6

The next day the men were forced out at dawn to work on the cutting as usual. This time it was Harry’s turn to hammer first while Tom held the spike. His friend looked pale under his sunburn and for the first time since Tom had met him, he wasn’t talking.

A couple of times, Tom tried to make conversation, but Harry hardly responded. At last, when the guard who’d been hovering around them was out of earshot, Tom asked him in a low voice, ‘Thinking about tomorrow, mate?’

‘’Course I am. Can’t think about anything else,’ Harry muttered, straightening up.

‘Worried?’

‘A bit.’ Harry glanced over his shoulder.

‘Just think. This time tomorrow you’ll be at the village.’

‘No stop!’ The guard was returning, yelling at them.

Harry lifted the hammer and smashed it down on the spike, avoiding Tom’s gaze. Tom didn’t try to speak to him again, and Harry was silent for the rest of the shift. Tom saw the faraway look in his eyes. In his mind, Harry was probably halfway down the jungle trail already, cutting through the forest, making for freedom.

When they got back to the camp at the end of the day, Harry turned to Tom.

‘I’ve got something for you. A keepsake,’ he said, rummaging in the pocket of his shorts. He handed Tom a battered military badge. Tom peered at it in the darkness. It was hard to make out the inscription on it.

‘It’s the badge of the Northumberland Fusiliers. That’s St. George killing the dragon. It’s a bit dirty though. I’ve kept it under the bed.’

‘Thank you, Harry,’ Tom said, touched. He slipped the badge into his pocket.

‘Oh, and there’s something from Ian too.’

He passed Tom a ring. Tom had often seen it dangling on a string around Ian’s neck.

‘It’s got his initials on it. In case you need some extra cash, you could trade it.’

‘Thank you. I’ll try not to.’

Then on a whim he took the watch his father had given him out of his pocket and handed it to Harry. ‘Look, why don’t you take this in return? It could be useful, and if things get tough you could always sell it.’

Harry took it reluctantly. ‘Are you sure, lad? This must be worth a packet!’

‘Your need will be greater than mine.’

Tom held out his hand once again.

‘Good bye, Harry.’

Harry took his hand. Tom could feel the nervous sweat on his friend’s palm.

After he’d eaten his evening rations, Tom went back to his hut to lie down. He didn’t want to see Harry and Ian slip behind the cookhouse and out into the jungle. It all seemed so final. He tried not to think about what they were doing, but his mind returned to them constantly. It could have been him, hacking through the undergrowth, following the little-used path along the river bank, making for the native village, leaving the camp and all its horrors behind him. Eventually he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, but kept jolting awake, sweating and breathing hard. Could he be going down with malaria like Archie? Towards morning he realised it was simply his nerves.

The next day was Sunday, an official rest-day for the prisoners. Nevertheless, roll call was still held at dawn, and everyone was forced to come out of their huts and line up on the parade ground. Tom dragged himself up and out, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, trying to appear normal.

The men were counted and at the end the Japanese commanding officer, nicknamed ‘The Ripper’ by the prisoners, turned angrily to Colonel Scott.

‘Two men short,’ he barked.

The colonel gave a relaxed smile.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, almost too nonchalantly, scratching his head. ‘That will be the two men taken into the hospital yesterday evening. Malaria again, I’m afraid.’

The Ripper looked at him suspiciously, then gabbled something in Japanese and pushed Scott backwards with his cane. He strutted up and down the lines a few more times, peering at each man with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Unable to find anything else wrong, he dismissed them.

As they walked back to the hut, a man next to Tom nudged him in the ribs with a sharp elbow.

‘Oi, where are your two mates?’

‘Mates?’ Tom frowned.

‘Yes. You know who I mean. You’re always with ‘em.’

Tom shrugged, feigning ignorance. He wished the man would pipe down; a group of guards was watching them.

‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘Probably on the other side of the ground. They’ll be about somewhere.’

The man eyed him sceptically then moved away to talk to another group. Tom clenched his fists when he heard the man saying, ‘Have you seen those two fusiliers? You know, the tall, skinny one and his little mate?’

