Prisoner of War

by Michael P. Spradlin

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I almost wish they’d come back,” I said.

  Gunny raised his helmet and looked me straight in the eye.

  “Believe me, boy, that is one thing ya don’t want. Ever. Right now they’s doing the smart thing. They know they got us. Why get a bunch of their men killed if they don’t have to? They can drop bombs on us all day long. Make everybody as jumpy as a cat on roller skates. Old Yamamoto knows if reinforcements don’t get here, all they gotta do is wait. They skirmish. Get us shootin’ at their planes outta frustration, till we run out of ammo. Then they can walk right up the beach and all we’ll be able to do is chuck coconuts at ’em. If we ain’t ate all of ’em by then.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Gunny was quiet a minute. “We’re makin’ it out of here one of two ways. We’re either goin’ out feetfirst or wavin’ the white flag. And to tell ya true, I ain’t quite sure which way is best. The first way ain’t nobody got no control over. But the other … Ya gotta find a place way down deep in yer soul. A place ain’t nobody can go to but you. Not me, not Jamison, just you. And ya gotta make a promise when yer in that place to make it through whatever comes. No matter what happens to any other Devil Dogs stuck on this miserable patch of dirt. We’re facin’ an enemy that ain’t just fightin’ for land or rights or on account of we took somethin’ belonged to ’em. We’re fightin’ ’em because they hate us. And if we surrender they’s gonna hate us even more.”

  “What do you mean? Why would they hate us? If we surrender, don’t they win?”

  Gunny sat up and wiped his forehead with his arm. “With some other enemy maybe that’d be true. But the Japanese got a code. A buddy a mine worked maintenance with the Flyin’ Tigers over in China before this shootin’ match started. Says the Japanese don’t believe in surrender. Goes back to when they still had them samurai in the old days. It’s called Bushido, and one of the rules of the code is ‘no surrender.’ They fight to the death. And when an enemy surrenders, it means they’s less than human. Not worthy of honor or fair treatment or any of that other hooey. So if we surrender it’s gonna get way worse than anything you seen on the beach. We’ve all gotta find a way to live through it, kid. Promise me. No matter what happens, ya gotta find a way.”

  I gulped, and as hot as it was, felt myself sweating even more. “I will, Gunny, I pro—”

  I was interrupted by the abrupt return of Jamison. He came charging back into the foxhole, slid down the side of the sandbags, and landed in a heap.

  “Tell me ya found a boat, Jams,” Gunny said.

  Jamison could hardly breathe. He’d obviously been running for a while.

  “Word just came down, Gunny. Wainwright surrendered. We’re to lay down arms.”

  The order came down the line delivered in person by two ragged-looking officers, a colonel and a major, who moved from position to position, tank to tank, telling the soldiers we had officially surrendered.

  Before our captors arrived, we set to work destroying all of the weapons and anything of strategic value we could. Gunny stripped down the .50 cal and threw the parts into the ocean. Tank crews set their machines on fire and broke the treads. The antiaircraft guns were scuttled. We may not have been fighting anymore, but we weren’t going to allow the Japanese to use captured weapons.

  The spot where we were dug in—on the southern end of the Bataan Peninsula—was called Mariveles. At the appointed time of the official surrender, the Japanese Army appeared unbelievably quickly. It was almost as if they’d been hiding in the trees. We were ordered to fall out and form into ranks. Japanese soldiers moved through our lines, taking weapons and searching us for valuables. That was when the first trouble started.

  A Marine named Clarke, standing right in front of me, had a small Japanese flag in his pocket. The Japanese soldier searching him lost his mind when he found it. He drove the butt of his rifle hard into the Marine’s stomach. The Marine grunted in pain and collapsed in a heap. He choked and gasped, scarcely able to breathe.

  “NO!” I shouted, stepping forward to help him. As I did I found myself inches away from the Japanese soldier’s bayonet. I stopped, my eyes locked on the man holding my fate in his hands. The soldier was shouting at me in Japanese, a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

  “Tree,” Gunny said quietly. “I ain’t got the foggiest idea what he’s sayin’, but right now he’s in a bad mood. Clarke will be okay. So stand back up in ranks, at attention. Remember what I said. Steady now.”

