Dawn of a Thousand Nights

by Tricia N. Goyer

  Survive. Dan let his friend’s choice of words replay in his mind. How quickly things had changed.

  Eleven

  JAPAN SEEN TRYING FOR AIR “KNOCKOUT”

  Washington, Dec. 8 (U.P.)—Japan was trying to deliver a knockout blow against American airpower in the Pacific to stall the bombing of Tokyo and other major centers, authority military quarters said tonight.

  The Japanese hoped to sever air communications between Hawaii and the Philippines, and then to concentrate on the destruction of the Philippines’ military establishments either by aerial bombardment or direct invasion, the informant said.

  Excerpt from the New York Times, December 9, 1941

  The sound of the “Battleship March” reverberated in Natsuo’s ears.

  “News special. News special.” The announcer’s voice quivered with excitement. “Beginning this morning at dawn, war has been declared against the Americans and British!”

  Cheers arose from the small classroom where Natsuo sat.

  “We did it!”

  “Wonderful!”

  “Banzai!”

  Natsuo joined in the chants, lifting his arms into the air with each cry. It seemed they’d been doing a great deal of celebrating lately.

  Yesterday Prime Minister Hideki Tojo had reminded them that in the 2,600 years since their nation was founded, the empire had never known a defeat.

  “I am resolved to dedicate myself, body and soul,” Tojo had said over the radio. “And I believe every one of you, my fellow countrymen, will not care for your life but gladly share in the honor to make of yourself His Majesty’s humble shield.”

  Like pieces in a chess game, their forces were succeeding in positioning themselves for the checkmate to come. Soon the entire Pacific Theatre would be in their control. Natsuo’s training was coming to the end, and he wondered what part he’d play. Would he be sent to invade Hawaii? the Philippines? or one of the lesser islands? Energy surged through his veins as he witnessed the celebrations around him.

  “America is evil! Britain is wrong! For the sake of His Imperial Highness!” Natsuo called out. “May I forever be His Majesty’s humble shield!”

  Libby kept the radio on throughout her waking hours. For two days after the attack, the airwaves remained silent. Every once in a while an excited announcer would break through with news updates, including reports that barges crammed with thousands of Japanese troops had landed on the north side of the island—reports that later proved false.

  The newspapers also continued to churn out print, especially putting blame on the numerous Japanese—one-third of the population—who lived on the island. Just this morning, the headline read “Caps on Japanese Tomato Plants Point to Air Base.”

  As far as Libby was concerned, the whole island had gone mad. Surely the Orientals all weren’t spies. And if some were, did the newspapers really think tomato plants could be reliable secret signals?

  On Monday, December 8, Congress had declared war on Japan. During his speech President Roosevelt had informed the world that Oahu wasn’t the only island attacked. Malaya, Hong Kong, Guam, Wake Island, Midway Island … the Philippine Islands. Were the Philippine Islands as bad off as Hawaii? Were they worse?

  Libby paced the room. She knew that Dan would be right in the thick of battle. Fear scratched at her chest. As long as Dan was in the sky he’d be okay, she told herself.

  But with Oahu in chaos, she couldn’t just sit home and worry. She tucked her gas mask inside her purse and ventured into Honolulu in search of fabric for blackout curtains. The streets were nearly empty. Memorials to both military and civilian personnel hung in store windows. Some buildings lay crumbled, heavily damaged by the navy’s antiaircraft fire.

  She stepped over crumbled bricks and hurried from store to store, with no luck. The same disbelieving gazes from storeowners stared back at her, and she ached for their warm Hawaiian smiles. She ached for the hustle and bustle, the friendly soldiers, the carefree days.

  Gas stations were also shut down, and most people took to foot or bicycle. Thankfully, the Toonerville Trolley continued to run. Libby climbed back on with empty arms, then rode the trolley to the one place she knew she could serve.

  Libby had already spent two nights at the school, and it looked as if another one stretched ahead. Sirens sounded at dusk, and all citizens were ordered to stay put until the all clear came the next morning.

