Nightfall Over Shanghai (21 page)

The ground still shook every so often from explosions and heavy artillery fire. Occasionally, the wind changed directions, bringing the sulphurous stench of gun smoke into the camp. But there was no other indication that the fighting had moved any closer to the field hospital in the week since the air raid.

Inside the operating room, new faces had replaced those of the staff members who had been killed. All evidence of the attack—the collapsed tents and wrecked trucks—was gone, either removed or repaired. But the relatively calm week had been no more comforting to Franz than a lull in an electrical storm. He sensed that the others were on edge too, but Helen had told him that no one else in the camp would dare discuss it for fear of inciting Major Okada's wrath.

Franz now stood across from Captain Suzuki, assisting him on the last scheduled surgery of the day. It had been the lightest day at the camp that Franz could remember. It was only four o'clock, and they would have already finished had the case not been so technically challenging. The heavyset Japanese officer on the operating table had four separate bullet wounds in his belly. Miraculously, he had not sustained any significant injury to his
vital organs or major blood vessels, but extracting the bullets from the layers of fat and bowel was proving to be a tedious exercise.

Suzuki carefully removed the long forceps from the gaping wound that ran the extent of the patient's abdomen. The metallic teeth emerged clasping the fourth bullet, its nose crumpled from the impact against the man's spinal bones. Suzuki dropped the slug into a metal pail and exhaled with satisfaction as it clanked noisily against the bottom. “I have done the taxing work,” Suzuki said. “You may now close the wound, Dr. Adler.”

“Yes, Captain,” Franz said.

Suzuki raised an eyebrow. “And the spells, Dr. Adler? Have they improved?”

“Yes, sir,” Franz said, being mindful not to thank him again. “Your diagnosis was most accurate. The dizziness has gone away since I began to regularly eat that kus … kus …”

“Ku-sa-ya.” Suzuki accentuated each syllable. “There are those who consider it a delicacy.”

“I am not among them.” Franz realized he had probably not eaten something as nutritious in years, but at times he still struggled to choke down the salty fish.

Suzuki stepped back from the table and pulled off his gloves. “As long as it keeps you off the floor.”

Franz decided to capitalize on the rare instance of casual conversation. “Captain, how long would a field hospital such as ours stay in the same spot?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

Suzuki grimaced, as though the answer were obvious. “On the progress of the campaign—Ichi-Go—of course.”

“Have you heard any word?”

Suzuki rubbed his chin. “We were told that that the Imperial Army had breached the defensive perimeter outside Hengyang. And that the Chinese were in full retreat.”

Franz would have never before imagined that word of a Japanese victory could improve his spirits. “Surely that is good news, Captain. Someone told me that Hengyang was the strategic key to Ichi-Go.”

“I would interpret the reports of our victories with caution, Dr. Adler. In Guadalcanal, the radio announcer was boasting of how we had bravely repelled the American forces at the same time as we were abandoning the island.” Suzuki sighed. “Even if the reports are accurate, there will soon be a new strategy.”

“What would that mean for us?”

“In all likelihood, they would move the field hospital forward to support the new front line.”

“Move us forward?” Franz couldn't hide his disappointment.

Suzuki's eyelids crinkled, his expression verging on sympathetic. “Dr. Adler, if you are wondering whether they will send you home, I can save you the trouble. The answer is no.”

The words hit Franz harder than a blow from Okada's cane. Franz had begun to hope that if he survived long enough to see the campaign at Hengyang end, the Japanese might let him return to Shanghai. He was desperate to see Sunny again, to make things right with her over the baby and everything else, including his conflicted feelings for Helen. He lay in bed at night fantasizing about a reunion with his family, picturing the delight and surprise on Sunny's and Hannah's faces as he burst through the door.

Anxious for a distraction, Franz raised the suturing needle. Just as he was preparing it with fresh thread, he picked up on a muffled sound from outside. The room quieted. Even the anesthetist
lifted the ether mask from the patient's face and glanced upward.

The rumbling intensified. Franz's veins turned to ice. He dropped the needle on the table and turned to Suzuki. “Where is Helen?”

“I believe she went to change dressings,” Suzuki said.

“In the recovery tent?”

Suzuki nodded solemnly.

Franz wheeled and raced for the doorway still wearing his mask, gloves and gown.

Outside, soldiers were scattering along the pathway in both directions. Franz heard the sound of trucks being hurriedly started. He looked up and spotted planes overhead, six of them in tight formation, descending relentlessly on the camp.

“Franz! Franz!” Helen called to him over the roar of the aircraft.

His eyes darted over to where she stood in front of the recovery tent, about thirty feet away. He ripped off his surgical mask. “Stay where you are, Helen,” he shouted.

“What?” Helen began to move toward him.

“Cover,” he screamed as he pantomimed, covering his head with his arms. “Take cover!”

The planes swooped down like huge, hungry hawks. Franz pointed wildly at the tent's overhang beside her. After an agonizing moment for Franz, Helen dove beneath it.

