After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  After the Fall

  Lisa Bingham

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Bingham

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition August 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-710-4

  Also by Lisa Bingham

  Into the Storm

  The Bengal Rubies

  Distant Thunder

  Eden Creek

  Silken Dreams

  Silken Promises

  Temptation's Kiss

  To my father, who fought in the Pacific.

  And to all who served, past and present.

  Thank you.

  Author Note

  Some novels write themselves, and some are an exercise in frustration. After the Fall was a bit of both.

  Originally, I’d planned a book that would focus on the surrender of the American military personnel and their subsequent imprisonment. Although I understood the basics about the Bataan Death March, I knew very little about the events which led to this horrible event. So, I began to read voraciously on the subject. Some of the works I found particularly helpful and compelling were Elizabeth M. Norman’s We Band of Angels: The Untold Story of the American Women Trapped on Bataan; John D. Lukacs’ Escape from Davao: The Forgotten Story of the Most Daring Prison Break of the Pacific War; Michael Norman’s and Elizabeth M. Norman’s Tears in the Darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and Its Aftermath.

  The more I learned, the more I came to admire and respect those who were part of this dark chapter of American history. But try as I might, I couldn’t force the characters I’d created to bend to my will. So I went back to my research again, trying to pin down where my problem lay.

  I soon realized that I was trying to do too much. For an author who habitually “writes long”, compressing years of Japanese occupation into 100,000 words would come at the expense of my characters. The lives of the men and women who served in the Philippines during this period deserved more care with their stories.

  It was then that I realized that the overriding theme, one which broke my heart with each account I read, was the way these men and women fought with every fiber of their being because they knew—they knew—that reinforcements were on their way. If they could only hold on for another day. And another.

  Little did they know that those reinforcements would never be sent.

  And any help the U.S. Government might offer was years away.

  This heartbreaking truth became the crux and the driving force for After the Fall. Once I allowed myself to truly ponder the ramifications of a doomed defense—not in connection with political policy or warfare strategy, but on a personal level to those involved—the book literally wrote itself.

  L.B.

  Darkness pressed in upon him with a tangible weight. The blackness was heavy. Moist. Filled with menace. Consciousness returned to him in a symphony of pain—the low, throbbing undercurrent of bruised muscles…the sharper, high-pitched sear of open wounds. And through it all, jabs to his chest every time he tried to breathe.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to take a gulp of air without moaning. Instead, he tried to sneak the oxygen into his system, praying he could baby his broken ribs and remain as small and imperceptible as possible.

  How many days had it been? Nine…ten?

  Fewer than that?

  More?

  He couldn’t remember. The days had begun to blur together as he had slipped in and out of consciousness. His stomach gnawed at the emptiness in his belly until he curled into a ball to ease the ache.

  And he was thirsty. So thirsty.

  It would be so easy to give in. Give in and give up. But settling deep within the pit of his ravenous stomach was a knot of anger that twisted as powerfully as his hunger. His body might succumb to the hell that surrounded him, but his mind would never surrender.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  Not until he’d seen her one last time.

  Chapter One

  December 6, 1941

  Luzon, Philippines

  Even at birth, Glory Bee O’Halloran had made a flamboyant entrance. At barely five pounds, five ounces, with more bright red hair than a two-year-old, she hadn’t bothered to cry. Instead, she’d stretched her arms wide as if delighted to be free from the confines of the womb, opened her pansy blue eyes, and smiled. Startled, the doctor had blurted, “Glory be!” And the name had stuck—especially when her mother, mere hours after the birth, was back to drinking herself into a stupor.

  Not much had changed since then. Glory Bee’s mother was still a drunk, and Glory Bee had honed making an entrance to an art form. Which was why, the moment the military band on the dock struck up a rousing rendition of Stars and Stripes, she paused dramatically at the top of the gangplank, lifted her arms wide, posed to highlight her voluptuous figure, and called out, “Howdy, boys!”

  The resulting cheers from the men on shore were gratifying, cutting through her nausea and giving her the strength to hold her “Happy!” face for a few more minutes, even though there was nothing she wanted more than to run down the gangplank, drop on the ground, and kiss the earth beneath her. Heaven’s sake, she’d kiss the most loathsome creature the Filipino forests could offer if she could just get off this damned boat.

  The rise and fall of the ship caused the gangplank to tilt and sway, and her stomach lurched again. She had to move, now, or risk embarrassing herself by doubling over the railing and losing what little food she’d managed to eat that morning. And wouldn’t that be a sight for the welcoming committee gathered below?

  Surreptitiously gripping the handrail, she made her way down the steep ramp until she touched dry land. But her relief was short-lived when she realized that while her mind may have acknowledged that her feet were on solid ground, her body felt as if she were still dipping and swaying.

  “Miss O’Halloran!”

  An officer dressed in a stiffly pressed uniform marched forward, extending a huge bouquet of flowers. “Welcome to the Philippines.”

