A Pledge of Silence (17 page)

The boat pitched violently to starboard, choking and stuttering, waves dousing Margie and the others. The captain adjusted the throttle, and the craft leaped forward again. With seawater sloshing around her ankles and winds lashing so strong at her face she could not catch a breath, Margie clung to the boat like a barnacle.

The Zero reemerged from the clouds, and the captain zigzagged the boat through the water. The plane swooped low, and trained its guns on it. Hearing a blast of gunfire, Margie squatted down and waited for a hissing bullet to find her. Instead, the Japanese fighter exploded in midair. A fireball, it crashed into the churning water.

“Score one for the United States!” screamed Miss Kermit in a moment of recovered energy, and all the women cheered. The boat nosed into shore under the protection of Corregidor’s formidable anti-aircraft artillery.

Chapter 13

Corregidor, April – July 1942

The downed Japanese plane hit the bay with a thud and a sizzle, blurring Margie’s first sight of Corregidor through a rain of burning debris. “Impregnable,” the captain shouted over the roar of the boat’s engine. He pointed to the forested island. “It’s called the Gibraltar of the East. Artillery batteries rim the perimeter. The Japs will never take it.”

A truck picked up the nurses at the dock, rushed them to a heavily treed hill, through a massive iron gate, and into a vast tunnel. Clusters of people clapped and cheered as they climbed out. A kind-faced woman waved. “Girls, come in where it’s safe.”

An arched tunnel soared 18 feet overhead with concrete-lined floors and walls. Lamps hanging from cables provided flickering blue-mercury light, and trolley tracks running through the center disappeared into the distance. Noise bounced off the hard surfaces, creating a constant din. Even near the entrance, the air felt clammy and smelled dank.

The woman who’d welcomed them introduced herself as Lieutenant Alice Riley, Director of Nursing. She ordered medics to transport Gracie and Miss Kermit to the hospital, stat, then addressed the others. “You are standing in the Malinta Tunnel,” she told them, and expressed her relief at their safe arrival.

They followed Miss Riley through the wide main tunnel, then through a maze of smaller ones to the women’s quarters. Dozens of narrow beds sat perpendicular to the long wall. The communal bathroom had a sink, flush toilet, and a shower.

Miss Riley smiled apologetically. “It’s pretty Spartan, I’m afraid. You’ll sleep two to a bed until we get more cots in here.” She opened cupboards filled with towels, soap, shampoo, and personal items, and pointed out a stack of clothing. “Use what you need. You’ll have to take turns in the shower. I’ve ordered food. After you eat, a doctor will examine each of you, and then you can sleep until orientation. It’s at 1800 hours.”

The women’s quarters looked like a luxurious hotel to Margie. In the shower, she slathered her body with soap, reveled in the lather of shampoo, and dried off using a clean towel. Combing out her hair in front of the mirror, she saw how thin she had grown. Her eyes seemed huge in her face, and bug bites, some welted up as big as her thumb, covered her sallow skin. She picked through the clothing pile to find something wearable, then went to find the promised banquet of eggs, bacon, bananas, pineapple, toast with butter and jelly, and milk, tea, or coffee.

“I’ve found heaven,” Evelyn said, diving in.

Margie felt starved too, but when she tried to eat, the smell of the food made her stomach cramp. She nibbled on some dry toast and managed to swallow a few bites of banana. Later on, a doctor gave her calamine lotion for the bites and sulfadiazine to treat her dysentery. Achingly tired, she dropped into bed, and, despite the strange surroundings, sank immediately into a deep sleep.

She woke hours later, feeling sheltered. Sitting up, she faced a concrete wall. In the flickering light, she squinted at her watch. It read three o’clock, but in the depths of this manmade cavern, she couldn’t tell if it was morning or afternoon. Evelyn, who had shared the bed with Margie, stretched and yawned.

“What do you make of this?” Margie asked, her voice echoing.

Evelyn said, “There’s a ceiling over my head. Well, hallelujah.” She massaged a kink in her neck. “Did I have a nightmare, or did we have a wild ride in a boat?”

“We had a wild ride. Let’s look around.”

The tunnel led to a passageway crowded with uniformed nurses and soldiers mingling with Filipinos of all ages in rumpled suits or dresses, some with children in tow. The ambulatory robust, and the injured in wheelchairs, on gurneys, or hobbling on crutches swelled the throng. Margie and Evelyn joined the crowd and got pushed to an exit.

