Dawn of a Thousand Nights

by Tricia N. Goyer

  But no matter how frustrated she was, the tears wouldn’t come. Because deep down she knew that her work wasn’t done … she’d just changed occupations.

  Be still and know.

  Be still and pray.

  Forty

  WOMEN UNAFRAID

  Tomorrow the Wasps (Women’s Air Force Service Pilots) will become history. Twenty-five years from now Americans will look at faded photographs of these daring young women in their “teddy-bear” flying suits, their goggles, their oversize helmets, and their parachutes, and will smile as we smile today at pictures of 1918 yeomanettes.

  The Wasps are not needed, says the Army, because there is a surplus of veteran men pilots to do their work—to ferry planes on non-combat assignments. So the 1000 or more young women who participated in one of the most venturesome jobs of the war will receive certificates of service and return to more traditional and possibly “ladylike” pursuits.

  No more will they tramp through mud to hangars, take out planes and soar into the clouds, riding alone for hours, often facing, from open cockpits, blasts of rain and snow and biting winds. No more will a slight, weary girl deliver at an airfield a bomber or fighter. No more will timorous citizens shudder at the thought of a chit of a girl at the stick of a roaring plane overhead.

  Malvina Lindsay

  Excerpt from the Washington Post, December 19, 1944

  Her father’s voice trembled as he read the news article. She could hear the paper rustling as he folded it and placed it on the dining room table.

  Libby sat in her usual spot at the kitchen table, feeling better, feeling stronger. She’d discovered she could do almost anything as long as she kept her eyes bandaged. Everything but fly a plane, of course. Not that I’d be able to do that as a WAF or WASP, or whatever they want to call us …

  Libby could see without the bandages—sometimes as long as thirty minutes at a time—without getting dizzy, but then the room would spin and the nausea would come.

  For a gift, Betty had sent a pink satin mask similar to the one she wore to sleep. Libby had been so excited, she’d asked for a few more in different colors. Betty had been happy to oblige. Libby only wore those at night, of course. During the day she covered her bandages with the sunglasses she’d worn in Hawaii.

  Over the past few days, Libby had even ventured out for walks around the neighborhood on her father’s arm or with a cane. Miss Evelyn Mead always came to the fence for a chat, her ear cocked to the radio playing in the background. The neighborhood girls knew Libby too. At first they were shy of the “nearly blind pilot” until she invited them to sit on her front porch and listen to her stories about Hawaii, the Jap bombing of Pearl Harbor, her training, and her flights across the United States in the powerful fighter planes that now helped the Allies to win the war.

  “I want to be a pilot when I grow up,” said Rosemary.

  “Me too! Me first,” her older sister, Susan, had declared.

  Libby took a sip of her tea, remembering their enthusiasm—so similar to hers once—and imagined what type of planes these girls would be able to fly someday.

  “Are you okay?” Her father set down a plate of French toast on the table before her.

  “Thanks, Dad. I can’t believe it’s over. Just like that.” Her throat tightened, and she slumped in her chair. “All the others—I can’t imagine what they’re facing. Having to pack up, saying good-bye.” She wiped a tear. “But I think it would’ve been harder to face if I hadn’t left earlier. Six months has been a long time to get used to the idea.”

  She pushed the plate away.

  “I’ve had time to think and to pray. And I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that we face suffering in this life. I mean, Jesus went all the way to the cross.”

  She could hear her father’s chair scooting back and his footsteps walking to the window.

  “It looks cold out there. A winter storm might be heading our way. I’d best get out and see how Evelyn is getting along with your Christmas present.”

  “My present?” Libby turned her face to his voice.

  “Well, it was something we started when you first were in Hawaii, and for a while I wondered if it would be worth giving to you at all, but … well, you’ll see. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  The door opened, then shut again.

  If anything, Lord, you’ve brought Dad and me closer together. Or maybe showed me a closeness I was too busy to appreciate before.

