Read Online Under the Sun by Justin Kerr-Smiley - Free Book Online
Authors: Justin Kerr-Smiley
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impudence!’
‘As I’m sure you realise I am not in the Imperial Army …’
Again the captain struck the desk, cutting Strickland short. The Japanese officer’s face reddened and the pilot could see he was close to losing control.
‘This is not some sort of game! I have the power of life anddeath over you. Do you want to die?’ he asked, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray and angrily stubbing it out.
Strickland looked at him. He had already resigned himself to his fate, what did a few extra hours or days matter? It was obvious now why Hayama had saved his life. Firstly, he had wanted to stop him being rescued and thereby give away their position. But he also wanted to glean as much information as possible before killing him. If there was one thing the pilot could do before he died, it was to say nothing.
‘I might owe you my life, but I do not owe you anything else. Since I did not ask to be rescued, you cannot expect me to be grateful …’
There was a sharp blow as his captor struck him hard across the mouth with the back of his hand. Strickland reeled and felt blood trickle from his lip.
‘You are insolent! Insolent in the way that you talk to me! Insolent in the way that you refuse to answer my questions! Insolent in everything!’
The pilot wiped the blood from his mouth and then spoke.
‘This conversation is quite pointless. I’m not going to tell you anything other than what I am obliged to tell you under the conventions signed by our respective governments. Frustrating and inconvenient perhaps, but there it is …’
The captain shook his head and sighed. He called out to the guards standing by the door, who had not moved at all during the two men’s confrontation.
This time the pilot knew precisely what was coming as the soldiers advanced and set upon him once more, striking him about the head and shoulders and knocking him off his chair. After a time the various blows appeared to fuse together into one long, sustained beating as Strickland curled up on the floor, the guards furiously kicking and punching him. He lay there and waited, either for the beating to finish, or until he lost conciousness . Fortunately Hayama ordered the guards to stop, telling them that the prisoner had had enough and to remove him. Thesoldiers picked up the pilot and dragged him out of the hut and across the compound, before throwing him into the storeroom and padlocking the door once more.
Battered and bloody Strickland remained face down on the earthen floor, where the guards had thrown him. He did not move and lay there like a beaten animal, all sense of flight or resistance gone. He did not even have the strength to get to his knees and crawl away into a corner. Instead he lay on his side, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He ached all over, even swallowing was painful. He could barely breathe and drew air into his lungs in thin, painful rasps. Eventually the pain subsided and as it did so sleep came and drew away its sting. Strickland fell into a black pit of slumber, way beyond the realms of dreams. A pit so dark and deep that it seemed endless and still he fell further into it. He remained in that void for some time, oblivious to everything else.
A warm breeze stirred the fronds of the palms and an occasional cry came from the canopy of trees surrounding the camp as a bird burst into raucous song. Above the forest rose the mountain , a grey volcanic plug of igneous rock. A few white clouds floated above its crown like feathers in a headdress and the sky was a deep blue. The camp was quiet as the soldiers lay in their bunks sleeping, or whiled away the hours writing letters or playing cards. Music played on the gramophone and the men smiled as they listened and thought of home. The heat of the day made it pointless to venture out and even Hayama took the opportunity to rest.
The captain sat in his cabin annotating his collection of butterflies . There were scores of different varieties on the
‘As I’m sure you realise I am not in the Imperial Army …’
Again the captain struck the desk, cutting Strickland short. The Japanese officer’s face reddened and the pilot could see he was close to losing control.
‘This is not some sort of game! I have the power of life anddeath over you. Do you want to die?’ he asked, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray and angrily stubbing it out.
Strickland looked at him. He had already resigned himself to his fate, what did a few extra hours or days matter? It was obvious now why Hayama had saved his life. Firstly, he had wanted to stop him being rescued and thereby give away their position. But he also wanted to glean as much information as possible before killing him. If there was one thing the pilot could do before he died, it was to say nothing.
‘I might owe you my life, but I do not owe you anything else. Since I did not ask to be rescued, you cannot expect me to be grateful …’
There was a sharp blow as his captor struck him hard across the mouth with the back of his hand. Strickland reeled and felt blood trickle from his lip.
‘You are insolent! Insolent in the way that you talk to me! Insolent in the way that you refuse to answer my questions! Insolent in everything!’
The pilot wiped the blood from his mouth and then spoke.
‘This conversation is quite pointless. I’m not going to tell you anything other than what I am obliged to tell you under the conventions signed by our respective governments. Frustrating and inconvenient perhaps, but there it is …’
The captain shook his head and sighed. He called out to the guards standing by the door, who had not moved at all during the two men’s confrontation.
This time the pilot knew precisely what was coming as the soldiers advanced and set upon him once more, striking him about the head and shoulders and knocking him off his chair. After a time the various blows appeared to fuse together into one long, sustained beating as Strickland curled up on the floor, the guards furiously kicking and punching him. He lay there and waited, either for the beating to finish, or until he lost conciousness . Fortunately Hayama ordered the guards to stop, telling them that the prisoner had had enough and to remove him. Thesoldiers picked up the pilot and dragged him out of the hut and across the compound, before throwing him into the storeroom and padlocking the door once more.
Battered and bloody Strickland remained face down on the earthen floor, where the guards had thrown him. He did not move and lay there like a beaten animal, all sense of flight or resistance gone. He did not even have the strength to get to his knees and crawl away into a corner. Instead he lay on his side, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He ached all over, even swallowing was painful. He could barely breathe and drew air into his lungs in thin, painful rasps. Eventually the pain subsided and as it did so sleep came and drew away its sting. Strickland fell into a black pit of slumber, way beyond the realms of dreams. A pit so dark and deep that it seemed endless and still he fell further into it. He remained in that void for some time, oblivious to everything else.
A warm breeze stirred the fronds of the palms and an occasional cry came from the canopy of trees surrounding the camp as a bird burst into raucous song. Above the forest rose the mountain , a grey volcanic plug of igneous rock. A few white clouds floated above its crown like feathers in a headdress and the sky was a deep blue. The camp was quiet as the soldiers lay in their bunks sleeping, or whiled away the hours writing letters or playing cards. Music played on the gramophone and the men smiled as they listened and thought of home. The heat of the day made it pointless to venture out and even Hayama took the opportunity to rest.
The captain sat in his cabin annotating his collection of butterflies . There were scores of different varieties on the
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