  “Thank you…” she quickly checked the brass eagles pinned to his shoulder boards, “Colonel.”

  “Ross.”

  “Colonel Ross. It’s wonderful to be here.” After three weeks at sea and most of them spent lying sick on her bunk, she had never been so sincere.

  “We’re looking forward to your performance tomorrow night. Your ship arrived in the nick of time, I’d say.”

  Glory Bee opened her mouth to make a pithy remark, but checked herself just in time. Be on your best behavior, Michael had warned her when she’d boarded the damn boat. And there’d been just enough doubt tingeing his tone to imply he didn’t think she could do it.

  So she altered her initial response to drawl, “Truer words have never been spoken, Colonel.” No one else needed to know that if she’d been forced to endure another day or two on the high seas, the crew would have been forced to scrape her off the deck.

  “My aide, Sergeant Wilcox, has been assigned to see to your every need.”

  Wilcox snapped to attention, a blush spreading over his cheeks. He was little more than a kid, really. He reminded Glory Bee of the pest-
next-door type with hair so blond it was nearly white, and blunt features that would give him a boyish air even in his dotage.

  “Ma’am!” he said a little too loudly, offering her a slight bow.

  One of Glory Bee’s brows rose at his effusive gallantry, but she awarded him with a slow smile. “I’m sure Sergeant Wilcox and I will get along famously, Colonel.”

  If possible, the sergeant’s skin took on an even redder tone. So much so, she feared his hair might burst into flames.

  The colonel discreetly cleared his throat, “Sergeant Wilcox has already notified the rest of the cast of your arrival as well as the band that will accompany you during your…er…act.”

  Glory Bee remained serene, even as she inwardly laughed at the man. Colonel or no, Ross’s eyes were rife with a combination of puritanical dismay and prurient curiosity.

  “I promise to make all your hard work worthwhile, Colonel Ross. I’ll entertain your men as grandly as if it were my final performance.”

  This time, it was the colonel’s skin that grew ruddy.

  But the joke was on him. Tomorrow’s show would be her last. Then she would slip into obscurity for a while. In the meantime, it was fitting that her last strip tease would be for the troops since the biggest share of her audience while in Washington, D.C. had been the military.

  Glory Bee felt only a twinge of regret for the forced hiatus. The past few months had worn her out, body and soul. She craved the seclusion she’d come to the Philippines to find. She only wished she could begin it sooner.

  But she couldn’t tell the colonel that. So she smiled instead—a smile artfully reflecting pleasure mixed with a touch of come-hither.

  “I’m sure that you could do no wrong in the men’s eyes, Miss…”

  “Call me Glory Bee.”

  “Yes, well…er…”

  The man had to be thirty years her senior, but he stammered and shifted in front of her as if he were a teenager—an effect that was not unfamiliar to Glory Bee. So she took pity on him, interrupting with, “I’m honored I can be of service to you and the men stationed at Fort Stotsenberg.”

  See, Michael. I can be as sweet as sugar if I have to be.

  Colonel Ross turned, sweeping an arm toward the official military car waiting behind him.

  “If you’ll come this way, Sergeant Wilcox will escort you to the camp. It’s a bit of a drive, but he’ll show you to your quarters where you’ll be able to rest and get your land legs. Then he’ll return with the car around three in the afternoon to take you to the dress rehearsal.”

  And wasn’t that just the slice of heaven she was longing for? Several hours alone on dry land.

  “You’re too kind, Colonel.” She looped her arm through his, attempting to look blissfully enchanted while inwardly, she counted the steps she would have to take before she could sink onto the padded seat. Moving with the same exaggerated sway to her hips that had become her trademark, she paused only once—just in front of the open door. Bracing herself against the hot metal of the hood, she lifted her arm in a broad wave, and called out to the other military personnel on the quay.

  “I’ll see you all at the show!”

  The resultant roar punctuated by wolf whistles bolstered her flagging spirits, and briefly, she forgot about the lurching of her stomach and the pounding ache at her temples. Laughing, she gazed out at the boys who surrounded her—lanky sailors in their whites, infantry in their tans, dockside workers and curious Filipinos. She waved to them all, absorbing their energy and their youthful exuberance like an addict might inhale opium smoke. Then she blew them a kiss and settled into the car amid the resulting cheers.

  • • •

  Riley Patrick Gilhouley slid a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to cut the glare of the hot tropical sun. Like the other men present, he’d been held momentarily transfixed by the arrival of the statuesque redhead. Sweet baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he didn’t think there was a male alive who could have looked away. Women here were scarce, and women like that…

  Well, there were no women like that, thank God, or nothing would ever get done.

  Weaving his way through the crowd, he passed the commotion near the ship and headed further down to the docks where a battered civilian seaplane was pulling into position. He waited patiently as it was tied to the pier, then drew closer as the pilot emerged and jumped onto the weathered boards.

