Lost in a Foreign Land

by Douglas Anderson

  “Hum, during the crash. Is that so?” He again referred to a page in his folder and made a notation in the margin—the notes told him there were bullet holes in the plane and blood in the cockpit.

  “Where did you stay from the time of your crash landing until you stowed away on the truck?

  “I found a cabin and stayed there.” That information was truthful and he had revealed that before.

  “Did anyone assist you?”

  “No. There was nobody there” He didn't mention how he had sneaking into the food line at the service camp.

  “Why did you leave such a place of shelter?”

  Shinichi thought a moment before answering, “I had no food so I couldn't stay any longer. I knew that winter would soon arrive and I would not survive.”

  Shinichi saw that his questioner was consulting a drawing. It was the very one he had sketched for Sergeant Carter in Northway.

  “You must have had recovered some items from your plane—your sidearm maybe? What did you do with it?”

  “I buried it near the cabin.” Not exactly true.

  “Some other items too?”

  “Yes. Some clothes—my flight suit and flotation vest.” Shinichi didn't think this would hurt. They must surely realize he had been equipped as such for flight.

  “Where did you think you were going when you stowed away on the truck?

  “I didn't know. It was heading west so I just took a chance. I couldn't stay at the cabin any longer.”

  “I see,” said Toshi, “a desperate act of self-preservation, perhaps?”

  “I thought I could get back to Japan somehow.” said Shinichi, rather weakly.

  “Not a chance of that.” Nakamori let out an expansive laugh, “or, as we say here in America, not a cat in hells chance.”

  He made a few notes in the folder then spoke quietly in English to the two MPs and they left the room. Shinichi was still shackled but their departure served to relieve the tension. All the time he had been expecting a crack across the skull from one of them if he didn't cooperate.

  Nakamori leaned back in his chair in a relaxed fashion. “Do you have a family, Shinichi?

  Shinichi was careful in his answer: “Yes, a wife.”

  “Children?”

  “No”

  “Your parents, are they alive?”

  “Yes” Shinichi's voice faltered. “But, my mother was not well when I left.

  “I'm sorry. Tell me Shinichi. Now you are a prisoner and you will not fight in this conflict again. I'm sure you realize you now have an opportunity to survive in relative comfort. This war will not last for much longer I can assure you of that. What would you like to do after it is all over?

  Shinichi relaxed a little, this could mean he did have a future and was not going to be summarily executed. He thought it might help his cause if he spoke freely about such things. Anyway, it helped to speak positively about the future.

  “I always had an aptitude for mechanical things. I had an ambition to be an Aeronautical Engineer and was studying for that before I was called to service. I like anything to do with airplanes. My father works at,” He hesitated—that might be too much information—“He's a mechanic.”

  Toshi smiled and nodded. “I understand. There are some things we can say and some things best left unsaid.”

  “May I see your wristwatch?”

  Shinichi removed it with a little difficulty, constrained by the handcuffs as he was.

  Toshi reached across the table to take it from him, studied it, turning it over to read the inscription engraved on the back. Of course he understood what it said.

  “Hum—Swiss—It's very good quality. It will last many years if you take good care of it.” He handed it back, then sat and looked steadily at Shinichi for a couple of minutes, drumming his fingers lightly on the folder as Shinichi refastened his watch around his wrist.

  Nakamori quite suddenly stood. “I think we have finished here. I do hope you enjoy your stay in the United States of America.”

  He patted Shinichi somewhat reassuringly on the shoulder as he passed by and reached for the door handle. Then he turned to look back.

  “Shinichi Oda. You are young and you have your whole life ahead of you. You must make the most of your time here in my country. Prisoner or not, it will be an experience that can serve you in many ways when you eventually return to your homeland. You will not forget Lieutenant Nakamori or Sergeant Carter at Northway.” He paused. “I wish you well.”

  Shinichi sat there alone and was so relieved he slumped in the chair. He had been so afraid he was about to be beaten until he told them everything he knew about the navy, his ship, his plane, and perhaps more besides. What did Nakamori mean when he talked of experience and that he would not forget Lieutenant Nakamori or Sergeant Carter? Also, it was not lost on him that Nakamori had said; “When you eventually return to your homeland.” There was a future.

  He was left sitting there for thirty minutes before one of the MPs entered the room. He gave Shinichi a curt nod then bent down to unfasten the chain. However, he left the handcuffs in place. The brusque handling was gone. He took Shinichi firmly by the upper arm, out of the door and along a passageway to a small room with a tiny window set high in the wall. There was a narrow bunk with a pillow and blankets, a chair, a small table fastened to the wall, wash basin and a toilet. It was akin to a prison cell but looked and smelled spotlessly clean.

  He took away Shinichi's wristwatch and leather belt, removed the handcuffs, then turned on his heel and left. The heavy door closed firmly and there was a sound of locks sliding into place. Shinichi was alone. He realized his knees had gone all weak so he slumped onto the bunk, buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

  Four days later and five doors away along the passage, three men were having an intense conversation—Lieutenant Nakamori was in the middle of it.

