All I want for Christmas is to see American battleships filling the harbor, Dan thought, remembering the holiday was only days away. Since he couldn’t have Libby in his arms, it was the next best thing.
Natsuo stepped out of the jeep and adjusted the bayonet in his hand. His unit had missed out on the battles of the last few weeks. Not that they were needed. The imperial army had found success. As of this afternoon, the British army had surrendered Hong Kong, and most of the island was under imperial control.
Natsuo’s eyes had taken in scenes of destruction when they first landed, and he knew the fighting hadn’t been pretty. The crumbling buildings, cratered streets, and dead bodies were his first view of war. It was hard for him to believe that only weeks ago the streets had surged with crowds of men and women going to work, taking leisurely rides in rickshaws, or being driven around in fast limousines.
Now the job given to Natsuo and others was to intern the prisoners. There would be no more teatime or afternoons at the racetrack for these British chaps, nor for the Dutch, Australians, or Canadians who also called the island home.
Natsuo hurried his steps and scanned the countryside surrounding the village of Stanley. Picturesque cottages dotted the island’s hillsides. An odd mix of European settlers and Chinese scurried up the dirt road, seeking refuge from the advancing imperial army. But it was too late. There would be no more running.
A bad taste rose in Natsuo’s mouth as he spied the British flag waving in the distance. The West had dominated the East long enough. Within minutes, the flag of his fatherland would wave proudly in its stead.
Ten days of fighting. That was all it took to twist the reins of control away from British hands. Natsuo stiffened his shoulders and walked toward the British soldiers’ quarters. His jaw tensed when he considered the British surrender. Only those without honor would give up so easily. Anyone in the imperial army knew it was better to die fighting than to surrender in shame. The fools. Weak and timid fools.
Natsuo paused as a woman’s cries carried over the rumble of approaching jeeps. With a quick turn of his head, he noticed two children hovering outside the nearest cottage door. The screams echoed from inside.
He moved in the direction of the children. The young boy and girl cowered by the door but did not run. With a quick kick, Natsuo struck the door with his booted foot. It swung open, falling halfway off the hinges. He moved inside.
Two young imperial army soldiers stood over a woman cowering in the corner. She was English and beautiful. The men screamed at her in Japanese, asking where she kept her valuables. It was obvious that she couldn’t understand a word they were saying. One soldier slapped the woman, whipping the blows back and forth across her face with all the strength he possessed while yelling in Japanese. Sudden anger radiated through Natsuo’s frame. Their mission was to intern the people, not to plunder them.
With his right hand, Natsuo grabbed the collar of the soldier. He twisted the fabric in his fist, cinching the man’s neck. The man gasped and clawed at Natsuo’s hand. Natsuo pushed him outside and released his grip. The second soldier scurried out too.
“Stay here!” Natsuo called back to the woman. Somehow the children had made it through the door past him. They now hovered at the woman’s side.
Natsuo slammed the broken door behind him and approached the men. Although he was no higher rank than these others, they waited. Fear filled their gazes as they glanced at his interpreter’s uniform. The man on the left quivered like a girl. Weakling. Natsuo inched closer until his face bore down on them both.
“Never,” he hissed in Japanese, “dishonor a woman like that. Now go!” Both men scurried away, joining the groups of soldiers who hurried up the road.
Honor. Did these soldiers not understand?
He marched back into the room. The children had vanished. The woman now stood, eyes wide, and wiped the blood that flowed from her split lip. Then she attempted to straighten her dress that had been torn at the collar. At the sight of her creamy white shoulder, Natsuo’s thoughts took him back to American girls who’d walked the campus in their short-sleeved spring dresses. He quickly glanced away.
“Those soldiers will never touch you again.”
The strength in the woman’s voice surprised him. “You—you speak English? American English?”
Natsuo nodded but refused to meet her gaze. “I studied in United States.” He would say no more. “You stay here. I will guard your door until it is time to leave.”
