No Uncle Sam by Tony Bilek

Author:Tony Bilek [Bilek, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Reference
ISBN: 9780873387682
Google: 5q3Mk6Bx0lsC
Publisher: Kent State University Press
Published: 2003-01-15T02:55:57+00:00

7 To Japan

July–August 1944

The day before our departure found Bob and I standing around near the assembly area at the center of the camp. Russ was talking to some other guys nearby but broke off the conversation when he saw us. He hurried over, and quipped, “Join the army and see the world, huh, guys?”

“Not the part I want to see,” said Bob, “but maybe better than this dump.”

“Well, the guards say that we’ll be fed better in Japan.”

Bob snorted. “It sure wouldn’t take much to improve on these rations.”

“Let me have your attention!” We looked up. Lieutenant Colonel Beecher, Cabanatuan’s POW commander, stood on the camp’s little bandstand along with some Japanese officers. He moved a step closer to the edge. “All of you volunteering for Japan, line up here in front of me and leave about eight feet between you.” As we moved into formation, Beecher, accompanied by a captain, two of our medical officers, and two Japanese officers, stepped down from the bandstand and prepared to inspect us. As the review proceeded, about every tenth man was pulled from ranks—too thin, too sick, too something. They finished with the first column and then began moving down our line. We were pretty edgy, at least I was. But then they barely paused as they passed by me, and I let out a small sigh. A few men farther down the line, and the doctors pulled a man out.

“Doc, there’s nothing wrong with me. Look, I’m in pretty good shape,” the man pleaded.

“Out.”

“Colonel Beecher, I’m skinny, I know. I always was. That’s my nickname, ‘Skinny.’ Besides Colonel, I’m from Minnesota, and I can’t take this hot, sticky weather no more. If I stay here, I’ll only get worse.”

“Doctor,” Colonel Beecher said, “after inspection give this man as thorough an inspection as you can. If he passes, put him back on the shipment.”

“Thanks, Colonel.”

Beecher smiled.

The next morning we fell out and were formed into a column of fours. Standing there, we all sensed the electricity in the air. Our ranks were filled with excited chatter. You’d have thought we were headed for home instead of Japan. But we were leaving the old drudgeries and miseries behind us. A new adventure lay ahead, cool frosty days, good food, and a decent place to sleep—it was all in the travel brochure that we had concocted in our heads.

We were traveling pretty light. I wore my wooden go-aheads, a pair of shorts, and a sleeveless shirt. My mess gear was hooked onto my web belt. I shouldered my bedroll (just a blanket with a rope sling) and, in my left shirt pocket, I carried my most precious possession, the metal container with my letter.

After about an hour’s wait, two American officers, who then reported to Beecher, made a head count. A few minutes later we were counted again, this time by two different officers, who (judging by their gear) were going with us. After they finished we stood there for another half hour.

“What the hell are we waiting for now?” someone complained.

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