  Natsuo stood outside the small cell, listening to Dan’s labored breaths. The sky was clear tonight. And the air ice cold. Stars hung on the velvet darkness like a thousand lanterns decorating the emperor’s palace—or at least the way they had before the bombing raids.

  The moon hung in the center of it all, and Natsuo reached up a hand as if he could touch it. Around the manmade island, waves crashed over the compacted dirt and rocks, eroding a little of it away with every swipe.

  Just as the Americans are eating away at our island. Piece by piece.

  His gloved hands still trembled as he remembered the sky filled with enemy bombers. A few Zeros had risen to meet them, but they looked like hummingbirds rising to fight a squad of eagles. The bombers had flown slowly and close to the ground, picking off targets with ease.

  Today, they first hit a hundred miles away at Nagoya. Natsuo heard they’d wiped out a great airplane plant, leaving nothing but fires in their wake. Then the bombers moved into Tokyo from the west, swarming the industrial areas. Two had even flown directly overhead, buzzing inland and dropping their load perilously close to the emperor’s palace.

  Natsuo pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his thick coat and lit it. He usually did not smoke during his night watches, but whom did he fool? Dan knew he was there.

  And what if the bomb had struck the palace? What if their emperor was killed? Could their god really die?

  The radio warned of more raids to come. Swarms of people packed the roads leaving the city.

  Natsuo had known this would happen. He’d given Dan the chance to head to the hills. Yet he was not surprised when D.J. had chosen to provide comfort to a dying friend, rather than to save himself.

  To save your life you must lose it, Dan had said one night through the small window.

  The emperor believed the same. Many soldiers gave their lives for their god. Yet something was different about the Christian way.

  And that was what troubled him. Dan’s God gave His life for His people. Not the other way around.

  “D.J., can you do something for me? When your country wins this war?” Natsuo took the butt of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground. It glowed on the cold, hard gravel.

  “I’ll do my best.” It was a muffled voice. A tired voice.

  “My sister. She lives in California, remember? When you make it home, can you find her and help? I do not know what type of condition she will be in … after.”

  “And if I don’t make it?”

  “I have done all I could to ensure you do.” Natsuo pulled his fur collar tight around his face. “For the sake of my sister, of course.”

  “And for the sake of a friendship?”

  “I cannot do it all. The rest I leave to your God—to see you through. If He is able.”

  Dan coughed, and Natsuo heard his voice grow in strength as he neared the window.

  “He is able.” Dan’s voice held no fear. “But no matter if I live or die, I will still trust Him. I hope you can come to understand that same hope someday.”

  Natsuo placed his hand against the wooden wall. “I understand you have found great strength, although you are no better than dead.”

  Then he strode away, not giving Dan the chance to hear his last words. “I also understand that even though I am free, I am dead inside.”

  Forty-One

  JAPS QUIT UNCONDITIONALLY:

  GUNS STILLED

  President Truman last night dispatched through Secretary of State Byrnes an order for the Japanese government to stop the
war on all fronts.

  The war’s over!

  President Truman proclaimed the end at 7 o’clock last night.

  He said that Japan had accepted the Allied surrender terms without qualification.

  Edward T. Folliard

  Excerpt from the Washington Post, August 15, 1945

  Libby sat in the sunshine and lifted her hands, praising God that she had gone one hour without bandages over her eyes. Lying back in the soft grass, she’d watched a baby bird on its flight and laughed at the awkward movements of its body.

  She plucked a blade of grass, studying the simple beauty. “I have new eyes,” she often told her father. “I see things differently these days.”

  In a strange way, this new way of seeing was a gift from the darkness. With her physical eyes closed, her focus turned to what her heart needed most—namely, connecting with God in prayer.

  Praying had become her sole service to her country. She cried out to God for His assistance to their fighting soldiers—in France, Belgium, and as they pushed their way through Germany. She prayed for those in the South Pacific, who reclaimed lost islands and destroyed enemy fortifications.

