A War Too Far

by David Lee Corley

  Granier did not react to the story. “You don’t speak much, do you?” said Laurent. “That’s not good. You need to make friends to survive in a place like this. Look, if you don’t want to speak that’s your business, but at least smile occasionally, so the others know you don’t want to kill them.”

  Granier just stared straight ahead, no reaction. “Ah, well… it’s your neck,” said Laurent. “Stay clear of the guards whenever possible. You don’t want to piss them off. They’re barbarians. They enjoy hurting us. It’s like a game to them. Toughest cat in the house gets the mice. That sort of thing. You’ll steer clear if you’re smart.”

  Granier said nothing. He climbed up into his bunk and stared at the ceiling, ignoring Laurent. “No, no. No thanks required,” said Laurent as he walked toward the exit. “Always pleased to help.”

  The prisoners not in sickbay were expected to work in the surrounding area. Each morning a work detail of one hundred prisoners was led out of the compound under heavy guard and marched into the forest. They were given saws, axes, wedges, sledgehammers and chains which they would use to cut down trees and drag them across the soft soil. The downed trees were loaded on to trucks and driven to a nearby sawmill where they were cut into lumber. The prisoners operated the equipment in the sawmill too. More than one lost his fingers in the steam-powered machinery that drove the circular saw.

  No prisoner was crazy enough to try smuggling a tool that could be used as a weapon back into the camp. Even the slightest infraction, no matter how innocent, was considered a viable reason for immediate execution. There were however broken saw teeth that could be smuggled inside the prisoners’ mouths or butt cheeks. The prisoners sharpened the bits of steel the best they could on rocks and nail heads. With patience, the edges could become razor-sharp. It drove the Japanese crazy to see the French show up to roll call with clean-shaven faces. When asked by a Japanese officer, the prisoners responded, “My beard just fell off last night while I was asleep. It sometimes happens to us, French.”

  It was late in the afternoon, and the day’s work was done. Grey clouds rolled in, and it was muggy. A sure sign of rain. Granier was sitting outside on the steps of his barracks, watching as a group of soldiers played football with a hollowed-out coconut. He saw a Japanese lieutenant flipping a coin as he passed in front of the main gate and approached the commander’s hut outside the wire. Even at a distance, he recognized the coin. It was his gold coin. He wondered how the lieutenant had come by it. He might have bought it from the soldiers that delivered him to the prison compound but more likely ordered them to hand it over, using some sort of excuse as to why it was required. He might have said that he would keep it for the prisoner to whom it belonged until he was released. Doesn’t matter, he thought. It’s mine, and I want it back. Granier knew bringing it up with the lieutenant would only cause trouble. He might even kill him for being insubordinate. He just didn’t want that man touching his grandfather’s coin. He would bide his time and wait for the right moment.

  Granier stood in the line to get his daily ration of rice and fish sauce. His stomach had shrunk over the last few weeks, and the hunger pains had ceased. He knew he would need his strength if he were going to get his coin back. It was a purpose. He needed a purpose to go on. Nothing else seemed to matter.

  The Frenchman serving scooped up a half cup and plopped it on Granier’s mess tin. There were dead worms in the rice. The Frenchman smiled and said, “Protein.”

  The next Frenchman in the serving line used a teaspoon to ladle a drizzle of fish sauce over the rice. It would be Granier’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He stepped out of line and stood eating with his fingers. He didn’t mind the dried worms. He watched the lieutenant with his coin as he inspected a platoon of Japanese troops on the opposite side of the wire. He studied his enemy. The lieutenant berated his men for the smallest infraction in their dress, grooming, and maintenance of their weapons. That didn’t bother Granier. Discipline is good, he thought. It hardens a soldier. Gives ’em confidence when they get it right. Granier didn’t fault the man for being a tough commander. That was his job. He didn’t fault the man for being Japanese. He was doing what his country demanded of him. The man’s offense was simply taking his grandfather’s coin. For that, Granier would make him pay. He couldn’t let that stand. Not after everything that had happened. This justice was within his reach.