He moved toward the door but not before catching a glimpse of disbelief in the British woman’s gaze.
Natsuo squared his shoulders, tightened his hand around the bayonet, and willed himself to wash all thoughts of those beautiful American students, of this equally beautiful British woman, out of his mind. He had a duty to fulfill. For his country and his people.
PART TWO
“I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope.”
Lamentations 3:19–21 NIV
Fourteen
MACARTHUR IN THE FIELD
Manila, Thursday, Dec. 25 (AP)—United States Army forces with Gen. Douglas MacArthur personally in the field staved off Japanese advances toward Manila from both the north and south this Christmas Day, but the invaders continued to land in such numbers that it was obvious the battle for the Philippine capital was under way. Consistent Japanese aerial activity in the provinces obviously was designed to disrupt communications and prevent American and Filipino reinforcements from reaching the battle zones.
Excerpt from the New York Times, December 25, 1941
After a week without a bath, a grin filled Dan’s face when he discovered a small creek running along the outskirts of their new jungle camp. The sun had just begun to set, yet the air was warm, and the water even warmer. If not for the constant booming of the enemy’s big guns, the scene would have been tranquil. Dan slid out of his clothes and pounded them on a nearby boulder just as he’d seen local women do. Yet his eyes remained alert on the jungle around him. Despite the warm water, a shiver ran up his spine.
The dirty clothes clouded the murky water even more, and when they finally looked clean, he scrubbed his body with his hands, dipping his hair into the cool water and running his callused fingers through it as best he could.
“What I’d give for soap and a soft, fluffy towel,” he commented to one of the soldiers who’d joined him.
“Ask them. Maybe they got some.” The soldier nodded toward a clump of trees.
Dan spotted the eyes first, then the smiles hiding behind dark-skinned hands. The native women’s shoulders shook in laughter as they watched the white-skinned men.
“What are they doing here? Don’t they realize how close we are to the front lines?” Dan climbed from the creek and slid into his wet clothes, attempting to ignore his audience. With his pocketknife, he poked a new hole in his belt and cinched it even tighter.
“They’re escaping the cities and villages that the Nips have taken over. I guess many of their husbands were rounded up and tortured for helping the Americans.”
“They look as bad off as we are.” Dan placed a hand over his stomach, but he had no hope of the pain easing any time soon.
“I hear our guys are having a Christmas service over in that clearing.” The young soldier pointed. “There’s no Christmas dinner, no presents, but at least I feel better to have cleaned up for the celebration.”
Dan nodded a good-bye to the soldier and headed back. The dirt around the camp was compacted and hard, with spiderweb cracks running through it. He found what appeared to be the softest spot under a large tree and sat down to watch a large crowd of soldiers circled around the army chaplain. The padre’s white tropical robe appeared like a spot of purity amongst the bedraggled soldiers.
The men’s voices lifted in harmony. “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” �
��Joy to the World,” and “Silent Night” rang out, filtering through the jungle trees in sweet melody. But this night, like the others before it, was anything but silent. The distant boom of artillery sounded, even over the unified voices.
The last song faded, and the chaplain raised his hands high to get the soldiers’ attention. For such a small man, his large voice carried over the entire camp.
“If any of you have not looked past the babe in the manger to accept Jesus as the Savior of the world, tonight is the night,” his voice rang out. “While it is true a physical enemy desires to destroy us, let us not forget the Enemy of our souls. If you would like someone to pray with you, come forward. Jesus is knocking at the door of your hearts. Won’t you let Him in?”
I’ve heard that a hundred times. Can you come up with something new? Dan watched as a large number of soldiers moved toward the priest. Others kneeled where they were. Groups of twos and threes bowed their heads in prayer. Dan both longed to join them and despised himself for feeling so needy.
