by Rory Marron
Behind the tanks the troops followed. Tense, weary and hungry, they marched beside their vehicles, expecting ambush or snipers at every turn, shooting at any movement. In their wake, a chain of spreading fires marked their desperate, destructive progress.
St Agatha’s Convent
One by one the shadowy figures slipped through the gap in the Convent’s garden wall, creeping quickly past the flowerbeds and pergola to gather at the bolted patio door. Two of the intruders linked hands to propel a smaller, lighter third up and over. There was a slight metallic scraping as the bolt slid back, then the door swung open to reveal a dark corridor.
Kate was dozing on a mattress on the infirmary floor when the youths burst in.
‘Merdeka!’—‘Death to the Dutch!’
In the confusion Kate managed to roll under a bed, pressing her body against the wall. One after another, patients were hauled, screaming, out of their beds. A middle-aged nun rushed in, her arms high in protest. ‘This is a hospital! How dare—’
A rifle butt thwacked against the side of her face. She crumpled in agony, clutching at her broken her jaw and spitting out teeth and blood.
Kate felt a hand seize her hair and drag her up.
‘Kate! Kate!’ Anna’s shout was tearful.
‘Anna!’ She reached out and Anna grabbed her hand. They clung to each other.
Kate felt a stinging pain shoot across her shoulders as a bare-chested youth with unkempt hair began lashing out indiscriminately with a buffalo whip. ‘Get the Dutch scum outside!’
Prods from bamboo spears forced them out into the garden, which was now lit by torches and a burning pergola. Two dozen women and children were lined up against the high stone wall. Teenaged boys armed with rifles and pistols stood laughing and joking.
An older youth strode forward and began to insult them in a mixture of broken Dutch and Javanese. ‘Listen to me white bitches! I am Rakasa, demon of the wayang come to haunt you. We, the Black Buffaloes, are the law. In the name of the revolution, all Dutch are sentenced to death!’
Casually he lifted his revolver and fired randomly, hitting a middle-aged woman in the shoulder. She slumped to the ground.
Rakasa brought the pistol up again. Almost as one the women bolted along the long wall screaming.
Emboldened now, other pemuda began taunting. Another shot rang out and a boy of about ten fell, blood streaming from his head. His mother sank to her knees, wailing, clutching his body to her.
Rakasa stared contemptuously, hawked then spat. In silent terror, Kate and the others watched him unclip a stick grenade from his belt and strike the fuse tip on the patio. Grinning mirthlessly, he lobbed the sparking grenade amongst them. In panic they ran back to the other end of the wall.
Kate sprinted, gripping Anna’s hand, pulling her along. They were trapped in the mass of bodies, sandwiched between slower runners. She ran blindly until she collided with those already against the far corner of wall. There was a loud bang close behind them. Someone crashed into her. Ignoring the pain, she looked back, her heart racing.
Two white, bloodied shapes lay face down and unmoving in the dirt border. One was an adult, the other a young girl. Panting nervously, the women watched and waited. Another grinning youth was waving a second grenade.
‘No!’—‘Please don’t!’—‘Have mercy, please!’
The grenade sailed high overhead. Again the group ran. All Kate could think of was to get away. Screams and groans followed the blast. When she reached the far wall and looked back two more figures lay still. A third woman was clutching her bloody, shrapnel-ripped legs.
A girl ran to her, shrieking, ‘Mother!’
On the patio, the Buffaloes and pemuda were laughing hysterically. One of them lifted his sarong and shook his penis at the girl. Then he shot at one of the nuns, hitting her leg.
‘Make the white bitches run!’ Rakasa yelled. He began firing at their feet. His followers did the same. Yet again the captives bolted until they were corralled once more against a corner wall. As they caught their breath, another sparking grenade landed at their feet.
A heavy-set woman in a muddied nightdress, her face set in rage, stepped forward, picked up the grenade and flung it at a group of four startled youths. ‘Bastards!’ she thundered.
Three scattered but the fourth reached to throw it back. This time the fuse was shorter. It went off in his hand, shredding his face and blowing open his chest.
