"The other plane is behind us,” Thomas said.
“Hold on,” Chin called. “I’m dropping to three hundred feet."
“Thomas! How can I help?” I frantically asked again. “There must be something I can do!”
“Just stay down and cover Lady Jane!”
He again leaned out the door, holding on to the splintered jamb tightly, his knuckles white. His machine gun rattled. Smoke drifted from the barrel as the acrid stench of gunpowder floated through the cabin.
The enemy returned fire. Bullets again sprayed our cargo bay, tearing holes and splintering wood, ricocheting and whistling past us. Bullets burrowed into the edge of my seat. They ripped off an armrest, destroying Thomas’s empty seat. Bullets whizzed across the dashboard. They shattered the windshield, sending splinters of glass about the cabin.
My heart was racing, my breath coming in labored gasps as sweat prickled on my forehead. I had never been so close to death, never so frightened, never so helpless. I found myself whispering the twenty-third psalm. I held Lady Jane closer, determined to protect her, resolved to save her. I wanted to do everything for her that I couldn’t do for Maggie.
“Are you all right?” I asked, yelling above the noise of the machine guns
“No, I’m terrified! Aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I was just as afraid as she was, but I didn’t want her to know. I glanced over my shoulder. Thomas was still firing. I looked through the holes the bullets had ripped in the floor. The ocean was close. Very close.
“Chin!” I called. “We’re losing altitude!”
He didn’t reply. I turned to face him. He was slumped over the dashboard. Blood stained the back of his shirt.
“Thomas!” I yelled. “Chin’s been hit!”
CHAPTER 15
The engine whined and sputtered as the plane’s speed decreased. The wings dipped up and down as the plane haphazardly dropped towards the ocean, making an eerie whistling sound as it faltered through the sky. The engine then stalled completely, choking and coughing and spitting black smoke, and the nose started to dive.
Thomas ran towards the controls. “Bastards!”
Lady Jane popped her head up, craning her neck past me, and looked out of the porthole. “We’re going to crash!” she screamed.
The sound of splintering wood, bending and flexing and breaking, drowned the screams that filled the cabin. The plane slammed into the waves, throwing us violently forward and then backwards, before skimming and skipping across the water, bouncing like a tiny pebble tumbling down a hill. We were awash in a jumble of sound and motion, bodies slipping and sliding in all directions. Baggage broke free, tumbling about the cabin, skimming off walls and seats and ceilings and floors.
I opened my eyes slowly, my mind foggy, and groggily blinked several times. My head hurt, my vision was cloudy, and my mouth was dry. I wasn’t sure how long I had been unconscious. It could have been seconds; it might have been minutes.
The plane lay on its side, water lapping against the frame, a bi-wing sticking straight in the air. The cargo hatch served as a skylight. I gazed through it, my senses still dulled, and used the wing tip as a point of reference. I was struggling to understand what had happened, fighting to remain alert. My ears rang, and my vision was still clouded. I just wanted to close my eyes and rest, sleep for a few minutes more. But I knew I couldn’t.
I freed myself from some debris, the remnants of a packing crate that was lying on top of me, and moved my arms and legs and head. Everything worked. There was no pain, and, other than stiff muscles, some bruises, and bleeding from minor abrasions, I wasn’t seriously hurt.
I studied the plane, my mind still muddled, and saw that the skin, riddled with holes before the crash, was now covered with fractures that increased in size, the fuselage creaking and straining under the pressure. Water seeped in at an alarming rate, rushing through cracks of every size and spilling down onto the floor. I realized we would drown in minutes. If the sharks didn’t get us first.
I jumped up. I had to find Lady Jane. I had to help her. I couldn’t let her die.
She was near the tail, in the last dry area of the plane, sprawled over a suitcase. Her eyes were closed; her face was gray. A large bruise marred her cheek and temple. I was sure she was dead.
I moved frantically towards her. Thomas was sloshing through knee-deep water near the pilot's seat, blood trickling down his cheek. He paused, watching me.
