Dan spotted the silver chain with a crucifix hanging over the Filipino’s shirt, and it reminded him of Paulo. “You a Christian?” Dan pointed to the jewelry.
“Me Christian.” The man nodded. He pointed to Dan. “You Christian?”
Dan made the sign of the cross as he’d seen Paulo do on numerous occasions.
“Yes, you Christian.” The fisherman’s grin broadened; then he shifted his eyes and looked both directions. He stealthily reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball of cooked rice with one hand and a handful of sugar candy with the other.
“Thank you.” Dan glanced over his shoulder and winked at Tony. The guards hadn’t seen the little exchange. They were too busy watching more women board the steamer farther down the dock.
Dan motioned to Tony, then palmed him the rice ball and candy. Tony slid them inside his pocket, and together they returned to loading cargo.
“Forget hitching a ride to Japan.” Dan kept his voice low. “We need to stay here. The weather’s no better, but I think we can find help. That officer’s lady, the fisherman—if we can befriend a few people, maybe we can make it home after all.”
Visions of Libby’s warm smile filled Dan’s head, and an aching filled the pit of his stomach. Home.
Dan let his mind wander as he continued to load more crates. He thought about the Filipino woman, who was only trying to keep her children alive. Of fellow soldiers at Cabanatuan being forced to choose between a comrade’s life or their own. And he was starting to understand all too well how one’s conscience took a backseat to the desire for food—for life. Yeah, he might make it back. But would he be the same person Libby had known and loved?
Natsuo looked at his spread—fish, barley rice, dried figs, and a cup of green tea—yet his stomach turned, and he couldn’t take a bite. This was his last evening meal at the guards’ kitchen at Stanley. Tomorrow, the ship Shi Maru would be sailing from Hong Kong back to Japan, and he had a ticket to ride along.
Natsuo had a new assignment. Groups of American prisoners would be arriving by the thousands to work in the imperial homeland. His services were needed for communication with the GIs.
Natsuo blamed himself for the transfer. He’d done well, informing the commandant of men who stirred trouble within the barbed-wire fencing of Stanley. Now those men, and six hundred more from other camps all over Hong Kong, would be joining the voyage. They’d be transported in the ship’s hold. Locked up like freight, while Natsuo reclined in his own cabin on the upper decks.
Natsuo lifted the cup of steaming green tea to his lips, taking it in slowly, feeling its warmth travel to his tense stomach. It wasn’t leaving the English that bothered him—although he had to admit he’d miss seeing Anna. Rather, it was the idea of once again being in the presence of Americans.
How his memories loved them. How his mind hated them. He’d found friends in their ranks, but that was years ago. Now they’d imprisoned his sister, along with all Japanese on the West Coast. They’d locked up his niece and nephew too.
One thing was certain. They must pay. Pay for the way they’d twisted his heart to their ways. Pay for any harm done to his beloved family.
Natsuo picked at the food on his plate, knowing he must eat to be strong. He needed strength for what he was about to face.
The wind lashed Natsuo’s words as he stood before the English prisoners the next morning, some arrived from Stanley, but most from the main POW camp Shamshuipo.
“You will be taken away from Hong Kong.” He clasped his hands firmly behind his back. “To a beautiful country where you will be well looked after, well treated.”
He scanned the faces before him. Some stared blankly, as if expecting this. Others wore wide-eyed expressions of shock. Had they really believed the rumors that they’d be released or exchanged? Didn’t they realize no rescuers dared oppose the imperial army? Singapore and the Philippines had already fallen under their sword, and the news from the European Theatre was that England held on by a mere thread.
In a weary line, the thin prisoners boarded the ship—up the gangplank, then down into the hold. After the last hatch was locked in place, Natsuo stepped onto the deck. Soon the boat left the docks, and Natsuo watched the fragrant harbor fade into the distance. And though he was journeying back to Japan, he did not return as the warrior-god he’d hope to be.
Rays of pink dawn and the buzzing of a dozen blue flies filtered through the small, barred window above their bed. Dan rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, rising from Tony’s side. His muscles ached from weariness as he stretched. It had been a long night.