Several of the women cheered. Rifles and swords rose threateningly but the captives stood their ground. Enraged and wild-eyed, Rakasa fired at the heavy-set woman but missed and killed a nun. Cowed again, the women backed away.
One of the pemuda charged the group waving a machete and grabbed at a girl of about fourteen. She tried to pull back but the youth dragged her brutally by her hair to the middle of the garden. A blow with the machete handle stunned her and she collapsed. He knelt over her, tearing off her nightdress and underwear. She began screaming. ‘Mummy, help! Please!’ A sobbing woman turned away, her hands over her ears. Others shielded their children’s eyes.
The girl tried to slither away but her attacker sat on her, punching her repeatedly in the face, chest and belly until she lay pliant, wheezing through a smashed nose and broken teeth. He knelt over her, dropped his shorts and slipped his arms under her knees, forcing back her thighs. She whimpered helplessly. As he penetrated her he began shouting obscenities. Around him, the watching youths began to chant and stamp their feet in unison, urging him on.
Finally the rapist spent himself and he stood up, his hands raised in triumph. Another youth took his place and the chanting began again. The girl lay dazed in shock. When the second youth had finished he reached nonchalantly for his revolver. Quite slowly and deliberately he put the barrel against her forehead and pulled the trigger.
A small, wiry youth in his early teens with long, matted hair came towards the women and the chanting began again. He saw Kate and leered, rubbing his crotch through his sarong.
Suddenly Rakasa threw another grenade. Again the women ran.
Kate saw a flash then all was dark and still. When she came to, she was lying on her back, her head pounding. Above her the moon was blurred. Screams and shouts echoed dully in her ears. She remembered…
Groggily she rolled on to her front. She could barely manage to lift her face out of the dirt. A hot, sticky dampness was spreading over her buttocks and inner thighs. Oh God, she thought, my legs!
She heard a groan nearby. Anna was three feet away, lying face down. Her cheek and arms were grazed. Blood was streaming from her ear. Kate tried to reach out but did not have the strength. ‘Anna—’
‘Oww!’ Kate gasped as she was jerked upwards by the waistband of her shorts and her knees forced roughly under her chest. Rasping, rapid breath on her neck made her shiver. A hand was tugging at the buttons of her shorts.
‘No!’ she croaked feebly. ‘Please!’
Something cold and metallic slid swiftly down inside her shorts and knickers. There was a sharp tug and the clothing fell away from one leg and buttock. She saw a hand stab a long bayonet into the ground beside her. A weight pressed heavily on her back and a fleshy hardness rubbed against the inside of her thigh.
‘No!’ Kate sobbed, utterly helpless. She moaned in despair. ‘Help!’
There was a snort of disgust then a blow hammered down on her back. She was sent sprawling, gasping in pain. Her attacker had left her. Short of breath she clawed weakly for her slashed shorts staunch the bleeding on her legs. Her fingers slid in watery slime but she saw it was not blood. In the daze of the explosion she had soiled herself.
Anna was swaying on her hands and knees, still in a stupor. The youth moved over to her, the bayonet back in his hand, his expression full of loathing. He stabbed the blade into the earth by Anna’s leg, then knelt and grabbed the hem of her thin white nightshirt. In one motion he flung it over her head and shoulders. Anna was trying to crawl away but his fingers curled around the top
of her knickers and yanked them down to her knees.
Laughing now, the youth reached forward and pinned Anna’s arms behind her back, holding both her thumbs in one hand. Her head struck the ground heavily. She stared blankly at Kate.
‘Anna, run!’ Kate mouthed desperately.
Anna’s numbed expression did not change. The youth started to thrust, wrenching up her arms. Anna’s eyes bulged. Blind to her pain, the youth thrust repeatedly. Suddenly one of her one of her shoulders dislocated with a sharp pop. With a final grunt, the youth released Anna’s arms. Whimpering now, she tried to rise on one hand. Still within her, the youth snatched for her pigtails, winding them around his left hand. His right hand reached for the bayonet.
Kate screamed. ‘Anna!’
Anna’s head snapped backwards, bridled by her own braids. The blade slashed deeply across her stretched throat. Anna collapsed, fighting for breath in a pool of her own blood. In seconds she was still.
