Lost in a Foreign Land Read online

  Now that he was on drier ground he realized a walking stick might be an advantage so he looked around until he found a straight branch of suitable length and thickness. He took out his knife and with some difficulty cut the branch free and trimmed the ends. He was weak and unsteady on his feet and a stave would help.

  Suddenly he stiffened—there was the sound of motor vehicles again. Much closer this time for sure and it sounded like a whole convoy on the move. He could actually hear the growl of individual engines and rattling sounds of stones hitting metal. It would, of course, be a dirt road surface. This must be military traffic on the new road. He grimaced and said to himself, “Couldn't find it from the air so now I have to walk there.” Well, it seemed like he was finally heading in the right direction.

  Sound carries a long way in the cooler air of the northern climes. Shinichi realized this after he had struggled through the forest and brush for another half hour and still had not reached the highway. Fortunately, he was on rising ground and there were no longer any swamps to deal with.

  Quite suddenly he found himself in a small clearing. Twenty yards away stood a small rectangular cabin. It was obviously quite old, as the log walls were weathered to a uniform gray and the sod-covered roof sagged a little in the middle. It was a rudimentary structure with one small window and a door in the front wall. All was quiet with nobody in sight and there was no smoke from the chimney. If somebody did live here, how would he be greeted? Not every day a Japanese pilot walks up and knocks on the door to beg for shelter. He could be shot on sight.

  He was tempted to approach the cabin directly, but decided it was wise to scout around first. In his weakened condition even that would take some effort that he could ill afford. However, staying in the cover of the trees and shrubbery until he was out of sight of the window, he circled carefully around the clearing. There was nothing of particular interest on the west side, simply close-growing shrubs and trees. On the north side there was an overgrown but still clearly defined trail leading away through the trees. He checked the first hundred yards or so. Nothing, but he concluded it must surely lead to the highway.

  To the east, twenty paces away from the cabin, there was a shallow gully with a vibrant little stream babbling over colorful pebbles. In front of the cabin was a large pile of short logs—some split and prepared as firewood. To Shinichi it looked as if nothing had been disturbed for a long time. The cabin seemed to be unoccupied at present. He stood quietly for a while, recovering his breath, before plucking up the courage to go closer.

  Chapter Three:

  A Cabin in the Woods

  Shinichi had been busy. He had taken inventory of the objects on the shelves in the cabin. He had very little understanding of English—just a few words picked up in Technical School and during his military training. Most were terms related to ships, planes or operations but, at least he knew the pronunciation of most letters in the western alphabet. Labels on most of the tin cans and jars still had little meaning to him but a few things were easily recognized.

  He was happy to find some dry matches inside a glass jar. Also, a large metal container which held a half sack of flour—it smelled a little musty. Another container held some kind of dry beans. One smaller can was partly filled with—he tasted it —salt. He decided that would be good, if not painful, for sanitizing his wound. Yet another container held dry tea leaves. One large glass bottle contained some sweet molasses. With these basic foods, at least he would not starve for the time being.

  Tucked behind the cans on the shelf was an old newspaper, brown with age. That was something he would examine carefully later.

  How lucky he had been to have found such a good shelter. Whoever owned this place had left it quite well stocked with perishable goods preserved in tins or screw-top glass jars. There were even a couple of blocks of soap sitting on the shelf. That reminded him he needed to clean his filthy body, wash some of his clothes to get rid of the blood, and dress his wound.

  First he brought two buckets of water from the nearby stream. Then, he peeled off his outer clothes and hung them near the stove. With his knife he shaved some wood from the split logs and started a small fire—gradually adding small kindling and then larger pieces as the fire caught hold. He hoped the inevitable smoke from the flue would not draw any unwanted attention.

  It took a while for the stove-top to heat to the point where he could boil some water but, as soon as it warmed to comfort level, he stripped down and cleaned the dirt from his body. He avoided the wound on his side because that had to be done with water that had been thoroughly boiled. He had to do his very best to avoid getting any infection.

  He set about preparing a meal from the flour, his stock of blue-berries a pinch of salt and a little water. There was no cooking oil to be found. However, he soon had the mixture for some simple pancakes. As the stove top heated he cooked these on an iron skillet. It was very plain dry fare, lacking any oil, but smelled and tasted quite good.

  While he was eating, a smaller kettle of water was coming to the boil. Shinichi was well aware that he might get sick from drinking contaminated water—or get an infection in his wounded side—so he let the water come to a lively boil for a few minutes before removing it from the stove top.

  He first poured a cup of the boiled water on top of a generous pinch of tea leaves and added some molasses. It was the first good drink he'd consumed and the warm, sweet liquid was wonderful. The cabin was also warming, and he was already beginning to feel some of his strength returning.

  Now for the really difficult and painful procedure of cleansing his wound. He mixed some salt in the hot water and, using a small piece cut from his silk scarf, proceeded to swab away blood from the surrounding area. He avoided touching the congealed blood on the actual wound. Damn, it was so sensitive it brought tears to his eyes. However, he gritted his teeth and persevered—it had to be done.

