“Heisha,” Gunny said again. He took me by the arm and tried to step around the guard, as if we were on our way to the barracks. But Scarface had other ideas. He stepped in front of Gunny and gave him a hard shove backward with his rifle.
“Yameru!” he yelled.
“I don’t know what you mean, you little—”
Gunny never got to finish, because Scarface drove the butt of his rifle hard into his stomach. Gunny went down, landing on his hands and knees in the dirt. He sucked in a huge gasping breath as he tried to recover from the blow.
“Stop it,” I said and stepped forward.
“No! Tree! Dang it. You stand down. That’s an order, ya dumb Devil Dog.”
Slowly, Gunny climbed to his feet. “Heisha,” he said again, pointing to the two of them. Scarface shouted something loudly in Japanese and reared back with his rifle. But this time Gunny was ready for him.
As the rifle whistled toward him, Gunny caught it by the stock. Scarface could not keep the surprise out of his eyes. Gunny’s giant hands quickly twisted the rifle away from the guard and flipped it in the air. It landed a good ten yards away, skittering across the hard ground and kicking up dust.
A wave of emotions washed over the guard’s face. In seconds he went from shock and surprise to anger and rage as his eyes grew to the size of melons. He produced a whistle from his pocket and blew three sharp blasts. Then he pulled a wooden club from the holder on his belt.
Gunny raised his hands. “Heisha,” he said. “We go heisha.”
Scarface answered by swinging the club. Gunny blocked it with his arm. There was a loud crack, and I couldn’t tell if the club or Gunny’s thick, muscled arm had broken. I couldn’t let him suffer on my account. I took a step toward them.
“Stand down, Tree!” Gunny yelled. “Don’t lift a finger. Understand?” Before I had a chance to do anything, three other guards rushed in. One held me at bay with his rifle while the other two helped club Gunny into submission. Gunny cursed them with each blow.
“Come on, you bunch of cowards! My little sister hits harder’n that!” He egged them on until finally one of the guards kicked him in the jaw and he fell into the dirt unconscious.
As the fight unfolded in front of me, I yelled at them to stop and tried to get past the guard with the rifle to come to Gunny’s defense. The soldier yelled at me in a high-pitched voiced as he brandished the gun back and forth, countering every move I made.
“Gunny!” I shouted. “Get up! You got to get up!”
But Gunny remained motionless, curled up in the dirt, not moving. His face and arms were bleeding.
All I could do was stand by helplessly while Scarface and two of the guards dragged Gunny’s unconscious body away.
“Where are you taking him?” I yelled at the rifle-wielding guard. The man wore glasses and a Japanese infantry uniform. All he did was jabber at me in rapid-fire Japanese. I didn’t have a clue what he was saying.
“Heisha,” he finally said, gesturing with his rifle. “Heisha! Heisha!” I took it to mean he wanted me to return to the barracks now. The three guards dragging Gunny’s unconscious body had disappeared among the rows of tents and barracks. Where had they taken him?
“Heisha!” the guard said again, drawing me out of my temporary reverie. And this time he was serious—he slid back the rifle bolt, and I heard the distinctive sound of the cartridge clicking into the magazine.
“All right! All right!” I said as the guard prodded me toward the barracks. As we walked, the guard kept poking me in the back with the rifle to keep me moving. “Keep it up, you little toad,” I muttered.
Something had come over me. Watching Gunny being beaten had woken me up. I remembered what he told me. Do whatever it takes to survive. I could hear Gunny’s words echoing in my head over and over. Dig deep. I’d dig deep, all right. The next guard that laid a hand on one of my friends was going to get a quick lesson in what was what, if I had anything to say about it.
Finally we arrived at our barracks. The guard’s parting gesture—a blow to the back with the rifle—sent me sprawling onto the floor. The prisoners who witnessed the move said nothing. None of them wanted to invite trouble.
Once the guard was gone, I slowly stood and picked my way through the prisoners lying on the floor until I found Jamison. Jams was still in bad shape, but his face looked better, and some of the cuts and bruises were healing. He was lying on his side, facing the wall.