  The Japanese lieutenant was oblivious to Granier, who was just another French prisoner that should have committed suicide instead of being captured. The lieutenant had his own problems. When he had left for the military academy, he had moved his wife and son to the island of Kyushu to live with his brother and his family. His brother had a good job as a manager at the Mitsubishi Armament factory in the Urakami Valley. His house was big and near the factory. The lieutenant knew that his brother and his wife would take care of his wife and son while he was away serving his country.

  Everything had gone well for the first three years of the war. But then the Americans took the island of Okinawa. It was still far from the mainland islands, but unless the Americans could be stopped, it seemed only a matter of time before they invaded the mainland. It was most likely Kyushu island would be the first island invaded. The Urakami Valley was heavily defended by anti-aircraft batteries which discouraged the American bombers from attacking, and there was a substantial garrison of soldiers there. But the lieutenant knew it was not enough to halt the American advance. He was concerned about the safety of his wife and son. He wrote her a letter and asked her to move to the Northern Island of Hokkaido where her mother lived. There was little heavy industry in Hokkaido and would most likely be the last island the Allies invaded. His wife and son would be safe until the Japanese forces wore the Americans down, drove them back into the sea, and achieved final victory.

  He double-checked his letter to ensure that he had not said anything that might prevent the war censors from delivering it to his wife. Even without delay from the censors, it would still take over a week to reach his wife, and even that wasn’t for sure. Military correspondence took precedence. Personal mail, even from an officer, got there when it got there.

  The French prisoners carried on with life the best they could. They played cards, even though the well-worn deck they had purchased from a guard for a pack of chewing gun was missing a few cards. It didn’t matter. It passed the time, and once they figured out which cards were missing, it made the games more interesting.

  Fights occasionally broke out between prisoners. The compound was a pressure cooker with too many men in too little space. The Japanese guards let the fights unfold and only stepped in when ordered by their commander. It was good fun to watch the Frenchmen beat the shit out of each other.

  The prisoners had flying insect races by tying a thread from one of their uniforms and letting the bug fly around in circles until it collapsed from exhaustion. It felt good to watch the bug suffer more than they did. They were the masters once again. They were in control.

  Granier found it all pitiful but said nothing. He acted like he was watching, but his eyes were focused beyond the wire on the lieutenant whenever he would appear. He ruminated on ways of getting his coin back. Stealing it was one option. Maybe creating some sort of issue that would force the lieutenant to enter the compound, then using a diversion while he picked his pocket. It could work if planned and executed correctly. The problem was more psychological. Granier wanted the lieutenant to know that he was taking his coin back. He wanted to face him when he did it. He wanted to dominate him like a beast dominates its prey. He had little regard for the consequences of his actions. It was his way of restoring his worth as a warrior. Fearless. Unbending. That feeling of renewal was more important to Granier than life itself. It was who he was and all he valued. That… and his grandfather’s coin. Everything else had fallen away and no longer mattered.

  It had been a long day, cutting down trees in the forest under the watchful eye of the guards. Even wit
h the prisoners starving to death, the Japanese still demanded that they work a full day. Granier could feel his body wasting away as it ate away at his muscle. Any fat on his body, of which there was almost none, had been chewed up in the first three weeks in the camp. Next, it would be muscle. Then finally, his organs. Eventually, death, most likely from disease as his immune system shutdown.

  Unlike the other prisoners, Granier didn’t think about escape. He had no reason to escape. He had given up hope of happiness. Even if he found someone he could love, he would never trust again. Trust was the basis of any good relationship, and it was out of this reach. Because of his nature, his prospects had been slim before he met Spitting Woman, and now they seemed non-existent. There was some satisfaction in knowing he would never love again. It meant that he would never hurt again as he did now. Better to let it all end in this faraway land. But first… the coin.

