Eighty years ago Prisoner of War Camp Fukuoka 17 was the site of my father’s final incarceration on Japanese soil.
While the local Japanese at the time may have been planting seeds of anticipated victors’ profligacy, the camp’s population count was net ever downward. The POW population hovered around 1700 men, despite the influxes. My dad called his experiences with “[Uncle] Nippon” a “meat grinder.”
When smoke from the largest ammo dump explosion ever (they thought) that had just deeply shaken their world rose from across the bay, it set in motion their opportunity to overpower fleeing, home-oriented local guards to quickly control the camp.
Few guards were killed with guns or knives. Several prisoners’ extremely motivated bare hands pulling in opposite directions served adequately for the perceived needs of the moment.
RIP. brave hero. Thank you for your father’s story.