Dawn of a Thousand Nights

by Tricia N. Goyer

  Jane Eads

  Excerpt from the Washington Post, September 17, 1942

  “They have got to be joking.” Ginger rose from the desk in the small classroom and placed her hands on her hips.

  Nancy and the instructor had just left the room, and the black-haired pilot wasted no time expressing her thoughts.

  “We’re only qualified for cadets and trainers? I’ve heard that in Britain the ATA girls are flying more than a hundred types of planes, and all we’re going to be doing is shuttling these small potatoes?”

  July joined in, but without Ginger’s penchant for drama. “It’s bad enough we have to spend every morning going over course work that we once taught.”

  “Yes, but in the afternoons, we will begin to ferry planes from factories to the bases where they’re needed.” Libby tapped the pencil to her lips. “It’s a start anyway.”

  “Correction. We get to ferry only every other day.” Ginger paced to the front of the small classroom, glancing at the bulletin board with pinups of the recent articles about the WAFS. “We still have flight instruction on the odd days. It’s just not fair. They’re spreading out over a month the same training that male pilots finish in nine days. Sometimes I just wonder if this whole thing was one big publicity stunt to make women feel they’re valuable in the war effort.”

  Ruth raised her hands, attempting to calm Ginger. “Just because we won’t be ferrying pursuits and bombers now doesn’t mean it won’t happen eventually. We’re under a three-month probation. From there, who knows? And as for the training …” Ruth sighed. “We all know the stuff. Why don’t we just grin and bear it?”

  “Besides,” Betty interjected, a twinkle in her eyes, “I overheard the colonel telling Nancy that our barracks are ready. After today’s class we get to move in.”

  Later that afternoon, the passel of women pilots descended upon Bachelor Officer Quarters 14, like sorority girls newly arrived at college. Libby climbed from the jeep, and her heart sank as she took in the pea green structure that looked like a two-story railway car derailed in a muddy, treeless field. It was a long way from the tropical beauty of Hawaii.

  She dropped the satchel to her feet and turned to Annabelle. “Home sweet home.”

  Annabelle lowered her chin and gazed at the structure with cocked eyebrows. “We’re paying $4.50 a week for this?”

  The women quickly toured their new home. The large bathroom featured toilets and shower stalls without doors. There was also a line of urinals.

  “Great, just what we need.” Ruth scrunched up her nose.

  There was a large main common area, dozens of small rooms with two beds in each, and two phones—one upstairs, one down.

  Libby and Annabelle soon found a room to share. Annabelle stuck her pinky through a crack in the pine-studded walls. “Libby, look. I can see through these gaps. Can you imagine what it will be like when it rains? Or wait. When it snows?”

  Libby settled onto an iron cot with a sagging mattress. She looked around, noting the two dressers and a rod for hanging clothes. “Let’s just hope they hand out snowsuits with our uniforms.”

  Betty entered, pinching her lips together in a perfect imitation of the colonel. “If the WAFS are to succeed, your personal conduct must be above reproach. No male visitors inside the barracks.” She shook her finger and deepened her voice. “There will be no rumors that my pilots are ‘playing house’ in government property.”

  Libby cast a sidelong glance at Annabelle, and they burst into laughter. Libby jumped to her feet and saluted. “Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

  Annabelle followed suit. “Me too.” She lowered her salute and leaned in close. “If you haven’t heard, we’re spoken for, sir. Our men are off winning this war.”

  “Very good. Carry on.” With a salute and an about-face, Betty left the room.

  Libby instantly sobered. “I hope that Dan is still fighting. At least in spirit.”

  Annabelle crossed the room and sat down beside Libby. “We are going to win this war, you know. And as for our guys, they’re going to make it back just fine.”

  “Do you hear from Jeff much?” Libby leaned back against the wall, feeling a cool breeze from outside hit her neck.

  “Last I heard he was in London. He’s been over there for nearly two years—joined the Eagle Squadron even before we were in the war. But as of last month they were incorporated into the Army Air Corps.”

