by Rory Marron
Frenton cast a quick, sceptical glance at Mac. ‘I’ve heard that one before,’ he murmured under his breath.
Miller carried on. ‘The ground crews will help you unload. We also managed to get you two Jap six-wheelers. They’re a bit shaky but at least they’re right-hand drive!’
Two lorries drew up carrying Japanese. Mac noticed that they all had rifles. In contrast with the Japanese at the surrender ceremony in Malaya there was no sullenness or obvious resentment. They set to the task quickly, talking among themselves as they worked. Mac realised they knew they were needed and with that came a confidence and dignity so lacking in Malaya. He was astonished at the difference. With a nod he joined the chain unloading the sacks.
Meg and Ball went in Miller’s jeep to Tjandi. Mac followed them, driving one of the big Isuzus. Frenton and a guide took the other to a camp in the west of the town.
They found the gate to Tjandi III wide open. Inside some boys were playing soccer with several Gurkhas. A small group of ragged, under-nourished women was cheering them on. ‘Look at them!’ Meg gasped as the jeep pulled to a halt. ‘Have we got any clothes with us?’
Ball shook his head. ‘Afraid not, just medical supplies and vitamins. It might not look it but actually this camp is fairly well provided for. They’ve had a few weeks of increased rations and Red Cross parcels.’
‘How many internees are there in Java?’ Meg asked, notebook and pen in hand.
Ball shrugged. ‘We don’t even know how many camps there are. Dutch estimates were fifteen-thousand internees. But the Red Cross have counted that many in just five camps near Batavia. People are turning up everyday from places we’ve never heard of and telling us they’ve come from a camp of several hundred. There might be tens of thousands.’
‘Well let’s hope not,’ Miller said shaking his head.
Ball changed the subject. ‘If Major Miller approves, the day after tomorrow we’ll take a quick look at Borobudur temple. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, eh Major?’
Meg found the prospect of a cultural diversion very welcome. ‘Oh, can we? I’ve read about it, an Asian wonder of the world!’
‘It’s a slight detour,’ said Miller, ‘but I don’t see why not for an hour or so. We’ll have to leave here before dawn.’
‘Right,’ said Ball. ‘Since we’ve got an escort I’m going to ask for a few volunteers to come along as nurses.’ He left them and headed for the infirmary.
A came from among the soccer players, ‘Ma-ku-don!’
Curious, Mac turned to see someone holding a ball and waving. The wide grin was unmistakable. Suddenly much of Mac’s anxiety about Semarang vanished.
‘Rai!’ He waved back. ‘Bloody hell!’
Meg spent three hours talking with the women of Tjandi. She found many of them surprisingly cheerful. They pressed her for news of the outside world. Meg did her best to answer questions which ranging from the amount of damage to Amsterdam, Nijmegen and Paris, to gossip about Hollywood film stars and what was available in Batavia’s shops. But one question came up more often than any other: ‘When can we leave?’ She told them that she did not know. In the end, she managed to escape the questions by saying she wanted to interview the camp doctor.
As Meg entered the infirmary the smell of carbolic was almost overpowering and she pulled a face. She would have left, except for a smile from a cheerful and fairly healthy looking girl who was kneeling and busy with a scrubbing brush and a pail of soapy water. ‘Hello! Dr Santen will be so pleased to see you.’
Meg frowned. ‘She will?’
‘Aren’t you a nurse?’ Kate asked.
‘Oh no, I’m a journalist.’
‘Sorry,’ she apologised with a laugh. ‘I saw the uniform and thought—’
Meg smiled. ‘Sometimes I wish I were… By the way, I’m Meg Graham’
‘Kate van Dam. Pleased to meet you.’
Meg saw the door to the balcony and went out for some fresh air and a cigarette. Kate followed her. ‘It must be so exciting to be a journalist! Travelling, meeting people, seeing everything that goes on.’
Meg inclined her head. ‘It has its moments. The last few years have been mainly bad ones.’
‘Same here, Kate sighed.’
Meg offered her a cigarette. ‘Smoke?’
‘Oh, er, no, thank you.’
They stood side-by-side looking over the parapet and watching people milling around the RAPWI lorry. Mac was unloading supplies. Two Japanese soldiers came into view from behind one of the huts as they patrolled the perimeter fence. Kate glanced at them as did Meg. ‘You must hate the sight of them.’
