Heading South
The C-47 cargo plane taxied down the gravel strip and performed an engine run-up in the turn-around pad at the eastern end. Number one Pratt and Whitney R1830 engine ran up to its full 1200 horse power and gave a small dip in revolutions as the magnetos were cycled off and on. Same procedure with number two engine.
Shinichi sat in a jump seat with his right wrist handcuffed to the seat frame and listened to the pre-flight procedures. The MP who arrived at the base the day before was riding as escort and was settled in a jump seat on the opposite side of the cabin. Shinichi listened to the familiar sound of radial engines and savored the pungent scent of the fuel and exhaust. Although he was a prisoner and was on a strange aircraft, it still gave him a thrill. Planes and flying were in his blood and he loved it. His keen eyes were already studying the exposed internal structure of the cavernous fuselage. He knew the Japanese company Mitsui had built the C-47s under a license agreement before the war. The Japanese plane was called the Showa L2D. He thought it rather ironic that both sides were using essentially the same plane as a primary work-horse as they battled for supremacy in the Pacific.
He had been held in detention at the airfield for five days but had been treated well by the people there. Locked in a room most of the time but allowed out for meals and ablutions but never allowed close contact with anyone other than the small group that greeted his arrival. It seemed there were very few permanent personnel on the base—he estimated maybe twenty or so. He had heard aircraft landing and taking off occasionally. Trucks came and went too. It was quite a busy place so someone had to be taking care of the planes, servicing them or whatever.
He had been provided with some better fitting clothes but noted the shirt had POW stenciled on the back in large white letters. He only had only worn that shirt for a few hours when one of the soldiers came to the room, made him remove it and gave him one without the letters. Why the sudden change? He didn't know.
The medical man had checked his injury a couple of times and deemed it needed nothing except some ointment and a little dressing to keep it clean. Shinichi had finally understood; “Long time to mend bone.”
He had not seen anyone who spoke a word of Japanese so he had not been questioned any more thoroughly and certainly had not been pressured for further information in any way. He suspected that would come later at some other place.
He thought he solved that mystery of the Asian looking people. They were local “natives,” civilians employed on routine tasks around the bases and there were several in the room where Carter took him for a meal on one occasion. They sat separately from the service men and he noted some of them spoke a strange language other than English.
On the third day—after he had a mid-day snack—Sergeant Carter took charge of him and went for a stroll down the flight line. One of the men with a side-arm followed close behind. He realized the sergeant was giving him a chance to stretch his legs and get a breath of fresh air. Carter was also obviously attempting to impress him with the power of the U.S. military. To be quite honest, Shinichi was already suitably impressed, though national pride dictated he not allow it to show too much.
His discerning eyes admired the rugged look of the A-20s and he wished he could have examined them more closely. He wasn't given the opportunity and he was incapable of telling the sergeant of his ambition to be an Aeronautical Engineer.
The other, smaller planes, were Bell Aircobra P-39s—unusual because the single engine was situated behind the pilot and a canon poked out the center of the propeller spinner. He had never before seen an aircraft configured like that but instantly recognized that, with the rear engine, the pilot would have excellent forward visibility. Probably would be a great plane for strafing ground targets.
The sergeant chattered constantly to him with a strange drawling accent, pointing out different things as they walked; the different models of plane, the beautiful snow capped mountains in the distance, even one of those big deer with a calf grazing the other side of the air field. He learned that they were called, ‘Moose.’
Carter seemed unfazed by the fact that Shinichi couldn't comprehend most of what was said—he just kept on talking. It was however helping Shinichi to recall a few words he learned in flight school.
The day finally came when they loaded him on a C-47 transport plane. He bowed and repeated his; “Arigatou Gozaimatsu,” to the sergeant and the other people who had been watching over him. He was genuinely grateful to them for the fair—even friendly—treatment he had received. Then he turned to climb up into the fuselage doorway.
“Shinichi,” it was Sergeant Carter.
Shinichi stopped and turned.
The sergeant stepped forward and ceremoniously handed Shinichi his wrist-watch. The one his father had given him as a wedding present.
“Good luck Shinichi Oda.”
Shinichi was moved. He thought he had seen the last of that treasured gift from his father. He choked a little with emotion and fumbled for the right words. Finally he gave a slight bow and simply said; “Thank you,” in English.
The sergeant took a pace back and gave him a crisp salute—as one professional soldier to another. Shinichi saluted in return.
Throughout his stay he had been treated with respect by those he had contact with and, he had to admit, this last gesture did much to sway his opinion of the enemy. If all Americans were like these few here, maybe captivity, or losing the war, would not be so bad after all. He knew full well in Japan he would be severely castigated for consorting with the enemy in this way. Surrender was not considered acceptable under any circumstances.
Now the C-47 was ready for take-off. It taxied to the center of the runway and the radial engines immediately went to full power. After only a short roll the tail lifted and the plane rapidly gained airspeed.
Shinichi, sitting near a small window with his back to the bulkhead, which separated the cargo space from the flight deck, watched as the gravel runway raced by and then they were off, climbing higher and higher so the grand vista of Alaska unfolded below.
