'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney

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August 6, 1944, a few miles outside Cowra, New South Wales, Australia

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Jack Sparrow was hotter than he liked to be. Even in August- winter in the southern hemisphere- the Outback sun wasn't exactly kindly.

Sweat was gathering under his bush hat, along the edges of his close-cut hair. His cotton work shirt was sticking to him, especially along his spine, where the rifle and canteen banged annoyingly. His feet felt most overheated of all, locked inside sturdy leather boots, kicking at the gray-green scrub.

/ Of course it's hot- this is a bloody desert! What the hell ever possessed me to ensconce meself here? /

The answer came at once. / Yer tryin' ta keep yer distance from the still-bloodier war. Remember? /

Naturally he remembered. If there was anything Sparrow's vast experience had taught him for sure, it was that wars were things to steer clear of. He'd made the mistake of not putting Europe to his rudder when the Great World War (as it was then called) started, and that had damn near gotten him killed. True, a certain number of Belgium refugees were better off for his having hung around, but it really was expecting too much of him to play the hero every time.

So when rumblings of another big conflict began in 1939, Jack had scarpered off to Indonesia. Surely that was sufficiently distant from the warring parties.

Then the Japanese military had launched their infamous attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, and suddenly the entire South Pacific was a military theater. Jack had hared off to Sydney, Australia. Surely that was far enough out of everybody's way.

Then the allied Naval forces started establishing themselves in the Sydney Harbor. Jack had put his boat- the Caribe Swan- in dry dock, and headed inland. He stopped when he reached Cowra, a nondescript farming community three hundred kilometers into the Outback. Surely such a place would remain unaffected- there was nothing worth invading out here.

Then army trucks rolled into Cowra and set up a Prisoner of War camp. Jack had seriously considered relocating to Antarctica.

But he'd decided to remain. He liked the spicy fare at the local restaurants (barbecued kangaroo was every bit as tasty as mutton), the hospitable pubs, and the easy-going folk who patronized both. Not to mention the encouraging abundance of bonnie farm girls- perhaps a bit heavy-limbed, but he appreciated their sun-litened hair and friendly dispositions.

His last misgivings were laid to rest one afternoon, when a stranger- a sturdy Mediterranean gentleman- walked into the 'Blue Heeler' pub, bellied up to the bar beside Jack, and ordered a "Vino rosso." A few questions, from Sparrow and some others, revealed he was Tenente Nicolo Pirelli, a POW. Not escaped, but on parole. Officers were considered trustworthy enough to allow out of the camp- even to make trips into town, if they wished.

The initial awkwardness was dispelled when the bartender ducked beneath the counter, emerged with two jugs of medium-quality red wine, and announced that, in honor of their guest, said wine was on the house.

Within minutes the pub's good fellowship was fully restored, with Nicky Pirelli in the thick of it. The hale fellow laughed at their jokes, told several of his own, and taught his new mates a raunchy Italian drinking song (at least according to him- most of the listeners had to take his word on the translation.) This gent was obviously a practitioner of that most admirable Italian philosophy: in any circumstance, one should take whatever pleasures one could. The evening's experience reinforced Jack's conviction that there'd be far fewer of these thrice-cursed wars, if different peoples made a point of patronizing drinking establishments together.

Strolling Italian officers were soon a regular fixture in Cowra. The enlisted men got their turns out, too. They were sent to work on the local farms, which most of them seemed okay with. When he needed to augment his poker winnings, Jack often found himself laboring in the fields alongside of them. The prisoners were only lightly guarded; the singularly inhospitable landscape beyond the farmed areas was considered sufficient determent to escape attempts. Most of these Italian POWs shared Sparrow's view, that there were far worse places to wait out the war.

But, though it was known there were also thousands of Japanese prisoners in the camp, none of them were ever seen outside. The rumored explanation was, their culture decreed that being captured alive was a disgraceful failing. Being deeply shamed, it was a matter of principle for them to not cooperate or fraternize with their captors in any way.

Jack considered this attitude patently absurd. Landing in one of the world's more livable POW camps, away from any fighting, was far from the worst fate a soldier could meet. Was, in fact, a stroke of luck not to be spurned. But if those blighters preferred to sulk, he supposed that was their own business. He and his mates might have never laid eyes on any Asian prisoners at all, if not for the mass breakout one August night.

Most Cowra residents first heard of it around sunrise, when several army trucks blared into town with the news. Over a thousand Japanese POWs had stormed the barriers- two guards had been killed, as well as over a hundred prisoners. About 350 of the latter had gotten out, fleeing into the adjacent lands. Some had apparently made it as far as the arid bush, where they would have very little chance of survival. The army was requesting the townspeople's help rounding up these escapees before they succumbed to dehydration.