Kate was caught off guard. ‘I—I don’t know. They helped us…’
‘I heard about the mobs,’ Meg said sympathetically. ‘It must have been frightening. Were you surprised the Japs helped you?’
‘No, I wasn’t…’ Kate said quickly but softly, almost to herself.
Meg noticed her distant look.
Behind them the balcony door opened. ‘There you are, Kate,’ said Juliette. ‘Some men want to talk to us. Let’s not keep them waiting!’
Meg laughed and Kate introduced her to Juliette. They went down together.
Two uniformed officers were chatting with Jenny Hagen. Meg thought they looked a little hesitant but then decided that the state of the women would make anyone who was clean and properly dressed feel awkward. Kate and Juliette said goodbye. Meg went with Jenny back to the lorry.
‘Miss Geroux and Miss van Dam? Good afternoon,’ said the older of the two officers. He peered at them through thick glasses. He was around fifty with silver-grey hair. ‘I am Major Liddleton. I work in the Army Legal Office. This is Group Captain Bowman of the Australian Air Force. We have the rather unpleasant but necessary task of investigating war-guilt charges. If we may, we would like to ask you some questions.’
‘Of course,’ said Juliette. Kate nodded.
Bowman cleared his throat. He was in his mid-thirties, thin-faced with a slim build and wore a trim moustache. ‘We are seeking statements from witnesses to the public execution of an Australian airman at this camp. Did you see this incident, ladies?’
‘Yes,’ said Kate, suppressing a shudder. ‘I was just a few yards away.’
‘Hundreds saw it,’ Juliette added, smiling softly at Bowman.
‘How terribly distressing for you’, he nodded. ‘We have detailed statements from seven other witnesses so far. For the time being, we simply wish to ask whether you can identify the Japanese officer involved.’
Juliette spoke quickly. ‘It was Shirai, the kenpei captain! Him and his—how do you say, in English, partisans?’
Liddleton smiled. ‘I think “henchmen” is the word you are looking for,’ he said casually.
‘Yes, it was Shirai,’ Kate’s voice was cold and detached. ‘The monster chopped off the poor man’s head.’
Bowman proffered a sheet of paper. ‘Are you both prepared to sign a statement, to that effect?’
They both nodded but the men paused, exchanging sideways glances. Liddleton rubbed his chin awkwardly. ‘As it happens, there is something else,’ he said softly. ‘There are reports of a number of women from internee camps being pressed into, er, work at certain clubs run by the Japanese.’
Kate felt a quick tap from Juliette’s elbow. She wondered whether the questions about the airman had been just a front. Someone had been talking! She felt herself start to blush and looked at Juliette who was still smiling, though much less warmly, at Bowman.
‘We intend to bring charges against the Japanese and other nationals involved,’ continued Liddleton. ‘Naturally, we need preliminary statements. Would you care to tell us what happened?’
‘Why us?’ Juliette replied frowning.
Bowman and Liddleton regarded each other again. ‘Well, your names were mentioned,’ said Bowman.
Kate and Juliette exchanged another quick look. Liddleton pressed them further. ‘We realise it must be rather embarrassing
for you but—’
‘Major!’ Juliette said demurely but firmly. ‘I think you have been listening to gossip!’
The two officers were looking at them intently.
Kate nodded. ‘Yes, idle gossip.’ She felt her face burning
‘I see,’ Bowman sighed. ‘In fact, your names are listed in an accounts book for a club called the Sakura. This was found there….’
In near disbelief Kate watched as he produced a fire-blackened ledger from his leather document case. He opened it at a flaking, bookmarked page. On it was a list of handwritten names and camps. Most of the page was charred but, still legible in the centre column, were several names, including hers and Juliette’s.
Kate stared at the ground in embarrassment. Juliette took her hand in hers. She felt a gentle squeeze.
Liddleton was trying to be tactful. ‘I can assure you that all we want to do is punish the guilty. We also have what might be a bar slate of regular “patrons”, probably Japanese officers. It has not been translated yet but if you could name any—’
‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ Juliette said sternly, ‘but you have made a mistake. It must be other women with the same names. We were not at the Sakura.’ She dropped a shoulder coquettishly. ‘And even if we had been, how could we help you? You know how the Japanese all look alike to us…especially naked. Au revoir!’
