Japanese planes continued to dominate the skies, though Gina had seen an airplane with a blue star on its underwing she swore was American. Davy called her into his hut. He waved her to sit down and came to the point. “There’s been a new development.” He lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
By the scowl on his face, Gina knew this wouldn’t be good news. She crossed her arms to prepare for the worst.
Davy didn’t mince words. “The Japs penetrated your network. Five priests at Malate Church and Dr. Lopez were arrested. Franca’s missing. Her husband, Señor Estevez, and Armin Gable were both shot.”
Despite her folded arms, Gina shivered inside, hearing this worst of information and envisioning her friends in the most brutal of places. During her months of interrogation, had she given the Japs clues, an unthinkable breach of trust? “What tipped them off, Davy?”
“A prisoner dropped a letter, and a guard picked it up. It was like a match to dry tinder. There was a surprise search of the Cabanatuan camp, and within hours the market stalls you were using to pass money to the prisoners were razed. Somebody warned Dion. His family fled to the hills. He was captured but escaped and went into hiding.”
A relief, Dion and his family out. “Clara too? Do you remember her? She was your nurse. And Trixie, her niece? They worked with Dion.”
“I don’t know the whereabouts of either. Listen, Gina. A submarine is leaving for Australia, and they’re taking as many civilians off this island as they can cram in. I want you, Cheryl, and Leah on that sub. Don’t fight me on this. MacArthur’s going to be here in short order, and it’ll get bloody. You know the Japs—they dig in.”
Gina knew Japanese cruelty firsthand, and she’d give her life to protect the kids from it. “Who else is going?”
“Sissy and Harry, of course. Edna’s leaving, and so are a couple other women and their children. Maggie refuses to go. She says her work is here with Theo.”
“When are we leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning. Give Theo your address in the States so he knows where to find Leah. You’ll go by horseback to the coast. Pack light. Take your gun.”
Chapter 33
THE RESCUE
I raise my gaze above the mire to the glory of the setting sun. I feel Gina’s presence beside me with uncanny tangibility, her attendance transcending the physical.
—Ray Thorpe, Fukuoka #17, Japan, February 1944–September 1945
Gina prepared to leave the Philippines with mixed emotions. She anticipated a saner life for herself and Cheryl but lamented leaving Ray behind. She promised herself and Ray to return as soon as it was safer to find him or learn his fate, knowing in her heart he would understand her decision.
The thought of leaving Maggie behind was as painful as leaving Ray. “Please, Maggie, this may be your only chance. The Japanese are brutal. Your dad wants you to be safe. Leah needs you.”
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying. Dad can’t manage this clinic alone, Miss Gina. Leah will be okay with you for a while. She and Cheryl are like sisters.”
Gina readied Cheryl for the trip by painting it as an adventure. Cheryl had her few clothes, a bag of clay beads, and decks of old maid and go fish packed and ready to go in a minute.
Leah was not so easily persuaded. Theo gently ordered and Maggie cajoled the unhappy little girl, who sobbed at even the mention of being separated from them.
Cheryl tugged at Gina’s arm and whispered into her ear. “I think Leah and Maggie need this.” She held up the locket. Gina’s heart swelled with pride at her daughter’s thoughtfulness.
That evening in a short but enchanting candlelight ceremony, Cheryl handed Maggie and Leah each a gold chain with half a heart locket and demonstrated how they snapped together. Cheryl said, “Wear these all the time. When you’re lonesome, just touch the locket, and you won’t feel so sad anymore. It worked for me.”
“And me too,” Gina said and nodded in agreement.
Maggie hugged Cheryl. “Thank you.”
And then she hugged Leah. “My sweet little sister. I love you. We’ll be together again soon. In the meantime, I promise I’ll touch this locket every day.”
Leah said, “I saw you touching this locket, Cheryl. You were always crying.”
Cheryl sniffed. “Sometimes love feels sad, Leah.”
Gina’s heart just about broke.
