Under the Java Moon, page 5
“This still might be the better place,” Hooft said. “Despite everything.” But then his fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he tilted his chin toward the upper part of the window. “Bomber?”
George leaned forward and stared at the plane flying nearly overhead. White smoke streamed from the low-flying plane as it jetted across the clearing sky. It didn’t take long to see the red painted circle. “Japanese bomber,” he said under his breath. “And it’s heading in the same direction we are.”
Hooft braked the truck, slowing, then pulled over to the side of the road. He continued into a copse of trees, the branches snapping against the windshield.
“What are you doing?” George said, trying to push back the panic that had started to flicker in his gut.
“It’s heading toward the airfields near Tandjong Priok harbor,” Hooft said. “This vehicle is a target for the next plane. We’ll wait here until the bomber has dropped its load.”
“How do you know where it’s going?”
“Look at that trajectory. It’s flying too low to be passing over.”
George wasn’t as well versed in aircraft as Hooft—who’d started out in the air force, then transferred to the navy several years ago.
If the bomber let loose on the airfield north of Batavia, it would compromise naval headquarters.
They’d stopped near the peanut fields, beneath a copse of tamarind trees. It wouldn’t be any protection if a bomb landed on top of them, but maybe the trees would conceal them.
George scooted on the edge of his seat to peer through the windshield as he crouched down then stared in the direction the bomber had flown. “I think the Dutch are going to have to surrender,” George said, drawing in a gulp of air. “If the naval base is evacuated, then what? Join the army or a guerilla force?” There were rumors of civilians taking up arms and forming bands in the mountains, waiting for the Japanese forces to land.
Hooft’s expression was grim. “I don’t know. We need to be ready for anything.”
Rainwater dripped from the tamarind trees above, pelting the windshield. “The Allies have the greatest forces in the world—yet we’re getting bombed every day.”
“Right. But our mother country is under German occupation, and our queen is in exile in Britain.”
Another plane screeched overhead, this one much closer to land. The thundering of the sturdy aircraft seemed to buzz through George’s entire body. He gazed after it, prickles rising on his neck. And then he saw them.
Bombs dropping from the plane in the distance. Had the sirens even had time to go off? George hadn’t heard them this far out.
Time slowed. The bombs sunk toward the earth, foot by foot, meter by meter, closing in on the airfield.
On impact, the earth sprayed upward where a bomb missed an Allied plane. For a moment, George felt detached from the scene. As if he were watching a film reel. But the brown of the earth and green of the fields around him were no movie. This was happening to him. To his island. To his comrades.
The next bomb hit its target. The fire was almost immediate. Beyond the first fire, another explosion burst the ground apart.
Next to him, Hooft hissed a curse word. The war had literally arrived at their doorstep. There was no strategizing that could turn the tide now. It was just a matter of time before naval headquarters would be compromised.
The fire expanded, deep orange and yellow against the soft blue of the sky. A startling contrast. Although it was impossible, George swore he felt the heat from the flames lapping against his skin. Warmth spread through him, hot and fast. He rocked back on his heels.
Pre-war, if a plane had caught on fire, men and water trucks would have rushed toward it to douse the flames. But now, there was nothing and no one trying to put out the flames. Because they all knew more bombers could very well be on their way.
Sure enough, a handful of moments later, as George and Hooft stayed beneath the grouping of trees, a rumble split the sky.
This time, two bombers, flying close together, zoomed over the fields right toward the airfield.
George’s heart galloped as the next set of bombs fell, crashing to the earth and destroying everything in the targeted circumference. It was like watching the world burst apart.
For several long moments, neither George nor Hooft spoke, their gazes focused on the new reality both were facing. Time inched forward, and then it caught up.
Anxiety spiked inside of George. They needed to go. They needed to find out what their orders were. And if there were no orders, George was going to check on his family.
“Let’s go,” George rasped. “I want to check on my family.”
“Me too,” Hooft echoed.
Hooft started the engine, then stepped on the gas pedal. They sped along the rutted road, plowing through puddles and skimming potholes.
The men fell into silence once again.
George rolled down his window to let the wind wash over him—a mixture of heat and moisture and the nutty fragrance of the passing peanut fields. His stomach felt like it had been hollowed out with worry. The bombs were still a far cry from the neighborhoods here. But in Europe, residential neighborhoods were being bombed. What was to stop the Japanese military?
It wasn’t something that George wanted to admit to his fellow officers, but maybe it would be better if the Netherlands East Indies surrendered. If not, civilian lives would be lost, and the women and children were essentially trapped.
Where could they go? Into the mountains? Out of the predominantly Dutch neighborhoods? Into the Javanese neighborhoods? He’d thought of Java as his home for many years. Yet, now they might soon be refugees.
