Prisoner of War

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “Good morning, sunshine!” I said, in the most cheerful way I could.

  He didn’t say anything and, pulling me roughly to my feet, cut the cords binding my hands. I rubbed my right wrist, which was raw, but he smacked my hand. Hard.

  “Yameru!” he yelled. I’d learned that meant stop.

  With my hands in front of me, he bound them once again with the rope and jerked me to the center of the room. He tossed the end of the rope over the rafter. It was then that I decided to do something supremely stupid.

  Scarface turned around to face me, and as he was about to pull on the rope that would raise my hands, I kicked him hard in the groin. His eyes widened in surprise, and he sank to his knees. My knee shot upward like a snake and connected with the point of his chin. He groaned and fell over backward. The pain in my ribs after all that activity made me nearly collapse.

  He’d leaned his bamboo club against the wall. Big mistake. I picked it up with my bound hands and went to work on him. I hit him in the stomach, the legs, and the ribs. But I had no strength behind the blows. I’d hurt him. But not like he’d hurt me.

  When I swung the stick again, he caught it and jerked it away from me. He swung it hard, connecting with my knees. I went down, landing on my shoulder. The bamboo rained down on me. Scarface became a steaming ball of rage. He screamed what I could only assume were Japanese obscenities at me. His shouting brought the attention of more guards, who came rushing into the room. They joined him, their feet and fists pounding over my body. I slipped away into the darkness of unconsciousness.

  A bucket of water brought me back to reality. I was trussed up, hanging from the rafter. That was all that was keeping me upright. My eyes were nearly swollen shut. But I knew there were men in the room.

  A hand grabbed me by the cheeks, and I tried to focus. Finally I recognized … my father? What was he doing here? He should be in Minnesota. And why was he wearing a Japanese officer’s uniform? He looked displeased.

  “You,” he said.

  That was all. I was quiet a moment.

  “Nice to see you again, Father,” I finally gasped.

  He squeezed my cheeks harder. It hurt, and I winced.

  “You attacked one of my men,” he said.

  “Did I? Which one? I didn’t know you had men, Dad.” I was confused. I squinted, trying to bring my eyes into focus. For a moment my father became Major Sato. Then he became my father again. Was I hallucinating? Where was I?

  “Do not trifle with me.”

  “That’s a big word for you, Dad. Trifle. But don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it. As you can see, your men have done a fair job of attacking me.”

  “You will address me as Major!” he shouted.

  “Now why would I do that? You aren’t a Marine. I don’t have to salute you, Daddy.” I squinted again and grew more confused. My head was swirling with changing images. My father and Major Sato seemed to share the same body. Now Major Sato spoke.

  “You are a prisoner. It is their job to punish you.”

  “So what you’re saying is, if I’m all trussed up like this unable to defend myself, they’ll do their worst. But they can’t handle a fair fight?”

  He released my cheek. My head waggled around, and I couldn’t stay focused on him.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  I finally managed a glance around the room. Big Ears and Scarface stood behind him. Scarface looked like he’d been roughed up a bit. That made me smile. Then things got hazy again. I heard the sound of laughter coming from my mouth.

  “What is so funny?”

  I looked up and my dad was back again. Standing there glaring at me like he always did.

  “It’s not my fault she died. You were wrong to treat me the way you did.”

  Major Sato whirled back into view. “Why are you laughing? What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  He paced back and forth.

  “Who are you?” he asked again. I tried to focus. His voice was weird. It sounded just like my father’s. I shook my head, desperate to clear it.

  “Private Henry Forrest, United States Marine Corps. Seria—”

  “Enough!” he interrupted me. “I could have you executed for attacking a guard.”

  I pondered that for a moment. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “Nah. You won’t.” I tried to sound confident. He most certainly could.

  “You are a vexatious man, Private Forrest.”

  “Vexatious. Now there is a five-dollar word for you.”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  “Yeah. It means you don’t understand me and I’m causing you trouble. Vexing you.”

  “Indeed. I think I will have you shot.”

  “I think you won’t.”

