“Start over,” the Swiss ordered. “Let's go!”
The wind was starting to bend the treetops. A high layer of white clouds rolled west, blocking the sun.
Four times we beat the dogs with the sacks, and all the while the handlers watched unmoving from the shadows. Only when the dogs began to grow hoarse did the Swiss call us off.
I was cold with sweat, my hands raw from the sandpapery burlap.
“That was good work,” he said. “I know you didn't like it, but you did well.”
He glanced up at the swaying trees. “I think the weather is about to change for the worse. You'd better get back to your boat. Next time we do this it will be more dangerous. You'll have protection, of course, but it's never really safe. Remember always that the dog is made to fight and to kill. Mercy is not in him when he's in battle. To him it's win or lose. There's no middle ground.”
On the way back to the boat, the wind grew stronger. The sky darkened and the light began to fail. The Sugar Babe bobbed on the water where we'd left it, with whitecaps like shattered glass tossed over the gulf beyond.
Leroy stood with legs spread on the bow, motioning for us to hurry up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, but the wind stole the words right out of his mouth.
Through the night the winds howled in the sea grass, rattling the windows of our creaky barrack. The few minutes I did manage to sleep were mangled by dreams of whips and snarling dogs. My sweaty sheets were twisted up like rope when dawn finally broke.
And still, the wind screamed and the windows rattled.
Amazingly, the supply boat showed up.
That skipper has a stomach of steel, I thought.
Seven of us ran out to meet him at the pier. We leaned into the wind, hands up to protect our faces against the fine grains of sand that hit like flying pins.
But the skipper refused to dock. He stood a ways out, appearing and disappearing in the rise and fall of the sea swells.
He waved, motioning for us to go around to the other side of the island, where the wind might be less fierce. He'd get the supplies to us there.
“But how?” Shig said. “No pier there.”
“I think he wants us to row out to him,” Ricky Kondo said. “Shig, Cobra, Eddy, grab a rowboat. Carry it low so the wind won't yank it out of your hands. James, dig up some oars.”
The sea was more manageable on the south side.
Barely.
The supply boat clawed its way around the point and hove to about fifty yards out. We carried the rowboat into the water and launched it. “I'll row it out,” James said, rolling over into it. We gave him a shove.
He took some slams when the waves hit, but he made it through without capsizing. When he reached the supply boat, he turned and raised his arms. We cheered, then watched the skipper lower box after box of supplies, while James secured them in the rowboat.
When the supplies were loaded, James started back to shore. But now the rowboat was heavy. He had muscle, for sure, and he was truly an able-bodied seaman—but the wind blew him back, farther and farther away from the supply boat, and away from shore.
“He not going make it,” Shig shouted over the wind.
“Hey!” Cobra yelled, motioning to the skipper. “He needs help!”
But the skipper didn't respond.
“He's not going to do anything,” Ricky Kondo said.
We stood gawking. James hunched over the oars, going to Mexico…or to the bottom of the sea.
Slim ripped off his shirt and pants and ran into the cold water, ducking under the jagged waves and popping up on the back side.
He was the best swimmer of all of us, and reached the rowboat quickly, the wind at his back. James helped him aboard, the rowboat rising and falling, rising and falling.
They took turns rowing.
When the supply boat skipper saw that they were making headway back to the island, he throttled up and got out of there.
Waves battered the rowboat, nearly tipping it over a time or two. But Slim and James fought back.
We waded out as far as we could to help.
When we finally got our hands on the skiff, Slim slumped over the oars, unable to lift his weakened arms. James could barely dig out the bow line.
“We got it from here,” Cobra said. “You okay?”
“Fine,” James said, “but Slim needs a blanket, fast. He's turning blue.”
Slim stumbled out of the boat, shivering. Cobra helped him back to the barrack and got some hot water going. The rest of us took care of the supplies and the rowboat.
An hour later, we all fell onto our cots, blanketed in warmth, the woodstove snapping.
Slim slept the rest of that afternoon. What he'd done was the bravest thing I'd seen in the army so far. He could have drowned. He could've gone down with hypothermia.
Later that evening, with the wind still howling outside, I said, “What made you do it?”
Slim shrugged. “It was nothing. Any one of us would have done it. Anyway, we couldn't let James drift to Mexico and have all the fun, ah?”
James grinned. “Ay, chihuahua.”
A great gust whoomped against the barrack and rattled the windows. Cobra glanced at the exposed rafters. “We going lose this roof if this don't let up soon.”
“Man, I sure hope this don't turn into a hurricane,” Chik said.
Shig waved him off. “No worry, Chickaboom. If that happens, we just go inside that fort.”
We all nodded. Yeah, the fort's been here since old times, it will be here when the storm is over.
It was hard to sleep that night, thinking about hurricanes and waves washing over the island, the kind of thoughts that loom like red-eyed demons in the blackness of night.
Morning came with a heavy, steel gray sky. The ocean was rough, but the storm had definitely moved on.
Leroy didn't show.
Not for four more days.