  Slowly, I stood up and returned to attention. Clarke groaned and tried rising to his feet. As he did, the soldier kicked him in the ribs, and Clarke went down again. Every muscle in my body tensed. I wanted to hurt that guard. I wanted to hurt him bad.

  “Tree,” Gunny whispered. “He’s gonna be okay. I’m givin’ you an order not to interfere.”

  Gunny’s whispering drew the attention and ire of the Japanese soldier. He stepped over Clarke and got right up in Gunny’s face. He spoke rapid-fire Japanese. It was impossible to understand what the man was demanding of us. But he clearly did not like us talking to each other. He finished his tirade and looked at Gunny as if waiting for an answer. When Gunny remained silent, he screamed the same words again. It must have been a question.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Jack McAdams, serial number 040 187 0646,” Gunny replied. Since basic training, we had been instructed to only give our name, rank, and serial number if we were ever captured. This was not what the Japanese soldier wanted to hear. His face turned red, and now his nose was inches away from Gunny’s. Anger and rage filled his voice as he shouted at the sergeant again.

  “I don’t got the slightest idea what yer sayin’, ya little pigheaded pile a dung,” Gunny muttered. He kept his face impassive, not making eye contact with the man. The soldier thrust his hands into the pockets of Gunny’s fatigues. He pulled out some cash and pocketed it. He tapped the other pocket with his bayonet and yelled something again.

  Gunny understood then and emptied his pockets. He had a lighter, a letter from home, and a handkerchief. I breathed a sigh of relief that there were no Japanese items in his pockets.

  My relief was short-lived. The Japanese soldier turned his attention to me next. I don’t have anything in my pockets. I should—

  The blow came without warning. The rifle connected with the left side of my jaw. The pain felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my brain. I tasted blood in my mouth and sank to my knees. My eyes rolled up in my head, and I thought I might pass out. I heard Gunny cursing the Japanese soldier, who yelled and brandished his bayonet, preventing Gunny from coming to my aid.

  “No … Gunny … ” I mumbled. My mouth felt like it was full of marbles. My head sagged, and the world spun around me. I don’t know how I managed to remain upright. Slowly I rose to one knee and then struggled back to a standing position. Woozy and dizzy, I wobbled until I could control myself enough to stand still.

  “You okay, kid?” Gunny asked.

  “Yeasth … I’m … all … fline,” I said. My words were slurred, and my jaw was swelling. It took every bit of concentration and strength I had to keep standing. Don’t give in, Henry. Stand up. Push the pain down inside. Gingerly I straightened further and returned to attention. Blood was filling my mouth, and some of it leaked out of the corner of my lips. Dizziness washed over me again and I was sure I was going to fall, but somehow I held on.

  The Japanese soldier moved on to the man next to me. He was a member of the 173rd Fighter Squadron. I’d seen him around. He was a tall, blond, blue-eyed kid from Oklahoma. Baker or Baxter … or Banner. Banner was his name. A few years older than me, he was a quiet, keep-to-himself type.

  Ever since we’d arrived in Bataan, all the battalions, regiments, and other units had been messed up. There were so many men killed and wounded, command tried mixing everybody together to make up some semblance of a fighting force. We were all on the same side, but unless you were able to stay with members of your
original unit, like I’d gotten to with Gunny and Jams, it was hard to get to know each other well with everyone being moved around and reassigned all the time. In a lot of cases, you ended up fighting alongside guys you didn’t know.

  The Japanese soldier was searching Banner. He took money, a small Bible, and a St. Christopher’s medal from the pocket of Banner’s fatigues. The Japanese soldier dropped the Bible and medal on the ground and stomped on them, grinding them into the dirt.

  The Japanese guard was about to move on when he spied something sticking out of the pilot’s blouse pocket. He roughly removed it and found another small Japanese flag. It was torn and covered in bloodstains. At the sight of it, he lost all control. He shouted at Banner, waving the flag in front of his face. Banner remained silent, but he was trembling. The soldier thrust the butt of his rifle straight into Banner’s chin, and he fell to the ground. Then the rifle swung again, connecting with the back of Banner’s head with a sickening thud.

  I tensed, my muscles coiled. I would rather go down fighting than watch the Japanese beat my fellow soldiers senseless. Just as I was about to spring, Gunny took hold of my arm. It felt like a bear trap had closed over it. I couldn’t move if I wanted to.