A caravan of eighteen left the guerrilla camp for the coast to rendezvous with a submarine: Gina, Cheryl, and Leah; Sissy and Harry; Edna; and two other women with three children, along with Marcus as coordinator, two armed guerrillas, and four Negrito guides. Five horses carried supplies, guns, ammunition, and the pilgrims’ personal effects. Gina had packed what meager clothing was available for her and the girls, the money Davy had given to her, and her gun.
It was a hard seven-day trek over the mountain, twice the caravan having to scatter and hide from Japanese patrols. Gina was stronger but still healing from the cruel treatment at Fort Santiago, and every bone in her body ached. Her feet started to bleed inside her too-big boots. She kept the girls’ spirits up by singing the trail songs they had learned from the cowboys on the way to their nipa-hut camp . . . was that only two and a half years ago? It seemed like a decade.
As they approached the coast, forest cover gave way to conga grass fields and rice paddies, the flatness of the land increasing their danger of being spotted. Gina’s gaze often went to the sky, and her ears were tuned to the faintest buzz of Japanese search planes. At long last, seeing the blue of the Philippine Sea, she grabbed Cheryl’s and Leah’s hands and quickened her step.
A congregation of people came into view: women sitting under palm trees tending to toddlers; men pacing in the sand, their eyes focused out to sea; and boisterous children splashing in the foamy water at the shoreline. Suitcases, boxes, and baskets were scattered in clumps. Armed men, some on the ground and some sitting in trees, watched the perimeter. At the water’s edge, several small boats bobbed in lazy waves, and two large squares of white fabric hung high in a tree’s branches.
Gina walked straight to the water, pulled off her clumsy boots, and dipped her bloody feet in the brine. Cheryl, Leah, and Harry waded beside her, and soon they and three other children were splashing seawater on one another. Marcus conferred with Major Beryl, the guerrilla officer leading the mission, then waved to Gina, Edna, Sissy, and the others.
“I gave Major Beryl your names. I don’t know if you’ll get on the sub. The commander’s expecting twenty-five people. There are forty-one here.”
Gina winced at the news and ran her hands through her hair in frustration.
Edna bristled. “There’s no way he would leave us. When’s the sub supposed to be here?”
“It might be out there now. It won’t surface till the commander’s sure the waters are safe. The white flags in the trees signal the beach is secure. We just wait.”
Unable to sit and wait, Gina paced the beach and watched the horizon, hoping to get a glimpse of a submarine rising from the depths. Others were doing the same, and she collided with a man wearing a ragged army shirt. “Oh. Sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry. I’m not watchin’ where I’m goin’.” He offered her a cigarette. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in this godforsaken place?”
Gina laughed. It had been a while since a man had called her pretty or a girl, and she doubted she deserved the compliment. “Same as you, soldier. Where are you coming from . . . or better, where are you headed?”
“Coming from Pasay, a prison camp over by Manila. Nips had us diggin’ up the entire mountain by hand to build their fuckin’ airfield at Nichols.” He took a long drag on the cigarette. “There’re three of us here. We found a pass the Nips didn’ know about. Me, I’m headed to London. Goin’ to surprise me mum. It’s been two years. She probably thinks me dead.”
“Most probably not . . . just don’t pop in unannounced and give her a heart attack.” A loud whoop came from the crowd sitting under a tree
. “Do you know who they are?”
“Plantation owners and missionaries mostly. Said they been hidin’ in the mountains. Must’ve been hard with all those kids.”
It was late afternoon before Major Beryl called the refugees together. He had to yell to be heard. “The submarine’s a mile offshore. I’m taking all of you out there. It’s up to the commander to decide how many he can accommodate. When I call your name, get into a boat. Boat number one, Miller, Dan; Miller, Julia . . .”
Gina sought out Marcus, who had joined the other guerrillas to guard the perimeter. “We won’t know until we get out there if we’ll be leaving. Just in case, I’ll say goodbye now. Thank you for everything.” Her eyes misted over.
“Not goodbye. I’m sure our paths will cross again . . . in better times.”
“Will you be coming to the United States?”
“No. This is my home. I’ll stay here and help rebuild the school.”
