Abiding Hope: A Novel: Healing Ruby Book 4 Read online

  Reaching his hand out to me, he was the first to speak to us. “Hello there! Welcome, welcome. I’m Corporal John Thatcher. Who might you fellas be?”

  “I’m Captain Matthew Doyle with the engineering corps. This here’s Lieutenant Henry Graves, a pilot, and our guide, Raul Diego.”

  Thatcher shook each of their hands and welcomed us. The older gentleman was the leader of the barrio. He only spoke some broken English, but he thanked us and promised to help the Americans in any way he could. As he barked commands in Tagalog, both men and women jumped into action.

  “What are they doing?” I asked.

  “They’re preparing a meal and some medicines for you,” Thatcher said. He gestured to a hut. “Come on inside.”

  The five of us spread out as much as possible, but the air inside the hut was hot and sticky. I took a seat on the ground and leaned against the wall for support. My whole body ached with exhaustion.

  “So, we heard there are some Americans organizing in the area,” I said. “That true?”

  Thatcher passed a cigarette to Henry and then lit his own. “Yep. Colonel Charles Gandy is organizing the central Luzon area. If you’re interested in volunteering, we can send you on to his base camp near Mount Pinatubo with a couple of Negrito guides to get you there.”

  “I’m in,” Henry said.

  “Now wait a minute,” I said. “We haven’t officially decided to join up with guerrillas. Let’s think about this.”

  “What’s there to think about?” Henry said. “We’re soldiers in a war. The guerrillas give us the chance to keep fighting the enemy.”

  “Yes, but we’re officers in an army that’s technically surrendered. If we’re caught still fighting, we’re no longer considered combatants, we’re rebels. The Geneva convention gives us no standing as prisoners of war.”

  “I’ll shoot it to you straight,” Thatcher said. “The Japs don’t care about the Geneva convention. I saw ’em marching our boys to death after we surrendered Bataan. And I’ve heard what they’re doing in these camps they’re building. They’re torture camps, is what they are. Dying would be better than getting caught.”

  I looked over at Diego sitting quietly to my right. “What do you think?”

  “This my home, mi familia. I cannot flee. I must fight. But this not your home, Captain. You face great danger here. You must decide what is right.”

  I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes, wishing I could just go to sleep. Over the past several weeks, I’d somehow sailed and hiked my way from the coast of Mindanao, across more islands than I could count, and trudged almost completely across Luzon. By any reasonable estimate, I never should’ve made it. But the generosity of the Filipino people kept me alive at every turn, even when it came at great cost. How could I turn my back on them?

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll send a message to this Colonel Gandy and find out what he wants us to do.”

  ***

  I was unable to do much of anything for the next few days on account of a raging fever and infection in my hamstring. So Henry wrote a message to Colonel Gandy offering our services and sent it by messenger. All we could do at that point was wait for an answer. In the meantime, two more Americans showed up at the barrio inquiring about guerrilla operations.

  When they came into the hut where I’d been staying, I did my best to sit up and be friendly. “Hey there, fellas,” I said, shaking hands with the tall, freckled one. “I’m Matthew Doyle. Where’d y’all come from?”

  The freckled one chuckled. “Y’all? I haven’t heard that in ages. I’m Sergeant Arnold Harris. This here’s Corporal Ken Grimes. We were part of the 200th infantry before it got blown to smithereens.”

  “Wasn’t the 200th at Clark Field?” Henry asked.

  “Yeah, for a little while anyway.” Harris plopped down onto the ground near Henry while Grimes stood near the door. He seemed on edge, his eyes darting around the hut constantly.

  “Say, where’re you from, Doyle?” Harris asked.

  “Alabama. You?”

  “New Mexico.”

  Henry laughed and shook his head. “I been through New Mexico a few times, and I don’t reckon I ever saw a tall redhead in the desert. How did you keep from burning to a crisp? Out here, even?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” Harris looked up at Grimes and tossed him a pack of cigarettes. “Hey, come on and have a smoke with us. Nothing’s gonna happen here.”