More hordes of humanity—smoking, chatting, praying—clustered outside near the tunnel entrance. As a guitarist softly strummed “To You Sweetheart, Aloha, from the Bottom of My Heart,” the people around him sang along. Everyone lifted light-deprived faces toward the life-giving sun. Margie walked toward the shoreline with its crater-pocked beaches and great twisted coils of barbed wire.

“Don’t go wandering out there,” a voice behind her said.

She turned around.

“Hi! Welcome!” Dressed in khaki, brown hair cut in a short, off-the-collar style, the nurse smiled at Margie. “The Marines have been laying barbed wire and burying land mines for weeks,” she explained. She pointed across the three-mile-wide body of water to the Bataan Peninsula. “That’s where you came from early this morning. I watched your boat from here. It was a terrific show, given the ending.”

“Where’s here?” Margie asked, still disoriented.

“The North Entrance to the Malinta Tunnel. You slept in the women’s quarters. It’s mostly nurses, but there are some wives and daughters of government muckety-mucks. Two women journalists were here last week, but they left. Amazing, isn’t it, how journalists get around? Even through the blockades? I’m Glenda, by the way.”

They shook hands. “Margie.”

Glenda pointed to an airplane overhead. “That’s Photo Joe.”

Squinting at the sky, Margie watched the Japanese reconnaissance plane circle. She recognized the sound, though she had never been able to see him through Bataan’s dense trees. Surveying the area around her, she saw patches of denuded land and evidence of recent fires. “This from the bombing?”

“Yeah. It’s almost continuous. Our gun crews keep the Nips too high up for them to hit the batteries or powerhouse. Those are their real targets. When they get positioned on Bataan, we’ll be in range of their artillery. We’ll be in more trouble then.” She glanced at Margie. “I don’t mean to scare you, but—”

Margie shrugged, numb to the threat of more Japanese guns. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost six months. When I first came, I stayed at the barracks at Fort Mills on the other side of the island. It was like a beautiful garden. An army regiment was stationed there. Now it’s nothing but a pile of dirt. Marines came about three months ago. They laid all this barbed wire.”

“Do they stay in the tunnel?”

“Only the ones on duty in there. Most live in bunkers near their stations. They man the batteries, the big guns all over the island. They have their own kitchens and medical units for the small stuff. You won’t see much of them. They’re a bunch of cocky kids, really.”

Margie beckoned Evelyn over, and introduced her to Glenda.

Evelyn asked, “Have you seen Gracie Hall? She came in wounded.”

“Yes. The bullet missed everything vital. You can go see her if you want.” She pointed to the gate they had just come though. “If you go back down that lateral—that’s what these side tunnels are called—you’ll find the hospital. If you keep going, it will eventually dead-end. Turn left and you’ll run into the main tunnel. It’s pretty packed. The Japs are letting Filipinos through their front lines to crowd us and deplete our supplies. When’s your orientation?”

“After dinner.”

“Miss Edwards will show you the layout. She’s the big cheese here, a real witch. Best to stay out of her way. Miss Riley, on the other hand, she’s a sweetheart. Tough, but in a nice way.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get back. Nice talking to both of you.”

Narrowing her eyes against the sun, Margie watched Photo Joe make another pass. Anti-aircraft artillery blasted, shaking the ground. Her gaze went beyond the retreating plane to Bataan, just a speck of land on the horizon. From there came the grumble of gunfire, a constant clapping of booms and bangs. Seventy thousand men were trapped on the peninsula between the Japanese Army and the South China Sea. “What will happen to them?” she mumbled.

“Max?” Evelyn said, misunderstanding. “He’s drinking good scotch and teaching the Aussies the Lindy Hop. And Royce? He’s charming those yellow-boys into a first-class ticket home. You’ll see.”

They heard a rumble like rolling thunder. “Bombers!” someone shouted. The crowd stampeded toward the entrance, their progress impeded by wheelchairs and gurneys. Margie and Evelyn picked up a man struggling with his crutches. They propelled him along, one on each arm, pushing their way inside the tunnel just as a bomb landed nearby, its shockwave slamming the iron gate shut.