  It was the first time he had been able to take a good look at the injury. There was an angry gash in his skin—blood had already congealed. The whole surrounding area was swollen and severely bruised. He flexed the rib gently and was rewarded with a searing pain. There was no doubt at least one rib was fractured. He could feel the bone grinding one piece against the other. It looked like a bullet had grazed the bone just enough to break it, and then passed cleanly out. He was very fortunate it had missed his left arm. Likewise, if it had pierced one or two inches deeper into his body, he wouldn't have survived without immediate, expert medical attention.

  Actually, the wound seemed fairly clean and likely to heal not too badly. He had no doubt the bone would take a while to mend and it would be painful for a long time. He would have to be very careful. Perhaps it would be better if he could bind around his chest to provide a bit of support and protection but there was no suitable material to be found.

  His undershirt and remains of the long silk scarf were both terribly blood stained so he washed them in hot water using a block of soap and rinsed them thoroughly. The result was quite satisfying. He hung them over a cord which was already strung above the stove—obviously for that purpose. When dry, pieces of the scarf would serve as a clean dressing to pad against the injury.

  This was all going quite well. But, he was standing around with hardly a stitch on his back. He remembered he had yet to look in the wooden chest. Could there be something of use in there? It was one of those sea-mans’ type chests with a rounded top banded with iron straps and leather handles on each end. Quite sturdy, but not locked in any way. He pulled it away from the wall and opened the lid.

  It was only partly filled. On top were a couple of thick woolen blankets—he would make good use of those—so he threw them on a bunk. There was a brown woolen jacket, a couple of pairs of trousers, two shirts, a pair of ankle length leather boots, and a strong leather belt. In a brown paper bag were some woolen socks and a kind of one-piece woolen suit with a strange flap in the rear. This fascinated Shinichi – never had he seen an article of clothing like tha
t before. Maybe it was some kind of garb to sleep in. Although he was fairly tall, all of these clothes would be a loose fit on his slender frame. Never-the-less he took one pair of trousers and a shirt and gauged their size. They seemed too large but certainly better than nothing.

  Shinichi had been brought up in a strict household and taught to be respectful of other people's property. He felt guilty using the cabin and going through somebody's possessions like this, but recognized his situation was desperate. He told himself he had to do whatever was necessary to survive for a few days while he recovered his strength.

  Tucked away in the bottom of the chest were three heavy books—meaningless writings to Shinichi, and two boxes of small caliber cartridges. A quick check showed they were suitable for the rifle hanging on the wall. That might be useful to hunt for small game if he was to remain here for a while. It certainly would not be much use against a larger animal. The thought of defending himself from capture didn't cross his mind. He had already resigned himself to the fact that starting a one man battle would be futile and that he would surrender peacefully, if and when, the right opportunity presented itself.

  He warmed the trousers and shirt by the stove and then slipped them on. They smelled rather musty. Not quite as large as he had thought they would be and it felt so good to be in warm, dry clothes. He put a little more wood into the stove and then stepped outside to fetch more from the pile. He wanted to warm the cabin for the night which, he noted, was not too long away. Also, he might as well relieve his bladder while he was outside.

  He was standing there engaged in this necessary task when a movement to his left caught his attention. It startled him so much he gasped and caused his ribs to send a searing pain through his entire body. Less than ten yards away the other side of the wood-pile stood a huge brown animal with an enormous droopy nose and immense antlers. Shinichi had never in his life seen anything remotely like it.

  The animal simply stood and looked at him curiously, which was perhaps a good thing because, for a moment, Shinichi was frozen on the spot with fright.

  It took just a second or two for him to decide the safest place was back in the cabin. Pain or no pain he made it to the door in a few strides. That's the last he saw of the apparition, the animal turned, loped away on long legs and melted into the forest.

  Shinichi couldn't put a name to it but he had seen his first bull moose. He figured it was a huge deer and of course, he was correct. The moose is indeed the largest of the deer family.

  He had just observed one species of the local wildlife. What else was lurking out there? He decided to take down the rifle, load it and keep it handy just in case something more aggressive came to check him out. He hoped he would never have to use it for defensive purposes—small in caliber as it was—unless it was to hunt for food. His service pistol would be better for defense at close quarters.

  The rifle, an unfamiliar, lever action Marlin 39A, had obviously seen better days but it seemed to be usable. It took a Shinichi a couple of minutes to figure out how it worked and how several rounds of ammunition could be loaded into the tubular magazine. He remembered seeing a little can of oil and a rag on the shelves so he rubbed the rifle down and applied some lubrication to the action. It seemed to work smoothly. Then he fed a number of those diminutive shells into the magazine. Should he fire a round just to make sure it worked? He decided against that because it might attract attention to his whereabouts. In future he would keep the rifle and his pistol close at hand whenever he was outside.

  Right now he needed to finish what he had started and bring in some more wood. He placed the loaded gun by the door and keeping a watchful eye around the clearing, he went back and forth several times until he had an adequate stock of firewood by the stove.