They couldn’t see the damage from the road as they headed to the naval base, but they’d hear a report soon enough. When they arrived at the base, Hooft parked the truck, and they both hurried into the headquarters building to find . . . chaos. Men were on the phones; others were crowded around a radio. George doubted that it was all due to the airfield strike he’d witnessed. Those had become common enough.
“What’s happening?” George asked Willem Vos as soon as he spotted him.
“The Langley has been sunk.”
George’s stomach hollowed out. The Langley was a United States aircraft carrier transporting thirty military aircraft to the NEI. It took him a moment to comprehend how stunning the loss was.
“There’s more,” Vos said, his voice barely audible above the chaos. “The ABDA forces have been decimated in a battle on the Java Sea.”
George stared at Vos. ABDA stood for American-British-Dutch-Australian, essentially the Allied forces.
“Yesterday, we lost the Royal Netherlands cruisers Java and De Ruyter as well as the destroyer Kortenaer.”
Each name that Vos mentioned was like a blow to George’s stomach.
“The British destroyers Electra and Jupiter are also gone. And today, USS Houston and the Australian cruiser HMAS Perth were downed by Japanese gunfire and torpedoes.”
George had no words. So much destruction, not to mention the loss of life that must have occurred. “The sailors?” he asked, his throat feeling scraped raw.
Vos swallowed. “We don’t have exact numbers yet, but it will be in the thousands.”
George reached for a nearby chair and leaned his palm against it for support. The conversations, orders, and stuttering of the radio clanged all around him. But he only thought of the men. The people. The lives lost. Those left behind.
It took several moments for George to collect his thoughts.
The news would grow worse, of that he was certain. Java would soon be under Japanese occupation. That was the only foreseeable outcome. How would that look for him and his family? He needed to get home, to talk to his wife, to prepare for the transition—even though he didn’t know what to fully expect.
He turned from Vos and Hooft and headed toward the exit. His assignment had ended for the foreseeable future.
“All officers report to the conference room immediately.”
The announcement shouldn’t have surprised George, yet he hated any further delay in getting to his family. With the others, he headed to the conference room. They crowded in, twenty-four of them in total.
“Thank you for assembling,” Commander P. Rouwenhorst said. “As you can imagine, we are all reeling with the news of such significant loss. We are putting into action our plans to head out to Australia. We’ll build up the forces there and create a counterattack.” His gaze landed on George, then moved on to the other men. “We leave tonight. Put your affairs in order as soon as possible. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”
Chapter Five
“‘Dark clouds above the Pacific, the Netherlands declare war on Japan.’ ‘It is better to die while standing upright than to live in a kneeling position.’ These were some of the headlines in the local Dutch newspapers heralding the grim reality that World War II hovered like a giant bird of prey over the beautiful islands in the Pacific affectionally called ‘The Belt of Emeralds.’ The Indies was suddenly and unwillingly transformed into a battlefield.”
—Denis Dutrieux, Cimahi Camp
Mary
Mary paced the yard as Rita watched from her perch in the mango tree. Their nanny, Anja, had gotten Georgie down for a nap, and Oma was likely resting too. The heat had returned, and with the near-daily monsoons, the humidity was almost insufferable.
But worse than the dampness of the air was the smoke they saw every day now. Right now, Mary could smell it in the air. It was only a matter of time before the Japanese armed forces occupied Java. Over the past few days, they’d shopped for dried foods at the market. They couldn’t very well store fresh foods for long, so those would be wasted.
But supplies were already running out.
Her neighbors had talked about pooling their resources during the Japanese occupation.
“Do you see them yet?” Claudia Vos asked, coming out of her house, her hair pulled back and tied in a handkerchief.
“I haven’t seen any of the military men coming home yet.” Mary could only hope they were all safe. Their husbands had both been gone for nearly three days.
Claudia released a sigh and perched her hands on her hips. Perspiration already stood out on her brow from the short walk across the yard. “I’ve been speaking to some of our neighbors about getting together a neighborhood school until the regular schools open back up. Mrs. Venema said her daughters would be happy to help teach. Do you think the Japanese military will let us run our own schools?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Mary asked.
Claudia pursed her lips for a moment. “I guess it depends on if they are occupying Java for three months or three years.”
Mary knew she was referring to Djojobojo legend.
“I want to go to school, too,” a small voice called from above them.
“Oh, my goodness.” Claudia brought a hand to her chest. She craned her neck to look upward. “I didn’t see you there, Rita.”
Rita giggled. “I can watch for Papa up here.”
“I’m sure you can,” Claudia said in a cheerful tone.
“Me too,” another voice said.
“Johan, is that you?” Claudia’s tone wasn’t as cheerful this time.
“We’re watching for the men,” he called down.
“Let us know when you first see them,” Claudia told her son. She looked at Mary with a wry smile. “Every time I give that boy a chore, he finds a way out of it. He listens to the radio obsessively. I think he knows more about what’s happening than most of our husbands.”
“Come quickly,” Oma said, coming out onto the veranda.