Tony had tossed and turned from a high fever. When the headaches, vomiting, and full-body rash made their appearance, Dan knew it was dengue fever—a virus transmitted by mosquitoes. He’d witnessed its effects before.
Most healthy men took four weeks to recover. Would Tony last that long? Though their “extra rations” had helped them during the last month, the hard work and intense heat were taking their toll.
“We’ll be back in a few hours. Keep your chin up.” Dan patted Tony’s sweat-drenched forehead.
Tony’s eyes opened slightly, and he nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the small pocketknife, handing it to Dan. “You might need this. Bring me back somethin’ decent to eat. Preferably not those soup sticks.” Then his eyes fluttered shut once more.
Dan slid the knife into the top of his boot. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Guards escorted him and the others to the courtyard in front of the prison, now packed with men. A new group of GIs must have arrived in the night. He scanned them, looking for familiar faces. They all looked like old men in tattered uniforms, tired and ill. Would he even recognize a friend’s face? Would they recognize him?
As they lined up, Japanese officers in white uniforms with gold braid and combat medals strode down the lines, inspecting the group. They studied the rows, then stopped before Dan and Gabe.
Dan’s body swayed, thinking that his end had come. Had someone noticed the missing rations? He wanted to look to Gabe for a reassuring gaze, but doing so would implicate them both. Instead he stared intently at the officer’s shined boots and waited.
Nonchalantly, the officer before him lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face. Dan breathed in slow breaths, refusing to cough or brush it away.
The officer continued on, and Dan let out a slow sigh. The officer spoke in hurried Japanese to the interpreter, then quickly strode away.
The interpreter climbed to a small platform in front of the group. “You Americans are to be taken to Japan at the request of the emperor. We will leave at once!”
Guards circled them and motioned in sign language to line up two abreast. As the morning sun blazed, they marched through town, down the pier, and toward a small freighter. Dan read the words on the ship’s side: Toro Maru.
Around him, the docks bustled with activity. Some prisoners loaded the gray ship with scrap metal, others with bags of rice. When they stopped, Dan’s entire group was ordered to turn away from the ship, looking instead to the harbor. Dan’s shoulders pressed tight on the right side to Gabe and to another prisoner on the left.
He dared to turn his head slightly and watch the commotion behind him. A long line of Japanese soldiers were passing hundreds of small, white cardboard boxes down the docks and into the ship’s hold. Each one was labeled in Japanese.
“What’s up with the boxes?” Dan turned his attention back to the waves rolling in the harbor.
The GI on Dan’s left spoke. “They’re remains of Jap soldiers. Each box supposedly contains a soldier’s ashes. They’re being sent home to shrines where they’ll be worshiped as war gods.”
Dan wiped his brow. “And just think. If we were killed we might get a write-up in the hometown newspaper.”
“I’m already in there today.” Gabe’s voice was solemn. “It’s my birthday, September fifth. They always run photos and stories about s
oldiers on their birthdays. I wonder what they have to say—or if they even know I’m alive.”
“I’m sure your wife misses you. Your boys too.” Dan rarely brought the subject up, seeing how it pained Gabe so.
“I loved being a dad.” Gabe’s shoulders quivered. “Coming home at night and seeing their smiling faces. Hearing their cries for ‘Daddy’ as I strode up the walk. I bet they baked a cake and—”
The sound of officers’ footsteps approached, cutting off Gabe’s words. For another hour, they stood in silence as the Japanese loaded the small boxes into the ship’s hold. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan watched the thousands of boxes being passed down the line, each one representing a Japanese soldier … and a family back home.
Finally, when the last box was loaded, the guards hurried their prisoners up the wooden gangways.
“What about Tony?” Dan dared to look to Gabe as they boarded the ship. “I told him we’d be back. Who’s going to take care of him?” The pocketknife in Dan’s boot burned his ankle, and he regretted taking it.
Gabe didn’t respond but only looked ahead. They knew too well what happened to weak soldiers left to fend for themselves. Even if Tony was lucky enough to be transported to the prison hospital, there was little food and no medicine. Dan’s heart ached for his friend.