She regarded him with open fondness. “Good luck, Marcus. And stay off high cliffs.”
He gave a raspy chuckle. “That I’ll do. Good luck to you, too, Gina. When things get settled, write to me. Edna will have my address.”
She handed him her gun. “Take this. I won’t be needing it.”
With a warm hug, they parted ways.
Major Beryl led the convoy of small vessels into the now-choppy waters.
“I don’t see anything.” Cheryl shaded her eyes with her hand. “What’s a submarine look like?”
“It’s just a big boat,” Leah replied.
The submarine’s nose emerged, followed by the foredeck, the conning tower, the afterdeck, and the stern. It was magnificent to watch, and a cheer went up from the crowd.
Crew members appeared on deck to hoist the American flag, and gunners loaded cannons and pointed them seaward. From his boat, Major Beryl shouted to an officer on the deck, “Permission to come aboard, sir.”
Permission was granted. The refugees were left bobbing in the waves. Edna’s eyes closed, and her lips moved in silent prayer. She opened her eyes and said, “I can stay here if they can’t take all of us.”
“So can I,” one of the other women volunteered.
Cheryl leaned against Gina. “You won’t leave me, will you, Mama?”
Gina heard Cheryl’s voice, but her thoughts had gone to Maggie and her unyielding commitment to a noble cause. Gina again felt a tug to work with Davy and Clara, to support the guerrillas, aid the imprisoned, and heal the injured. She looked to the shore for Marcus, thinking he’d take her back to the camp with a little persuasion.
“You won’t leave me, Mama, will you?” Cheryl repeated, her voice shriller.
Gina blinked out of her reverie and saw Cheryl’s worried face. She sighed. “No, honey. You, me, and Leah stay together, no matter what.”
Major Beryl appeared on the deck of the submarine. Gina, Edna, Sissy, and the kids held hands, anticipating his announcement. He spoke through a bullhorn. “The captain welcomes all of you on board.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. Gina kissed the girls, and Edna looked skyward and mouthed, “Thank you.”
The convoy edged close to the submarine, and a redheaded sailor dressed in white shorts and leather sandals stepped into Gina’s boat. He stretched out his callused hand. “Hurry. Leave your bags. We’ll bring them on board.” The refugees were pulled out of their boats and onto ladders that led to the top of the submarine. They walked a few slippery steps and entered the conning tower, a small room that housed an enormous periscope.
“Hurry—down there.” Another crew member pointed to a hatch. “Watch the stairs. They’re tricky. Follow the crowd. Don’t dawdle.”
Carrying her boots, Gina wound down the circular metal stairs, taking hold of the helping hands of the crew. The dark little room she entered smelled of diesel fuel, and every inch of wall and ceiling space held gauges, dials, and switches. “You’re in the control room,” a sailor said. “We steer the ship from here. Quickly move on, please.”
The passengers crowded into the crew’s mess, a more substantial space filled with picnic-style metal tables bolted to the deck. Oversize bowls held chocolate candy bars that carried a message in gold bold-faced lettering: I Shall Return.
Cheryl flashed a nearby sailor her cutest smile. “How many may I take?”
The bright-eyed crewman answered with a grin, “As many as you can eat without getting sick, young lady. Welcome aboard.”
Gina let the girls take two, and she took two for herself. When she tore open the blue wrapper, the aroma caused her mouth to water. She allowed a square to slowly melt on her tongue. In the galley not far away, a coffeepot burbled, and Gina deeply inhaled the delicious aroma. Coffee and chocolate . . . indeed, she’d found a friendly place.
“Crowd in,” a steward instructed while reaching to turn on a circulating fan attached high on the wall. The light was blazingly bright, and a scratchy, two-way conversation was broadcast over loudspeakers:
“The guerrillas got the ammo and fags. They’re asking for food.”
“I’ll send them up sandwiches and coffee. It’s all I can do. We’ve got a houseful here.”
