Dawn of a Thousand Nights

by Tricia N. Goyer

  As he strode back to the commander, eager for his next orders, Natsuo passed a young boy, obviously lost. Tears streamed down the child’s face, and he cried out for his father. Natsuo took two steps toward him, then paused, biting his lip. He watched helplessly as the boy caught his foot on a tree root, tripped, and fell. The boy’s chin knocked against the ground, splitting it open. With an angry shout, a Japanese guard lifted the boy by his hair and pushed him forward with a booted kick.

  Natsuo looked away. He clenched his fists and continued forward. This was not what he had imagined war would be like.

  Dan realized he’d dozed off when a man’s voice spoke through his foggy dreams. “What about you? Do you need prayers tonight, son?”

  He opened his eyes and was surprised to see the white-robed padre sitting by his side.

  Dan rubbed the sleep from his face and scooted into a sitting position. “Don’t know if they’d do much good.”

  The chaplain didn’t speak but instead peered into Dan’s eyes as if he could read a story inside them. It was no use trying to hide the truth from this man. Dan shrugged and spoke the words he’d bottled up for so long.

  “I trusted the army. I obeyed each order given. I flew every plane they deemed safe and left those I love for this cause. So where are they?” Dan jutted his chin in the direction of the harbor. “We heard that more forces were due to arrive. More food and medicine. That was weeks ago.” He slumped back against the tree. “Nah, I don’t need prayers. Don’t think about God much.”

  “So because men you respected and trusted have let you down, you have no need for God?” The priest’s words were sterner than Dan expected. He even noted a flash of challenge in the man’s gaze.

  “Obviously, if God is who He claims, then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “And how much do you know about God, son?”

  “Well, my girlfriend, Libby, and I have discussed that before. She was raised going to church, and she prays sometimes. She has a friend, George, who works at the airfield. He talks to her about God. Hey, I was raised in church too, but it doesn’t seem very relevant today. Do you think ‘loving your enemies’ applies to our situation? Should we throw a welcoming party for the Japs? That religion was for another time, another place.”

  The priest lifted a single eyebrow. “Amazing. For someone who doesn’t think about God, you seem to have it all figured out.”

  Dan couldn’t help but soften to this man. “So what’s your answer? If I don’t have it right, what am I missing?”

  The priest glanced in the direction of the men still circled up. Many still kneeled with heads bowed. Others had united their voices, singing another hymn.

  “Sometimes it’s in the darkest places that Christ’s love can truly shine. And during circumstances like these, even the most rock-solid hearts soften to Jesus.” He gave a sad smile. “I can preach a hundred sermons, but nothing gets a guy thinking about God faster than having an artillery shell land a few feet in front of him.”

  Dan crossed his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying God put us here so more guys would seek Him? He put us in this horrible spot so we’d pray more? That doesn’t sound like a very loving God to me.”

  The priest rose and laid a gentle hand on Dan’s shoulder. “No, son. Men put us here. But God will never shy away from a good opportunity.”

  Fifteen

  SOUTH PACIFIC WAR DEPENDS ON FLIERS

  London, Jan. 2 (AP)—A British spokesman declared today that British and American fleets cannot be expected to operate effectively in the South Pacific until they can obtain adequate air support.

  “Without an umbrella of protecting planes from carriers or land bases,” the spokesman said, “warships would be at the mercy of Japanese aircraft from dozens of bases in the Philippines, Indo-China, and Malaya.”

  Excerpt from the New York Times, January 3, 1942

  Dan strode along the airstrip they called Little Pilar, the morning sunlight already warm on the top of his head. Along the strip rice-straw had been arranged in windrows to hide its true purpose. The planes themselves were hidden in wooded areas to the north and south. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and headed back to his palm-log and sandbag dugout. Last night it had been his turn watering the strip to keep the dust down. At least it was something to do. Even worse were those nights when he lay awake with the endless ants and lizards crawling over him, sure that every sound was that of Jap soldiers closing in.