Tom spent the rest of the morning lying uneasily on his bunk, trying to read an old copy of War and Peace, one of the few books circulating in the camp. This version had been passed from man to man, was thumbed and filthy, its pages soft with use. Normally he would have spent the time with Harry and Ian, playing cards or chess, or just sitting around chatting. He could not help wondering how they were getting along, how far they had gone down the trail, whether they were safe.

Later in the morning, parade was called again. This was unusual. Tom watched as the Ripper held an animated conversation in Japanese with Scott. Both men were speaking in raised voices. Other British officers gathered around anxiously. Once, when Scott turned away from the Ripper, Tom caught sight of his face and saw the look of naked fear on it.

The men were kept standing to attention in the baking sun for over an hour. At last they were released, but as they walked away, Tom saw Scott being pushed into the guardhouse by a group of Japanese soldiers.

‘Dear God.’ Tom looked away.

He went to the hospital hut to visit Archie. Archie was still lying on the same bunk at the very end of the hut. As Tom went down the line of sick men, he caught sight of Leech tending to one of the patients. Leech looked up and stared hard at Tom as he walked past. Tom stared back.

Archie was awake now. His breathing was uneven and quick. Droplets of sweat stood on his forehead, and his pale face was a mass of bruises and cuts. His eyes were sunken and sallow. He fixed Tom with a fevered look, and reached up and grabbed Tom’s shirt, pulling him close. ‘They’ve gone, haven’t they?’ he asked.

Tom was so close he got a mouthful of Archie’s hot breath, rotten with fever. He looked around anxiously then put a finger to his lips.

‘How do you know?’ he asked in a whisper.

‘The men have been talking about it. Two missing from today’s parade. I guessed it was them.’

Tom nodded. ‘They went yesterday.’

‘But why?’ asked Archie. ‘Why did they go without us?’

‘They couldn’t wait. The monsoon will be here any day. Then it will be impossible to get through.’

‘They could have waited. I’ll be better soon.’

‘Well, they had to go, Archie.’

‘Bastards!’ said Archie, lifting his head and putting all his energy into the word.

Other patients turned to look at him.

‘Keep your voice down, for God’s sake. You don’t want to drop us in it,’ Tom admonished the boy.

When parade was called again at dawn the next day, Tom could tell straight away that something was very wrong. He saw that there were far more Japanese soldiers standing outside the guardhouse than usual. With a chill, he noticed that some of them wore the uniform and white armbands of the Kempeitai, the Japanese Military Police. Tom kept his eyes to the ground, but his heart was pounding beneath his ribs. He could hardly keep his knees from shaking.

The Ripper addressed the parade in pidgin English. ‘Prisoners, something very serious happen here. Two men missing from camp. Two of your comrade violate the Emperor name by daring to escape. But nobody can escape Imperial Japanese Army. We know who these men are … We know where they go.’

Fear sliced through Tom. Had Scott talked? Had they beaten him down until he broke and had told them everything? It was unlikely. They would never have dared to torture the only Japanese speaker amongst the English soldiers, and Scott would never speak voluntarily. The Ripper must be bluffing, Tom told himself. But he still felt weak with dread. His head was swimming. He could hardly stand.

The Ripper’s speech went on, denigrating anyone who shirked the sacred work of the railway. Eventually the Ripper concluded by saying, ‘Make no mistake! Whole camp pay for this!’

Then he gestured to a group of guards. They ran over to the hospital hut. There was a commotion inside, and after a few minutes the sick men from the hut were brought out to the parade ground. They came slowly, one by one, hobbling on crutches or supported by others. They were poked forward by the rifle butts or bayonets of the guards. Some were so weak they couldn’t stand, and had to be carried by other men. Archie came last of all, Colonel Bell supporting him on one side and Leech on the other. They were all made to stand in the middle of the clearing in the full glare of the sun. Tom turned away from the pitiful sight.

All day long the entire camp stood to attention on the parade ground. There was no let up from the heat of the sun. The guards gave them no food or water.

Tom’s tongue became dry and hard as if it were swelling in his mouth. His throat was so parched that he could no longer swallow. Several men collapsed to the ground, where they were left. The guards slapped and kicked anyone who bent down to help them.