  “And why is that?” Something clicked in me then. I squinted at the major. His face was fuzzy, and my dad kept peering out through his eyes. I was tired of it all. Sick of being beaten. Through with being blamed for things that weren’t my fault and made to suffer for it. I heard Gunny’s voice in my head. Dig deep. I heard Jams telling me being scared didn’t make me a coward. I’d had enough. They could kill me. But I wasn’t going to let them break me.

  “You saw what happened when you brought me in here. Every prisoner tried to take my place. You shoot me and the camp will riot. You might put the riot down, but somewhere you’ve got a boss, and he’s going to hear about it. And he’s going to figure this Major Sato fellow is not up to running a prisoner of war camp. Next thing you know you’ll be working at some other plum assignment, like counting all the coconuts on Luzon.”

  I was bluffing like I never had in my life. Sato could kill me right now if he wanted, and I couldn’t stop him.

  He sneered at me. “You could disappear. I could shoot you and throw you in a ditch. No one would know.”

  “See, that’s where you don’t get it. You think you got us beat. But we soldiers, sailors, and Marines haven’t given up. General Wainwright surrendered—not us. And if I don’t show up back in that camp soon, the men out there are going to get restless. You’ll have more trouble on your hands than you can accommodate. You can only kill us. You can’t defeat us.”

  “Any troublemakers will be gunned down like rabid dogs. The entire camp if necessary.”

  “Sure. Go ahead and kill us all. And you’ll have a storm rain down on you like you can’t imagine. You’re already losing. You know it.”

  “Losing? Ha. You are a fool. Your military is weak. We will destroy it.”

  “You’ve got two choices. Turn me loose or kill me. Otherwise, I’m sick of listening to your gas.”

  Another bluff. And an insult to boot.

  “You are a confident man. I will not shoot you. No, I think it will be more enjoyable to watch you remain here and die slowly.” He turned on his heel and made to leave the room.

  “Major?”

  “Yes?” He turned around to face me.

  I nodded toward Scarface. “Next time he lays a hand on me, I’ll tear his arm off and beat him to death with it.”

  The major said nothing, and all of them left. Right then I understood something. The major was afraid. He’d been to America. In his heart he knew the Japanese were doomed. They’d picked the wrong enemy. We might be down now. But we wouldn’t be down forever. And he was smart enough to understand that. Which made him indecisive. That was good for us now. But I had a feeling he wouldn’t be around for long.

  The Japanese left me hanging there, broken and bleeding. Soon, the blood from my hands and wrists was running down my arms. It was only a matter of time before I passed out again.

  I woke with a start. The kid who’d been bribed to help me was back. He gave me more water. Pulling a small knife from his pocket, he cut my hands free. I nearly collapsed, but he held me up. He whistled quiet and low. The door opened and Gunny and Davis walked in.

  “Tree, ain’t ya ever learned to duck?” he whispered.

  “N
ever felt better, Gunny,” I muttered.

  “Ya look like ya swallowed a hand grenade,” he said. Davis, as usual, was silent as a stone.

  “Better hurry, Yank,” the kid said. “Follow.”

  Gunny and Davis grabbed my arms and wrapped them around their shoulders. Even with my swollen, slitted eyes, I could tell both men had lost weight. I tried hard to stifle my groans as they walked me out of the hut. It was dark outside.

  “Where’s the guard?” I asked.

  “Davis took care of him,” he said. I had no idea what that meant. Just as we stepped outside, doors opened to the remaining shacks, and Smitty, Willie, Sully, Worthy, and Sergeant Martin led other prisoners out of the guard shacks.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” Gunny said. “We got a plan.”

  When I woke up the next morning, Gunny was standing over me. There was a man I didn’t recognize beside him. He was short with dark hair and glasses. He had a friendly face, but like most of the other prisoners he looked pale and sickly.

  “Mornin’, Tree. Sleep well?” Gunny asked.

  “Like a baby,” I said. Which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Every part of me ached. I tried to sit up and soon realized what a mistake that was. The room spun and my head hit the floor.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “I’d say,” Gunny said. “Yer face looks like it wore out nine bodies. What did ya say to make them do that to ya in there?”