“Jams,” I said, gently shaking him. “Jams, wake up. We got a problem.”
Jamison came awake with a scream. Like he was emerging from a horrible nightmare.
“What is it?” he sputtered. “Holy Moses, Tree. You scared the tar out of me. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Gunny,” I said. “They took him.”
“Slow down, Tree.” Jamison winced as he sat up and leaned against the barracks wall. “Who took him? Where did they take him?”
“The guards. The one I call Scarface, who killed the pilot on the march. Gunny just tried to get him to let us pass, but he wouldn’t. He started beating Gunny real bad, but Gunny ordered me not to interfere. Then some other guards came, and they knocked Gunny unconscious and dragged him off somewhere. I’m afraid they’re gonna kill him, Jams. We’ve got to do something.”
“Stop a second, Tree. I know yer upset. But slow down. Take a breath. You gotta think about our tactical situation here. We don’t know where they’re holding him. He could be tied to a post somewhere. Or I heard they’ve got guardhouses on the other side of camp. That’d be my bet. If Gunny’s still alive, they’ll wanna work ’em over real good. Teach him a lesson. Can’t tell ya how much I hate the little skunks.” Jamison went on with several more colorful descriptions of the Japanese guards. Then he paused and winced again as he tried to adjust his leg to a more comfortable position.
“But Tree, there’s you and me. So far we ain’t found nobody else in this camp from the 15th that even knows Gunny. Sully and the others seem like good guys, but I doubt they want to risk anything for somebody they don’t know all that well. And look at me. I can’t even walk. I don’t know what else to do except hope and pray that Gunny makes it through. You’ve seen him, Tree. He’s the toughest noncom in the Corps. The man is built like an oak stump. I don’t think there’s a soldier in the entire Imperial Japanese Army that could take him. Gunny ain’t gonna give ’em no satisfaction.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I said. “Gunny will just keep on goading them until they kill him.”
“Tree, I ain’t gonna lie to you. Not after all we’ve been through together. You may be right. Gunny is gonna die on his feet before he lives on his knees, that’s a lead-pipe cinch. But if he does go out, he goes out believin’ in what he done. I wish I could help. I really do. But the opposition army has done a number on me. I can barely stand up. I ain’t no good to you or Gunny right now. And you know I’d be right beside ya if I thought we had a chance to help him. But right now, I think all we can do is wait, and hope and pray for the best.”
I heard what Jams was saying and knew he was right. But the thought of Gunny being starved or tortured somewhere was more than I could take.
“Don’t worry, Jams. I know you’re hurt bad. And I know that Gunny means as much to you as he does me. But I gotta do something. I at least need to know where he is. Then I’ll figure out what I can do to get him back. Maybe I can bribe a guard to help.”
Jamison looked at me in disbelief. “Henry, I know you’re upset. But have you looked around at our situation? We ain’t exactly flush. What are you gonna bribe a guard with? Sweat?”
I thought a minute. All we had was the canteen and the ragged clothes on our backs. But I had an idea. I knew who might be able to help me find out where Gunny was. And even more important, they might be able to arrange a way to spring him free.
“You’re right, Jams. I don’t have anything worth trading. But I know some guys who do. And as it turns out, they seem to like helping me ou
t.”
“What are you talkin’ about, Tree? You ain’t makin’ no sense,” Jamison said.
“I made some friends while you were laid up. And something tells me they’ll be more than happy to help.”
“Slow down now, bloke,” Sergeant Martin said. “Tell me again exactly what happened.”
I was in the Aussie barracks, huddled in a corner with Sergeant Martin, Willy, and Davis. Davis stood with his gigantic arms crossed. Just the look on his face gave me the heebie-jeebies. Back home I used to read comic books like Amazing Stories and Terrifying Tales, and sometimes they had stories about robots from other planets. I loved reading them, and now Davis reminded me of one of those robots. I wasn’t sure I’d heard Davis speak a single word. He seemed like a machine.
