(Note: There may be another story with the same title in Stripes, that one is a greatly condensed version of this.)

Awhile back I was offered the chance to join a group of Japanese World War II reenactors on a weekend exercise.

If you’ve read Walking A Mile in Another’s Boots you know the background, but for those that didn’t, this is how it happened.

I first came across B Company, 100^th Infantry Battalion / 442^nd Regimental Combat Team Reenactment Group while doing research for an early World War II Philippine Scout uniform I put together for educational presentations. The real-life 442^nd was primarily composed of Nisei (second generation) Japanese-Americans, and the 100^th Battalion in particular came from Hawaii. The 100^th was known as the Purple Heart Battalion and the 442^nd overall is still the most decorated unit in U.S. Army history.

Intrigued that people in Japan would commemorate this group of Soldiers, I contacted them on Facebook and began corresponding with Koda, their Facebook administrator who also, thankfully, speaks English.

I wanted to learn more about them and what they do, so I asked if I could interview them. Instead he offered to let me join them at an event.

For spectators, seeing a reenactment can be like seeing an old black and white photo come to life or seeing words on a page be translated in physical action. Not the same as being there, but a different way to interact with history.

I’d never intended to do a reenactment. The uniform I put together was so that my audience could see and touch items related to the history I shared and help give the story three-dimensions. But, at least one time, with Koda’s offer on the table I was interested in going a step further.

This is what led me to standing around the near deserted Kyoto Station bus center at 6 a.m. I was rolling my luggage behind me as I looked for signs of Koda or his van. The basic gear necessary for one Soldier in the field is easy to wear and doesn’t seem to be that much, but funnily enough its heavy and fills a large suitcase when dragged about as luggage.

The only gear I wore were the boots on my feet and the gas mask bag full of camera gear slung across my body. One of the few people milling about at the bus-less bus station at this hour called over to me; he was wearing a military hat and had a World War II officer’s map case slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t Koda so I didn’t recognize him, but he recognized me, probably from the military gear. Or because I told Koda to look for a tall white guy in a Hawaiian shirt. Actually, just look for a tall white guy who looks really out of place. That works every time in Japan.

He shook my hand and introduced himself as Nakanishi. He founded the group in 2000, though he has been reenacting since 1988. He was one of the few Japan Ground Self-Defense Force members coming out today. Our actual military component consisted of two Rangers, one of which is Nakanishi, an artilleryman and Koda from the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force, the rest of the dozen were strictly civilian without military ties.

When Koda pulled up it was in what is probably the only van in Japan with a ‘Remember Pearl Harbor’ bumper sticker. (The motto is part of the 100^th Infantry Battalion crest) The van was already fully loaded with wooden crates and had the distinct smell of canvas when he opened the back to load in my anachronistic suitcase. He wore a Hawaiian shirt with U.S. aircraft carriers and fighters on it as well as a 100th ball cap. A few more members were already with him and we introduced ourselves in short order. Like everyone mentioned so far, they all wore some military gear or headgear. We must have looked like quite the odd gathering of military otakus to the passing black-suited salarymen and women.

My Japanese is poor and half local Sasebo dialect anyway, but this group spoke decent English so we could communicate on the way to Uji, the next town over, where we would make camp. We talked about our mutual military interest and shared photos to pass time. One of our group members was Hayashi, the photographer.

Hayashi isn’t actually a reenactor, but he really likes shooting these events and his work is quite good. Both being photographers we tried to stay out of each other’s shots throughout the day, which is sometimes easier said than done. He carried both vintage and digital cameras.

We met up with the rest of the group at a convenience store in Uji. The town had mostly given way to green out here, very different than the city we began in. The other guys were similar to us, wearing assorted bits of military gear or clothes for the most part; we made introductions and had last minute breakfasts before heading to the training area, which was just down the street.

Our training area was a local airsoft field adjacent to a JGSDF base. Except for a few concrete utility buildings and the road leading in, we were surrounded by a heavily forested hill. Our camp was to be set up on the flat area, the grass thin, and hard earth mixed with years of discarded airsoft pellets. A path led into further into the woods ahead of us but otherwise it was all hill sloped at a slightly more than gentle 45 degrees. One way led down to a noiseless river bed and the other way further up a hillside that disappeared under foliage.