As the Americans boarded the ship in stunned silence, the guards motioned to a cargo area accessible by ladder. Dan and the hundreds of others climbed down into a compartment with gray metal walls and wooden planks over a steel floor. As he shuffled to one corner, Dan gagged as the stench of baking horse waste hit him. The previous passengers.
The heat in that steel “oven” was like being in the inside of a roasting pan. Within minutes, sweat dripped from his face and neck. With a loud clang, the hatch was closed and bolted, and all was dark.
Dan heard the sound of a lighter clicking, and the warm glow from a cigarette lit up the face of a weary soldier in a back corner.
“Four hundred ninety of us cusses, packed in here.” He flicked his ashes to the ground, and low moans rose from those settling in. “Give or take a few.”
“Tony is better off where he is. It will be at least a week’s journey by ship.” Gabe settled onto the planks, covering his nose and mouth against the stench. He glanced around. “As it is, I have a feeling some of us won’t make it out of here alive.”
Twenty-Four
WAFS IS LATEST WOMEN’S UNIT
Established on an experimental basis and without benefit of special legislation, the Women’s Auxiliary Ferrying Squadron will consist initially of about fifty women, all of whom will be recruited on a civil service basis.
They will be used to ferry planes inside this country and, eventually, it is conceivable, may ferry bombers to bases overseas—although such action is not now contemplated.
The WAFS will be commanded by Mrs. Nancy Harkness Love, a beautiful 28-year-old blonde.
Christine Sadler, Staff Writer
Excerpt from the Washington Post, September 11, 1942
Libby’s cheek touched the cool airplane window as she peered down at her first view of New Castle Army Air Force Base. The base itself sat on Delaware Bay, not far from downtown Wilmington. Five days ago she was cooking rubbery eggs and burnt toast for her father, wondering when she’d get a chance to fly for the army. Today—as the small prop plane taxied on the runway and as she pressed her hands over her brown herringbone tweed suit to remove the wrinkles—she knew.
Just a few days ago she’d opened the door to a delivery boy with a telegram. Her hands had trembled, and Dan’s face had filled her thoughts. Instead, she’d been pleasantly surprised.
AIR TRANSPORT COMMAND IS ESTABLISHING GROUP OF WOMEN PILOTS FOR DOMESTIC FERRYING STOP NECESSARY QUALIFICATIONS ARE COMMERCIAL LICENSE STOP 500 HOURS 200 HORSEPOWER RATING STOP ADVISE IF YOU ARE IMMEDIATELY AVAILABLE AND CAN REPORT AT ONCE AT WILMINGTON AT YOUR OWN EXPENSE FOR INTERVIEW AND FLIGHT CHECK STOP BRING TWO LETTERS OF RECOMMENDATION PROOF OF EDUCATION AND FLYING TIME STOP GEORGE ARNOLD COMMANDING GENERAL ARMY AIR FORCE WASHINGTON STOP
Libby took in a deep breath of cool, salty air as she stepped off the chartered airplane and viewed the base. Construction progressed in all directions as asphalt swallowed up the cornfields around the perimeter.
“This place can accommodate ten thousand men.” The narrow-faced pilot waited at the bottom of the narrow steps and raised his hand, offering it to Libby as she climbed down, satchel in hand. “But I have no idea where they’re going to put the little ladies. Never imagined the army’d need to.”
“I understand we’re staying at a boardinghouse downtown.” Libby released his grasp.
A petite blonde, no taller than shoulder-height to Libby, strode forward from a waiting car and stretched out her hand. “Betty Blake. And you must be Libby Conners. I read about you in the papers—your little rendezvous with the Japs. Come on, we’ve got a car waiting.”
The chauffeured car carried them past the rows of buildings—supply depots, mess halls, administrative offices, and then a row of military barracks crowded with men. The organized chaos reminded Libby of how Wheeler Field used to be.
“Soon you’ll meet Nancy Love.” Betty’s perfectly manicured fingers rolled down the window a crack, letting in the waft of musty sea air. “She’s the one organizing this whole thing.” Betty was dressed in a simple, light blue traveling suit, with short hair reminiscent of movie star Barbara Stanwyck’s latest bobbed style.
