Then spring arrived. That’s when everything changed.
American warplanes began firebombing Tokyo.
We were going to win the war.
For forty-eight straight hours the US dropped incendiary bombs all over the city. The flames devastated Tokyo. The bombing was unrelenting. The planes were big bombers we’d never seen before. They dove in over the city and dropped their payloads. Seconds later huge fireballs would bloom all over town.
The carnage was almost inconceivable. I couldn’t see it, but I knew tens of thousands of civilians were dying. The unmistakable smell of burning flesh wafted over the camp.
The bombing and burning continued until there wasn’t a building higher than two stories for as far as we could see. The Japanese had no air support, only antiaircraft guns. They managed to shoot down a few of the planes, but they couldn’t keep up with the bombardment.
They kept us working in the steel mill. But before long, the blazes started heading our way. The prison camp was down to a skeleton crew of guards. The others had all been sent off to fight the fires. And the remaining guards paid little attention to us. We had the run of the camp. One of the guys snuck into a storage shed and found Red Cross boxes full of food, cigarettes, aspirin, decks of cards, and books to read. It looked like the guards had already gone through the boxes and took out what they wanted. So we decided the rest was fair game.
We cleaned out that shed and hid the goods. Everybody in the camp got at least one can of Spam. The first bite tasted like an angel was dancing on my tongue. We had to eat it slow. Some guys couldn’t help themselves and wolfed it right down, which only meant it came right back up. Our systems couldn’t handle all that protein at once. But by the end of the night, it was all gone. We buried the cans so the guards wouldn’t find them.
The food and bombers seemed to snap Gunny out of his depression.
“Those have got to be the prettiest ugly planes I ever saw,” he said as another flight of bombers swooped over Tokyo. It wasn’t all elation, though. Every day the fire engulfing Tokyo burned, it grew closer to the mill. We could hear it creak and moan as the buildings around us collapsed. Finally, they shut the mill down. The next morning a bunch of trucks pulled up. The four remaining guards herded us into them. We guessed we’d gone about fifty miles before the trucks stopped in front of another work camp. They’d moved us to an iron mine closer to Nagasaki, and they wasted no time putting us to work.
“What do you suppose this place is, Gunny?”
“I reckon I don’t know, Tree. I expect it’s a big ole hole in the ground and they’re gonna request we dig somethin’ out of it.”
Civilians ran the mine, with guards as backup muscle. And by any standard they were worse than the guards at the mill. By then the news of the death and destruction in Tokyo had reached them, and they took out their anger and desire for revenge on us.
They would make us stand at attention for hours until we passed out. Our food was cut back from nothing to half of nothing. Maybe some grains or raw rice. When we walked from the camp to the mine every morning, women and children would line up to throw stones and hit us with sticks as we walked by.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, the bombings continued. If it wasn’t for the sheer excitement of watching American planes pound the country into rubble, the monotony might have killed us. Somehow a guy in camp got hold of a can of white paint. At night he climbed up on the roof of one of the barracks and painted POW in big, white letters. It came in real handy one evening when a bomber appeared on the horizon. It started to dive toward the compound. All of us jumped up and down waving our arms and yelling as if the pilot of one of those big planes could hear us.
At the last second the pilot must have spotted the painted sign, because he pulled up, wagged his wings, and flew off. A day later another plane flew over. The bomb doors opened, and a bunch of packages with tiny parachutes attached to them floated down from the sky. The Japanese mine foremen and the guards tried to stop us from getting them, but there were too many of us and too few of them. Some of the men took beatings, but they couldn’t stop all of us from getting our hands on the packages. We snatched them right out of the air, hustled through the camp, and hid the contents.
The boxes contained food and all kinds of supplies, like underwear and medicine. But the best part was the notes telling us to hold on, that help was on the way. There were also orders inside the boxes telling us not to take any chances. We were not to try to escape or overthrow the camps. The Japanese were on their last legs, and we should stay safe in our camps. They had identified the POW facilities and knew where we were. If we stayed in the camps, there was less chance we’d be injured or killed in a bombing run. They would continue regular supply drops. Those boxes were literal lifelines.
“I swear, Tree,” Gunny said as we devoured a can of peaches. “I think ya’ve gained weight. Couple weeks ago, when ya turned sideways and stuck out your tongue ya looked like a zipper.”
“You look better, too, Sarge.”
The planes kept dropping packages, infuriating the Japanese. Beatings became more frequent and more vicious. I could understand that they were sore they were losing the war. But I’d had just about enough of them taking it out on us. So during a routine beating for something I wasn’t even sure I’d done, I wrestled the pole away from a foreman and gave him a whipping, so he could see how it felt. The other foremen and two of the guards jumped into the fray and worked me over good. When they were done I could barely stand, but they ordered me down into the mine anyway.
The foremen had an office near the entrance to the mine. It had windows on all four sides. They sat in it all day monitoring the workers and counting the ore cars we pushed out of the tunnels. They had to be using the iron to manufacture weapons, but I couldn’t understand why they were even bothering. Their capital city was in ruins. They didn’t have enough planes or ships to wage war any longer. Why didn’t they throw in the towel and surrender?
