by C S Gibbs
“George was old enough to remember his father and took it all with the stiff upper lip, but his mother never got over it – and young Howard was the spitting image of his late daddy, so she doted on him as though there was no tomorrow. As you can imagine, with a mother who never said 'no' and a house full of servants that dared not say anything, it's no wonder our Cully minor has turned out the way he has!”
Ben took the story in. Rydall leaned forward in his chair, “And how about you, Ben? To use the well-worn question, what did your daddy do in the war?”
Ben knew that he was among the many who would give a similar answer to what he was about to say:
“He was a private in the Sherwood Foresters. He was gassed in 1918 and invalided out, just as the big push was coming. He survived that, but didn't survive a pit collapse, when I was fourteen . . .”
“They gave a lot for the cause, didn't they?” sighed Rydall. “My old man found himself out in Mesopotamia. He thought that he might just be able to see it out in the desert, looking for Johnny Turk, rather than dodging the shells in France. He ended up like half the troops out there, dead or dying of dysentery – he didn't sit out the war, the poor devil damned near squatted it out! They shipped him home with a DSO, for doing nothing more than writhing in a sand dune with his trousers 'round his ankles. Mother said that he weighed now more than eight stones when he got home. He was never the same again.
“So there you are, Hutch, both our fathers went out to fight for King and Country, to 'do their bit', and for what? The Great War changed nothing for Britain – the same people were in charge and life didn't improve for anyone. At least this time, we are truly fighting for something: Hitler's lot, Mussolini, the Japs – they all need to be stopped. There is a truly better world to be won, here, don't you think, Ben? If we can get through this one, there has got to be something for us all?”
Rydall dismissed Ben and he took a slow walk back to his cabin. 'Something for us all?’ he pondered. Did that include all people, or just those on the right side?
Chapter Thirty-Seven - A Lovely Day
Despite the noise of the Seafire's engine, it all felt remarkably peaceful. The summer sky was devoid of cloud and the heat from the sun was boundless. Below, from the great height that the squadrons had reached in order to gain optimum cruising speed and be well prepared for attack, the Pacific Ocean could not have looked more tranquil or inviting.
It was such a beautiful day. A perfect day for spending with loved ones one a sandy beach, or in a city park, laughing, playing cricket, drinking cloudy lemonade and eating cold ice cream. It was also a perfect day for war – ideal flying conditions with maximum visibility. Looking around him, Ben took strength from the two dozen Seafires around him, all of which were positioned above the fleet's attack aircraft. Further above were the Hellcats, one of which contained the operation commander for the day, who would look down from on high and direct proceedings. Below were the Fireflies and Avengers that were to deliver the heavy blows to today's targets along the Japanese coastline – naval installations, shipping and gun emplacements. Something like eighty aircraft were on their way with one intent.
The briefing had been detailed and he had noted everything down regarding his airspeed, altitude, formation, co-ordinates and the like, but this was all a formality. The distilled essence of today's job was simple: shoot down any Jap fighters that you see, whilst if there aren't any, shoot anything else Japanese that you can see on the ground.
Slowly inching over the horizon was a sight that brought Ben back from his reverie, as the coast of Japan came in to view.
From the great height of three thousand feet, he could take in a stunning panorama of jagged coastline, lush greenery and imperious mountains. So this was Setsu's land. His heart swelled for a moment as he thought of her and prayed that the war was truly in its final days, that this raid would be all that was needed and that peace was imminent. Then somehow, he could find her, down there in Japan. At least he knew that today, he would not fire his guns at Setsu, as their targets were far south of Tokyo.
It was time to prepare, both in terms of the aircraft and mind set. This time, there was no cloud to obscure Setsu's homeland, no excuse for not 'doing one's bit'. Soon, it would be time to drop the extra fuel tank from beneath the aircraft.
The coast was now in clear view and Ben could make out the settlements on the ground, even the ant-sized people as they ran for cover from the invaders in the sky. It looks so beautiful, so special, the people down there are real people, just like anywhere else, he thought, but forced himself to banish any humanitarian ideals in favour of self-preservation as the first signs of anti-aircraft fire materialized before him and the other aircraft. The black clouds of flak bursts began to appear around them with a deep booming sound – they looked so harmless, hanging in the air like drops of ink in to a glass of water, yet they could rip his Seafire to shreds in an instant. The aircraft climbed en masse to rise above the danger.
He tried to stay focused, but found his mind wandering. Where were the Japanese fighter planes, he wondered? Surely they would be here to meet us? Were they elsewhere, fighting the larger American forces, or, perhaps, did they just have nothing left?
It was time to drop his fuel tank. He jettisoned the tank and switched to the internal fuel supply – it should have been routine, but something was badly wrong. The Merlin engine groaned, wheezed and lost power, suddenly overheating – whilst running on the fuel from the drop tank, fuel in the pipes from the main tank had sat idle, becoming hotter and hotter with the heat from the engine. The Seafire shook and dipped and he frantically tried to correct the slide, but it was too late. Losing altitude, he dropped in to the area of flak, the lethal black candyfloss bursts were all around him as the gunners on the ground suddenly became aware of this straggler from the pack and took aim.
