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  “You don’t know that, you don’t know that for sure. You just hate my dogs and you hate me and you’re pissed off that they stuffed your hunt up. That’s why you shot her; you’re just a bad man, a bad man who likes hurting things!” Blubbed Jack, tears and snot mingling, running off his face, dripping off his chin.

  “Alright Jack I know you’re upset so I’ll let that go. Wouldn’t normally mind but a boy gets upset when he loses his dog. I know, been there myself once, long time ago.” He looked wistfully at the dead dog before him as he recalled his painful memories. “I had a dog once. Loved it ta bits I did but it died. Died for no good reason really, just couldn’t control itself see. Anyway, I know you’re hurtin’ but you’ll come ta see I did the right thing Jack. The only thing that should’ve been done.”

  Jess was still barking and growling and pacing.

  “You could’ve stitched her up,” sniffed Jack and wiped the last of his tears off his face with his bloody arm.

  “Could’ve? Yeah I could’ve but I didn’t. I made the decision, the right decision I believe and I’m happy to live with that and move on. My question to you Jack is: Are you? Are you ready to accept what’s done is done and move on Jack? Or are we goin’ ta have problems? Are ya goin’ ta start stirrin’ up problems with me an’ ya mother when we get home? Is that what ya goin’ ta do Jack? Are ya? ‘Cause we need to sort this out, right here an’ now, before we leave the bush Jack. Right here an’ now!”

  Jack was still holding the dog. Rocking with it. Head down, eyes closed. Sniffing. Thinking carefully before answering. A deep breath. A shudder as he exhaled, thinking, thinking. He could feel Doug’s eyes staring at him, boring into the top of his head with the hatred. The murderous intent.

  “Okay,” mumbled Jack.

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, I’ll let it go. I’m just upset that’s all.” He wouldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him.

  “Course ya are Jack, who wouldn’t be? Now shut that other dog up ‘cause a man’s got only so much patience and it’s startin’ ta wear a little thin!”

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  After lighting a fire and putting a brew on they sat and had a bite to eat and a drink. Jack sat in silence while Doug rattled off all his other hunting adventures that he had undertaken in the past. Jack wondered if even half of them were true and quickly became bored with this man’s stories. His mind drifted to other things and he actually dozed for a while as he was physically and emotionally drained. Jess lay beside him and they shared each other’s warmth, taking some comfort in each other. Somehow feeling less vulnerable, realising that they both knew what he was really like now and that they would look out for each other from now on. Watch each other’s backs. Protect each other from the man. The man who carried on with this incessant chatter. Who just wouldn’t shut up. The man who was talking to the trees and the birds and the insects. And the dead. As no one else was listening or interested.

  “Get up, it’s time to move,” said Doug loudly waking Jack with a kick to his boot. He had removed the gut from the pig and tied its front legs to its opposite back legs and loaded it on his back like a pack.

  They struck camp and made their way slowly up and out of the valley, resting every half hour until they arrived home at dusk, totally, totally drained.

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  The next morning Ellen let Jack sleep late. When he had arrived home last night he had been so exhausted that he had skipped his dinner and had gone straight to bed where he lay sobbing until he fell into deep, deep sleep. Even the mournful howl from Jess crying during the night did not wake him. Ellen came into Jacks room with his breakfast and a cup of tea. She said, “Wake up sleepy head it’s ten o’clock.” Then, after sniffing very loudly said, “Whew! It smells in here, you need to bathe today.”

  Jack replied wearily, “I am awake mum. I was just thinking about getting up.”

  “Well I’ve brought your breakfast so you can have it in bed like a king, how’s that?”

  “Thanks mum I’m starving...Um, where’s Mister Brown?”

  Ellen passed the tray to Jack and then sat down on the bed next to him. “He’s outside cleaning up the pig. He told me about Tess and I’m very sorry that had to happen Jack but it sounds like Mister Brown did the right thing in the end.”

  Jack shrugged and concentrated on his breakfast.