Company was already there to meet us, but they weren’t U.S. Army. Half a dozen men in feldgrau woolen uniforms were milling about a wooden table. One was resewing the eagle & swastika of the German Wehrmacht to his tunic as the others made adjustments to the fit of their own uniforms. For better training on both parts, we were going to have an OPFOR in the Schwarz Ritter Company. Before today the two groups had never trained with each other.

This is the point we began getting ready ourselves. Despite our ‘militant’ appearance, no one wore a full uniform out. It’s kind of frowned upon in polite society. I’d tried on my uniform before, but had never had a chance to wear it out except for the boots. Not wanting to spend a weekend running around in stiff shoes I’d been wearing them to work for a few months to break them in and had even been complimented on the ‘retro’ style.

It’s with the uniforms we began adapting to our roles, because everyone here plays a role. For myself, I was a U.S. 5^th Army photographer covering this unit. This means I could observer everything yet my ability to participate was limited. I could follow a troop on patrol, but I’d never take point. Or more to the point, I left the hard parts to the professionals and just got to enjoy the ride. Given that I am a photojournalist in real life it’s a case of art imitating life and is a fictional version of pretty much every African training exercise I’d ever been on.

The base uniform, boots, belt, pants, shirt, are pretty common in design, but the Army belt/backpack system of the early 20^th century is something I’ll never fully understand why anyone thought was a good idea. Initially I felt like I’d put my belt on around my chest and the backpack sagged low in the back. Tsurumi, a “2^nd Lieutenant,” swooped in and began helping me adjust until everything sat right and tight where it should be and loose where it needed to be. As the other guys dressed they all did this for each other, no one’s an army of one when it comes to fiddling with hard to reach straps or adjusting a pack.

As a non-infantryman, I carried an officer’s mussette bag, essentially a small backpack, and wore a M1936 pistol belt which the bag attaches to via straps as well as all the dangling gear on the belt. Like a G.I. Batman, everything I need is on it- first aid kit, canteen, pistol and spare magazines.

While the unit strives for accuracy, the one area they do not mirror the regular military in is in respect to rank. Normally there is a hard office/enlisted divide and one’s rank tends to dictate behavior towards another of differing rank. But like the uniform, rank is a role here and its fluid. Today’s lieutenant may be next time’s sergeant or private so that rigidity did not exist. Tsurumi is also a JGSDF Ranger and along with Nakanishi they are officers because they need to be leadership.

As everyone changed I was struck by just how much we brought with us, the piles of supplies and crates and everyone’s personal gear. The equipment carried by each person was a sizeable personal investment and seeing all these people out here completely kitted out showed how seriously they took this.

Then there was a spread of non-firing firearms, mostly Garands but also pistols and a Thompson gun. Many are group weapons loaned to members who couldn’t afford their own, but some are personally owned. Unlike American reenactments in which almost all guns are real, in Japan it’s guaranteed that none of them are due to firearms laws that make it practically illegal to own one. The flipside to this is that Japan builds the most realistic fake guns you will ever see.As mentioned before, as a photographer I was limited on how I could help while they set up. Partially because of role and language barrier, but also because this training was for them. They don’t meet that many times of year, so they need to make the most of it, even in things likes setting up our pyramid command tent. A tent-raising is a lot of work and they only get to do it 5-6 times a year so every bit of practice helps.

While they raised the tent I helped Goto, another member who kind of reminded me of Radar from MASH, stage gear so it could be moved into the tent when it was ready. I hadn’t noticed it before, but beyond crates there was folded up cots, desks with folding chairs and jerry cans as well. Someone gestured at one and told me one of the cots and desks were for me. They were giving me space in the command tent to do my job as befits someone on assignment from higher headquarters. This also meant I wasn’t going to experience the joys of sleeping in a fresh-dug shallow grave that chilly night, but I guess some sacrifices have to be made for realism.