  “It must be hard—being apart for so long. It’s already been a year since I’ve seen Dan. I’m not sure how much longer I can take.”

  Annabelle fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “Harder than I ever thought. At least I hear from Jeff—he’s good about sending letters and v-mail. It would be worse not knowing.”

  “You want to see some photos of Dan?” Libby got her satchel and pulled out her snapshots from Hawaii. She spread them before Annabelle on the thin army blanket. “Here’s one of us on the beach. And one of Dan in his uniform.” Libby peered over Annabelle’s shoulder. “Doesn’t he have the best smile?”

  “Yes, very handsome indeed. You two look so happy.” She handed the pictures back to Libby. “He looks like a nice guy. Tell me why you fell in love with him.”

  Libby laughed as she took some thumbtacks from among her things and tacked a photo of Dan to the wall. Then she sank down onto the bed.

  “You mean besides the fact that he’s a handsome flier?” She took a strand of brown hair and twirled it between her fingers. “Dan made me feel admired and appreciated. I didn’t have to prove myself. He encouraged me without making me feel pressured.” Libby paused and closed her eyes. “I’ve never felt safer than when I was with him.”

  Annabelle’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears.

  “I wish I knew for sure that he was … okay.”

  Her friend rose and pulled a handkerchief from her suitcase. “Oh, Libby. I’m glad to know there’s someone else who understands. I’ll remember to pray for your Dan when I pray for Jeff.”

  Libby flopped backward onto her pillow and spread her arms wide. “I’d give anything to know how Dan was doing. To let him know I still love him, and I’m waiting for his safe return.”

  Dan’s pocketknife, the one from Tony, had carved fourteen marks on one of the wooden beams on the floor, representing the days they’d been in the hold of the Toko Maru. Unable to see them in the dark, he caressed the last line with his fingers, realizing that perhaps it might be the final mark.

  The engines felt different; they had slowed almost to a gentle purr.

  From the stir of bodies, Dan knew the others sensed it too.

  “Charlie,” a voice called out, “what’s the news?”

  A few days into the trip, they’d discovered that one of the men, Charlie Patrickson, knew how to speak Japanese—or at least could understand it. Since then, Charlie had been their connection to the world outside the hold, creeping up the ladder to listen to the Japanese sailors at work.

  Even though Dan couldn’t see Charlie in the dark, he could hear the sound of his boots on the ladder. Japanese voices called out, as orders were passed around the ship. The GIs in the hold were silent, waiting for the interpretation.

  “Gosh dang, we aren’t in Japan. We’re at a place called Takao, Formosa. We’re docking here to make repairs.”

  Formosa! Formosa was only six hundred miles from Manila—a day’s flight in his pursuit. And it had taken them fourteen days to get this far? Dan cursed under his breath and banged the back of his head against the wall.

  They could hear Charlie’s descent on the ladder. “And a good thing we’re stopping too,” he declared. “I think the only thing binding this piece of rust together is the coat of paint they applied before leaving Manila.”

  The engines quieted, and voices around the hold rose in disgust.

  “Wait. There’s more,” Charlie called out. “We’ll be getting out. They need workers while the ship’s getting fixed.” He stopped talking as the hatch opened.

>   Bright sunlight flooded in. Dan shielded his eyes against the sudden glare, stood, and stretched his legs. “Anything. I’ll do any type of work to get out of this place.”

  He reached a hand toward Gabe, pulling him up.

  “Me too,” Gabe groaned. “Especially if they add in a bath.”

  Dan shuffled forward, feeling pressed on all sides by foul-smelling bodies. “Since you’re dreaming, you might as well wish for hot water and soap.”

  With as much strength as they could muster, the men shuffled forward, chins lifted, eyes eager for a view of the outside world.

  Libby sat in the ready room and stared at the forms spread before her on the table. One thing she learned was all AAF planes had a pocket on the right side of the cockpit for Form 1. It listed each plane’s takeoff point, landing point, and duration of flight. The other side of Form 1 was Form 1-A. A red diagonal line anywhere on the page meant the plane had a defect. If there was a red X, then the plane was unfit to fly. She flipped over a few pages, then looked at her notes, trying to remember which exact information went into each form.

