After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  “Hey, Major, you got a light?”

  She smiled at a young cavalry lieutenant and reached into her pocket for the lighter she kept there.

  He puffed until the tip grew red, then asked, “Where you from, ma’am?”

  “Nebraska.”

  “Nebraska, huh? I’m a Philly boy, myself.”

  She raised her brows. “Good to know. I’ve been warned about fraternizing with those Philly boys.”

  Rosemary tried to soothe her nerves by settling into a familiar routine. Granted, until a few weeks ago, she’d never been confronted with the dire injuries that surrounded her before, but the job was still the same. Check vitals, adjust IVs, administer medication, repeat. And through it all, she smiled and chatted while keeping the men at arm’s length.

  But even as she immersed herself in tasks that were second nature to her, she couldn’t prevent the tension that gripped her shoulders and the way she continually listened for the slightest sound—a rumble of artillery, the growl of an aircraft engine—that would warn her that trouble was on its way.

  Just before they’d left Stotsenberg, they’d received word that two other air bases were under aerial attack and American forces on the ground were heavily engaged. The battle for Luzon had begun in earnest.

  If not for her work, Rosemary wasn’t sure how she would have coped. At odd moments, thoughts of Riley would pop into her head and she would be overcome by her need to know that he was safe. But with all that she’d already seen, she couldn’t kid herself. The odds were stacked against the Americans and their Filipino counterparts. Their arms were dated, their air force decimated. And the Japanese would throw everything they had at them. The forces of the Rising Sun needed the military positioning that the Philippines would offer them. They would not accept defeat.

  It was while she was checking the bandages of an amputee that she heard it, a low growling hum that cut through the rhythmic clacking of the train. Bending low, she scanned the horizon, then instinctively took a step back as she saw the nose of a zero heading straight in her direction.

  The plane screamed overhead as an explosion rocked the train, dirt and debris shooting up into the sky several yards away from the car. As the chunks of rock and grass pelted the windows, the zero pulled up and began a slow turn, coming in for another try.

  Rosemary swore. Each car on the train had been marked with a red cross to label it as a hospital transport, but the pilot didn’t care.

  Before Rosemary knew what was happening, she had more to contend with than the pilot of the plane. Men who had already suffered through several air attacks reacted instinctively, jumping into the aisles and scrambling for the nearest exit. The roar of the plane and the ratcheting of its guns caused many of the men to scream in fear and rage.

  “Get back in your seats!” Rosemary shouted. Then as loud as she could, “Get back! Now! That’s an order!” She pointed to the orderly. “I want you to shoot anyone who tries to get off this train!”

  Just when Rosemary thought she would have a mob on her hands, the shocking intent of her words tapped into the training the men had been given and the noise died down as they turned to stare at her in disbelief.

  “We’re as safe on this train as we would be anywhere else. The only thing that can hurt us now is panic.” She pointed to the bunks. “Get back where you were!”

  Slowly, the men began to comply. With some, the burst of energy had exhausted them, but with others, they kept a nervous eye on the windows. But the Zero that had targeted them had either run out of ammunition or had tired of his game, because he did not return.

  Alice and Rosemary spent the rest of the journey checking on torn stitches and twisted IV lines, but thankfully, no real damage had been done.

  They rolled into Manila with a palpable sense of relief. But that relief was short-lived as Rosemary stared out of the windows into a decimated city. Beautiful old buildings had been reduced to rubble and fires raged on the outskirts of town.

  “It doesn’t look much better than Stotsenberg,” Alice said lowly, before turning to help unload the wounded.

  It took over an hour to transfer all of the wounded onto the waiting trucks. In that time, the temperature within the cars became unbearable, so much so, that Rosemary worried the wounded would soon be suffering from heatstroke as well. But, at long last, the last man was taken away and she and her nurses gathered their things. Wearily, they climbed into their own waiting transport and traveled the short distance to Sternberg Hospital.

  It was with mixed feelings that Rosemary turned over her command to the senior nursing staff.

  “You and your girls have done a fine job, Major Dodd.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Willmington.”

  “I’m sure you need something to eat and a place to wash up, so my assistant will take you to the nurses’ quarters where arrangements have been made. The Japs have made a mess of it, I’m afraid. But at least you’ll have a few minutes of privacy.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “Anything else we can do for you?”

  Rosemary hesitated before saying, “Most of my nurses have been working round the clock, Colonel. A few hours’ sleep would do them a world of good.”

  Col. Willmington nodded. “Unfortunately, a few hours are about all I can spare. They’ll probably have to bunk on the floor, but tell them to get some rest, then report to the hospital at 1800. You’ll be on duty at the hospital tonight. Tomorrow, you and your nurses will report to the docks at 2000.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” Rosemary offered the woman a crisp salute, then went to the far end of the platform where her nurses waited next to a pile of luggage. “We’ve got until 1800 to rest, get something to eat, and change for duty. We’ll be buddying up with the nurses who are already here. Grab your gear.”

