War of the Eagles (3 page)

We were coming in slightly from the west. This part of the harbor was taken up by the freight yards. Prince Rupert was built at the end of the railroad line, so tracks have always been its history, but over the past two years they'd multiplied like rabbits. There must have been twenty sets of tracks branching off the main line. Each line was filled with freight cars, all waiting to be unloaded and stored. The problem was that they could get them here a lot faster than they could unload them. To make matters worse, they were running out of places to store things. I'd heard at school they were thinking of using the school gym as storage. Nothing dangerous though, like explosives or weapons, although tons of those were in those freight cars.

Just over from the freight yards ran the dry dock. Two big ships sat in berths being repaired. They were American ships that had run aground coming through Telegraph Passage by the mouth of the Skeena.

Between fixing those ships, building new ones and doing general repair work, the shipyards were working seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. They had almost two thousand people working there, not even counting the soldiers who guarded it and the big fuel storage yards off to the side.

The main streets of the town run straight, either parallel or on right angles to the harbor. It was strange to see traffic on the wide streets. Before the military got here, there were practically no cars or trucks. There wasn't much point since there was no place to go.

The road out of Rupert ran over to the mainland and then stopped about eight miles later. Now there were jeeps, big trucks carrying supplies, and those strange “ducks,” trucks that could go into the water. Soldiers, sailors and even a few fliers were always on the street.

Most things in your life seem to get smaller as you get bigger. This hadn't happened to Prince Rupert. I got older and it got bigger. Before the war, Rupert was a sleepy little town of six thousand people. It had been that way for years and years. But in the last two years it had just exploded. The sign saying Welcome to Prince Rupert, listed the population. It seemed like they should have a little man with a paint brush just standing there changing it by the minute. Now it read Population 21,000.

We left the sidewalk to move around a sandbag bar–rier built to provide protection for an anti-aircraft gun. “Wow,” I said, looking up at the gun barrel.

We stopped right in front of it and stared. The two guards, carrying rifles and wearing helmets stood si–lently over to our side, by the entrance to the bunker.

“Pretty amazing,” Tadashi said. “There are six of them scattered around town. I was here with my father a couple of weeks ago, during the evening, and they had an air raid alert.”

“Just a practice, right?”

“Yeah, but they sure acted like it was real. All the blackout screens were pulled down, lights turned out, people scrambling into their trenches, soldiers running around, the guns all got ready to fire.”

“Must have been exciting.”

“Yeah, it was. As long as it's all just pretend it's pretty exciting.”

“It makes you wonder, though,” I said.

“About what?”

“Well, except for Mr. and Mrs. Schultz and their daughter, I don't think there's a German within two thousand miles of here.”

“Germans? It's not the Germans they're getting ready for,” Tadashi said.

“Well, who's it for, then?”

“Come on, Jed, don't play dumb. You know as well as me, it's for the Japanese.”

“I hear rumors but they're just rumors,” I shrugged.

“We're not at war with Japan. Why would we fight the Japanese?”

“Don't you ever listen to the radio?”

“You know we don't have one.”

“I thought maybe at one of the other houses. You know, one of your relatives in the village.”

“I don't think anybody has a radio.”

“How about the papers?”

“Sometimes we get the
Daily News.
I usually read only the sports page and the funnies.”

“You better start reading the rest. Things are hap–pening in Japan. Not good things.”

“I heard a little about it. They're fighting over there, right?”

“They're at war with China, and have taken over parts of Korea,” he answered somberly. “There's talk about how Japan is building up its armies, and making more and more ships and planes. Some of the people in my village, people born in Japan, are following what's going on pretty closely.”

“I guess they're just interested like I'm always want–ing to know what's happening in Europe ‘cause my father's there.”

“That's part of it. But some of them, not many but a few, think it's just great. Japan, the rising sun, sweeping over Asia.” He shook his head slowly. “The way they talk, it sounds like they're discussing a baseball game, not people killing each other.”