  The moment the grizzled older man lifted his head and caught sight of Gilhouley, he grinned.

  “Well, I’ll be goddamned! As I live and breathe, if it ain’t the Great Gilhouley in the flesh!” His weather-beaten face split into a grin. “How the hell have you been?”

  Gilhouley held his hand out, but Napoli ignored it and pulled him into a crushing hug. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I got your message. What brings you to purgatory, my friend?”

  “I was reassigned here about six months ago.”

  “The hell, you say. And who’d you fuck with to end up here—or should I say whose wife did you fuck to end up here?”

  Gilhouley laughed, a betraying heat seeping up into his cheeks. Napoli knew him well. In his first few years in the army, Gilhouley had been in trouble on more occasions than he could count. He’d had a hard time keeping his mouth shut—and an even harder time keeping his fly zipped. But after being caught in the bedroom of a brigadier general’s wife, and enduring a stint in the Aleutians, he’d vowed that if the Almighty could arrange to transfer Gilhouley someplace warm, Gilhouley would do his best to mend his ways.

  So far, he hadn’t completely kept his bargain with God, but at least he wasn’t freezing his balls off in Alaska.

  “Were you able to get what I needed?”

  Napoli motioned for Gilhouley to walk toward the plane where cases of tinned food and alcohol were being unloaded by a pair of bare-chested Filipinos.

  Gilhouley quickly scanned the labels and nodded in approval. “I’ve got a Jeep parked at the end of the pier. Have your boys load it into the back.”

  Napoli motioned to the men, shouting to them in a broken mixture of Spanish and Tagalog, waving his arms as added punctuation. Then he reached into the plane and withdrew a small cardboard box.

  “Here’s the other item you asked me to get.”

  Gilhouley sobered, taking the box and tucking it under his arm. After a quick glance around the pier, he removed a roll of bills from his pocket and handed it to Napoli.

  “For your troubles.”

  Napoli offered him a half salute. “Tell your poker buddies in the press corps that I appreciate their business.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  Gilhouley was striding away, when Napoli called to him.

  “Gilhouley!”

  Turning, Gilhouley squinted against the sparkle of sunlight off the waves. It was barely nine in the morning, yet he could already feel the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades and beneath his arms.

  “If I don’t see you for a while, take care of yourself, y’hear?”

  Gilhouley frowned. “Are you planning a trip, Napoli?”

  The grizzled pilot took a stubby cigar from his shirt pocket and clamped onto it with his teeth. Removing a lighter from a baggy pair of pants, he shielded the flame from the wind and drew deep until the tip flared. Then, he stood staring up at the brilliant blue sky as if the clouds were tea leaves that held his fortune.

  “I don’t like what’s happening with the Nips in Indo-China.” He chewed on the end of his cigar, then grabbed it in two stained fingers and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “I gotta a bad feeling, buddy.”

  “You think trouble is headed this way?”

  Napoli made a sound of disgust. “Hell, trouble follows me more closely than my own shadow. You’re safe enough with American might at your back, but me? Let’s just say I don’t want a Jap Zero tailing me anytime too soon. I’m thinking I’ll make a few more runs, then head south, probably by the end of the month. I doubt it’ll be much longer before the Japs show
up. Maybe I’ll bide my time in Australia until I know which way the wind is blowing. So if you need something, let me know as soon as you can. I still owe you big for backing me in that bar fight in Dago.”

  “Take care of yourself Napoli.”

  “Same to you, buddy!”

  Gilhouley nodded, walking backwards so that he could study Napoli for as long as he could before the older man unhooked from the pier, climbed back into his plane and latched his door. With a sputtering rumble, the engine caught and the propellers spun. Minutes later, Napoli was edging back into the bay, picking up speed, seawater spraying behind him until, with a bounce, two, three, the plane lifted into the sky like an ungainly pelican.

  Gilhouley couldn’t prevent the involuntary chill that skittered up his spine. Word had it that MacArthur was sure the Japs wouldn’t attack before spring. But if Napoli figured the Philippines would become a prime target within a few weeks…

  How long would it be before the Japanese came to the same conclusion?

  • • •

  “I thought you’d be in Manila meeting the new nurses this morning. Did you decide not to go?”

  Major Rosemary Dodd looked up from her reports to find Alice Strickland peering at her from the doorway to her office. Alice was a tall, slender woman with who normally wore a stoic mask, but today there was no disguising her amusement.

  “Can you blame me?” Rosemary asked, leaning back.

  Alice laughed and took a seat on the chair opposite Rosemary’s desk. “What’s not to love—brass bands, a stirring dockside speech…?”

  “You obviously haven’t heard.”

  “What?”

  “Our nurses aren’t the only passengers on this particular transport. The boat also brings the guest performer for the troops’ annual Holiday Revue.”

  Alice’s brows rose. “The Andrews Sisters?” she asked hopefully.