“I Will Protect You Both” — The Vow an American Medic Made to a Pregnant Japanese POW Woman

A Soldier’s Mercy

The Devil’s Lies
Akiko Tanaka had been raised to believe in a truth so absolute that it seemed impossible to question. The Americans were monsters—devils who would burn babies alive and tear apart families. The propaganda she had seen, the tales spun by the Imperial Army, painted them as creatures with fangs and claws, dripping with the blood of innocent Japanese civilians. They would violate women, then kill them, she was told. The pain they would inflict on anyone captured by them was so severe that death would be considered a mercy.

Akiko had believed every word with a quiet certainty, until she found herself chained in the back of a military transport truck, heading toward a camp in Texas. The 8-month-old child inside her kicked, as if unaware of the horror that awaited them both. She had hidden her pregnancy for months, but now, under the unforgiving sun of a Texas summer, she could no longer keep it a secret. Desperately, she prayed for the courage to die well before they could take her child from her. In her mind, that was her only hope.

A Glimpse of Humanity
The truck rumbled along the dusty road, swaying over potholes as the women were pressed against one another, their chains rattling in unison. Akiko peered through the gap in the canvas covering the truck and saw a sight she had never expected. The vast, sun-scorched Texas landscape stretched before her, so different from the green hills of Kagoshima where she had once lived. Cattle grazed in fields that seemed to go on forever, and white farmhouses gleamed against the harsh light of the afternoon.

But what truly made her pause was the sight of a man riding on horseback. A cowboy, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a shirt that billowed in the hot wind. He tipped his hat to the convoy, and his gaze locked with hers for a brief moment. Akiko’s heart stopped. This was one of the devils from the propaganda, she thought. This was the enemy. But when he smiled and tipped his hat, it sent a shock through her entire belief system. It was a simple, courteous gesture, and for a moment, Akiko was left speechless. The cowboy spurred his horse and disappeared into the haze, leaving Akiko to grapple with the confusion of her new reality.

The American Medic
When the convoy finally arrived at the camp, Akiko was led through the gates with the other women. The oppressive heat hung thick in the air, and her body was growing weaker with every step. But there was something unexpected waiting for her—compassion.

As the women were lined up for a medical inspection, a tall American soldier emerged from the medical building. He was dressed in a worn army uniform, his sleeves rolled up, and his face darkened by the sun. His name was Corporal Thomas McCarthy, and when he saw the line of Japanese women, his expression was not one of contempt. It was one of concern. He spoke to the women through a Japanese-American soldier named David, explaining in calm, professional tones that he was there to perform a health check and ensure they were okay after the long journey.

As McCarthy made his way down the line, he stopped when he reached Akiko. He noticed her posture, the way her hands clutched protectively around her belly. Without a word, he gestured for her to step forward. Akiko hesitated, afraid that this was the moment when her worst fears would come true. The baby—her baby—would be taken from her.

But McCarthy did not force her. He simply extended his hand, his eyes full of something she had never expected from an American soldier—sympathy.

The Birth of Hope
Akiko’s fear was overwhelming. Her mind raced with thoughts of the worst possible outcome. She had been taught to hate the Americans, to fear them. Yet here was a soldier, offering her water and asking if she was okay, with a kindness that defied everything she had been taught. She spit at him, as if trying to rid herself of the confusion and fear that had taken root in her heart.

But McCarthy didn’t flinch. He wiped the spittle from his cheek with a simple motion, then calmly said, “I can help you. Please let me help.”

As the hours passed and the heat grew unbearable, Akiko’s body began to betray her. The pain in her lower belly intensified. She doubled over in agony. It was the beginning of labor, and in the midst of a Texas dust storm, with everything she feared closing in around her, she was about to give birth.

McCarthy, understanding the gravity of the situation, wasted no time. He pulled her into the medical building and called for help. Despite her fear, Akiko could see the determination in his eyes. He was not going to let her die. He was going to help her.

The room was chaotic, the dust from the storm still clinging to the air. McCarthy’s hands moved quickly and expertly, his training kicking in as he prepared for the delivery. But Akiko was terrified. She screamed in Japanese, “Don’t kill my baby!” Her voice was raw with terror, the desperation so deep it made her words choke in her throat.

But McCarthy remained calm, offering reassurance through David’s translation, his hands gentle as he positioned himself to help Akiko through the birth. Despite the language barrier and the overwhelming circumstances, McCarthy kept his promise—he would not let her die.

At 8:47 p.m., after hours of agony and uncertainty, Akiko’s daughter, Sakura, was born. The tiny baby, barely five pounds, was placed on Akiko’s chest, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Akiko felt something other than fear. She felt relief. Her baby was alive, and for the first time in months, she felt the stirrings of hope.

McCarthy stood by, watching with a tired smile as Akiko held her daughter, the tiny life that had survived the horrors of war and captivity.

The Promise of Mercy
As the days passed, the bond between Akiko and Tom McCarthy deepened. He risked everything to ensure her survival. He defied his commanding officer, Colonel Blake, to keep Akiko and her baby safe from the harsh conditions of the detention ward. McCarthy’s actions were deemed insubordination, but he stood firm in his belief that mercy was a stronger force than war.

But time was running out. Tom was ordered to take Akiko and her baby to the El Paso detention center, but he knew that this would mean certain death for both of them. The facility was overcrowded and lacked the necessary medical resources to care for them. Tom made a plan to escape, to get Akiko and Sakura to a relocation center in Wyoming, where they would be safe.

It was a dangerous mission, filled with risks and uncertainties, but McCarthy was determined to fulfill his promise. And with the help of his comrades, including Private Bobby Jensen and Sergeant Dalton, Tom drove Akiko and her baby across the border, hidden in the back of a truck, and into the unknown.

A New Beginning
The journey was long, and there were close calls along the way. They had to pass through military checkpoints, where Akiko’s baby cried out at the worst possible moment. But despite the fear and uncertainty, they made it to the relocation center in Wyoming, where Akiko was welcomed with open arms by David Nakamura’s parents.

Tom stood outside, watching as Akiko was embraced by the Nakamura family. He had given them the chance to live, to escape the horrors of war. In the end, it wasn’t just about saving a woman and her child—it was about showing mercy when it was needed most.

In the years that followed, Tom McCarthy returned to his family’s ranch in Texas, trying to rebuild his life after the war. He never spoke about Akiko or Sakura, but he carried their memory with him every day. And though he never knew it, Akiko and her daughter never forgot him.

In 1982, Akiko’s daughter, now Dr. Sakura Watanabe, found Tom, decades after the war had ended. She came to his ranch with a simple gift—an origami crane, a symbol of the hope he had given her mother. Sakura told him how his mercy had shaped her life, how it had led her to become a pediatric nurse, delivering babies just as he had done for her.

A Legacy of Mercy
Tom’s final years were spent in peace, surrounded by his family. He died in 2001, his legacy carried on through Sakura and her work as a nurse. At his funeral, Sakura spoke about the man who had saved her life and the life of her mother. She spoke of the mercy he had shown, and how that mercy had touched the lives of countless others.

And as they lowered Tom McCarthy into the Texas soil, Sakura placed the wooden bird on his coffin—an emblem of the mercy he had shown to a stranger, a mercy that had changed everything.

The ripple of his kindness continued, reaching far beyond the confines of war, beyond the borders of nations, into the hearts of those who believed in the power of mercy over hatred. The world was never the same after that choice. And the legacy of Tom McCarthy, the soldier who chose mercy, lives on in the lives he touched.

Note: Some content was generated using AI tools (ChatGPT) and edited by the author for creativity and suitability for historical illustration purposes.