Half way through the morning the sky darkened suddenly, and it began to rain. Sheets of water hit the camp, blown horizontal by a strong wind. The palms were almost bent to the ground by the force of the storm.

Still they stood there. Men lifted their faces to the sky and opened their mouths to take in a few drops of rain and ease their thirst. Then the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. The sun came out again, and steam began to rise from the ground.

It was afternoon when the Ripper marched out of the guardhouse and abruptly dismissed the men. Tom began to walk towards his hut, eyes to the ground. Perhaps everything would be alright after all. Then, he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He turned and opened his mouth to protest, but the words froze on his lips. The Ripper himself was standing behind him, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

‘Not you. You stay. We need talk to you.’

A shove from a rifle butt between his shoulder blades sent Tom stumbling along on quivering legs. A few paces away, he noticed Archie, staggering along towards the guardhouse as well, a group of Japanese soldiers with bayonets prodding him forward.

The guards pushed Tom across the parade ground until he reached the steps of the guardhouse. Then they shoved him forward. The force of the push sent him sprawling onto the wooden veranda. Two of the guards then seized his elbows and dragged him up roughly through the door of the hut.

He’d never been inside the guardhouse before. Bizarrely, it was set out like an ordinary office. The Ripper sat behind a wooden desk stacked with files and papers. There was even a filing cabinet in the corner.

‘You bow,’ the Ripper said. Two Kempeitai officers were standing behind him, staring impassively at Tom.

A defiant voice in Tom’s head made him hesitate.

‘Bow!’ This time the Ripper shouted the word, and Tom felt the hands of the guards forcing him forwards. They then grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to a hard chair in front of the Ripper’s desk.

The Ripper stared at Tom. He could have looked an imposing and handsome man. He was slim and well-built and had regular features, but the constant look of venomous disdain on his face made him look ugly.

‘You know why you here, Private Ellis?’ he said at last

Tom shook his head.

‘No …Sir.’

‘I think you do know why you here.’ The Ripper raised his voice. ‘I sure you do.’

When Tom shook his head again, the Ripper leapt to his feet, knocking his chair backwards.

‘You do know!’ he screamed. The guards shoved Tom forward so he almost fell out of the chair. Tom knew that to show his fear would be the worst thing to do. He lifted his head and met the Ripper’s eyes.

‘I tell you why,’ the Ripper went on. ‘You are here, you and the red-hair, because you friends with escape men.’

He rested his hands on the desk and leaned forward with a triumphant smile, an evil gleam in his black eyes.

Tom swallowed. His mouth went dry. How the devil had they found out so quickly? He was sure they hadn’t gone through the camp checking men against the register. But how could they have worked out their names without doing that? He shivered at the thought of how much they knew, and how quickly they’d managed to find out. His mind turned to Scott again. Had he squealed?

‘But I not need you to talk, Private Ellis,’ the Ripper said with a sly smile. ‘I not need you to talk. We have information. But you will be punish for this. Punish hard.’

‘But why, sir?’ Tom protested, knowing it was useless. ‘I didn’t escape. I’m still here, aren’t I?’

‘You not answer back,’ said the Ripper grimly, and one of the guards slapped Tom’s face, catching the cheekbone with his metal ring.

‘You to be punish so other men not try escape.’

The chill of dread gripped Tom. He had seen their punishments. Water torture, beatings, beheadings.

The Ripper nodded to the guards. They dragged Tom out of his chair, bundling him across the room and out through the door. They shoved him down the steps. Once again he fell, sprawling onto the parade ground.

Then rough hands were on his arms, jolting him to his feet. They slapped and punched him. His face was already burning from the slapping he’d received inside the hut, and now the slaps came harder, again and again. Then they started to punch his body too. Tom put his fists up to try to ward them off. This seemed to make the guards even angrier, so they hit him harder. His eyelids were swelling, and blood was dribbling into his eyes, and then everything he saw was through a film of red. His eyes closed almost completely. He kept his teeth clamped together. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of crying out. Would they ever stop?

Two more guards joined in, punching and kicking him. The blows came from all directions, winding him, making him stagger. They went on and on, jerking him this way and that. The force of one kick made him bite his tongue. A fist in the stomach made him double over with pain. Then a kick from behind buckled his knees, and he fell to the ground.