  “Just expressed some opinions,” I said.

  “Well, it looks like they wasn’t well received,” Gunny said.

  “Probably not. Still, they’re clear on where I stand.” I decided to change the subject. “How did you get me out? I saw the other prisoners leaving, too. Is the major going to stand for that?”

  “The Aussies took care of it. They got some money together and bribed a couple of guards. They got substitutes taking your places, just like they did when ya was caged. We still all look alike to them guards, especially if we been roughed up a little. And the guards that worked ya over have been rotated over to new assignments. Another bribe to get the duty roster changed so the new guards ain’t gonna know who’s who. Here’s the best part. Major Sato ain’t in charge of the camp no more. He left a few days ago, and they brought in some other yahoo to take over. We got the kid who brought you the water keepin’ an eye on everythin’. If things go south, he’ll let us know. It’s covered. No worries.”

  “Huh,” I said, trying to figure it all out. I must have been gone longer than I’d thought. “It’s awful risky, Gunny. If Scarface or one of those other guards comes back—”

  Gunny held up his hand. “We ain’t exactly livin’ in a risk-free environment. We got you out. You stay in there, you die. Yer Aussie pals threatened to give me a thrashin’ if I didn’t go along with it. And seeing as how I figure I could only beat four or five of ’em at once, I agreed. We do what we gotta do. The Japanese is more worried about gettin’ the camp organized than they are about yer sorry butt.”

  Gunny gestured toward the man standing next to him. “This here is Doc Sweeting. He was with the 17th Medical Corps. He’s gonna check you out.”

  “Hello, Henry,” Dr. Sweeting said.

  “Howdy, Doc. Nice to meet you. I appreciate you taking a look at me, but I imagine you got a lot of other sick fellows to look after. Don’t worry about tending to me,” I said.

  Gunny looked at the doctor. “Ya see what I mean? I call him Tree, but it ain’t always ’cause he’s as big as one. He’s also as hardheaded as a twisted oak,” Gunny said.

  The doctor knelt next to me. “Let’s take a look,” he said.

  He gently looked me over. I yelped each time he touched my ribs.

  “Sorry,” he said as he felt my forehead. “You’ve got broken ribs, at least three. Hard to tell exactly without X-rays. You’ll need to try breathing as deeply as you can. And you need to walk a lot and sleep sitting up. You’ll be at risk for pneumonia, and believe me there is nothing here to treat you with. I don’t even have anything to wrap your ribs. I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “You don’t appear to have a fever, which means you probably don’t have an infection yet. So at least there’s that.”

  “Shoot, Doc,” Gunny said. “Ain’t yer fault. Besides, I got Jamison workin’ on gettin’ us supplies. In fact, I expect him back any minute.”

  “Jams?” I said. “How exactly will that happen? Last I saw him he was in worse shape than me.”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Tree,” Gunny said. “Old Jams healed up pretty well. An’ like I tole ya, that boy is an operator. He’s been workin’ on gatherin’ us up a stash of goodies.”

  “How is that possible?” I asked. “He couldn’t even walk the other day.”

  “He’s better now,” Gunny said.

  “How? How long was I in that hut?”

  “Yer big mouth got y’all locked up in there for over two months,” Gunny said.

  I was stunned. Two months? Had I really survived in there that long? How had I lost track of that much time?

  “You should be proud,” Dr. Sweeting said. “Not many could survive what you did.” He paused a moment. “Some haven’t.” The sadness in his voice was palpable. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to help you. I’ve asked the camp commandant for medicines and been denied. Some of the Filipino scouts have told me about native plants that can treat disease and help with pain. But I haven’t been able to get out on a work detail to gather any. Besides, the guards search everyone who comes back inside,” he said.

  “It’s not your fault, Doc,” I said.

  There was a commotion at the front of the barracks, and the next thing I knew Jams was at my side. His face was still a little misshapen and swollen, and he limped along with a slight hitch in his gait. I couldn’t believe how good it felt to see him.