  Grimes caught the pack and slid a cigarette out into his shaking hands. It took him four tries to get the lighter lit. He sucked on that cigarette like he was drowning, and that cigarette was a breath of oxygen.

  “You fellas have a rough time of it?” I asked.

  “More than some, not as bad as others,” Harris answered. “Grimes here was caught up in that murderous march forced on our boys for a while. But he managed to escape by jumping into a ditch when the guards weren’t looking. Saw some terrible stuff. Guys getting bayonetted, shot, run over.” He took a long draw on his cigarette and appeared to consider his next words. “I aim to make them Nips pay for what they’ve done.”

  “We’re joining up with the guerrillas forming under Colonel Gandy,” Henry said. “Y’all should join ’em too.”

  “Just might do that,” Harris said. “Providing I get to kill me some Nips.”

  “Amen to that,” Henry said. “Every one of ’em ought to get sent straight to hell, and I can’t wait to provide the transportation.”

  Henry and Harris continued plotting their revenge on the Japanese, while I listened with growing concern. Harris seemed to bring out the darker side of Henry, something I hadn’t seen since just after Janine died on Corregidor. I hoped Harris and Grimes would go their own way soon. Antagonizing the Japanese with such a small group of guerrillas was surely risking capture or execution. And I tended to agree with Thatcher. Capture was the worst possible outcome.

  ***

  Major Gandy responded to our letter by welcoming us into the guerrilla unit and ordering us to find a suitable location to establish a base camp for ourselves. By mid-September, and thanks to the help of willing Filipinos in the area, we’d built a headquarters in the Porac region, east of Bataan and in the foothills of Mount Pinatubo. Major Gandy informed us that I would head up the Porac region, and had authority to do whatever I deemed necessary to recruit, equip, and train cadres in the area.

  After I got over the initial shock of being put in charge of something I had no idea how to accomplish, I consulted with Corporal Thatcher, Henry, and Diego to come up with a plan for recruiting local Filipinos into our forces. However, I soon learned that recruiting wasn’t even an issue.

  Once word got out, men and women from barrios all over the area came to us to volunteer, eager to inflict all manner of suffering upon the Japanese. Even those who were too old to fight volunteered to build structures and provide food. I commissioned Diego as a First Sergeant and put him in charge of organizing and training the soldiers. We had virtually no weapons, but I was amazed at what Diego could accomplish with bamboo poles and bolos. Dressed in their frayed, handmade clothing, the soldiers trained each day in the tactics for defending their homeland.

  I put Henry in charge of “requisitions.” He had a talent for finding the necessities to sustain us and bartering with the locals to obtain food and supplies. Fortunately most of the locals were already eager to help, but Henry had a knack for finding even the most obscure treasures, a lesson I’d learned early on in our days at Cabcaben. He still had never told me exactly how he’d acquired our wedding rings.

  Among the local volunteers, I met a young Filipino named Garzon who’d been a student at the University of the Philippines in Manila before the war broke out. He showed up in our camp with a mimeograph machine, so I put him in charge of communications. He and his small staff were responsible for printing and distributing leaflets to combat the propaganda being pushed by the Japanese.

  In the first part of October, Major Gandy sent fo
r me to report to him with an update on our operations. I had intended to travel to his headquarters with the help of a local guide and a small band of soldiers, but Diego insisted on accompanying me as a bodyguard. He selected ten of the best men he’d trained so far, and the twelve of us set out trekking west along the river.

  We were still at the tail end of typhoon season, so the riverbank and much of the land around it was so wet, our feet would sometimes sink into the mud up to our knees. It was tiring on my weakened body, and it was all I could do to keep up with Diego without feeling like death was at my door. It took us several hours to cover the few kilometers higher into the range of Mount Pinatubo.