He was face down in the dirt, and they were all kicking him at once. He heard a voice screaming. It took him a few moments to realise it was his own. They kicked him harder. How long was this going on? He prised open his eyelids and caught sight of the Ripper standing at the top of the guardhouse steps, watching him, cold pleasure in his narrow eyes. Tom hoped that he would pass out.

When he could endure the pain no longer, the beating suddenly stopped. He looked up. The parade yard and surrounding trees were spinning round him. As they gradually slowed, he saw that the Ripper was holding his right hand up, motioning the guards to stop.

They jerked Tom to his feet. His legs were collapsing beneath him. Dizzy and swooning, every bone and muscle in his body cried out in pain. He tasted the nauseating sweet blood that filled his mouth, retched then spat it on the ground. Two of his teeth came out along with the blood. What the hell were they going to do next? He couldn’t take any more of this.

‘That enough. For now,’ said the Ripper. ‘We have something to show you,’ he looked at Tom. ‘Something that interest you very much.’

The rough bamboo gates that separated the camp from the road were dragged back by some guards, and a truck was driven through. It was one of the lorries used to collect supplies for the camp.

It stopped outside the guardhouse.

‘Get in!’ shouted the Ripper.

The guards pushed Tom up the rear ladder and onto the back of the truck. They shoved him down on a bench that ran along the side. The truck reeked of rotting vegetables, although it was empty except for a few shovels and some other tools lying on the floor.

Then, from behind the guardhouse, they brought Archie. Tom sat up. My God, what had the bastards done to him? Archie was unable to walk, and was being dragged by two guards, his feet and legs bending under him like those of a rubber doll. He was almost unconscious. His head was lolling on one side, his face and body a mass of cuts and grazes. His eyes were open, but his pupils were disappearing up under the lids.

They dragged Archie up to the lorry, and threw him bodily over the tailgate. He lay on the floor of the truck, motionless.

Tom crouched down beside him. He shook his arm.

‘Archie, Archie! It’s me, Tom. Are you OK mate? Talk to me, please.’

There was a flicker of recognition in Archie’s eyes. He raised his head a fraction and the ghost of a smile passed his lips. Then he let his head drop down on the floor again, and although Tom shook him again, he did not respond any more.

The lorry started up. It had a chugging, throaty engine. Four guards with rifles jumped on the back. The Ripper got up beside the driver. As they swept out of the gates and down the road towards the town, a group of prisoners gathered round to watch them go, consternation on their faces. As the truck rattled through the gates, Tom saw one man cross himself. A chill went through Tom. He looked away, trying to dismiss the image from his mind.

The truck drove slowly through the town of Kanchanaburi. Its progress was constantly interrupted by bicycles, rickshaws and pony carts. Tom had never seen the town before. They’d been brought to the camp by river, on flat-bottomed barges. The town seemed a poor and ragged place. They passed through narrow streets of ramshackle houses built of bamboo and rattan. Stalls selling fruit and vegetables lined the dirt road. Everywhere the frightened eyes of the locals stared back at him. They appeared cowed and afraid, but too curious not to look.

Where were they were being taken? Perhaps they were going to be executed. The man who had crossed himself had clearly thought that.

The truck soon left the town behind, and they were driving along an open road that ran alongside the river. On one side was thick undergrowth and the river bank was fringed with palm trees. Beyond the river jungle-clad hills stretched towards the blue horizon. Where the hell were they going? But it was useless to speculate, and he had to concentrate on keeping still. Each jolt and bounce of the lorry jarred his fractured bones.

A few miles along the valley, the truck turned off the road and bumped down a rutted track, which wound its way through dense undergrowth and past native huts with chickens and pigs rooting about. Villagers watched nervously from their dusty compounds.

The truck finally came to a halt beside a wooden hut at the foot of a small hill. The hill was covered in jungle growth, luxuriant bushes and creepers. Near the road there were a few trees smothered with delicate white flowers. On the grass under the trees was a scattering of green fruits, the same ones that Ian had brought to camp the other evening.

