After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  If Rosemary had thought her women were being pushed to the brink before, the logistics involved in moving so many patients belied her assumptions. With very little sleep or relief from their duties, they began the newest phase of their responsibilities: evacuation.

  They started with those who could weather a journey by truck and ambulance first. Once again, the walking wounded were enlisted as makeshift medical staff to help those who were more seriously hurt. Convoys of trucks were loaded with as many men as possible. A pair of nurses went as well, one each in the lead and rear vehicles, and the rest of the patients were closely watched by their comrades.

  By the time that two such convoys had departed for Manila, Rosemary received word that the more gravely injured would be taken south by train. She and the other nurses were to be on that train, no exceptions. Their retreat would be permanent. It would fall to the doctors to see that any remaining patients were sent south as well.

  After passing on the word to her nurses, Rosemary began packing boxes and crates with all of the medical tools and supplies she could manage to gather in the time remaining. She’d be damned if she’d leave anything useful behind for the Japanese. To hell with her own belongings. She’d pack the most necessary personal items into a duffel bag—clean coveralls, an extra pair of shoes, underthings, her only remaining white uniform, and her last unopened pair of alabaster hose, toiletries and sanitary items. While other women dithered over whether or not to pack their evening gowns and hats, her only indulgence was the violet corsage Gilhouley had given her, stowed at the top of her duffel.

  The trip to her bungalow to gather her things had taken less than fifteen minutes, but in that time, she’d been able to see that Gilhouley still hadn’t made an appearance. Except for a shattered window in the sitting room, her residence had remained relatively unscathed. But a fine layer of grit and dust covered everything after the attack, and the only footprints to be seen were her own.

  She was rushing down the stairs with her bag when a Jeep screeched to a stop in front of her. Her heart slammed against her ribcage as she recognized Gilhouley, gaunt and a little pale, his face retaining only a few scratches from the first attack.

  “Get in,” he said abruptly.

  “I’ve got to—“

  “I know. You’re getting ready to be evacuated, but there’s something we need to do first. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Since the nurses had been given an hour to pack their things, she didn’t suppose it would hurt to spend the remainder of her time with Gilhouley. Especially since she didn’t know when she would see him again.

  The moment she’d taken her place in the Jeep, he punched the accelerator, weaving his way through base traffic and bomb craters. As soon as he’d taken the curve onto the main road, he increased his speed even more until she had to grasp the dash to steady herself.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just a few miles away. I need to take you out into the hills.”

  Her brows rose and he laughed. “Not for that.” He thought better of his answer because he hastened to add, “But, trust me, if we had time, I’d insist on that too—although I’d rather do it on a bed, if you don’t mind, much as I enjoyed our encounter in your office.”

  Rosemary’s pulse knocked against her throat. She supposed she should be embarrassed or appalled at her own forwardness, but she didn’t care. Gilhouley was safe; he was here with her. At the moment, nothing else mattered.

  “How are you?” she said, using her free hand to stroke his cheek.

  “Tired. Sore.”

  “Are the stitches holding?”

  “They’re fine. I’m fine. How about you?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “I bet.”

  “What have you been doing since I saw you last?”

  He caught her eye, debating how much he should tell her. “Training,” he said vaguely. “I’ve been reassigned to a combat unit.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’ll be under Colonel Ross.”

  “He’s Cavalry, isn’t he?” Her brows rose. “Can you ride? Most of the cavalry from Stotsenberg are still mounted, aren’t they?”

  “I doubt that will become an issue.”

  He swerved around another crater, then turned sharply right, heading down a dirt track toward a field of cogon grass that dipped and swayed in the wind like a verdant sea. Once he’d reached a stand of trees, he pulled to a stop. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  Still mystified, she watched as he withdrew a small canvas pouch and a bulging sock, then a grocery sack filled with what looked like empty beer bottles. “Stay here for a minute.”

  He strode through the grass about twenty yards to where a set of rough wooden posts had once anchored a fence. Digging into the grocery sack, he set a bottle on each one, then returned, motioning for her to get out of the Jeep and stand next to him.

  For several seconds, debated his words, then said, “Despite what they might be telling you, things are going to get rough, Rosemary.”

  She touched his arm. “I know that.”

  “It could be weeks, maybe even a month before relief troops arrive.”

  She nodded.

  “So I want you to be prepared.”

  Gauging her reaction one last time, he reached into the pouch and removed a revolver much like those she’d seen in Wild West movies.

  “This was given to me by my father, and to him by his father. It’s old, but it’s reliable. And since it’s not Army issue, I can do with it as I please. You’re going to take this with you on the train.”

  She opened her mouth to object, but he immediately silenced her.

  “You can’t change my mind, so don’t even try. We’re not leaving here until you know how to shoot it. It’s a weapon of last resort, up close, understand?”

  Rosemary nodded, at once touched and terrified.

  He handed her the sock and she realized it was filled with cartridges.

  Holding the revolver in both hands, he showed her how to release the cylinder from its firing position.

  “Slide a cartridge in all of the chambers but one. You’ll keep one of them empty as a safety measure.”

  She nodded, doing as she’d been told.

