well, and when he needed something stronger, there was always the opium pipe.

After dinner Tottori knelt before his Shinto shrine, focusing all of his energy into willing a transfer to a fighting unit. Andrew knew the officer would sit there like a stone for hours.

Andrew whispered in Clifford’s ear that they should go visit Mitchell. They slogged into the prison. It was the first time Andrew had been inside the wire since the court-martial. He was thankful for night’s cloak to hide him.

He waited at Hut Twenty-nine while Clifford went to find Mitchell and Hurlburt. While waiting, Hudson told him how profitable the bug business had become since they’d stepped up production, which was great considering that there were now forty-five new mouths to feed. They talked about the work parties digging enormous pits, which could only be for mass graves.

“That Captain Hurlburt said we’re kicking holy shit out of the Japs,” Hudson said. “We’ll invade their mainland any day now. Soon as that happens, they’ll butcher us. Might even happen before then. They’ll kill us all so they can move these troops to defend the homeland.”

Andrew swallowed. “Tottori is incapable of murder.”

“What’s a few thousand prisoners to the Jappo big shots? The idea of our troops landing on their beaches will drive them mad. They’re capable of anything.”

“You’re wrong.”

“They’ll machine-gun us in those pits,” Stokes said. “I’ll never see Chew-Gin again.”

“The only thing to do is live until that happens,” Andrew said.

“Here, here,” Moyer said, climbing the steps to stand inside the doorway. Mitchell and Hurlburt followed him. Fisher, now an outcast among the Americans, was not with them.

Mitchell smiled as his eyes found Andrew’s face. They both lit up, a faint luminous glow in the dim that surrounded them. They stared at one another until Mitchell said, “Good to see you. What’s this about you wanting to help us?”

Andrew nodded. “You have information that must get to the allies. I don’t know the guerrillas, but I have met the village elders. At one time they had a radio. I can take you to them and act as an interpreter.”

Hurlburt scoffed, “You’re the commandant’s whore. I wouldn’t trust a traitor like you as far as I could throw you.”

“If you’ve got a better option, then take it. I’m offering my help as a way to thank Nathan.”

“Nathan, not Lieutenant Mitchell?” Hurlburt said.

“I’m a civilian now. I’ll call him any damned thing I want, and whatever I do call him is none of your business. If you’re too good for my help, fine. I’ll leave you in peace and best of luck.”

“You’re both acting like schoolboys,” Mitchell said. “He’s right, Captain. He’s our best chance.”

“A traitor is no chance.”

Andrew said, “Suppose I take you both, Nathan and you. Surely you understand that I wouldn’t do anything to harm him. So I’ll lead you both to the guerrillas and you both get away.”

“You’re trying to save his skin from the mass graves?”

“What do you care as long as you get your information to the allies? Besides, there won’t be any mass graves.”

“I’d like to show you something,” Hurlburt said, “so you understand how critical it is for the allies to get this information.” He looked at Mitchell, who nodded.

Hurlburt carefully removed a folded slip of paper from the cuff of his shirtsleeve and handed it to Andrew. “In August of last year, the Jap War Ministry issued a directive to all POW camp commandants. That’s what the allies need to know before they invade the Japanese homeland.”

Andrew unfolded the paper and, holding it toward the nearest naked bulb, read:

When the battle situation becomes urgent, the POWs will be concentrated and confined in their location and kept under heavy guard until preparations for the final disposition will be made. Although the basic aim is to act under superior orders, individual disposition may be made in certain circumstances. Whether they are destroyed individually or in groups, and whether it is accomplished by means of mass bombing, poisonous smoke, poisons, drowning, or decapitation, dispose of them as the situation dictates. It is the aim to not allow the escape of a single one, to annihilate them all, and not to leave any traces.

A tense silence hung in the air as Hurlburt took the note and replaced it in his sleeve. “You, me, and Mitchell are the only ones who have seen that. No one else needs to know yet. Okay? How soon can we move out?”

Indecision spread over Mitchell’s face, but he nodded at Andrew.

Andrew was stunned. He managed to say, “I’m ready now. I know the roving guard’s schedule and the way to the village. Get whatever you need and let’s go.”

Moyer shook Mitchell’s hand, telling him to take care. He hugged Andrew. “Thank you.”

Andrew only had time to nod before Hudson’s arms crushed him in a bear hug. Andrew hugged Stokes and Grady. They all smiled, but they were unconvincing smiles. Clifford leaned close and gave Andrew a kiss, told him to be careful. Cocoa said, “After the war, you and me are gonna cook up a meal these bums will never forget.” At the mention of after the war, they all went awkwardly silent.

“Let’s move out,” Hurlburt said.