He could feel the force of the blasts shaking his slender Seafire, some stray pieces of flak rattled his tail plane, but Ben felt that he was getting control back and would soon be able to climb again.
It was not to be. There was a deafening thwack of sound and the Seafire lurched to its left as a flack burst tore in to the underside of his right wing. He fought to wrest back control, get the revs back up and start climbing, but he could feel the aircraft spinning, losing altitude, going downwards . . . downwards.
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Unexpected Guests
Five months can pass by so very quickly when one is in love, yet when there is nothing but grief and suffering, those same days and weeks will pass in a stunned lament.
Setsu could not fully recall how she had survived the night of the Tokyo firebombing, but she had relived its horrors in her sleep ever since.
She had carried her mother away from the furnace and found safety, but in the morning she found that Masako had died. Whether it was asphyxiation or a heart attack did not matter, because there was no doctor available to pass such a judgement. Even if there had been, the dead lay in their tens of thousands and all that mattered was that they were removed and disposed of before there were any outbreaks of disease. There was neither the time nor the facility to diagnose anything beyond being dead or alive.
Sobbing, she had helped the silent members of some other Neighbourhood Association place Masako's body on the back of a cart, on which it was slowly wheeled away to some unknown and insignificant resting place. This was such a discourteous way to treat any human being, she thought, especially one who had taught her the importance of ceremony and reverence.
Unable and unwilling to return home, she told herself that somehow, life had to go on. She was found another teaching position, to the far south of the city. The environment was much the same, the food was becoming ever more scarce and the teachings seemed increasingly futile with every passing air raid, but she endured, she continued and she survived.
The school was in a quiet district, made all the more qui
et by the lack of traffic on the streets. Fuel shortages had gone beyond all expectations and a car on the road was a rare sight, indeed.
It was hardly surprising, then, as Setsu robotically drove her students through an algebra class that she found herself just as distracted as her students by the sight of a car appearing outside the school.
In more peaceful times a teacher would have lambasted the students for being so inattentive, but on seeing this particular car and its occupants Setsu's blood ran cold and she was reduced to standing motionless.
The memories of years before, that last day that she had seen her father, came flooding back, as she saw the trio of Kempaitai officers enter the building.
The fourteen children were of widely differing ages and sizes. Still sitting in their neat rows, they whispered to each other and wondered what was afoot.
Setsu's guard was dropped and she allowed the chatter to continue as she grappled with those twisted memories and then her mind ran riot with what the purpose of this visit might be. What if someone had searched the ruins of her family home and found the letters? There would be no way to explain such a thing. Was her secret finally out?
The door opened and the school's secretary entered with one of the Kempaitai men.
“Children!” the secretary addressed the class, “You are to go to the yard for exercise. Form two lines and make your way.” She clapped her hands twice and the girls and boys made their respective single files and marched past the immobile Setsu.
“Kimura San, this is Captain Oshiro and he has asked that you will accompany him. He needs your help in an investigation. You must leave right away.”
Oshiro said nothing but motioned toward the door. Setsu nodded and walked to the corridor, in which stood the two other officers. They stood either side of her and the quartet trooped to the car with still no words being said.
Driving along, the silence within the car was becoming too painful for Setsu. She recognised the looks from those on the side of the road who saw the car rolling past – they would draw their own conclusions as to why she was being driven away by the Kempaitai and none of those conclusions would be positive. The ever-tightening knot in her stomach grew larger. Her mind was wracked with thoughts of these men in the car and what their kind did to her father – this is how he must have felt as he was driven away, all those years ago, knowing that he would almost certainly not be making a return journey.
The streets had been cleared of bomb damage, but the houses lay in ruins on all sides.
Suddenly, the car slowed and paused. The three men all looked to the left.
“There it is, that's the one the American came from,” said Oshiro.
To the left of the car, some fifty feet away, smouldered and smoked the crumpled remains of a fighter plane. There were still traces of grey and green colour about its fuselage, but there was no white star to be seen amongst its markings, only a white roundel with a blue centre. Certainly nothing, thought Setsu, to define it as American.
“This is what you are needed for,” said the man to Setsu's right, “We have captured the American from that aircraft and you are to translate for us when we question him.”
Setsu bit her lip and remained silent. She nodded but could do nothing more.
The car rolled on. Another ten minutes passed like hours and finally the car pulled up outside a police station.
“You will come with us,” came the instruction.
Led straight through the reception area without any questions from the policemen present, the entourage made its way along corridors, past offices, until it reached the cells, stopping before the last door.
“You will translate our words in to English and give his answers back to us immediately. Nothing more. Do you understand?” instructed Oshiro.
“ . . . Of course . . . I will do my duty.”
The door swung open and Setsu baulked at the smell of sweat, vomit and blood, which rushed to her nostrils. Before stepping in to the cell, she heard the sound of coughing and spitting.