“They beat him up real bad, Sergeant Martin,” I said. “Gunny is tough. He’s like a piece of iron, and he’s got a Marine’s mind. But a man can only take so much. They wouldn’t stop wailing on him, and then they dragged him off. I need to find out where they’re keeping him, and see if there’s a way to get him out.”
Martin was quiet for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. “All right, Henry,” he said. “First things first. We find out where he his.”
He stood up, and I was again taken aback by the man’s size.
“2nd! Listen up,” Martin called. “We got us a Yank NCO who at this very moment is being horribly mistreated by our enemies. Every able-bodied man in the barracks scour the camp. Find out where they’re keeping him. Move out.”
Without hesitation, about a dozen men left the barracks and spread out.
“Nothing to do now but wait,” Martin said.
“What happened to that guy Smitty, the one you put in the cage instead of me?” I asked.
A hand reached out and clapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and nearly jumped with joy to see Smitty’s face smiling down at me.
“Hello, mate,” Smitty said.
“Hey there!” I said, standing up. “Are you okay?”
Smitty stooped a little and moved slowly, but otherwise he looked to be in remarkably good shape.
“How did you get out?” I asked.
“Oh, it wasn’t too bad,” Smitty said. “Worst part was the blowies and bities swarming in at night and treating ole Smitty like he was a living, breathing chow line. Some guard let me out this morning. Just opened up the cage and walked away. So I made tracks back here right away afore he changed his mind. Corpsman Howard got me patched up and none the worse. Everything worked out. Just like we said.”
“I’m glad you’re all right,” I said.
“Bah. Weren’t nothing compared to what you did for Sergeant Martin there, laddie. You could have gotten yourself skewered like a shrimp. I only took a nap in a box. It’s a fair trade.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And don’t you worry about Gunny. Sergeant Martin is the best animal in the entire AIF. We’ll find your mate, and we’ll come up with a way to get him out,” Smitty said.
I must have had a look of complete confusion on my face.
“Something wrong, Henry?” Willy asked.
“No … I … just … I don’t have any idea what Smitty just said,” I confessed.
The Aussies laughed and laughed. All of them clapped me on the back.
“What he means is Sergeant Martin here is the best noncom in the 2nd Australian Imperial Force. When an Aussie is servin’ with a right good sergeant like Marty here, you call ’em an animal. It’s a compliment, is what it is. And Sergeant Martin here is a beaut. He’ll figure out a way to get your animal back,” Willy said.
“I feel like I should go out and search for Gunny, too,” I said.
“Private, you don’t answer to me,” Sergeant Martin said. “But I think that’s a bad idea. That bloke you call Scarface has a talent for showing up in the most unexpected places. And when he does, he takes a bloody instant dislike to you. You sit tight. My men are combing this camp right now. We’ve already got eyes and ears in a lot of places around here. We’ll come up with his location in short order.”
Part of me thought Sergeant Martin made a lot of sense. So far every time I’d run into Scarface all I’d done was get the daylights beaten out of me. Maybe sitting tight was a good idea. But the other part of me knew Gunny was out there and I should be doing something to get him back.
I stood up and paced back and forth.
“I don’t know. Poor Gunny is out there suffering who knows what on account of me.”
“Just by watching you, I can tell a lot about this Gunny of yours,” Sergeant Martin said. “You’re willing to risk your life to save him. That says a lot about a man.”
“Your men were willing to do the same for you,” I said.
“True. I try to treat my men well. Make sure they get trained. Get the supplies they need. Make fair decisions for them. But even doing all that don’t always win you loyalty.”
“They seem pretty loyal to you, Sergeant,” I said.
“I suppose they are. But you got something different here, Henry. A different kind of loyalty, the rare kind. What makes you willing to die for this man?”
I was quiet for a moment. A hot breeze picked up and blew through the barracks. Flies buzzed around some of the sick and wounded. Sergeant Martin had eyes as blue as ice. He waited.
“Next to my grandfather, Gunny was maybe the first person in my life who never made me feel like I was a burden to them.”
Sergeant Martin looked taken aback. He considered my words for a moment.
“What about your mum and pops?”