Now Shinichi could see the kind of country he had been floundering through. It was endless swirls of swamp land, punctuated by swaths of dark trees. Here and there a patchwork of vibrant color where a little fall foliage remained. As the plane banked to the left he saw low ridges capped in purple and red foliage. Further away, to the west, were huge snow-capped mountain ranges. They seemed to go for ever and in all directions. It was truly an awesome land to behold on such a beautiful clear day.
The plane continued to climb, then leveled at about five thousand feet above the ground and the engines throttled back to cruise power. He had no idea where they were taking him but could tell it was roughly an easterly heading. Further away from his homeland.
He continued to gaze out of the window. Now there was a thin ribbon of road below. It was the only sign of mans hand on this vast wilderness. It had to be the military road and since they were heading east, what was the name of that major town on his map? He racked his brains trying to recall the strange western name. After a couple of minutes it came to him; Whitehorse. That was it. Maybe they were taking him to Whitehorse.
They were in the air for less than an hour before descending to land on a large airfield with a number of very substantial hangars and other buildings. More of those A-20s and another C-47 like the one he was riding in. It confirmed his thoughts, as he saw a large sign—WHITEHORSE.
It was only a brief stop, during which they loaded some fuel and some more cargo in the form of wooden crates—securely lashed down in the cargo bay. The MP indicated to Shinichi by means of crude gestures; “You want to pee?” But Shinichi shook his head, so he was left alone for a few minutes, seated and handcuffed.
After a stop of about one hour they were on their way again. This time the course was more to the south. The C-47 was a steady workhorse and was making good time. The two radial engines droned on with little change of speed. After a while Shinichi tired o
f watching the land slip by below. Noting only that it was an awfully big wilderness down there; endless forests and hills punctuated occasionally by mountains, lakes and serpentine rivers. Autumn colors at their peak at some elevations. Now and then he had a glimpse of a road cutting a lonely slash through it all. He finally closed his eyes and let his mind wander, dozing off intermittently.
Little did he know what a stir his appearance in Northway had caused within the U.S. Military Command structure. Carter had called his superior in Fairbanks and the story had made it up the chain of command all the way to Washington, D.C. and it was sure making waves. Carter was told to keep it under wraps until they had time to decide what to do. That's when he asked the soldier to, “Get that damn POW shirt back before too many people around here see it and start talking. The less attention he attracts, the better.”
To make matters worse, while they were keeping their prisoner in detention, A wrecked Japanese Zero was discovered by a survey crew flying in a Piper Cub L4H spotter plane searching for a better route for a section of the Al-Can about fifty miles east of Northway. They were constantly seeking ways to improve the road and correct some of the worst sections. And, there were a lot. In some places where the road crossed marshland, or permafrost, it was laid down on cordwood virtually floating on the boggy ground. It was already falling apart faster than they could repair it.
It had all tied together to corroborate Shinichi's story but it also caused an even bigger flap up the chain of command.
Carter was saying, “It won't be long before everybody in Alaska knows we had a Jap plane flying around undetected and that we are holding the pilot. It's pissing me off—complacency—that's what it is. He thumped his desk with a sizable fist. Outright God damn complacency and it'll be our undoing.” “On top of that I hear we have lost another A-20. That's the second one recently and so far we haven't found a damn trace of either of them.”
Eventually arrangements were made and Carter was ordered to ship his prisoner out to McChord in Washington State. He wasn't told what would happen to Shinichi but did put in a good word, for what it was worth:
“He seems to be a pleasant, clean-cut young fellow. I guess he was just following orders like the rest of us. I reckon this war will be over before too long and he can be repatriated. Be a good chance to spread the word that we Americans don't eat babies. If you know what I mean?”
The guy the other end said; “Yeah, yeah. I'll see what can be done about that but you surely know how some people around here feel about the Nips.”
After what seemed like an awful long flight—more than three and a half hours—the C-47 landed at a place called Edmonton. This time Shinichi was taken into a building and unshackled before being pointed toward the washroom. He looked around, and noted; even their washrooms are clean and well equipped.
Then he was led to a separate room and allowed to eat alone with the MP sitting at another table close by keeping an eye on him. He was given a bowl of hearty beef and vegetable soup, some bread, a big rosy apple and a mug of coffee. Coffee was unusual but he was getting used to it.
It was a brief stop. However, when he re-boarded the aircraft he found the cargo space had received more freight. There were also three extra passengers joining the flight. They gave him a strange look when they noticed he was being hand-cuffed to the seat—but, after a few sharp words from the MP, they sat in the other jump-seats and minded their own business.
Shinichi still had no idea where they were taking him. This time he looked out the window most of the way. A mixture of forest and farm land below soon gave way to a patchwork of perfectly rectangular fields. Flat land below but away to the west was a mountain range with magnificent snow-capped peaks.
Quite abruptly they flew over foothills then and through one awesome mountain pass after another. Snow-capped peaks dominated the scene as far as the eye could see. Occasionally there was a beautiful blue lake or river gracing a verdant valley. Many of the mountain sides showed evidence of forestry work and trails zigzagged up the steep slopes. Fully two thirds of the flight was over such mountainous country. He was thinking—what a large and varied country this is. Then, after about two and a half hours in the air, the engines throttled back and they began to lose altitude. Shinichi worried about what lay in store now.