Once setup and stocked the command tent lived up to its name, inside we had a functional admin section complete with typewriter, a telephone switchboard and desks to work at. Nakanishi walked in and unrolled his map case on the desk. Inside was an original map of Ft. Benning, Georgia, from World War II, but laid over top was our current location- Castillena, Italy.

Our exercise was a squad-level assault based loosely on the July 1944 attack on Hill 140 near Castellina. The real battle was a very costly uphill attack on a dug-in German defensive position during the push to the Arno River. The scenario was chosen due to the time of year and similarity in terrain.

After we finished all the reenactors, both Japanese-American and Japanese-German gathered around and Nakanishi laid out our schedule.

When he finished our troops put on all their gear, checked other and had an inspection in formation. “Staff Sergeant” checked everyone’s gear and after he did adjustments were made. Then our staff sergeant did a second pass to make sure all the discrepancies had been checked.

It was sometime after this the Germans disappeared into the hills and we prepared to have a lunch prepared by Koda.

He pulled out the wooden crates marked ‘K rations’ and then out came the cardboard boxes marked with ‘menu’ and the ration half inside. Inside of those were shiny gold cans with drab government labels and waxed boxes containing individual meals. The meals contents were further packaged and canned with appropriate World War II labeling.

The reason I bring this up, and say that it was a lunch prepared by Koda, is because he made everything I just described. For everyone. Every layer of packaging and even some of the cans were his making. He relabled modern products where applicable, but other times I’d pop open a can to find its random contents of biscuits, candy and other goods that he had to can himself.

I’d been given breakfast, lunch and dinner and sat down with the lunch. The main course was jokingly called neko-can, a salty corn beef hash that came in what appeared to be a cat food tin. To compliment my meal was a package of unfiltered ‘Chesterfield’ cigarettes, saltine crackers, Wrigley’s gum and a stick of Hershey’s tropical chocolate. Cigarettes, gum and chocolate were custom labeled. Also with the pack was what appeared to be some tissue paper with a ‘Waldorf’ wrapper for when nature calls. I decided that if it did, I wasn’t picking up.

I dug into the neko-can with a fat spoon almost as old as my great-grandmother. Much of what I wore was reproduction, as I didn’t want to ruin actual 70 year old clothing, but my metal gear was all original from the M1 helmet on my head to the canteen I drank out of.

My mess kit is a bit older than everyone else’s because before doing this I’d put together a 1941-42 U.S. Army Philippine Scout uniform. At the outbreak of World War II the Army was still mostly saddled with 20 year old Great War surplus, so I carried a nearly century old M1918 canteen and cup and ate off a M1918 meat can produced in 1918. My over-sized cutlery is more than a century old and is of the M1911 variety. Since I came as support personnel it was realistic I’d also still be carrying around outdated items and I’ve seen pictures of cameramen in 1945 clearly still carrying the aluminum-topped M1918 canteens.

Speaking of the canteen, I could really taste the age of it… or maybe the taste was from the jerry can. Either way I was definitely getting my daily allowance of aluminum even without a multivitamin. I’m not sure if, as the event went on, the water began tasting less metallic or if I’d gotten numb to the flavor.

I hadn’t thought to bring food, but for a tasteful distraction throughout the day I’d brought a very old tin of very new Altoids and packed it into my first aid pouch. (I didn’t bring the real first aid kit because I didn’t want airport security tampering with the sealed 70-year old tin.)

With bellies full of meat-style byproducts and packaged crackers we set off to begin operations. Up until this point it had felt a bit like camping, but with guns and cool gear. The men moved single file down the wooded path. Off to our side were defensive positions and sand bags from some previous battle. When we stopped, all crouched, a man each turned his attention to a different side and our rear watched our six. Scouts went ahead and up the hill to see if the area was clear. The area was lousy with Huns and it wouldn’t do to be caught off guard.

Satisfied it was clear we moved off the path and up a lightly wooded hill at an awkward angle, the dirt continually giving way under our feet as we trudged up. We were all carrying our packs and I could only imagine the awkwardness of the movement while carrying a rifle.

