The Story of Danny Dunn (11 page)

The men behind Danny spread out along the perimeter of the fence on either side of the gate so that they could more easily witness what was about to take place. As they watched, a huge Yank in jungle-green uniform and high boots dismounted almost casually and reached into the sidecar to lift a Tommy gun from its interior. Several grenades were clipped to his waist, a colt .45 automatic was strapped to his thigh, and ammunition belts crossed his chest. His sleeve chevrons indicated that this one-man walking armoury held the rank of master sergeant. The Yank turned to face the gate and stood, feet apart, towering above the two Japanese guards who stared straight ahead, their eyes focused at a point somewhere close to infinity.

‘Open the fucking gate!' he commanded with a flick of his crew-cut head.

The guards, not understanding, made no move, whereupon the Yank, switching the Tommy gun to his left hand, approached the sentry nearest to him and brought his right hand down hard against the side of the Jap's head, knocking him off his feet. The watching men gasped. Had anyone raised a hand to a camp guard just a few hours earlier it would have meant certain death. The guard, expecting more, curled up into the foetal position, his arms covering his head, preparing for the boot that must follow. ‘Open!' the Yank barked at the second terrified Jap, switching the Tommy gun back into his right hand and prodding it in the direction of the gate. Finally understanding, the second guard ran the three steps towards the gate and began to unlatch it.

Along with the flag-raising ceremony, this gratuitous slap was the thing that, many of the watching men would later claim, seemed to switch on something in their heads, and they began to understand that they were no longer prisoners of the Japanese but free men all. Danny himself remarked later when he described the scene that had the big American simply mowed down the two guards with a burst from his machine-gun, like a scene in a John Wayne movie, it may well not have had the same effect on them as the loud and powerful slap.

Having dealt with the guards, the American scanned the men behind the barbed wire. Pathetic, emaciated, bearded, sun-blackened, barefoot, ragged, near-naked prisoners stared back at him. ‘Jesus Christ! What you motherfuckers done to my brothers?' he exclaimed. Then, in a burst of pure rage, he gripped the second guard by the back of his neck and slammed him face-first into the heavy wooden gatepost, releasing him so that he fell unconscious into the dirt. Without further ado the American swung the gate open, mounted his motorbike, dumped the machine gun in the sidecar, kick-started the engine, and roared past the two guards, the first of whom had risen to his feet and stood once again at rigid attention in a haze of exhaust smoke. The second was either unconscious or playing dead beside the gatepost. The motorcycle came to a halt in a cloud of dust in front of Danny and Spike Jones, the American sergeant revving the engine once (perhaps to punctuate his arrival) before killing it.

There was nothing to indicate that Danny was the senior NCO in charge – like everyone else he wore a ragged pair of khaki shorts and a pair of crude motor-tyre sandals – so the huge Yank simply included him and Spike Jones in his greeting. ‘Howdy, folks. How y'all doing?'

‘Gidday!' A dozen or so of the men standing closest responded, while others, murmuring excitedly, approached their lone liberator and his clumsy-looking motorbike, which Danny had now identified as a Harley-Davidson.

The American cast a concerned eye over the skeletal prisoners. ‘Hey, you guys,' he called out. ‘I'm real sorry, but I got no rations! Thai kids ate all the candy bars.' Then he indicated the sidecar with a grin. ‘But I got a shit-load o' Camels and Chesterfields. Help yourselves. You guys mostly from Australia, right? Who's the head honcho?'

Spike Jones pointed to Danny. ‘Company Sergeant Major Dunn, Sergeant.'

With the news of the cigarettes a couple of dozen prisoners began to move uncertainly towards the motorcycle. They were unaccustomed to acting on their own initiative, even when invited, but when they saw the sidecar heaped with cartons of cigarettes they began to mill, then push and shove, each anxious to lay hold of such unimaginable treasure in case it should disappear in front of their very eyes.

‘That's enough!' Danny shouted. ‘Nobody touches the fags! Get into line! No shoving! Corporal Thomas, take charge. Count the packs. There's 410 men in camp, another 63 in sick bay!' He turned and extended his hand to the American sergeant. ‘Danny Dunn. Bloody good to see you!' Before the big American could reply, he asked, ‘How many packs have you got in there, Sergeant?'

