The short trip to Omuta had been quickly granted once Natsuo informed his superiors that there was an important prisoner he needed to interrogate. He’d purchased one ticket for the trip there, but planned on two returning. Knowing Dan as he did, Natsuo had no doubt his old pal would follow this plan as choreographed. Let the games begin.
Natsuo approached the civilian overseers, asking around until he found the man he was looking for. Noting the evil gleam in the overseer’s eyes, Natsuo knew there wouldn’t be a problem with his request. And when he showed the overseer twenty packages of cigarettes, the man was all too eager to comply.
After Natsuo gave the man his orders, he moved to a dark corner and waited for D.J. to stagger into the tunnels. Natsuo’s eyes widened as he spotted him. Dan looked about fifty pounds leaner than he remembered, yet his face didn’t wear the look of defeat he’d witnessed on so many prisoners.
Good for you. Natsuo pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. The smoke seeped from his lips as he smiled. It is an honorable thing to be strong under such conditions.
Dan and Gabe walked side by side down the long, dark tunnel, the flashlights on their heads bouncing against the scarred tunnel walls.
“I’m glad to see the daylight getting longer.” Dan swung the large pick to his opposite shoulder. “It will be good to spend more time in the fresh air of the courtyards, rather than huddled together in the cold, drafty rooms with the tiny spindly tails.” Dan clicked his nails against his helmet.
“Hey, some of those shrews are my friends.” Gabe chuckled.
They arrived in the new section of tunnel they’d been shoring up, and Gabe placed their bento boxes on top of a large boulder. The two civilian overseers were already there, in addition to the six other workers on their team. “Spring has always been my favorite time of year. I remember my boys, as soon as the grass started turning green—” Gabe’s words cut off short when a loud crack filled the tunnel.
Dan turned, watching in horror as Gabe’s body shot back against the tunnel wall. Gabe let out a cry of pain, holding his ribs. The larger overseer, Tumato San, stood above him with a board in his hand.
Dan lunged for his friend, covering Gabe’s body with his. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you crazy?”
Tumato San dropped the board and lunged at Dan, throwing him into the wall. Dan slid down the rough surface, feeling the jagged pieces of rock tearing into his back. The room grew dim, and he wondered if he was blacking out, but then he realized it was only the lamp knocked off his head.
Gabe cried out even louder, the sickening sounds of punches drawing an even larger crowd.
Dan jumped up and saw Tumato bearing down on Gabe, swinging punches, one after another, causing Gabe’s head to whiplash from side to side.
“Stop!” Dan tugged at Tumato’s shoulders, but the large man didn’t budge. Dan then kicked the aggressor in the kidneys. Tumato winced slightly but refused to turn. Dan looked to the other workers who hovered in the corner. “We have to stop him! He’s going to kill Gabe.”
No one dared stand up to the overseer. Fear filled their faces.
Then Dan spotted it—the board Tumato had dropped. He lunged for it and gave it a mighty swing. The board connected with the side of Tumato’s head, making a horrific cracking sound. The overseer’s punches stopped, and he toppled over, nearly landing on top of Gabe. Dan panted heavily as he looked at the two men lying side by side, slumped against the wall. The attacker and the victim both bloody, both appearing dead.
“Gabe, open your eyes. Gabe, please.” Dan kneeled before him. His trembling hands wiped his friend’s bloody face. Dan let out a sigh of relief when he heard the smallest moan escape from Gabe’s lips. He cradled Gabe’s head in his arms and lowered it to the ground. Footsteps grew louder behind him; then strong arms wrapped around Dan, pulling him back. He kicked and fought with all his strength as they dragged him upward toward the entrance of the mines.
“Gabe!” Dan screamed. “Don’t die! Please, Gabe. Don’t die!”
Outside, sunlight hit his face. Dan felt a strong fist to his jaw, and his body was thrown to the ground. He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog, and noticed two shiny boots on the ground before his face. He froze, panting, knowing today would be his last.