  When we arrived at Major Gandy’s camp, I was surprised at how much it resembled a local barrio rather than a military camp. His staff and even some of the higher-ranking soldiers lived with their families or female companions. I was expecting a formal meeting with the major, but instead, I found myself seated at a festive dinner with him and his staff. Men and women, even some children, danced to music at the bonfire in the center of camp.

  “This is not what I expected,” I said to Major Gandy as we walked through the camp after our meal. Diego trailed along behind us at a conspicuous distance.

  Gandy let out a hearty chuckle that matched his tall, broad frame. “I imagine it’s somewhat less official than what you’re used to. I’ve found that making our camp look as similar to the local barrios as possible gives us an added layer of protection. When Jap patrols are nearby, we can disappear for a while without raising suspicion.”

  “I see. Clever.”

  “Time will tell.”

  We made our way through groups of dancing couples and headed for his residence. He gestured for me to step inside first, and then he followed me into the nipa hut. Diego stationed himself beside the entrance.

  “How are things going in Porac?” Gandy asked.

  “Very well, sir, considering the challenges we’ve faced. We’ve established contact with eight other guerrilla cadres as far north as Mabalacat, and I’ve got people imbedded in a resistance network forming in Manila. We’re beginning to get regular reports of Japanese troop strength and movement. Of course, we don’t have a radio, so we can’t actually do anything with the information yet.”

  Gandy pulled out a bamboo pipe and some tobacco from a desk drawer, then gestured to a large map unrolled on his desk. “That can be taken care of. We have a system of couriers in the southern islands gathering intelligence and sending it by boat to MacArthur in Australia. Thatcher has most of the Bataan region organized, and he’s already established a flow of information. I’ll get you the details, and you can send your couriers there. What about your organization size?”

  “We have just over a thousand men and women altogether. About eighty percent of them are training to fight.”

  He puffed on the pipe as he lit it. Then he shook his head. “Keep training the men, but we won’t be focusing our efforts on instigating skirmishes with the Japanese. MacArthur wants us to organize as much of the local population as possible, gather intelligence, and relay it to him. We are to be ready to support the American troops when they return, but we are not to engage the enemy ourselves. In fact, I’m going to need you to put out a fire that’s brewing up near Fort Stotsenberg.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “Yes. I’ve gotten reports of a group operating in the area that’s making raids on Japanese patrols. They’re poking at a hornet’s nest, and attracting the attention of the Japanese generals. I need you to go up there and make contact with the leader. Name’s Harris.”

  “Yes, sir. I met Sergeant Harris a while back. I can’t say I’m surprised. He was itching to start striking back at the Japs.”

  “Well, he’s an ignorant fool. He’s going to get us all captured or killed. Get up there, and get him in line.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pulled his pipe out of his mouth, and his deep wrinkles sank into a frown. “Unfortunately, Harris may not be your toughest challenge.” He pointed at Mount Arayat. “The Huks have completely taken over most of the surrounding areas here. I thought we’d be able to establish an alliance with them. After all, they seemed to hate the Japanese as much as we do. I met with their council a couple of weeks ago, and we signed an agreement that they would come under my command over Luzon. But then one of their leaders, some dirty communist by the name of Taruc, published a proclamation that the Huks were cooperating with us. They also included forged letters from several American leaders, including one from you, demanding all the Filipinos turn over their weapons to the Huks.”

  He reached into a drawer and pulled out copies of these forged letters, and to my surprise, I saw my signature at the bottom of one of them. “What does this mean?” I asked.