Kate and Juliette strode off arm in arm. The two men stared after them, open-mouthed.
‘Oh, Juliette, did you see their faces!’ Kate gushed, still blushing. ‘I don’t know how you could be so calm!’
‘Those spiteful, fucking cows!’ Juliette snapped.
Kate gripped Juliette’s arm in sudden panic. ‘But they have a list!’
‘They have a burnt piece of paper, that’s all.’
Kate was not reassured. ‘They said there would be investigations. I don’t want people to know. Before, it didn’t matter, but now—’
‘You were there for one night!’ Juliette said dismissively. ‘I was there a month. It was my choice. I wanted to live. To live I had to eat, and to eat I had to sell myself. But I am alive and well. So are you. Others are dead! If we say nothing, they can do nothing. Soon you can leave here and start a new life. You’ll never see these people again. Forget about it!’
Mac stacked the last of the cartons destined for Magelang in the back of the lorry and jumped down. It was six-thirty in the morning and he had a palm-wine hangover. Shouts in Japanese and revving engines near the gate distracted him. ‘I’m still not relaxed about them,’ he said uneasily.
‘Um?’ Meg looked up from her map and followed his gaze to the Japanese soldiers climbing aboard an open-topped six-wheeler. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘No-one will believe this back home, not even my editor!’
‘It doesn’t seem right,’ replied Mac.
Meg smiled at him. ‘So how’s your Gurkha buddy?’
‘I hope he’s got a hangover.’
‘Some party…’ She had expected Mac to join her later but she had been disappointed.
Mac missed her sarcasm. ‘Yeah. He doesn’t speak much English and I don’t speak Urdu or Gurkhali but after the third tin of whatever it was it really didn’t matter.’
She laughed. ‘Is he coming inland with us?’
‘Aye, thank God!’
‘Will you introduce me?’
‘With pleasure.’
Ball appeared with four women in tow. Meg recognised Kate and Juliette. She waved cheerfully.
Kate made to wave back but then stopped and turned. Juliette had come face to face with a Japanese lieutenant. To Meg’s surprise, the smiling Japanese bowed, then Kate and Juliette bowed back. When they reached Meg their faces were slightly flushed.
Ball saw Meg and waved. ‘Here we go again! We’ve heard there are two more camps at Ambarawa. Let me introduce Juliette, Kate, Marja and Anna, our latest volunteers.’
Mac helped them up and fastened the tailboard. ‘There we go, ladies. First class all the way!’
Miller pulled up alongside in a jeep. ‘Wing Commander, we’ll change the column order at Srondol. For now, your vehicle should keep behind the Jap half-track. Their commander is Lieutenant Nagumo. He doesn’t speak English but seems capable. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.’
Srondol, south of Semarang
A steady stream of travellers was passing through the checkpoint. Some had made the hazardous journey from the interior but most were local farmers or traders with bullock carts piled high with rice, maize or barter goods. Their mood was cheerful and good humoured. Srondol was the first of the checkpoints into Semarang. From here on the possibility of robbery was unlikely. They and their goods were safe until they ran the gauntlet of bandits once again on their return.
Ota watched them casually through the office window of a disused Shell petrol station. Its paintwork was flaking and its single pump sat rusting on the pot-holed forecourt. Later that day they were due to be relieved by Nagumo’s platoon. They had been on duty for seven consecutive days.
Corporal Suzuki entered the office without knocking—the door was missing—and stifled a yawn. ‘Well, Lieutenant, the men won’t be sorry to leave here and neither will I!’
Ota nodded. ‘I know what you mean but it’s better than a gaol!’
Suzuki was pouring himself a cup of cold Java tea when he stopped to listen. ‘Something heavy coming out of town,’ he said, gulping down his drink. Ota followed him outside. Motor traffic through the checkpoint was sparse. Only military or Indonesian Red Cross vehicles risked venturing into nationalist territory.
‘Brits moving in some force,’ said Suzuki looking through field glasses. ‘I count nine vehicles, mainly lorries. Not our relief.’ His disappointment was clear.