  “What you don’t think so?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Well, he said she was injured quite badly Jack and it was through the neck. He also said that she had lost a lot of blood and that she was suffering... Sounds like he did the humane thing and put her out of her misery.”

  Jack picked up his cup and sipped his tea.

  “I know you’re hurting Jack and that’s understandable. I mean she was a good dog and I’ll miss her too. But we don’t like to see animals suffer do we? Sometimes we have to make the hard choices and do what’s right for the animal, not what’s right for us.”

  Tears began to well in Jacks eyes as he said, “He didn’t even try mum. He was angry with the dogs and I reckon he couldn’t wait to hurt them. I mean he just went straight up to her and shot her. He didn’t even try and save her!”

  She frowned and stroked his hair. “It’s hard I know and it doesn’t seem fair, but unfortunately that’s life Jack and part of life is death. I think when you have time to think about this, when your older perhaps, you’ll look back and realise that Mister Brown did do the right thing. It’s okay to cry and be a little bit angry about what’s happened for now Jack, that’s only natural and part of the grieving process, but in time you will get over Tess and you’ll forgive Mister Brown. Just remember you’ve got another good dog out there that will be pining for her mate and she will need some love and attention, and from you, especially.”

  “Poor Jess she’ll really miss her mate.”

  “C’mere Jack.” And Ellen hugged her son as tears began to well in her eyes now. She was crying not for a dog but because her son was hurting and therefore she was hurting. And she was crying for her husband and Jacks father. The pain of their loss only just below the surface. “You’re a good boy Jack and I love you very, very, much. In fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I love you too mum,” sniffed Jack.

  “Oh, and Mister Brown said he was very proud of you the way you kept up with him and never moaned. He reckons you’ll be a great hunter in no time. Said you were real brave Jack and that he’d take you hunting anytime you want. Now wasn’t that nice of him? You know, I think he really cares about us and I believe he came along just at the right time, don’t you Jack?” She said cheerfully.

  Jack pulled out of his mothers embrace. “Excuse me; I need to go to the toilet,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  G

  ermany surrendered on the 7th of May 1945 and when the news reached New Zealand there was partying in the streets. Putumu was no exception. The Publican threw open his doors to all and sundry and announced that the beer was on the house. Almost everyone, from all around Putumu, made their way into their small town to celebrate and remember the sacrifice each and every person had made to ensure freedom for all. However, they were reminded by some party poopers that the job was only half done as Japan still fought on in Okinawa, the last stepping stone before Japan, and that New Zealand pilots and seaman were still fighting in what was turning out to be one of the bloodiest battles of World War Two. But they celebrated anyway. Those that were there. For there was an exception. Doug didn’t go into town that day. In fact, Doug never went into town. He told Ellen he didn’t drink alcohol and despised anybody who did. So because of this, he had no need to venture away from the farm. Ellen did the shopping when necessary and would travel to the village by herself or with Jack when she needed supplies. And she always made sure she picked up and paid for his tobacc
o he wanted, as an extra way to say thank you. A little something to show her appreciation for all the fine work he was doing around the farm. She had tried to convince him to come with Jack and her to Putumu to enjoy the celebrations but he declined. He told her that, “It will only dredge up old memories for me Ellen and I just wanna forget the war, not celebrate it.” He went on to say, “Besides you never know who could be skulking about waitin’ for everyone to leave their houses so they can get inside and steal stuff.” And he added, “Anyway, I don’t fancy tryin’ to get on with the drunken louts that are likely to be there stumblin’ all over the place, spillin’ beer on me and spittin’ in me face instead of talkin’ ta me. Not my cup a tea I’m afraid. No, not for me. Thanks anyway.” And finally he said, “I’ll do ya a favour and stay here and look after our home. But by all means, don’t let me stop ya, take Jack and have a good time. Enjoy yourselves.”

