After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  “Rosemary.” Gilhouley pointed to her as she moved from bed to bed, checking vitals. “Major Dodd. Figured that I might as well make things official between us as well.”

  John smiled. “Have you been together long?”

  Gilhouley shook his head. “Not long enough.”

  John understood the melancholy that tinged his tone because he took Glory Bee’s hand.

  “Listen,” Gilhouley said gently. “Rosemary said you can stay here in the ward as long as you like—although, mind you, as soon as she’s off duty, there’s a couple of nurses who might not be so accommodating.”

  John threaded his fingers through Glory Bee’s as if anchoring him to the spot.

  “But she also said that Glory Bee’s going to be out of it for a while. Rosemary doubts she’ll wake before morning.”

  When John would have interrupted him with a refusal, Gilhouley held up a hand. “I’m not saying you should leave for good. I thought—while she’s totally out of it—you might want to grab something to eat and a shower. I could even rustle up some clean clothes for you, if you want.”

  John relaxed, even uttered a soft laugh.

  “Am I that bad?”

  “Buddy, you are ripe—and I say that with all kindness since I washed the same stink off only a few hours ago.”

  When it appeared that John was tempted, Gilhouley stood. “Rosemary promises to come get you if Glory Bee wakes up—don’t you darlin’?”

  Rosemary, shot him a disapproving look at his familiar tone, but since she was the only nurse in the tent at the moment, she didn’t chew him out.

  “Come on, John. Glory Bee will be out for hours—and frankly, you look like you’re going to drop.”

  “Go, John,” Rosemary called from across the hut.

  John remained rooted to the spot, his gaze bouncing from Gilhouley to Rosemary, then back to Glory Bee. But finally, he stood, leaning down to place a kiss on her brow. When Glory Bee didn’t even stir, he evidently made up his mind.

  “I could use a shower,” he said reluctantly.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Leading John through the ward, Gilhouley offered Rosemary a conspiratorial wink, then ducked out the door.

  The night was dark and still heavy from the heat, and there was something about the lack of sunlight that made the sounds even more pronounced. The camp was a symphony of low murmurs, the grumble of Jeeps, the moans and sobs of the wounded. From a little ways away, came the whisper of the surf, and a little farther still, the boom of mortars and the chatter of machine guns.

  For several minutes, they made their way through the camp in silence. Gilhouley sensed there was something on John’s mind, so he didn’t immediately speak, merely waited for John to say the first word.

  “I want you to know how grateful I am,” John finally stated.

  Gilhouley wasn’t about to get all gooey about it, so he said, “My pleasure. She’s a nice girl. I’m glad I could help.”

  John stopped and Gilhouley did the same, remaining still and quiet as John stared down at the ground.

  “I’d like to thank you.”

  Gilhouley touched his arm. “It’s really not necessary.”

  John looked up then and his expression was so fierce that Gilhouley nearly took a step back. “Yes. It is. I want to help.”

  “Help?”

  A muscle worked in John’s jaw.

  “I want to help you in your fight with the Japanese.”

  So that was it. Gilhouley slid his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly. “Listen, John. I know that after everything you’ve been through and what happened to your friends in the jungle, you feel the need to—”

  “Don’t!” John interrupted fiercely. “Don’t hand me platitudes and tell me that my fight here is done!” he whispered fiercely. “They shot the woman I love. And those friends you speak of so casually…Esteban and his wife were like family to me. I loved his children like they were my own!”

  “I’m sure that’s true, but—”

  “And this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with the viciousness of the Japanese. I was in Nanking! I was helpless then, but I’m not helpless now, and I will not bow out of this fight because things look hopeless. I will not be forced to run away again!”

  “I can probably hook you up with the Filipino volunteers,” Gilhouley began, but John shook his head.

  “No. I need you to take me to your superior officer.”

  “Colonel Ross? Why?”

  “Because I know what you were doing in the Sierra Madres. You were looking for Santo Tomas, weren’t you?”