  One man, wearing colonel's stripes and PETERS for a name patch, was getting a bit hot under the collar;

  “You know damn well this fly boy did it. We've got this guy Roberts from Gore Field on our backs about one of his lend lease A-20s going missing after leaving Whitehorse on the twentieth of last month. This Nip—sorry Tony—this guy was there the same day, his magazine was half empty, maybe dropped some bombs too and his God damn Zero is all shot up and crashed not too far from the Al-Can. He's injured too. You tell me that's not enough proof to nail him.”

  “I understand what you are saying.” said the man who had flown in that day. His name was Patterson, but he wore no name patch. He was dressed in civilian clothes and came armed only with a shiny black leather briefcase—a classic civil servant. “What you say may well be true but these orders are coming from the highest level in Washington. I'm telling you, this story must not—repeat, must not—get to the press or it's going to open up a whole can of worms. The public must not find out that a Japanese plane—or number of planes—sneaked in without anyone spotting them. Think what it would do for morale. We're supposed to be winning this war.”

  “What the hell is it about that missing A-20 that's so damned secret anyway?” Said Peters, “Now you say; Washington's put a lid on it tighter than a bull's ass in fly time.” He was renowned for his colorful and sometimes amusing Texan forthrightness. “Roberts over at Gore Field sent that plane on its way without any escort, which is damned unusual for a lend-lease plane, and now he's been told to back off. He can't even get permission to search for it anymore by all accounts. I can't get any more out of him than that. It's like they just wrote it off and the guys who were in her. I know we aren't being told the whole story. There's something not quite right going on and the whole thing stinks.”

  “I can't answer all of your questions either,” said Patterson, “It's a case of national security and they don't even tell me more than is necessary. All I know is we somehow have to make this Japanese pilot disappear and keep this story under wraps or heads will roll. Matter of fact I think some already did.”

  �
�Hey. I could make him disappear if that's the only problem? There's a whole lot of wild country out here and one bullet…..” Peters pointed two fingers at his head and cocked his thumb. “End of that problem.

  “Now wait a minute gentlemen.” said Nakamori, stepping into the fray. “I hate to burst your bubble but that's not the way we do it in this country. Anyway, there's an idea floating around Washington that we need to cultivate some Japanese prisoners so they can be repatriated after this mess is over and start that nation moving in the right direction. Washington is already interviewing and selecting people to go in there and try to help set things on the right track when they finally surrender—as they eventually will before too much longer. They are not all fanatics.”

  He paused a moment and looked out at the weather which was struggling a little today.

  “I understand the Japanese way of thinking—they've been reared to believe Emperor Hirohito is God himself. Someone has to change their mentality or that nation will never recover. We're going to do our best to bomb them back to the stone-age and then we have to help them rebuild and we need to reeducate them. We'll be stuck with it eventually so why not cultivate this guy. He seems like a sharp young fellow, got his sights on being an Aeronautical Engineer. If he was a fanatic like many of them are—believe me—he would have committed hari-kari simply because he crashed his plane. It's a loss of face, you see. Instead, he went through hell to survive in that wilderness up north and even gave up without a fight. If we can win him over—and I think we already started to do that—he'll be a convert by the time he returns home to his family. That is, if we haven't already killed them.”

  “Damn” said the colonel, “Convert! He doesn't even speak English. How are we going to win him over?”

  “Well, you see, there's a start. We cram him with English and encourage him to continue with his engineering studies—expose him to the way a democracy works—western ideas—give him a sense of dignity so by the time he leaves he's behaving like he was brought up in….. Texas.” Then as an after thought; “Well, maybe that's a bad example since they don't speak English very well down there in Texas.” He knew that's where the colonel hailed from and had said it on purpose.

  “Hey! Wait a cott'n pick'n minute….” Peters suddenly realized he'd taken a broadside.

  All three laughed.

  Finally Nakamori said, “Look, why don't you leave this with me for a few days. I'll see if I can pull a few strings and maybe get him out of your hair and you can forget this ever happened.”

  It was Peters’ opportunity to be a smart-ass. He feigned a blank expression and said; “Forget about what?” They laughed again and the meeting broke up.

  Before leaving, Nakamori said; “I know none of this is supposed to have happened, but I do hope someone is making sure there isn't another opportunity for Japanese planes to fly around undetected. You know what they say about complacency. That's what brought about Pearl Harbor.”

  Chapter Eleven:

  A Change of Direction

  Shinichi spent ten days in the cell. He was escorted for a daily fifteen-minute walk in a parking area behind the building and several times he was taken to a room where there were some showers—with hot water. A few times he tried to do push-ups and calisthenics but his ribs still hurt, so it was a half-hearted effort. He had not been in contact with anyone except Nakamori, Peters and a brief visit from some stranger in civilian clothes, and of course Military Police at various times. It was one of the MPs that brought his meals three times a day.

  One day a thin text book, a couple of short pencils and a wad of writing paper had been delivered with his mid-day meal. After eating—he was getting used to this western food—he examined these items and found the book to be an English- Japanese phrase book. A hand written note in Japanese simply said, “Shinichi, make good use of these.” It was signed, Nakamori.

