After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  A bird screeched outside, quickly answered by its mate. The noise grated against nerves already frayed from equipment failures and supply shortages. John had spent the day dealing with one crisis after another—and if he’d had his way, he would have continued working for another hour or two. But the workers would have protested, despite the desperate need for more cleared land in the southern field. The men under his command didn’t share John’s insatiable need to fill another hour with meaningful toil.

  Moving to the sink, he ducked his head beneath the tepid stream, wishing that he could sweep his melancholy thoughts away as easily as the dust and sweat. Reaching blindly for the soap, he scrubbed his face and hair, wincing when the lather seeped into the broken skin of his palms. He wasn’t used to machete work. Not yet anyhow. Give it time. If he pushed himself harder, longer, his hands would toughen. As would the rest of him.

  Turning, he rested his hips against the counter, wiping his face and neck dry as Benny Goodman’s band faded beneath the bell-like tones that heralded the news.

  “In Europe, fighting continues as the German Luftwaffe wages nightly bombardment raids on London…While in America, a Japanese delegation has arrived for talks aimed at negotiating a possible lifting of the fuel embargo in exchange for a retreat from the French-held colonies of Indo-China…”

  John lifted his head, cocking an ear toward the radio.

  Retreat? The Japanese had sent a delegation to discuss retreat?

  He shook his head, his mind suddenly crowded with noise and chaos. His eyes squeezed shut, and he fought to block out the memories. Of Nanking. The Japanese invasion.

  The slaughter.

  “No!”

  He didn’t realize that he’d shouted the word until the echo reverberated through the room.

  He stood at attention, straining to hear more of the newscast. But the reporter had already moved on to local news. Then the soothing strains of a Bing Crosby ballad.

  But John felt suddenly chilled, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling with a warning that he couldn’t quite understand.

  Rushing to the small alcove that held his bed, he reached beneath the mattress and took out a rucksack. Not really conscious of his actions or even comprehending what he meant to do, he filled it with a change of clothing, several pairs of socks and underwear. Then, back in the main room, he added canned goods, a tin of matches, an electric torch, a fresh set of batteries, and his pocket knife.

  Flinging the door open, he ran to the battered plantation truck parked beneath a stand of stately palm trees, threw the rucksack inside, and quickly slid onto the seat, twisting the key. As the truck rumbled to life, he froze.

  Where was he going?

  Why?

  Just as quickly, the terrifying memories fluttered away like bats into the darkness. Leaving him empty. Cold.

  He wasn’t in Manchuria anymore.

  The threat of the Japanese was far away.

  Resting his forehead against his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, he forced himself to take deep, gulping breaths until the horrors disappeared and with them the inner images of bloated bodies, ravaged women, and his students…

  Dear God, his students...

  Killing the engine, he slid out into the darkness again, praying that no one had seen him. Damning himself for being skittish tonight of all nights, when the sky was clear and the stars were bright chips of ice in a sea of black ink, he reached for the rucksack, intent on returning it to the house.

  But at the last minute, not really knowing why, he turned back to the truck and tucked the bag into the corner of the bed near his toolbox, covering it with an old, dusty tarpaulin.

  Then, returning to the kitchen, he snatched up the machete. If he couldn’t clear the fields, he would work on the vines encroaching on the boss-man’s house. He could pull the truck up close and use the headlights for illumination. There was a visitor due to arrive in the next day or two. From what Milton Wilmington had explained in his wire, she was a friend of a friend and she’d be staying indefinitely. John may as well see to the task of clearing away the ever-encroaching greenery himself rather than assign one of the gardeners to do it.

  Then maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to fall into a dreamless sleep.

  It was the light that pierced his consciousness at first, and for one shattering moment, he thought that he’d died. Died and gone to heaven. But then, a familiar face swam into view. A cocky, worried grin.

  “He’s alive.”

  A hand reached down into the darkness.

  “Grab hold and I’ll lift you up.”

  For several long moments, he couldn’t process the command. The pain had begun to swell within him. And he was cold. Cold and hot and shivering so badly that he feared his teeth would shatter.

  “Come on, take my hand, y’hear me?”

  He lifted his arm, but was too weak to grasp hold, so, with a sigh, the figure jumped down into the hole beside him.

  “Y’gotta help me. I can’t lift you all by myself.”

  His arm was wrapped around the figure’s shoulder, and as he looked, hard, the face that swam into view was familiar. His comrade. His friend. And it was that familiarity that helped to bring reality rushing back—and with it, his need to fight the pain that held him in its grip.

  He struggled to brace his legs beneath him, and with his friend’s help, he made it to his feet. Then, there were more hands in the opening to the pit, reaching, pulling him up and into the searing heat of the sun.

  Just as quickly, his strength was spent. He collapsed into the dust, shivering. But this time, when he feared he wouldn’t be able to get up, there were men who could lift and carry him away.

  Chapter Two

  December 7, 1941

  Rosemary Dodd cast a quick glance over her roster, then gazed at the women gathered around her.