I’m sorry, Libby. I tried.
“Get this prisoner to his feet,” the man before him hissed.
Dan was jerked to his feet by a guard on each side, then felt a fierce slap against his cheek. Dan’s eyes widened as he looked into the face of Natsuo.
Natsuo stuck a finger in Dan’s face, breathing heavily. “How dare you lift a hand to a servant of the great emperor? You deserve death for such an act.”
“But, I—”
“You dare speak to me? You dare look me in the eyes?”
Dan lowered his gaze.
“Take him to my office!” Natsuo screamed. “I will deal with the gaijin there.” He spoke the words in English, for Dan’s benefit. Then he motioned to the guards and repeated the words in Japanese.
Moans of despair tore from Dan’s lips. Gabe. Poor Gabe. And now this.
Dan’s body ached from the fight, but his heart throbbed even more.
Thirty-Three
GOVERNMENT GIRL PLANES PURCHASED:
ARMY MUSTANG AND NAVY CORSAIR
TO BE CHRISTENED SUNDAY
Two grim Scythian ladies—manicured and bristling with the weapons of their profession—will make their bow to thousands of admiring federal workers in an impressive ceremony Sunday, May 9, at 3 p.m.
They are an Army P-51 Mustang and a Navy F4U1 Chance Vought Corsair—otherwise, the two “Government Girls,” bought and paid for by dollar contributions in an amazing two-week campaign carried on by the Council of Personnel Administration and the Washington Post.
Each of these Amazons will be appropriately christened “Government Girl.” They will be completely equipped for combat duty and ready to roll down the ramp on speedy hard-hitting missions, carrying with them the prayers of approximately 150,000 federal employees.
The warplanes selected are undoubtedly the finest of their respective types of any nation on earth. Of the Mustang, Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker recently said:
“In my travels throughout the hell holes of the world and my associations with the boys that are flying and maintain them, I find that it is the outstanding fighter plane anywhere in the world. I saw comparative tests with the German Focke-Wulf, their latest fighter type, and frankly the Mustang outperformed it.”
Excerpt from the Washington Post, May 4, 1943
Libby slipped the cloth helmet over her head and adjusted her goggles. The California sun was just rising, tinting the sky with a soft shade of pink. Behind her the mechanics swung open hangar doors, their greetings splitting the warm morning air.
She slowly walked around the P-51 Mustang, doing a detailed flight check and feeling a little awed by the Hamilton Steele eleven-foot propeller. When all checked out, she climbed onto the wing and scrambled into the cockpit.
July and Ginger thought she was crazy for tackling this plane. It had three times the accident rate of other pursuits, and in order to keep the engine running smoothly, it was necessary to leave the runway at full throttle. Even then, sometimes the plane would stall and have to be restarted midair. She’d even heard of engines catching fire.
But it’s fast. Dan would’ve loved it.
So Libby had studied the flight manual in detail, especially the long section on handling emergencies. Underneath the enormous cowling was a 1,400-horse-power engine. Behind the engine was the Plexiglas cockpit and underneath that an air scoop as big as Libby’s room at the barracks. From there the fuselage narrowed until it finally flared at the tail.
Here goes nothing.
She held the canopy and stepped into the cockpit one leg at a time. In the smaller planes, she could reach the canopies from a sitting position; here she had to step lightly on the edge of the seat. She then grasped the li
d with both hands and slid it forward. The canopy shut, and her body sank into the seat. She scooted the seat a few inches forward until she could reach the rudder pedals with ease.
She started the engine and it roared to life, pulling against her hands like a lioness struggling to escape from her cage. Because of the tilt of the plane, Libby could see nothing of the runway before her. She saw only the plane’s large nose and the sky above.
She cleared her throat, then spoke loudly into the microphone. “Tower, this is P-51-210347. I’m on runway three requesting clearance for takeoff.”
Even with the canopy closed she could barely hear herself over the engine. There was a second of static, and then through the earphones she heard the voice respond.