He thought back to Gabe’s prayers in that Manila cathedral just a few months ago, and he wondered if the ornate building still stood. In the past week, Japanese bombers had circled Manila nearly every hour, bombing at leisure. Then, just this morning, it had been declared an open city. The Americans had barely exited the city limits when the Japanese swarmed in like fire ants over a dead carcass.
Instead of the Stars and Stripes, a white flag with a red orb waved on the high pole in the city center. Dan recalled his last view of Manila from the air. The tangled steel of gutted buildings jutted upward. Hastily thrown-up boards covered glassless windows, and the once-busy streets seemed like those of a ghost town—the residents hiding away in their homes, fearful of what would happen without the Americans to protect them.
News had arrived from MacArthur that as of tomorrow, only the peninsula of Bataan and the island of Corregidor—which lay just across the north channel of Manila Bay, a few miles south of Bataan—would be defended. Thousands of Americans and Filipinos were ordered to retreat to these areas. Yet managing to follow these orders proved to be the tough part. Bataan was mountainous and heavily forested. Only a few clearings and trails wound through the thick jungle. And a single road ran along the east side of the peninsula. Rivers and streams were plentiful, but bridges were not. Each soldier had to get to safety on his own.
Thankfully, Dan had arrived in a P-40, landing on one of the makeshift airstrips prepared for the pilots. Others had journeyed here on inter-island steamers. And some hadn’t made it at all—killed during bombing raids, or shot down from the strafing of Japanese planes. Their corpses had been left behind to rot in the jungles with no one to cry over them, let alone take time to bury them.
Dan glanced once more toward the soldiers in the clearing. Thin, filthy, some injured, and all so far from home. Is this the way God answers prayers?
Bataan had been divided up into sectors, with Filipino soldiers holding the front lines. Dan wondered how long they’d hold out.
With only seven planes remaining, there was little need for airmen. The air corps, including Dan’s outfit, had been reassigned as infantry. Most of the fighter pilots had been given old rifles from the last war and told to defend the front lines. Dan was one of the lucky ones and was put in charge of the few remaining planes. He’d do whatever it took to keep them flying. The alternative—being grounded and unable to rise above the ground warfare, with thousands of Japs streaming onto the island—scared him to death.
Dan watched as more men staggered into camp, joining the large Christmas gathering. A group of twenty Filipino soldiers emerged from a narrow jungle path. They were covered in sticky sludge—most likely from an attempt to cross a muddy river. With weary faces, they knelt before the priest and made the sign of the cross almost in unison.
Dan leaned back against a fallen log and laced his fingers behind his head. Climbing red bougainvillea ran through the trees like fire. It was the closest thing to a Christmas tree. What’s Libby doing this Christmas? Spending it with Rose and Jack? How does she celebrate the holidays? What are her traditions?
He imagined what his mother would be cooking up in her small kitchen. Most likely a goose purchased from old Farmer Landing down the street. Mashed potatoes. Pumpkin pie. His stomach growled again as he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since earlier that morning. He didn’t expect much for dinner either.
But even greater than his desire for a Christmas meal was his wish for a Christmas miracle—to keep the planes flying. Seven planes were all that remained. Seven that must hold out until help arrived.
Natsuo remained outside the English woman’s home as long as he was able, but soon he was called to the auxiliary hospital at Stanley for his assistance as a translator. When he arrived, he was surprised to find bitter fighting still going on.
St. Stephen’s College Emergency Relief Hospital had somehow ended up on the front lines at Stanley. On the way there, Natsuo was updated on the progress of overcoming the defensive lines. The first line conquered was just north of the college. The second ran through it, to just south of the hospital.
When he arrived he noted a football field at the base of the high hill. A thousand memories flooded Natsuo’s mind as he noted the goalposts and wooden stands—he pushed them all away. At the top of the hill stood St. Stephen’s College. Nearby was a small cemetery where pine trees stood an eternal guard.