  “Thank you, ladies. I appreciate your willingness to spend your first morning learning the scope of your duties. You’ll find that one of our key mottos here is efficiency, so to that end, I’d like to finish off your orientation meeting with a quick tour of our hospital.” She allowed her features to relax into a slight smile. “After all, that’s why you’ve joined us here in the Philippines, isn’t it?”

  Handing the clipboard to Lt. Wakely, she motioned for the new girls to follow her.

  “The facilities here at Fort Stotsenberg were built just before the First World War. But as you can see, we’ve been updated regularly. This year we’ve received new paint and furnishings as well as a revamped surgical suite.”

  Rosemary led them into one of the wards. Beds lined both sides of the spacious room. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall provided sunlight. Fans overhead kept the air moving.

  “We’re smaller than the main hospital in Manila.” She gestured to the room in front of her. “We have two wards, twenty-four beds in this one, ten in the other. It might sound a bit primitive compared to hospitals stateside, but our needs here are simpler as well. Surgeries are usually routine—appendectomies, gall bladder removal, tonsillectomies. Other than that, most of our care revolves around broken bones, stitches, and sunburn.” She lifted her voice and called out, “Isn’t that right, Private Diamante?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the woeful reply.

  She grinned. “Private Diamante was part of the construction crew building the stage on the PT field. He fell from the ladder and broke his leg and collarbone. Something that might not have happened had he waited until his partner was there to steady the ladder.” She lifted her voice again, “Isn’t that right, Private Diamante?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The girls giggled. “Due to the heat, we have four shifts, six hours each, plus a rotating clinic duty. You’re expected to be at your shift at least fifteen minutes early.” She fixed them all with a stern gaze. “No exceptions.”

  She paused at the door to their only operating theater. “At the party tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to the surgeons, Dr. Packard an
d Dr. Rowley.”

  Continuing her march down the corridor, she ended in the smaller ward. In this room, there were three patients, all of them much paler and weaker than the unfortunate Pvt. Diamante. “For today, you’ll have to content yourself with meeting Dr. Grimm.”

  A silver-haired doctor glanced up from his examination of a patient’s abdomen. After checking the stitches of a recent appendectomy incision, he offered them a warm smile. “Are these the new recruits?”

  “Fresh off the boat.”

  He carefully replaced the covers over the soldier’s chest, then stood, reaching to shake each woman’s hand in turn. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his eyes twinkling beneath bushy eyebrows. “Let’s hope you don’t live to regret volunteering for the assignment.” His brows waggled up and down. “Work here can be murder. I come by my name rightfully, you know.”

  Rosemary shot him an indulgent smile. Of all the physicians she’d worked with over the years, she’d never met a kinder man. Kind to a fault, some might say. He tended to treat the nurses on his staff as equals—a practice that many in the medical profession frowned upon. But he’d told Rosemary on more than one occasion that he’d never met a nurse who worked as well through fear and intimidation as she did through encouragement. And if the loyalty of his staff was anything to go by, he was right.

  “Dr. Grimm has been here at Fort Stotsenberg for almost twenty years.”

  “So you see, I’ve been at it nearly as long as the building itself.” With a nod, he backed toward the beds again. “Enjoy your day, ladies.”

  Rosemary led the women from the ward back into the hall. “Lieutenant Wakely will be taking you on the rest of the tour,” she said as she made her way to the rear door. “As for me, I’ve got work to do,” she said with a wry smile. “Enjoy your walk around the base and your time off. I’ll see you tonight at the party.”

  She waited in the vestibule until the last of them had disappeared, trotting behind Lt. Wakely like baby geese. It wasn’t really that long ago when she’d been one of those women, eagerly trailing after her guide, trying to get her bearings. She’d been so afraid then. Afraid of getting lost, of being late to her shifts, of failing to make a good impression.

  “Remembering the good old days?” a low voice said from behind her left shoulder.

  She turned, fighting a smile when she found Lt. Gilhouley—or The Great Gilhouley as he’d been affectionately dubbed by her staff. Tall and lanky, with a shock of strawberry blond hair, he cut a striking figure in his army tans. But the crispness of his uniform was belied by his cocky grin and the barely harnessed energy that radiated from him in waves. Not for the first time, Rosemary was struck by the way the man seemed like a rambunctious puppy straining against the leash.

  No. Not a puppy.

  More like a greyhound or another thoroughbred that had consented to some control, but only for the time being.

  “And what is the Great Gilhouley doing in this neck of the woods? Surely the arrival of a few nurses is beneath the attention of the press corps,” she said, stepping away from the door and making her way back to her office. As expected, Gil fell into step beside her.

  “Apparently, I’m watching you get all misty eyed at the sight of the new help.”

  She rolled her eyes in his direction. “Hardly.”

  Pushing through her office door, she crossed to her desk and began sorting the reports from the night shift. With the arrival of a new set of nurses looming on the horizon, she’d spent sixteen hours a day at the hospital or in staff meetings for the past few weeks. And the marathon work sessions were beginning to settle in as a throbbing ache between her temples. But she wasn’t done for the day. She still had the welcoming party this evening and drinks beforehand in the officers’ club. If she could finish the reports, she might be able to catch an hour or two of sleep before—

  It took a moment for her to realize that the reports she’d intended to scoop toward her were held firmly beneath a broad male hand. One with long, slender fingers and carefully kept nails. She stared at that hand for a beat, two, before her exhausted mind realized those fingers, those slender artistic digits, belonged to Gilhouley.