  And they did, staying the night with Wilhelm Rasch and his family after indulging in the celebrations. And then travelling home in the morning, with Ellen, a little worse for wear.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WINTER 1945

  W

  akeford Prisoner of War Camp was situated on the outskirts of the town of Wakeford and about thirty miles from Putumu as the crow flies. It had been quickly constructed after America asked New Zealand if it could accommodate the increasing number of Japanese prisoners that were being captured in the Pacific campaign. Happy to oblige the New Zealand government, who realised that without the Americans the Japanese would probably invade their country, created two P.O.W camps, one in Featherston in 1942 which was a converted World War One military training camp and one in Wakeford in 1944, which they built from scratch.

  On the 25th of February 1943, two hundred and forty Japanese prisoners from the Featherston camp refused to work after the Camp Commandant wanted them to build an athletic area for his guards. The Japanese officers believed that because this was to benefit the enemy it was therefore disallowed under the Geneva Convention and therefore an illegal request. They organised a strike. A sit in. They all sat down and refused to work or move until their captors excused them from this exercise. It was the interpretation of the rules governing prisoners working which caused the disagreement by the parties and the Japanese were warned that if they continued with their strike and refused to work, it would be viewed as serious misconduct and subject to severe punishment. The Japanese stayed put and when the guards surrounded them and then tried to arrest the two officers, the ringleaders of the strike, a shot was fired killing one of the Japanese officers instantly. The prisoners revolted and charged the guards, with some of them even grabbing the bayonets of the rifles with their bare hands. The guards opened fire with their rifles and sub machine guns and after thirty seconds of gunfire, thirty one prisoners were dead and seventy four were wounded. Another seventeen would die later from their injuries. A guard was also killed and another six wounded.

  Lessons were learnt from this incident at Featherston, the major ones being that the Japanese were unpredictable, weren’t afraid of dying and therefore were extremely dangerous. In an ideal world trying to learn and understand about Japan’s cultural differences may have gone some way to creating a more harmonious and safer life for both guard and prisoner. This was never going to happen of course as the Japanese were feared and hated by their captors, especially after learning of the atrocities that their counterparts had committed on the allies in their POW camps. So in light of this, Wakeford Prisoner of War Camp was constructed with extra security in mind. It was a large circular compound that housed up to two thousand prisoners and had comfortable barracks, a kitchen and mess hall, a small hospital and shower and latrine facilities. Compared to the horrific conditions that the allied prisoners had to endure under the Japanese, this was like living in a five star hotel. Two twenty- five foot high barbed wire fences circled the compound, one inside the other and between the two fences it was patrolled constantly by four guards, who had a quadrant each and marched in their own area back and forth, day and night. Each was armed with a ‘Thompson’ sub machine gun and their orders were ‘to shoot to kill’ should any prisoner breach the first fence. There were six guard towers spaced evenly around this ring and each had a bird’s eye view over their part of the compound. They had a ‘Vickers’ machine gun mounted inside them and were manned by two men; one to fire the gun and one to feed the belt of bullets into the weapon, as well as keep watch. There was also two guard towers either side of the main gate and on the ground below another pair of guards was stationed. Up to twenty guards randomly patrolled the ten acres of grounds. There were roll calls three times a day as well as random ones and the camp was lit up like daylight at night by masses of floodlights. As if this wasn’t enough, outside the perimeter fence a minefield had been laid which extended out for a hundred feet and completely encircled the camp. It completely encircled the camp except of course at the entrance, where vehicles and people had to travel in and out of it every day.

  And this is where the Japanese prisoners of Wakeford would attempt to escape.

  The Japanese soldier was like no other in that he was expected by his country and commanders and Emperor Hirohito, the living God, to gloriously die on the battlefield. Never to surrender! To surrender and be taken prisoner was shameful. There was honour in death and honour was everything. And men who allowed themselves to be taken prisoner did not have the right to be treated as men. This was indoctrinated into the Japanese soldier and most believed it to be true. Some did not. One of these men was Konosu Toshio a twenty one year old conscript who fought valiantly, but reluctantly, at Guadalcanal and was captured and taken prisoner by the Americans.

