The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [117]
Whenever the colonel made an official complaint to the commandant, Major Sakata listened sympathetically and even made an effort to weed out the main offenders. Moore’s happiest moment at Tonchan was to witness the Undertaker and the Pig boarding the train for the front line. No one attempted to sabotage that journey. The commandant replaced them with Sergeant Akida and Corporal Sushi, known by the prisoners almost affectionately as “Sweet and Sour Pork.” However, the Japanese High Command sent a new number two to the camp, a Lieutenant Osawa, who quickly became known as “the Devil” since he perpetrated atrocities that made the Undertaker and the Pig look like church fête organizers.
As the months passed the colonel and the commandant’s mutual respect grew. Sakata even confided to his English prisoner that he had requested that he be sent to the front line and join the real war. “And if,” the major added, “the High Command grants my request, there will be only two NCOs I would want to accompany me.”
Colonel Moore knew the major had Sweet and Sour Pork in mind, and was fearful what might become of his men if the only three Japanese he could work with were posted back to active duty to leave Lieutenant Osawa in command of the camp.
Colonel Moore realized that something quite extraordinary must have taken place for Major Sakata to come to his hut, because he had never done so before. The colonel put his bowl of rice back down on the table and asked the three Allied officers who were sharing breakfast with him to wait outside.
The major stood to attention and saluted.
The colonel pushed himself to his full six feet, returned the salute, and stared down into Sakata’s eyes.
“The war is over,” said the Japanese officer. For a brief moment Moore feared the worst. “Japan has surrendered unconditionally. You, sir,” Sakata said quietly, “are now in command of the cramp.”
The colonel immediately ordered all Japanese officers to be placed under arrest in the commandant’s quarters. While his orders were being carried out he personally went in search of the Devil. Moore marched across the parade ground and headed toward the officers’ quarters. He located the second-in-command’s hut, walked up the steps, and threw open Osawa’s door. The sight that met the new commandant’s eyes was one he would never forget. The colonel had read of ceremonial hara-kiri without any real idea of what the final act consisted. Lieutenant Osawa must have cut himself a hundred times before he eventually died. The blood, the stench, and the sight of the mutilated body would have caused a strong-stomached Gurkha to be sick. Only the head was there to confirm that the remains had once belonged to a human being.
The colonel ordered Osawa to be buried outside the gates of the camp.
When the surrender of Japan was finally signed on board the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay, all at Tonchan POW camp listened to the ceremony on the single camp radio. Colonel Moore then called a full parade on the camp square. For the first time in two and a half years he wore his dress uniform, which made him look like a Pierrot who had turned up at a formal party. He accepted the Japanese flag of surrender from Major Sakata on behalf of the Allies, then made the defeated enemy raise the American and British flags to the sound of both national anthems played in turn by Sergeant Hawke on his harmonica.
The colonel then held a short service of thanksgiving, which he conducted in the presence of all the Allied and Japanese soldiers.
Once command had changed hands Colonel Moore waited as week followed pointless week for news that he would be sent home. Many of his men had been given their orders to start the ten-thousand-mile journey back to England via Bangkok and Calcutta, but no such orders came for the colonel and he waited in vain to be sent his repatriation papers.
Then, in January 1946, a smartly dressed young Guards officer arrived at the camp with orders to see the colonel. He was conducted to the commandant’s office and saluted before shaking hands. Richard Moore