‘Hell, man, I don't rightly know,' the Yank said, squinting up at him. ‘I reckon maybe twenty cartons.'

Danny did a quick calculation: twenty cigarettes to a pack, a dozen packs to a carton, twenty cartons, that was half a pack per man – ten cigarettes. ‘Corporal, five smokes a man. Anyone gets out of line he gets bugger-all! Five more after breakfast tomorrow! Forsyth, you help him,' Danny instructed.

He turned back to the sergeant, realising he hadn't allowed the American to introduce himself. ‘Jeez, sorry, Sergeant. I didn't even give you the chance to introduce yourself. Had to stop the stampede. It's been a fair while since any of the men enjoyed a smoke. Very bloody good of you, mate.'

‘You're welcome, Danny. It's Billy du Bois, OSS, New Orleans, Louisiana,' the Yank said, looking directly at Danny and once again extending his hand. ‘They do that to your face?'

‘Yeah – Singapore. I took a beating from a
kempeitai
officer.'

‘
Kempeitai
?'

‘Yeah, the Japanese military police . . . cruel bastards. I tried to interfere when I thought they were about to kill one of my work detail for stealing food.'

‘Jesus, man! They gone hurt you bad!' the American exclaimed wide-eyed, looking directly at him, man enough not to avert his gaze.

Danny gave him a lopsided grin. ‘Yeah, I'm an ugly bugger, I know. Fortunately we're not big on mirrors in camp. But I'm alive and now it seems we're going to make it. Never thought we would.' He paused. ‘Not too sure how I feel about that yet.'

‘Hey, maybe we can send you stateside. Have you one o' them plastic-surgery operations,' Sergeant Billy du Bois said. ‘They doing great work, I hear. That's one good thing about war; surgeons they get themselves a whole lotta practice.'

Despite himself Danny was forced to smile at the obvious concern the big ingenuous American was showing for him. ‘Yeah, maybe, Sergeant,' he replied without conviction. Then, anxious to change the subject, he indicated the road beyond the gate with a nod of his head. ‘When's the rest of the cavalry arriving?'

Sergeant Billy du Bois dismounted and stood beside Danny, who was genuinely surprised to see that they were about the same height. In fact the GI probably wasn't any bulkier than Danny had been when he'd left Australia for Malaya, but to him, and no doubt the other starving Australian prisoners, the Yank appeared to be a giant, a creature filled to the brim with life, with personal power and natural authority, confirmed by the way he'd so casually dispatched the two Jap guards. Billy du Bois chuckled. ‘No, like I said, it's just me, Sergeant. Parachuted into Thailand four weeks ago to help train the Thai resistance.'

‘What? Just one bloke?'

‘Sure. The Brits did it in France. We're doing it here.'

‘And you decided to come here on your own? I mean, liberate us solo, with fifty Jap soldiers armed to the teeth waiting for you?' Danny asked.

The American laughed, patting the crossed ammunition belts. ‘Hey, man! I'm armed to the teeth too.' He paused, glancing down at his torso. ‘All this shit, it ain't for patrols. Too fuckin' heavy, man. I wear it on the rig 'cause it impresses the holy Jesus out o' the Thais. They neutrals, but when their young guys see this get-up together wid the rig it makes recruiting them as resistance fighters a damn sight easier.' He grinned. ‘Young guys the same everywhere. Long as they get one o' these ammo belts and a Tommy gun they gonna join.' He laughed. ‘But the Japs they surrendered, ain't no cause to be afraid of them now. They ain't like us. They gonna cut their own throats . . . commit hara-kiri, because they ashamed, see. Now they their own worst enemies, no way they gonna be no danger to us no more.'

‘Hope you're right, mate,' Danny said, unconvinced, ‘but if I was you I wouldn't hang around and ask Colonel Mori to hand over his sword.' He pointed to the rig. ‘That come by parachute too?'

‘The pig? Yeah, it goes where I go. Harley's got real good shocks – it don't have no trouble landing.'

‘The Japs didn't see it coming down?'

‘Not at night. Paddy field makes a soft landing.'

‘So you knew all along we were here?'

‘Sure. Ain't you bin gettin' fresh food from the locals?'

