Escape to Pagan (2 page)

The “slight fragrant smell” left behind by the marching Japanese troops matches other similar descriptions; an American officer fighting with the Chinese described the smell as “tooth-powder”, while an Australian Officer recalled the scent of a passing Japanese patrol as “not unpleasant”. After the surrender of the British in Hong Kong, Japanese officers often placed handkerchiefs over their noses when approaching their British counterparts.

“The last column of soldiers had not long passed when there was a guttural shout and the marching column of Japanese soldiers suddenly stopped. Turning, they looked straight in our direction.

“'My God!' I whispered. ‘They have changed their minds and are going to bayonet us.'

“'Shut up Kate!' said my mother. Her face was flushed red. We just stood silent; I hoped they would kill us quickly. We soon realized the enemy troops were not looking at us but up at the sky over our heads. We then heard aircraft approaching. There was nothing we could do. If the planes were British and attacked, we would also be killed as we were so close to the Japanese soldiers. If we ran, the Japs might shoot us. There was nowhere to hide. The cactus plants and prickly pear that surrounded us were covered in long needle-sharp thorns and offered little protection. Suddenly two Japanese planes came in low; we could see the red sun symbol and the pilot's faces.

“The Jap soldier with the big flag began waving it and the rest of the soldiers took out small white handkerchiefs and also began waving them at the planes. The Japanese fighters left. The enemy soldiers continued their march. We did not move until they were out of sight. We quickly learned to identify the different sounds of the planes; Japanese aircraft had a higher pitched tinnier sound than the British and American fighters. With the possibility that more Japanese soldiers would use this bullock track heading in the direction of Pagan, my mother decided to leave the track and enter the scrub jungle where we would be safe and less visible. We could see green hills in the distance, so we headed north away from Pagan.”

It is also true, as Mother states, that the warriors of Dai Nippon in marching order, always had a certain medieval appearance; their light cloven-hoofed split toed rubber boots (tabi), were ideal for tree climbing and jungle warfare. The local Burmese often referred to Japanese soldiers as the “Monkey People” because of their habit of nimbly climbing trees at every opportunity in order to scout their surroundings. Their outdated long bayonets and swords, flashed in the bright tropical sunlight and searing heat. In the van they carried their striking sun flag (the Hinomaru), always proudly held aloft like a feudal banner. This was the banner of their eternal Emperor warlord: a living God. These wispy whiskered hardy soldiers pulled, pushed and carried their artillery like draught animals, softly grunting the same single inaudible word. Their dusty sweat streaked faces twisted with total exhaustion no western fighting man would be expected to have endured. These were frugal, sturdy, olive-skinned men with muscular puttied bound calves. Their hungry, alert eyes constantly scanned the sky and their surroundings with the caution and suspicion of peasants. These men who grew rice (the food of the gods) and fished the deep cold waters that surround their cherry blossom islands, were the hardy warriors from Dai Nippon Teikoku (The Empire of Great Nippon). They were Shinto and Zen Buddhist; rice and fish eaters, who could force-march thirty-five miles in a day. Like all fighting men they marched towards the sounds of battle. But unlike other soldiers who fought to live the warriors of Yamato fought to die. They had already taken their final leave of their loved ones in a “haiku” (a farewell poem).

“Sayonara, sayonara, when
The cherry blossoms fall I will return

Look for me at Yasukuni Shrine Mother.”

Nipponese soldiers also loved their mothers.

“My mother and I carried all that we possessed. To add to the difficulty of our situation you had the habit of bolting. We were so tired and
got fed up of chasing you and calling you all kinds of names, for our shouting could give our position away to anyone nearby. God knows how many dangerous wild animals were in the vicinity that could have snatched you.”

Being deeply religious my grandmother and mother never swore at me in English. Swearing in Burmese, it seems, was not a sin: “Come here you little …” or “wait till I get my hands on you – you little …” When older, I began to understand Burmese swear words, and then realized what they were calling me. It still makes me smile.

“Apart from the advancing enemy, another immediate danger to us was trying to avoid the desperate locust-like retreating Chinese Army. They would take everything we had as they were starving themselves, poor men. These ravenous Chinese soldiers left a trail of their own dead in burnt out Burmese villages.