  Gilhouley glanced around them to make sure no one had overheard. His missions weren’t common knowledge by any means.

  “I don’t know—”

  “Don’t bother to deny it. I’ve had a lot of time to think today, and I’m sure I’ve been able to piece things together fairly well.”

  At least the man had the sense to lower his voice.

  “You and your men have been planting radios and supplies throughout the area, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t give Gilhouley a chance to admit or deny it.

  “You’d planned on rendezvousing with Santo Tomas, not knowing that he’d already been killed. By the time you realized that he wasn’t coming, you were caught behind enemy lines.” John moved even closer, a finger lifting to spear in the direction of Gilhouley’s chest. “So you were stuck in unfamiliar territory when you happened to stumble across me. And when I suggested meeting up with Pascal, you must have thought that leaving the radio equipment with one group of Filipino guerrillas was as good as another.”

  “It wasn’t quite that cold-blooded,” Gilhouley said stiffly.

  “No. But in our haste to get Glory Bee to safety, you didn’t bring the radio equipment, did you? What did you do with it? Hide it? Bury it?”

  Gilhouley clenched his jaw tight to keep from blurting the truth, but he needn’t have bothered. John was proving that he had his own talent for larceny.

  “If it were me, I’d have put it near that spot where the children used to play. Esteban had a hidden cache of foodstuffs there—rice, beans…You probably noticed it while they were feeding us. Once Pascal sent someone back to check on Esteban and his family, they would eventually take the food. In doing so, they’d find the radio—and I’m guessing—a few of the codes.”

  John waited, his gaze so fierce, his finger stabbing in the air accusingly, until Gilhouley was forced to nod.

  Suddenly, the anger drained away from John Macklin, leaving him radiating with a fierce sense of purpose.

  “Your instincts are good, Lieutenant, and your missions have been sound. But you’re only scratching the surface of what you can do, and with that, I can help.”

  Intrigued, Gilhouley cocked his head. “How?”

  “I take it that you’ve seeded your equipment into the hills, some of it hidden, others given to trusted Filipinos. But I’ve got contacts that you haven’t even begun to touch—Filipinos, planters, foremen like myself, and yes, even the clergy. I want you to take me to your Colonel Ross and tell him that I’m offering my services.”

  Gilhouley sensed there was something more.

  “In exchange for what?”

  “If the reinforcements don’t come, if there’s even a hint of evacuating the nurses or the wounded, I want my wife to be included.”

  Wife. John was already referring to Glory Bee as his wife—and Gilhouley couldn’t blame him. The vows between them might not have been spoken yet, but the commitment, the love, the inexplicable bond between them had been formed long ago.

  Gilhouley supposed that he should be shocked by John’s request, that he would exchange his services as a none-too-subtle bribe to get Glory Bee off Bataan. But, in reality, he envied him. If there had been any way to send Rosemary to safety, Gilhouley would have done it himself long ago.

  “I’ll take you to Colonel Ross,” Gilhouley said slowly. “But first…” Gilhouley slapped him on the b
ack, urging him forward. “First, you’ve got to take that shower.”

  The sound of a plane split through the heavy air, but he ignored it. Instead, he dipped a cloth he’d ripped from the hem of his shirt in a few precious drops of water and placed it over Petey’s feverish brow.

  Petey winced, his breath rattling in his chest, but then he faded into unconsciousness again with a groan.

  He continued to bathe the kid’s wounds, wishing he had ice to help the swelling. But then, his breath caught in a bitter laugh.

  Ice? Hell, while he was dreaming of the impossible, why didn’t he wish for morphine, a clean bed…Rosemary?

  He scoured his brain, wondering what Rosemary would do if she were here, but the moment the thought appeared, he pushed it away. Pray God, she’d never had to find out. Let her be safe and not in a camp of her own. Or worse.