  With weary steps, she fetched bandages and sterilized supplies. She rewrapped bandages and comforted injured soldiers until the clock ticked past midnight. Unable to stand up for one more minute, she collapsed onto a now-vacant cot, ignoring the scent of petrol that clung to the sheets, trying not to think of the soldier who no longer needed a bed.

  “Lady, you’re not hurt, are you? Do you think you can help me?”

  Libby sat up on the cot. It seemed as if she’d just lain down, but now the sun was bright in the sky. She rubbed her eyes and turned toward the young navy officer, who held a stack of postcards in his hand.

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  “The navy needs the survivors to write home. Their folks need to know they’re doing okay.”

  Libby jutted her chin into the air. “Do you really think any of these men are ‘doing okay’?”

  He lowered his head, fumbling with the postcards in his hands. “Well, at least their folks need to know they’re still breathing. With so many dead—”

  “But the postcards will take months to get there. What about cables?”

  “About 350,000 are trying to get out. The wires are jammed.”

  Libby softened. “Of course I’ll help. I’ll fill them out for those who can’t. But first, can you tell me … how are we doing in the harbor?”

  The sailor lowered his voice and leaned in close. “Three battleships were sunk. The Oklahoma was capsized. A dozen others are heavily damaged.”

  Libby shuddered and wondered to herself if those on the air bases had fared any better. “And the deaths? Do we know how many men?”

  “We have no clear number, but we’re guessing over two thousand, maybe as many as three thousand.” The sailor handed over the stack. “Just make sure not to describe the attack.”

  “Of course.” Libby grabbed up a pen and turned her attention to the nearest sailor. His body was bandaged from head to toe.

  “It’s not as though we can change anything,” she added to herself as the sailor strode away. “Don’t they realize? Not knowing is the hardest part.”

  Later that day, Libby found herself at Hickam Field. It was even worse than she’d imagined. The roofs of the military barracks had crumbled into the structures, leaving only outer walls. Burned-out hulks of bombed aircraft littered parking aprons and hangars.

  Libby didn’t even want to think what John Rodgers looked like. She remembered her last view of it. As they drove away, her mind had fixed on the fragments that had formerly been her Piper Cub. She hadn’t been back. She couldn’t face the others, knowing she was responsible for George’s death.

  Not that she was needed there. Nonmilitary air traffic had been shut down completely.

  Libby stood at the metal gate of Hickam Field and looked in. Civilians armed with ’03 Enfield rifles—officially titled the Hawaiian Air Depot Volunteer Corps—patrolled the airfield. They didn’t wear military uniforms or carry military identification, but Libby knew they took their job seriously.

  Sending up a prayer for favor, Libby zipped her flight suit to her chin and tucked her hair into her pilot’s helmet. She slid on a pair of sunglasses, then moved through the gate. The guard put up a hand and motioned for her to stop. She handed him her pilot’s clearance pass, hoping he didn’t recognize the difference between the military and civilian forms. The guard returned it and nodded her through. She hurried across the airfield as fast as her legs would take her. She moved from hangar to hangar, scanning the faces of the pilots and flight crews, throwing a salute to any patrol volunteer she came across.

&nbs
p; Then she spotted him. Dan’s friend Zeke Olson was sprawled on the ground looking at the underside of a P-38.

  “Zeke!” Libby called out and instantly realized her mistake.

  A patrol volunteer hurried over and grasped her by the arms. He was a native Hawaiian—at least a foot taller and double her weight.

  “Hey, now, what do you think you’re doing?” He pulled her back toward the gate.

  Libby tugged against his grasp and cocked her head in an effort to see around him. “Zeke, it’s me! Libby Conners, Dan’s girlfriend … uh, fiancée!” Her voice echoed in the cavernous interior, and the warm air smelled strongly of gasoline fumes and oil from the disemboweled planes parked inside.

  Zeke rose from the ground, hurrying over. “It’s okay—she’s with me.”

  Reluctantly the large man released his grip and glanced to Zeke. “Don’t know what this is about.” He crossed meaty arms over his chest. “But this is no place for a lady. Especially one who tries to sneak around. You sure she’s okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s harmless.” Zeke smirked. “Complicated but harmless.”

  Libby slid off her sunglasses and smiled at the patrol volunteer.