The hill leveled off to a near flat top, dense with vegetation and low shrubbery. We repeated the process of searching the area and secured it. The men pulled out their entrenching tools and began to dig. They’d make fighting holes and sleep up here tonight. A runner went back down the hill to get the telephone wire to begin setting up the field telephone up here.

Tsurumi pointed out to me that the earth here was very hard-packed and difficult to dig. Where they train in the JGSDF isn’t nearly as hard to work. He was doing this, this weekend, but come Monday he’d be off for a week-long field exercise. The same thing we were doing now, but in modern uniforms with modern equipment and he was getting paid to do it.

Later I asked him why he does this. He said he didn’t know why he puts himself through this but then said it was for the same reason Sir Edmund Hillary climbed Everest, “because it’s there.”

As a photographer I had a free “pass” to move freely between the camps to get a complete picture and so while our guys dug I was led to the German force on the other side of our hill.

While our guys were breaking their backs making fighting positions they were breaking for lunch. Whereas ours were the American pre-packaged style that was made on one continent and shipped to another, the Hun enjoyed much fresher looking bread with his. They drank from canteens and some clear glass bottles. As I came into the came one of them ushered me over, insisting I try a piece of his Shokolade, a World War II-era caffeinated chocolate that can still be purchased in tins to this day.

The churned soil from the fighting positions here was a bright, vivid brown that stood in stark contrast to the muted hill covered in dead leaves. One of their guys was scooping fallen leaves into his helmet and dumping it around the position to obscure it. Lower on the hill, in the machine gun’s field of fire, “concertina wire” had been strung to slow any advancing troops.

I returned to our side of the hill and was challenged on the approach.

“Bug.”

“Jitter,” I called back.

It’d be a shame to get shot by our own men. Just ask Stonewall Jackson. Or Scotty from Star Trek. (James Doohan was shot by a jumpy sentry on D-Day; it’s why Scotty has nine fingers.)

The field telephone had been set up in a foxhole and soldiers were communicating with the command tent. Or at least they would be if it was working. They took apart the receiver and put it back together then tried again. This time the message got through.

Tsurumi grabbed two soldiers for the next phase of our operation, scouting out the German position. They dropped their gear, taking only rifles and wearing knit jeep caps in lieu of helmets and headed down the hill. I should have done the same, so was still laden with my full load and helmet as I followed.

The guys moved hunched over, but quickly as we slid down the hill, now avoiding a telephone line as we did, and through tall grass at the bottom. Suddenly our point man dropped and the rest of us followed suit. A few Germans were marching past, but oblivious to our presence. Once they’d moved a distance we continued on down the hill.

The scouts moved expertly through the woods, avoiding anything that crunched, even the dead crackling leaves that blanketed the ground. I felt like my helmet scrapped loudly on everything that I passed and I hit every snappable thing as I tried to follow their movements. The afternoon was a little warm and I was also beginning to sweat under my flannel clothes and pack. I really should have dropped all this stuff. Scrape, scrape, scraaaaaaape. And this damn helmet.

After we’d returned I asked Tsurumi how they moved so quietly, because I felt like a bull in a China shop crashing through the woods. First was the lack of gear. It’s a scouting mission, so everything goes, even the extra ammo. We’re not gunning for a firefight.  They consciously avoided stepping on things that made noise and also stepped toe-to-heel, the last part was something which I’d never thought about. He’d learned these things in JGSDF and had passed them on to the other members of the group. He said that the World War II infantry manuals aren’t different than the ones still in use today. Our opposition was much louder than we were when they moved. He appreciated my trying to stay quiet and that I crouched when they did, following their lead.

Cameramen give away positions by doing things like standing upright when everyone is hidden or by not paying attention to what they’re stepping on. I’d read about that before coming and so had made an effort not to be that (camera) guy.

We swung around the base of the hill, near the river, and worked up to the German side. Tsurumi went prone and so did we. He pulled out a pair of binoculars. I squinted, seeing nothing. Then we fell back and returned to headquarters. He found the machine gun- a black, dull metal barrel poking out amidst a subdued green and brown backdrop at a distance.