“When our small group passed through such a destroyed village, the fire blackened skulls looked evil in the half light of evening. My mother could always recognize the skulls of Chinese soldiers by the worn v-shaped gap between their front teeth due to a lifetime habit of cracking open dried salted pumpkin seeds. Their dead were placed in huts which became their funeral pyres. We were now alone, two women and a child hoping to avoid capture. My mother led us deeper into the wild …”

CHAPTER 2

Golden Hill

MAINLAND CHINA

Sergeant Jack Devereux lay prone and semi-conscious on the Golden Hill battlefield. He had been shot through the head by an explosive or hollow-point bullet fired from the standard Japanese 6.5 calibre Arisaka rifle. The bullet had entered his left temple exiting from the back of his neck, leaving a gaping wound and many small fragments. Every now and then his body twitched and periodically went into violent spasm as the shattered and torn nerves in his head and neck struggled to function. From the corner of his right eye he glimpsed a single stray dog wandering among the dead and dying. The Sergeant could taste stale congealed blood in his mouth.

A sound slowly began to seep into Sergeant Devereux's pain-ridden thoughts; it slowly began to awaken him from his dreams of oblivion. The sound grew louder, a humming drone, the pitch of which rose and fell lingering around his shattered throbbing head. His brain was still numb from the impact of the Japanese bullet and struggled to analyze the sound and the reason he could no longer control his once strong body. Other thoughts also troubled him. Where was D Company? Where was Lieutenant Ford? Why was he alone? They had both led the counter-attack on Golden Hill.

These questions would remain unanswered; he could not move his head and look around. If he could, he would see the droning sound was coming from clouds of glinting, swollen green flies who were attending him. He had become the lord of the flies. As his body was paralyzed he was unaware of them crawling over his deep head and neck wounds. The flies were paying him homage while laying their eggs; for the maggots of some species prefer helpless living tissue over rotting dead flesh.

Sometimes he heard the voice of a human being groaning in despair and pain; he later realized the sounds were coming from his own parched throat. He craved water. The Sergeant continued to study the same few inches of Chinese real estate that his one open eye could see; instead of grass, he saw a glutinous mess of congealed blood and pieces of his own raw flesh, framed by small splinters of white bone from his shattered skull and jaw. His thoughts drifted to his young wife Kate still living peacefully in their home in Taunggyi, capital of the Shan States of Burma: At least she was safe. He would never see her again.

Perhaps it was for the best that the Sergeant did not know at that very moment that the long tentacles of the Japanese Imperial Army were slowly reaching out towards the borders of Burma from Thailand. Or that his wife, mother-in-law and young son, whom he had yet to meet, would shortly be wandering the dangerous jungles of Burma, without shelter or protection. The Sergeant began slipping back into a dark chasm that beckoned him. It was tempting him to enter its painless oblivion. On the Golden Hill battlefield, the sun was now only a hands breath from the horizon, night was falling. The Sergeant began to shiver.

“Jack told me that he and Lieutenant Ford led a counter-attack to clear the Japanese soldiers from Golden Hill when he was wounded. The battlefield was now quiet. Jack was paralyzed and unconscious but every now and then his body jerked in spasm. Unfortunately, these spasms indicated he was still alive.

“When Jack awoke early the following day he felt so cold, his uniform was wet with dew. He longed for the warmth of a blanket
and something hot to drink. Soon he found he could move his right arm and his fingers. His left arm was trapped under his chest
[the Sergeant was left-handed],
the fingers of his trapped hand still clutched his service revolver; its barrel was pointing towards his stomach. After the war, he told me that thoughts of ending his suffering entered his numbed brain; all he had to do was to pull the trigger but the revolver barrel was positioned under his stomach and he did not have the strength to force the barrel higher towards his heart. He knew a stomach wound would only prolong and increase his suffering. He pushed the idea from his mind: he was dying anyway.

“Jack lay wounded on the battlefield for several days drifting in and out of consciousness. Hong Kong as yet had not fallen; he could hear the sound of artillery in the distance. Jack managed to lift his throbbing head; looking around the battlefield he began to hallucinate. Suddenly he saw his mother slowly walking towards him with a cup of tea and a blanket. He hoped she was also bringing him cigarettes. Jack was always a very heavy smoker, he needed a last smoke so badly. He could see his mother's dark shadow approaching but why was she moving so slowly? She seemed to be stopping and looking down at the dead as if studying the bodies at her feet. Perhaps she was looking for him? He wanted to call out to her but his vocal cords did not respond.

“Suddenly his mother's shadow was standing over him, he waited for her to speak; she remained silent. It was then he felt a heavy blow to the back of his neck followed by a sharp pain; fresh warm blood trickled down into his mouth. It was not his mother.

“The dark shadow standing over him slowly bent down and gripped his right arm roughly. The shadow then began to pull him over several dead bodies that lay nearby. Jack began lifting his stiff bloodied neck and shattered head and could see a pair of shiny black, riding boots covered with splashes of blood. The riding boots were occasionally obliterated by a flash of gleaming metal reflecting the weak early morning sunlight. Jacks stunned and pain ridden mind soon awoke to the reality: he was being dragged by an enemy officer to a more convenient place of execution.”