  The noise of the plane came again, louder this time, flying right over the camp. But he didn’t bother to look. Right now, his only concern was for Petey. It had been two days since they’d cut him down. Since then, they’d all been confined to their huts—the first decent thing that had happened in a long while. He’d been able to stay with Petey.

  But things didn’t look good. Petey needed help. More help than he was able to give him.

  The roar of the plane came again.

  “Dammit all to hell,” Kilgore moaned. He sat with his back against the wall, trying to sleep. Anything to take their minds off Petey’s efforts to breathe and the searing heat that had been trapped in the hut.

  When the growl came again, the aircraft buzzing the camp, Kilgore rolled to his feet and stalked to the window.

  Calling it a window was a bit of a misnomer. It was a hole. A hole in a wall of bamboo with another bamboo flap that the Japanese had insisted that they keep closed. But by jimmying it with his finger, he was able to part the flap enough to peer upward.

  The plane roared past again, closer still and Kilgore muttered under his breath, “Shit, damn, and hell.”

  He only briefly glanced up, then returned his attention to Petey. “What’s the matter now?”

  “That’s one of ours.”

  “So?” It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had flybys before.

  “So, he waggled his wings. What the hell do you think that means?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  January 25, 1941

  Because of the loss of blood, it took days for Glory Bee to become completely aware of her surroundings. She’d awakened several times to assure herself that John was nearby, but then she would be dragged back into the darkness of sleep again.

  But this time, when her eyes flickered open, she became aware of a thatched roof overhead, bamboo walls, and an air of controlled chaos.

  John was immediately there, sitting on the side of her cot.

  “What’s happening?” she asked weakly.

  “The Japanese are getting too close. The hospital is being evacuated to a spot further inland.” John squeezed her hand. “In a few minutes, they’ll be loading you onto one of the ambulances. They won’t let me go with you because they’ve got to use every available inch for the wounded. But I’ll join up with you as soon as I can.”

  Glory Bee’s pulse grew uncomfortably quick, but since it was so obvious that John worried she might come unglued, she nodded, biting her lip. “I can do this.”

  His smile was bright, perhaps a little too bright.

  “Of course, you can.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, hotly, intensely. But she’d no sooner begun to respond to his ardor when they were interrupted.

  “They’re ready for her John. She’s the last to load, so we can’t leave them waiting.”

  John nodded, squeezing Glory Bee’s hand. Then he stood, scooping her into his arms and carrying her outside.

  Glory Bee held up a hand to shield her face and was surprised at how much effort the action required. A part of her was still groggy and her side ached with a searing pain, but she didn’t complain as she was taken to a nearby ambulance and placed in the last available spot near the back doors. As she settled onto the stretcher that had been fashioned for her and a blanket was drawn up to her neck, she heard one of the men whisper, “It’s the stripper.”

  Lifting a hand, she waved and offered a weak, “Howdy, boys.”

  Then John was bending low and brushing the hair from her brow. “Remember, I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  She nodded, whispering, “I know.” And this time, there was no fear that he wouldn’t keep his promise. Where once, she had been sure that if he sent her away she would never see him again, this time, she had no doubts. “I’ll be fine, really.”

  “They need to get going, John.” Rosemary said softly.

  He kissed Glory Bee’s hand, his lips touching the spot where the makeshift ring encircled her finger. “See you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Then, before she could summon the breath to say, “I love you,” the doors closed and someone rapped on the metal to signal that the ambulance was ready to go.

  Glory Bee winced as the gears ground and the vehicle suddenly lurched into motion. Pressing a hand to her side, she closed her eyes, holding her breath when the bounce and jostle of the springs felt as if a knife were being plunged into her flesh.

  One of the men near her cried out in pain, and forgetting her own discomfort, she reached toward him. “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Private Scott, ma’am.”

  “Well, Private Scott, we’re bound to encounter some rough roads ahead.”

  As if to underscore her point, they were all jolted again, and, this time, Pvt. Scott wasn’t the only person to cry out.

