Dawn of a Thousand Nights

by Tricia N. Goyer

  Libby shrugged and glanced at her watch.

  “I’ve never heard of anything like this in my life.” Face red, he stalked back to the office. Libby remained in the seat and fiddled her fingers on the throttle. A lump formed in her throat as she watched the colonel storm into the building, slamming the door behind him. As the minutes ticked past, she was sure she could hear his voice booming over the sound of a small aircraft coming in for a landing, and even over the chorus of Jimmy Dorsey replaying in her mind.

  Why did every man who saw her judge her before she had a chance to prove herself? In her training, she had to work harder than any of the others. The instructors looked for every little excuse to dock her points. And now that she’d made instructor, she had to prove herself again with every student.

  She glanced toward the harbor, then northwest toward Wheeler Field where army pilots took off and landed in their fancy planes. She blinked, refusing to allow a single tear of self-pity to escape. Still, if she were a man, she’d be up there in army pursuits, leading the pack. She’d be the one giving orders.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  The male voice made her jump. She watched as the man hoisted himself up into the Cub and plopped into the seat beside her.

  “The old fool doesn’t know what he’s missing. I’ve heard you’re the best instructor on the island. Since you obviously have an empty spot, will you sign me up?” A boyish grin spread across the speaker’s face.

  Libby’s jaw dropped. “Aren’t you the guy from the beach?” She reached her hand toward the Cub’s door handle, preparing to make a quick escape.

  “What? You don’t recognize me when I’m not dripping wet and panting? If you’re talking about the dummy that almost drowned, yup, that would be me.”

  “Rose said you’d track me down. I told her you were probably seeking revenge. But I have to say, I wasn’t in my right mind, really. I mean, with the whole football thing. I just snapped—”

  “Libby, please.” He held up his hands, halting her words. “It was our fault. My buddy and I were interrupting. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

  “How do you know my name?” A warm, giddy feeling flowed through her in a way she hadn’t expected. She brushed her hair back from her face, feeling a few wayward strands escape the hair clip at the base of her neck. “Never mind. Rose told you.”

  He combed his fingers through his hair, then buckled his seat belt. “Like I said. You’re supposed to be the best instructor on the island. I’d heard of you even before our little incident. Can you take me up?”

  “On one condition. I need to know the name of the man I almost killed.”

  “Dan. Dan Lukens.” He reached out and took her hand in his strong grip. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And you trust me? In the air, I mean.” She slid her flight helmet onto her head.

  “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Libby gave him a quick overview of the various roles of the controls and switches in the cockpit.

  “Some people think that piloting is just like driving a car, but what they don’t realize is the additional need for lateral control. An automobile must be steered left or right. A plane climbs, dives, and turns. It can also tilt from one side to another.” She laughed. “Drivers don’t have to worry about keeping their wheels on the ground, but pilots must also keep their wings level.”

  Dan’s eyes were fixed on Libby as he listened intently.

  She felt her face heat up again as she took the stick in her hands. “Now this is the level that makes the plane go up or down. It also tips the wings. When you push to the left, the left wing is depressed, and the same to the right. Are you with me so far?”

  Dan rubbed his chin. “I think so.”

  Libby adjusted her flight helmet. “Some guys get a little sick when we first go up, but I’m a pilot, not a maid. If you lose your lunch in my plane, you’ll be the one cleaning it up.”

  “Understood.” Dan smirked.

  Libby was about to start the engine when George jogged out of the office, waving his arms to get her attention. She climbed down from the Cub and met him halfway across the gravel tarmac.

  “Sorry to stop you, Libs.” He ran a hand over his gray beard. “But a call came in for Sergeant Lukens. They need him back at Wheeler.”

  “The airfield? Don’t you mean the harbor? Isn’t he a sailor?”

  “No, the airfield. Lukens is one of those hotshot pursuit pilots. They say the labor strike is off, and they need him back. He’s got some maneuvers to lead.”