  When he had stalked out of earshot, Zeke turned his attention to Libby. “I’m glad to see you’re okay. I heard John Rodgers was badly hit. But what are you doing here?”

  “Did you also hear that George Abel was killed?” Libby tried to keep her voice from trembling.

  “No, sorry to hear it. A lot of good men were lost. Some of my buddies …”

  “I’m so sorry.” Libby glanced to the patrol guard, then back to Zeke. “Speaking of buddies, have you heard from any of the guys in the Philippines?”

  Her eyes attempted to scan his face, but Zeke lowered his gaze and shook his head. “Sorry, doll. There’s been no word. Things are so crazy here that communication has been nonexistent. I’ve been wondering too.”

  “But they were part of your unit. Surely you’ve heard something. Anything.” Libby took Zeke’s hand between both of hers, squeezing. She forced firmness into her tone. “Zeke, look me in the eye and tell me you’ve heard nothing.”

  Zeke lifted his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with sorrow. “Fact is, Captain heard that nearly the whole fleet was wiped out. I don’t think they have ten flyable planes left, and we’re still not sure about the pilots. It seems the Japs were as successful in that campaign as they were here.”

  Libby felt her legs weaken. She reached for the wall behind her and slid down it onto the concrete floor.

  Zeke squatted down before her. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I mean, we really don’t know. Dan could be just fine.”

  Libby offered Zeke a weak smile. “No, I needed to hear it. Needed to know … I can handle it, I mean, until we know for sure.” Libby’s voice wavered, and suddenly she was tired of being strong. She wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled them to her chest, letting her forehead fall to her knees.

  Zeke placed his hands on her trembling shoulders.

  I shouldn’t be doing this to him, Libby thought. Zeke has enough to worry about. But no matter how she attempted to pull herself together, Libby couldn’t get up from that hangar floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” she finally commented. “I didn’t plan on this, I—”

  “Nah, don’t worry, doll. If the places were reversed, I know Dan would try to be there for my wife.”

  Zeke settled on the floor next to her and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder. “Go ahead and cry it out. You’re not the only one on this island letting the tears flow. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t cry for the man you love.”

  Since each house and business on the island was required to be blacked out at night, Libby spent the remainder of the afternoon again moving from store to store, to no avail. There was no fabric to be had. Unable to turn on her lights, she now sat in her apartment in the dark, feeling sorry for herself. She thought about the possibility of Dan’s death and the fact that she was stranded on the island, unable to fly. What did she have left? She couldn’t even get a message to her father to let him know she was okay. Her stomach churned, considering his worry.

  The open window let in a warm evening breeze. She sat there listening to the defense workers as they walked up and down the streets ensuring compliance. Mr. Atkins had been one of the first to apply for the job, and more than once Libby had heard his booming voice yelling at one of their neighbors to put out a cigarette—as if the small, red glow would draw in the next Japanese bombing raid. He even convinced her neighbors to stop drinking milk because it was home delivered—often by people of Japanese extraction. She guessed they believed his rumors that poison was injected through the cardboard caps.

  As Libby watched out the window, she spotted a car moving slowly down the road, its headlights covered with blue cellophane. It parked in front of her building, and in the moonlight Libby made out the form of a woman hurrying toward her apartment.

  “Rose.” She moved to the door. Libby had no idea how her friend had made it out past curfew, but she was thankful she had. She opened the door, but before she could get a word out, Rose fell into Libby’s embrace.

  “Oh, Libby.” Rose wept. “Jack is gone.”

  The news hit Libby like a brick to the stomach. All the time she’d been volunteering at the school, she’d been searching the sailors’ faces, looking for Rose’s Jack. She’d assumed that not seeing him was a good thing.

  “Rose, no. What happened? I mean, do you know for certain? There are people showing up all the time, injured but—”

  Rose pulled back and moved to Libby’s sofa, sinking into the cushions. Even in the moonlight, Libby could see her friend’s puffy eyes. Her dark hair fell in tangled clumps around her face as if it had been days since she’d brushed it.

