The day promised to be yet another hot and muggy one. Already the insects were waking up, adding their singsong racket to the vocalizations of the jungle birds. In contrast, the prisoners and even their guards were mostly silent, except for the shuffle of feet along the muddy trail.
The men made their way down the well-worn jungle path. They walked about a half mile, most of it downhill — which meant they would be moving uphill coming back. Finally, they reached the riverbank. The bank seemed to consist of a tangled mat of tree roots holding the soil in place. It was darker at this lower elevation, where the sun hadn’t reached yet. The gurgle of running water threaded through the silence.
The so-called river was more of a stream, barely ten feet across, but the water ran over a bed of stones, each one about the size of a hefty potato. They set to work filling their buckets with the stones, then balancing the load across their shoulders for the trip back up the hill.
There was no talking allowed, so there was only the noise of stones clanging into the empty buckets and then clicking against each other. It was cooler along the stream and still shady, so it was not unpleasant.
The heat of the day promised to build, along with the swarms of insects. So far the only bugs that bothered the men were large, slow-moving mosquitoes. They were so fat with blood that when Deke slapped one, it left a crimson smear on his arm. Other men didn’t have the energy to resist and simply let the mosquitoes feed.
According to the Geneva Convention, prisoners of war could not be expected to work on any projects that served the war effort directly. This rule was open to interpretation and had some gray areas. For example, German prisoners of war held in the United States usually labored on farms. In fact, most seemed glad to be out of the fight and enjoyed the work.
The local communities were often welcoming or at least accepting of the German POWs, knowing that they were usually ordinary men caught between a rock and a hard place when their nation went to war. Many of the prisoners were quite young. After the war, more than a few would even opt to stay.
But didn’t raising crops and farmwork help the war effort in some way? Maybe that was a gray area, but they certainly would not have been put to work in munitions plants.
The Japanese had no such qualms about where or how Allied POWs were used. Often they were put to work building defenses against an Allied invasion. Their captors seemed to think that the more backbreaking the work was, the better. Hard labor was used as a kind of punishment or even to make sure that the prisoners were left exhausted and, therefore, without any energy to cause trouble.
Deke was no stranger to hard work, so he kept pace toiling alongside the others. The only bright spot in the shade along the river was a colorful tropical bird that flitted through the trees, as if taunting the prisoners with its own freedom.
As they gathered rocks from the riverbed, his back and shoulders felt sore, thanks to the beating that he’d taken at the hands of Mr. Suey. But as he worked and the day warmed up, he felt less stiff and was able to do as much work as anyone.
Deke didn’t know why the hell they were hauling rocks. It seemed to be a pointless exercise or perhaps even foolishness on the part of the Japanese. There didn’t seem to be any reason to pave a road in the jungle with stones. The stone-covered portion of the road couldn’t have stretched more than a hundred feet from the gate — and there were many miles of dirt road to go. With the first big rain, it was likely that the stones would all be covered in mud or washed away.
Back home in the mountains, even the poorest dirt farmer would not have resorted to hauling rocks using a yoke and two buckets over his shoulders. Instead, he would have hitched up his horse or mule, or in the olden days an ox, and then he would’ve had the animal drag a sledge loaded with the rocks. However, there were no horses, mules, or oxen to be found in this remote corner of the jungle. Instead, they relied upon the prisoners’ backs and shoulders. The prisoners had been turned into nothing more than beasts of burden.
The day wore on with only a few short breaks for water. As Faraday had indicated, there was no food given. Deke began to feel lightheaded, and it was no wonder. Hell, it was enough to make him miss C rations.
Then again, he had experienced hunger as a boy, and he knew that the best thing to do, even when you were lightheaded, was simply to push through and keep working. You would either find yourself feeling steady again or you would fall over. In this situation, the prisoners didn’t have much choice but to keep working. When he had a chance, he drank more water.
Deke noticed that one of the stick-thin prisoners was really struggling under the load of the stones. He probably should have stayed in his bunk this morning, but he had gone out with the work crew. Now he had drawn the ire of Mr. Suey, who targeted the man with insults and was ready with the cane whenever the man stumbled, shouting what must be curses in Japanese. It was more than Deke could stand to watch.
The third time that the man stumbled, many of the stones fell from the bucket. When it tipped over, Deke reached down to help the man put the stones back.
This seemed to infuriate Mr. Suey, who was immediately there with his cane, raining blows down on both Deke and the other prisoner.
Deke shrugged them off as if it had been only so much rain and tried to interpose himself between the struggling prisoner and Mr. Suey. The Japanese sergeant’s anger heightened to the point where he began kicking Deke in addition to hitting him with the cane. It hurt like hell, especially when Mr. Suey put his boot up Deke’s backside, but Deke wasn’t going to give that son of a bitch the satisfaction of reacting to the pain.
Deke continued to ignore him and kept piling the rocks back into the bucket as if the sergeant did not even exist.
It was hard to say how things would have ended up. The sergeant was in such a state that he might have beaten them both to death. In fact, things appeared to be moving toward a more abrupt end, because the sergeant’s hand reached for the pistol at his belt.
Suddenly there was the sharp bark of a command. The sergeant reined in his blows and glared at Deke. He seemed to have forgotten all about the other prisoner, who hunkered on all fours like a beaten dog, panting with the effort of simply not collapsing.
Deke looked up and realized that he had been saved by Eyeglasses. The Japanese officer was looking at the entire scene with disapproval. The younger man began to berate the sergeant in an angry stream of Japanese. It was clear that Eyeglasses had seen enough and thought that the sergeant was going too far. The sergeant hadn’t quite come to attention, sending a not-so-subtle message that he had little respect for the officer. Finally, Eyeglasses turned on his heel and walked off in evident disgust.
Deke looked back at the sergeant, whose angry stare was now fixed on Deke’s face. He clearly blamed Deke for the chewing-out that he had received.
Deke knew better, but he couldn’t back down from the sergeant’s stare. The sergeant’s face had turned red from his exertions in the tropical heat. His dark eyes were like bits of onyx, almost like the eyes of a shark. Deke’s own glare was in marked contrast, because his own eyes were gray, more like cut glass, but equally unfathomable.
No words needed to be spoken. The one thing that was clear was that both men truly hated each other. The sergeant’s hand drifted toward his pistol again, indicating that perhaps he no longer cared if he drew the ire of his officer if it meant putting the American POW in his place.
Faraday hurried over, keeping his head bowed as if in deference to the sergeant. He breathed a warning to Deke, “What the hell are you doing?”