I opened my mouth to answer when a shout inter–rupted.“All right you two, move along!” yelled one of the soldiers. He'd left the entrance and moved in our direc–tion. I turned around to see who he was yelling at and saw there was nobody there.

“Go on, beat it!” he yelled as he stopped right on top of us. “You, kid, get out of here and take the little Jap with you. We don't allow no fish-head nips to be spying on our installations.”

I stumbled forward, away, and then stopped when I realized Tadashi hadn't moved. He was standing stock still.

“Tadashi, come on!” I called, but he didn't respond.

“Move it, Jap, or I'll make you move,” the soldier threatened.

I rushed back and grabbed Tadashi by the arm. He turned his head towards me and the look of rage on his face was so intense that for an instant I hardly rec–ognized him. Shocked, I loosened my grip.

The soldier pushed his body right up against Tadashi, and the only thing separating them was the rifle he was holding with both hands across his chest. “Get moving, ya little fish-head!” he yelled and then pushed the bar–rel of the gun against Tadashi's chest, knocking him backwards.

Tadashi staggered, regained his balance and then stepped forward a bit. I stared in disbelief. What was he doing? Tad never even argued with anyone and here he was having a shoving match with some guy with a gun.

I grabbed Tadashi from behind, struggled to pull him back a few steps and then slid around to the front so I was standing between him and the soldier.

“Better go along with your friend, nip!”

“Come on Tadashi, come on …” I pleaded, looking him squarely in the face.

“Get out of here, now, while I still let you,” the soldier threatened.

“It's not worth it,” I said quietly, “come on.”

He nodded his head in agreement and the look of fire faded from his eyes. He stopped struggling against me and I released my grip.

“First smart thing you're done. Now just go running off with your little injun friend. Even an injun's got enough smarts not to mess with me,” he taunted.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck bristle. What did he mean injun? Who was he calling an injun? I turned around and took a step towards him.

“Private Fletcher!” came a voice from the gun place–ment.The soldier spun around. My eyes caught a movement at the entrance of the gun installation and I saw another soldier coming. He was older, maybe my father's age. He came to a stop right in front of us. He was an officer.

“Private Fletcher, return to your post,” he ordered.

His voice was stern and forceful.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said and marched away.

After he was out of earshot, the officer spoke. “Are you boys okay?”

I nodded. Tadashi didn't respond.

“I apologize. Most of these men are young and some are a little jumpy. They've listened to too many stories about the Japanese coming. Are you Japanese?” he asked.

“No,” Tadashi replied.

“Well, why didn't you just tell him you were Chinese and he would have left you alone? The Chinese are okay. Most of us can't tell one of you from the other,” he added, trying to sound friendly.

“I'm not Chinese,” Tadashi replied.

“Not Chinese and not Japanese. What are you?”

“Canadian,” Tadashi answered and then walked away.

.3.

“Mom! Naani! I'm home!” I bellowed as I pushed in through the front door. The screen slammed shut behind me, acting as a noisy punctuation mark for my entrance.

“You's yelling too loud to get my attention,” Naani said as she came out of the kitchen, “and not nearly loud enough if you want your mother to hear you.”

“She isn't here? Where is she?”

“The camp. Couldn't come home. The other cook just up and quit so she has to stay until they can get somebody else. A soldier come over, banging on all the houses ‘til he found me.” She paused. “You look like your dog just got shot,” she joked as she read the disappointment in my face.

“Maybe this'll cheer you up,” she said as she pulled a letter out of her apron pocket. “Joe just delivered it. It's from your father.”

“AAAHHH!” I screamed. I slumped into the old weathered couch by the door.

“What's wrong? I thought this would make you happy.”

“Don't you remember? Mom and me made a deal we'd only open Dad's letters when we were together.”

She nodded her head sympathetically. “Too bad. Mmmmm … maybe if the fish won't go to the net you have to bring the net to the fish.”

