Necessary Evil

Necessary Evil

A novel by John Bushore\

Published by John Bushore at Smashwords

Necessary Evil © 2012 by John Bushore

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names of the crewmen and aircraft of the 509th Composite Group are historical fact, but many of their actions in this book are fictional. All other characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A MonkeyJohn Books Production

ISBN: 9781311264176

To order additional copies of this book, visit the author’s website at: http://www.johnbushore.com

This novel is dedicated to:

My father, Gerald S. Bushore, who served in the Pacific Theater during World War II as a Radioman First Class, USN.

My father-in-law, Harold J. Stinson, who served in both World War II and in Korea as a Corpsman Second Class, USMC. He passed away on November 17, 2011

And a special thank you to Frank Hilinski of Philadelphia, Pa. He served in World War II as a Private First Class, USMC, and saw action on both Saipan and Tinian, in the Marianas Islands. He was assigned to guard the atomic bomb pits and was present when the Enola Gay departed on the Hiroshima mission. His recollections of conditions and events on Tinian in 1944-45 aided me in the writing of this book.

Acknowledgements

Heidi Chargualaf-Quenga, director of the Kutturan Chamoru Foundation of Long Beach, CA assisted me in finding help when I had questions about Chamorro culture.

Keith Castro of the Kutturan Chamoru Foundation was kind enough to check my use of the Chamorro language and descriptions of the culture.

Other books by John Bushore:

What’s Under the Bed – Sam’s Dot Pub. 2003

Friends in Dark Places – Sam’s Dot Pub. 2006

The Prisoners of Gender – Eternal Press 2009

Wolfwraith – Damnation Books 2011

Boy in Chains – MonkeyJohn Books 2011

...and Remember that I Am a Man. – MonkeyJohnBooks, 2011

Wendigo – MonkeyJohn Books, 2013

http://www.johnbushore.com

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Necessary Evil

Chapter One

Bullies

June 11th, 1944

It’s the leper’s boy. Tad heard someone shout in Japanese. "Get him!

He started running; he knew that voice. He glanced back and saw he was right. It was the bully Hanjiro, along with two of his toadies. The only son of the sugar cane company’s manager, Hanjiro did pretty much as he pleased and it pleased him to hurt people. Like many of his countrymen, he was cruel to any non-Japanese, native islanders like Tad, Koreans, who were slave laborers, and even Okinawans, who were technically Japanese but were considered inferior.

Tad ran like a frightened lizard. Due to his small size, he was fast and nimble, but the other boys had longer legs and would run him down eventually. His only chance was to find a place to hide. His eyes darted around as he sped through the only town on the small island of Tinian.

Home to hundreds of factory workers before the war, the town was dominated by squat, ugly sugar mills and worker shacks. To Tad, it had always seemed out of place sitting beside the beautiful beach of deep-blue Sunharon Harbor. Lately, the Japanese had been building fortifications and gun emplacements, which made the town even less attractive.

But Tad wasn’t thinking about that right now. The only thing about the town that interested him was finding a place to hide. He had a good lead on the Japanese boys, but they were gaining.

He dashed around the corner of a store and ran into the Korean quarters. The rusty tin-roofed huts were small and the streets were narrow. He dodged this way and that, hoping to throw off his pursuers. When he got to the other side of the block, he glanced back. No one in sight. He ran across the main street and dived under a storage building. Quickly, he squirmed back into the shadows and flattened out.

Normally, Tad wouldn’t have come into town in daytime, when so many soldiers were about. His adoptive mother, Ha’ani, needed medicine, however. She had cut her foot on a sharp rock, and hadn’t noticed because leprosy had robbed her of feeling in her limbs. The wound had become infected and the only place to get medicine was from Doctor Katura, who worked for the sugar cane company. The doctor was supposed to treat only employees, but the kindly man and had given Tad sulfa powder once before, when Ha’ani had hurt her hand.

Tad and Ha’ani were the only Chamorros on Tinian. All the others had been re-located by the Japanese to the island of Guåhan, or Guam, at the beginning of the war. They had only left Ha’ani behind because she was a leper. Tad supposed they thought he had leprosy, too, since he lived in the leper colony with her.

Thirteen years ago, when her leprosy hadn't been as bad, Ha'ani had found a nearly-dead baby boy lashed inside a galaide, a small Chamorro outrigger sailing canoe. His parents had apparently been traveling between islands, and been washed overboard in a storm, leaving their canoe to drift ashore. Ha'ani had brought the boy back to health, adopted him, and named him Tadtaotao, one without people, in Chamorro.

Knowing one's people in the islands was important. Protective spirits, or anti, were passed down from a person's parents to protect against any evil spirits that might threaten.

Ha’ani had been educated in a mission school on Guam, which had been American territory before the war. When her leprosy symptoms had appeared, she had been sent to the small leper colony on Tinian. Ha'ani had educated Tad the best she could, using the colony's tattered bible to teach him to read English. She insisted that the Americans would come back to the Marianas Islands, but Tad wasn’t so sure, and didn’t think he wanted them on Tinian, anyway. They could have Guam, but not his island.

It was common knowledge in the Japanese-controlled northern islands that Americans were a cruel and merciless race who wanted to exterminate any people who didn’t have white skin like them. Ha’ani said they were good people, but she had only known a few of them, many years ago before the war, and missionaries, at that. Of course, missionaries would be kind to the natives; they wanted to convert them to worship the white god, Jesus Christ. Tad mostly believed what the Japanese said about Americans, that they were devils who would kill everyone on the island and eat the youngest children.

But who knew if Tad would ever even see an American? Maybe they would return and fight to get Guam back, but why would they bother with little Tinian, which had been Japanese for many years before the war? Tinian was like a minnow, too small to become caught in America’s great net.