When Tsurumi returned to the command tent to make his report Nakanishi was reviewing messages in a vintage message book at his map while Hirotomi Komaki, the headquarters messenger, was working the hand crank at the telephone switchboard. This is where the phone lines in the woods led back to. Two telephones and accompanying wire ran back to this tent, one American and one German. Because of course the Germans also brought a working field telephone. Functioning like the white cell of an actual training exercise, the leadership here was kept appraised of what both sides were doing and could add injects if need be to make sure everyone stayed on script.

Tsurumi gave his report and they marked the German position on the map. With this information reported they could begin planning our attack for the following day. He then returned up the hill to check on the fighting position progress.

There wasn’t much to shoot now and we all had time, so I had my interviews with the guys in the tent to learn about their motivations for being out here.

Nakanishi said he watched Combat! as a kid and wanted to know what it was like for real soldiers, so he joined the JGSDF when he grew up. It was different than how it’s portrayed on TV or in movies. Media glamorizes the action, but really military life in the field, whether in 1944 or 2014 is what we were doing now. It’s kind of miserable. The food’s not great, the work is monotonous and it’s not pleasant. Not even a single explosion to make the day more interesting. I can’t remember who said it, but war is long periods of absolute boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.

This misery is part of why he started the group, as a way for civilians to learn about the realities of military life versus what we see on television.

He and Komaki explained that people in Japan generally don’t have the same high opinion of their armed forces as is found in the U.S. The post-World War II image of the military in Japan is generally negative, yet they are vital for national defense.

This is also why they started a Japanese-American reenactment group and not an Imperial Japanese Army group. For modern, Americanized Japanese, Japanese-Americans are more relatable than their ancestors. He also pointed out that many Japanese-Americans helped rebuild their nation after the war. By having this group he teaches civilians about the military and honors those that helped their country start again.

Doing this they also have to strive for excellence for the veterans, the actual Nisei who fought in the war. They’re connected to them and what they do is seen by them, so they have to train, like we were doing right now, so that they can give the most realistic reenactment to honor them.

The digging was almost done near sundown. They’d been at it since just after lunch. Now the empty dinner ration cans were gathered together and tent halves were being put up over the slight depressions they’d made for themselves. The routine was running now, scouting would be carried out all night after the day of hard digging to keep tabs on German activity and reports made regularly.

I  didn’t have a part to play in this and it was too dark to shoot for my liking so, still in full dress, I laid back on the cot and tried to get some rest despite the operation going on around me. Periodically I’d hear the “brrrrrring” of the phone shortly followed by an in-person report from the hill-folk. Tent air was a heady mix of oxygen, gas lamp and chain-smoked cigarettes. The command staff didn’t sleep much either, as they worked through the night as well and the cigarettes kept them going.

The reason I didn’t try to stay up for all of it is because I don’t understand Japanese and didn’t want to pester Nakanishi as he worked. Though I do know some (random) Japanese and it was during one of those half-slept through reports I heard one of the few words I do know.

I popped up on my cot. “Did someone say ‘totsugeki’?”

Totsugeki- assault. The decision had been made that we would assault the Germans at dawn. Nakanishi was drawing up the plan and we would act on it before first light at 0400.

Hell of a way to spend the weekend. Digging all day, patrolling at night and we strike at dawn. Wash it down with rations and jerry can-flavored water.

At some point during the night I had to get up and take care of personal business. I wasn’t going anywhere so left my gunbelt on the cot.

Handling business at the bush behind our tent I heard a rustling from the hill and whatever it was, it was approaching quickly. I’m not sure what the rules were concerning Kraut patrols but I suddenly realized that it was a bad idea to come out unarmed. It was a training exercise, but I wasn’t sure on the policy for taking prisoners or casualties.

I called out the first half of the challenge word so I at least seemed like I was alert as I fumbled with the five buttons on the pants. Tsurumi called back the second half as he appeared out of the brush. It was report time. I must have slept through the phone call that always preceded him.

