by Len Levinson
“I'm an American soldier,” he said. “Relax.”
The pilot's jaw dropped open. “Well, I'll be damned!”
Longtree rolled off the pilot and picked up his Ka-bar jungle knife, dropping it into its sheath. “You must've got shot down in that raid a few hours ago.”
“That's right,” said the pilot. “What in the hell are you doing out here?”
“Making life hard for the Japs.”
“You're not here alone, are you?”
“I'll take you to the others.”
“My name's MacDoughal, by the way. Lieutenant Harold MacDoughal.”
“I'm Corporal Sam Longtree.”
MacDoughal stood and shook Longtree's hand. Both men sized each other up. MacDoughal was a big guy, like Homer Gladley, but he looked fat rather than muscular like Homer. Longtree led him back through the jungle to the others, who were lying in the bushes and hiding behind trees, holding their submachine guns ready. When they saw the big American pilot with the miniature American flag sewn to the breast of his shirt, they lowered their guns and stared at him as if he were a ghost.
Butsko stood and wiped the muck off his pants. “Jesus Christ, where did you come from?” he asked MacDoughal.
MacDoughal pointed to the sky and grinned. “Up there.”
“Got shot down, huh?”
“Yuh.”
They told each other their names, and then Butsko introduced the men in the recon platoon. Everybody shook hands and acted real friendly; it was a strange and unusual meeting.
“Well,” said MacDoughal, puffing out his chest, “it looks like I'm the ranking man here.”
“Afraid not,” Butsko replied. “I'm the ranking man here.”
“But I'm a lieutenant and you're only a master sergeant!”
“I'm in charge of this operation,” Butsko said. “If you wanna come along with us, you'll take your orders from me.”
“Now wait just a minute...” Lieutenant MacDoughal said.
“I don't have time to wait a minute. There's someplace I gotta go.” Butsko looked at his men. “Let's hit the fucking road!”
“But what about me?” said MacDoughal.
“You can come with us or you can go your own way, but if you come with us, you'll take your orders from me.”
“But...”
Lieutenant MacDoughal stood there with his jaw hanging open as the men from the recon platoon walked away from him.
“Hey, wait for me!” he shouted, and then ran to catch up with them. He took a position at the end of the column beside Hotshot Stevenson, who was loping along with his rifle slung over his shoulder, his back permanently curved from bending over pool tables most of his life. “Where we going?” Lieutenant MacDoughal asked Hotshot.
“We got a date with a submarine,” Hotshot replied.
“Where?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Does Sergeant Butsko know?”
“I think so.”
“You're not sure?”
“I don't have to be sure. That's Butsko's problem.”
“If it were me, I'd want to be damned sure of where I'm going.”
“You ain't me,” Hotshot Stevenson said.
At the head of the column Butsko turned around and scowled. “Knock off the fucking chatter back there!”
Lieutenant MacDoughal turned red with anger. No sergeant ever had talked to him like that before. But there was nothing Lieutenant MacDoughal could do about it; he was stuck with Butsko and his bunch. If we ever get out of here, MacDoughal thought, I'll show that son of a bitch a thing or two. He can't treat an officer like that and get away with it.
It was dark when the Japanese soldiers marched the natives and the two women into the camp. At the head of the column Lieutenant Karuma looked at all the bomb craters and devastated buildings, illuminated only by the moon because the bombs had knocked out the electric light generator too. He wanted to punish somebody, but he'd already killed one native that day and didn't want to go too far. Major Unchida had often told him he'd have to keep his temper under control, and maybe he had been right.
Sergeant Mitsui led the soldiers and prisoners to the area in front of Lieutenant Karuma's old office, which had survived the bombing, and ordered everyone to halt. Lieutenant Karuma walked toward Sergeant Mitsui.
“Place the prisoners in the stockade!” Lieutenant Karuma said. “Post adequate guards! If anybody escapes, I'll hold you personally responsible!”
“Yes, sir.”