The killer’s gloating face turned to Kate. He stood, his penis still erect. She tried to push herself away but her feet slipped in the dirt and she fell back. In three easy strides he was upon her, bayonet raised. Drops of Anna’s blood dripped onto her face.
Kate mouthed a silent, pleading, no. His grin revealed blackened, rotting teeth. She closed her eyes, lifting her arms in a last, desperate defence. Beneath her she felt the earth rumble, followed by a mechanical roar and a jolting crash.
Bright, white light bathed the garden. Shouts and gunfire filled her ears. She opened her eyes. Her attacker had vanished. Wedged in the breach in the convent wall she saw the high, angled front of a tank. Yelling Gurkhas were leaping from it, illuminated by a large, turret-mounted searchlight. Relief surged through her. She tried to wave but the effort drained the last of her strength.
Ota was two minutes behind the Gurkhas. He clambered over the tank and stopped aghast at the scene before him. Blood-stained bodies, old and young, littered the flower beds. Distraught women, many with bloody wounds, stood in groups, hugging each other and crying. Others sat by prostrate bodies.
His search for Kate became frantic. Nearly all the women were dressed in white, Red Cross nightdresses or hospital smocks. He pushed his way through the crowd to every blonde, only to be met with shocked or unknowing stares.
He steeled himself to look at the bodies. Hesitantly he moved from one to another, gripped by cold dread.
When he saw her lying half-naked, bloodied, her arm outstretched towards another lifeless girl, tears ran down his face. Exhausted, he slumped to his knees beside her. Tentatively he reached out to touch her neck. He felt her warmth and gave a start. Quickly he put his ear over her mouth and felt her breath.
‘Kate!’ He touched her cheek.
Her eyes flickered. ‘Oh, Kenichi!’
‘Where are you hurt?’ His hands moved over her body rapidly and methodically, searching for wounds but finding none. He sat back, catching his breath. ‘You scared me,’ he said whispered. ‘I thought…’ He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I wasn’t here to help you. I’m so sorry.’
Her fingers reached for his. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she whispered softly.
A Japanese medic ran up to them, asking if Kate needed help. Ota shook his head. ‘Just water!’
Kate leant against him while he held the canteen for her. She moved to cover her smeared crotch with her shorts. ‘I’m dirty…’ she whispered apologetically.
He stroked her hair. ‘You’re alive!’
Two nuns came to kneel in silent prayer by Anna’s body, and then covered her with a white sheet. When they saw Kate’s exposed lower half they tried to push Ota away but Kate stopped them.
‘No, I want him to stay,’ she snapped.
They left them but one of them hurried back with a large bath towel that she wrapped around Kate’s waist.
Ota looked around them. Some of the seriously wounded were being treated where they lay in the light from the tank. Others were being carried or led away to the convent’s infirmary.
He gave her a smile. ‘Can you stand?’
‘I think so.’
He helped her up and she managed a few shaky steps.
‘Good! Now rest,’ he said scooping her up. Her hands locked around his neck.
Ota carried Kate out of the convent and joined a stream of internees, nuns and soldiers heading down the hill. At the fork he turned into the long drive of the spa hotel. A patrol led by Corporal Suzuki met them. ‘We’ve searched the hotel as Major Kudo ordered, Lieutenant, it’s clear,’ Suzuki reported, looking at Kate. ‘The electricity is back on now, too. Do you have any orders for us?’
‘Yes, the hotel will be the battalion’s base for the night, so first secure the perimeter and post sentries. Internees will be moving here from the convent soon. Help them. And someone go and find Lt Nagumo.’
‘At once!’ Suzuki cast another quick glance at Kate then led his patrol off at the trot,
Ota barely heard their laughter. He looked down at Kate. She was asleep.
To his dismay the hotel lobby had been ransacked. Tables lay smashed, padded leather chairs slashed and ornaments shattered. He strode on, kicking open a broken door and flicking on a light switch before going along the corridor and down the stairs to the apparently undamaged changing rooms.
Kate woke as he sat her down on a stool. He kissed her forehead tenderly. ‘Where are we?’ she asked wearily, still clinging to him.