“How is she?” he asked.
I couldn’t speak. She looked just like Maggie had on that horrible night. I bent over her, moving my hands about her neck and face, searching for signs of life. Then I scooped some sea water in my hands and splashed it on her face.
A few anxious seconds passed before her eyelids fluttered open. "What happened?" she asked.
I sighed with relief. “She’s alive,” I called to Thomas.
“We have to hurry,” he said. “The water is rising quickly. I’ll get Chin.”
I turned my attention to Lady Jane. "It’s all right," I told her. “Do you feel any pain?”
She stared vacantly, the glaze in her eyes slowly clearing. “No pain, but I feel numb all over.”
“Can you move?”
She wiggled her arms and legs. “Yes, I can move. I can’t believe we’re still alive.”
I helped her sit up and then scrambled to the front of the plane. Thomas was standing still, stunned and saddened.
Chin’s eyes were open, empty and vacant, staring at a world he could not see. Flesh and muscle and blood and bone protruded grotesquely from his chest.
Thomas reached forward and closed his eyes, and then lovingly caressed the boyish face. “He was such a good man. And a good friend.”
“Thomas, come on,” I urged. “We have to get out of here. The plane is sinking.”
I grabbed his arm, pulling him away from Chin’s body, and led him back to Lady Jane.
“What happened to Chin?” she asked.
“He didn’t make it,” Thomas said.
Her face paled and her eyes fogged; a tear dripped from her eye. “Maybe now he can be with his son,” she said softly.
I had to focus them on getting out of the plane. At the rate the water was rising, we would drown in minutes. “Let’s use rope to tie pieces of wreckage and luggage together,” I said.
“To make a raft?” Thomas asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Or at least something we can hold on to. Come on. We don’t have much time.”
Lady Jane and I salvaged some rope while Thomas climbed out of the open hatchway. As he did, I realized the water level in the plane rose and fell with the waves.
"We're only a few hundred feet from shore," Thomas said. "The plane is stuck in the sand. We must be perched on a sandbar.” He was quiet for a moment, searching the landscape. “The Japanese are gone.”
“Do we need a raft?” I asked.
“No,” replied Thomas. “I think we can easily make it to land. George, help Lady Jane up, and we’ll get out of here."
She placed her hands on my shoulders and her foot in my cupped hands, using them as a stair step. I lifted her up while Thomas pulled from above. With some minor awkwardness, we got her out of the plane.
“What about sharks?” I asked.
Thomas wiped some blood dripping down his face. “Let’s hope we make it to shore before the scent of blood attracts them.”
I climbed from the plane, joining them on top. We slid from the fuselage into the water and started for shore. It took little time to prove the plane indeed was perched on a sandbar. We had walked only a short distance when Lady Jane cried out in surprise and slid beneath the water.
Thomas grasped her shoulders and pulled her to the surface. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” she said, coughing and spitting water.
“Hold on to my back,” he said. “I’ll bring you the rest of the way.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs floati
ng in the water, and Thomas started walking towards the shore. “Oh, this is much better,” she said.
I trudged along behind them, easily tiring, my muscles starting to ache and my breathing growing labored. I wished I had the strength to carry her, to bring her to safety, to provide the security she wanted and needed. But I didn’t.
Once we reached the beach, we collapsed on the sand, thankful to be alive. We rested for a moment, regaining our strength and catching our breath, before checking for more serious injuries.
“I have some bruises,” Lady Jane said. “And a few cuts and scrapes. But I think I’m all right.”
“It’s the bruise on your head that worries me,” Thomas said. He eyed the lump on the side of her head and then tenderly touched the swelling. “You’ll have a horrible headache once the shock wears off. How about you, George?”
“Just some sore muscles and minor bruises,” I said.
“We have to get Chin’s body and our luggage,” Thomas said.
“What about you?” Lady Jane asked. “Your head is bleeding.”