After due consideration, Jack had volunteered his services. Dying of thirst was a fate he'd not wish on... well, maybe he wouldn't mind it for the evilest man alive. But not the fifth-evilest. And certainly not any poor misguided gits who probably had no idea how unforgiving the Outback could be.

Now here he was, several kilometers outside town, checking every brush clump large enough to conceal a human. The sun might not be at it's strongest, but that red soil had an uncomfortably way of bouncing the heat back up. Not for the first time, he was grateful the fountain's last 'bonus gift' had been an extra-dark skin.

So far, his poking about the low botanical clusters had only scared up a couple bandicoots, a wombat, and uncounted budgies. The monotonous 'beep-beep-beep' calls of the zebra finches were starting to irritate him, nearly as much as the tickling sweat and sun glare. Most provoking of all was his compulsive pondering over this whole daft jailbreak. Just what did those silly buggers imagine they were going to do once they got out? Melt into the crowd? Join up with an aborigine band? Stow away in the backs of pickups headed for the Allied port? He hadn't witnessed anything so ill-considered since that disastrous expedition to...

A sudden branch crunch- only produceable by a large creature- galvanized his attention. Listening intently, he detected some follow-up twig crackles, and identified which brush-clump it originated from.

He remembered the warning from the army Lieutenant who'd instructed the searchers; "These blokes will likely assume you mean to shoot them on sight, so approach them with great caution- you know what's said about sticks and stones." Sparrow brought his rifle to the ready position, watching carefully as he circled the dense bush.

A single additional step brought his quarry into view- a crouched canvas-clad form, dust-caked hair, narrow strained face. Unmistakably Asian, startlingly young.

/ This blighter can't be a day over nineteen! / Jack pressed his lips, resolving not to let his guard down on that account. He knew well enough that a scared youngster could be damned near as dangerous as a full-grown man.

Jack kept his stare on that tight, desperate visage, as his free hand unslung and opened his canteen. To demonstrate it wasn't poisoned, he took a single large gulp before laying it on the ruddy soil, spout up, and backed away. When he judged he was distant enough to dodge a flung stone, Jack deliberately turned his weapon to the side, holding it to show his finger was well away from the trigger.

The boy spent all of five seconds wrestling with misgivings before he dove for the canteen. The poor lad didn't swallow the contents so much as he inhaled them. When he lowered the empty container, he appeared just a tad less anxious.

Figuring the ice was broken, Jack carefully repeated the phrase the Lieutenant had taught the searchers: "Ore to isshoni kaeru nara, mi no anzen wa hoshoo-suru."

The soldier seemed perplexed. / Probably got the inflection wrong./ Jack tried again. "Ore to isshoni..."

Suddenly impatient, the boy snapped, "I speak English!"

"Ah, that's good hearin'! Because that's about the full extent of my Japanese, other than 'Doku de ramu ga kaerunda?'" Jack grinned pleasantly. "But seriously, mate; you can't stay out here. Only the aborigines know how to keep alive in these parts."

The boy arose into a proud military posture. "I must escape! Is honor!"

"Is suicide- jisatsu- if you escape into the Outback."

"Is better dead, than no honor!"

Jack had heard that exact tone before, from another young whelp declaring willingness to die for his lady love. The former pirate was careful not to smirk. Here, certainly, was 'a soldier full of strange oaths, sudden and quick in quarrel, / Seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth.' Scoffing at his ideals would probably just make the boy dig in his heels. What Jack needed to do was convince him that returning to the camp was an honorable course.

"Surely theer's someone at home who'd prefer ya ta come back in one piece? Your Mum... mother, pehaps? Or a sister, girlfriend... ?"

"They rather I die, than no honor!"

Jack muttered darkly. "Do they really, or do they just think they ought to 'cause that's what their government keeps tellin' 'em? Been repeatin' that bloody lie since ancient times. 'With your shield, or on it.'"

But he refrained from expressing his loathing of that practice- convincing those without power that it was good and noble for them to be slaughtered for the benefit of them who had it. Instead he planted his rifle in the sand, leaning on it casually.

"Lad, I am yer elder by a considerable margin. Been through lots more hard times than yerself. So you'd do well ta listen. Survival is definitely worthy, 'cause then you can still be of use to... in your case, that'd be Country and Emperor?"

The lad managed to stand even straighter. "Yes! I will die for my Emperor!"