  “It means we’re fighting a war on two fronts. Not just against the Japs, but against the Huks as well. And they’re both ruthless. So tread carefully, Captain Doyle.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Matthew

  May 3, 1945

  San Francisco

  The next morning, I couldn’t get out of the Hudsons’ house fast enough. I thanked them as much as I could for their hospitality, but I was desperate to escape. Ruby and I caught the train to Los Angeles, where we then caught another to San Antonio. It was easy to keep my thoughts away from the unknowns that lay ahead by focusing on the next thing to do. Get to the station, load the bags, find a seat, change trains, load the bags again, find a compartment to ourselves. But once we were settled for the long trek across the southwest, my thoughts began to swirl again. I couldn’t stop thinking about my men back in the Philippines, and I couldn’t stop the growing desire in my heart to return. I didn’t want a discharge; I wanted to see my mission through.

  I sat opposite Ruby, a small table between us, with my body still aching from exhaustion. My stomach was a mess from the food the night before, so I hadn’t eaten much breakfast. I asked an attendant for some coffee and he brought it to our compartment. Sipping on it for a while, I stared out at the landscape flying past. After years of deprivation, I had forgotten how much I loved coffee, and it took some of the edge off my nerves.

  Ruby made herself a cup as well, but it sat on the table in front of her, the cup rattling with a soft ting against the saucer. She sat with a stiff posture, alternately looking out the window and back at me with nervous energy.

  “Something on your mind?” I asked.

  “So much that I hardly know where to begin,” she said. “You?” I nodded and took another gulp of coffee. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” I said. “A bit run-down, but not too bad.”

  She reached over and put her wrist on my forehead. “You’re warm.”

  “I’m all right. Nothing to fret over.”

  “Did the doctors give you any medicine to take during the journey? You should definitely still be taking quinine and some basic—”

  “Ruby,” I interrupted. “Really. I’m all right.”

  She leaned back in her chair and returned to fidgeting with her hands. We seemed at a loss for words. “How about we discuss what comes next?” I offered. “I’ll be in San Antonio for some time, weeks, maybe a couple of months. I figure once I’m well, we’ll need to move to a less conspicuous place. Somewhere away from dense population.”

  “Move? But I have a job and…” She placed her hands on the table as if to steady herself. “Listen, there’s something else we need to discuss first.”

  “I get it,” I said, referring to her job. “But you can have my pay now. You don’t have to work. We can find a more remote place, maybe even another country, where you can live and be safe—”

  “Where I can live?” Her eyes widened. “What about you? What are you saying?”

  “All I’m saying is that I don’t know what’s ahead for me after I’m well. I don’t know where the army will station me. They could send me back to the Philippines or Japan—”

 
“Send you back?” Her voice rose an octave. “You just got home! How can they send you back?”

  “I don’t know that they will. I’m just saying we need to consider what’s best for your safety.”

  She shook her head and let out a deep breath. “Matthew, you don’t understand. I need to tell you something first.”

  “All right, so tell me.” I set my cup of coffee down and gave her my full attention.

  She leaned toward me and took my hands in hers. “When I escaped Mindanao with the other nurses, I didn’t know it at the time, but I was pregnant.”

  It took me a moment to process what she’d just said. “Wh—what? You were pregnant?”

  “Yes. That was another reason I didn’t stay in Australia. The military was leaving, and I had no way to provide for myself and the baby.”

  Baby? A baby. She had a baby. “Wait a minute,” I said. “You…we have a baby?”

  She smiled, and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes. Her name is Hope. She’s two now, and she’s just the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever seen. She has your eyes.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I sat back against the seat, my head swimming. “We have a daughter,” I said, more to myself than to her.

  Ruby stood and pulled her suitcase down from the overhead compartment. She flipped it open and pulled out a picture in a frame, holding it out to me. “See?”

  I took the picture from her and gazed down at what could have easily been a picture of Mary as a toddler. She had the same soft, brown eyes, the same wispy curls and pudgy cheeks, and a joy in her expression that melted my heart. I couldn’t believe it. I ran my fingers over her smiling face. “Hope, you said?”

  Ruby nodded. “When she was born, I was determined that if there was even the smallest chance that you were still alive, I was going to do everything I could to hold on to hope till you came back to us. She was my reminder to never give up.”