The moral fiber shown by these 'badhats' was so moving that Clipton sometimes found himself in tears. He was amazed to see them take such punishment. There was always at least one of them who, when he was alone with him, would find the strength to sit up with a cheerful grin and whisper a few words in a language that was gradually gaining currency among all the prisoners in Burma and Siam:
"The bloody bridge still isn't built. The bloody Emperor's bloody railway still hasn't got across the bloody river in this bloody country. The bloody C.O.'s right; he knows what he's talking about. If you see him, tell him we're all for him. The bloody baboon hasn't heard the last of the bloody British army."
The most brutal forms of punishment had achieved so result at all. The men were used to them. The example set by Colonel Nicholson was a stimulant even stronger than the beer and whisky which they no longer had to drink. If one of them was ever punished beyond the limits of human endurance and could only go on working at the risk of his life, there was always another ready to relieve him. This was a recognized routine.
In Clipton's opinion, they were even more to be praised for refusing to be taken in by the mealy-mouthed promises which Saito made during those fits of depression when he realized he had exhausted every known form of torture and was incapable of inventing others.
One day he made them parade outside his office, having ordered them to stop work earlier than usual—so as not to overtire them, he explained. He issued them all rice cakes and fruit bought from the Siamese peasants in the nearest village—a gift from the Japanese army to spur them on to greater efforts. He abandoned all sense of shame and positively groveled in front of them. He prided himself, he told them, on being one of them, just an ordinary fellow whose only wish was to do his duty with as little fuss as possible. Their officers, he pointed out, were making them all work twice as hard by refusing to work themselves. So he fully understood how resentful they must feel, and did not hold it against them. On the contrary, in order to show his sympathy for them, he had on his own authority reduced the individual quota of work on the embankment. The engineer had fixed this as one and a half cubic yards of earth per man; well, he, Saito, had decided to make it one cubic yard. He was doing this because he felt sorry for them in their present condition, for which he himself was not to blame. He hoped that, in view of this kindly gesture, they would co-operate with him and speed up this easy work, which would help to bring the damn war to an end.
He was almost pleading with them by the time he had finished, but his prayers and entreaties had no more effect than his curses and blows. Next day the quota was fulfilled. Each man conscientiously dug up and carted off his cubic yard of earth; some even more. But the distance they carried it was an insult to the meanest intelligence.
Saito was the first to yield. He was at the end of his rope; the prisoners' sustained resistance had reduced him to a pitiful condition. He spent the days preceding his final downfall prowling about the camp with the same desperate look in his eyes as a beast at bay. He even went so far as to ask the youngest and least experienced lieutenants to choose for themselves what work they wanted to do, promising them special privileges and extra rations. But they all stood firm and, since a high-level Japanese inspection was imminent, he resigned himself to ignominious surrender.
He prepared to make one last desperate bid to "save face" and cover up his defeat, but this pathetic attempt did not even deceive his own men. December 7, 1942, being the anniversary of Japan's entry into the war, he announced that in honor of the occasion he had undertaken to grant a general amnesty. He had an interview with the Colonel and told him he had adopted a measure of extreme benevolence; all officers would henceforth be exempt from manual labor. In return for this, he trusted they would devote themselves to supervising their men's activity so as to ensure the maximum efficiency.
Colonel Nicholson replied that he would see what could be done. Now that the situation was established on a proper constitutional basis there was no longer any reason for trying to oppose the enemy program. As in every civilized army, the officers—it went without saying —would be responsible for the conduct of their men.
This was total surrender on the part of the Japanese. That evening the victory was celebrated in the British camp with songs, cheers, and an extra rice ration, which had been issued with the greatest reluctance on Saito's orders as a further gesture of good will. That same evening the Japanese colonel retired earlier than usual, wept for his loss of face, and drowned his sorrows in a bout of solitary drinking which lasted well into the night; until he slumped dead drunk onto his bed—a. state which he hardly ever managed to reach except in unusual circumstances, for he had an amazingly strong head and could normally stand the most barbaric mixtures.
7
Colonel Nicholson, accompanied by his usual advisers, Major Hughes and Captain Reeves, went down to the river along the railway embankment on which the prisoners were at work.
He walked slowly. He was in no hurry. Immediately after his release he had scored a second victory by obtaining four days off duty for his officers and himself to compensate for their unjust punishment. Saito had clenched his fists at the thought of this further delay, but had given in. He had even issued orders for the prisoners to be decently treated, and had bashed in the face of one of his own soldiers whom he had caught smiling sarcastically.
If Colonel Nicholson had applied for four days' exemption from duty, it was not only to recover his strength; it was also to give him time to think, to sum up the situation, to hold discussions with his staff, and draw up a plan of action—steps which every conscientious commander should take instead of rushing blindly at the easiest solution, a thing he hated doing more than anything else in the world.
It did not take him long to spot the outrageous mistakes intentionally committed by his men. Hughes and Reeves could not suppress a cry of admiration when they saw the astonishing results of this activity.
"That's a fine embankment for a railway line!" said Hughes. "I suggest you put the culprits up for a decoration, sir. Just think of an ammunition train trundling over that lot!"