They blackened their faces and limbs with mud as they moved through the camp, keeping to the shadows. They crept under the wire behind the boreholes and slipped into the jungle easily enough. After years of no escapes, the guards were lax. Within the cover of the trees, they looked at the camp, which seemed as peaceful as ever. Men strolled about; some squatted over boreholes. Guards paced like zombies outside the wire. Andrew peered through the window of a go-down only two hundred yards away. British officers chatted, yawned, and enjoyed each other’s company before going to bed.

They crawled a few yards deeper into the protection of the foliage and stopped again. Andrew fought a whirlwind of fear. He struggled to suppress the mad urge to dash into the safety of the camp. He stared at Mitchell to try to bolster the strength in his heart.

Mitchell whispered nervously, “Which way?”

Andrew signaled to stay put and keep quiet.

In the jungle the mosquitoes were ferocious, and Andrew had to summon all his willpower not to slap at them when he felt them bite.

Soon they heard the crunch of vegetation, and they froze as two outer perimeter guards passed a dozen feet in front of them. The guards stopped to exchange a few words. One pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. They leaned their rifles against a tree and both lit up. They exchanged more words.

Andrew and the officers stayed as still as mannequins. Andrew’s breath raced and he felt light-headed. He imagined that the guards could hear his teeth chattering.

Suddenly the guards stopped talking and grabbed their rifles. Andrew was certain that they’d been spotted, and wondered who would be the first to die. But the guards ambled away, continuing their rounds. Andrew waited another minute before he signaled to move out.

Still blanched with fear, the men stumbled in serpentine fashion away from the camp. They then crawled through the jungle at a painfully slow pace. Bats chased insects over their heads, and unseen birds called out with coarse voices. The gurgling sound of running water led Andrew to the creek, where he and Tottori had explored for rocks, and it guided them to the sea.

An hour passed before the jungle opened onto the beach. They stared out at the vast Pacific plane. Andrew looked to the spot where he and Tottori had made love. A smile creased his lips before he moved on. They crawled through the jungle foliage up from the beach until they saw the village.

“Behind us,” Hurlburt hissed.

The faint sound of footsteps drifted through the underbrush. It was impossible for Andrew to hear over the roaring surf, but the captain’s trained ears picked it up.

“A native,” Hurlburt whispered. “He’s barefoot.”

A moment later, a Malay youth tramped by, close enough for them to hear his breathing. He meandered to the village, where he climbed the ladder of the nearest hut and disappeared through the doorway.

They crouched behind some coconut palms to survey the village. There were a dozen or so structures on stilts, each with a ladder leading to a veranda attached to a palm thatch hut. Now that the drizzle had stopped, the Malays were socializing on their verandas. A dog barked, pigs grunted. The sound of broken laughter sprouted here and there. On the beach, close to the phosphorescent surf, the fishing boats sat with furled sails and fishing nets hung on racks waiting for the night’s work. The place had a simple, peaceful ambience, as if war had never touched it.

“Seems okay,” Mitchell said.

Andrew nudged Hurlburt and pointed to the headman’s hut, where he and Tottori had shared a meal. “That’s the elder’s hut. Those men on the veranda are the headsmen.”

Hurlburt nodded, squatting down to wait.

Andrew moved out, keeping to the shadows. He climbed the ladder to the elder’s hut and stepped onto the veranda. Three elderly men squatted in a circle, smoking pipes with long slender stems. Andrew hunkered on his haunches beside them. They all fell silent, staring at him as if he had dropped out of the sky.

“
Tabe
, Wang San,” Andrew said. He smiled serenely, as if his being there was a common thing.

“Welcome, Tottori’s
ichi-ban
boy,” said the oldest-looking man. He wore a sarong and a single piece of jewelry around his neck. He smiled, showing his few betel-nut-stained teeth.

“How art Thou?” Andrew asked.

“Me good,” the old one replied, groping for the proper English words. “Thou eat?”

Andrew knew that a refusal would be insulting, but he was too nervous to be hungry. He told them he had already eaten, but asked for coffee.

Wang San signaled to someone inside the hut. Soon a pretty young girl brought them all coffee.

Andrew knew they must finish their coffee before he mentioned his objective. It would offend them if he rushed right into business. Andrew drank the strong liquid slowly, so as not to seem impolite. His mind groped for a way to ask the elders about contacting the guerrillas who, rumor had it, operated on the island.

The elders resumed their conversation. Andrew understood enough Malay to follow along as they discussed the possibility of a good night’s catch. He finished his coffee. “Grandfather. This coffee is more than a sultan could hope for. I have no way to thank thee for thy hospitality.”

Wang San said, “Thou are welcome. Does thou wish more?”

“I wish only for one thing, Grandfather.”

The old man flashed a wicked grin, obviously thinking that Andrew was talking about sex.

They all snorted.

Andrew smiled and shook his head. “Thou knows of a bird which flies over the sea and sings to the American armies?”

The old man’s smile faded. “There may be such a bird in the jungle.”

“My friend must find such a bird to carry a message as quick as the wind.”

Wang San’s eyes widened perceptibly. “This will help end the war?”