  “Tree!” he shouted. “You look like the dogs have had you under the porch for a while.”

  “As usual, I don’t know what that means,” I said. “But it’s good to see you, too, Jams.”

  “It means it looks like you been chewed on for a spell. How you doing, kid?”

  “Well, I’d really like to start working on my Lindy Hop right away. When the war is over I plan on going to Hollywood and putting Fred Astaire out of business. But truthfully, I don’t feel much like dancing right now.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” Jams said. He was holding a burlap sack. He reached inside and pulled out a tiny bottle of aspirin and a bedsheet. “This oughta help.”

  “Where did you get this?” Dr. Sweeting asked.

  “Let’s just say I got my ways,” Jams said. The smile on his face was like a beacon on a dark night. Being back with him and Gunny had me feeling better already. And the fact they had healed up and were acting like their old selves lifted my spirits.

  The doctor wasted no time. He had Gunny rip the sheet into strips. Then he handed me his canteen and gave me four of the aspirin.

  “I wish I had something stronger for the pain,” the doctor said. “But these should help a little.”

  Gunny had several pieces of the cloth torn and ready.

  “Help me lift him up,” Doc told him.

  Gunny and Jams each took an arm and raised me to a sitting position. It was agonizing.

  “You need to breathe in deeply and hold it as long as you can,” Doc said.

  I took a breath and his hands moved like lightning, wrapping strips around my chest and ribs. It was only a few seconds until I had to let the air out.

  “Again,” he said.

  We repeated until I was completely wrapped. When I let out my breath it hurt, but my ribs were wrapped tight. I hoped this worked, because it sure was uncomfortable.

  “Let’s get him on his feet,” Doc said.

  Having them lift me to my feet felt like someone dropped a locomotive on my head. I moaned and tried not to cry, but tears formed in my eyes.

  “Don’t you worry none, Tree. It’s all right. Sometime
s pain is like a big old boil needs lancin’. Go ahead and let it out. All of us has felt what yer feelin’ right now,” Gunny said.

  The doctor was calm and quietly encouraged me to take a step. And another. There were men clustered around the barracks, and Gunny hollered at them, “Make a hole! Wounded man comin’ through.”

  Each step was a revelation in how many ways the human body could experience agony. But these men had risked their lives for me. Nothing was going to stop me. I walked to the end of the barracks. Then they turned me around, and I walked back.

  I was surprised by the reaction of the other men. They started to clap, lightly at first, then more loudly. “Way to go, Forrest,” one of them said. “You showed those little piles of dung what’s what.” There were cheers and whistles and attaboys.

  “Quiet, ya knuckleheads,” Gunny barked. “Y’all are gonna make him a target. Ya wanna help him, find some food, maybe somethin’ for him to sit on.” Gunny’s voice was still as commanding as ever, and every man in the barracks jumped to work. By the time I finished another lap, Sully had found a crate for me to sit on. Worthy pushed a can of condensed milk into my hands. Gunny punched a hole in the top of it with his belt buckle. I’d never tasted anything so sweet.

  Jams, Gunny, and the doctor watched me drink, and I could tell their mouths were watering. I held up the can. “I don’t think I can drink all this. Why don’t all of you have a swallow?” Gunny pushed it back at me.

  “Negative, Private,” he said. “Drink it down. Sooner we get ya back on yer feet, sooner ya can get yerself in trouble again.”

  “That’s right, Tree,” Jams said. “Besides, the military representatives of the Japanese Empire have seen fit to feed us a delicious ball of worm-infested rice every morning, so we’re way ahead of you in the old food game.”

  Dr. Sweeting excused himself. “I’ve got other men I need to see. Henry, you need to try to walk the length of the barracks and back once every hour. Tomorrow, try walking around the outside of the building. Then go as far as you think you can, turn around, and come back. You’re young and strong and I think your ribs will heal. Remember, you need to sleep sitting up for a while and keep breathing as deeply as you can. I don’t want you to get pneumonia.” He left us and headed off toward the south side of the camp.