  So, Nakamori wanted Shinichi to improve his English language skills. Shinichi pushed the book aside. Right at this moment he wasn't too much interested in learning another language. He was in detention and was fairly sure he would not stay at this location for ever. Pretty soon he would be thrown in with the other POW the Americans must be holding in various places and be left to rot for the duration.

  He had underestimated Nakamori. Behind the scenes Nakamori was arguing his case to get Shinichi into a program that would be beneficial to both sides when the war ended. He was also using the powers of Military Intelligence to its maximum potential in the furtherance of his scheme.

  There were several Internment camps around the country but the Japanese held there were not all prisoners of war. They were immigrants or US citizens of Japanese descent and they had been relocated away from the west coast as a knee-jerk reaction to the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was simply because some viewed them all as spies or potential saboteurs. About 10,000 had been allowed to relocate to a place of their own choosing—as his parents were able to do. Some young Japanese Americans of military age were allowed to join the army, but only to fight in the European theater. The remainder—roughly 110,000 men, women and children—were languishing in hastily constructed camps called ‘War Relocation Centers’ located in some of the most remote portions of the interior. Conditions there were not good—only marginally better than a prisoner of war camp.

  Toshi himself would have been relocated too except for the fact he was already career army with the rank of Lieutenant in Military Intelligence. It made him an exception.

  Some argued that Shinichi should be placed in one of those Internment Camps, but Nakamori resisted that notion. Shinichi was in a different category, having been captured while on active duty. He was, by any description, a Prisoner of War. In fact, he was the only Japanese pilot captured on the North American continent. In Nakamori's mind that put Shinichi Oda in a unique position; there really was no P.O.W. camp here on the mainland where he could be placed with any degree of safety.

  After a few days of arguing the case and having discussions with a select number of trusted people, a plan began to gel. There was a German P.O.W. camp in Northern Michigan. The prisoners there were allowed considerable freedom to go out on work parties, cutting trees in the surrounding forest. Most of them were extremely happy to be away from the shooting war and able to work outdoors for a little pocket change and better food. Some were even entrusted to go unescorted into the nearby towns to shop for sundry items. Most were obviously very happy to be away from any shooting.

  Nakamori was fortunate to run into one of his peers who happened to be familiar with that camp. He learned that they had set up classrooms and had been teaching English and a variety of technical subjects to better prepare the inmates for life after the war. Nakamori wondered if he could do the same for Shinichi. It wouldn't be possible to put him with the Germans—just a similar kind of arrangement. But, where could it be done?

  It came to him in a flash when he was eating his breakfast. A couple of years ago he had been attending a function in Portland and had been introduced to a teacher. She was American but had spent a number of years teaching English in Japan before the outbreak of war. At the time when he met her she was teaching basic Japanese courses to servicemen. She spoke respectable Japanese herself and Nakamori had quite a lengthy and interesting conversation with her about the war—the Japanese psyche—how their mind worked.

  He decided to track her down to see if she had any suggestions. He was so glad he did. He had found her at Medford, Oregon where she was working at the recently dedicated Camp White, seven miles north of Medford. “Camp White is an Army Training Camp. There's also a P.O.W. camp nearby,” he was told. His phone conversation with her had been most productive and he arranged to go down there and discuss his problem with her. Medford wasn't too far away.

  Shinichi was surprised when the MP came to his cell and stood him against the wall while a photographer took several pictures, serious, smiling—that took a little effort—and one full length standing by his bunk. Little did he
know his photographs, within a couple of days, would be the subject of discussion at Camp White, Oregon.

  Nakamori requisitioned a ride on a small reconnaissance plane and headed down that way to meet with the lady. Her name was Marion Beesley—a tall lady about forty-five years of age—with a distinctly military bearing. She was from a military family but she had never been in the forces. She remembered Toshi well and greeted him warmly.

  Over a cup of coffee in the Camp cafeteria, Toshi cautioned her to be very discreet, and then briefed her on the Shinichi Oda case. He didn't tell her everything, of course, just enough to solicit her ideas. He passed her the photographs. “Seems like a sharp young fellow with a lot of potential. He knows just a few words of English and says he wants to be an aeronautical engineer. He's already done some studies in that direction. I think it is something we could build on.”

  An hour with Marion and a plan was beginning to emerge. She gave him a tour of the training facility where she worked and he thought that would suit the purpose quite well. It was somewhat separate from the main camp. A few changes would be necessary but nothing insurmountable. The plan would need to be honed and Toshi would have to obtain approval from higher up—perhaps very much higher up—but it seemed like an excellent solution.

  Toshi stayed in a room at the training facility for the night and returned to McChord the next day. Buoyed by the results of his trip he immediately set the wheels in motion. For a few days he burned up the phone lines but was getting results.

  Shinichi made the cell his home for two more weeks. He had finally broken down and started half-heartedly studying the English phrase book. As he did so some of his earlier knowledge began to return. It was helping to pass the time since there was little else to do.

  Unexpectedly an MP came for him and he was led down the long passage to an office. He was actually pleasantly surprised to find Toshi Nakamori already seated behind the desk. There was a familiar folder on the desk but also a jug of fruit juice and two tall glasses.