Savage Sniper

CHAPTER NINE

Faraday was an optimist at heart, but after a few months as a POW, even he had to admit at times that maybe being killed in the plane crash might have been a blessing. Life as a prisoner of war was filled with hard labor, starvation rations, and constant fear.

They were a ragtag bunch, numbering forty-seven prisoners. There had been forty-nine when Faraday arrived. A year before his arrival, he learned, there had been sixty-seven POWs, and even more before that. It was a situation of constant attrition, with the men who had been at the camp the longest being most likely to succumb next. Those who hadn’t made it were now buried in a grubby-looking dirt boneyard beyond the perimeter fence. The Japanese had not allowed any grave markers, so that each heavy rain diminished any signs of a burial.

Faraday and Lucky had arrived at the camp in good health, but the conditions slowly wore them down. He could see and feel himself growing thinner, having to punch new holes in his belt to hold up his pants. Nobody was going to gain any weight eating the slop that the Japs fed them once a day.

The days passed slowly, with them rising before dawn to work at some task that was usually sweaty and futile. The harder it was, the more the Japanese seemed to like watching the prisoners do it. For the last several weeks, they had been working up to twelve hours each day, hauling stones from a nearby creek bed. Using buckets, they carried the stones up a steep hill and then spread them on the road leading from the prison gate.

Faraday didn’t know how far the road went, only that it stretched off into the forest and disappeared. The stones stopped well short of where the trees began. All the rest was dust or mud, depending on the weather. It seemed pointless, considering that at this rate the prisoners would have to work for all eternity to pave the road for even the length of a mile.

Then again, perhaps that was exactly what the Japanese had in mind.

It was a dreary, hot, cruel place to be.

“I promise you one thing,” Lucky whispered in his ear almost daily. “I’m getting out of this place, one way or another.”

“Just don’t do anything crazy,” he warned.

Faraday had become something of a leader among the prisoners. The Japanese did not distinguish between officers and enlisted, so they all lived and suffered together.

For the most part, the guards went about their duties, treating the prisoners with all the indifference that they would have shown sheep or goats. He had learned which Japanese to watch out for, especially the nasty sergeant they had nicknamed Mr. Suey, which was as close as they could come to pronouncing his real name.

Another Japanese of note was Lieutenant Osako, who spoke English and thus did most of the day-to-day communicating with the prisoners. Osako ran hot and cold, showing glimmers of humanity one day when the other Japanese weren’t around, then looking the other way the next day when Mr. Suey decided to beat a prisoner for spilling a bucket of rocks. The lieutenant was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde all rolled into one, so that you never really knew who you were going to be dealing with. More than most of their captors, it was clear that Lieutenant Osako was at war with himself.

The Japanese commandant cast the longest shadow of all. From time to time, he came out to watch the prisoners working. Faraday couldn’t have known how close to the truth he’d been when he had told Lucky that the commandant must have really messed up to get assigned command of this remote prison camp.

The commandant sometimes had them assemble in the prison yard and then gave long political speeches in Japanese, which Lieutenant Osako translated whenever his commanding officer paused to catch his breath. It was such an odd contrast to see the enemy soldiers and officers standing at attention in their neat uniforms, facing the ragged prisoners. Faraday could have sworn that the commandant was drunk during these speeches.

The other odd thing about the commandant was that he was never without his bow and arrow, making him something of a strange sight or even an eccentric character.

But as Faraday soon discovered, the bow and arrow were for more than show.

Faraday was not far off the mark in thinking that the prison camp commandant, Colonel Kaito Yamagata, must have done something wrong to wind up in charge of this remote, mosquito-infested camp. In Yamagata’s case, it had really been a series of mistakes and career blunders, some purely bad luck or bad timing, the chief one being a disastrous skirmish that he had led against the Chinese early in the war, resulting in an embarrassing defeat of his unit.

However, even that might have been overlooked. But the Japanese military was quite political, and Yamagata had never learned to play the game. He was now what was known as a “permanent colonel,” without any hope of advancement to general. The truth was that the Japanese army could not care less if a POW camp was badly run, but they didn’t want to lose any battles due to poor leadership.

Yamagata had determined that he would run his camp efficiently, and he had. Unfortunately for the POWs, his definition of efficiency meant feeding the prisoners as little as possible and working them to the bone.

Colonel Yamagata had decided that it was time to teach the prisoners a lesson. He had tired of their lazy ways and constant disrespect. To that end, he summoned to his office the two subordinates most responsible for operating the camp.

Lieutenant Ryota Osako was his second-in-command, although he found the young officer too idealistic for his own good. He had made it clear that he did not always agree with Yamagata’s methods, although he knew better than to protest. He carried out his orders, but without much enthusiasm.