  Libby pressed her hands to her hips and cocked an eyebrow. “Hotshot pilot? You don’t say.” She glanced back to where Dan sat in the passenger’s seat and gave him a thumbs-up. “Yeah, George. I’ll be happy to give him the word.”

  Dan strode onto the asphalt tarmac on Wheeler Field, passing the rows of army fighter planes now lined up where Amelia Earhart had taken off for her first solo flight between Hawaii and California only six years before. The once-quiet airfield had come alive since then, as rumors of possible Japanese conquests in the South Pacific forced the U.S. to take a military stand in the Pacific. He breathed in the intoxicating aroma of exhaust intermingled with saltwater air.

  The army’s massive Schofield Barracks bordered the field to the northwest, but the buildings weren’t visible due to the large hangars that lined the runway. A grin filled Dan’s face as he scanned the bustling airfield. The sun’s hot rays beat down on the men, as on foot or by jeep they moved around the warehouses, radar hut, fuel tanks, and ammo dumps with purpose.

  With a quick stride, making sure to step over the hot oil puddles on the pavement, Dan approached Gabriel Lincoln, who was zipping up his flight jacket. He grasped his friend’s shoulder with a firm grip.

  Gabe turned with a grin. “Aloha, Daniel. Where have you been? The captain has been looking for you.”

  “Ah, just trying to spend some time with the woman I’m going to marry.”

  “What are you talking about? I just saw you twenty-four hours ago, and you didn’t even have a girl, let alone a fiancée.” He winked. “Did you make it to the Black Cat with Zeke after all? Maybe got a date with one of those girls in hula skirts that all the sailors pay to get their picture taken with?”

  “Nah, it’s someone you haven’t met.” He gave Gabe a friendly punch in the shoulder.

  “One of those girls from the beach last week? Zeke told me about the dark-haired one.” Gabe let out a low whistle.

  “No, the other one. I—”

  “The one who almost killed you?” Gabe interrupted. “Are you nuts?”

  “Maybe. But she’s a pilot. An instructor. And she’s even prettier and feistier than I remembered.”

  “And was she glad to see you again? I hope she held her temper this time.”

  “Are you kidding? I signed up for a flying lesson. Unfortunately, she found out I was a pilot.”

  “And she wasn’t too happy?”

  “Let’s just say I received one of the worst tongue-lashings of my life.”

  “Sounds like true love to me.”

  Dan shrugged. “Give it time. Come on. Let’s see that new machine.”

  A group of pilots stood outside the hangar closest to the runway, eyeing the new plane.

  “Men, I’d like to introduce you to the P-40B.” Captain Davis stood, shoulders straight, and pointed to a pursuit plane that appeared to be the stronger big brother to the one Dan was used to flying.

  “It’s basically the same as the P-40,” the captain continued, “but it has become evident to our government that more powerful weaponry may soon be called for.”

  “Does the president know something he’s not telling us?” one pilot called out.

  Captain Davis clasped his hands behind his back and continued on without a response. “This B model has four wing-mounted .30-caliber and two nose-mounted .40-caliber machine guns. It also introduces cockpit armor, which is good news for you. A dozen of these fighters are
going to be arriving soon. This is just a sample. News from the top says we’ll soon be taking a whole fleet of P-40Bs down to the Philippines to build up our defenses.”

  “But how does it fly?” Gabe climbed up the footholds to the cockpit and leaned out to get a better view of the wings. “I mean, with all that extra weight, will we be able to maneuver the thing?”

  “That’s why I’ve called in Sergeant Lukens to give us a demonstration. It seems no one’s too certain how it will handle, especially under the fancy maneuvers necessary in dogfights. I hate to say it, but we don’t even have a flight manual for this thing yet.”

  “Are you gonna do it?” Gabe looked to Dan; his eyes flicked with foreboding. “If body armor weighs it down too much, it could—”

  Dan turned to the captain. “Do you feel it’s safe, sir?”

  The officer took a wide-legged stance and nodded. “I believe it is. I can’t imagine them sending over anything that isn’t worthy of our men. For you, Lukens, it will be simple.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” Dan pressed his flight helmet onto his head.