Libby tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nancy? I thought Jackie was in charge.”
Betty winked. “That’s a subject we don’t want to bring up in front of Nance. Last I heard Jackie Cochran was still in England, ferrying planes for the British. But of course I don’t get into the politics of this organization. I’m only here for the flying.
“Oh, and a few other taboo subjects you don’t want to bring up.” Betty punctuated with a finger. “Plumbing in the barracks, and the fact that the finance office hasn’t actually put us on the payroll yet. I’ve been here a few days helping out in the office. Nancy’s about ready to blow her top.”
“Anything else I need to know?” Peering outside the car window, Libby spotted a formation of P-40s in the air. Oh, Dan. I wish you could see me now. She imagined his huge grin, displaying that sweet dimple on his left cheek.
That’s my girl, he’d say when he heard the news.
My girl. She touched the ring on her finger.
“Well, tomorrow you’re up before the examination board.” Betty jarred her from her pondering. “They’ll check your flight log. Ask about your experience. They may even throw in a few questions about different kinds of aircraft. A piece of cake. Before you know it, you’ll be part of WAFS.”
“WAFS?”
“Women’s Auxiliary Ferrying Squadron. Try saying that ten times fast.”
Libby chuckled. “Hmm … maybe, after I’m certain I’m in.”
That afternoon, the other female pilots trickled into the boardinghouse one by one. Ruth Bennington arrived in a short-sleeved summer dress, with a big purse and a car full of trunks and satchels.
July Alexander, on the other hand, had one large duffel slung carelessly over her shoulder and a wide, easy smile. July, who introduced herself as “just a farm girl from Tennessee,” was as sunny as her name.
“I’ve been running an airfield for five years, and I have to go up in front of an examination board?” Ginger Thomas’s black hair fell straight to her shoulders, and her gray suit was tailored to fit her equally straight figure. “They’ve got to be kidding!”
In the end, eight female pilots circled the dining table at the boardinghouse that evening. The conversation began with polite questions about family and homes, but picked up in fervor when the subject shifted to planes.
Betty sat on Libby’s right, Ruth on her left.
“So what got you flying, Ruth?” Libby asked.
Ruth’s shoulders shook with laughter. She took a sip from her
water glass and delicately placed her fork on the side of her plate. “Oh, that’s easy. I knew my father just hated women who insisted on doing men’s work. I signed up for a few weeks of flying lessons as a practical joke, but it turned into a passion I couldn’t shake.” She brushed her blonde hair off her shoulders. “I mean, what’s better than having lunch with Mother and Father in New York, then flying down for dinner with friends in Philadelphia?”
The young woman across the table spoke up. “My husband, Jeffrey, was the first to take me up in a plane. I’m Annabelle, by the way.”
“Your husband?” Libby didn’t mean to sound so shocked, but the tall, thin girl with braids didn’t look much older than sixteen.
Annabelle smiled. “Oh, yes, and I have two kids, Howie and Elizabeth. They’re five and six and are staying with my mother while I’m away.” Annabelle’s voice quavered despite her smile. “With Jeff in England, I had to find a way to support the war effort.”
Libby felt an instant connection with Annabelle, seeing the tenderness in her eyes when she mentioned her husband. “I’d love to hear more about Jeff. It must be hard.”
The door opened then, and every head turned to watch Nancy Love, in a tailored suit and pillbox hat, stride into the room as if she owned the place. Her hair was prematurely gray, but her wide-set gray eyes showed a warmth Libby had not expected. She waved to the group, then leaned down to give Ginger a quick hug. Libby suddenly felt as if she were in the eighth grade again, vying for the attention of the most popular girl.
“Welcome, ladies.” Nancy spread her arms wide. “You may have heard there’s a war in Europe. England, France, Poland, Finland—they’re all in trouble. In the South Pacific, things are no better. Island nations have fallen to the Japanese one by one.”
She glanced at each woman seated around the table. “That’s where we come in. I told the War Department I could come up with fifty amazing women pilots. It’s a small start, of course. But with your help, we’re going to prove that women pilots can be a valuable asset to the war effort. Are you ready to knock them dead?”
Dawn of a Thousand Nights Page 21