‘I thought you would like a bath,’ he said. He rummaged in the cupboards, finding her towels, shampoo, soap and a nemaki robe. ‘I have to leave you now,’ he said. ‘Can you manage?’
She smiled, ‘Oh, yes. I’ll be fine.’
He saw that she meant it and he nodded. ‘After your bath I’ll take you down to the main camp.’
Kate began to undo her blouse. ‘Will there be more fighting?’
‘No, not tonight. The enemy have retreated into the town. At daylight we will try to force them out.’
‘I see,’ she said glumly. ‘I thought it was over. I—’
She paused at the sound of women’s voices in the corridor. Their private moment was at an end. Wearily she let her head sag. ‘Thank—’ She sighed when she realised she was alone.
Back outside, in front of the hotel’s reception, Ota saw a familiar silhouette sitting with Suzuki by a hibachi grill.
A space opened for Ota next to Nagumo and he sat down. ‘Domo,’ he said politely.
Nagumo sported a three-day stubble and looked exhausted. ‘Ambarawa ni yokoso!’—Welcome to Ambarawa! Nagumo said heartily, handing him a bowl of rice. ‘You took your damn time!’
Kate emerged from the hotel with a group of internees. As he had promised, Ota was waiting for her. She dawdled to let the others move ahead.
He came over to her. Without a word or hesitation they kissed, hidden in the shadows of the tree-lined drive. Later they walked slowly, arm in arm, past a bemused Japanese sentry. They both knew that at the end of the drive they would say farewell. Torches flashed busily at the junction ahead and female voices carried clearly on the night breeze.
‘The British are evacuating the convent,’ said Ota.
Kate squeezed his hand. ‘Please be careful, Kenichi. Java isn’t worth dying for.’
He was about to say but you are when a burst of distant gunfire echoed over them ominously. Their steps became little more than shuffles. Above them the orange-red moon was almost full and the stars stunningly clear. When at last he spoke there was a slight tremor in his voice. ‘Where will you live in Holland?’
She halted. Neither of them had ever mentioned a future after Java.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, moving forward slowly. ‘Utrecht, I suppose, for a while at least. My grandmother lived there but she’s dead now… I don’t remember it very well. I’ve only been back once. I was ten. I’d never felt cold before… Most of all I remember the tulips.’
He frowned. ‘Tu—?’
‘Yes, red tulips, my favo
urite flower.’ She smiled at his puzzled look. ‘They’re shaped like a wine glass. They don’t grow on Java, so you might not have seen them.’
‘One day I would like to give you tulips.’
‘That would be…lovely.’ Her voice trailed off and she looked away. She wiped her eyes and tried to laugh. ‘Silly me,’ she said quickly. ‘I hate goodbyes. I still can’t believe I’m going to Holland or that you’re going to Japan. It’s so far away.’
‘They say we must go to prison and work first.’
‘What!’ Kate was incredulous. ‘They can’t put you in prison after what you’ve done. You’ve saved hundreds, thousands of people! You’re not a stinking kenpei—’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said softly, trying to calm her.
‘It does to me! I’ll speak up for you! I’ll tell them you—’
He put his palm against her cheek. ‘Kate, my Major says people are tired of war. They don’t want to hear about another one in Java.’
She gripped his forearms tightly. ‘But they must let you go home. It’s so unfair!’
He smiled. ‘One day I will be free. Don’t worry about me.’
‘But I will!’
His eyes bored into hers. ‘Really? Is that true, Kate?’
‘Oh Kenichi, you know it is!’ She hugged him to her and his arms went around her waist. Again they kissed, clinging together for several minutes until he straightened and took a step forward, forcing her to break the embrace.
‘What will you do in Japan?’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘I have no idea. Everything will be different now. It will be very hard but there will be many—what’s the word—opportunities. I might become an English teacher or even make sake with Nagumo!’ He laughed and for a moment she saw the stress lift from his face.
She laughed with him, pleased to see him relaxed at long last. ‘What’s your home like? You’ve never mentioned it.’
‘My parents are rice farmers. Nagumo’s father buys most of our crop.’ He pursed his lips then shook his head. ‘It’s hard work being a farmer. To be honest, I don’t think I’m very good at it.’