  “Are you crazy?” Gabe tapped his finger to the side of his head. “At least wait a few days till we get a manual.”

  Dan smiled and winked. “I’m just an old football player, pal. Gotta trust the coach if you wanna win the game.”

  Libby gazed out from her second-story apartment window and spotted the last gray puffs of smoke dissipating in the air. The day’s work at the harbor was complete; the smoke was from practice shots from the antiaircraft guns on Battleship Row. The first time she’d seen it, she’d thought the harbor was under attack.

  “Gray smoke means nothing. Them’s just practice shots,” George Abel had informed her. “But if you see black smoke, run for your life. Black is the real stuff.”

  Libby tilted the slatted windows, opening them wider to let in the cooler trade winds. She loved the lightly falling afternoon rains and breezes the sea brought in. They stirred up floral scents so strong she could almost taste them. And it wasn’t only the flowers outside that were so fragrant. She traced her fingers over the petals of the large purple blossoms in a windowsill vase that her Chinese maid had filled that morning.

  She’d grown accustomed to simple comforts like household help and bouquets of flowers—things that hadn’t fit into her world in northern California. There, the small house she shared with her dad was weathered, and not in a charming way. It was a simple dwelling with a sagging roof and dingy curtains. The house faded into the dry brown hills around it, not worth a second look.

  Here, household help was inexpensive; everyone working on the air base had a maid. And flowers were so abundant, it seemed wasteful not to bring some inside to enjoy.

  Still, living in the midst of a full-scale military boomtown had its quirks. Once a week the power would go out, and darkness covered every inch of the island. After a few moments, the radio stations would announce that another blackout drill had been completed. It hadn’t happened yet this week, which most likely meant tonight was the night.

  Libby thought about walking to town for dinner, yet sailors who were away on shipboard maneuvers during the week hit the beaches, bars, and restaurants on the weekends. She wasn’t desperate enough for companionship to venture into that mob. Instead, she strode from the window and wished she knew where Rose was. No doubt her friend was on the arm of some handsome sailor … or pilot.

  A flush rose to her cheeks as she thought about Dan Lukens. The man had lied to her. Or at least, tried to fool her. And, boy, had she let him have it.

  But somehow the poor guy had seemed to shrug away her words. The more she thought about it, the more ashamed she felt. After all, what had been the point of his little charade? She ought to be flattered.

  Why do I always blow it? She opened her pantry, then closed it again, realizing she wasn’t hungry. Another Friday night with nothing to do.

  Natsuo glanced around at the faces of the men who lounged around the grassy lawn in front of the military barracks. He knew many of them—Haro, Kin, Yashiku, Akio, and a dozen others. And while today they were simply neighbor boys thousands of miles away from home, tomorrow they would all be soldiers.

  Growing up in Kobe, Natsuo’s favorite game had been the game of war. He and the others would gather driftwood sticks washed up on the shore and play soldiers. He had never imagined himself as a real one. As children, war had meant kendō, Japanese fencing.

  In kendō it didn’t matter that Natsuo was smaller than other boys. He was taught by his father to wait patiently, reading the eyes of his opponent until the enemy brandished a sword high above his head and took aim at his forehead. Waiting until the last second, Natsuo would then dodge, thrusting the play sword into his opponent’s chest, while his foe’s sword hit the ground where he’d been standing.

  “It is the spirit of kendō. You have done well,” his father had boasted after witnessing one of these play matches. “The mind is as important as the body.” He rumpled Natsuo’s hair. “No, more important.”

  Haro and Kin played the same game today. Their bamboo sticks cracking against each other almost sounded like the beat of a drum punctuating the evening air. Kin won the match, and Haro waved him away.

  “You may be better at kendō, but you’ll never beat me as a first baseman.” Haro swung the bamboo stick, mimicking the arch of a baseball player’s bat. “Too bad Babe Ruth wasn’t Japanese. Did I tell you I met him once when he visited Japan?”

  “Yes,” a dozen voices called in unison.