“It’s from the air raid in Singapore,” he said. “I think the stitches broke. It’s not serious; the bleeding has already slowed. I’ll be fine.” He sighed, his eyes dulled by sorrow.
I looked at the plane, still perched on the sandbar. It showed signs of breaking under the strain of the rolling waves. “Thomas, we had better hurry,” I said quietly. “The plane may not last much longer.”
He looked to the ocean, realized my concern, and then turned to Lady Jane. “Lie under those trees and rest. We’ll be back shortly. Stay out of sight. We don’t know where the enemy is.”
Thomas and I returned to the plane. We used rope to tie the suitcases together, and then I towed them to shore. It was easier than trying to carry them. But the second trip was harder than the first, and towing the baggage made it even harder. I was breathing heavily, my muscles burning, tiring more with each step.
“We can rest a minute if you like,” Thomas said.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, my chest heaving, my words coming in staggered gasps.
I couldn’t ask him to stop, not while he carried Chin. I struggled on, determined to make the shore, each step harder than the last. I looked at Thomas, watching him as we moved through the water, the brave, mysterious man who knew no fear. He was crying but trying desperately to hide it.
CHAPTER 16
Thomas wept as he gently laid Chin’s lifeless body on the sand. He looked away, his eyes clenched closed.
I watched him trying to cope, looking as if his heart had been ripped from his body. I knew what it was like. I had held the lifeless body of someone I’d loved, begging a merciful God to give her another breath, to undo what had just been done. I understood how it felt to know you would never forgive yourself. And that’s what I saw on his face.
I hugged him, patting him gently on the back. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t look at Chin, even though I tried. I wanted to pay my respects, to honor a man I barely knew, but the gruesome wound made it difficult. Now he lay in the sand like Maggie had lain on a remote cliff in England, thrown from a car I couldn’t control. Chin’s death brought back the pain, which had been dormant and dulled, and made it feel as sharp as a knife.
Lady Jane walked up to Thomas and wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly for a minute, sniffling and sobbing, and then pulled away.
“Are you all right?” she asked, looking into his pained eyes.
“Yes,” he said, although we knew he didn’t mean it. “I’m fine.’
She looked at the body but immediately turned away. “I don’t want to remember him like that,” she said softly.
“What do we do now?” I asked quietly, my eyes moistening.
“We need to bury him,” Thomas said. He pointed to a knoll that overlooked the ocean and was rimmed by palm trees. “Under those trees would be nice.”
“Then let’s do that,” Lady Jane said. “It’s too painful to see him lying here.”
We collected some flat rocks to serve as shovels, and started to dig through the soft sand. It grew more difficult the deeper we went; the sand was more compacted. But we continued on, sweating and straining, and we had almost reached a suitable depth when Lady Jane asked the question we had somehow managed to forget.
“Where do you think we are?”
We stopped digging and looked up, briefly studying our surroundings. We had been so consumed with grief and sorrow, so overwhelmed with tragedy and catastrophe, and so thankful to have been saved, that we hadn’t considered what dangers we might confront.
“I don’t know,” Thomas said. “I was going to scout around after we’re settled and try to find out.”
“We need to determine if we’re safe,” I said. “And we have to find food and water.” I eyed the landscape warily. For all we knew, we were on an island occupied by the Japanese.
When we finished digging, we lined the hole with small rocks, forming a base. Then Thomas and I gently laid Chin to rest.
Tears sporadically welled in Thomas’s eyes. I wanted to console him but didn’t think it was the right time. He needed to grieve. So I let him.
Lady Jane was quiet. She watched Thomas, worried and willing to help if asked, to listen if requested. She didn’t look at the body.
We decided to cover Chin with the flat stones, barely larger than pebbles, that littered the beach. And then we poured sand in all the voids. When the grave was filled, and everything compacted, we laid larger rocks on top of it, and fashioned a grave marker.
I turned to Thomas. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes misty. “You knew him best,” I said. “It might be nice if you said a few words.”