She froze at the sight before her in the bare cell. There sat a man on a wooden chair. His head was bowed down as far as it was allowed, as his hands were bound behind the back of the chair. The long locks on the top of his head were lank and sodden with sweat – they hung down loosely and obscured his face.
He wore a khaki uniform of a shirt and trousers, with black shoes, but there were no markings or indication of his rank or unit on his epaulettes or the front of his shirt – though he did have the mandatory 'dog tags' around his neck.
The man stirred slightly, coughed and spat again, adding to the pool of blood, vomit and spit which lay on the floor.
It could not be, could it? This surely could not be him, thought Setsu? How on earth could she contain herself? What if this was Ben? What if he said the wrong thing? They could both die this day.
“Tell the American that he has desecrated Japan's sacred land. He will die unless he gives us the information we require,” came the barked order from Oshiro. Setsu complied.
At first, there was no response. Still the man did not look up. The only sounds he made were gasps for breath and sighs of pain, but then, slowly, he spoke.
“Get your facts straight. I'm not a bloody yank. I'm an Englishman.”
That voice. That accent. It sounded so familiar. Setsu was frozen to the spot.
“He . . . he says that he is English.”
“English? No matter. We want the location of his ship and his fleet. Tell him now.”
Before Setsu could begin, the head stirred.
“You know the drill, Jap. All you'll get is me name.”
Slowly, the head rose, and then defiantly shook back the long hair to reveal the face. The eyes were blue, the nose was long and straight – albeit battered and bloodied – the broad mouth was misshapen by ruddied, swollen lips, but they formed an ironic smile, showing teeth with yet more blood stains.
“Tom Pleasance. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Oh, and for the record, you can tell him that I'm a flight sergeant – we've heard what you lot do to officers.”
Setsu was torn between relief that this was not her Ben, and the grief of what had been done to this stranger.
“You have to tell these men about your ship. Please tell them the name of your ship and its location,” tried Setsu.
“You seem like a nice young lass, so it wouldn't be proper for me to tell you where to shove it.”
“I am sorry, I do not understand. Please tell these officers what they want to know.”
'What is he saying?” demanded Oshiro. “Tell him to answer or he will be punished further.”
Setsu complied and Tom gave her a look of resignation.
“You have to tell them what they want to know.”
“Or what, love?”
Oshiro growled again, but Setsu was overtaken by opportunity. She realised that no one but Tom could understand her English and made a bold move.
“Please let me try and speak to him. I will do my best,” she found herself saying, before turning to Tom.
“Look, they can't understand us, so please listen. I am not your enemy. I think that they mean to kill you no matter what you say, but please just say something, anything, to make them think that they have done their job. Perhaps, then, they may let you live.”
“Is this some sort of trick?”
“No. I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Please, do you know a pilot called Ben? Ben Hutchinson? Is he with you? Is he safe?”
The look on Tom's face changed from indignation to bewilderment. He suddenly spoke to Setsu almost as though he knew her.
“Ben? How do know that name? What do you know about him? Has be been shot down? Captured . . ?” Suddenly, though, his tone changed.
“Wait, hang on, this is just a bloody ruse, isn't it? You could have got that name from anywhere. I'll tell you what I'll give you and your mates: sod all! Translate that if you can!”
Se
tsu was struggling to keep her composure and Oshiro prodded her arm, ordering her to explain what was being said.
“He will not tell you anything. I am sorry.”
“Take him out and have him executed,” came the cold response. The two other Kempeitai men in the room moved towards Tom and began to wrestle him from the chair. Tom nodded as he was raised to his feet and made a parting shot at Setsu as he was dragged from the room.
“Alright, I think I can see where this is going. Tell your mates, here, that it'll not be long before it's their turn for the high jump!”
The room finally fell silent. Setsu was escorted back to the car and driven to school in silence. Although the journey back should have been one filled with relief, her mind was a tumult with the thoughts of the young airman and the feeling that the Kempaitai officers had seen something untoward in her exchanges with him. Would they now be watching her, too?
The poor young pilot. It was only minutes since she spoke with him and he was probably already dead. Yet, he knew Ben! He must be with the fleet. Please, please, let him be safe, she prayed.
For the first time in months, she felt a tiny glimmer of hope, that there was a future – something worth living for. She gazed past the nonchalant Kempaitai men, out of the window and beyond the rubble and ash of the bombed city, to the clear, blue Summer sky, allowing herself just a moment to dream of what could lie under that same sky in a more peaceful future.
Yet, the present came hurtling back to her as a volley of bullets tore along the length of the street. They were being attacked from the air!
“Take evasive action!” called Oshiro and the driver pushed his foot to the floor in an attempt to speed away. It was a futile gesture, though, as the car was hardly a swift one and the lone, attacking aircraft was completing it's circle and coming back for another go.
Theirs was the only car on the road and the lack of any standing buildings along the whole stretch gave it nowhere to hide. It was such an inviting target.
A second burst of shots rained down, some of them whipping across the front of the car, shattering the windscreen and bursting a tyre, whilst steam and smoke to erupted from the now bullet riddled engine.
