Private First Class Samuel ‘Sammy’ Hockemeier of the III Marine Expeditionary Force, based at Camp Courtney on Okinawa Island, agreed to talk to me via Skype after he returned to the US in June 2012.

I met Jake when we were both deployed to Okinawa in 2011. I’m from Fairfax, Virginia, and it turned out that he grew up in Annandale, so we became buddies straight away. Found out that in high school I’d even played football against his brother a couple of times. Before we went into that forest he was just a regular guy, nothing special, quieter than most, had a sense of humour that could pass right by you unless you were paying attention. He was a smallish guy, five eight, maybe five nine–those photographs that were all over the Internet made him look bigger than he actually was. Bigger and meaner. Both of us got into computer games when we were there, they’re big on base, kind of got addictive. That’s the worst I could say about him–till he flipped the fuck out, I mean.

We’d both signed up for III MEF’s Humanitarian Aid corps, and in early January we heard that our battalion was going to be deployed to Fuji Camp for training–a full-on disaster reconstruction. Jake and I were pretty upbeat when we heard about that. A couple of anti-terrorism marines we’d gone up against at one of the game cons had just come back from there. They said Katemba, one of the nearby towns, was a cool place to hang out in; had a joint where you could drink and eat all you liked for 3000 yen. We were also hoping to get a chance to head into Tokyo and check out the culture. You don’t see much of it on Okinawa, on account of it being seven hundred clicks from mainland Japan. The view from Courtney is awesome, looks right over the ocean, but you can get sick of looking at that day in day out, and a lot of the natives on the island don’t have a high opinion of the marines. Some of this is down to the Girard incident–that marine who accidentally shot a local woman who was collecting scrap metal from the firing range–and that gang rape back in the nineties. I wouldn’t say the locals were actively hostile, but you could tell a lot of them didn’t want us there.

Fuji Camp itself is okay. Small, but the training area is cool. Got to say it was colder than a witch’s tit when we arrived there. Lots of mist, ton of rain; we were lucky it didn’t snow. Our CO told us we’d be spending the first few days preparing equipment for the deployment to the North Fuji Manoeuvre area, but we’d barely settled into barracks when the news about Black Thursday started filtering in. First one we heard about was the Florida crash. Couple of the guys were from there and their families and girlfriends emailed them the latest news. When we heard about the UK plane, and the one in Africa, you should have heard the rumours that were flying around. Lot of us assumed it was terrorists, another rag-head reprisal maybe, and we were convinced we’d be deployed straight back to Okinawa. It’s kinda ironic, considering where we were, but the last one we heard about was the Sun Air disaster–none of us could believe it had happened so close to where we were based. Like everyone else, Jake and I were glued to the Internet that night. That’s how we heard about those survivors, the flight attendant and the kid. The connection was bad for a while, but we managed to download a YouTube clip of that kid being hoisted into a helicopter. We were bummed when we heard that one of the survivors had died en route to the hospital. It’s freaky to think about it now, but I remember Jake saying, ‘Shit, I hope it wasn’t that kid.’ This is going to sound bad, but knowing there was also an American on board, and that she didn’t make it, made the Sun Air crash seem more real to us. The fact that one of our own had gone down.

On the Friday morning, my CO said they needed volunteers from the Humanitarian Aid div to help secure the area and clear a landing pad for the search and rescue helicopters so they could get closer to the site. In the briefing meeting, he told us that hundreds of distraught family members had flocked to the site and were interfering with the operation. The press were also turning the whole thing into a clusterfuck; some of them even got lost or injured in the forest and had to be rescued. I was surprised the Japanese wanted us involved. Sure, the US and Japan have an understanding, but the locals are big on doing things their way; guess it’s a matter of pride. But the CO said they’d been criticised for dropping the ball after that bullet train crash in the late nineties; didn’t get their act together fast enough, waited while the wheels of bureaucracy turned, would only act when a superior told them what to do, that kind of thing. Cost lives.

I stepped up right away and Jake did too. We were told we’d be working in tandem with a bunch of guys from the nearby JGSDF camp and Yoji, this GSDF private who was assigned as our translator, started telling us about the forest en route. He said it had a really bad rep because of the number of people who had killed themselves there. Told us that there had been so many suicides that the cops had been forced to set up cameras on the trees and that the place was full of unidentified bodies that had been there for years. He said the locals stayed away from it because they believed it was haunted by the spirits of the angry dead or some shit like that, souls that couldn’t rest or whatever. I don’t know much about Japanese spirituality, just that they believe the souls of animals are in pretty much anything, from people to chairs or whatever, but that sounded way too hokey to be anything but bullshit. Most of us started cracking jokes, messing around, but Jake didn’t say a word.