  “Having fun?” Annabelle peeked over Libby’s shoulder.

  Libby craned her neck, trying to loosen up the stiff muscles. “Just trying to figure this out. There are all these mysterious blanks … for the serial number, altitude, wind direction.”

  Annabelle took the seat next to Libby and spread out her forms. “Not counting the forms for weather delays. Or the RONS—remain overnight forms.”

  Ruth walked over from where she’d been sitting cross-legged in a chair, her nose stuck in a thick romance novel. “Ron? Oh, I remember him.” She pressed the novel to her chest. “Yeah, he did want me to stay overnight on more than one occasion. But I told him absolutely not. I have standards.”

  The women were laughing as Ginger strode into the room and settled into a chair. “Just like high school,” she said. “Are we talking about boys again?”

  Ruth placed a hand on her hip. “How did you guess?”

  “Did you hear about the new officers’ club that’s supposed to open next month? They’ll have a bar, and tables for cards, and dances once a month. I’ve been dying for a drink. This place is dryer than my granny’s house on the Sabbath.”

  “The dances sound fun.” Annabelle stacked her forms into a neat pile. “But I really don’t drink.”

  Ginger kicked her feet up on the table. “That’s right; you’re one of those religious types. I saw you with your Good Book the other morning.” She pulled a cigarette from the pack in her flight suit.

  Libby felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Ginger, what was that for? Annabelle doesn’t act like she’s any better than the rest of us. We’re all in this together.”

  Ginger flicked the cigarette to the table, rose, and pointed her finger directly in Libby’s face. “You should talk. Just because you happened to be in the right place at the wrong time, now you’re the glory girl of the whole unit.” She moved toward the doorway, then turned to look back at the others. “I want to fly, that’s it. I’m not here for slumber parties and girl talk.”

  Ginger slammed the door behind her, and no one moved as they listened to her stomp down the hall.

  Ruth placed a hand on Libby’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. I think she’s afraid to get too close to anyone. She doesn’t want to get hurt again.”

  “Hurt again?” Annabelle said. “What happened?”

  “Don’t you know?” Ruth glanced toward the door. “Ginger’s husband and little girl were killed in an automobile accident just a few months before she got her WAF telegram in the mail. She was in the truck with them, but she hardly got a scratch. Someone told me she wasn’t planning on coming, but she couldn’t handle living in her empty home.”

  Annabelle picked up the flattened cigarette and plopped it in the trash. “Poor Ginger.” She crossed her arms tight to her chest. “I can’t imagine losing one of my little ones. Knowing I’d never see their smile—or hold them in my arms again.”

  Libby sank down into the chair, angry with herself for letting her mouth run loose. “All I can see is Dan’s face. His smile. Boy, do I feel like a jerk.”

  “Just when you think you’ve got someone figured out, you discover things aren’t as they seem at all …” Annabelle stood behind Libby and placed a hand on her shoulder. “All of us have hurts, some of us deep ones. Poor Ginger.”

  “I guess it’s easier to try to pretend the pain never happened,” Ruth added.

  “But it never goes away.” Libby patted Annabelle’s hand. “The pain has a way of resurrecting itself when you aren’t looking.”

  Twenty-Seven

  AXIS GOALS: THE UNKNOWN FACTORS

  For the Axis this is a war of expansion. Our enemies have made no secret of that fact. Germany and Japan, densely populated industrial nations, set out with brutal frankness toward the conquest of (1) essential raw materials needed for industrial and military self-sufficiency and (2) manpower to furnish not only crude labor but also markets for industrial products.

  At the Japanese end of the Axis, the raw material and population conquest seems to have been put through to a degree even greater than Germany has attained. Japan now has everything needed for self-sufficiency, including oil. Territorial and political expansion has been sufficient to set up a great empire, provided Japan can go over to the defensive and gain the time needed to organize and consolidate the gains.

  Japan is potentially a tremendous mass producer, but at this moment lacks the plant to compete on even output terms with Britain, America, or Germany.