So we went fishing and wrote letters. It was peaceful. And boring. Chik's nervous leg was bouncing all over the place. You could hear music inside him again, like the old days in Kaka'ako.
But all during that time I kept thinking about Slim, and how he hadn't even thought twice about helping James. We were supposed to be fighting for our country in this army, in this war. But here on this island we had to look out for ourselves, because for sure nobody else was.
When Leroy finally returned, I still wasn't ready. I would have done anything to get out of hitting those dogs again.
Anything.
Back on Cat Island, we slogged ashore and headed into the jungle. No chatter. Not a word. Even Chik was off in his head somewhere.
I stared at my feet as I walked, not thinking about snakes or alligators or anything else—only those burlap sacks.
Just before we got to the clearing, we stopped.
We couldn't even look at each other.
Ricky Kondo gave us a minute, then nodded.
The dogs jumped to their feet when we came into view. They knew us now. The enemy.
The Swiss came out of a large tent holding a steaming cup. “This way,” he said, motioning for us to walk toward him between the chained dogs.
We inched ahead. The dogs watched us, ears perked. Ready.
I tried not to look at them.
But that was impossible.
As we got closer, they started lunging and snapping their chains taut, straining, snarling, ready to rip through our thin pants and T-shirts. We no longer needed the burlap sacks.
In those dogs there wasn't even a trace of the family pets they used to be.
The Swiss took a sip from his cup, then nodded. “Good. We're ready to move on.”
Smith took me deep into the jungle.
Kooch kept a suspicious eye on me, but he seemed to have cooled his fire. He followed Smith, keeping to the left side.
We stopped at a small opening in the trees.
“Set here a minute,” Smith said.
We both eased down cross-legg
ed on the sand. Kooch settled next to Smith, panting. Just being a dog.
Smith picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers.
Then he looked up.
“What we're going to do today will be about as much fun as sticking your fist into a meat grinder, so pay attention—always, from now on, pay attention. This dog will rip you to shreds if you're not careful.”
Kooch stopped panting and looked off into the trees, hearing something no human could. A moment later, he relaxed and settled back down.
“You've got to know something important,” Smith went on, “and that is that a good dog—like Kooch here—when they fight, they fight to the end. They don't give in and they don't give up. He'll show you no mercy if he's mad enough. That's the way these animals are made.”
I winced, because I knew Smith was right. After whipping those dogs, what I needed now was a steel cage to hide in.
“If for some reason you fall or stumble, and I can't stop him, kneel over on the ground with your arms covering your head. If he gets to your neck it's all over. Do you understand that?”
I nodded, putting a hand to my throat.
“We got to do it this way. That's how this dog will learn to be the dog he has to be. He's going to be so well trained that no jungle Jap will ever sleep at night.”
I waited, my eyes down.
“I'm not going to let him hurt you, okay?”
I looked up, squinting. “That would be good.”
We stared at each other.
“All right,” he said. “We're going to start with the burlap sack and work our way up to the sleeve.”
“What's that?”
“Padding. You'll see. Just remember, this is dead serious work. You can't get complacent about any of it, so keep alert and stay ready.”
Smith stood and pulled a burlap sack out of his canvas bag and tossed it to me. “Knot up one end and grab it good and tight.”
I got up, knotted the sack, and gripped it like a whip.
Kooch stopped panting and clamped his jaw, his eyes on that sack. The hair on the back of his neck started to bristle.
“Hide the burlap on your far side,” Smith said. “It's what he perceives as the threat… for now.”
I quickly hid it behind me.
That seemed to settle Kooch. A little. But when I raised it a hair, he became instantly alert.
Smith switched to the leather collar.
Kooch got up and stood at Smith's side, never taking his eyes off me.
“Okay,” Smith said. “Dig in. Spread your feet apart and bend your knees. Left side toward me, the sack out of view.”
I got into position, ready as I could be, and glanced around for a tree I could run to if I needed to climb for my life. They were everywhere, but Kooch would be on me before I took two steps.
“All right, here's the plan. I want the dog thinking about you now, not the sack. It's all about you, the enemy. And we need to build his confidence by making you appear smaller. We want him to believe that even though you are a threat to him, you are fearful of him.”
That won't be hard, I thought.
It was easy enough to look fearful, but I couldn't be fearful, because if I was, and I did things wrong, I would get hurt.
Sweat rolled down my neck.
“Now, keeping that sack out of sight, I want you to back away into the trees. Wait there a minute, then come out. And when you do, you will be the enemy. Remember that. You're a Jap on some Pacific island, slinking around and trying to find and kill a U.S. soldier. Got that?”
I got it, all right. A Jap.
“You ever meet my CO, Smith?”
“What?”
“Major Parrish, you ever meet him?”
“Nope.”
“You should. He has a way that don't rub you wrong.”
Smith narrowed his eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“He don't call us Japs.”
“Listen, you…”
Before he could finish I backed into the trees.
When I couldn't see Smith, I stopped and waited, trying to calm down.
Through the leaves I could see Smith studying his feet and rubbing the back of his neck.
“All right,” he called, looking up. “Come out mean. Slink like a killer. Make a face only a mother could love, but don't look directly at the dog until I say so. As far as he can tell, you haven't noticed him yet.”