"You can serve him better if you stay alive. Your homeland's not goin' untouched, boy- it's gettin' bombed pretty bad. Whatever way this conflict ends, yer country will be needin' able-bodied men ta rebuild what's been knocked down. And to sire healthy children, to replace them what this war's wasted. Do you understand me, son?" Jack hoped he was coming across as paternal- not always easy when dealing with a bloke an inch taller than he was.

"Let's compare that scenario with this option you're currently pursuin'. You can walk off inta this desert right now, since I never had any intention of using this," he tapped the rifle, "fer ought but self-defense. Jus' be aware; doing so is suicide. And not an easy version. Dyin' of thirst is a wicked slow process. If you're lucky, you might step on a poison snake- and in these parts you'll be hard-pressed ta find a snake that isn't- an' pass quicker, albeit even more painfully. Either way, the only ones who'll get any good from it will be the dingos." Seeing the boy's unfamiliarity with the word, Jack used both hands to mimic a sharp-toothed mouth. "Arrf, arrf!"

The whelp flinched- it made sense that the tidy Japanese would be particularly repelled at the prospect of being eaten by wild dogs. "Aye; them beasties'll be happy ta scavenge ye right down to the bones. So you tell me; how'll that be of any help to your blood... to your Emperor?"

The boy didn't answer. Jack didn't need him to; it was plain he'd shaken the young man's determination. Dying for King, Country and Cauliflower might be glorious in theory, but when confronting the dust-choked, cracked-tongue reality...

Taking advantage of the lad's wavering, Jack hoisted his weapon and aimed it skyward. "No worries, whelp. This is just so's they can find us." He fired two loud shots. The young man remained where he was, and Jack smiled within. This battle was nearly won.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Ozuru, sir." The kid had retreated into military parlance, barricading himself against the supposed shame of giving in.

"Mr. Ozuru, why don't ya come back to the camp fer now, to give this matter some further thought? If you come ta the conclusion it really would serve honor better ta gasp out yer life on this bloody red dirt, you can try ta break jail again. But if you decide 'tis preferable to come home safe..." Jack's free hand fluttered. "You'll be placed just right fer that, eh?"

They spoke no further. But the youngster didn't attempt to flee, as a ruddy dust flume from a jeep approached. The vehicle was being driven by the in-charge officer himself, accompanied by a lightly armed aide.

The Lieutenant quickly assessed the situation. He stepped down from the vehicle, approached the rigid escapee with proper military bearing, and addressed him as a commanding officer would.

"Private, are you willing to come back with us?"

"Yes, sir." The youngster solemnly climbed into the rear of the jeep and sat with soldierly straightness.

The officer looked to Jack, smiling. The two of them had been acquainted for some while. "I take it your eloquence proved equal to the situation, Mr. Sparrow."

Jack smirked happily in return. "So it would appear, Lieutenant Groves."

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FINIS

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Translations:

Ore to isshoni kaeru nara, mi no anzen wa hoshoo-suru. - If you come back with me, you will not be harmed.

Doku de ramu ga kaerunda? - Where is the rum?

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Historical Notes:

The chapter heading, 'In A Sunburned Country', is the title of Bill Bryson's informative, and frequently hilarious, account of his travels in the Land Down Under. It was from this book that I first learned about the diverse experiences of the Italian and Japanese POWs in Cowra.

The 'Cowra Breakout', from Prison Camp 12 in New South Wales, was one of the largest prison escapes of World War II. The camp was run in full accordance with Geneva Convention guidelines, and most of the Italian POWs seemed to do well there- as mentioned, officers were even allowed to take unsupervised walks into town. But the Japanese POWs considered their imprisonment an intolerable disgrace, so felt compelled to escape on principle. Around 2 AM on August 5, 1944, over a thousand of them, armed with improvised weapons, stormed the guard towers and barricade fences. Two Australian guards and over 200 POWs were killed; approximately 350 of the latter made it past the barriers and dispersed into the countryside. Over the next ten days all were found, and most recaptured- some reportedly committed suicide to avoid this. In all, 231 Japanese POWs and four Australian soldiers died (happily, there were no civilian casualties.)

Camp 12 remained in operation until 1947, when the last Japanese and Italian prisoners were repatriated. The Japanese dead were laid to rest in a war cemetery, which Cowra still maintains. An Edo style Japanese garden was also established in the city, in commemoration of the event. Today, both sites are popular tourist attractions.

The blue heeler is a breed of Australian cattle dog.

'Tenente' is the Italian rank equivalent to Lieutenant.

The 'soldier full of strange oaths' quote is from the Seven Ages of Man speech, in Shakespeare's play 'As You Like It'.

Australia is the only continent which has more venomous than non-venomous snake species, many of which are particularly potent. Definitely no place to risk stepping on one.