Tinian, in the Pacific Ocean more than two-thousand miles southeast of Japan, was only eight miles long, north and south, and five miles wide. To Tad, it was just home, but he knew most foreigners would describe it as a tropical paradise. Some beaches were sand, most with a coral reef protecting the shallows, while much of the shoreline was sheer cliff. The interior of the island consisted of gentle slopes—most planted with sugar cane—while coconut groves and fruit trees grew wild in the more rugged areas, such as the sides of Mount Lasu, the highest point.

The climate of the Mariana Islands was temperate. All year long, the temperature remained around ninety degrees farenheit during the day, with a cooling wind coming in off the sea. There were only two seasons, Fanumnangan, the dry season from December through June and Fanuchanan, the wet season for the rest of the year.

Tad heard running feet, and boys shouting in Japanese. Besides Chamorro and the English Ha’ani had taught him, he had learned to speak the Japanese language, Nihongo. He couldn’t make out what was being said, however, since the words were muffled by the building above him. He kept his head down, afraid someone might see the whites of his eyes if they looked under the warehouse. After a while, the sounds faded away, but he decided to wait a little while, just in case.

Before the war, Tad had been able to come into town anytime he wanted, trading sweet potatoes, squash and other things from their garden for things such as tea and salt. Most of the townspeople had been willing to deal with him, as long as he didn’t show any signs of leprosy himself. Sometimes they gave him a little extra food, or hand-me-down clothing, or pieces of cloth for Ha'ani. But now the island was over-run by thousands of Japanese soldiers. He worried that some officer might recognize him as Chamorro and take him away, as they had all the others. If that happened, Ha’ani would be all alone and she couldn’t get along without him. She could hardly walk anymore, much less work in their small garden.

After a couple of minutes, Tad crawled to the corner of the building, eager to be on his way. He took time to look around first, though, and was glad for it. Two Japanese sailors were walking down the street toward his hiding place.

Normally, Japanese military men took little notice of Tad, since he was so small—even compared to Japanese children—that he looked to be only eight years old. As long as he bowed low, or kowtowed, when he accidentally came across a soldier or sailor, he was all right. Bur it would arouse the suspicions of these sailors if they saw someone crawling out of hiding. Once they found out he didn’t belong to any of the families in town, they’d hold him for questioning at the very least. He pulled back into the gloom.

Since the build-up of Japanese forces, he had taken to only visiting the town at night to steal food or any clothing that might be of the right size for either him or Ha’ani. He was a skilled thief, and often crept into Japanese warehouses, kitchens, and quarters under cover of darkness. Able to slip through the smallest of openings, he was quiet as a crab and nimble as a gecko. Tad made a point, though, of never stealing from the poor Koreans, who wouldn’t even be here if the Japanese hadn’t forced them into labor.

With his keen hearing, he knew that the sailors were drawing near and he also noticed the sound of someone approaching from the other direction. Both sets of footsteps neared the shed and then came a shout.

You, a male voice roared in Japanese. Why did you not bow to us?

Tad moved to where he could peek out.

The pair of sailors had confronted an old Korean woman. If she hadn’t bowed before, she was sure kowtowing low now. In one hand, she had a slip of paper with Korean characters on it. Tad guessed she had been intently reading and had not noticed the navy men coming.

Along with the many soldiers stationed on Tinian was a unit of men from the Japanese Imperial Navy. Tad had learned these sailors assisted Japanese ships who occasionally came to the island's port for water or fresh fruit and also assisted the army with radio communications and signals. These two sailors wore the insignia of signalmen.

Misuta-sama, sumimasen. the old lady said in Japanese. Honorable sir, I am sorry.

Do you have no respect for the Emperor’s representatives? one of the men asked. He had a lean, skeletal face with a scar down one cheek.

The Korean woman bent even lower. I respect yes, honored sir, so very sorry, she said in her broken Japanese.

You should be ashamed of yourself, old woman, the scar-faced sailor said.

Sumimasen, the woman repeated. I not see you coming.

You should watch where you are going.

The second sailor, a baby-faced youth who looked too young to be in the military, spoke for the first time. She has dishonored you, Sato. She should be punished. He made a slashing movement with his right hand. Everyone on this island must be taught not to disrespect an Imperial military man. Let’s give her a beating.

At this, the Korean raised her head. Oh, please, Misuta-sama, I be old woman.

And a stupid one at that, the one called Sato said. And I am tired of looking at your ugly Korean face. Go! Get out of my sight.

The woman scurried away down the street and the navy men began walking in the other direction.

Why did you let her go, Sato? asked the sailor who had suggested punishment. You should not tolerate disrespect from the inferior races. He again slashed with his hand; apparently he used the gesture to add emphasis to his words.

She’s just an old woman, answered Sato. Besides, you shouldn’t expect barbarians to become civilized overnight. She will learn, like all other non-Japanese, after we've defeated the Americans and. . . He and the baby-faced sailor passed from hearing.

Tad felt angry. Before the war, he had liked the Japanese who lived on the island well enough. Most of them were decent people. Even the army men who had arrived on Tinian at the beginning of the war hadn’t been so bad. But the newcomers were different. Had they been trained to hate all non-Japanese? Or were they just low-lifes who had been drafted from the slums of cities like Tokyo as more and more Japanese fighters were killed off in battles?

Once the two sailors were out of sight, Tad slipped out. He dusted dirt from his skin, since he was barefoot and wore only shorts cut down from a pair of pants. A rope served him for a belt.

He soon came to the last street before the beach and could see the harbor, where freighters anchored offshore or tied up at the dock for loading. At the moment, a Japanese boat was putting explosive mines in the water just off the reef. Over the past three years, he had seen many Japanese warships come into this bay, escorting troop ships bringing soldiers here to defend Tinian. By listening to