  Suddenly, the air around him began to vibrate as the ominous sound of dive-bombers carried over the hill from the west. He sprinted to the dugout less than a hundred feet away, his feet getting sucked down by the recently watered-down dirt.

  Three Jap dive-bombers crested the hill, and Dan prayed they didn’t see him. He passed the camouflaged kitchen hut as he ran, noting that the foxhole nearby was already packed full of men.

  The whistle of bombs made him run faster. He heard them falling, and the ground under his feet quaked like the footsteps of a giant gaining on him. For each bomb that hit, his body bounced, lifting him from the ground.

  Then the pounding moved in front of him. One explosion, then two. Dan shielded his eyes and gasped. He staggered forward to his dugout, pressing his hands to his ears, sure he’d lost his hearing.

  He’d barely reached the hole when a large banyan tree snapped, slamming into the ground where he’d stood just seconds before. Dan hunkered down next to Gabe. Somehow it made him feel better to be with someone on God’s good side.

  After a few minutes the pounding stopped. Dan placed a hand to his chest, attempting to calm his thumping heart. Then he laughed, sucking in a breath and leaning back against the dugout wall.

  “That is about the most nervous laugh I have ever heard.” Gabe couldn’t hide the quaver in his voice. “Looks like they found us. Thankfully, we’re heading out.” Then it was Gabe’s turn to laugh. “I came here to find you, to tell you the news—but it looks as if you found me.”

  “New assignment?” Dan shook his head, causing clumps of dirt to tumble onto the floor of the dugout. “The day’s hardly begun, and for some reason I’m ready for it to be over.”

  “They need us to head to northern Bataan to check out the movement of Jap troops.”

  “Is recon all we’re good for?” Dan stood and brushed off his fatigues. “Isn’t there anything we can blow up?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Too dangerous. They need our planes to last awhile.”

  Dan closed his eyes, his body suddenly weary at the thought of taking his plane up. Weary from being on constant alert. Tired of not being able to walk a few steps without fear of being blown into pieces.

  “Just think, I used to be friends with a Jap.” Dan ran a hand down his face, scratching his scraggly beard grown from necessity.

  “Oh, yeah?” Gabe climbed out, then offered Dan a hand and pulled him up. “I didn’t know that. When you were a kid?”

  “Nah. Just a few years ago, at college. He was in a few of my classes, and we teamed up together to do a poetry presentation.” Dan smiled. “He was okay. Loved the U.S. and playing football with us. Wonder where he is today.”

  Dan stepped over the fallen tree. The fury of the bombing was evident everywhere he looked. Trees had been stripped from the bomb blasts. A shell crater steamed not fifty yards from their dugout. In the distance, wrecked equipment was strewn over the airfield. “Who knows? Maybe he’s one of those jerks bombing us right now.”

  “If he is, I’d like to meet up with him—in the air. I’m with you—recon is for the birds. I need a little excitement to make me alive again.” Gabe cocked his head and dug his hands deep in his trouser pockets. “Besides, when I get home I want to be able to tell my boys that their daddy was a hero. He didn’t just sit around in some foxhole.” Gabe grasped Dan’s shoulder. “I’d rather die than not go home a hero, wouldn’t you?”

  As he stared at the Murray Parade Grounds, Natsuo was glad they’d left the carnage of St. Stephen’s Co
llege behind them. It was bad enough witnessing the wandering women and children, who seemed fearful of their new positions as prisoners. Soldiers rounded them up, taking them to former brothels and squalid tenements—their new homes. Some women were dressed in simple clothes, others in gowns and fur coats. The latter were the colonial elite—wives of businessmen, government officials, and military personnel. Overnight they’d become captives, caged like animals.

  Japan had been at war with America and Britain less than a month, and it had been only weeks since the Japanese attack on Hong Kong. Now look at what had become of her residents.

  Natsuo’s gaze continued to search the parade grounds until he caught sight of the woman from the cottage. She looked taller than she had that day, stronger too, as she strode through the hysteria, attempting to bring order to the chaos.