  Libby prayed especially hard after reports came in about captives who’d been in the hands of the Japanese. Some were saved when Japanese ships carrying prisoners were bombed, and they were picked up by American subs. Others were rescued when the U.S. regained control of the Philippines. They all told about the horror of Bataan, the camps, the ships.

  She prayed in sorrow when she heard that President Roosevelt had died, not living to see the victory for which he’d often prayed over the airwaves, fortifying the resolve of a fearful nation.

  She’d rejoiced through tearful prayers when V-E Day was announced—Victory in Europe! And she prayed for a final peace after two atomic bombs flattened Japanese cities.

  That’s not to say she didn’t worry too. What if Dan was on one of those ships but didn’t get pulled from the waves? What if he was imprisoned in one of the destroyed cities? Or what if he did not make it at all? What if he had died four years ago on Bataan?

  What if?

  But Libby had discovered the one thing to combat these fears. “Perfect love casts out all fear,” she’d tell herself. And that’s how Jesus’ love had become to her … perfect.

  Libby turned onto her stomach and opened the cover of her Christmas present. It was a scrapbook her father had put together for her with the help of Evelyn. She scanned the headlines:

  U.S. Sending Scores of Pilots to Hawaii and Philippines

  Bataan Falls After Epic Struggle

  Japanese Seek World Rule by “Divine Appointment”

  It was like reading one’s own story within the words of news headlines. And in the eight months since receiving the book, Libby had added her own headlines:

  Rangers Rescue 513 “Death March” Captives on Luzon—February 2, 1945

  800 Yanks Die in Sinking of Jap Prison Ship—February 23, 1945

  B-29s Rain Fire on Tokyo, Hit Kawasaki Hard—April 16, 1945

  Victory in Europe—May 8, 1945

  Jap Prisons Treat Americans Better—July 10, 1945

  Now there was a new clipping to add to her book from today’s paper. Japs Quit Unconditionally: Guns Stilled—August 15, 1945. Which could only mean one thing.

  If Dan’s alive, he’s coming home!

  Dan shielded his eyes and raised his face to the sun. A wide grin spread over his face at the sight of the American planes. He stood on the wooden roof of the barracks, leaning over to finish his message.

  He’d painted three letters on the roof. P.O.W. Then underneath, he’d written a longer message. What took you so long?

  With a flourish of his brush, he hunkered down on the peak in the warm sunshine. To watch. To wait. The hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” escaped from his lips.

  The night that Natsuo asked Dan to care for his sister was the last Dan had spoken with him. Rumor had it that the interpreter had requested a transfer closer to Kobe in order to care for his aging father and mother. Some said he had gone mad after that, taking off the heads of a half dozen captive pilots in a single day.

  Dan had witnessed a beheading once. The pilot kneeling on the ground, and the heavy blade making a downward arc, slashing through the man’s neck in one clean sweep. The pilot’s head fell forward and then there was a gurgling sound, then only silence.

  Impossible. Not Natty.

  Others claimed Natsuo had softened and was actually helping those in the camps. Dan hoped the latter was true. All he knew was that the day Natsuo walked away, his solitary confinement had been over. Dan’s prison doors were opened. So were Benjamin’s.

  It was a gift actually; Dan was able to meet his friend face-to-face, sitting by Ben’s side during his last hours. How different this death was from the others Dan had seen during his days in captivity. As Dan held Ben’s hand and recited the Scripture verses that his friend loved so much, he witnessed not a prisoner dying in bondage, but a child of God peacefully leaving this world to enter into an eternity with Jesus.

  And after that, Dan was once again able to live and work with the other prisoners. It was hard work but satisfying to be connected with people once more.

  Then, a few weeks ago, as the bombings increased, the guards turned away from violence and instead began showing kindness. Only the commandant and a few guards remained, attempting to keep order.