  “Tree!” he whispered. “At ease, Marine. Don’t move a muscle. That’s an order, ya understand me?”

  Hearing us, our tormentor spun, holding the rifle at his waist, the metal bayonet gleaming in the sun. He shouted at us, waving it back and forth.

  “I’m gonna turn you loose. But don’t move. I mean it, Tree,” Gunny said.

  I relaxed, and Gunny released his grip. I tried not looking at the Japanese soldier holding the rifle. I couldn’t fathom how someone could be so full of hate. This guy seemed worse than my father. At least my dad didn’t get this mean until he got all liquored up. I tried not looking at this hate-filled man, but I couldn’t stop staring.

  Though Gunny was standing right next to me, his voice sounded far away. “Tree! Quit starin’ at the little weasel.”

  The Japanese soldier smiled at me. It was an angry, vicious smile. His teeth were crooked, and he had a long scar along his right cheek. All right, Scarface, I thought. You win this round. I turned and tried focusing on something in the distance.

  It was almost like the soldier could read my mind. He spat at me and pivoted back to Banner, who still lay on the ground. He raised his rifle, then drove the bayonet through Banner’s back.

  This time not even Gunny could stop me. “Noooo!” I screamed.

  I flew through the air, colliding with the soldier, and we both tumbled to the ground. The guard couldn’t free the bayonet from the body, but he was a slippery snake. One minute I was on top of him, raising my fist to punch him in the head. The next, he flipped me over him with his legs, quick as a cobra. He was stronger than he looked. I landed hard on my head and chest, rolled over, and jumped to my feet.

  Now the soldier had the rifle back. He charged at me, and I sidestepped him. I could hear Gunny yelling at me to stand down, but the soldier had a mind to kill me. I grabbed the barrel of his gun and we struggled, until he was able to jerk away from me. Then he reared back and cracked me hard on the side of the head with his rifle.

  That was the last clear memory I had for quite a while.

  My eyes fluttered as I came to. Gunny was leaning over me. “Tree … Tree … Can you hear me, boy?” he said. He gently slapped my cheek. “Come on now. I need ya to wake up, son. Let’s go.”

  My eyes finally opened, but I shut them immediately. I couldn’t focus, and they rolled up in my head. I almost vomited. My jaw and the entire side of my head throbbed with each heartbeat. It was impossible to tell if I was lying on the ground or sitting up. The world seemed upside down.

  “Tree, c’mon now, boy. Ya in there?” I felt water on my lips. As if it had a mind of its own, my tongue darted out of my swollen lips and slurped at the water. It felt like heaven in my mouth, and I gulped it down.

  “Attaboy. C’mon, wake up now.” I heard a clicking sound. Opening my eyes let in too much sunlight, making me squint. But Gunny was snapping his fingers in my face.

  “Wha … happen … ?” I muttered. My tongue felt thick and awkward, and speaking was difficult. My head throbbed, and blood thundered in my ears.

  “What do ya remember?” Gunny asked.

  “Whew … ” I said, exhaling. “I don’t remember … any … Where’s Jamison?”

  “I don’t know,” Gunny said. He was holding my eyelids open and checking my pupils. “I hope ya ain’t got a concussion. That was one stupid move, going all ninja on that duly authorized representative of the Imperial Japanese Army the way ya did.”

  One sliver of memory came flooding back. The Japanese soldier stabbed Banner in the back, and I jumped him. Everything after that was gone.

  “What happened?”

  “What happened? What happened, Private, is first ya disobeyed my direct order to stand down. Second, as a result of that insubordination, ya got the livin’ tar beat outta ya,” Gunny said. “I ain’t never seen a body do somethin’ so stupid. Yer lucky to be alive. It took every ounce of convincin’ I had in me to keep ’em from killin’ ya. The next time I give an order, ya better follow it.”

  I opened my eyes a little further. I was leaning against a palm tree. Gunny held out the canteen, and I drank deeply. “Hold up there,” Gunny said, pulling the water away. “I know yer thirsty, but our new friends here don’t seem all that hospitable. So we better save as much water as we can.”

  “Where’s Jamison?” I asked again.

