Judy: The Unforgettable Story of the Dog Who Went to War and Became a True Hero (19 page)

Captain Nissi came to a halt.

The atmosphere was fraught with tension.

Not a man spoke—neither prisoner nor guard.

Frank knew this was balanced on a knife edge now. If the captain was allowed to bark out an instruction for something unspeakable to be done to Judy, then the guards would be duty bound to execute it. He had to strike the first blow, and before the captain started yelling orders.

With a shaking hand he delved into the pocket of his ragged shorts. He pulled out the piece of paper that Colonel Banno had penned for him—Judy's “official” POW permit. Gesturing with one hand at his dog, he held out the permit in the other, Colonel Banno's swirl of a signature prominently displayed. The captain stared at that dog-eared scrap of paper for a long second before snatching it away.

As he read it incredulously, his cronies gathered around, nattering away and gesticulating at both the note and the dog. Finally, there was a series of head scratchings and blank-faced stares between the captain and his fellow officers. However implausible it might seem, this note about the dog seemed to come from Colonel Banno himself, a superior-ranking officer to Captain Nissi. The colonel appeared to have conferred upon Judy official POW status, and in the rank-obsessed Japanese Army no one ever went against the decision of a superior officer.

For now at least Judy was no longer a legitimate target of Captain Nissi's ire. Instead, he turned his attention to the men. Everyone but the wakeful dead was sent out on forced-labor parties. The guards
had clearly been given orders to up the work rate or face the consequences. Captain Nissi seemed determined to drive the men to exhaustion and death in record time, and the prisoners were soon dropping like flies.

Day two was even worse, and if this was kept up the hospital hut would soon be filled to overflowing. But on day three came a reprieve of sorts. Mustered again at dawn on the parade ground, the men listened to Captain Nissi as he barked out a new order.

“All prisoners are to be shipped forthwith to Singapore.”

The news came as a total surprise, but it was greeted with barely disguised elation among the men.
Singapore
. It was a bustling metropolis compared to Sumatra, this jungle island where the prisoners had labored for so long in forgotten isolation.
Singapore
. It was sure to offer news of the outside world and perhaps a sense of how the war was going in Europe.
Singapore
. Surely there might be better treatment there—
and more food
—and perhaps even letters from home.

If nothing else, the urge to leave Gloegoer was so strong and surely anywhere had to be better than this. Les Searle used a rag to wipe the perspiration from one of the stretcher cases laid next to him on the parade ground.

“Cheer up, mate,” he whispered, “you'll soon be out of this.”

That evening the huts were a scene of frantic activity as men packed and repacked their meager belongings in preparation for departure. Each hut received a visit from the guards, warning all to be ready to set off at first light the next morning.

For Frank Williams, there was to be a different kind of a visit. Captain Nissi himself came to have words with Judy's chief protector. The commandant delivered a curt directive. He wished to make himself clear: the dog would not be going to Singapore. As Judy was Gloegoer One's mascot, at Gloegoer One she would have to stay.

Once Captain Nissi was gone Frank took a few quiet moments to try to digest the news. But he felt truly shaken. He sat in one corner of the hut with Judy clasped between his knees, and he tried to think up a plan—a plan to thwart the cruel camp commandant and
keep Judy with her fellows, her natural family. He knew he could rely on Les Searle, Jock Devani, and the others to help him, but the main risk in all of this would have to be his own.

He eyed Judy for a moment. He couldn't expect any of the others to sacrifice their lives for her—and certainly, disobeying Captain Nissi's order would be life-threatening in the extreme. The Japanese—and especially ones like the new camp commandant—were incapable of dealing with loss of face. If the plan now forming in Frank's mind was successful, when Judy was discovered gone, everyone would know that the captain's order had been disobeyed, and by a lowly POW. The loss of face that entailed was incalculable, as would be the punishment that would inevitably follow.

But Frank was absolutely determined: where he was going his bitch was going too. No matter who might be issuing the orders, they would not be parted. Man and dog hardly slept that night. They were up for many an hour as Frank went about teaching Judy a new trick—a variation on the fetch-the-fresh-fruit-from-the-Japanese-grave game.