The flashing metal object was a naked sword held in a smooth brown hand.

Anger welled up in the Sergeant's shattered head; he could be a volatile man when roused. His wounded brain struggled back to consciousness. He desperately wanted to extend his life even for a few moments longer, despite the pain of his wounds; for such is human nature and our fear of the unknown.

The Japanese officer hesitated and stopped pulling his victim, this tall man was heavy. A sixth sense perhaps or the sound of a revolver being cocked made him turn his head. He instantly knew he had made a foolish mistake. It was the severity of his victim's head wound that had initially fooled him. The lucky Buddhas around his neck, given to him by his mother before he left Japan, had deserted him. Almost immediately two heavy blows hit his back. One bullet passed straight through him, the second bullet shattered the young Japanese officer's spine. Even before his body hit the ground, his spirit had quickly ascended and began the long flight back to the misty islands of Dai Nippon to the sacred shrine at Yasukuna to become a falling cherry blossom every spring.

The sergeant would soon learn the name of his would-be executioner: a name he would never forget. The Japanese officer's details became known when his body was searched later by a Japanese speaking doctor from the military hospital who was a resident of Hong Kong.

Earlier that morning the young 2nd Lieutenant Nakamura, attached to Lt General Takashi Sakai Headquarters, had spent the morning running around tending to the senior officer's demands and getting his face slapped. Despite coming from a rich family (judging by the quality of his sword) he had first to serve eight months as the lowest of low, a Second Class Private. He was treated brutally by his NCOs and comrades with longer service which was as good as rank in the Imperial Japanese Army. Face-slapping was the least of his problems that day; he had not as yet personally blooded the sacred family blade, proudly handed down to him by his father. During three months in China the opportunity had never arisen. The letter home was long
overdue. To save time he had already gone through the vital ritual of purifying the ancient blade with water that morning; a blade tempered and beaten over 700 times by a craftsman.

That morning General Takashi Sakai wanted his Headquarters closer to the front, the General left with his senior staff. It fell to the young 2nd Lieutenant Nakamura to organize the move of the headquarters, allowing him the opportunity to search the Golden Hill battlefield. He was now walking through the battlefield seeking life among the dead. The crimson spray needs to be driven by a live pumping heart; beheading a corpse was beneath the dignity of a Samurai. The act is an artistic form of beauty to a warrior of Nippon.

The young enemy officer's eyes fell on Sergeant Jack Devereux whose body he noticed twitched periodically in spasm. It is also possible he may have recognized the tall sergeant from his observations, while squatting (in that position westerners find most uncomfortable) under camouflage a few hundred yards to the front of D Company, the day before the attack. The Allies, during the early stages of the war, had not as yet appreciated the enemy's skill at camouflaging their positions.

The men who later found the Sergeant assumed that the young Japanese officer was blooding his sword; it is also possible the enemy officer was administrating the coup de grâce known to his race as a “warrior's compassion”.

“Jack said that the exertion of lifting his arm and pulling the trigger of his revolver made him feel faint; the noise of the two revolver shots made his head wound throb in agony. He passed out again. Jack welcomed the oblivion as it divorced him from the pain and his raging thirst. When he awoke the flies had gone, leaving only maggots to take their place. He could now feel them in his head eager to burrow deeper into his living flesh, into the dark depths to escape from the hot sun.

“The following day while foraging amongst the dead for medical supplies, a group of Royal Scots and a medical officer who was fluent in Chinese and Japanese came across Jack and found him still alive,
thank God. The dead Japanese Officer's body was lying nearby and was searched. The search revealed the young Japanese Officer belonged to the 38th Regiments Headquarters. There was also a diary and some pictures of his family. This doctor knew Jack well and had been treating members of the Royal Scots who had just been discharged from hospital, still suffering from malaria. I would meet him in Alexander Military Hospital Singapore, where Glenis was born after the war. He saved Jack's life.

“The documents and diary found on the dead Japanese officer gave his name, rank and that he had been in a surveillance party observing the Gin Drinkers' Line before the attack. Having seen what the enemy did with soldiers who were captured and found in possession of Japanese souvenirs, Jack's comrades left the beautiful sword. The men took Jack back to their hideout in Nathan Road. They intended to escape. Poor Jack, the deep sword wound and the bullet's exit hole on the back of his neck caused him much pain during the cold winter months. All the nerves on the right side of his face had been damaged. Fragments of the bullet remained in his head, too near the brain to remove despite two facelifts and operations at Roehampton Military Hospital. He never complained. Thank God Jack was lying awkwardly; the sword blade must have been obstructed by something on the ground.”