He couldn’t speak; he was too emotional. He merely shook his head.
I called upon my Protestant upbringing and quietly recited the Lord’s Prayer.
Lady Jane murmured, “George, why don’t we give Thomas some time alone?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry, Thomas, I should have thought of that.” I was supposed to be so perceptive. But she saw what I couldn’t see.
We left Thomas and took our luggage to a grove of palm trees out of sight of Chin’s grave. We opened the lids so the air could dry our soggy belongings and checked for damage, most of which was caused by bullet holes from the enemy’s machine guns.
“My books are ruined,” Lady Jane groaned.
I glanced in her suitcases. There were probably ten books scattered among her clothes; a half dozen looked like the murder mysteries she absorbed every few days.
“Maybe they’ll dry out,” I said, assuming she meant the sea water.
“No, look,” she said, holding up a book.
There was a bullet hole right through the center, destroying the cover and the pages. I looked at the title: Life in Australia.
“Maybe you won’t need that one,” I said.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t reply.
We sprawled under the shade of some palm trees, lying in the sand, bruised and spent but thankful to be alive.
Neither of us spoke.
Thomas came over about fifteen minutes later. He was composed, but his eyes were red and watery. “You two rest while I explore our surroundings,” he said. “Maybe I can find some clue as to where we are.”
“Shouldn’t we all go?” I asked.
“No, I think not,” he said. A sadness still lived in his voice. “I’d rather go alone.”
“Then we’ll just rest a bit,” said Lady Jane. “Take all the time you need.”
He smiled weakly, cast a friendly wave, and disappeared over the dunes into a fringe of foliage that abutted the sand.
After a few moments of silence, Lady Jane sat up. “George, may I ask you a question?”
I had almost fallen asleep. I opened my eyes and peered up at her. “Yes, I suppose.”
“Who broke your heart?”
I tensed. I really didn’t want to share my personal life. Even t
hough Maggie had been gone for months, I had never talked about it. Not to anyone. Only family and friends and coworkers knew what had happened. “No one,” I said.
“Then who is Maggie?”
I hesitated. She had a compassionate look on her face, as if she wanted to help me. But it was too painful to discuss. I didn’t want to share the memories. They were private and personal. Maggie was a part of me. She always would be, and I didn’t want to share that.
“It’s all right,” she coaxed. “I won’t tell a soul. I swear. And if you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you mine. Then we’ll form a pact and forever protect each other.”
I smiled. She sounded like a child. I saw a different side of her. She was manipulative; she had a whole arsenal of weapons at her disposal to get what she wanted.
“It’s a very long story,” I finally said. “And very personal.”
She had the hint of a frown on her face. I wondered why she wanted to know. Did she want to provide a sympathetic ear as a friend, or did she want me to do that for her?
“I understand,” she said. “And I wasn’t trying to pry. I only thought I could help. I see the pain in your eyes. And I can imagine the pain in your heart.”
I studied her for a moment. Her statement was moving. She seemed sincere. I noticed the pain in her eyes. We shared heartache; we shared sadness. She wanted me to know that. It was only then that I understood her motive.
“Maggie was my wife,” I said softly.
She lightly brushed the hair from my forehead, moving her face close to mine, giving me her complete and undivided attention. I knew that she cared. “Tell me about her.”
I smiled, as I always did when I thought about Maggie. Then I took a deep breath. “Let me see,” I said, tortured between pleasant memories and sadness. “She was very different. Unlike anyone I have ever known. She was impetuous and optimistic and bubbly and funny. She was a dozen different people rolled into one: a dreamer, a comedian, a dancer, an optimist, a teacher, a partner, a friend. She could drink most men under the table and was not afraid to try. Her laugh was contagious, and once she started you couldn’t help but join her. She was smart but in a practical way. And she was a beautiful person. Inside and out. I could never understand what she saw in me. I always felt like I didn’t deserve her.”
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