Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

chopped his head off then put us into groups of ten. They told us that if one escaped, they would kill the other nine.”

So it was true. I had read on that page that any offense was punishable by death, but Sergeant Cox’s pragmatic expression and his plain, straightforward words made it real.

I realized I was staring. “How long were you at Sham Shui Po? Were you sent anywhere else?”

“You’re asking about the Japanese POW camps now,” he said, seeming pleased that I knew the facts enough to ask. “I was at Sham Shui Po for about a year. Then they stuffed about five hundred of us at a time into the bowels of small boats they called hell ships. We were like sardines in there. No food or water or sanitation of any kind. We were shipped up to Japan. They needed workers, I guess, because their men were all at war. It was hard to believe at first, but those camps were a hell of a lot worse than what we’d just survived.”

“Those were labour camps, correct?”

He tapped my paper with his boney finger, and I noticed his brittle, cracked nails, with ridges around the nail beds from malnutrition. “Slave labour. Make sure that’s in your article, if you don’t mind. I believe most of the men had to work in the mines, but I worked at NKK, a giant shipyard near Tokyo. For years, we built and maintained Japan’s war fleet.” He smiled faintly and finished his drink. “During that time, we sabotaged everything we could get our hands on. At one point, Staff Sergeant Clarke and Private Cameron set fire to the pattern shop, where all the blueprints were stored, destroying the most vital war effort of the Japanese. I was so proud of those men. Nobody had a clue, and nobody gave them up for it, either.”

I tried to imagine the courage that must have taken, knowing their captors wouldn’t have hesitated to kill them upon discovery.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

“Yes, Sergeant. I have just a few more, if you don’t mind.”

He’d told me the facts. Now I needed to know what it all meant to him on a personal level. Even after all my research, I still couldn’t grasp the whole of it.

“How did you survive this? I mean, the horrors just kept happening. The punishments, the starvation, the disease, the slave labour… How did you not just give up?”

He straightened his bent frame, and for the first time, he looked me straight in the eye. “We are Canadians, Miss Ryan,” he said, matter-of-fact. “We were disciplined and determined. A united front. Not one of our men would ever even think of disgracing their uniform or letting their brothers down. In fact, I would say that the worse things got, the more determined we became. I swore that my men and I would see freedom once more, once the Allies were victorious.”

It set me back, this steadfast belief in himself and the others in his unit. I understood duty, but this went so far beyond that. It went to the physical and psychological destruction of human beings by the enemy, and yet somehow, despite all the best efforts by the Japanese to destroy his body, they had failed to crush his spirit.

“Sergeant Cox, can you tell me how you feel, right now, about what happened to you?”

“Feel?”

I didn’t like the sound of the question either, but I needed to get insight into the thoughts of these poor men.

“Yes. In your mind.” I touched my chest. “And in here. Can you describe it?”

He didn’t speak for a moment. “Well, I’m very proud to have served with this brigade, both in fighting and in the camps. Every man there should be proud.”

I nodded, waiting for more.

“To be honest, I don’t think I feel much at all anymore. When you see what I’ve seen, and when you have to walk past the headless bodies of your friends every day, you kind of put up a wall against feelings, I guess. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more than that.”

I almost put my hand on his arm to offer comfort, but he was ill at ease now. The empty glass in his hand shook noticeably. I couldn’t blame him. He’d told me much more than I’d expected.

“Thank you so much, Sergeant. I really appreciate you sparing this time and your thoughts.”

He offered a weary smile. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Oh yes. And can I say that I think it’s very courageous of you to tell me all these things. My brothers can’t speak of it.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry one of them won’t be coming home. Might I ask where he served?”

“In Hong Kong, as a matter of fact. He died at St. Stephen’s.”

“St. Stephen’s?” He blinked. “Beg your pardon, but did you say your name was Miss Ryan?”

“Yes, Molly Ryan.”

“Richie,” he said softly, raising goose bumps all over my body. His eyes were taking me in: the red hair, the freckles, and I saw his sadness. “I’m very sorry. I was Richie’s sergeant. He was a good man and a good friend. He served bravely.”

I pressed my lips together, determined not to break down. But it was so hard. “Thank you, Sergeant. And again, thank you for your service.”

“It was my honour.” He lifted his glass. “And now I think I deserve another drink.”

Mine was still full. I had forgotten all about it. “You certainly do.”

He headed toward the bar, and my gaze wandered, heavier now with thoughts of Richie. Of all the men in Hong Kong, what were the chances I would have met my brother’s sergeant? I took a deep breath, focusing my thoughts on the job at hand. Sergeant Cox had given me a lot of information and insight, but I needed more than one source if it was going to be a comprehensive piece. I scanned the room for someone who seemed more animated, who might—

My vision closed in around a group