Sergeant Mitsui saluted, did an about-face, and passed the orders along to his men. Lieutenant Karuma climbed the stairs to his old office and went inside. He lit the kerosene lamp on the desk and looked around. The room had been spruced up and all his papers were piled neatly on his desk. He'd radioed back earlier and ordered that his old office be prepared for his return and that a stockade be constructed for the prisoners.
Lieutenant Karuma sat down behind his desk and lit a cigarette. He blew smoke into the air and thought about Miss Colby, the thin one with the light hair. What a strange, fascinating creature she was. Lieutenant Karuma had never had sexual relations with a western woman and always wondered what it was like. Some of his friends who'd been to Europe and America had told him western women were very good in bed—perhaps not as skillful as Japanese women, but much more enthusiastic and wild.
Feeling nervous, Lieutenant Karuma stood and paced the floor, puffing his cigarette. He hadn't seen a woman for eight months and was having hot erotic thoughts about Miss Colby. It was titillating to think that she was his prisoner and he could do anything he liked with her. He couldn't rape her though. Word would get back to Colonel Nishikawa, who would disapprove. But he'd like to rape her. He'd like to rip off her clothes and make her do all sorts of strange piggish things.
Lieutenant Karuma put out his first cigarette and lit a second one. His brain was aflame with lust. The more he thought about Miss Colby, the worse he got. He knew he should try to think about something else, but he couldn't. He was only twenty-two years old, and sexual desire was riding him the way a cowboy rides a horse.
Perhaps, he thought, she will go to bed with me willingly. She looks like the floozy type, and probably doesn't care who she sleeps with. She might even be a whore, for all I know. She certainly doesn't look like a missionary. There's something suspicious about her. Maybe she's a spy. Perhaps I should bring her over here right now and question her.
Lieutenant Karuma walked to the door and opened it up. “Guard!”
Victoria Brockway and Joanna Corby sat in a corner of the barbed-wire pen, looking at the native men lying on the ground all around them. In a corner of the pen was a hole that was to serve as the latrine, and at the other end a shaky lean-to had been constructed, but no one wanted to sleep underneath it because they were afraid the wind would blow it down.
“How do you feel, Joanna?” Miss Brockway asked.
“I wish I had a cigarette,” Joanna replied.
“Sorry you had to get mixed up in all this.”
“I should never have come to this island.”
“That's true, but I guess you thought you had to see your father before he died.”
Joanna nodded. “What a mistake that was. The bloody bastard made trouble for my mother and me all my life, and now, because of him, the goddamned Japs have got me.”
Miss Brockway placed her hand on Joanna's shoulder. “He couldn't help being what he was, dear. We must try to be forgiving.”
Joanna looked her in the eye. “Do you forgive the Japs for killing the old chief?”
“No, but I'm trying.”
“Why try?”
“Because Christ told us to forgive our enemies.”
“To hell with that!” Joanna said vehemently, because she really was no missionary. She just happened to have gotten stuck on the island when the Japanese soldiers occupied it, and Miss Brockway had been covering for her.
“Hatred breeds more hatred,” Miss Brockway said. “People s
hould try to break the chain of hatred.”
Joanna bared her teeth. “I hate the Japs and I don't care!” she hissed. “I think you're abnormal.”
Miss Brockway smiled. “I suppose all Christians are a little abnormal.”
They heard footsteps approaching and turned around. A Japanese soldier was walking toward the stockade and he stopped to talk with the guards at the front gate. The guards opened the gate and the soldier entered, holding his rifle and bayonet ready to shoot, looking around. His eyes fell on the two women and he walked toward them.
“Uh-oh,” said Joanna.
“Be calm,” replied Miss Brockway. “Have faith in the Lord.”
“I'll have faith in Him when He starts having faith in me.”
“He already does.”
The Japanese soldier stopped in front of the two women and pointed at Joanna, saying something in his language.
“He says you have to go with him,” Miss Brockway said, a tremor in her voice.
“Where?”
Miss Brockway asked the guard in her broken Japanese, and he replied gruffly.
Miss Brockway looked at Joanna. ‘To see that officer,” she translated.