  Now that the promise of a few hours of sleep hung in the air, the energy seeped from Rosemary’s body like grains of sand through an hourglass. By the time she’d reached the nurses’ quarters and helped her staff settle in, her legs felt as if they’d been encased in lead.

  Finally, an older woman with black hair mixed with strands of gray motioned for Rosemary and Alice to follow her to a room at the back of the first floor.

  “I’m Major Cooper. You two are with me.”

  She opened the door to a small room with two narrow beds. “My roommate escorted a batch of nurses to Corregidor this morning, so she won’t be back. I’m on duty until late this evening, so the bunks are yours.” Her eyes grew gentle. “I hear it was rough at Clark that first day.” She hesitated before asking, “You wouldn’t have happened to run into a Major Walter Beidermeyer would you? He’s a crew chief at Clark. We’re supposed to be married in February.”

  Rosemary was so weary, she couldn’t honestly remember any of the names of the wounded that had poured through her hospital doors. “I-I don’t think so.”

  She looked at Alice, who also shook her head.

  “I’ll ask my other nurses after they’ve rested,” Rosemary said.

  Major Cooper offered them a sad smile. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that. Pleasant dreams.”

  As soon as she’d closed the door, Rosemary sank onto the bunk.

  “I think I could sleep for a hundred years,” Alice said as she collapsed onto the opposite cot.

  “We don’t have a hundred years. We only have until 1730. Then we’ll need to change into fresh uniforms, get something to eat, and make our way to the hospital to be reassigned.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Alice kicked off her shoes and lay down, not even bothering to pull back the covers. She simply turned her face to the wall and fell instantly asleep.

  Rosemary carefully removed her shoes, then pulled her duffel bag close. Reaching inside, she stroked the delicate petals of her corsage as if they were rosary beads. Please, keep him safe.

  Although her family was a church-going one, it had been years since Rosemary had darkened the door of a religious building, but she
brushed that thought aside. At the moment, she was helpless and alone, and she had no other means to come to Gilhouley’s aid, but to pray.

  Please, please…keep him safe…

  • • •

  Glory Bee was roused from her sleep by a hand against her shoulder. She discovered John standing over her in the darkness.

  He held a finger to his lips, gesturing to the children.

  Blinking sleep away, Glory Bee realized that little Luis had crawled into bed beside her and had burrowed into a spot next to her back.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “The fires are getting too close. I need you to pack up everything you can. Esteban has arranged for some local cargadores to carry our things. We’ve got to be out of here within the hour.”

  A wave of icy fear swamped her body and for several long seconds, Glory Bee couldn’t move.

  “Where will we go?”

  “Into the mountains.”

  She nodded. “I’ll…I’ll get all my belongings together.”

  “Don’t forget the pistol.”

  “I won’t.”

  John gestured to a rucksack he’d placed on the floor. “I found that downstairs. It will probably be easier to handle than your suitcase.”

  “Th-thanks.” She cleared her throat. “John?” she called before he was about to disappear down the stairs. “Will this work? Can we keep ourselves hidden in the hills?”

  John’s expression was grim. “It has to work.”

  • • •

  Less than twenty minutes later everything had been packed up and they were ready to leave. John made one last round of the house. He’d already cleaned out the weapons’ cupboard for arms and ammunition. He’d added tins of matches to their stash, and blankets and tarps. Then with Esteban’s help, they’d carried the radio into the nearby woods, wrapped it in tarpaulins, and hidden it. It was too bulky to take with them, but there might come a time when they would need it.

  The truck had also been hidden, but John had little hope that it would remain unseen if the Japanese headed this way. No, the rest of their journey would have to be taken on foot.

  He surveyed the motley group assembled on the veranda—Esteban, his pregnant wife and five children, the four cargadores from a nearby village, and Glory Bee. None of them were in the best shape for a rigorous hike into the hills. But it was their only chance of staying away from the Japanese.

  “I think we’re ready.”

  John shook himself free from his thoughts as Esteban approached. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he called out, “All right, everyone. Let’s go.”

  • • •

  Gilhouley motioned for the driver of the car to stop and cut the engine. As the hot motor ticked in the sudden silence, he cocked his head out the window, listening to the distant boom, boom, boom of the heavy artillery and the staccato ackety-ack of machine gun fire.

  “They’re getting pretty close,” the driver, a gangly kid of nineteen, murmured, a cigarette hanging from his lips untended while his fingers gripped the wheel. Despite his age, he’d proven to have a cool head and quick wits.

  “How much fuel have we got?” Gilhouley asked.

  Kilgore thumped on the dial. “Barely enough to get us back to Manila from where we are now. We’re either going to have to hike in the rest of the way into the hills to find Santo Tomas, or hike part of the way back to Manila once we’ve run out of gas.”

  Gilhouley squinted up at the tree line, knowing that regardless of what they did, they would not be able to travel very far without threat of exposure. The dry season had settled over the Philippines, and the roads were choked with telltale dust. Even at slow speeds, the passage of a car would be clear to anyone who might chance to look toward the hillside.

  “How much farther to the rendezvous point?”

  “At least five miles. Maybe six. We could hike it, easy.”

