None of the men rose from the concrete to greet their captor. Ouan said nothing. The normal practice was for the three men to push their empty plates and slop buckets along the ground in front of them with the chain at its full length. Ouan would fill the plate and remove the waste. But Phosy had come up with a plan. All three of them had gathered a meter of chain behind their backs but kept the remaining chain taut all the way to the girder. In this way, from Ouan’s position, it would appear that the policemen were already at the extremity of the chains with the buckets and plates as far ahead as they could reach. They would have just one opportunity to take advantage of this ruse.

Phosy kept talking to lull the man into a loss of concentration. They had to be sure he didn’t notice that the chains were all a meter shorter than usual. Ouan signaled for Jiep to push his plate forward but the young man showed that he was already at his limit. Phosy had encouraged him to be patient. Unless he had a clear shot of overpowering the man he was to refrain and let Sihot have a go.

Seemingly exhausted, Ouan ladled rice onto the first policeman’s plate and looked up at Phosy, who was gabbing on relentlessly, talking rubbish, tossing insults. Their captor was annoyed.

“Did you hear me, stupid!” shouted Phosy.

And that was the moment Ouan, distracted, reached for Jiep’s slop bucket. Jiep pounced, taking up the slack of the chain, and grabbed the man’s wrist with both hands. He shut his eyes and held on for dear life. Sihot, by far the strongest of the three, grabbed Jiep by the legs and dragged him deep into their space. Ouan was punching Jiep about the head and shoulders and wrenching at the hands around his wrist. But Jiep didn’t release his grasp. Ouan was close enough now for Sihot to get a hold of his other arm and rain punches down on his chest and gut. Still they dragged Ouan forward. Sihot connected with the man’s nose, which spouted blood, and the fight seemed to go out of him. Jiep and Sihot were on him like tigers on a deer, pinning him down until he lay flat and breathless beneath them. And they could feel the rise and fall of his breath as he sobbed.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The Morning After with an Orangutan

6/12/1944

Second Lieutenant Tetsukimo Souben’s dream had always been to be a pilot. From the day he’d discovered I had my pilot’s license and had spent time with the Imperial Army Air Force, he began to treat me as a celebrity. He had a pilot’s mind. He’d studied the manuals. He knew everything there was to know about airplanes but he would never fly one.