“What officer?”
“You know what officer.”
“What does he want to see me for?”
Miss Brockway asked the guard, and he told her he didn't know.
“He says he doesn't know.”
“Jesus Christ,” Joanna said, trembling all over.
“Be strong. It might not be that bad.”
“What if it is?”
Miss Brockway spoke to the guard and asked if she could go instead. The guard shook his head and replied that the lieutenant wanted to question the other woman and that she'd better hurry or he'd drag her by her hair.
“You'd better go,” Miss Brockway said. “I'll pray for you.”
“A lot of good that'll do.”
Joanna got to her feet defiantly. The whole situation was making her angry. If the Jap officer wanted to chop off her head, he could bloody well do it, but she wasn't going to take any guff from him.
She followed the soldier out of the pen, and the guards latched the gate behind them. Placing her hands in the pockets of her tan slacks, she walked with the Japanese soldier across the open area to the shack with the light shining in the window. Joanna thought she knew what the Japanese officer wanted from her. She was an attractive woman and accustomed to having men look at her with lust in their eyes. She'd seen lust in the eyes of that horrible Japanese officer. He wanted her body just like all the others wanted her body, and that's why he wanted to question her and not Miss Brockway.
They reached the wooden building, and the Japanese soldier motioned with his rifle, indicating that she should climb the steps and go inside. Joanna took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised it in the air and pounded on the door.
“Come in!”
She opened the door and entered the room. The Japanese officer was sitting behind his desk, and the kerosene lamp cast an orange glow on his sharp features. Standing to the rear of him was the other Japanese soldier who'd done the translating earlier in the day.
“Good evening, miss,” said the Japanese soldier. “My name is Corporal Taguchi and I am Lieutenant Karuma's interpreter. Lieutenant Karuma would like to ask you a few questions. Please be seated.”
Joanna sat on the chair in front of the desk and looked into Lieutenant Karuma's eyes, seeing the lust and madness there, and she averted her gaze, because he scared her half to death. Lieutenant Karuma smiled and held out his package of cigarettes, and Joanna thought his head looked like a skull with a handlebar mustache.
“The lieutenant is offering you a cigarette,” Corporal Taguchi said.
Joanna reached for a cigarette and pulled it out of the pack. Corporal Taguchi lit her cigarette with a match. Joanna inhaled the cigarette. The smoke tasted wonderful. Lieutenant Karuma said something in Japanese to Corporal Taguchi.
“The lieutenant does not think you are a missionary,” Corporal Taguchi said.
“He's right: I'm not.”
Corporal Taguchi wrinkled his brow and passed the information to Lieutenant Karuma, who smiled again and asked another question.”
“The lieutenant wants to know what you are if you're not a missionary.”
“I came to this island to visit my father,” Joanna explained, “and soon thereafter soldiers from your army invaded the island. They killed my father but didn't harm me. To make a long story short, I wound up with the missionaries because I didn't have anywhere else to go. Miss Brockway tells everybody I'm a missionary in order to protect me, but I'm no missionary. I'd just like to get the hell off this island.”
Corporal Taguchi relayed this information to Lieutenant Karuma, who nodded and knitted his eyebrows together. He thought for a few moments, then said something to Corporal Taguchi.
“The lieutenant wants to know what your father was doing on this island.”
“He was looking for gold. All his life he believed there was gold on this island, and he looked for it in the mountains. As far as I know, he never found any.”
Corporal Taguchi spoke to Lieutenant Karuma, and they had a conversation during which it was Joanna's impression that Corporal Taguchi was defending her. Finally Corporal Taguchi turned to her again.
“The lieutenant thinks your father was a spy.”
“He wasn't smart enough to be a spy.”
“The lieutenant thinks you're a spy too.”
“I'm not a spy.”
“He says he could execute you right now if he wanted to.”
“All I can say is that I'm not a spy. Can I have another cigarette before he executes me?” she asked sarcastically.
“Of course.”