The prisoners were going to be shipped to Singapore aboard an old freighter. Frank spent those few quiet hours before dawn—when the hut was filled with the groans and snuffles of hungry and exhausted men lost in the uncertain release of troubled sleep—teaching Judy to run to a burlap sack that he was holding, at his signal. When she seemed to have grasped that much, he taught her to jump in and out of the sack at a quiet click of his fingers.

Regardless of their breed, dogs respond best to training when the reward offered is play or praise. Frank had little else to offer Judy but play and praise in abundance.

As the first rays of dawn broke across the roofs of the Gloegoer One huts, Judy seemed to have mastered her new trick perfectly. She didn't quite grasp what it was for yet, but she trusted her teacher implicitly.

Little did she know it, but her life was hanging by a slender thread.

All they could do was to wait and hope.

Chapter Sixteen

At dawn the prisoners were ordered to muster for their final parade. But one, prisoner 81A-Medan, was left tied to a post in the British hut. Thanks to his days serving in the merchant navy, Frank knew just about every seaman's knot there is to tie. He'd used a slipknot to fasten Judy, one that would come loose under moderate pressure. Knot tied, he'd ordered her to stay and left to join those lining up in the dim light outside.

After less than a week of Captain Nissi's brutal rule there were now two rows of stretcher cases. God only knows how the prisoners would have fared had they been forced to endure his murderous rule for any longer. Les Searle, Jock Devani, and the other old faithfuls were in on Frank's Judy-rescue plan, and each had his part to play. They waited tensely as the guards counted and recounted the POW numbers and checked and rechecked their bags of pitiful possessions.

It was crucial to Frank's plan that he was seen to be carrying a bulging sack, although in truth he possessed little of anything that was worth taking with him. He'd stuffed his sack with an old blanket so that it appeared bulging fat and full to those who might scrutinize it. At last the guards seemed satisfied with their inspections, and they reported to Captain Nissi that all were present and correct.

The captain gave the order to move out.

For the last time—at least for these prisoners—the camp gates were swung open. The first to move off were those interred from the
hospital hut, borne on hastily improvised stretchers. As the stretcher carriers passed through the gates of Gloegoer One bearing their living skeletons, it was as if the tombs of the dead had opened. These were once men, but through a combination of brutal forced labor, tropical disease, and starvation they had been reduced to wraiths.

Those who were still fit—though that term in Gloegoer One had a very different meaning from the norm—watched this ghostly procession of the barely living in stunned silence. While busy on the work gangs, few had had the energy, the want, or the need to venture into the hospital hut. Under Captain Nissi's orders that hut had been forced to disgorge its secrets. Many a man felt himself biting his lip or driving his nails into his hands as he struggled to master the hatred he felt for those who had done this and to resist the urge to strike back. Anyone who did so would end up either dead or in the hands of the dreaded Kempeitai, which was a fate worse than death.

The Kempeitai was the Japanese equivalent of the Gestapo, Nazi Germany's secret police. Among this procession of the walking dead were those who had had cause to fall into their clutches. Mostly they were Dutch officers who'd been interrogated and tortured in unspeakable ways as the Kempeitai had sought intelligence on the territory that they had overrun. They had returned to Gloegoer broken men: it wasn't so much their bodies that were finished as their minds. They stumbled along like zombies, lost in a world to which their tortured psyches had, in desperation, retreated.

Frank lingered at the rear of the line of those deemed fit, waiting his turn to move. As the column began to snake ahead, he joined the very end so he would be last out. The moment he was through the gates he gave a faint whistle, the call that Judy would recognize as the signal for her to come. But as he followed the last in line toward the nearby railway siding—they were catching a train from the camp to the docks, the first leg of the coming journey—there was no sign of his beloved Judy anywhere.

Frank was worried sick that he'd tied the knot too tightly. But what could he do? He could hardly turn back for her. He was bound
to be spotted, the questions would begin, and Judy would quickly be discovered. So he did the only thing he could do, moving along those lining up to board the train, his eyes searching everywhere for any sign of his dog.

It was then that he saw it—a dark and moist nose and a pair of shining eyes, half hidden in the shadows beneath a railway truck. He went down on one knee, and a screen of bodies formed around him—Les Searle and Jock Devani herding others in closer to hide what was about to happen. Once he was completely surrounded, Frank whipped the blanket out and clicked his fingers, and Judy darted out from her place of hiding and leaped inside the empty sack.