The steward addressed the nervously excited crowd. “The captain asked me to tell you he is pleased with how orderly you all came on board. We will arrive at the port of Darwin, Australia, in seven days. We travel submerged during the day. Be aware, when we’re submerged with this many people onboard, it’s going to get stuffy. Take naps, read, play quiet games. We’ll surface and open the hatches each day after sunset.”
The klaxon blasted, squawking like an old car horn. “Clear the bridge. Prepare to dive,” boomed over the loudspeakers.
“We’re on our way,” the steward said. “Expect some rocking while we’re going under the surface. The hissing you’ll hear is the ballast drawing water into the tanks to make us descend. You’ll also hear the droning of the engines and the churn of the propellers. It’s all normal. Relax and enjoy the experience. As soon as the ride smooths out, the cook will put out the food. After you eat, you can pick up your luggage in the forward torpedo room. I’ll be there, and I’ll have sleep arrangements figured out by then. Welcome aboard.”
The mess crew offered plentiful food: ham, turkey, and salami sandwiches with real bread made from wheat flour, not the cassava flour Gina never had become accustomed to; a variety of sliced cheeses; fresh fruit; potato salad; coleslaw; brownies; cow’s milk; coffee; and soft drinks.
“The bread tastes funny.” Cheryl put her sandwich down. “Can I get some rice?”
“I can’t drink this milk.” Leah pushed her glass aside.
Gina, Edna, and Sissy rolled their eyes and dug in.
The forward torpedo room was designated to house older children and women with babies. That night Gina made up a bed for Cheryl and Leah to share by padding a torpedo rack with blankets. Cheryl said she had a sick tummy, and Leah cried that she wanted her dad. Gina sat between the overtired girls, an arm around each one, not sure who needed her most.
A white ring formed around Cheryl’s mouth, and a trickle of sweat ran down her face.
“Leah, honey. I’m going to take Cheryl to the bathroom. Do you have to go?”
Leah sniffed. “No.”
Gina hurried Cheryl to the head, and no sooner were they inside than Cheryl upchucked the chocolate candy and what little food she’d eaten. Gina cleaned her child up in the metal sink and then tackled the toilet’s complicated flushing instructions. She missed a step, and the toilet overflowed on her bare feet. Embarrassed, she opened the door and flagged a passing steward. “Um . . . sorry, I need a mop in here.”
“Not again,” the steward muttered and sprinted away.
Back in the torpedo room, Gina found Leah on the rack reading a story to Harry. Cheryl climbed in beside them to listen.
“Is Cheryl okay?” Sissy asked.
“Yes, thank you. I think the chocolate was too rich, and she’s overtired.”
“I’l
l watch her tonight. I’m going to be right here.” She patted the makeshift bed. “Harry doesn’t want me to leave him.”
“That’s kind of you. Thank you.”
When Leah finished the story and Harry climbed onto his own rack, Gina tucked the girls in for the night. “You are brave girls. I’m proud of you.”
Cheryl returned a wan smile and Leah a sigh of resignation.
Officers had given up their quarters off the wardroom for the women—five bunks in one room, but the room had a door, and Gina appreciated even that little bit of privacy. Walking there, she noticed a new sign posted on the head’s entry: Don’t blush. Ask help to flush. She couldn’t help but chuckle.
The steward stopped her. “Ma’am.” He shoved a pair of leather sandals into her hands. “The floors are mighty cold on bare feet.” He turned and scurried away.
“Thank you,” Gina called after him, touched by his thoughtfulness. “What’s your name, sailor?”
“Ray,” he said as he disappeared through a door.
Gina clutched the sandals to her chest. From Ray. No, it was just a coincidence, but she was jolted into a memory of her cheek on her husband’s shoulder as they danced in the moonlight that reflected on Manila Bay. She closed her eyes not to lose the scent of him.
In the small bunk-filled room, Sissy, Edna, and three missionary women were already in their nightclothes. One was brushing her long gray hair, and one was reading a Life magazine and another her Bible. Gina showed Edna the sandals. “Someone’s looking out for me tonight.”
The woman reading Life magazine hooted. “Get the title of this article, girls—‘Is This Trip Really Necessary?’”
She received blank stares.
Along the Broken Bay Page 33