‘Goodbye my friends,’ he said softly. ‘I will never forget you.’
The guards were still yelling at him in Japanese. They surrounded him, rifles pointed.
‘Here.’ The Ripper thrust a shovel towards him. ‘Bury them.’
The Ripper clicked his fingers, and the guards leapt forward and kicked the bodies into the shallow graves. They fell in awkwardly, their limbs at odd angles. Tom wanted to get down into the graves to rearrange their arms and legs so that they were at least lying properly. He moved forward but two guards pulled him back.
‘Bury them,’ repeated the Ripper, impatient now. He drew a pistol and pointed it at Tom.
So Tom began the grim task of burying his dead friends. Slowly, he began to shovel earth over them. He could hardly bear to look at where the earth was landing. His own body was racked with pain and the smallest movement made him wince. Tears streamed down his face.
He had buried countless bodies in Singapore. Many of them rotting and mutilated, disembowelled or headless. He had not known any of those poor people. This was different. Every shovel of earth that he threw into the graves, that he heard landing on the flesh of his friends reinforced the horror.
When it was over, he leaned on the shovel handle, sweat pouring from him. The guards pushed him on to the back of the lorry. Archie was still sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. Tom was relieved that Archie hadn’t witnessed what had happened. It would have destroyed him.
The engine of the truck roared into action, and it turned round in the clearing. As they rattled past the native hamlet, an old Thai woman emerged from one of the huts. In her arms she carried a bunch of jungle flowers. He watched her cross the track and waddle towards the graves. She must be going to put the flowers there. This simple act of kindness brought a lump to his throat.
As they drove back to the camp, Tom could not stop thinking of Harry and Ian, of the cruelty and pointlessness of their deaths.
The light faded quickly, and it was dark by the time the lorry swung through the camp gates and rattled to a halt beside the guardhouse. It was supper time. The men were lining up patiently beside the cookhouse with their mess tins and mugs. Tom’s own stomach was taut with hunger, but he had no desire for food.
The guards pushed him off the lorry, and he stood unsteadily in front of the guardhouse. The Ripper jumped down from the front of the truck and strutted towards him. From the look in his eyes, Tom realised that the Ripper had not finished punishing him.
‘You and your friends disgrace the name of Imperial Japanese Army,’ he barked. ‘We have to give punishment. We have to show men what happen to men who try escape. They must know harsh punishment follow to him and to his friends.’
He snapped his fingers at the guards, who jumped to attention and surrounded Tom. They seized his arms and dragged him across the clearing, towards the other side of the camp. With every step, they wrenched his arms as if to pull them out of the sockets. The pain was excruciating, but Tom did not cry out.
As they crossed the clearing, Tom’s heart filled with dread. He realised where the guards were taking him. Behind the hut where the tools were kept and opposite the guardhouse were two punishment pits. These were narrow holes dug in the earth. In them a man could stoop with only his head and shoulders held above the ground. Around the top of the hole, thick bamboo canes had been driven into the earth to form a cage so that the occupant could not escape, or even see very much from within. There was little light or ventilation to begin with, and corrugated iron sheets were put on top of the bamboo struts during the day to amplify the heat of the sun.
Since Tom had been brought to the camp, he had seen only two men being sent to the pits before. They had been caught stealing tools and trying to sell them to the Thais outside the camp. One of the men had died in the pit after three days; the other had been released eventually, but he had never recovered. He still went about camp muttering nonsense, a faraway look in his haunted eyes, alternating between raging at others and crumbling into tearful self-pity.
Tom glanced behind him. They were dragging Archie along too. The boy’s head lolled to one side, and his limbs were limp.
He’ll never survive this, Tom thought. And perhaps I won’t either.
He stared ahead. Colonel Scott was pleading with the Ripper outside the guard house, gesticulating, bowing. The Ripper was shaking his head firmly.
They reached the first pit, and the guards lifted Tom then dropped him into the hole. He landed feet first. There was barely enough room to kneel. He had to stand stooped, his knees and back bent into the available space.
The hole already stunk of faeces. The smell was putrid, suffocating, unbearable. Through the bamboo bars that surrounded the top of the pit, there was just enough space for Tom to see across the parade ground. He pressed his forehead against the bars and peered through. Colonel Scott was still there outside the guardhouse pleading with the Ripper. Other officers stood around helplessly. One of the guards came back and shoved a tin of water and