“P-51-210347, this is Tower. You are cleared for takeoff.”
Libby gently pushed the throttle until the pressure gauge read 61 inches and the tachometer 3,000 rpm. The engine roared even louder, and the Mustang rumbled down the runway. She watched the speed increase. 45, 50, 60, 65.
As promised, the rear wheel lifted until the tail was level with the nose, and for the first time she could see the airstrip straight ahead. The speed increased. 75. 80. 90. At 100 mph she pulled gently on the stick and held her breath. The vibrations stopped as the plane lifted itself from the runway, and the ground fell away. Libby was at a loss to say whether she flew the plane or it flew her.
“Whoo-wheee!”
Laughter sounded through the earphones.
“Sorry about that, Tower.”
“That’s okay, young lady. I guarantee if I was flying one of those planes I’d be doing the same.”
Libby checked the navigational map she’d strapped to her leg. It was only a short trip from Long Beach to March Army Air Base in Riverside, so she cherished every second.
I wish you could see me now, Dan. I know you’d have the biggest smile on your face.
“Enough of that.” She spoke over the roar of the engine. “He will see me flying these babies one day. He will.”
The trip went too quickly, and Libby soon found the airfield and circled it, preparing to land. She tuned into the correct frequency. “Tower, is it okay to come in now?”
She didn’t get a response, so she continued in the holding pattern.
“Tower. Is it okay to land?”
“Lady, would you please get off the airwaves? I have a P-51 I’m trying to make contact with.”
Libby banked the plane and turned toward the tower, giving the operator a wave. “I’m sorry, sir, but I am the P-51.”
“Uh, P-51 cleared to land on runway one …”
“Thank you, Tower. P-51 touching down.”
A grin filled Libby’s face as she sauntered into the airport office.
The man from the tower now stood by the front desk. “See, Chuck. I told you it was one of those lady pilots.”
A man entered from an adjoining room, wiping his greasy hands on his coveralls. Libby approached the desk and began filling out the correct forms, ignoring the men’s gawking stares.
“Didn’t realize the government allowed girls to fly such powerful aircraft.” Chuck strode to the waiting area and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.” Libby focused on her paperwork.
“Yeah, I just heard about that other lady flier this morning, poor thing.” Chuck took a sip of his coffee.
Libby lifted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear? One of them was killed yesterday in a crash over Tennessee. I heard it on the radio. She had a weird name too, like one of the months or sumthin’.”
A twinge of pain shot through Libby’s chest, and she sank into the nearest chair. “July? July Alexander?”
“Yup, that would be it.” The mechanic pushed his cap back from his head. “Now, what kind of name is that?”
A sob erupted before Libby could stop it. The tears flowed next, and she covered her face with both hands.
“Now look what you’ve gone and done,” the other man said. “You made her cry.”
Libby didn’t wait for the rest of the conversation. She threw the paperwork onto the office desk and hurried from the office. July? Dead? She wished it wasn’t true, yet the risk was a reality they lived with every day.
Libby grabbed her B-4 bag and parachute and hurried outside to find a ride to the train station.
The pale sunlight and light blue sky blinded her briefly as she stepped along the walkway. Only five steps outside the flight office door, Libby’s leg began to quiver, and she plopped down, using her parachute pack as a seat.
It had only been two days since she’d seen July. She’d been in town and had come bursting into Libby’s room, inviting her to a movie. Libby pressed her fingers harder against her eyes.
Oh, July. I miss you already, but I know you’re soaring now—higher than any of us.
“Are you okay?” a voice asked.
Libby turned, expecting one of the men from the office. Instead it was a tall man she faintly recognized, hat in hand. She wiped the tears from her face. “I’ll be fine. I’m just trying to find a ride to the train station.”
The man smiled, his friendly eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hmmm, you need a ride. How come that sounds so familiar?”
Libby wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I know you, don’t I? We met before in Redondo Beach.”