Joanna took another cigarette from the pack on the desk, while Corporal Taguchi and Lieutenant Karuma spoke more. Lieutenant Karuma appeared angry, and Corporal Taguchi was evidently trying to reason with him. Finally Corporal Taguchi took his hat from a peg and looked at Joanna.
“Lieutenant Karuma would like to speak with you alone.”
“But he doesn't speak English!”
Lieutenant Karuma shot Corporal Taguchi an angry look, and Corporal Taguchi appeared worried.
“How can he talk with me if he doesn't speak English!” Joanna demanded.
Corporal Taguchi didn't reply. He opened the door, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him. Joanna turned around and looked at Lieutenant Karuma, who sat behind his desk languidly, puffing a cigarette and gazing at her through half-closed eyes. She glanced at the wall behind him, decorated with a large framed photograph of General Tojo, not wanting to look directly at Lieutenant Karuma because he was so scary.
Lieutenant Karuma stood behind his desk and glared at her. She turned her eyes to him to see what he was trying this time, and he had a stern expression on his face. Lieutenant Karuma kicked his chair out of the way, swaggered to his cot against the side wall, and stood next to it, placing his hands on his hips. She looked away and puffed her cigarette, trying to be nonchalant although she knew that something dreadful was about to happen.
He cleared his throat and shouted at her in Japanese. She couldn't understand what he said, but had a good idea what he was driving at. She puffed her cigarette and smiled, trying to act dumb. He charged toward her, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. She shouted in pain, because it felt as though he'd pulled her arm out of its socket. He pulled her across the room and threw her onto the cot. She bounced off the mattress and her shoulder collided with the wall. He shouted at her again; she could no longer pretend that she didn't know what he wanted. All she could do was look him in the eye and shake her head no. He could rape her if he wanted to, but she wasn't going to give him anything of her own free will.
He snarled, shouted as her again, and drew his finger across his throat. She knew exactly what he was trying to communicate. If she didn't let him have his
way with her, he'd kill her, and she knew that he could do it. He could explain afterwards that he'd executed her for being a spy, or he'd killed her because she tried to escape, or she'd pulled a knife out of her brassiere and he was forced to shoot her down.
But Joanna was a tough broad, and she'd been around. She'd fought off many drunks in her day, and a few times she'd gotten into scratching, biting battles with other women. Nobody was going to push her around. She'd rather die than lose her sense of integrity.
She looked up at him defiantly and shook her head no. He pulled out his Nambu pistol, worked the bolt, and pointed it to her head.
She shook her head no again.
His face turned red and his eyes bugged out of his head. He threw the Nambu against the wall and dived on top of her, tearing at her clothes. She went for his eyes with her long fingernails and screamed at the top of her lungs. He lowered his head at the last moment and she dug her fingernails into his shaved head, making eight red lines across it.
He howled through clenched teeth, backed off, got to his feet, looked around, saw his Nambu lying on the floor, and picked it up. His lips quivering with rage, he pointed the pistol at her and tightened his finger around the trigger.
She thought for sure that her number had come up; all she could do was scream from the depths of her soul. Her voice was highly developed, due to her years of singing in smoky nightclubs, and it came out so loudly that Lieutenant Karuma flinched. He loosened his finger on the trigger and looked around nervously, afraid that somebody would hear. Joanna realized that she was embarrassing him and screamed all the louder. He raised one finger to his mouth and said, “Ssshhhh,” but she continued to scream, because she knew he was worried about what his men were thinking about him. Evidently it was not honorable for a Japanese officer to rape or beat up a woman.
But Joanna didn't know when to stop. She'd prevented him from raping or shooting her, but now she was going too far. His embarrassment became anger again, and he raised his Nambu in the air, whacking her across the face.
The blow knocked her cold, and she collapsed onto his bed. Blood trickled out the corner of her mouth, and he looked down at her, wondering what to do. If he wanted to, he could take down her pants and do it to her then and there, but somehow he wasn't in the mood anymore. Everybody in the camp must have heard the bitch screaming. It was best to get her out of there.