  Konosu had been a prisoner of war in Wakeford since February 1943 and was quite happy to sit out the rest of the war locked up in relative comfort; thank you very much. In fact things had actually got a lot better in Wakeford recently after the departure of one of the guards; a cruel, despicable type who enjoyed taunting the prisoners and inflicting pain wherever possible. The prisoners called him ‘Akuma’ meaning devil or Satan and he certainly lived up to his name. Along with his firearm, he carried a stick which he would use to beat, hit or poke the prisoners with whenever he thought he wasn’t being watched by his superiors. When on night sentry duties he would run the stick down the corrugated iron side of the barracks or tap on windows every time he passed so as to keep them awake. In the kitchen he was known to spit in the food that was being prepared, making sure he was seen by the prisoners who worked there. He would whisper to the English speaking Japanese about what the Americans would do when they invaded Japan; how they would rape and torture the woman and kill all the children. He would make sure he had other guards in the vicinity before tormenting the prisoner so that when he pushed them too far and the attack inevitably came, he could call on his colleagues to come and help him restrain the prisoner. Restraining usually meant dishing out a severe beating with his stick as well as throwing the offender in solitary confinement. The prisoners constantly complained to the Commandant about him but it was hard to catch the guard in the act of wrongdoing. In fact Akuma wasn’t even liked by his fellow guards who felt his constant harassment of the Japanese made the job harder for them as it kept the prisoners unsettled and unhappy and primed for retaliation. He was finally dismissed from his position after an investigation into a suspected deliberate food poisoning of over a hundred prisoners. This resulted in two deaths and it was found later that ground up glass had been added to their rice. Stupidly, Akuma assumed that the guards were on his side and being who he was, he couldn’t help but brag about what he had done. They however, seeing their chance to be rid of the man, immediately informed the Commandant. Akuma was dismissed from his post and was told if he argued the matter then murder charges would be brought against him and he would face a Court Marshall. So left with little choice, he reluctantly went, much to the relief of the prisoners and guards alike.

  The Japanese prisoners settled
down and most accepted their fate albeit with obvious shame. There were of course the staunch soldiers who would try to stir things up and penetrate the minds of others, brainwashing them with their fanatical beliefs. They would tell the prisoners that they were an embarrassment to themselves and their country, and they should either attempt escape and die trying, or at least commit suicide to appease their Emperor. Fortunately the highest ranking officer of the Japanese prisoners, a captain, was a reasonable man and he managed to keep these hardliners in check and convince most that they were better to bide their time and wait until their victorious forces freed them, so that they could rise again and fight the enemy. So for a while a lid was kept on any thoughts of escape and things had become settled and routine in Wakeford Prisoner of War Camp. That was until the influx of four hundred Japanese prisoners, captured in the battle of Okinawa.

  In amongst these prisoners were fervent, battle hardened and embittered men who hadn’t in fact surrendered to the enemy but were actually trapped by the Americans after they were completely surrounded and cut off from their supplies. They fought fearlessly against their enemy often charging the American defensive lines only using their bayoneted rifles as they tried to conserve their ammunition. Hundreds of men were mowed down by the allied machine guns, slaughtered in these suicide charges and without gaining any advantage. It was only as the noose tightened and they had fired their very last bullet that the American forces overcame their resistance and forcibly captured what was left of their battalion.

  The fanatical Shuji Kobayashi was the leader of these men, a major who in normal circumstances would not have allowed himself or his men to be captured. And being the highest ranking officer it was only a matter of weeks of arriving at Wakeford, that he had taken charge of the prisoners and convinced the majority of them that they needed to do more than sit on their bums and wait to be liberated by their armies. He impressed upon them the indignity of being a prisoner and that they should be willing to do whatever it takes to escape from their prison, and by whatever means necessary. That would mean that most would die in the attempt however they would die with honour and not sit here growing fat on the enemy’s food, safe, while their brothers still fought on in the Pacific and sacrificed their lives for Japan. They would die as heroes so that a few of their fellow soldiers may escape and live to fight another day.