Caged Eagles by Eric Walters Read Free Book Online Page B

be given more food because we weren’t going anywhere. We were staying here at wharfside and going nowhere … maybe for a long time.
    My heart started to sink when my eyes caught sight of a second truck. How many supplies would we need? Then a third truck appeared, and a fourth, and a fifth … and a sixth. The column just kept on coming, truck after truck. The second and third vehicles had already come through the gate and joined the first coming along the actual wharf.
    All along the dock at each boat, people had come out of their cabins, alerted by the noise and attracted by the unspoken promise that something was going to happen. But what? My father, along with the other men, moved to the side, allowing the truck a clear passage. There was a rhythmic thumping as the wheels of the trucks passed over the rough, loosely fastened planks of the dock. The truck rumbled past us, leaving behind the lingering smell of smoke and diesel fuel. It continued down toward the very end of the wharf, flashing brake lights and squealing brakes bringing it to a stop beside the very first boat.
    The second and third trucks passed by where we stood before coming to a stop farther down the wharf,
    spaced out behind the first vehicle. A truck came to rest directly in front of us. I looked way up into the cab and saw two soldiers, one at the wheel and a second sitting beside him. Letting my eyes run down the line of trucks I started to count. Twelve. All along the length of the wharf, the people who had been standing on their boats watching had now come onto the dock.
    They formed a thin line, knotted in places by groups, clumps where a mother and father stood surrounded by a clutch of children, or four or five men pressed together to discuss what they were seeing.
    I was struck by the sight of hundreds of people … children, fathers, mothers, old people … all different but all the same … all Japanese faces peering out from beneath hats or caps … watching. Nobody was making a sound. It was like every single person was holding his breath. Waiting.
    And then came the sounds. Heavy boots against the wooden dock, the slamming of doors, men’s raised voices, the loud crash of metal as the heavy tailgates were untied and let drop.
    From the back of the truck directly in front of me leapt three men in sailor uniforms. Then two more sailors jumped out.
    â€œAttention!” screamed out a loud mechanical voice.
    My head snapped around to see a man, a soldier in an army uniform, an officer, standing there holding a bullhorn.
    â€œAttention! The head of each family and the captain of every boat is ordered to assemble to receive further instructions concerning evacuation!”
    Evacuation! Were we leaving our boats now? That might explain those sailors. Were they here to pilot our boats when we left?
    My father silently started to file away toward the man with the bullhorn. Other men joined in until he was lost to my view in the midst of a crowd. I was certain I could walk over and hear what our fate was going to be, but I was just as certain that I already knew the answer. Those sailors were here to take charge of our boats, and all those trucks, far too many to deliver anything, were here to move us and all of our possessions. The only question in my mind was, where?

.5.
    I hurried back to our boat. Where we were heading wasn’t as important as the fact that I’d have to help move all our belongings, and I wanted to eat breakfast before I did anything.
    My grandmother was standing on the edge of the wharf beside our boat. I think that was the first time she’d left the boat since this trip had begun. Her expression was questioning. She was straining to try to understand what was happening. I doubted she had been able to pick up the meaning of the garbled burst of words yelled through the bullhorn.
    â€œWe’re going to be leaving, I think,” I explained as I rushed by her and jumped aboard the