The commandant relied more heavily on Sergeant Hiromu Matsueda. The sergeant was a man of simple tastes who appreciated a full belly, a drink of sake, and a cigarette. Yamagata saw to it that the sergeant never wanted for any of these things. As a result, the man never questioned Yamagata, from whom all good things flowed.

Matsueda had been a farmer before the war, and the prisoners seemed to occupy the same place in his mind that had once been reserved for his pigs and goats. They were just shuffling, troublesome animals. When they didn’t do what you wanted, it was best to beat them with a stick. Sergeant Matsueda had a brutal mean streak that served Yamagata well in keeping order.

The commandant’s office was a neat but sparse space, the wooden floorboards recently swept, overseen by a portrait of the Emperor that was the only decoration on the walls. The office felt crowded, however, due to an ornate desk that would have looked more at home in a plantation office.

Two plain wooden chairs stood before the desk like servants in the presence of their master. The only other nods to luxury were a wood-encased Yamanaka electric radio and a bottle of expensive liquor on a side table. Notably, Yamagata did not offer the men a drink, although he had a small glass of amber-colored liquor on his desk.

Yamagata had not asked his subordinates to sit, which was an indication of his seriousness and the formality of this meeting. They both stood at attention, awaiting what the commandant had to say.

“I have concerns about the prisoners. They are lazy,” he explained to Lieutenant Osako and Sergeant Matsueda. “They do not work hard enough. What they lack is motivation.”

Both of the other men shifted uncomfortably, the one mentally blaming the other. Osako would have said that Matsueda was too cruel and broke the spirit of the prisoners, and Matsueda would have said that the namby-pamby lieutenant was too weak and allowed the lazy Americans to do whatever they wished. Had they been questioned, they would have been more than happy to throw the other man under the bus. No love was lost between them.

However, both men knew better than to say anything in the presence of the commandant other than “Hai!”

“Tomorrow morning, we shall prepare a demonstration for them,” the commandant said, glancing meaningfully at his bow in the corner.

Most officers carried a sword as a badge of office, but Yamagata preferred his bow. He practiced with it constantly, firing endless arrows at a target at the far end of the prison yard. He had rediscovered his love of the bow and arrow that he had hunted with as a youth, and he found archery to be a good way to alleviate the boredom of this remote posting.

Both men standing before him in his office knew that he rarely missed, although a bow and arrow was not a very useful weapon in the war they were fighting.

Neither man was sure what the commandant had in mind, which was why it was so surprising the next day when the prisoners were assembled in the yard, and instead of another political speech, the commandant had ordered that the gate be opened.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Osako made the mistake of hesitating.

Glaring at him for questioning the command, Yamagata barked, “Open the gate!”

“Hai!”

The lieutenant hurried to carry out the commandant’s order, although he didn’t see the sense of it. He glanced over at Matsueda. If the sergeant had guessed the commandant’s intent, his face remained inscrutable.

Although the commandant spoke English passably well, he usually spoke Japanese and had Lieutenant Osako translate for the POWs. This seemed to indicate the commandant’s authority and avoided any embarrassment about his shortcomings in speaking English.

Today was different, however. Carrying his bow, he approached the assembled prisoners and spoke directly to them in English.

“Some of you do not seem happy here,” he said. “So I am giving you an opportunity to leave. All that you must do is reach the gate and escape my arrow. Is this not fair? Who would like to try first?”

The prisoners stared at Yamagata as if not sure they had heard him correctly. Over his shoulder, the open prison gates beckoned.

“What’s the catch?” a prisoner called.

“No catch. Those who do not like it here may try to leave.”

Yamagata offered no further explanation, letting his offer sink in. The sun beat down, and the day seemed to grow hotter, or maybe it was only the tension of the moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, Yamagata pointed at one of the Filipino prisoners. There were a handful held here, and they were not well liked by the Japanese.

“You,” Yamagata said. “You will go.”

When the stunned prisoner made no effort to go anywhere, Sergeant Matsueda walked over and shoved him forward.

That was when one of the Americans took a half step out of the formation and said, “Hold on, I’ll go.”

Faraday swiveled his head and stared in consternation at Lucky, who had stepped forward to announce to the bow-wielding commandant that he would be willing to make a run for it.

“Lucky, what the hell are you doing?” Faraday whispered. “Get back in formation!”

“I can’t stand this place anymore,” Lucky replied. “If this is a chance to get out of here, I’ll take it.”

“Even if you make it through that gate, there’s nothing but jungle out there!”

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t be in here.”

Faraday wasn’t ready to give up. “We’ve all seen the commandant practice with that bow. He’s a good shot.”

Lucky winked. “All I’ve got to do is outrun that Filipino fella.”

“That only works when you’re being chased by a bear. It doesn’t work with arrows.”