With the blanket packed down on top to better hide her, Frank hoisted the heavy sack on his shoulders and climbed aboard a waiting railway carriage. With Judy thus hidden, the journey to the dockside proved a bittersweet affair. Even though the future was uncertain, the British and Australian prisoners were mostly relieved to be getting out of Gloegoer One. But for the Dutch prisoners there were distant and anxious farewells to be said as they streamed past the family camp and desperate rags and handkerchiefs were waved out of the carriage windows.

On reaching the harbor, the carriages shuddered and squealed as the brakes were applied. Now came the real test of Frank's plan. He released Judy from the sack, and she darted from the open door to her hiding place beneath the wagons, almost before the train had come to a stop.

Again the men were formed up in ranks as the Japanese did the second head count and baggage inspection of the day just to ensure no one had made a break for it during the train journey or was carrying any hidden contraband. The prisoners eyed the ship that lay before them with some concern. The ship's name—the SS
Van Waerwyjck
—had been painted over with a Japanese one, the
Harukiku Maru
, and the tall gray-painted hull was streaked with rust and dirt.

The SS
Van Waerwyjck
was a Dutch vessel captured and pressed into military service by the Japanese. She had been built in 1910 as a
passenger steamer, and the Royal Dutch Navy had commandeered her at the outbreak of the war and then scuttled her at the entrance to Tanjung Priok harbor in Java, the island lying to the south of Sumatra, in an effort to prevent a Japanese invasion by sea. But once the Japanese had been victorious across the region they had refloated the ship, repaired her, and pressed her into service as a transport vessel. She was the biggest ship that any of the prisoners had ever seen in the port of Balawan.

The head count seemed to go on forever, as did the inspection of the prisoners' possessions. Once his sack had been searched and the coast seemed clear Frank gave another whistle. Word ran down the line of waiting men, whispered from mouth to mouth, that Judy was coming. Having made as much progress as she could crawling beneath the train, she popped out and weaved her way between the ranks of prisoners, making directly for Frank's position.

Not a man among them so much as glanced down as she passed by. Seizing his moment, Frank bent again and whisked her into the sack, and moments later he had her hoisted onto his shoulders. So far, so good. The waiting men began to shuffle their way up the gangways leading onto the
Van Waerwyjck
's main deck. The prisoners were divided into two parties: officers and wounded for the front hold, all others for the rear.

There were some seven hundred prisoners gathered on the quayside, and it was taking an age to get them loaded, especially the wounded. The midday sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless Sumatran sky. Sweat poured off the men standing unmoving in their ranks. Frank felt his limbs weakening with exhaustion, but he was determined not to buckle under the heavy weight slung across his shoulder.

He sensed the tall Australian beside him lean across and place something on his head. It was a wide-brimmed Aussie bush hat.

“If I fall down, someone'll pick me up,” he muttered cheerfully. “But if you fall down, mate, you've had it—you and your dog.”

Quite suddenly, Captain Nissi materialized right before Frank. For a second or so he scrutinized the wide-brimmed hat perched
atop the prisoner's head. Frank could see the captain's mind working away feverishly behind brutish eyes. Captain Nissi had seen Judy tied to a post back in the hut in Medan. He'd seen Frank's sack inspected once back at the camp and once here. Presumably, the dog had been left behind, as ordered.

“Ino wa arimasen deshita?”
—“The dog's not come?”—he demanded menacingly.

“Ino wa arimasen deshita . . .”
Frank confirmed unhappily.

He did his best to look utterly crestfallen at the loss of his faithful friend, eyes cast at the ground, but at the same time the heavy sack was biting deeper into his bony shoulder. If Judy so much as breathed right now, the captain would be bound to notice.

“Ino wa arimasen deshita!”
Captain Nissi affirmed, a triumphant smile spreading across his features.

With a curt nod he moved on.

His knees shaking, Frank made it to the top of the gangplank, the contents of his precious sack still undiscovered. Rough hands grabbed him and shoved him toward a series of steep iron ladders leading down into the forward hold. No life jackets were issued to any of the prisoners. They remained locked in the wooden cupboards on the upper deck, adjacent to the ship's lifeboats.