  “Line up. Older boys back there. Women and children to the front of the line,” she called.

  He wished he could approach her. Speak to her in her native tongue. He wondered if she would thank him for helping her that day. As he watched her every move, Natsuo noted that her blonde hair, which had been coiled on her head the first time he saw her, now hung around her shoulders in dirty curls. Still, she looked beautiful.

  “What are you doing here? They need you at headquarters!” The voice of the officer interrupted Natsuo’s thoughts.

  Natsuo turned and bowed low. “Yes, sir. Right away.” He turned to hurry toward the headquarters.

  “Natsuo!”

  He paused and turned, gazing upon the officer’s shiny shoes, not daring to look into his face.

  “They are vermin. Remember that. Do not let an ounce of mercy into your heart.”

  “No, sir.” Natsuo bowed low again. “Never, sir.”

  Six P-40s took off from Little Pilar Field for observation. Dan led them, his head pounding from lack of food and sleep.

  “Hey, Dan. You see that?” It was Gabe’s voice coming through the radio. “To your left.”

  Dan glanced over and spotted the six-plane formation of enemy twin-engine bombers flying over Manila Bay. They were heading toward the peninsula. He let out a moan. “Haven’t they done enough damage for one day?”

  “What do you think? Should we swing around and take a bite out of them?”

  “Hey, you were the one talking about the importance of keeping our planes safe for recon. Remember our orders?”

  Gabe’s voice crackled through the radio. “I was also the one talking about returning home a hero.”

  Suddenly Gabe’s plane broke from formation, swinging around to the direction of the bombers.

  “Gabe, what are you doing?”

  “Going to shoot down your Jap friend. Whadja think?”

  Dan cursed under his breath. Sure, he too had gone against orders more than once, strafing when he should just be observing, but this didn’t seem like the right time to be goofing around. Hadn’t they come close enough to death for one day?

  As Dan craned his neck and locked his vision on the distant formation, common sense told him to leave Gabe to his own devices.

  Yet if anything happened to his friend …

  “Let him go, Dan. We’ve got a job to do.” Mike Wright, one of the other pilots, spoke through the radio.

  “Sorry, can’t do that. You guys go ahead. I’m going to babysit Gabe.” Dan swung his plane in a wide turn, just as Gabe neared the Japanese formation. Then, as if watching it in slow motion, fire burst from the Jap’s tail gun, hitting its mark. Fire erupted on Gabe’s right wing.

  Dan held his breath. Bail out! Bail out!

  The plane plummeted toward the ocean, and just when he thought there was no hope, he watched Gabe’s body separate from the diving craft. In an instant, the parachute filled with air, like a large dandelion puff in the cloudless sky.

  Dan moved his plane in the direction of the parachute and circled, keeping his eyes open for any sign of the bombers returning. It seemed as if hours, not minutes, passed as he watched Gabe float downward. And as he circled, every horror story of parachuting pilots being shot out of the sky filled his head.

  “Curse you, Gabe. This was not your day to die.” Dan circled one more time, finally seeing Gabe hit the water a few hundred yards off the coastal village of Orani. Thankfully, Orani was still in American hands. Dan continued to watch as a small boat was launched and Gabe was pulled aboard. When he turned his plane toward the direction of the others, they were already returning.

  “So nice of you to be around to lead us back,” Mike’s voice said through the radio static. “Where’s Gabe’s plane?”

  “The plane is now in the bay. Gabe decided to take a little swim. Thankfully, he was fished out.”

  As they headed for Little Pilar, Dan spotted smoke and fire rising from the airfield.

  “Abort landing. Abort landing. The field’s under attack!” Dan shouted into his radio.

  No wonder the bombers hadn’t bothered finishing off the parachuting pilot. They had a more important mission. From a distance, Dan watched as the Japanese planes circled, bombing at leisure. He thought of all his buddies who remained on the ground. Remembered them huddled in the foxholes next to the open-air kitchen. The first bombing raid had been just an appetizer for what was to come. There was no way those men could survive this.