“Yeah, I gave you a ride to your friend’s house. You’re Libby, right?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry. What was your name?”
“Sam. Sam Struthers.” He pointed to her uniform. “And I see you’re part of the WAFS now. Where are you catching the train to?” He picked up Libby’s bags and swung them over his shoulders as if they were filled with cotton. “I’d be happy to give you a lift to the station.”
“Long Beach. I just transferred there a few weeks ago.”
They walked to the parking lot where a brown army jeep, emblazoned with a large white star on the door, waited.
“Is that so? I spend a lot of time in Long Beach. I just happened to be called to these parts today, checking out the engine of a bomber that’s giving them fits.” Sam set Libby’s bags in the backseat of the jeep. “That wasn’t you coming in that P-51, was it?” He slid in and patted the seat beside him.
Libby stood by the door, glancing back at the office. “Actually, it was.”
Sam let out a low whistle. “I’m mighty impressed. And I’d be happy to give you a ride all the way back to the base. It’s not too far from my next job.”
Libby bit her lip. A ride to the base would be easier than waiting at the station, loading and unloading her things from the train, and catching another ride back to the base.
At first the WAFS had been under strict orders not to hitch plane rides with male pilots, but over the last few months things had become more lax, especially with male and female pilots now ferrying the big bombers together. And if it was okay in the planes, then …
“I’d love a ride, and if possible a cup of coffee. I need something to clear my mind. I just received some terrible news.”
Sam glanced at his watch. “I think we can squeeze that in. And if you’re interested, I’m a pretty good listener.”
They stopped at Rhonda’s, a small café not far from the base. It was filled with military and civilian workers—soldiers in uniform mingling with Rosie-the-Riveter-type gals who chatted over breakfast before heading to work. Libby felt more at ease.
Just two more workers stopping off for coffee, she thought as they slid into a booth.
Sitting across from him, Libby felt like one of those munchkins in Judy Garland’s new movie. Sam had to be at least six foot six, and his striking gray green eyes always seemed to smile when he looked at her.
As they sipped their coffee, Libby told him about July.
“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard about that. She sounds like a fine woman.”
“All the women pilots are wonderful. Some more challenging than other
s, but they really have a passion for flying and serving their country.”
“Sometimes I wish I was over in the fighting.” Sam put sugar into his cup, stirring it quickly. “I didn’t realize it would be a curse to be so dang good at what I do. There’s too many planes around here that need fixin’. At least that’s what they tell me.”
Libby glanced at his hand, observing that he didn’t wear a ring. “But I’m sure that makes your family happy. They at least know where you are. That you’re safe.”
“Sometimes I think that’s why I’m still here.” He cracked a grin. “My mom’s the most godly woman I know. I think her prayers are working, and God won’t dare defy one of His most faithful by sending her son into danger.”
Libby chuckled, finished her coffee, and waved off the waitress when she offered a refill. “We’d better get going, don’t you think?”
Sam reluctantly rose from the chair. “Yes, but only if you promise we’ll do this again. I love hearing about your flying adventures. It makes me feel as if my work is even more important.”
It was only a fifty-mile drive between Riverside and Long Beach, but by the time they arrived back at the base Libby felt as if she’d known Sam all her life. He’d told her about growing up in a small community and always being taller than everyone else—even his third-grade teacher—and never really fitting in.
She, in turn, shared what it was like to be the only one without a mom at home, and feeling as if she had the cooties—never being invited to sleepovers or the other silly things that truly matter when you’re twelve. She also told him about Dan and the newspaper article about him, which was the last news she’d heard. The jeep pulled up at the barracks in front of the base, and Libby almost felt sad to have the conversation end.
“Do you need a hand with those bags?” Sam jumped from the jeep.
“Are you kidding? If you stepped into the barracks, that would be the end of my military career—not to mention you might be mauled by dozens of lonely female fliers.” She took the bags from him. “Besides, I’m used to hauling these monsters around.”
Dawn of a Thousand Nights Page 28