Instantly I knew what she meant. “Could I?”

“Stay for dinner. Then go up to the camp. Circle around to the far side by the kitchen, come in real quiet and nobody will know nothin.”

“What if I get caught? That major doesn't like me there.”

“Well, that's easy,” she said with a big smile on her face. “Don't get caught.”

“That's not so easy.”

“Don't go then.”

“But I want to open the letter, I want to see Mom.”

“Then go. What's the worst that can happen? They aren't gonna shoot ya.”

I nodded my head.

“Come, take a bite to eat and I'll pack you a part to take to your momma. Everything they eat there comes out of cans so she'll be happy to see you with that letter, but even happier if ya bring her dinner. Now, you go and get your knapsack, game bag and rifle, and I'll go and put out your food.”

“My rifle?”

“Well, you never know when you might come across some game,” she answered slyly, as she moved out of the room.

I followed her. “Come on, Naani, there's no way any game will be anywhere near the camp. Any animal that hangs around all that commotion is too stupid to kill.

Why do you really want me to take my gun?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

“Just in case, you know, just in case. Animals … crea–tures … spirits …” she said, letting the sentence trail off without an ending.

“Naani,” I scolded her. “First off, I'm not going deep into the forest. Second, I don't believe in all that forest spirit stuff, and, third, what makes you think a gun could hurt spirits, anyway?”

“Don't argue with me. I didn't get this old without getting wise. Just listen to me.”

“Okay, I'll take my gun, but if I shoot any spirits, you have to clean and cook em,” I answered as I swung my arms around her wrinkled old neck.

The Tsimshian, the old time Tsimshian, like my grandmother, live their whole lives right where the forest meets the sea. They never venture too far into the forest or too far out on the ocean. They believe both are inhabited by spirit creatures which take on the form of animals. These creatures are mostly good and playful, but if provoked or shown disrespect, they can be malicious or even deadly. Of course, I don't believe in that stuff.

Still, I was glad to take my rifle along. The sun would be setting before I got back and I do believe in things like cougars and bears and badgers. The mountains are full of animals. Most of the time they turn and run when they hear people coming, but you just can't predict everything an animal will do. If it was up to me, and my mother says it isn't, I'd bring my gun everywhere, including bed. Carrying a gun around was one of the few advantages of being up here. People would go crazy if I wandered around Victoria with my rifle.

Within fifteen minutes I chowed down and was on my way. The camp was about three miles as the eagle flew. Of course, I couldn't hope to follow any sort of straight path. I'd have to detour around rocky outcrops, deep bogs, impenetrable underbrush and fallen trees. The last time Mom was home she mentioned they'd started to send out sentries to guard the outside of the camp. When I got close I'd swing wide to avoid the guards and come at it from the far side.

Finding the camp would have been easy even if I didn't know the forest. The sounds of the bulldozers and chain saws echoed through the trees for miles. And even if you were deaf, the smell of those machines was just as easy to follow. I figured it was the smell of gas, even more than the sounds, which had driven the animals away.

The camp started as a thin line of brown dirt snak–ing its way through the jungle of green. When people think of jungles, they always think of Africa or South America or some other tropical place. But with all the rain we get here the forest is just like a jungle. I've seen how quickly it can swallow up an old path or an abandoned house.

The road reached up into a spot in the forest high enough to allow both a view of the harbor and a place to build a radio tower. At first this was just a brown patch at the end of the road. Day by day, bulldozer by chain saw, it grew bigger and bigger. The underbrush was stripped away and the solid green canopy, sometimes hundreds of feet above the ground, was cut down.

People who've never seen a Douglas fir just don't know how gigantic they can be. Everybody knows trees get big, but big doesn't even start to describe them. Some of them are so huge you could cut a hole in the middle large enough to drive a car right through. The tops of the tallest trees look like they reach right up to the sky. In fact, some of them are over two hundred feet tall.