The Colonel did not even smile.
"A splendid job, sir," echoed Captain Reeves, the ex-public-works engineer. "No one in his senses could possibly imagine they intend to run a railway over this switchback. I'd sooner face the Japanese army all over again than take a trip along this line."
The Colonel looked as solemn as ever and asked:
"In your opinion, Reeves, your opinion as a technician, could this be put to any use at all?"
"I don't think so, sir," Reeves answered after a moment's reflection. "They'd do better to abandon this mess completely and build another line a little further up."
Colonel Nicholson looked more and more preoccupied. He nodded his head and moved on in silence. He wanted to see the whole of the building yards before forming an opinion.
He reached the river. A squad of about fifty men, stark naked except for the triangle of cloth which the Japanese called "working kit," were milling about on the stretch under construction. A guard, with rifle slung, marched up and down in front of them. Some of the squad were engaged in digging a little further away, while the remainder were busy collecting the earth on bamboo carriers and spreading it out on either side of a line marked out with white pegs. This had originally run at right angles to the bank, but the insidious genius of the prisoners had succeeded in shifting it so that it was now almost parallel to the river. The Japanese engineer was not on the spot. He could be seen on the opposite bank gesticulating in the middle of another squad, who were taken across the river every morning on rafts. He could also be heard.
"Who set out that line of pegs," the Colonel asked, coming to a standstill.
"He did, sir," said the British corporal, springing to attention and pointing to the engineer. "He set it out, but I helped him a little myself. I made a slight improvement as soon as he left. He and I don't always see eye to eye, sir."
An
d, since the sentry was not looking, he gave a conspiratorial v. ink. Colonel Nicholson did not acknowledge this secret message, but remained deep in thought.
"I see," he said in a voice as cold as ice.
He moved on without further comment and stopped in front of another corporal. This one, with the help of a few men, was devoting considerable effort to clearing the ground of a number of large roots by heaving them up to the top of a slope instead of pitching them down the side of the bank, while another Japanese guard blankly looked on.
"How many are at work in this squad today?" the Colonel asked in ringing tones.
The guard gaped at him, wondering if it was in order for the Colonel to speak like this to the prisoners; but his voice held such a note of authority that he did not dare move. The corporal at once sprang to attention and began to stammer a reply.
"Twenty or twenty-five, sir, I'm not quite sure. One man went sick as soon as we arrived. He suddenly felt dizzy—I can't think why, sir, for he was perfectly all right at reveille. Three or four of the lads were needed, of course, to carry him to the hospital, sir, as he couldn't walk by himself. They haven't come back yet. He was the biggest and the toughest chap in the squad, sir. As it is, we shan't be able to get through our quota today. There seems to be a curse on this railway."
"A corporal," said the Colonel, "ought to know exactly how many men he has under him. What is the quota, anyway?"
"A cubic yard of earth per man per day, sir, to be dug and then carted away. But with these damn roots and all, sir, it look as if it's going to be too much for us."
"I see," said the Colonel as coldly as ever.
He moved off, muttering under his breath through clenched teeth. Hughes and Reeves followed behind him.
They went to the top of a rise, from which they could see the river and the whole of the surrounding country. At that point the Kwai was over a hundred yards wide, with both banks high above the level of the water. The Colonel studied the ground from every angle, then turned to his two subordinates. What he had to say was obvious, but he said it in a voice which had recovered all its former tone of authority.
"These people, the Japanese, have only just emerged from a state of barbarism, and prematurely at that. They've tried to copy our methods, but they don't understand them. Take away their model, and they're lost. They can't even do the job they've taken on here in this valley, yet it doesn't need much intelligence. They don't realize they'd save time by planning an advance instead of rushing bald-headed at the thing. What do you think, Reeves? Railways and bridges are in your line, aren't they?"
"You're quite right, sir," said the Captain, instinctively warming to his subject. "I've tackled at least a dozen jobs like this in India. With the material available in the jungle and the personnel that we've got here, a qualified engineer could build this bridge in under six months. There are times, I'm afraid, when their incompetence simply makes my blood boil."
"I agree," said Hughes. "I can't help it, but I sometimes feel like screaming at the sight of such inefficiency. You'd think it was quite simple to "
"What about me?" the Colonel broke in. "Do you think I'm pleased with this scandalous state of affairs? I'm absolutely appalled by what I've seen this morning."
"Well, anyway, sir," laughed Captain Reeves, "I don't think we need worry about the invasion of India if this is the line they say they're going to use. The bridge across the Kwai is not quite ready to take the weight of their trains!"
Colonel Nicholson was deep in thought, but he kept his blue eyes firmly fixed on his two companions.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I can see we'll have to take a very firm line if we want to regain control of the men. Through these savages they've fallen into idle, slipshod habits unbecoming to members of His Majesty's forces. We'll have to be patient with them and handle them carefully, for they can't be held directly responsible for the present state of affairs. What they need is discipline, and they haven't had it. It's no good using violence instead. You only have to look at the result—a lot of disconnected activity, but not a single positive achievement.
