Lost in a Foreign Land
Page 12
“Thank you. I'm sure it will be quite challenging. Shinichi, I have a request… I know how much you are enjoying your stay here at Camp White, but…” He paused for dramatic effect, “Would you mind traveling to Tokyo with me next week? I do need a reliable assistant for a little while and one who has a mastery of English as well as Japanese. I do hope you say yes because I took the liberty of making the arrangements already.”
Shinichi realized how fortunate he had been to have survived the last fourteen months. He could pinpoint the events which had dictated the outcome; attacking the A-20, his injury, surviving the crash in the wilderness of the Alaska, floundering aimlessly in the swamps, the fortune of stumbling upon the remote cabin. What a life saver that had been.
Then there was the chance of stowing away on the truck to Northway. If he had gone east instead of west how different the outcome might have been. Meeting Sergeant Carter and Toshi Nakamori, both of whom had seen some potential in this captured Japanese Navy pilot.
He had survived this way only because of them. They could so easily have been disinterested and packed him off to some miserable prison camp where he would have had a spartan existence at best until the end of hostilities. Instead they had educated him in a way he could never have foreseen. He felt he would be indebted to them for the rest of his life.
They had invested time and energy in preparing him for a productive future when he returned to Japan. Of course—as it had been said—it was a two way street, they helped him and in return he helped them. However, he felt he had received the lions share. In his mind, it had been a case of life or death and they had given him life. He vowed to not let them down.
The departure from Camp White had not been easy. Once again Shinichi found just how many friends he had as they gave him a rousing send off. Poor Marion—usually so much in control—broke down and was in tears at his leaving, but they were tears of joy for him.
Shinichi for his part was to remain outwardly poised and was able to give quite a presentable speech. How could he ever thank them enough for the fair treatment he had received?
It had been a long and tiring trip with a number of refueling stops but now the engines of the C-47 transport signaled the plane was descending. Below lay the wide expanse of Tokyo Bay and the sight of many large ships at anchor and countless smaller vessels scudding about.
A massive relief effort was underway with food and medical supplies of all kinds flooding in to prevent starvation of the Japanese people and the spread of disease. Masses of supplies were also necessary to support the occupying forces. It would many take years for Japan to recover from the effects of the war but at least Shinichi would be there to do his part for the nation.
Shinichi was overjoyed to be returning, but very apprehensive about the state of the country. He knew vast areas of the major cities had been fire-bombed and the atomic bombs had decimated Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He was sure other areas of the country had received tremendous damage that he had not heard or read about. Hundreds of thousands of people were still living in temporary shelters and in appalling conditions lacking even the basic necessities.
He was also apprehensive as to how he would be received when the military already had him recorded as missing in action. There was bound to be some investigation and resentment. Would he be looked upon as a traitor? He was hoping that Captain Nakamori had a plan in mind that would insulate him in some way. As if he hadn't already done enough.
The threshold of a runway swept by and the main gear of the military transport plane thumped solidly onto an uneven surface. Shinichi glanced at his wrist watch, two-fifteen in the afternoon of November the fifth 1945. Shinichi Oda, a much changed young man, had finally returned to his homeland.
Epilogue
In a remote part of eastern Alaska—north of what would be named the Ladue River—and a few miles from the Yukon border—is a large beaver pond. Hidden from view under the water, several feet of yielding peat bog and mats of floating marsh-grass lay the crumpled remains of a Douglas A-20 Havoc. The crew and a mysterious cargo for all intents and purposes lay forgotten amid the ravages of a war which had resulted in the destruction of countless thousands of airplanes and the death of their crew.
This crash site was maybe a little different to most; it was a very remote and idyllic valley which—to this date—had probably never been visited by man. An industrious family of beavers, totally oblivious to what lay below, diligently maintained their dam which had served several generations.
They had laid up a store of food for the coming season, just in time, because ice was already forming thickly on the surface of the pond and it would not be long before everything was locked in the very mean grip of another six-month long Alaska winter.
The landscape would change little with the passing years. Successive generations of beavers would tend the pond which would gradually migrate to other areas of the valley floor. It would be almost forty years before any trace of the plane wreckage was discovered and its mysterious disappearance could be investigated.