‘Pomelos,’ Tom muttered, remembering the name. The word sounded odd in the silence. The guards bristled, startled by the sound of his voice. They stiffened and pointed their rifles at him.

The Ripper turned and barked to them in Japanese. They relaxed, letting the guns drop.

Tom waited to be dragged off the lorry, but they left him sitting on the bench as they jumped down and stood to attention beside the vehicle.

It was then that he saw Harry and Ian. They were being pushed at gunpoint out of the wooden hut. They were almost unrecognisable from the men who had set off into the jungle just two days before, full of hope. They were both shackled at the ankles, chains between their legs. Ian stooped as he walked. There were so many cuts on his face that his features were obscured. His eyes were swollen and red, and his nose looked as though it was broken. He wore only a loincloth, and his torso, too, was a mass of wheals. He walked as if in a dream, staggering and swaying.

Harry looked even worse. There was a huge gash on one side of his head, oozing blood. Blood had seeped down his neck and shoulders and had dried there in a dark brown mess. Like Ian, he was covered in bloody gashes. He was limping as if he were lame. Shock and fear cut through Tom. What had these poor devils been through? And what did the Japs have in mind for them now. There was an idea in the back of his mind, but it was so dreadful he could not bring himself to acknowledge it.

The Ripper jumped down from the driver’s cab. He screamed something to one of the guards, who jumped on the back of the lorry and dragged out the two shovels. It was now clear why they had brought along the shovels.

Tom watched in horror as the guard pushed the shovels towards Harry and Ian. The Ripper strutted in front of them and pointed to the ground under the pomelo trees.

‘Dig!’ he yelled at them. ‘You dig!’

They both began to dig. They made slow and painful progress. It was obvious that neither man had any strength left. But this did not seem to bother their captors. They sat down on the ground to watch, as if it was street entertainment. They lit cigarettes and lounged there, laughing at the struggle of the two prisoners. Harry and Ian collapsed several times. When this happened, one of the guards would leap up and pull him to his feet, shoving the spade back into his hand and yelling, ‘Dig! Dig!’

Tom watched, transfixed, as two oblong trenches were slowly and painfully made on the ground before Harry and Ian.

On an impulse he stood up. ‘Ian! Harry!’ he yelled in a cracked voice. ‘I’m here. You’re not on your own. We’ll get out of this.’ He knew his words were pointless, but he needed to let them know he was there.

At first he thought they hadn’t heard him, but then Ian slowly turned his head in Tom’s direction. He was frowning, searching with swollen eyes, looking for Tom but unable to see where he was. Then the Ripper screamed, ‘Shut up! Sit down!’ and one of the guards leapt onto the lorry and pushed Tom down with the rifle butt. Another guard gave Ian a kick, and slowly Ian turned back to his gruesome task.

Helpless, Tom watched, while the guard held a rifle to his head. After Harry and Ian had been digging for some time, the sky darkened and there was a sudden clap of thunder. He felt the warm rain drench him as he stared at his friends. Ian and Harry slowed down, almost to a standstill.

The Ripper scrambled to his feet. ‘Work! Work! No stop!’

They worked on, but the earth had turned to mud and sludge, and the trenches had filled with water.

But by the time the two shallow graves had been dug, the rain had stopped and the tropical sun was once more streaming through the branches.

Then the Ripper stepped forward and pushed Harry and Ian against the trunks of the trees. He yelled his orders to the guards, who lined up in front of the truck, their rifles drawn.

The Ripper proceeded to put blindfolds on the men. However, Ian and Harry both pushed the blindfolds off their eyes. The Ripper shrugged and stepped away, and it was then that Ian lifted his head and saw Tom. Their eyes met. And Ian did a strange thing. He lifted his right arm and saluted Tom with sharp military precision. Tom, in turn, pushed the rifle aside and stood up in the truck, clicked his heels together and saluted back. He fixed his eyes on Ian’s face. He owed it to him to be strong. He would show these bastards he wasn’t scared. He held the salute, unaware that his face was contorted, that tears were streaming through the drying blood and dirt on his cheeks.

The Ripper screamed his final orders in Japanese, and the guards opened up their rifles. The sound of gunfire ripped through the clearing.