  “You’re going to make sure that the empty chamber is opposite the hammer.”

  Rosemary watched carefully as he showed her how to do it, then made her practice the procedure several times.

  “This revolver has a sensitive trigger, so I want you to hold the gun like this in both hands. Forget what you’ve seen in the movies. If you ever need to use this, you’re going to be scared and nervous and you’ll need both hands to hold it steady enough to aim.”

  He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t pull the hammer back until you have your arms up and in position so that you can site down the barrel. Like I said, the trigger is sensitive and you don’t want to accidently shoot your foot rather than your target.”

  “Okay.”

  With his hands in position over her own, he gently pulled back on the hammer.

  “Close one eye and look down the length of the gun. Aim at the bottle over there. The first one. There’s a notch near the hammer and a little vertical piece of metal at the tip of the gun that looks like a post. Line it up so that the post is right in the center of the notch and both of them are dead center over the bottle. Then gently squeeze the trigger.”

  The gun recoiled in her hands, the sound of the shot scaring her more than anything. But Gilhouley held her steady.

  “Good job.”

  She opened her eyes to see that the bottle still stood on the fence post.

  “I missed.”

  “That’s because you closed your eyes. Now you know what to expect. Try again.”

  This time, he made her pull back the hammer and carefully aim. “Keep one eye open and don’t hold your breath.”

  The air rushed from her lungs in a whoosh.

  “Take aim, then gently sq
ueeze the trigger when you’re ready. The revolver will do all the work.”

  This time, she concentrated on keeping her arms level and one eye open.

  Bam!

  The noise and recoil was still unsettling, but a burst of splinters from the fence post told her that, this time, she was at least hitting in the proper area.

  “Good girl!”

  “But I only hit the post.”

  “Yes, but if that were a Japanese soldier, you would have hit him in the gut rather than the chest. Either way, you’d probably stopped him in his tracks. Now do it again.”

  By the fifth shot, Rosemary winged the bottle. At Gilhouley’s insistence, she emptied the barrel twice more, destroying a half dozen bottles before he called it quits.

  “That’s enough for now. We can’t afford to use up any more ammunition, and I think you’ve got the hang of it.”

  “You should take it, Gilhouley,” she insisted as they made their way back to the Jeep. “I can’t exactly wear a holster with my uniform.”

  He tucked the pouch with the gun inside her duffle along with the sock containing her ammunition. Then he pulled her tightly against him. “No, but you can have it next to your bunk at night. Just in case.”

  Unspoken between them were the horrors that had occurred to the women of Nanking—the gang rapes, the torture, the mutilations.

  Her throat was tight as she asked, “When will I see you again?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. The Japanese are closing in fast. Once they take the base…I don’t know where I’ll be.” He rested his forehead against hers. “But as soon as I can, I’ll find you. Promise.”

  When he kissed her, his lips were soft and gentle, his tenderness more bittersweet than she could have imagined only days earlier. She opened her mouth against him, desperately clinging to him, knowing that time was flowing through their fingers like sand.

  When Gilhouley backed away to bury his face against her neck, she whispered next to his ear, “Promise me, you’ll stay as safe as you can.”

  “Only if you’ll do the same.”

  “You know I will. It won’t be long. You’ll be in Manila soon.”

  But too late, she realized that in order for that to happen, the Japanese would have pushed the defending forces south across Luzon.

  “We’ve got to go,” Gilhouley murmured against her skin.

  “I know.”

  And yet, they continued to stand, locked together for several long moments before Gilhouley finally stepped away, kissing her hard and full on the mouth, then released her to stride around the front of the Jeep to the driver’s seat.

  After climbing inside, she reached across the gear shift to grip his thigh. Then, he was turning sharply, heading back the way that they’d come.

  Soon—much too soon—he brought the Jeep to a halt in front of the hospital. Here, there could be no desperate public embrace, no feverish last kiss, so he touched the hand that still lay on his thigh. “Take care of yourself.”

  She nodded, her throat tight. “You don’t have anything of mine to take.”

  He smiled, digging into his pocket. “Oh, but I do.” He removed a tiny flower and she realized it was one of the violets from the corsage he’d given her. “I stole it as I was leaving, the first time we made love. No one on earth could have a better talisman than that.”

  She blinked at the tears that threatened to spill free, but seeing the curious stares of her nurses as they loaded crates onto a nearby truck, she settled for, “So long, Gilhouley.”

  She slipped out of the Jeep and gathered her duffel. As she slung it over her shoulder, Gilhouley threw her a salute. “See you soon, Major.”

  Then with a growl of the Jeep’s engine, he made a wide U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.

  • • •

  Glory Bee stepped onto the porch that wrapped its way around the Wilmot’s hunting lodge, making her way to the back where John and Esteban were splitting wood for the stove. She couldn’t be sure, but his posture seemed somehow…lighter, looser. Since the night she’d awakened him from his nightmare, he’d begun to smile more. And laugh. Maybe by talking to her about his experiences in Nanking, the load of anger he carried had eased.

  Glory Bee could only wonder what would have happened if he’d been allowed to unburden himself without the threat of war breathing down their necks.

