It didn’t take an expert to determine that the Chamorros were overjoyed to see American GIs. Up close, it was evident that the three men were underfed, too skinny, their clothes barely more than rags. They looked like gaunt old men from a distance, but it was evident that they were hardly more than teenagers. All three babbled at once, waving their rifles like trophies and pointing them in all directions.
“Yoshio, tell them to put those rifles down before they shoot somebody by accident,” Steele ordered. It was clear that the young men were not trained soldiers, but their account soon revealed that they were warriors at heart.
“We are the first Americans that they have seen,” Yoshio said, beginning to piece together the epiglottic babble of Chamorro, English, and a few stray words of Spanish into a woeful tale. “They have been held in a labor camp for two years, forced to work building fortifications for the Japanese. The Japanese were very cruel. Once all the shelling began on the island, the Japanese began to abandon the camp. Two days ago, they overpowered the few remaining guards, took these rifles, and went in search of help. There are many others in the camp, sick and starving.”
Once the three young men had shared their story, they eagerly accepted food and water from the GIs.
“Easy now,” Deke said, gently prying his canteen away from one of the Chamorros who had been gulping down water. “You’ll make yourself sick, especially with all that halazone in there.” He couldn’t imagine trying to survive in the jungle without any food or water. These Chamorros must have been desperate to find help for the others back at the camp.
“How many others are in that camp?” Steele wanted to know. “I mean, are we talking about twenty or thirty people? I suppose that we could share some of our rations with them.”
Yoshio shook his head. “There are thousands.”
“What?”
It sounded like an impossible number, but the young refugees didn’t seem to have any good reason to lie. Dealing with a labor camp left behind by the Japanese had not been part of the squad’s mission, but it seemed as if they had little choice but to accompany the Chamorros back to the camp.
“Another question,” Steele said. “Where did the Japanese go?”
All three of the Chamorros pointed toward the north, where jungle-covered mountains rose. In other words, the enemy must be firmly dug in and waiting to make their final stand.
“What should I tell them?” Yoshio asked the lieutenant.
“Let them get something to eat and drink, and then tell them to lead us back to this camp.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hours later, the path brought them out of the thickest part of the jungle and into a cleared mountain valley. They had quickly covered the distance, less worried about running into any Japanese. According to the Chamorros, the enemy had pulled out and retreated to the north.
“I’ll be damned,” Deke muttered at the sight before him.
“Will you look at that!” Philly exclaimed.
Spread out in the valley below them was the largest display of humanity that they had seen on the island so far, larger even than the invading US forces or the Japanese defenders. During the occupation, the Japanese had rounded up at least twenty thousand Chamorros here, including entire families. They were forced to live in squalor, with muddy streets running between shacks built from whatever scraps could be found. A high fence, most of it torn down now that the Japanese had left, had surrounded the many acres of the labor camp.
There was barely a scrap of food to be found. The people wore rags, and many were sick or weakened by the poor conditions and hard work. It turned out that the ablest men had been taken away in trucks to work on the Japanese coastal defenses, leaving behind the weak and the mothers with children. Many of the prettiest young women had been taken away to serve as what the Japanese called “comfort women.” In other words, they had been drafted into sexual slavery, sometimes forced into satisfying the needs of dozens of Japanese soldiers each night. Such a living horror was difficult to comprehend.
As for the very young or very old people, many had simply died, as proved by the acres of graves beyond what had been the camp fence. Awaiting burial was a row of small bodies, clearly children, that lay bundled at the edge of the cemetery.
“Those goddamn Japs,” Lieutenant Steele muttered, his anger growing at the sight of the dead children and the emaciated survivors. “Those goddamn Japs!”
Despite their evident misery, the Chamorros greeted the arrival of the GIs with pure joy. Crowds swarmed the soldiers. The people just wanted to touch them. They even were eager to pet Whoa Nelly, who dutifully played her part by letting strangers scratch her ears.