My job that day was on the dynamite detail. We’d drill holes in the wall, put in a stick of dynamite, and light the fuse. Then we’d run away like a stampeding herd of horses. The explosion would blow pieces of the ore out of the tunnel walls, and then we’d pick up the chunks and put them in the cart. I could barely move when I lit the fuse on my first stick. I couldn’t run as fast as I needed to, and shrapnel from the explosion tore into my back and legs, knocking me to the ground. The pain was unbearable. I made it to my hands and knees and tried to stand up. I couldn’t.
A guard shouted at me. I believe he was telling me to get back to work, and he kicked me in the ribs.
“I don’t understand you. How’d you get that ugly face? I’ve seen cow dung prettier than you.”
I know he didn’t understand me, either, but I got another kick anyway.
I made it to my feet and staggered back down the tunnel. Then a thought hit me like a lightning bolt. The Japanese were losing the war. But despite the toll it was taking on their own people, they wouldn’t give up. They were going to keep fighting until the Allied forces invaded and killed them all.
I decided then that despite our orders, I was going to fight back. I’d had enough. Done enough. Been beaten and starved enough. Watched my friends die enough. So I didn’t care what kind of punishment I’d face. They could court-martial me if I survived the war. But that wouldn’t stop me. From now on I was going to give as good as I got.
Fighting through the pain, it took me a long time to fill the cart. When I’d finally managed it, another prisoner came and pushed it toward the exit. The guard stood a bit farther down the tunnel, and he wasn’t really paying attention. I positioned my body to block my hands from his line of vision, bent over the crate, and grabbed a stick of dynamite. I glanced over my shoulder, then took four more and stuffed them inside the waistband of my pants, pulling my shirt over them.
I didn’t want to draw attention for not working, so I cut a long piece of the detonat
or cord and jammed it into a hole in the tunnel wall. But while I pretended to be readying to blast the rock, I cut another length of cord and stuffed it in my underwear.
Over the next few days, I managed to get my hands on tape and a small detonator. I smuggled everything back to camp and hid it in our barracks. When I had everything I needed, I waited until late one night when Gunny was asleep to put my plan into action. I taped the dynamite together and inserted the det cord. With the makeshift bomb in one hand and the detonator in the other, I snuck out of the barracks and made my way to the gate. Unsurprisingly, no one was guarding. There were so few guards at this point that they just kept it locked with a chain and padlock.
I walked like an old man, doubled over and shuffling along, until I reached the last row of barracks and the gate beyond. There was no one about. As quickly as I could I crossed to the wooden gate. It was only a little over six feet high. The pain and soreness I felt from all the beatings made climbing difficult, and I worried a guard might wander by and spot me, but no one did. Finally I was on the other side.
Once over, I headed straight for the mine entrance. The office was dark. I walked around behind it so no one from the camp could see me. There were a lot of rocks and detritus around the office, which was perfect for me—no one would ever notice where I was planting the bomb. I scratched out a hole in the dirt for the dynamite and inserted the det cord. Then I found a small pile of rocks about two hundred feet away. It was big enough to provide me cover. I covered the cord with dirt and rocks and left the detonator buried in the rock pile. Now I just had to wait for the perfect moment to put my plan into action.
We’ll see who takes a beating now, I thought as I headed back to camp.
The next morning was gray and overcast. It started out like any other, but then something strange happened. We heard a big explosion to the east. Bigger than any we’d ever heard before. Despite how loud it was, it sounded far away. All of a sudden the guards and foremen got very agitated. They ordered us to work, but they were listening to a radio with real attention and horrified looks on their faces. They had removed their hats, and some of them were crying. Regardless, we still had to work.
Their strange behavior continued, and six days later, they were listening to the radio when an official address came over the airwaves. We went into the mine, but before long the whistle blew, which meant all workers were to report to the yard.
When we came out, one of the meanest foremen stood in front of us with an interpreter.
“We have been ordered by His Holiness the Emperor to inform all prisoners that the Empire of Japan has surrendered to the United States of America. Your occupying forces will be here in a few days. Until then, you are free to come and go as you please. We are to provide you with whatever assistance we are able,” the translator announced.
All the men were jumping and hollering and clapping each other on the back. Then they started to filter back toward the camp. A flight of bombers zoomed overhead wiggling their wings back and forth. I looked around for Gunny but couldn’t find him in the crowd. How was I supposed to feel? Part of me suspected this was all a trick.
As the rest of the men slowly made their way back to the camp, I trailed behind. I quickly glanced at the office to see the foremen and guards talking animatedly. It looked to me as if they were up to something.
I slipped from the pack of men and crossed toward the pile of rocks where I’d hidden the detonator. But when I snuck to the back of the pile, what I saw made me jump. There sat Gunny.
“Howdy, Tree,” he said. “You hear the news?”
“Yeah.”
“So what do ya think?”
“I’m not sure. I still feel like a prisoner. I think this could be some kind of trick to throw us off balance.”
“Hmm. Them bombers seemed to believe it. I think the war is over, Tree.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I lifted the detonator out of its hiding place and fastened the cord to it.