  Dan looked to the ground and noticed the commandant approaching. He no longer wore his crisp white uniform or carried his samurai sword with the beautiful gold-and-emerald scabbard. Instead he was dressed in the olive drab uniform of the average soldier.

  Dan scooted to the edge of the roof and climbed down, joining with the seventy-five others to circle the small man. The commandant’s hands shook as he lifted the proclamation to his face.

  “His Imperial Majesty, in an effort to put an end to the death and bloodshed, has agreed to an unconditional surrender and cessation of war. All hostilities have been terminated. His Majesty and your General MacArthur will sign the terms of surrender on 2 September 1945. I have been ordered to inform you that, as of this moment, you are no longer prisoners of war. You are free. I have also been instructed to ask that you all remain here until your authorities come for you, after the surrender has been signed.”

  “Free! Did y’all hear that?” one soldier called. He removed his cap and tossed it into the air. Then almost all at once, the men became a sentimental mob, laughing, crying, embracing.

  One man approached Dan and placed a large kiss on his cheek. “We’re going home! Sweetheart, here I come! I can’t wait to see my woman again.”

  “What about the Nips?” Another soldier, Harvey, rolled up his sleeves. “They deserve to pay for what they’ve done.”

  By this time the commandant was scurrying across the island, running for a waiting jeep. The soldier took two steps toward him.

  Dan hurried over, placing a hand on Harvey’s chest. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.” Dan raised his shoulders and peered directly into the soldier’s eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t go home feeling completely innocent for what I’ve done. It’s war. And in war horrible things happen.”

  “But what they did. You didn’t see—” The man’s words stopped short as he studied Dan’s face.

  “I was there. In the thick of it.” Dan nodded. “Justice will catch up to them someday.”

  “The kitchen!” another man called. “Food.”

  They rushed like hungry animals to the food stores, opening up the small warehouse. Then the commotion paused as their wide eyes took in Red Cross packages stacked to the ceiling.

  “Can you believe this? All this time it was right here.”

  Dan began handing out packages. “Sometimes we don’t realize what we have … right under our noses. Feed up, boys!” He grabbed a few packages and headed to the far solitary cells, settling down where Natsuo had stood in the dark so many times before. He opene
d a package to find canned meat, chocolate, and crackers, but limited himself, knowing too much too soon would make him sick.

  Harvey approached, settling down beside Dan.

  “Do you believe that you can truly forgive them, Dan? Can you leave this place with anything but pure hatred for this whole race of people?”

  Dan took a bite of chocolate. It was thicker than the small Hershey bars back home, and he let the sweetness melt on his lips. “I’m going to try.”

  “Well, I’m not. And I’ll tell you why.” Harvey took a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, lit it, and took a long drag, flicking away the ashes. “Nobody wants to forgive. Those who say they do just don’t want to deal with the truth. They’re delusional. You aren’t going to be able to shrug off those memories.

  “I see it in your eyes,” Harvey continued. “You want to say things are okay, but you’re haunted. There’s something bothering you, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

  “Yeah, there is something bothering me.” Dan placed the food package to his side. “I’m worried I will forget. That I’ll get home and get on with life too easily.” Dan cleared his throat. “I don’t want to do that. When I get home, I want to find a way to share the stories of the men who can no longer speak for themselves. It’s a hard story to hear, but those who haven’t experienced war need to know.”

  “All of it? About the march? The ships? A story about seeing your buddy’s stomach spilled open right before your eyes?”

  “For some of us, it’s also a story of hope. A story of the dawn that comes after darkness.”

  Both heads turned at the sound of a jeep rumbling up to the locked gates.

  Then came the call of an American voice. “Where is everybody? Get your lazy butts out here. Don’t you guys know you’re free?”

  “Some of us can be free.” Dan rose and offered a hand to his friend. “If we’re willing to accept it.”

  Forty-Two

  3 PLANES ARRIVE WITH