‘Hmm, I thought it was a bit early in the day for Lieutenant Nagumo,’ Ota said lightly.
Before long all of his platoon had gathered to watch the approaching vehicles. ‘Right,’ shouted Ota. ‘Get ready to move the half-track off the road. And shift the locals out of the way!’
Minutes later, the jeep leading the column stopped in front of him. In it were two British officers and two Gurkhas. Ota saluted.
‘I’m Major Miller. Do you speak English?’
‘A little, Sir,’ replied Ota.
‘That's good,’ said Miller. ‘We’re going to Magelang via Ambarawa. The platoon that was going to relieve you today is coming with us instead. Major Kudo gave me this for you.’ He handed over an envelope.
Ota read quickly. His platoon was to remain at Srondol for another two days. ‘I understand, Sir.’
‘We’re changing our column order here,’ Miller said turning in his seat and waving the column off the road by the petrol station. The jeep pulled away.
As the column parked, Ota saw a Japanese half-track flying a small, rising-sun pennant from its whip antenna. He went in search of Nagumo.
‘Hello, Kenichi.’
He spun round, knowing her voice. Kate was beaming at him beside a lorry. His mouth opened in half-smile, half-shock. ‘Kate!’ He frowned, ‘But you should not be here—’
Kate’s face reddened and her smile vanished. She had not expected him to be disappointed. ‘Well, there are no ships yet, so I’ve volunteered to help at Ambarawa,’ she replied firmly.
‘Ambarawa? But it’s dangerous there…’ Ota rushed, not catching her tone. He could not believe she was taking such a risk when she had promised to stay safe.
Three more women came around the back of the vehicle. He recognised Juliette. They were regarding him with interest.
Kate forced a laugh and turned away. ‘Oh, the rebels won’t dare attack all these soldiers! We’ll be perfectly safe.’
He wanted to shout at her. You fool, they will attack! We trained them how to ambush convoys and plant mines! How can two hundred defend you from thousands? Conscious of the curious looks from women, he said nothing.
Gurkhas toting Bren guns and ammunition boxes walked between them. Any chance to
talk further was lost. Kate and the others climbed back into the lorry. Ota glanced at her helplessly then walked away to hide his anger.
A hand clapped him on the back.
‘Oi!’
He spun around to see Nagumo. ‘Hey, What the hell’s going on?’
His friend shrugged. ‘All I know is we’re going up to Ambarawa to supply a camp. Anyway, I can’t stop. I heard you’ll be relieved soon. Any trouble?’
He shook his head quickly. ‘No. Listen to me. She’s here, Kate!’
‘I know,’ grinned Nagumo. ‘And do you know who else is here? The Frenchwoman! She even said “Bonjour”.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll get another chance with her now though—’
Ota gripped Nagumo’s arm. ‘Don’t even think it! You’ll be hanged for rape!’
‘Balls!’ Nagumo scoffed. ‘Not even the British would give me the drop for having a screw!’ He looked quickly at Ota, ‘Would they?’
‘They’ve won, they can do whatever they like,’ Ota replied sharply. ‘And the Dutch will also want revenge. Keep your head down and don’t give them any excuses!’ He paused, his voice calmer now, ‘And something else… Please, watch out for Kate.’
Nagumo nodded slowly. ‘If I’m there….’
As Nagumo’s platoon passed, several of Ota’s men called out, joking and waving at their comrades. Nagumo went by, saluting from in the half-track.
His mind only on Kate, Ota stepped further into the road, watching the column head off. He did not see the dark blue Plymouth PJ convertible until it was almost upon him. Ota sprang back as the car screeched to a halt a few feet away. Four Japanese officers were inside. He saluted automatically. Three of the four returned it. One did not. Ota recognised him and tensed.
Shirai was watching him with a half-amused, half-challenging look. ‘So Ota, you’ve chosen dishonour after all.’
Slowly Ota glanced around him but saw his men were out of earshot and none was aware of anything unusual. ‘I obeyed the Emperor, Captain,’ he replied calmly. He saw Shirai and the others were wearing the uniforms of engineers. He understood why. The British were allowing Japanese technicians to move between pump and power stations without restriction in order to keep the electricity and water utilities functioning. Shirai’s car had simply tagged on to the column to pass through the checkpoints unhindered.