  She lifted her eyes and her gaze locked with his own amused stare.

  “What do you want, Gilhouley?” she demanded curtly.

  “I want a lot in this world, but I’ve been told I can’t have most of it.”

  She pursed her lips in annoyance, biting back the pithy retort she longed to make.

  Sensing her short temper, he said, “I was told to bring you to the parade grounds.” He used the same silken, soothing tones one might use to gentle a startled mount.

  “Told by whom.”

  “The Powers-That-Be.”

  She huffed in irritation.

  “Why?”

  “If I knew that, then I would be one of the Powers-That-Be.”

  She opened her mouth to inform him she had better things to do than to meet with the Morale Committee, but decided there wasn’t much point in shooting the messenger.

  “Fine.” Grabbing her purse from the desk drawer, she marched out of the office.

  “I’ve got a Jeep at the curb,” Gilhouley said as he fell into step beside her.

  They strode out of the hospital and into the blazing sunshine. Rosemary took her place in the passenger seat without any help from Gilhouley. After gunning the engine, he burst away from the curb with a jolt of speed and a spray of gravel, winding his way around the hospital. But when he should have turned toward the parade grounds, he kept on going.

  Rosemary twisted in her seat, watching as their destination began to disappear. “What are you doing? The field is that way.”

  “We aren’t going to the field.”

  “But you said—“

  “I was told to say anything I had to in order to get you away from the hospital.”

  “By whom?”

  “Lieutenant Strickland.”

  “Alice? But why?”

  “To paraphrase: you’ve been working too hard and they think you need a break.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And if you didn’t paraphrase?”

  “Major Dodd is a goddamn fuse ready to blow—and if you don’t get her the hell out of here for a little R and R, we’re all going to be the goddamn casualties!”

  Rosemary’s mouth gaped. “She did not say that!”

  Gil shrugged. “Again, I’m paraphrasing. I don’t remember her exact words. They were something like, ‘Take Major Dodd to lunch. She’s been working too hard.’” His words gentled toward the end, causing her to sit back in her seat, speechless. Unsettled.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Lunch,” he said succinctly. “I learned a long time ago not to argue with a woman.”

  He slowed as he reached the front gates, then turned left, picking up speed until the rush of air cooled her hot cheeks.

  “My hair’s going to be a wreck after this.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “That won’t do me much good at whatever restaurant you’ve chosen.”

  His smile was slow and wide. She watched enthralled as his face changed completely, his eyes crinkling, the angular shape of his face softening.

  Embarrassed, she tore her gaze away when she realized she’d been caught staring. “So where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Sensing that she would get no information out of him that he wasn’t willing to give, she stopped trying. She probably should insist that he return them both to the base. But she was suddenly swamped by a heady exhilaration, like a kid who’d managed to slip away from school without getting caught. For the next few hours, no one would know where she was, whom she was with, or how to contact her. If any emergencies arose, her staff would have to take care of them without her assistance.

  The sun beat down on her muscles, loosening them from their tense grip, and the wind blew the cobwebs from her brain. And suddenly, she couldn’t think of anywhere she wo
uld rather be.

  “So tell me, Gilhouley, why you?”

  He lifted a brow.

  “Why were you chosen as my abductor?”

  “I should think that was obvious, being the most charming, biddable man on base.”

  She snorted in disbelief. “More likely, it’s because Alice knew you have a bit of larceny in you.”

  “Are you suggesting that your nurses might have bribed me?”

  “It’s possible.”

  He shook his head. “No bribe was necessary in this instance, I can assure you.”

  She opened her mouth to offer a quick comeback, but soon found she didn’t have one. His remark had held no amusement, merely a velvety hint of sincerity.

  Not for the first time, she wondered what made The Great Gilhouley tick. He’d always struck her as a walking, breathing anachronism on the base—the last sort of person you’d think would have chosen the Army for a career. He had a wild streak to him and a flair for disobedience. Rumor had it that scandal had followed him to the Philippines and he’d been demoted at least once, but she’d never been able to discover the details—not that she’d tried that hard. She had her own skeletons to protect; she didn’t need to be unearthing anyone else’s.

  “I can’t be gone for very long,” she said finally, more to reassert some control over the situation rather than a longing to return.

  “I’ll have you back in time for the festivities tonight.”

  Since she saw no reason to protest any further, she took a scarf from her bag and tied it around her hair to minimize the damage, then unearthed a pair of sunglasses and slid them up her nose. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back to enjoy the heat of the afternoon.

  Gilhouley didn’t speak, for which she was grateful. Instead, she allowed herself to surrender to the sunshine, her drowsiness, and the growl of the Jeep. She couldn’t have said how much time had elapsed when the Jeep drew to a sudden stop. She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. She’d assumed that Gilhouley would be taking her to Manila proper, but instead, he’d brought her to the docks.