A clanging alarm clock let us know 0345 had come and we quickly made ready to move out. The stars were gone and the sky was a deep blue still, but there was enough go off of for movement. The troops had assembled outside in full haversacks and gear. We followed the route used for scouting, but instead of light, we were moving heavy and I was still impressed at the quietness of their movements even in branch-scraping helmets. It was tense, as we were cautious in not making noise to alert them to our coming. As a photographer I was told to hang back and not try to get ahead for my shots, so I fell in at the end of the line. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined one of these rare training opportunities for everyone.

Working our way along the angled hillside we came in line with the enemy position Tsurumi had spotted the afternoon before. The sky was starting to lighten up. We pressed flat to earth and the order was quietly given to fix bayonets, which was carried out with a miming of the action. Nakanishi stood to the side and watched. He was along to observe behavior and movement.

Finally, the order to attack was given and we surged up the hill yelling “bang!” “bang!” “bang!” as comically as possible. The Germans, who were kind enough to agree to a 0430 totsugeki, were over run in short order. Mission complete. We radioed back to headquarters and now, with the job done, we more casually strode back to camp, clomping through dead leaves and not caring how loudly the helmets scrapped.

 

It’s anti-climactic in the retelling, but the main purpose of the attack wasn’t the attack, but in seeing how well they could carry out the actions. Moving correctly and following commands, which while not perfect Nakanishi said they had done well in the execution.

All of us, even the Huns, formed up before the command tent for a quick formation and group picture to celebrate the successful exercise. It was about 0500 now and the sun was up. The group was given permission to disperse and get some rest. Most of the guys disappeared back into the woods to relax in their fighting holes- eating, sleeping, field-stripping an M1 Garand, that kind of thing. Some made camp by the command tent and one fellow just dropped everything where he stood and immediately began napping in the open grass.

Koda, the man who’d brought everything for everyone, including a cot for me, made a pillow out of his jacket and slept on the ground after breakfast.

I broke into my waxed breakfast ration box back in the tent and enjoyed my first ‘hot’ meal since before we started this trip. Thanks to a portable stove we boiled water, which when poured over the instant coffee powder in a canteen cup creates instant coffee and an instantly scalding hot canteen cup!

After some rest we gathered with the Germans and using some twigs, rocks and string, drew up a map in the dirt and had a hot wash unlike any other I’ve been too. At least this one is based on a time before PowerPoint so no one present prayed for death as it went on.

For our last lunch the last of the rations came out, this time a few 10-in-1 sets, basically a collection of cans that were split between pairs. Hayashi and I partnered off and split cans of chili, corn and fruit. Both being photographers we took pictures of our side by side meat cans, since he had a proper World War II model. It was easy to see how much more convenient the design had become in World War II, his had two deep compartments to separate chili from sweet fruit and the lid easily slides over the handle so the two pieces could be carried as one. I had a shallow plate and a lid which didn’t slide together. Its a little detail, but the minutiae of life kept my attention throughout the event.

As we had this last meal one of the Germans brought out a violin to serenade us with classical and classic Wehrmacht music, such as Panzerlied; which I never thought I’d ever hear someone play live on a violin. Then again, I’d also never thought I’d get to watch a World War II German naval mine explode and I did that in Latvia a few years ago.

Soon afterwards the tent came down, the gear crated back up and we all got back in our regular clothes for the trips back to where we came from. It felt like we’d just unpacked and now it was time to leave. We said our good-byes and went our separate ways as we returned to the places across Japan from which we came.

Even with all I’ve written, it’s hard to fully explain what a reenactment is like as participant. It’s the difference between reading the instruction manual and carrying out what it says, some things you just have to do to get it.

That said, it is just reenacting. This isn’t the same as really going to war and no one here would think that. But, I got to see how infantrymen move with Garands in hand, taste questionable canteen water and do it all with the world’s lousiest pack system strapped to me.

It’s those little details that can’t quite be captured second-hand that made this stand out and I can see why they do this. I’m still not a reenactor, but I look forward to the next time I can share a tent with these guys.

For B Co., they’ll take what they practiced here and next time do it with an audience of people who may have never heard of the 100^th, but seeing them in action will create that interest to find out. I can’t think of anyone better qualified to share their story in Japan.