Got to say, the Search and Rescue and the GSDF guys hadn’t done a bad job of securing the scene, considering what they had to deal with, but they were seriously outmanned. No way they could control the number of people who were milling around outside the morgue tents. After we were briefed, Jake, me, some of our squadron and a bunch of GSDF guys were sent straight to the main crash site. The rest of the division were deployed to secure the temporary morgue tents, help ferry the supplies and set up latrines.

Our CO told us that SAR and the JTSB guys had mapped where most of the bodies had fallen on impact and now they were bringing them down to the tents. I know you’re mostly interested in Jake, but I’ll give you an idea of what it was like. When I was at school, we’d studied this old song, ‘Strange Fruit’. About the lynchings that went on in the Deep South. How the bodies hanging from the trees looked like strange fruit. That’s what we saw. That’s what some of those freaky trees were holding as we got closer to where the body of the plane had landed. Only most of the bodies weren’t whole. Couple of the guys puked, but me and Jake maintained.

Kinda worse than this were the civilians who were stumbling around the scene, calling for their parents or families or loved ones. Most of them had brought offerings–food or flowers. Later, Yoji, who was assigned to help round them up and get them away from the site, told me that he came across one couple who were so convinced their son was still alive, they’d brought him a change of clothes.

Jake and I were sent to help the guys clear the trees for the helicopter pad, and although it was tough going, it was away from the wreckage and it took our minds off what we’d seen. The NTSB guys didn’t make it till the next day, but by then things were far more organised.

Our CO said we were to stay at the site that night and we were assigned sleeping quarters in one of the GSDF’s tents. None of us were happy about that. There wasn’t a private there who wasn’t feeling spooked about spending a night in that forest. And not just because of what we’d seen that day. We even spoke in whispers; it didn’t feel right to raise our voices. A few of the guys tried to crack jokes, but they all fell flat.

Round about three hundred hours, I was woken by a scream. Sounded like it was coming from outside the tent. Bunch of us leaped up and ran out. Shit, my adrenaline was just pumping. Couldn’t see much–the air was full of mist.

One of the guys–I think it was Johnny, this black dude from Atlanta, good guy–pulled out his flashlight and shone it around. The light was wobbling ’cause his hand was shaking. It settled on this shape a few yards from where we were standing: a figure, its back to us, kneeling down. It turned to look at us and I saw it was Jake.

I asked him what the fuck was going on. He looked dazed, shook his head. ‘I saw them,’ he said. ‘I saw them. The people with no feet.’

I got him back into the tent and he fell asleep straight away. The next morning he refused to talk about what had happened.

I didn’t tell Jakey this, but when I told Yoji about it, he said, ‘Japanese ghosts don’t have feet.’ And he told me that the Japanese witching hour–the ushi-mitsu, no way can I forget that word–was 3 a.m. Got to admit, I got spooked again when I heard Pamela May Donald’s message. Stuff she said, well, it sounded too similar to what Jake said that night. I guess I assumed he’d been influenced by what Yoji had told us.

The other guys busted Jake’s balls about it for weeks afterwards of course. Carried on even when we got back to Camp Courtney. You know the kind of thing: ‘You seen any dead people today, Jakey?’ Jake just took it. I guess it was around that time that he’d started emailing that pastor down in Texas. Before then, he was never into religion. Never once heard him mention God or Jesus. Guess he must have done some Googling about the forest and the crashes, come across that pastor’s website.

Jake didn’t deploy with the rest of the unit when we were sent to help with the rescue effort after the floods in the Philippines; he got sick, really sick. Stomach pains, suspected appendicitis. Course, now they think he was faking it. They still don’t know how he got off the island. Reckon he must’ve bribed a fishing boat or whaler to take him, something like that; maybe one of the Taiwanese crews who smuggle eel fry or meth in the area.

I’d give anything to go back in time, ma’am. Stop Jake going into that forest. I know there’s nothing I could have done, but for some reason, even now, I feel responsible for what he did to that Japanese kid.