  Dan’s stomach knotted, knowing that if it weren’t for this short assignment he would have been there with them.

  “Abort landing. Head back to Orani! There’s a small field there. Mike, you lead the landing.”

  “Will do. Follow me in, boys.”

  The radio was quiet for the remainder of the flight to Orani, and Dan knew each of them was considering how close they’d been to losing their planes … and their lives.

  Orani. It looked as if he’d be meeting up with Gabe tonight after all.

  Sixteen

  OVER RADIO TO BATAAN TRAVELED A SONG OF

  “OLD DOUG MACARTHUR JUST FIGHTIN’ ALONG”

  Schenectady, N.Y., Feb. 21—A new General MacArthur song which will be a feature of the annual dinner March 7 of the Inner Circle, New York political writers’ organization, was sent by shortwave this morning at 3:15 Pacific war time (6:15 Eastern war time) to General MacArthur’s forces from KGEI, the General Electric radio station in San Francisco.

  Fightin’ out there in the Bataan jungle

  Fightin’ out there in the green hell’s heart

  Shootin’ down Japs from the dawn till sunset.

  Makin’ ’em die if they don’t retreat….

  With his men he sweat and strain

  Bodies all weary and wracked with pain

  Ships get sunk and planes get downed

  But Sam he wouldn’t give an inch of ground.

  Excerpt from the New York Times, February 22, 1942

  The envelope in Libby’s hands trembled as she slid her finger under the flap to open it. The return address read Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Lukens—Dan’s parents. Before he’d left, Dan had mentioned that if he couldn’t contact her directly, news would arrive from his mother. Libby had chided him at the time. Of course he’d write. Unless …

  She unfolded the letter and slumped onto the sofa.

  Dear Libby,

  I wish it were under better circumstances that I write this letter. Daniel wrote home about you often, and both his father and I were eager to meet you and welcome you into our family. That was before his assignment in the Philippines, of course.

  I heard of the bombing of Pearl Harbor while in church. I immediately thanked God that my boy was no longer there, only to hear a few hours later that bases all around the Philippines had been bombed. The worst is not knowing.

  Our thoughts also turned to you, and we wonder how you fared during the attack at Pearl Harbor. We both hope this letter finds you well.

  My Alex contacted the War Department, but they have little information. Communication from the Philippines is sparse, and letters or postcards sent by soldiers haven’t been able to get through
. The War Department cannot tell us which soldiers are dead or injured. My husband is not a religious man, but I pray daily that Daniel is alive.

  If you come to California, please look us up. We have a humble home and lead a simple life, but we would welcome you with open arms.

  I hope this letter arrives in a timely fashion, although it seems all I have to offer is more uncertainty. I pray the good Lord will also give you peace that passes all understanding. Somehow my mother’s-heart believes my son is still alive. I only hope it is so.

  With much care,

  Ima Jean Lukens

  Libby read the letter a few more times. It was written by was someone who also loved Dan. Someone who prayed for him, and for Libby too.

  Libby refolded the letter and stuffed it into the envelope, trying to imagine Ima Jean. Did she have blue eyes and blonde hair like Dan? Libby was certain Dan had her tender heart; she could sense it in the letter.

  When Libby returned stateside, she would look this woman up. And perhaps find out just what a “mother’s-heart” was all about.

  Libby placed the letter in the drawer next to Dan’s, and a peace settled over her. No news was better than bad news, after all.

  She strode to her desk and sat with pen and paper in front of her.

  February 23, 1942

  Dear Mrs. Lukens,

  Thank you for your letter. I’m hoping next time your note will have news that Dan is alive and well. I pray for this too.

  If Dan told you of our love, I’m sure you might question how two people who knew each other for such a short time could have such a deep heart-connection. I can assure you that our love is true. I can also tell you that I will wait for him. No matter how many dark nights must pass between us, I will wait until your son returns to me.

  “Libby. Libby Conners, come to the window!”

  Libby sighed and placed her pen on the desk.