  “I know it for sure.” Rose ran a trembling hand down her face. “They told me. They saw him go down with the ship. But if it weren’t for Jack …”

  Libby sat on the couch beside her. “Start from the beginning. Who are ‘they’? His crewmates?”

  Rose nodded. “I spent the last two days searching the hospitals. Finally, at one of them, a sailor stopped me. One of Jack’s friends. He was so badly burned that I hardly recognized him. He said …” A solitary cry burst forth, and Rose shook her head, unable to continue.

  Libby didn’t press, and after a few minutes Rose sucked in a deep breath, wiping away her tears. “He was on the Oklahoma, you know. He worked on the engines way down in the hull. There was a group of guys stuck in a compartment. A small porthole was the only way out. They say that Jack got the porthole opened and began pushing them through. He wasn’t even going to try it himself, but the guys convinced him. Those on the outside tried to pull him through. He was about halfway when he got stuck. My big guy. He was so broad. They tried to pull him, but it was no use. When others came up behind them, Jack asked to be pushed back through. Then he helped push the rest out. And with each guy he pushed through he said the same thing: ‘Tell Rose that I love her. Don’t forget to tell her.’”

  “Oh, Rose.” Libby wrapped her arms around her friend.

  “This stupid war.” Rose stood and paced to the window. “I’m just so mad. Why my Jack?”

  Libby had no response, but in her mind she asked the same questions. Why Dan? Of all people … why did he have to go?

  Twelve

  LARGE U.S. LOSSES CLAIMED BY JAPAN

  Tokyo, Tuesday, Dec. 9 (From Official Broadcasts, Distributed by the Associated Press)—Japanese Imperial Headquarters announced last night the sinking of two United States battleships and a minesweeper, severe damage to four other American capital ships and four cruisers, and the destruction of about 100 American planes in Japan’s surprise blows at Hawaii, the Philippines, and Guam.

  Japanese Army headquarters announced that fifty or sixty American planes were shot down in air combats over Clark Field in the Philippines and forty more over Iba, eighty miles northeast of M
anila, Domei said. The Japanese acknowledge the loss of only two planes in Philippine actions.

  Emperor Hirohito in an imperial rescript broadcast by Domei called on “the hallowed spirits of our imperial ancestors” and “the loyalty and courage of our subjects” to achieve victory, and repeated Japan’s argument that the United States and Britain prolonged the war in China by aiding Chungking, leaving Japan “no other recourse but to appeal to arms.”

  Excerpt from the New York Times, December 9, 1941

  Dan sat in the cockpit of his P-40 waiting for his turn for takeoff. Oliver “Tex” Watkins’s P-40 taxied down the runway ahead of him. The airstrip, still littered with debris, was a mess. With only a narrow strip cleared, Dan hoped they’d have enough room to make it out safely, especially since trying to see the runway beyond the nose of the P-40 was nearly impossible.

  A sinking feeling came over him as he watched Oliver’s plane. “You’re too close,” he said to himself.

  He grabbed his radio and called into it, “Pull left! You’re too close to the edge!” But before he could finish his warning, the right wing of Oliver’s plane snagged one of the smoldering B-17s and spun into the wreckage. Dan gritted his teeth and winced, looking aside as his friend’s P-40 burst into flames.

  No one could have survived that ball of fire.

  But Dan could do nothing. He remained in his stifling cockpit and fought back tears of rage and sadness.

  Within ten minutes, ground crews had pushed the burning wreckage of Tex’s plane to the side and signaled Dan clear for takeoff. He had no choice but to follow through with his mission. Japanese ground troops were landing on the island. He had to find out what they were up to—while avoiding getting shot down.

  Dan lined up his P-40 on the runway. He wiped the sweat from his eyes—telling himself it was the heat that was getting to him. He pushed his throttle forward to the wall, standing on his brakes until his Allison’s power built to its maximum. His chest quivered, but his gloved hands held his control stick steady. Taking a deep breath, he released his brakes, and the pursuit picked up speed. He pushed thoughts of Tex out of his mind as he hurled past the burning wreckage. It wasn’t until the wheels lifted that Dan realized he was still holding his breath. He let out a slow, trembling whistle and steered north.