Natuso’s eyes widened at the sight of the bodies of Japanese soldiers littering the hillside seemingly by the thousands. It was as if wave after wave had stormed the college, soldiers using their dead comrades’ backs as stepping-stones. He wondered if any of his friends lay among them.
Even now there was a large crew quickly removing the dead soldiers in order to have them cremated. Then, in little white boxes, their remains would be shipped back to the shrines in Japan.
An officer approached with quickened steps. “Our troops have ruptured the first line. Now we need the hospital cleared out. You must go inside and tell all those who can walk to move to the top level of the building.”
“And those who can’t walk?” Natsuo adjusted the collar of his uniform, peering at the officer.
The officer looked at Natsuo, and his lips curled into a smile. “Do not worry. They will be taken care of.”
They arrived at the building, and although the hospital had a red cross painted on its roof, a bloody battle raged outside its doors.
Natsuo watched as the Japanese commander ordered a group of soldiers to storm the building. They rushed headlong, with fixed bayonets, breaking through the door. The officer then motioned Natsuo to join them.
Natsuo marched up the steps, and just as he reached the landing a British medical officer was thrown past him—out the front door onto the lawn. The Englishman’s eyes were wild with fear, and before he had time to lift himself from the ground, half a dozen soldiers plunged bayonets into his stomach, as they’d been trained. Other medical personnel inside were dealt the same fate, and their bodies now littered the narrow hallway.
“Upstairs. Everybody who is able. Upstairs now!” Natsuo called in English, stepping over their bodies and moving from room to room. Many struggled from the beds, but a few remained too weak to move. Natsuo paused before one young soldier. His red face burned with fever. His hair was blond and fell across his forehead in sweaty clumps.
At first Natsuo thought he knew the young man. Yet, it was impossible. Natsuo’s friend had been American, not British. Still, the resemblance was remarkable.
“Somebody. Help this boy upstairs.” Natsuo motioned to two British soldiers. “Do not leave him! Take him with you.” They complied, struggling to carry the young man between them.
“The island of Hong Kong is now controlled by imperial command!” Natsuo shouted as he strode up the stairs behind the staggering prisoners. Nurses and doctors had also joined the sick in the small rooms. The collection of humanity smelled of disinfectant and filth.
; The commander arrived, and Natsuo’s eyes darted from person to person, refusing to look into a frightened face for too long.
“You are now considered prisoners of the emperor! Your needs as prisoners will be taken care of shortly. You will remain here until instructed otherwise!” Natsuo turned with movements precise enough for a drill instructor and followed the commander out of the building.
Outside, to the south, the battle-weary warriors conquered the third line of defense. Now the whole area would be under complete imperial control. Hong Kong was theirs.
Hours later, over two thousand men, women, and children were herded into a small group of buildings on the hospital campus. They’d come from the village of Stanley, the hospital, and the housing around the college. Japanese soldiers barked orders. Lowly gendarmes joined in, pricking the prisoners with their bayonets.
As Natsuo continued to shout commands to the new arrivals, his CO approached with quickened steps. “Tell the nurses they will be shown preferential treatment. Three to a room. My men will be in to check on them later.”
“Yes, sir!”
Natsuo accepted the instructions without a blink of an eye, but inwardly he remembered the English woman assaulted in her cottage earlier that morning. Would these nurses be treated the same? Was that their “preferential treatment”?
He pushed those thoughts from his mind, then marched to the nurses. After relating the news, he watched as soldiers herded them into one wing of the hospital. Soon female screams filled the air. Outside, the cries of children being hustled into nearby buildings joined the chaos.
Hearing their cries made Natsuo think of his sister’s young son and daughter. He’d gotten to know them well while living in California. Thankfully, they were safe. No armies threatened their coast. Most likely they were spending the day preparing for their Christmas celebration. Although his sister continued in the Shinto religion, she’d raised her children as Americanized as possible, celebrating the Christian holiday with fervor.
Dawn of a Thousand Nights Page 12