  “I can help carry those up to the pile,” she called, gesturing to the cut pieces lying on the ground.

  “No need, Missy,” Esteban said with a grin. He whistled and his children barreled out of the trees and scooped them up, racing to be the first to place them in the pile.

  Glory Bee laughed. “You’ve got them well-trained, Esteban. I think—”

  A low drone caused her to grow suddenly quiet, and she froze.

  Lifting a hand, John motioned for them all to remain still as they cocked their ears toward the sound.

  Planes.

  The rumbling grew louder and louder, like a growing thunder that did not end.

  “Glory Bee, get the children into the house. Esteban, get your wife.”

  “Come on, kids. Inside. Inside!”

  Glory Bee rushed to scoop Luis into her arms, then began herding the other youngsters into the lodge. Once there, they hurried to press against the large picture window and peer down into the valley below. Dozens of shiny silver planes flew in formation, the red circles gleaming like dots of blood on their wings. In the valley below came the telltale sign of smoke and dust.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs. Had the invasion forces arrived in the valley? Or were the villagers below fleeing as the Japanese planes made another run at the American bases?

  Maria scurried into the house, calling to her children in Tagalog. Esteban quickly followed. Then John strode across the room to a door that had remained closed and locked. Lifting a foot, he kicked at the flimsy barrier, breaking it, then reached inside to unlatch it. There, in a specially made cabinet, weapons of all kinds lined the walls.

  Removing a rifle, he tossed it to Esteban along with a box of ammunition. Then he took a pistol, checked the chamber, and shoved it into his waistband.

  “Is it the Japanese?” Glory Bee asked. “Have their front lines progressed this far?”

  John’s expression was grim. “We’d be fools to think otherwise.”

  A chill passed through her system. Sweet baby Jesus, it was happening. It was actually happening.

  “Do you think they’ll be coming up here?” Glory Bee asked in alarm.

  John shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway. But from now on, we’re going to be armed at all times.” He eyed Glory Bee. “You said you were from Virginia. Is that in the country? Are you a country girl?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you shoot?”

  Her shoulders lifted helplessly. “I shot birds and squirrels with a BB gun when I was little, but…”

  John took a small pistol from the shelf along with a handful of cartridges. Taking her hand, he dropped them into her palm. “Load it.”

  Sensing this was a test to see if she could handle the weapon without shooting herself in the process, she checked the cylinder, then slid the shells into position and locked everything back into place.

  “Good. That’s yours. Keep it with you at all times.”

  As she met his turbulent gaze, she sensed he was thinking of Sister Mary Francis and the other poor girls at the convent school, so she didn’t argue. Instead, she tucked the weapon into the back of her waistband.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “We wait. We watch for smoke. If it gets too close, we head deeper into the hills.”

  He waited in agony for three days. Three impossible, agonizing days.

  And then, when he hadn’t even expected it, he turned to find the Filipino messenger boy crouching in the dust next to him.

  “You…Gilhouley?” he asked.

  He nodded.

  The boy handed him a small
package—matches, cigarettes, quinine, and a folded scrap of paper.

  He quickly shoved the items into his pockets, then withdrew the letter. He had no envelope to put it in—had no way of knowing if it would ever get to Rosemary—or if she was even alive. But for the first time in years, he had a flare of hope.

  “Give this to the padre. Tell him to send it to Major Rosemary Dodd.”

  The boy looked at him blankly.

  “This…” he pointed to the paper. “For Major Rosemary Dodd. A nurse.”

  The boy glanced up, saw the guards returning and snatched the paper from his hand. Then the kid scampered away, disappearing into the brush as if he’d never been there.

  As he watched him go, he felt suddenly weak with relief.

  Dear God, let his letter get to her.

  Let her be alive.

  Chapter Nine

  December 24, 1941

  Rosemary was one of the last to board the hospital train. She’d inspected each of the cars, double-checked the supplies they’d managed to pack away, and conferred with her nurses. Then, with a nod to the stationmaster and a salute to Dr. Grimm—who would remain behind for another few days—she climbed up the steps of the final car and stowed her duffle next to the rear exit.

  There was barely any room to move. Except for the first four seats, the rest of the train had been converted with something akin to shelving where the wounded men on their stretchers had been laid as tightly together as they could manage without endangering their care. IV bottles and tubing swayed in the air as the train jerked and trembled, then began a slow roll. A pair of orderlies had taken position by the exits, each of them fully armed.

  Alice sidled up beside her. “I think everything has been strapped down as best as possible.”

  “Keep an eye on Sergeant Kearney in the middle. He was carried out of surgery only an hour ago. I want his vitals taken every fifteen minutes.”

  Alice nodded and moved forward, pausing now and then to talk to the men as she went. Rosemary followed a little more slowly. She would take the back half of the car and Alice would take the front—just as the rest of her staff had done throughout the train. Hopefully, by dividing the space up, they could keep things as efficient as possible. The journey wasn’t incredibly long, less than fifty miles, but due to the injured, they would be travelling at a slower rate of speed. Rosemary estimated it would be about ninety minutes before they reached Manila.