Captain Hazel Edwards, a battle-hardened chief nurse had a dowager’s hump and an old-lady bun of white hair. Elfin size, she peered at the new arrivals from Bataan through thick glasses. “Good evening. I trust that you are fed, rested, and ready to get to work.”

The women murmured their assent.

Miss Edwards coughed into a hanky and took a sip of water, then became all business. “You’re in the Malinta Tunnel. It’s bombproof. Nothing can penetrate the rock. You’re safe as long as you stay inside.”

She picked up a dowel and turned to a map perched on an easel beside her, pointing to it as she spoke. “American engineers bored the tunnels through the rock in the 1920s. The main tunnel is 834 feet long and 24 feet wide, and an electric trolley runs down the center. Twenty-four smaller lateral tunnels branch like fish bones off the main one. Four gates, one at each compass point, lead to the outside. The hospital wing is near the North gate. Its 14 laterals hold operating rooms, a dental clinic, laboratory, dispensary, kitchen, dining room, and sleeping quarters for the nurses. Ten of the laterals are set up as recovery and convalescent wards, each holding 100 beds.

“General Wainwright commands his troops from his offices in the North laterals. You’ll be meeting him and some of his staff later. Altogether, about 4,000 people live inside the tunnel, including The Philippine Commonwealth government officials, their staff and families, U.S. Marines, and hundreds of Filipino refuges from Luzon. Outside are about 7,000 American and Filipino combat troops and their support units.”

Miss Edwards put the pointer down. “Casualties have been light, thanks to our gunners. However, with Bataan in the hands of the Japanese, we expect numbers to increase. You must help prepare the hospital for the anticipated need. Miss Riley is drawing up a work schedule. Before we tour the hospital, are there any questions?”

A hand in the back went up. “How many nurses are here?”

“I have 86 American and 26 Filipino nurses under my command, along with several dozen civilian women working as aides.”

Evelyn raised her hand. “What’s happening to the men in the field hospitals?”

Margie leaned forward to catch Miss Edward’s answer.

“Conditions on Bataan are uncertain. The Americans surrendered to the Japanese this morning. As far as we know, the men in the hospitals are still there with the doctors and medics.”

So, chances were good that Royce was still with his patients at Sternberg. He’d be okay as long as he was at Sternberg … wouldn’t he?

Tildy asked, “Can we get mail out?”

“We try. There’s a letterbox in the front of the dining lateral. If a submarine or seaplane makes it through the blockade, and has a chance to get out again, we always send mail out with them, but it’s sporadic.”

Ruth Ann asked, “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“Nobody knows. Corregidor is the key to controlling Manila Bay, and General Wainwright has pledged to hold the position until help arrives.”

Since no one else had any more questions, Miss Edwards introduced Miss Riley, who led a tour of the hospital wing. The 14 narrow hospital laterals were connected honeycomb-style, and Margie doubted she would ever learn her way around.

During her first week in the Malinta Tunnel, Margie welcomed her improved living conditions. Despite the constant bombing, the assurance that nothing could penetrate the thick walls made her feel safe. She was issued khaki skirts and blouses, anklets, oxford shoes, and a Red Cross armband. Strictly enforced schedules gave her life structure, and the hospital’s iron beds, white enamel tables, refrigerators, flush toilets, and showers lent an air of familiarity. A barber trimmed her hair and gave her bangs that curled on her forehead.

“That style’s adorable on you, Margie.” Evelyn plucked at one of Margie’s red curls. “When I was little, I would have died for red hair. I wanted to look like Clara Bow.”

“You’re prettier than she was. She had those cupid’s-bow lips, but you have good bones. Personally, I always wanted blond hair, like yours.”

They linked arms and made their way through the dimly lit corridors to the dining lateral, food still a high priority for them.

As the second week in the shadowy labyrinths turned into a third, though, life devolved into a tedious sameness. Margie couldn’t orient to time and space as day and night melted together. The low-ceilinged laterals seemed to close in around her. Once the Japanese moved their artillery into the mountains of Bataan, dawn-to-midnight shelling kept people inside. They suffered from headaches, nosebleeds, and earaches caused by the concussive blasts. The dank, dust-laden air left everybody coughing. Government officials and soldiers, nurses and society women, no matter what their station in life outside the tunnels, they all walked aimlessly, chatted idly, or played marathon games of bridge or poker as the hours dragged.