“Tree. Ya can’t. Do this thing and yer gonna regret it the rest of your life.”
“I doubt that.”
“Listen, Tree … ”
“No! You listen, Gunny! My whole life I’ve been kicked and beaten. I’m tired, Gunny. Tired of being scared. Tired of always being on the receiving end of whatever the guys in power want to shovel my way. The Japanese have treated us worse than dogs. And now they should reap what they sow.”
“Scared? Ya might of been a scared kid once upon a time, Tree. But ya ain’t no more. Ya fought like a demon the last four years. Ya stood up to them guards in Camp O’Donnell. Ya rescued me and saved Sergeant Martin. Whatever ya think about yerself is just wrong. Yer the bravest Marine I ever met.”
“No, all I’ve done is take a beating. But I’m done taking it. They have to pay for what they did.”
I knew Gunny understood, but that didn’t stop him from arguing with me. “These men ain’t your enemy no more. The war is over. I know you’re feelin’ angry. You want revenge. But ya still got a future, kid. And revenge won’t fill that hole ya got inside ya right now.”
“Gunny, you’ve been good to me. But I’m done listening to you. I’m doing this.”
“No, you ain’t. Give me the detonator, Tree. I’m orderin’ ya.”
“No.”
“Ya disobeying a direct order?”
“Yes.”
“So I gotta bring you up on charges?”
“I guess so, Gunny.”
He looked down at the ground for a while, his arms resting on his elbows. With a deep sigh he looked up at me. There was a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen since before the surrender.
“Give me the detonator, Tree.”
I looked down at the tiny little instrument in my hand. I was amazed at how such small things could kill so many people. I sighed and handed the detonator to Gunny.
“That’s good, son,” he said. Then he pushed the plunger on the detonator. The explosion was loud, and the shock wave drove me to my knees. It was good we were behind the rock pile or I might have literally lost my head. I stepped up and peered over. There was nothing left of the office. It was a pile of rubble.
I looked at Gunny. “What? Why did you do it?”
Gunny slowly rose to his feet. “I can carry it. You can’t. Before ya got here, them guards carried two heavy machine guns into the office. I reckon they were plannin’ to gun us all down before they took off. I won’t lose a night’s sleep. Because you’re right, they oughta answer for their sins. There’s evil in the world, Tree. And when you find it, you gotta be the one to stand up and put it down like a rabid dog. And once it’s down, ya gotta make sure it don’t ever get up again.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “What say we figure out a way to get home?”
American troops arrived a couple of days after the surrender. The remaining guards and most of the civilians in the area had disappeared. Eventually we were evacuated to a hospital ship, where our wounds were treated and officers debriefed us. But after all of the official stuff was taken care of, we had a lot of time to reflect. The orderlies caught us up on everything that had happened in the world and the war for the last four years. We learned the loud boom we’d heard just days earlier had been the atomic bomb dropping on Nagasaki. It took some time to wrap our minds around it. One month later I was back in Duluth.
When I got to the farm, the house was all closed up. The outbuildings were boarded over, and there was a note on the door from the Millers, who lived down the road. A cab had dropped me off, so I walked over to their place. I’d been fed and medicated on the ship, and had even managed to gain a little weight. I was feeling stronger than I had in ages. It felt good to walk in the cool, brisk air.
Mr. Miller answered the door. Seeing his blond hair, glasses, and weathered face was like a confirmation I was really home and not dreaming. It was around lunchtime, or he would have been out in the fields. Mrs. Miller was a plump, small woman, and her gray hair was pulled up in a bun. She rushed toward me.
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“Oh, Henry, you poor, poor boy,” she said as she held my face in her hands. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it.
“I’m okay, Mrs. Miller. Really, I am.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I’ll bet you haven’t had a home-cooked meal in … ” She stopped and hurried about the kitchen, gathering me a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, sauerkraut, and a huge slice of chocolate cake for dessert. It was the best meal I’d ever had.
“What happened at our place?” I asked Mr. Miller between bites. “Why is it all closed up? Where’s my father and my grandfather?”
Mr. Miller was quiet and looked out the window a minute. Mrs. Miller just looked down at the table.
“I’m afraid your grandfather passed away two years ago,” Mr. Miller finally said. “When you’d been missing a while, he told your father what you’d done. Run off and joined the Marines. And it was clear to everyone around that nobody blamed you for leaving. When your pa found out you’d been captured, he just quit. Moved into town and … ”
“What? It’s okay, Mr. Miller, you can tell me.”
“I’m sorry, boy. He deeded over your property to me. Now he sits in Spence’s all day drinking. He doesn’t … I’m sorry, lad.”
I tried to take it all in. It was a lot to wrap my head around all at once.
“I’ve been trying to take care of the place best I can, but since Jeb still isn’t back from Europe, it got to be too much upkeep for me, so I sold your livestock.” He reached over to a small drawer in their kitchen and removed an envelope. “Here is the money. I got a pretty fair price.”
He shoved the envelope across the table toward me. I tried to push it back.
“You deserve to be paid for what you did, taking care of things.”
“Henry. Son. You are not leaving this house without that money.”
I put the envelope in my pocket. “Thank you, sir.”
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