"My immediate reaction, Sir, is that it is not what it purports to be," Saikaku said. "I'm sure the Colonel has noticed that it is typewritten, not mimeographed, and that-more important-it is typed on previously used paper."
"If it is not what it purports to be, Captain, what, then, is it?"
"I am guessing, of course, Colonel, and I will of course look into the mat-ter. But my immediate reaction is that this was prepared by a former Army clerk familiar with the form of such a letter, and intended to fool us."
"Why a clerk and not an officer?"
"Officers do not usually know how to typewrite, Sir."
"I don't like it," Tange said. "Could the Americans be setting up some kind of guerrilla force?"
"I respectfully suggest, Sir, that what we should not do is grow excited over this-as whoever prepared this hopes we will do. As the Colonel is well aware, we have had absolutely no indications of guerrilla activity of any kind."
"I don't like it," Tange repeated. "Look into it immediately, if you please, and report what you find. I have not yet discussed this with General Kenzo. When I do, I would like to have something to tell him."
"I will attend to it immediately, Sir."
Twenty minutes later, Captain Saikaku pulled the Lincoln up against a wooden gate set in a brick wall that surrounded a one-floor house on the outskirts of town. He sounded the horn, and a moment later, a soldier swung the gates in-ward.
The house, previously occupied by a Filipino lawyer and his family, had been impressed into the service of the Kempeitai as a special prison.
Shortly after the American surrender, Captain Saikaku had the junior officers and enlisted men of General Sharp's staff lined up so that he could conduct a personal inspection. Based on his year in Hawaii, he fancied himself a rather good judge of American character.
From these he selected a dozen Americans, four officers and eight enlisted men, on the basis of his judgment that they would turn out to be both knowl-edgeable and malleable, and then he had them brought to the house behind the wall.
He ordered them stripped and beaten each day for three days. And then, one by one, he examined them again. One of the officers and three of the en-listed men appeared to be properly conditioned, and he ordered their retention. The others were sent back to the POW enclosure.
One of the enlisted men, a somewhat effeminate sergeant from Wisconsin, whom Saikaku suspected of being a sexual deviate, he ordered hung up naked by his heels overnight in the garage of the house behind the wall. In the morn-ing, he ordered an electrical current to be passed through the sergeant's body by means of alligator clips attached to his scrotum and nostrils.
While this was going on, he appeared in the garage, slapped the Japanese soldier applying the electrical current hard enough to knock him off his feet, and ordered the sergeant to be carried into the house and placed in one of the bedrooms.
The next morning, he went to the bedroom and behaved in a very friendly manner to the sergeant, telling him he would do what he could to protect him from the soldiers, but in return the sergeant would have to cooperate with him.
He then left the bedroom and gave orders that the sergeant was to be beaten with switches, not boards, twice a day until further orders. He was to be beaten painfully but not severely, with attention given to the soles of his feet and to his genitals.
Three days later he returned, professed outrage at the beatings, and other-wise behaved in a friendly manner. He then ordered a young Filipino of known deviant tendencies placed in the sergeant's bedroom. He also had the beatings stopped, and he had them furnished with food, rice and chicken and bread, and a case of beer.
The sergeant was thus given a choice. He could choose beatings, starva-tion, and possibly death, not only for himself but for his newfound friend. Or he could choose confinement under reasonably pleasant conditions. He not surprisingly elected to be cooperative.
"What the hell," he said, "the war's over for me anyway, right?"
Captain Saikaku entered the house and went to the sergeant's bedroom.
The sergeant, as always, looked at him with frightened eyes, not sure if Saikaku was going to be friendly.
"Jerry," Captain Saikaku said, "tell me about General Fertig."
The sergeant's eyes showed fear.
"Sir, I don't know..."
"Jerry, you promised me you would be cooperative."
"I swear to Christ, I never heard of a General Fertig."
"I would hate to think you were not telling me the truth."
"I give you my word of honor."
"The name means nothing to you at all?"
"Not a thing. I swear it. If it did, I would tell you, you know that."
Captain Saikaku nodded, turned on his heel, and left the bedroom.
After leaving orders that the Filipino boy deviate was to be beaten in the presence of the sergeant, he returned to Lieutenant Colonel Tange's office. Al-though he would continue looking into the matter, he told him, he was at the moment convinced that Brigadier General Fertig was a figment of some Fili-pino army clerk's imagination, and there was no cause for concern.
[THREE]
Near Monkayo
Davao Oriental Province
Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines
1615 Hours 11 October 1942
They walked all day, slowly, taking a five-minute break each hour. But the trails through the thick vegetation were steep, in some places slippery, and the heat was debilitating.
And then, all of a sudden, they came out of the jungle, into a clearing.
The Mexican bandit, at whose heels Weston had been walking, stepped aside and pointed at a rather large, thatch-roofed, Filipino house built on stilts.
Sitting in a rattan chair on what could be called the porch of the house sat a tall, sturdy-looking man wearing a khaki uniform. A silver five-pointed star, the rank insignia of a brigadier general, adorned each of his collar points. He was also wearing a red goatee and a wide-brimmed straw hat. A Thompson submachine gun lay at his feet.
"General Fertig," the Mexican bandit said.
Behind him, Weston heard Captain, bringing up the rear of the column, mutter in disgust or disappointment, "Shit!"
"Wait here," Weston ordered.
He walked across the clearing, aware of the General's eyes on him, and climbed the steep stairs-more like a ladder than a flight of stairs-and then walked across the porch to within six feet of the red-goateed man in the chair.
The General met his eyes, but there was no expression on his face.
Weston saluted.
"First Lieutenant Weston, James B., USMC, Sir."
The General returned his salute.
"Have your men been fed, Lieutenant?"
"No, Sir."
"Are there other officers in your party?"
"No, Sir."
"Sergeant!" the General called, raising his voice.
Another Filipino wearing baggy white cotton trousers and a U.S. Army campaign hat came onto the porch from inside the house.
"Sir?"
"See that this officer's men are fed," he said.
"Yes, Sir."
"And when you have done that, please bring us some of the cold pork."
"Yes, Sir."