These Orientals have shown how incompetent they are, when it comes to man management."
There was a moment's silence while the two officers wondered what he really meant by these remarks. But they were quite clear; there was nothing to read between the lines. The Colonel had spoken in his usual forthright manner. He let his words sink in and then went on:
"I must ask you, therefore—and I'll ask all the other officers as well—to show as much consideration as possible at first. But on no account must our patience be stretched to the point of weakness, or else well fall to the level of these brutes. I shall also speak to the men myself. As of today, we've got to put a stop to this disgraceful inefficiency. We can't have the men going absent on the slightest provocation. The N.C.O.s must answer any question put to them promptly and clearly. I don't think I need remind you of the need for firm action at the first sign of sabotage or malingering. A railway line is meant to run horizontally, and not twist about like a switchback, as you so rightly observed, Reeves. , .
8
In Calcutta, Colonel Green, commanding Force 316, was studying a report which had just come in by the usual roundabout route, a report embellished with the marginal comments of half a dozen military and paramilitary clandestine services. Force 316 (better known as "The Plastic and Destructions Co., Ltd.") had not yet reached the important position that it later held in the Far East, but it was already taking an active, passionate, and exclusive interest in Japanese war establishment in the occupied countries of Malaya, Burma, Siam, and China. What it lacked in material resources, it tried to make up for by the boldness and dash of its agents.
"Well, it's the first time I've ever known them all to agree," Colonel Green muttered. "We ought to do something about it."
The first part of his remark referred to the various clandestine services associated with Force 316, each working in a separate watertight compartment and pursuing an individual policy of its own, with the result that they often came to widely different conclusions. This used to infuriate Colonel Green, who was responsible for planning operations from all the intelligence available. "Ops" was the preserve of Force 316; Colonel Green was not interested in theoretical discussion except insofar as it affected his own line of action. His staff were quite familiar with his views on the matter, since he expressed them at least once a day. A large part of his time was spent in trying to sift the truth from these reports, taking into account not only the information itself, but also the psychological makeup of the various sources (optimism or pessimism, tendency to exaggerate the facts, or on the other hand, complete inability to interpret them).
Colonel Green had a special grievance against the genuine, the great, the famous, the one and only Intelligence Service, which regarded itself as an exclusively intellectual body and systematically refused to co-operate with the operational staff. Instead, it locked itself up in its own ivory tower, never let its precious documents be seen by anyone who could have made use of them, on the pretext that they were too secret, and carefully filed them away in a safe. There they remained for years, until they were no longer of use to anyone—or, to be more precise, until long after the end of the war, when one of the bigwigs felt an urge to write his memoirs before dying, to leave something to posterity, and disclose to an astonished nation how clever the Service had been on one particular date and on one particular occasion when it ascertained every detail of the enemy plan of campaign: the place and time of the impending attack had been accurately determined in advance. The forecast was a hundred per cent correct, since the enemy had indeed struck in the manner foretold, and with the success that had likewise been foreseen.
That, at least, was how it appeared, in a rather exaggerated light perhaps, to Colonel Green, who disagreed with the theory of art for art's sake being applied to intelligence matters. He muttered some inaudible remark as he thought of some of the previous ventures; then
, in view of the miraculous unanimous agreement on the present scheme, it was almost with disappointment that he felt he had to admit that for once the services had done something useful. He consoled himself with the thought— not entirely a fair one—that the information contained in the report had been known to everyone in India for years. Finally he went through it again and made a mental summary of it, with the idea of taking action on it.
"The Burma-Siam railway is now under construction. Sixty thousand Allied prisoners, drafted by the Japanese into a labor corps, are being employed on it and are working under ghastly conditions. In spite of appalling losses, it is calculated that the task, which is of considerable importance to the enemy, will be completed in a few months. Herewith a rough sketch map. It shows several river crossings by means of wooden bridges . . ."
At this point in his summary Colonel Green felt in good form again and almost grinned with pleasure. He went on:
"The Siamese people are extremely discontented with the 'liberators,' who have requisitioned all the rice and whose troops behave as though they were in occupied territory. The peasants in the railway area in particular are showing signs of unrest. Several senior officers of the Siamese army, and even some members of the royal family, have recently established contact with the Allies and are prepared to launch an anti-Japanese underground movement, for which countless peasants have volunteered. They request both weapons and instructors."
"No doubt about it," Colonel Green decided, "I'll have to send a team into the railway area."
Having made his decision, he pondered for some time on the various qualities that would be required by the leader of such an expedition. After ruling out a number of possible candidates, he called for Major Shears, an ex- cavalry officer who had been transferred to Force 316 at the time that special unit had been formed and was, in fact, one of its founder members. This private army had only seen the light of day thanks to the persistent efforts of a few individualists and the reluctant support of a handful of military experts. Shears had only just arrived from Europe, where he had successfully completed several tricky missions, when he had his lengthy interview with Colonel Green. The Colonel gave him all the information available and outlined the general purpose of his mission.
The Bridge Over the River Kwai Page 4