  “I don’t know, Tree. They separated us into a bunch a different groups. Everybody got moved around. Wherever he is, he’s probably fine. Jams knows what’s what. He’ll be okay. Turns out it’s you we gotta watch out for.”

  “I’m fine, Gunny. Really. We need to go find Ja—” I tried standing up and would have keeled over if Gunny hadn’t caught me. My vision spun again, and Gunny gently lowered me to the ground.

  “We ain’t goin’ nowhere till ya come back to yer senses,” Gunny said. I glanced around. Everywhere I looked, American and Filipino prisoners sat on the ground. Around us, Japanese soldiers stood every few yards with their weapons at the ready.

  “What do you think is gonna happen?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. Right now I’m just hopin’ they don’t shoot us,” Gunny answered.

  “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

  “Ya see what they done to that pilot next to ya? Why wouldn’t they do the same to us? Be a whole lot less trouble for ’em.”

  I had never considered that. The image of Banner being stabbed in the back was slowly returning to me. Maybe Gunny was right. Maybe our enemies didn’t follow the rules. I scanned the faces of the Japanese guards. All of them looked tense and angry.

  “But you must have some idea, Gunny?”

  “Well, it’s clear to me yer feeling better on account of how ya won’t quit with the questions. I ain’t got a clue what they got planned for us. Maybe when they find out I’m an actual gunnery sergeant, they’ll take me into their confidence and I’ll be able to fill ya in.”

  For hours we sat in the hot sun. Whenever the men grouped together, the Japanese soldiers would separate them, prodding them with their rifles and bayonets, keeping the prisoners spread out. Some of the guards were rougher than the others. Men sitting quietly were unexpectedly and without warning beaten with rifles or wooden rods for no reason that I could see. Luckily me and Gunny were in the middle of the group, next to a palm tree. None of the guards paid us any attention. I wondered what happened to the one who had killed Banner. I tried, but I could barely remember his face. A scar. He had a scar. And crooked teeth. Scarface. That was all I could recall through the haze. I didn’t see him anywhere nearby. Hope he didn’t hurt anybody else, I thought.

  As my senses slowly returned, I scanned the crowd hoping to see Jamison, but could not locate him in the teeming mass of men. With nothing else to do but think, I was
reminded again of all the reasons why I wished I’d never come to the Philippines. The air was thick with humidity, like a wet blanket constantly covering us. The breeze was miserably hot, and were it not for the pitiful shade of the palm tree, the sun would set our skin to sizzling like bacon on a grill.

  But I’d made my choice when I lied and joined up. The Marine Corps was not a democracy. You got sent where you got sent. Right now, despite the unrelenting brightness of the sun, it felt as if I were in the darkest corner of the world.

  I dozed with my back to the tree and had no idea how much time had passed. It must’ve been a few hours later when a Japanese staff car arrived, followed by a small convoy of trucks filled with more Japanese soldiers. An officer emerged from the back of the car. He was dressed in an immaculate uniform, carrying a riding crop in his hand and wearing knee-high leather boots.

  The guards herded us prisoners toward the car. The officer was there to speak to us and wanted to be sure he was heard. Me and Gunny rose to our feet. I was still wobbly and unsteady. Gunny took me by the arm to keep me from pitching over.

  When the officer was satisfied everyone was within hearing distance, he smacked the riding crop into his open hand. He stared at the assembly of prisoners, his gaze traveling slowly over us, his face a mask of contempt. He looked arrogant and mean. The man unnerved me a little bit.

  It shocked all of us when he spoke in perfect English.

  “My name is Major Sato of the Imperial Japanese Army. You are our prisoners. It is only through the generosity of His Holiness the Emperor that you are not lying dead on the field of battle. Through his graciousness, you will be treated fairly and humanely as long as you follow the commands that we, his servants, make on his behalf. Disobeying us is disobeying the emperor, and is punishable by death. You are captives. You do not have rights. Some of your officers have complained to me that your treatment is a violation of the Geneva Convention on the rules of war. I am here to tell you that the Empire of Japan is greater than all other nations. We do not recognize the Geneva Convention, nor are we bound by it. The only rules to be followed are the ones we decide. If you comply, you have nothing to fear. If you do not … ” He let his words trail off.