  Paul Schubert

  Excerpt from the Washington Post, October 14, 1942

  A lone seagull landed a few feet from Natsuo as he stood at the dock, watching the blindfolded American GIs stagger off the small ship, awed that almost five hundred of them had been packed in the hold. They tottered like cripples and stank worse than barn animals. It was hard for Natsuo to believe they were the same people he’d once lived amongst.

  Then he reminded himself of the truth. These soldiers were the sewage runoff from a filthy nation. Scum from a country of impurities. Natsuo had heard that phrase often during training. He turned his back and covered his nose at the sour scent of their bodies.

  In contrast, his own men, the guards escorting these prisoners, looked beautiful in their pressed green uniforms. Their black hair and golden skin were examples of the purity of the Japanese race.

  We are pure. We are untainted by intermarriage, un-contaminated by immigration. Natsuo puffed out his chest, proud to be Japanese. Our land is the Land of the Gods, which His Majesty the emperor so graciously rules. A land to be protected from such filth as this.

  The words of a warrior’s song ran through his mind, and he hummed along.

  Even if the enemy comes in the millions,

  They’re all a pack of fools,

  And even if they’re not a pack of fools,

  We’ve got justice on our side.

  Natsuo squared his shoulders, ready to return to work. He’d been allowed to return home to his father’s noodle shop for three days upon his arrival on the mainland. Everyone rejoiced over his work for the emperor, and many neighbors asked the same question. “Have you seen the Kichiku Bei-Ei, the American-English devils?”

  Their question was a test. The entire neighborhood had been aware of his schooling in America and knew that his sister still lived there. Natsuo said what he had to. Said what would soon be true.

  “I haven’t yet, but when I see them I promise this: I will kill the American animal. After all, who better to hunt prey than one who knows their habits?”

  Dan’s head lifted, and he fought the fog that clouded his mind, hearing the ship’s horn blare two short and one long blast. The shrill was followed by loud Japanese voices giving commands.

  In addition to the voices, they heard more motors and horns from other ships. They felt the jarring of a pilot boat leading them into the harbor. Finally, the rolling motio
n of the water ceased.

  Voices and movements grew louder as the hatch opened. Dan pushed to the front, hoping Gabe was behind him. He blinked against the sun as he climbed to the top of the ladder. A Japanese guard pressed on his shoulders, keeping him from climbing completely onto the deck. Dan took a breath of clean air, exhaling the foulness from the hole. The guard slipped a blindfold over his eyes. Dan struggled onto the deck the best he could, his movements sluggish.

  The first time they exited from the ship’s hold had been on Formosa. There they’d worked for nearly two weeks on a detail picking bananas, loading them into another of the ship’s cargo bins—one that was far cleaner than the hold they were locked in. The worst part had been the constant eyes upon them as they worked. Dan hadn’t been able to take one bite of the delicious fruit.

  Another three weeks of transport, and this was the real thing. Japan. If Dan’s calculations were correct, it was October 14. Less than one year ago he’d arrived in Manila; now—according to Charlie—they were at a place called Moji, Japan.

  Dan instinctively stretched out his arms as the guard led him off the ship. He felt the downward slope of the gangplank and reached for a rail to steady him. There was no railing, but his fingers caught on the tattered shirt of a man walking beside him.

  “Steady there.”

  The voice was Gabe’s. They were still together.

  The damp coolness of the coastal valley surprised him. As they walked, Dan’s ears perked up to the sounds of the harbor. He could hear the rumble of large ships—perhaps even aircraft carriers and destroyers. Now he understood why the Japs had blindfolded them. He also heard the whispers of female Japanese voices. He tried to imagine what their pitiful group looked like to the women—emaciated bodies, tattered clothes, filthy and stinking.

  When the blindfold was finally removed, Dan looked around, taking in the streets of the Japanese neighborhood. The small houses were bamboo with thatched roofs. A few municipal-type brick buildings intermingled with the houses. Automobiles were parked along the paved streets, and red-and-white flags lined the roadway, whipping in the wind like snake tongues.