“My mother died when I was seven. My dad … he … changed after she died.”
“Ah,” Sergeant Martin said. He let the words sit for a moment.
“Let me guess,” he said. “After your mum died, he started drinking. Got angry at the world. When he was most angry, he took it out on your hide. ’Cause you reminded him of her. So he tuned ya up a time or two. And your grandpops tried but was too old or couldn’t control him. That about right?”
“Yes. Except it was more than a time or two. It got to be … a lot. How did you know?”
“Let’s just say you’re not the only one with that sad story to tell. So you didn’t see any way out except signing up to fight?”
“Yes.” For some reason, telling Sergeant Martin all this was making me feel lighter. Like I didn’t have to carry everything any more. I looked out into the camp. Then Sergeant Martin shocked me back to reality.
“How old are you, Henry, fourteen? Fifteen?”
My head snapped around, and I looked at Sergeant Martin with wide eyes.
“Why would you say something like that? I’m … of course … I’m … I couldn’t get in … I’m eighteen,” I stuttered, wondering if I could sound any less convincing.
“Sure you are. And I’m the prime minister of Australia.”
“No. It’s true. I swear. I’m eighteen. The Corps wouldn’t let me in if I was underage.”
“Really? You didn’t have a doctored-up piece a paper sayin’ you was born a few years earlier? You’re a good-sized bloke. Look older at first glance. But despite all that bruising and swelling, you got a baby face gives you straight away.”
“No disrespect, Sergeant, but you’re completely wrong.”
“You don’t need to lie to me, lad,” Sergeant Martin said.
“I’m not.”
“When Gunny came to get you, he was right mad. Yelling at you for risking your life. But every man here has risked his life. It didn’t make any sense to me. Not at first. Then he said something about you being ‘special,’ but he couldn’t say why. That got me wondering. Because excuse me for saying so, Henry, but you don’t seem special in no particular way that I can see. Aside from the fact you’re one brave Yank, saving my neck like you did. So I puzzled on it for a while. And that’s it. Gunny knows, don’t he? He’s been protecting you the whole time.”
I was quiet. Colonel Forsythe might have told Gu
nny or Jams they were shipping me out before the bombs started dropping. But if he had, Gunny’d never said anything about it to me.
From the very first day I met him, Gunny had looked out for me. He didn’t let me out of any duties or anything. But he made me a Marine. He was always checking and double-checking my gear. Teaching me how to shoot better on the range. I could still hear his voice: Aim small, miss small, Tree. And whether he knew for sure that I was underage or just guessed it, he never said anything about it and treated me like an adult.
Now Sergeant Martin had figured out my secret, too.
“Look, kid, you go on pretending you are who you say you are. For all I know you could be fourteen or eighty-seven. I’ll help you and go on helping you till it ain’t physically possible for me to help no more. We’re brothers, lad. Age don’t matter.”
So I told Sergeant Martin everything. When I got to the part about how the colonel had told me I was going home right as the bombs started dropping, Sergeant Martin laughed out loud.
“Sorry, mate,” he said, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “That has to be the worst case of bad luck I ever heard tell of.”
“Yeah, well, the Japanese sunk the ship I was supposed to leave on,” I said.
This brought another round of laughter from him.
“Lad, I have to say, that is rich,” he said as he finally got himself under control. “Don’t worry none, Henry, your secret is safe with me.”
He was still chuckling when Willy came rushing back into the barracks, sweating and out of breath.
“Good news,” he said, panting. “We know where your animal is, Henry.”
“He’s in one of the old officers’ quarters on the north end of camp,” Willy said, trying to catch his breath.
“How reliable is the intel, Willy?” Martin asked.
“As good as we can get,” he answered. “I talked to an American private who’s been working as an orderly in the compound over that way. When I described Gunny McAdams, he said he couldn’t be sure but there was an American sergeant in one of the rooms they’ve been using to interrogate prisoners. When I described him, he said this had to be the same bloke. Said the bush rats had worked the poor lad over good. I asked him was they any other American sergeants in that compound he knew of, and he said no. Gotta be your animal, Henry.”
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