With the sack slung over his shoulder, Frank was all but thrown down the steps, joining the mass of bodies in the darkness below. At the bottom of the stairway he found that the ship's hold had been converted into a prison ship. Rough wooden platforms ran along either side of the interior, dividing it into two floors. Those first down the ladder had been herded into the all but total darkness of the lower level.

Conditions were abominable. With only four feet of headroom, those on the lower level couldn't stand, and they were packed so tight that there was no room to lie down. Instead, they squatted, row upon row upon row. Frank found himself a place on the upper floor. It was little better except that there were portholes, which at least held out the promise that when the ship began to move there might be a little air.

Frank settled down with Les Searle, Jock Devani, and the others, his back to a steel bulkhead. The heat was already intense. The entry hatch to the hold appeared like a small square of daylight above them, a shaft of sunlight streaming through it and piercing the thick darkness. But shortly, even the hatch was slammed shut, sealing the men inside a giant metal oven. In no time the prisoners were sitting in pools of their own sweat.

With the hatch locked shut Frank felt he could finally risk releasing Judy. She poked her head out of the sack, tongue lolling and panting heavily as she gazed around at her new surroundings. An instant later Frank had her out and she was lapping thirstily at the water that he'd brought with him from the camp. That done, they settled down to endure as best they could the sea voyage to Singapore.

It was midafternoon when the SS
Van Waerwijck
slipped her moorings and steamed out of the harbor. Once she hit the open sea, she formed up in a convoy with two oil tankers, another cargo ship, and a pair of Japanese Navy corvettes for protection. She steamed onward, keeping close to the Sumatran coastline, the rhythmic slap of the waves beneath the hull lulling many into an exhausted sleep. But it was fitful and uneasy. With limbs entwined there was little room to lie down and less still to move around.

Les Searle found himself desperate to stretch his legs. He was curled up tight against the bulkhead, with another prisoner lying in his path. As for Judy, in spite of the terribly cramped conditions she seemed happy enough. She was with Frank and her wider family—her fellow conspirators—and for now at least she had escaped whatever fate had awaited her at Captain Nissi's hands.

With dusk the ship came to a halt and dropped anchor. The engines were shut down, but still the oppressive heat in the cramped hold lasted long into the night. With dawn the
Van Waerwijck
was quickly under way again. It was June 26, 1944, a day that would be burned forever in the minds of those aboard that ill-fated ship.

After repeated complaints to the Japanese guards, some respite from the terrible conditions below deck was granted. In small
batches, prisoners were allowed up into the fresh air twenty minutes at a time. But of course, prisoner 81A-Medan was going nowhere. Judy the stowaway would have to remain ensconced in the darkest recesses of the hold or she risked getting discovered.

A constant stream of buckets of hot water was lowered so the men could brew tea. But the more quickly they drank, the more quickly the sweat seemed to pour from their bodies. By midday the fierce heat was reaching its zenith. From stem to stern a deathly quiet gripped the vessel. The prisoners suffered in numbed silence, the ovenlike conditions seeming to roast their very brains. It was only the malaria and dysentery patients who kept disturbing the mute stillness, the eerie moans and cries of their fevered delirium echoing back and forth.

Tucked away in her corner, Judy sat so still and so statuesque that it was almost as if she knew that she was a stowaway and what the costs of discovery might be. Once again, just her presence among the prisoners proved a massive morale booster. The very fact that she was still there showed how they had put one over on the Japanese. She was a symbol of their stoic resistance and their survival—survival that in her case had been achieved against all the odds.

Across the hold from Judy sat a young British Army sergeant called Peter Hartley. Hartley had distinguished himself during the battle for Singapore by being one of those who had refused to surrender when the order was given to do so by his commanding officer. Instead, he had stolen a boat from Singapore harbor, and via the Indragiri River he had embarked upon a journey to Padang that was almost a carbon copy of that undertaken by the gunboat crews—both man and dog.

He'd reached the besieged city at the same moment as Judy and her fellows, so missing the final ships sailing to safety, and he had likewise ended up in Gloegoer One. There a strange series of events had unfolded. Being a particularly religious man—he was a strong Christian even before the outbreak of the war—Hartley had been recruited by the camp's British padre to assist in his services and especially to help officiate at burials. But before the
padre had been able to instruct Hartley very much, he had himself sickened and died.