Lucky just shook his head. “Listen, Rex. We all know the Japs plan on killing us, one way or another. They’re working us to death in this place. Maybe it’s better to die quick.” He grinned at Faraday, and for a moment he was the same old carefree Lucky. In his mind, maybe he had already escaped. He then added, “Besides, they don’t call me Lucky for nothing.”

Faraday might have argued further, trying to convince his buddy not to risk it, but Mr. Suey approached and poked Faraday sharply in the ribs with a swagger stick. He shouted something in Japanese that Faraday took to mean, “Shut the hell up!”

Lucky stepped up beside the Filipino prisoner whom the commandant had singled out. The Filipino turned as if to go back into formation, but Mr. Suey was there to take his arm and stop him.

“You both go,” the commandant said. He stepped off to one side and nocked an arrow. The metal tip gleamed wickedly in the sun.

Lucky crouched like a sprinter, awaiting the signal. The Filipino still looked as if there was anything else that he would prefer doing. Finally, he made the sign of the cross and followed Lucky’s lead by getting into a sprinter’s crouch.

Among the prisoners, it was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. Faraday realized that he was holding his breath. He was sure that the thickness of the tropical air would weigh Lucky down.

The distance to the open gates was no more than three hundred feet, all of it across dusty, open ground. Essentially, Lucky was making a one-hundred-yard dash like they had done in training. Fifteen seconds had been considered a good time when they had been fit and well fed. How long would it take Lucky now? And how many arrows could the commandant let loose in that same time frame?

Lucky didn’t bother waiting for a signal, but took off running. He seemed to explode from the spot, racing away across the prison yard and quickly outpacing the other man trailing him. For the first time, Faraday actually felt hopeful. Maybe Lucky could pull it off.

Unable to help themselves, some of the prisoners began shouting encouragement. “Go! Go, Lucky!”

The Japanese soldiers got in on the act, shouting what sounded like jeers.

The two runners had taken different strategies. Lucky zigzagged from side to side, suddenly changing direction. It would take him longer to cross the open ground, but it made him a more difficult target. The other prisoner ran flat out in a straight line. In seconds, both men had covered half the distance to the open gates. The shouting from both sides grew more intense.

Colonel Yamagata drew his bow, held the string briefly by his ear, then released. The arrow sang through the air and just missed Lucky, who dodged out of the way at the last instant. Faraday had the thought that Yamagata was discovering that moving targets were much harder to hit than a stationary bull’s-eye.

“Run!” Faraday shouted.

The commandant drew back again, this time having to elevate his aim as the distance between him and the runners increased. When he released, the arrow had so much energy that Faraday could clearly hear the hiss it made leaving Yamagata’s bow.

This time, Yamagata had been aiming at the Filipino. The arrow arced up, then sank back down in a blur of motion, somehow seeming to gain speed as it did so. In the next instant, the arrowhead buried itself in the Filipino’s back. The man fell to his knees and managed to crawl a few feet before collapsing and lying still in the dirt.

Lucky was still running, his feet churning toward the gates that now seemed so close, almost within reach.

Faraday couldn’t believe it. He’s going to make it. He’s actually going to escape. Around him, the other prisoners shouted wildly.

Off to the side, Colonel Yamagata nocked another arrow and drew back his bow. He pulled the string back well past his ear and held it there. The tip of the arrow pointed high into the air. Though powerful, his arms shook slightly with the strain, but he took his time aiming. Then the bow string was released with a sharp twang, and the arrow hissed skyward.

At first assessment, the arc appeared too high, as if Yamagata had overshot his mark. Beneath the falling arrow, Lucky juked and dodged. He had almost reached the gates. In seconds, he would be home free.

The arrow struck, piercing Lucky just below his left shoulder blade. He kept running at first, then went down to his knees. The gate was right there.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Faraday urged under his breath, hoping against hope that his buddy would still be able to make it through the gate.

Lucky had gone to his hands and knees, leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. Then he collapsed to his belly but kept going, dragging himself toward the gate, unwilling to give up.

Mr. Suey was crossing the prison yard now. He paused long enough to check the still body of the Filipino prisoner, then kept going. Lucky was barely moving now, spread eagle in the dirt, almost like a swimmer trying to tread water but going nowhere.

The Japanese sergeant unsnapped the flap of the pistol on his hip, drew the weapon, and pointed it down at Lucky. Faraday turned away but winced at the sharp report of the pistol.

Colonel Yamagata handed his bow to Lieutenant Osako, who looked almost as stunned as the prisoners. The commandant raised his voice to address the POWs.

“The rest of you will be happy here. You will do as you are told. You will work hard. There will be no complaints.”

Yamagata turned toward his own men and shouted something. Just beyond the grisly scene of Lucky’s body, the prison gates were slowly closed again.