  As the work team walked back toward the camp, Granier saw something that perked his interest. The lieutenant was exiting the commander’s hut and walking in the direction of the entrance to the camp. As usual, the lieutenant wore his Showato – an officer’s sword – on his left side so it could be drawn across the body. Granier wondered if the lieutenant was righthanded and if he kept his grandfather’s coin in his right pant pocket. The odds were in his favor. The sword concerned him too. Unlike the samurai swords of old made by skilled craftsmen, the Showato was made of cheap steel, stamped using power hammers and tempered with oil. Even so, the officers wore it with pride and kept the blade’s edge razor-sharp. Once out of its sheath, it would be deadly. Not such a bad thing, but not before he retrieved what was his. To stand any chance at all, he would need to stay close to his enemy.

  It will be a matter of timing, thought Granier. Will the column of prisoners cut across his path in time and force him to wait until they pass before proceeding? If he stops, this may be the only chance I ever have. Granier had abandoned his belief in a higher power long ago. But at this moment, he couldn’t help himself. He prayed as he drew closer to the lieutenant. God, if you exist, I will only ask for this one thing before I die. A chance. Just give me one last chance.

  To Granier’s amazement, the lieutenant stopped to berate one of the guards near the fence for having loosened the top button on his uniform.

  Maybe there is a god. Granier moved closer, one foot in front of the other, his remaining muscles tensing, adrenaline coursing through his veins, the beast within rising once again.

  As he was about to enter the entrance to the camp, Granier stepped out of line and walked to the lieutenant. A guard yelled at him. He didn’t stop. The lieutenant turned to see why the guard was yelling. A prisoner was walking past him. The lieutenant reached for his sword. He would strike the impudent Frenchman, severing his head from his shoulders as he passed. Granier pivoted behind the lieutenant, reaching out with his left hand to grab the hilt of the sword, keeping the lieutenant from drawing it from its sheath. He swung in back of the lieutenant and slid his right hand into the lieutenant’s pocket. The lieutenant struggled to pull his sword out, not realizing the prisoner was stopping him. He looked down and saw the dirty hand on the hilt. His thrust his elbow backward hitting Granier in the chest. Granier was weak and couldn’t hold his ground. He fell backward, landing on his ass in the dirt. He raised his hand holding the coin up, locked eyes with the lieutenant and said in English, “Mine.”

  The French prisoners behind the wire gathered to watch the fight. They had a morbid curiosity of how the lieutenant was going to kill their fellow prisoner.

  Guards rushed forward. The lieutenant yelled for them to get back. He would deal with the prisoner alone. He reached for his sword. “Draw that sword, and I’ll stick it up your ass,” said Granier in English climbing to his feet.

  The French prisoners were shocked to hear Granier speak English and exchanged surprised glances.

  The lieutenant was surprised by Granier’s language. It was in English. He had heard it before. No matter. The prisoner would be dead in a moment. He drew his sword and prepared to strike. “I warned, ya,” said Granier with a snarl, tucking the coin in his pocket.

  Granier’s survival was about luck and a bit of psychology. There would be no second chance. Granier needed to predict the direction of the stroke of the lieutenant’s sword. If he was wrong, he was dead. The lieutenant was arrogant, and Granier had embarrassed him in front of the men he commanded. He’ll want my head, thought Granier. He’s too angry to consider anything else. That’s his weakness… pride.

  The lieutenant stepped forward raising his sword above his head. A feint, thought Granier. Poor predictable bastard. Granier thrust his arms out to the lieutenant’s right side in preparation for a downward side stroke. He guessed correctly. As the sword came down, the lieutenant shifted his arms and swung for the prisoner’s head. Granier lunged forward and used both his hands to grab the lieutenant’s forearm. Granier twisted counterclockwise into the lieutenant’s body while holding his arms, keeping the sword away. The lieutenant was caught off guard by the speed of the prisoner’s maneuver. Granier locked his foot behind the lieutenant’s boot. He released his right hand from the lieutenant’s forearm and drove his elbow into the officer’s cheek. The lieutenant stumbled backward from the blow, and as he did, Granier’s foot tripped him. The lieutenant let go of his sword as he fell. Granier reached out with his right hand and caught the falling sword by the hilt. He swung the sword around as the lieutenant landed on his ass in the dirt. He stopped the blade an inch from the side of the lieutenant’s throat and said, “Pussy.”