  “I’m going to take your hand, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She felt along the edge of the stretcher until she encountered his fingers. “If you feel like swearing, go ahead. As for me, if I feel like swearing, I’m going to squeeze your hand, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He was so tense against her that she feared the next bump might shatter him into pieces, but as she squeezed his hand, he began to relax, until finally, he allowed the breath he’d been holding to shudder free.

  “Where are you from, Scott?”

  “Yuma, Arizona.”

  Glory Bee turned to one of the men propped in the corner. “And you?”

  “I’m from a little place called Burley, Idaho.”

  “Burley, huh?”

  Although her strength threatened to desert her, Glory Bee made sure that she talked to each of the men who were conscious. Then, when her lashes began to flag, she murmured, “I think I’m going to take a little nap, Private Scott. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to keep holding my hand?” The words nearly took more effort than they were worth.

  “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

  Glory barely heard his answer before her lashes fluttered shut and she fell back asleep.

  • • •

  Rosemary’s group of nurses was one of the last to be loaded up and taken out of what had been called Hospital #1. Even as the trucks rumbled out of Limay, the shelling from the encroaching battle grew ever louder. The constant boom, boom of the artillery and the chatter of machine gun fire had now added a new member to its orchestra—the squeaky rattling of Japanese tanks.

  For the past twenty-four hours, the injuries they’d been receiving from the front had been incredibly fresh, giving testament to the fact that the front was closing in on them.

  As the trucks moved away from Hospital #1, Rosemary felt a twinge of regret. The new facilities would be further inland, away from the coast—and hopefully the relentless aerial attacks. But that also meant that the landscape would grow ever more inhospitable. They were moving to a region of Bataan that was largely uninhabited—and for very good reason. Long ago, loggers and industrialists had given up on that area of Luzon because it was impossible for their workers to remain healthy enough to get the job done. When it bec
ame clear there was no way to fully prevent such maladies as malaria, dengue fever, and dysentery, the area had been declared off-limits.

  The truck moved slowly at first, following a faint track that made its way through the verdant greenery. Then, they headed south on a dirt road that had been cut into the jungle. With each mile they passed, the light grew dimmer and the jungle around them grew denser, until they passed through a tunnel made entirely of trees and choking vines.

  Trying to peer around the side of the vehicle, Rosemary kept looking for a break in the foliage, but there was none. They were heading back in time to a period when the earth had just emerged from its primordial soup.

  The swaying of the truck and the dappled sunlight sweeping over her face soon lulled her. In the frantic measures to move patients and hospital staff, Rosemary hadn’t slept well, and after the morning’s run-in with a Japanese air raid, exhaustion pressed in on her as forcefully as the hot, humid air. She allowed herself to doze, even as a part of her senses remained alert to the slightest noise, the first hint of trouble overhead.

  It wasn’t long before the grumble of the truck’s engine slowed and she roused, twisting to look around. The truck carefully forded a small stream, then turned sharply to the right. And there, carved out of the jungle, were a series of tents and low bamboo huts topped by metal roofs. Surrounding them all was the chaos of the retreating army—Jeeps, trucks, horses and carts. Everyone seemed to be set to an important task, darting around the compound like bees in a hive.

  The truck squealed to a stop and the engine was cut. Before Rosemary could completely get her bearings, a pair of women rushed to lower the tailgate.

  “Hello! Welcome!”

  These nurses, like Rosemary’s, wore ill-fitting fatigues held up at the waist with belts or braided bits of rope. But their eyes were bright and their lipstick red, proving that while they may have been deposited into the middle of nowhere, American femininity could not be completely dimmed.

  “Major Dodd?”

  “Yes,” Rosemary said, bending to make her way through the truck.

  One of the women held up a hand to help her to the ground. “Hello. I’m Major Cavendish. This is Lieutenant Vanderlin. Welcome to Little Baguio.”