Both women turned.
“The newscaster is talking about the battle,” Oma continued, then pushed through the door and went inside.
That wasn’t anything new, but the urgency in Oma’s voice told Mary this was something important. She hurried to the house, Claudia at her side. The two women entered to find Oma bracing her palms on the dining room table while the radio played from the counter.
Mary stopped at the table and clasped her mother’s hand as the newscaster announced that the battle for the Java Sea had been lost. Three Allied destroyers had been sunk, as well as two light cruisers. Other ships had been badly damaged, and the loss of life was estimated to be in the thousands.
“No,” Claudia whispered, covering her mouth.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the newscaster predicted that the Japanese troops would come into Java by the next day.
“Tomorrow,” Oma echoed. “What will happen to us?”
Mary blinked. Had they heard right? Was this really happening?
Mary put an arm about her mother’s shoulders. “We will stick together, that’s all that matters.”
Oma leaned her head on Mary’s shoulder. The three of them remained quiet as the newscaster droned on. Nothing he said was comforting. Kemala came into the dining room from one of the back rooms, accompanied by Dea.
Claudia updated her.
“Will they make us become Japanese?” Kemala asked.
Mary truthfully didn’t have an answer for her. She’d read news articles about the Netherlands under Nazi occupation. Would it be like that?
“Papa’s here,” Rita said, hurrying into the house.
Mary strode to the door and walked out onto the veranda.
Sure enough, George was riding his bike up the road. His clothing was wet and muddy. Had something happened to him? Was he injured?
Beyond him, Willem rode his own bike.
“Willem!” Claudia said, hurrying across the veranda and down the steps.
George climbed off his bike, his movements short and jerky. Rita rushed up to him. Instead of greeting her with a hug, he held her at arm’s length, telling her something Mary couldn’t hear.
Rita didn’t look happy. She stayed where she stood, staring after her father as he strode toward the house.
What was going on?
Mary assessed George as he approached. He wasn’t limping or anything. No injuries, then. Just caught in the rain?
She moved to the edge of the steps as he strode up them, his eyes focused on her.
“Did you hear the news about the Java Sea?” he asked, his voice a rasp, as if he had a sore throat.
“Yes, we heard it just now.”
The moment he reached her, he took her hand.
Instead of giving her a hug or a kiss on the cheek, he said, “We need to talk. Immediately.”
He looked past her, nodded to Oma, then left his boots on the veranda. He led Mary into the house.
“You’re wet and muddy,” Mary said, but there wasn’t any bite in her tone. Mud could be cleaned up later.
They continued to the hallway, and George walked into their bedroom. Once she was inside, he shut the door behind them.
He didn’t speak at first, but crossed to the window and gazed through the screen at the flowering bushes outside their window. The silence stretched, and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.
Mary finally said in a quiet tone, “What is it, George? You’re making me nervous.”
He turned slowly then. His brown eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, full of . . . what? Wariness? Pain?
“Rie . . .” He crossed the room and stopped before her. Taking her hands in his mud-speckled ones, he said, “They’re shipping officers out to Australia. News has come in from other locations about Dutch officers being arrested and jailed as prisoners of war. They’re sending us to join the Allied forces and plan our next counterattack.”
Australia? Mary stared at her husband, hoping this was a false alarm. But his brown eyes were as steady as ever. If George was leaving, that meant she’d have to face Japanese occupation alone. She didn’t want him arrested though. Was Australia the only solution? When would she hear from him? How would they communicate?
She ignored the panicked questions running through her mind. Above all else, she wanted her husband safe . . . alive. “Willem too?” she asked.
“Yes,” George confirmed. “And Hooft.”
Mary hoped this was good news. They were all seasoned navy men. Beyond their bedroom door, noises of the children and Oma could be heard. Georgie must be awake from his nap. But inside the bedroom, the silence grew, and she found herself tightening her grip in George’s hands. He was waiting for her answer. She knew it wasn’t like he could say no to the orders, but throughout their marriage, he’d never made significant decisions without first consulting her.
And following these orders was certainly significant.
She blinked back the threatening tears and looked down at their linked hands. It was a lot to process . . . the bombing, the approaching Japanese forces, little children and an aging mother to worry about, her new pregnancy . . . “When?”
George’s tone was soft, regretful. “Right after midnight.”
Mary lifted her gaze as his words rocked through her. “Tonight?”
“Yes, I wish it was different. I wish we had more time.”
“Me too,” she whispered. There was no use holding back the tears. Mary wasn’t much of a crier, but she was pregnant, and this was all . . . too much.
George pulled her in his arms, enveloping her in his warmth. Because she was taller than George, their bodies aligned perfectly, and her current fragility felt supported by his solid strength.
She no longer cared that he was wet and muddy. Would he even stick around for dinner? She knew her George. He was meticulous about his ships. Everything would have to be inspected, likely more than once.