  A corporal ran up and struck Granier in the side of the head with the butt of his rifle. Granier was stunned as he fell sideways and released the sword, letting it fall into the dirt. The lieutenant recovered, picked up his sword, and stood above Granier. He raised his sword to strike. A simple straight stroke, thought Granier as he looked up from the ground at the enraged lieutenant. Nothing fancy. Split my head like a watermelon. Quick. Painless.

  A man’s voice called out. The lieutenant froze, his face full of anguish, wanting to proceed with the prisoner’s death, but afraid. Granier turned to see a Japanese major standing on the steps of the command hut. He had come out when he heard a commotion. He had seen everything. He walked down the steps and over to the lieutenant and Granier. He scolded the lieutenant in Japanese. The lieutenant bowed obediently and re-sheathed his sword. The major turned to Granier on the ground and said in English, “You spoke English.”

  Granier said nothing. “Your accent… you are an American, are you not?” said the major.

  Granier remained silent. “I studied economics at the University of San Francisco before the war. Beautiful city. Especially the Golden Gate Bridge,” said the major studying the American. “Why are you here in Vietnam?”

  Granier kept quiet. The major’s face hardened. He wasn’t used to being ignored, even by the enemy.

  “You assaulted an officer. Be glad you did not kill him. You will be punished. There is no other way,” said the major as he motioned for the guards to take the prisoner away. “Perhaps we may talk later when you are ready.”

  Granier was picked up by the arms and dragged to the hot box – a sheet metal box with barely enough room to fit a man with his legs bent and his head bowed. Once inside, the guards used a wooden mallet to drive wedges in place to hold the door shut. Granier was left to cook in the sun and freeze in the night from his clothes drenched in sweat. No food. No water.

  Three days later, Granier was dragged from the hot box and carried to the commander’s hut by two Japanese guards. His uniform was even more tattered and stained with salt marks from the sweat. He smelled of urine. His lips were blistered, cracked, and bleeding. His legs were cramped and spasming. He was unable to walk on his own. One more day in the hotbox would have killed him.

  The guards sat him in a chair in front of the major. They moved back and stood next to the door. Granier had trouble sitting upright. �
�It’s the dehydration,” said the major pouring a small cup of hot tea. “It can make you dizzy, and you can lose your sense of balance. Drink this. It will help.”

  Granier wanted to refuse anything offered to him by the major, but he was sure he would pass out any minute. He picked up the teacup and moved it toward his lips. His hand was shaking with tremors. He brought his other hand forward, and it was just as bad. The major gave a nod to one of the guards. The guard stepped forward and helped steady Granier’s hands as he drank. “You are to be transferred to Tokyo. Your presence, along with the other American prisoners, will help protect the city from being bombed by the allies. You will be shielding the emperor and his family.”

  “I’d rather die,” said Granier, his voice scratchy and hushed.

  “That is not an option. While you wait, you will be moved back into the compound with the French. You will no longer be required to work in the forest. Conserve your strength. It will be a long journey to my country. The lieutenant you attacked will not be allowed to seek retribution against you. It is his punishment for losing his sword. You are a lucky man. He has a most foul temper. He has been reprimanded several times for decapitating prisoners. See that you do not cross him again. If you obey, I will let you keep the gold coin you fought so hard to obtain.”

  “It was mine.”

  “Nothing is yours. You are a prisoner. If you disobey in any way, I will see that the coin is removed. That will be your punishment. Do you understand?”

  Granier took a moment to consider, then nodded.

  Granier was escorted back into the compound by the guards. The tea had helped him regain some of his strength. He was able to walk most of the way slowly until the guards became impatient and picked him up by the arms and carried him.