‘That was you? It's been a godsend. Most of it has gone to the hospital – made all the difference. Half a dozen blokes might not have made it otherwise.'

‘You're welcome. Glad to be able to help, buddy. Thais don't like the Japs any more than we do.'

The men who'd already received cigarettes were talking excitedly, though none of them had lit up. Observing this, Billy du Bois reached back and undid the buckles on a canvas bag strapped to the rear of the seat. ‘Hey, wait on! Should be a dozen Zippos in here.' He handed the lighters out to the men nearest him. ‘Share 'em around, buddy.' He turned back to Danny. ‘I was half a mile away from my base camp when I remembered the fucking Zippos,' he laughed.

‘They'll be worth their weight in gold,' Danny replied. Then, growing serious he said, ‘Okay, so what now, Sergeant? Do we stick around or attempt to march to Bangkok?'

The American scratched his head. ‘Cain't say, buddy. They ain't wrote the script yet. This goddamn war, it's not suppose to finish till 1946. But now the president, he dropped the atomic bomb, suddenly it's all over, the whole goddamn shebang!'

‘The
what
bomb?' Danny asked, not understanding.

‘Atomic. We got us atomic bombs now. One bomb can take out a whole goddamn Japanese city. They dropped two, first Hiroshima, then Nagasaki – that like Memphis and New Orleans – totalled in jes two motherfucker bombs. After that the Japs decide they had enough; they don't want no war no more.' Billy shrugged then smiled broadly. ‘That happened yesterday, so now we got us peace before we's had time to make arrangements.' He spread his hands. ‘I ain't got no instructions about peace. So I thought maybe I'd jes take the pig, load up the sidecar wid cigarettes and mosey up to liberate you folk in the name of Uncle Sam. After that,' he shrugged, ‘I'm afraid I ain't done a whole lotta thinking. But I guess you right, buddy – cain't see no point in a fancy surrender ceremony.'

‘It's all come as a bit of a shock to us, too,' Danny replied. ‘We had no idea until after breakfast this morning. I guess we'll just have to lie low, wait and see,' he added, not knowing what else to suggest.

‘Yeah, I don't think you should have yourself a prison revolt,' Billy replied. ‘Soon as I get back I'll radio HQ, arrange for an airdrop.' He grinned. ‘I'll tell them to throw in a crate of Hershey bars, eh?'

‘Hershey bars?'

‘Chocolate candy; you gonna love 'em, buddy.'

‘No! No, please don't! Too rich, mate. We'll get bad stomach cramps. Bully beef, canned veggies, canned fruit, sugar, tea, condensed milk . . .' Danny turned to Spike Jones. ‘What are your most urgent medical needs, Spike?'

‘We don't have urgent needs, Sarge. Everything's urgent. We need the lot – bandages, swabs, antiseptics, quinine, anything they've got for malaria, dysentery, tropical ulcers, but we can use whatever they can spare. We've got bugger-all, not even Aspro,' Jones replied.

Danny turned back to Billy du Bois. ‘That would be great, mate . . . Oh, yeah, and maybe more cigarettes if that's possible?'

‘Beer?'

‘Jesus, you mean it?'

Billy laughed. ‘You'll have to drink it warm – an ice-machine drop takes a little longer to arrange.'

Danny laughed in turn. ‘Don't worry, mate. I've just realised we've got one. Colonel Mori's got a petrol generator and his own fridge; I guess I just took it over.'

Billy du Bois grinned. ‘Yep, that's the idea. You're a free man now, buddy.' He swung his leg over the Harley. ‘Hey, gotta kick the dust if I'm gonna get Uncle Sam's air force to do a drop today, even tomorrow morning. I'll keep in touch. So long, Danny.' With this he kick-started the Harley, then manoeuvred the clumsy rig around with staccato bursts of power from the accelerator and the help of his booted right leg. The men were cheering as he waved a salute and roared back out the camp gate, hitting a patch of loose gravel and careening sideways, narrowly missing the now conscious Jap guard. He straightened with a burst of accelerator and a wave, and then the Yankee liberator shot off down the bumpy dirt road.

Spike Jones turned to Danny, pointing to the two Japanese soldiers at the gate. ‘If you don't mind, Sarg'n Major, I'll just take a look. One of them may need a wee bit of attention.'