Chapter Ten:
Interrogation
It was different this time. He was no longer at some remote northern outpost. Shinichi, still handcuffed, was hustled away from the C-47 in a closed military vehicle with a burly MP sitting on each side. He was afforded no view outside whatsoever. After a short drive the vehicle halted and he was frog-marched unceremoniously into a large nondescript building and was taken into a plainly furnished room—just a sturdy metal table and two chairs. He noticed there was strong wire-mesh on the two small windows set high in the wall.
The MPs weren't exactly rough with him but they were not easy either. Whereas Carter at Northway had invited him to sit down, these guys virtually picked him up bodily and dumped him into a chair. Then they fastened his handcuffs to a length of chain which was in turn was fastened to the chair. He realized the chair was bolted solidly to the concrete floor.
Then the MPs stood, behind and a little to each side of him and waited. They certainly didn't intend to let him escape. For the first time since he lifted the tarpaulin on the truck, Shinichi felt genuinely afraid—they were about to torture him to get information.
After what seemed an eternity, the door behind him opened and someone entered. Shinichi sat eyes front, and wondered what was in store. He flinched instinctively when the door closed with a thump. There was a whispered conversation behind him and then a person stepped around the table and sat down opposite him.
Shinichi's mouth fell open in surprise. The man was clearly Japanese but he wore an impeccable U.S. military uniform. His age may have been about fifty because his close cropped hair was graying considerably. Shinichi thought he looked extremely fit for his age. The name patch on his shirt said NAKAMORI—clearly a Japanese name. Shinichi was confused. Was this some traitor working for the Americans?
The man smiled at him disarmingly then spoke in very cultured Japanese; “Let me introduce myself. I am Lieutenant Toshi Nakamori. My friends call me Tony. You may address me as, Sir.” He smiled again pleasantly and continued.
“I know you may be a little confused about my appearance, so let me make one thing absolutely clear right away. I am an American. My parents are both Japanese by birth but I was born in Hawaii and then we moved to San Francisco. I'm sure you have heard of both places.” He smiled again. “Especially Hawaii… I speak fluent Japanese—as you can tell—and of course English. Naturally, I need to ask you some questions. We can do it the easy way or a harder way.” He paused but this time he didn't smile. “However, despite what you may have been taught, we Americans do not resort to torture. I can assure you however, we can make life rather uncomfortable for you if you decide not to cooperate.” He paused for easily twenty seconds to let that message sink in.
“Do you understand English? Spoken in Japanese
“A little—very little.”
“Very well, for the record we will use Japanese. What is your name?”
Shinichi knew they already had that information so he answered forthrightly; “My name is Shinichi Oda.”
“What is your profession? When you are not a prisoner, that is.” He smiled at his own wry sense of humor.
“I am a pilot for the Japanese Imperial Navy.”
“Ha! You were a pilot for the Japanese Imperial Navy.” Nakamori emphasized the past tense. “Presently you are a prisoner of war and, for now, your flying days are certainly over. When did you arrive in—let me see—Canada?”
They already knew roughly that information too, so he replied; “Twentieth day of August.”
“Good,” said Nakamori, checking some notes in his file folder. “And what was your mode of transportation to Canada?”
“I was flying m
y plane.” They already knew that too.
“Ah. And, just what model of plane was that?”
Shinichi hadn't given that information to anyone before so he remained silent.
“Come now. Don't be difficult. Let me jog your memory a little. You were piloting a Mitsubishi Reisen A3M-2 launched from the light aircraft carrier Agachi somewhere in the Gulf of Alaska. Isn't that correct?
He opened the file folder; “Let me see, somewhere here I have your aircraft number.” He thumbed through some sheets and said; “Here it is, Number E11-472.”
Shinichi was stunned. How did this man have so much information? His plane was lying in a swamp somewhere in the wilds of Canada. He could say nothing.
Nakamori smiled again. “You know the Agachi sailed out of the Gulf of Alaska on the evening of the twentieth August and left you behind.” It was a statement rather than a question. He had information to the effect that the Agachi and its escorts had been spotted leaving the Gulf by one of the long-range PBYs launched from this very base.
Shinichi also knew his ship had to leave. They could not have loitered beyond a certain time frame so close to the coast. Once they recovered the others from his flight—those that made it back safely—they would have waited a respectable period, knowing his fuel would be exhausted after a certain calculated time, then, when all hope was gone, they would have steamed away.
Lieutenant Nakamori flashed his disarming smile again; “You must know you are extremely lucky to have survived a crash landing in such rugged country and even more fortunate to have survived alone in such tenuous circumstances.”
Shinichi nodded.
“I trust you have been satisfied with the treatment you have received so far. By the way, how is your injury?”
Shinichi could answer that one safely. “It's still very painful but healing well.” He added, “Thank you”
“How did that happen—your injury?”
“During the crash landing,” Shinichi lied.
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