  Haro tramped over to Natsuo. He lifted his bamboo stick as if preparing to whack Natsuo’s head; then he grinned and dropped it to the grass with a thump. “What about you, Noodle Boy? Do you like baseball?”

  Natsuo cocked his hand back as if pretending to make a long pass. “I prefer football, actually.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. Noodle Boy is too good for Japan and for kendō. That’s why he left us and went to the United States.”

  Kin joined in. “I bet he wishes he were still there. Wishes he lived with his sister and fought for their army.”

  Natsuo jumped to his feet. His fists made tight balls at his side. “I do not. I will live and die for my country. The emperor is my god!”

  “Calm down.” Kin placed a hand on Natsuo’s shoulder. “We will live and die together.” He settled onto the ground beside Haro. “We are friends, remember?”

  Natsuo didn’t answer. He thought back to those childhood days. Whenever he could, Natsuo would escape from the heat and aroma of his house over the shop where his father made noodles to explore the neighborhood with the other boys, especially Haro. But he could never escape the scent of hot oil and dough that had permeated his skin since birth. He hated that nickname, Noodle Boy, but he tried not to let it show. Certainly, he never let them see him cry like his sister, Hoshiko—like all girls.

  They lived on the road that traveled between the sea and the Takatori train station. Locomotives belched smoke and steam as they crossed over the nearby Myohoji River. And looming above it all was beautiful Mount Takatori, four kilometers to the north. Natsuo’s favorite place was the sandy beach to the south where he and his friends swam on summer days in their loincloths, shooting through the waves like skinny, dark fish. As they swam, he forgot he was a simple, poor boy who stank of oil and dough.

  Natsuo shook away the memories. He rose and moved back into the coolness of the cement barracks. The last time he had received a letter from Hoshiko was right before passing his medical health inspection. He didn’t have a chance to return home. The army needed him immediately, as the threat of war in the South Pacific mounted.

  So instead of returning home for a victory dinner, Natsuo had cabled his family with a simple message: CLASS A BANZAI! He was sure the news brought warm pride to his father, yet sprouted tears from his tender mother. He could imagine her face swollen from crying. Still, losing him to his military wasn’t as bad as losing him to an enemy country.

  He was
a servant of the emperor, after all.

  Four

  WORLD’S BEST PLANE

  LOCATOR CREDITED TO U.S.

  The United States is credited with possessing aircraft detection apparatus superior to any in use abroad. The aircraft spotting devices adopted by the army, members of Congress have been told, are effective at well over 100 miles, piercing fog and darkness to give defending fighters at least 15 minutes’ warning of the approach of hostile aircraft.

  Congress included $6,929,000 in defense funds for detectors to be installed in warning stations on the Atlantic, Gulf, and Pacific Coasts, and in Hawaii, Alaska, Puerto Rico, and the Canal Zone.

  Excerpt from the Washington Post, June 20, 1941

  Libby’s swivel chair creaked with her every move as she sat behind the gray front desk in the airport office. She flipped through papers on a clipboard, looking for the day’s flight schedule. Early morning was her favorite time for flying. At dawn, the cooled land created an onshore breeze that counteracted the trade winds. The air was calm and quiet, and if it weren’t for the rumbling of the plane’s engine, she might think she was floating over the lush land, the boats, the harbor.

  Later in the day, sightseeing became tricky and flight lessons impossible. The land warmed up and the trade winds resumed, flowing briskly from the northeast. The wind tossed small planes around like autumn leaves caught in an updraft.

  The bell on the front door jingled, and Libby lifted her face to see Rose approaching in her flight suit. “Hey there.” She offered a small wave. “Another wild night on the town?”

  Rose yawned and stretched her arms. “Went dancing again. I keep thinking I should gain weight after eating all those fancy foods every night. A good steak is only a dollar, you know, and the fellas like to treat. But I don’t have a chance to worry. There are enough soldiers to keep me on my feet dancing all night. You should join me sometime.”

  “Or maybe you should join me,” said a male voice.