  Darkness was descending over the cabin. He wondered if there was oil for the lantern. He hadn't thought of that earlier. Surely, if the lantern was there, there must be some kind of fuel. Looking around with the aid of his flashlight, he found a large can under the table. Unscrewing the top, he smelled the contents and discovered it was indeed lamp oil. He poured a little in the lamp reservoir, moistened the wick and soon had a dim light burning. Would this light attract attention? No, the single window faced the raw land he had floundered through.

  Shinichi sat on the rickety chair close by the stove and considered how homely the cabin was compared with his last night camped under the tree. He let his mind wander as he relived the last two days of action.

  It had obviously been a mistake to go after that enemy aircraft. Who would have thought it would be armed? He could have been killed by the single bullet that entered the cockpit of his plane. He could have been killed in the crash landing too—crashed and burned like so many Zero's had done before. The zero was lightly armored and had a reputation for burning easily because it lacked self-sealing fuel tanks. He could easily have missed this cabin just by fifty yards and still been out in the open for yet another night. Maybe even long enough to die of fatigue and exposure in the wilderness—his remains may never have been found. Fortune had definitely been on his side. Now he could be comfortable for a few days while he recovered his strength and he knew there was a road not too far away.

  By now the crew of the aircraft carrier would have written him off as, “lost in action.” Well, he mused aloud, maybe I am lost—maybe even a little damaged—but I'm not dead yet. He wondered what happened to his wingman. Had he been shot down too? Had he even found his way back to rejoin the other aircraft and return safely to the carrier?

  With those thoughts he brought a little more water to the boil and brewed another cup of sweet tea. Every little drop helped to rehydrate his body and rebuild his strength. For now he tried not to worry too much about the future. His body ached so much, he was very tired, and a good night's sleep was what he really needed.

  Chapter Four:

  Eighth Day

  Eight days had passed by with Shinichi making the cabin his home. It was serving very well as a place to convalesce while his rib healed and his strength returned. However, he knew he couldn't live for ever on the small store of flour and a few beans. He had searched for blueberries and other edibles but found little of use. It was obviously getting too late in the season.

  He had seen that large deer in the clearing again. He was splitting some of the firewood and it seemed to be attracted by the noise. It wandered around the clearing and kept him captive in the cabin for a couple of hours. He had been mystified by the numerous small egg shaped “pellets” lying on the ground. Now he realized it was dried dung from that animal. Strange, how such small excrement came from such a large animal.

  For the first two days he had done little but rest on the bunk or soak up a little sunshine out by the cabin door. A feeling of hopelessness gripped him as he fretted about his situation. However, he shook himself out of it and became even more determined to survive this ordeal.

  On the fourth day—using the rifle—he bagged a large rabbit as it grazed by the edge of the clearing. A good, clean, kill from twenty-five yards away—now he knew the rifle worked and was accurate. He went over to retrieve the carcass and that's when he made a remarkable discovery. Near where the animal lay was a mound of earth defined by a rectangular patch of stones. Lying in the grass was a crude wooden cross.

  Shinichi knew enough about western culture to realize this was a grave marker. Someone was buried here and it was supposed to be marked with this cross. Could this be the owner of the cabin? Maybe that's why it was no longer occupied. But, there must have been someone else around to bury the body.

  It struck him there must have been two people sharing the cabin at some time. There were two bunks, two of most utensils, plates, cups, and two pairs of those strange snow-shoes hanging on the wall. One person must have buried the other and then departed. Maybe that person intended to return—the rifle and all the other valuable things were left behind—but for some reason they had not done so.

  On the spur of the moment,
perhaps because he was deriving so much comfort from the use of the cabin and its supplies, Shinichi placed the cross at the end of the mound and, using a rock, pounded it firmly into the ground. It was then he noticed something carved into the horizontal bar. It simply said; J. MURPHY 1942. So, 1942 was when someone was buried here. Maybe the cabin had been unused since that time.

  “Well,” said Shinichi wryly to himself. “At least I have some spirit for company out here.”

  Dressing the rabbit wasn't something he relished but the flesh provided much needed sustenance and variation of diet for a couple of days. Rabbit stew with beans and some crude flour dumplings that he experimented with. It was quite tasty but he needed something more than that if he was to stay here any longer. He took comfort in thinking if there was one rabbit there would likely be others.

  The report of the small-bore rifle had sounded like a cannon shot fracturing the silence of the wilderness and he was really afraid someone would come searching for the source. No one did, so he was a little reassured.

  So far he had not strayed more than a hundred yards in any direction from the cabin. He had to give his wound time to heal and his strength to return. Occasionally the weather had been overcast and threatening but there had been only a smattering of rain. He wore one of the wool shirts much of the time and, for added warmth when necessary, the woolen jacket. He had washed most of the muck off his flying suit and now it hung clean and dry. However, he was sure he would never use it again. If he was stuck here for the winter—and he fervently hoped that would not be the case, because he would surely starve to death—it would be invaluable.

  He had cleaned inside the cabin and even brushed the dirt from the floor. Now he was finding it quite comfortable. Whiling away the time, he had looked at the three books but they were mostly incomprehensible. He had a little more success with the newspaper and he spent hours carefully studying it and trying to make sense of every article.