I took a deep breath, then crept out into the open, the sack hidden. To look mean I thought about the centipede boys on Coral Street in Kaka'ako. I knew how to make their stink looks. Yeah, I could do that.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Kooch drop his head low.
“He's just seen you,” Smith said. “Now turn toward him and freeze. And show him that you're scared of him. Remember, we're building his confidence.”
I stopped and stared at Kooch, then crouched and stepped backward.
“Okay, come forward again, slowly. If he leaps at you, back off. But come in again. Back off every time he challenges you, but keep on returning, closer and closer.”
I moved ahead.
Kooch growled. He jumped, jerking Smith forward.
I flew back.
Then came in again.
Kooch lunged.
I came back, again and again.
“Don't look at the dog,” Smith said. “You're afraid of him, not trying to intimidate him. Okay, good. This time, whip the sack to one side of him, and keep it low.”
I bent at the knee and stepped in, bringing the sack around. I snapped it back just as it touched his side.
Kooch went nuts.
I staggered away, my heart about to leap up into my throat.
Smith dug his heels into the sand and pulled back on the leash. “Good, good,” he said. “Perfect. Won't be long before he attacks you without that sack, and that's where we're going with this. Let's do it again.”
Two hours later, both of us dripping with sweat, Smith raised his hand. “The dog's losing interest. What do you say we call it a day, huh?”
Smith replaced the leather collar with the chain. I kept away from Kooch, though he didn't seem interested in me anymore.
We headed back through the jungle, Kooch just like somebody's pet again. But now I knew how easily that could change.
And how fast.
For three days, ten of us played the sneaky Jap—that's what Cobra's guy, Burns, called us. Shig, Chik, and Cobra all got dog bites, not bad ones, luckily. But what worried us was that those bites came while the dogs were on their leashes. What if they were ever loose? I asked Smith if that would ever happen.
“We're only getting started, Kubo,” he said. “We want them to take you down, and they'll be loose for that, count on it.”
Every day when Kooch and I faced each other I thought, This is for you, Pop. I'll do what I promised when I took that oath. The army is not going to crush me. I'll never give up.
One sweaty hot afternoon I was fishing off the pier with Shig and Cobra. The air was thick and smelled like seaweed.
“You know,” I said, “it's funny how one minute my dog don't care about me and the next he's ready to eat me for lunch. Off and on, like a switch. Your dogs like that, too?”
Shig nodded.
Cobra scowled. “We was having a nice, peaceful time. Now I got that in my head.”
“Sorry.”
“What, Cobra,” Shig said. “You not having fun?”
“Sure I'm having fun. You like see my bites? I wear them with pride. And I love it when those dogs show me how they going take my face off when they get loose. Who wouldn't like that? No, what I hate is how we always second-rate to the haoles, ah? We the dog bait, we the targets—not them. Always the Jap, ah?”
Shig and I nodded.
A silent moment went by.
“But we do it anyway,” I said.
“Orders,” Shig said. “We soldiers. But more important, we Japanese, and no matter which side of this wa
r you on, there ain't no Japanese anywhere going shame himself. That's just us, ah? Good or bad.”
Cobra spat. “It's good, every time it's good. But that don't mean I like being second-rate.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Next time we went to Cat Island, Burns, the handler Cobra worked with, was the lead guy. He towered over me at six foot six, with short red-brown hair and sleepy eyes. He had an anchor tattooed on his arm. Cobra said the guy was always talking about battleships and how he wished he'd joined the navy, where you ate like kings.
Burns was a good handler, though. He knew dogs.
We followed him into the jungle, six handlers, six dogs, three baits—me, Cobra, and PeeWee.
Burns brought along an attack suit, a great bulky thing he carried on his back. I would have laughed at the thought of PeeWee getting into it, because he wasn't even five feet tall. He'd get lost in there. But it wasn't funny, because if those dogs knocked him over they'd eat him alive. Why did Burns choose PeeWee for this? Maybe because PeeWee had good instincts—he knew what a dog would do even before the dog did. Still, small was small.
PeeWee whistled softly as we hiked into the jungle, the splinter scab on his cheek almost gone. Jeese, I thought, he's whistling. He has more guts than me right now.
We stopped in a big open space surrounded by trees, hazy in the heat.
“Hara,” Burns said. He couldn't pronounce Cobra's last name, Uehara. “Pick one of your buddies to go first.”
“I'll do it myself,” Cobra said.
Burns rubbed his jaw, nodding. “No, I want you to pick one of them.”
Cobra's jaw muscles rippled.
He pointed at me.
“You're up,” Burns said. “You two pay attention. You'll get your chance.”
Smith waited with the rest of the handlers. He wouldn't look at me. A chill spread through my body. I hated to be afraid. But fear came and went as it pleased.
I puffed out my cheeks and stepped forward.
Burns dumped the attack suit on the ground. “Let's get you into this.”
I stared at the suit. All that protection only meant one thing—I would need it. This was like making me jump into an ocean of barracudas.
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