  Gilhouley pondered that point for a moment. With the Japanese approaching, they didn’t have much time. Ross had arranged for them to meet with Felipe Santo Tomas, one of the Filipinos who’d been trained under the Americans not so long ago. Word had it that he’d already mustered a band of men willing to fight. Col. Ross wanted to get a radio into their hands before they moved to a new position.

  “Petey, stay here with Kilgore,” Gilhouley murmured to the curly-headed teenager who sat in the back, his rifle trained out the back window. “I’m going to have a look around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grasping his rifle, Gilhouley opened the door, slinging a small pack over his back. Motioning for the men who sat in the rear rumble seat of the beat-up Model A that they’d commandeered from one of the camp cooks, Gilhouley pointed for them to move toward a clearing a few yards ahead of them. Beyond that was a bluff that looked down on the valley below.

  Moving carefully, he and his companions walked forward, their rifles at the ready, their footsteps measured to minimize the noise.

  Not for the first time, Gilhouley was grateful for the men he’d chosen as part of his team: Doug Kilgore, their driver, was a fellow member of the press corps. He had the mind of a mathematician and skills on the radio that put even Gilhouley’s to shame. Josiah Tecumseh Peterman—or Petey as they called him—had barely been relieved from the brig for decking his superior officer when the other man had run away during the bombing at Clark. Ernie Berman, a cavalry officer and a farm boy from Iowa, could fix anything mechanical or electronic with a stick of gum and some twine. And Elian Baptiste was a native to the Philippines. The son of a French planter and a Filipino mother, he was fluent in English, Spanish, Tagalog and French.

  It was their third foray into the Filipino forest. So far, they had delivered or hidden seven radios. They had one to go before returning to base.

  Nearing the edge of a bluff, Gilhouley motioned for his men to stay low. Removing a pair of binoculars from his pack, he trained them on the valley.

  “Shit.” The roads he could see with his field glasses were clogged with tanks, military personnel, and trucks.

  “What’s up, boss? Are those our boys or theirs?” Berman whispered, crouching in the brush beside him.

  “Theirs.”

  Gilhouley squinted through the binoculars again. It was too far away to catch many details, but even at this distance, he could see that the Japanese were advancing toward a line of trees where, no doubt, the American forces were hunkered down, waiting.

  “What do y’ wanna do?”

  Gilhouley turned to Baptiste. “Can you get us to the rendezvous point on foot, without using the road?”

  Baptiste offered him a cocky grin. “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. Go tell the others. We’re going to hide the car as best we can in those trees up ahead. Then we’ll load up with our supplies and hoof it to the rendezvous point. Then, as soon as we’ve dumped off the radio, we’ll try to get back here in time to drive out.”

  The men nodded and crept back to the waiting vehicle. As their hushed voices relayed the instructions to Kilgore and Petey, Gilhouley lifted the binoculars back up to his eyes for one last look.

  They would be cutting things close. There was a single bridge leading across a ravine at the base of the mountains. If they didn’t reach it before the Japanese Army…

  Hell, he didn’t even have the time to think about the shit they’d be in then.

  • • •

  Glory Bee panted as the path ahead of her grew steeper still. They’d been climbing steadily now for nearly an hour and her knees and calves were beginning to burn and tremble from the unaccustomed exercise.

  Lord, she’d never realized that she was so out of shape. With her dancing and performing, she’d always considered herself fit—she had to be if she planned to parade on stage with very little clothing. But this…this was torture.

  Looking behind her, she could see that the children were also beginning to flag. At first, they’d considered their hike a big game. Rather than trailing the adults, they’d
darted in and out of the trees, playing tag and hide-and-seek along the way. But as the trail became steeper, their games had ceased, and now they shuffled wearily in a line between Maria and Glory Bee, their features flushed and beaded with sweat.

  Swatting away the gnats that swarmed around them in clouds, Glory Bee returned her attention to the front of the line. Unlike the women and children, John was completely unfazed by the exercise. He climbed easily, ever vigilant.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, John stepped to the side of the trail and pointed up above them. “We’ll go as far as that rocky outcropping, then we’ll take a break in the shade. Just a little further now.”

  Although the landmark that he’d pointed to was only a few hundred yards away, it seemed like a million miles to Glory Bee’s trembling muscles. And as much as she wanted to rest, she was afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to get back up again.

  As she approached the spot where he stood, John held out his hand. “Grab hold, Glory Bee.”

  Confused, she took his hand, then was relieved as he fell into step ahead of her and began pulling her up the rest of the incline, until, finally, they reached the rocks.

  Glory Bee didn’t even bother to hide her weariness. She sank onto the ground, panting.

  John knelt beside her, handing her a canteen. “Not too much. Just a few sips at first.”

  She nodded, unable to speak, and swallowed the tepid water.

  “You’re doing really well.”

  Her laughter was wry. “And you’re an excellent liar.”

  His quick grin was so startling that she nearly didn’t catch it before it was gone again. In the hike, his hair had become mussed, falling from under his hat to spill across his forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to touch it.