Sook Ching in Singapore : 肃清 - 新加坡 :
This story is based on the real life of my father who was taken the Kempitan during the Sook Ching Massacre in Singapore in December 1942.
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“P-lop!”
I felt the heat of the heavy blow to my right cheek as I fell to the ground. As I was about to steady myself up, I felt the sudden pain of my left arm as blood flowed from the injured flesh. I looked up to see the sharp end of a bayonet targeting me again. I moved aside and the bayonet got stuck into the chest of my father-in-law who came to the screening centre at Keppel Coolie Line with me.
“You! 君が There! あそこ” shouted the Kempeitai 憲兵隊 Officer, pointing at me and then at the group of young men to the left of the road. Obediently, I struggled to move in the direction of the group.
“Pl..e..a..se,” said Lee, my father-in-law, trying to stand up with his two hands pressed against his injured chest where blood was flowing profusely. “That person is my son-in-law,” began Lee. I saw another Kempeitai officer slapping Lee on the face. “Bow! 弓”, the officer said in Japanese. The weakened Lee looked in bewilderment, unable to comprehend the command. He was brutally dragged towards me and I tried my best to comfort him. Several of our neighbors came to tie their torn clothes around my father-in-law’s injured body.
Half-an-hour later, we, together with the rest of the group were huddled into a truck. The truck was about to move and I sensed that Lee and I were heading to some sort of a prison camp. I carried Lee in my arms and together with him, I jumped out of the truck only to land ourselves painfully on the earth track.
“Bang, Bang!” I heard the two shots and I fell.
“I must pretend to be dead,” I kept saying to myself. I remained still and when an officer came near, I held my breath.
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What happens next? Why don’t you try to write the next chapter of this story here?
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http://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/infopedia/articles/SIP_40_2005-01-24.html
My version of the ending portion of the story goes like this:
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I was walking slowly back to the army truck.
In the silence of the moment I sensed a movement, albeit a very slight movement. I turned back to the two dead bodies on the ground. “That isn’t right,” I told myself when I noticed that the younger one of the two bodies was not somehow in the position that I saw him last.
I aimed my rifle at the younger body again and fired two, nay, three more shots. Blood spattered around the body as it wriggled into the ground. I stepped closer and aimed my bayonet into its heart. Fresh blood burst out. I gave the corpse another kick. Satisfied that he was now dead, I returned to the truck and signaled the drive to move on.
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Personal Note:
This short article is based on the true story of the capture of my father and grandfather during the Japanese Occupation of Singapore. They were simply ordinary “coolies” working for the Harbour Board. I was then eighteen months old and the story was related to me by my uncle when I was fifteen.