Just as the planes' wings began to spit fire, Franz lunged to his right and rolled up against the side of the operating tent. Bullets whizzed past him, several thudding into the tent's canvas just above him. Dirt danced up off the pathway. Three soldiers fell to the ground before they could even raise their rifles. Glass shattered.
Franz heard the whoosh of another tent collapsing. He pressed himself as tightly as he could against the tent.

The planes thundered directly overhead, casting ominous shadows over the camp. Franz lifted his head and looked over to Helen. Her head popped out from behind the edge of the tent.

“Stay down,” he cried. “They're coming back!”

Helen hesitated before jerking her head back down. Franz glanced over his shoulder to see the planes banking steeply back toward the camp. He braced himself for another terrifying pass. The staccato thumping of gunfire exploded all around him, and the dirt path came to life from the hail of bullets.

As soon as the shadows had passed over again, Franz poked his head up in search of Helen, but he couldn't see her. He held his breath, his eyes scanning frantically until he spotted her in her hiding place. Relief gave way to fear as he saw her shoulders rising and realized that she was climbing to her feet.

“No, Helen!” He motioned urgently to the ground. “Stay down! They're coming back!”

But Helen stood up. Above her, he could see the planes bank in another tight circle and turn back yet again toward the camp. Dread mushroomed inside his chest. “
Down, Helen!
” he screamed. “Get down!”

But instead, she took off running down the pathway toward him. “Franz,” she cried.

The planes were upon her in seconds, their wings sparking with gunfire. Franz watched in horror as the sprays of dirt chased her down the trail.

Helen made it to within ten feet of him when she was struck. Her head jerked back before she keeled forward to the ground, unable to even break her fall with her hands.

As the shadow of the last plane flashed overhead, Franz leapt to his feet and raced out to her. He grabbed her wrists and dragged her frantically toward the cover of the operating tent. She was no more responsive than a sack of salt.

As soon as he pulled her beneath the overhang, he rolled her onto her back. Blood had turned her hair a dark shade of red. Her wide green eyes stared past him at the empty sky. He placed two fingers on her neck in search of a pulse, but even before his hand met her cool skin, he knew he would find none.

As the planes swooped overhead again, he held her ruined head in his hands and rocked her back and forth, indifferent to the gunfire around him.

“I'm sorry, Helen. I'm so sorry,” Franz said as he stared into her lifeless eyes. “You, of all people, deserved to go home.”

Joey sat on Hannah's lap, captivated by the old wooden rattle in his hand. Only a few flecks of paint remained on its smooth, worn surface. Sunny sat across from them, sewing up a tear in a cloth diaper.

Hannah's gaze drifted up to a framed black-and-white photograph on the wall above her stepmother's head. It depicted the
longtang
a few blocks away. The building still housed several families, including a classmate and her relatives, despite its roof having partially collapsed years before during a Japanese bombing. “Remember how Papa used to love to photograph those old buildings?”

Sunny glanced over her shoulder at the photograph. “It's true. The grander buildings, like the ones on the Bund, never interested him much. Only the decrepit ones. He always said they had the most character.”

Hannah nodded. “I think Papa found beauty in things that were often overlooked.”

Sunny dropped the diaper into her lap and brought a hand to her eyes. She sniffled a few times and then began to quietly sob.

Hannah knew her stepmother missed Franz as much as she
did, but she couldn't remember ever having seen Sunny cry before. “Did I say something?”

Still covering her eyes, Sunny shook her head. “Did you notice that we are talking about your father in the past tense?”

“I didn't mean it like that, Sunny. It's just that he hasn't been able to use his camera in so long.”

“He couldn't find any film for it, not even on the black market,” she choked out. “His only hobby.” Sunny wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “I'm sorry, Hannah. I don't know what has got into me.”

“Sometimes, I burst into tears just thinking about him,” said Hannah.

Joey jerked the rattle up to his face. Hannah giggled at her baby brother's adorable clumsiness and hugged him tighter. These days, despite her father's absence, laughter came more easily to Hannah. There had been two further clandestine visits alone with Freddy behind the school. The last time, the kissing had continued for ages and only stopped when his hand had slid up between her thighs. She had jumped back from the bold touch, more out of surprise than outrage. Hannah doubted she would pull away as quickly the next time, not after the thrilling warmth she had felt at his fleeting touch. But she was conflicted over more than just the daring caresses or their vexed history. There was also Herschel to consider. She still didn't know how she was going to break it off with the sweet boy. Meanwhile, she had kept inventing excuses to avoid him.

“Sunny, did you have many boyfriends before Papa?” Hannah asked.

Sunny looked over to her, eyes dry but still reddened. “Not too many, no.”

“Oh.” Hannah rested her chin lightly against the top of Joey's head.

“Why do you ask? Is everything all right with you and Herschel?”

“It's … fine.”

Sunny frowned. “That doesn't sound fine.”

“What if … what if I'm not sure about us?”

“You are only fourteen,” Sunny said. “You shouldn't be sure about anything.”

“But what if I don't …” Hannah sighed. “Feel the same way about him?”

“You're no longer smitten?”

“No.” Hannah swallowed. “I don't think so, but how can I be sure?”

“You just know. With your father, sometimes I get butterflies at just the sound of his voice.” Sunny cleared her throat. “The kindest thing you can do for Herschel is to be honest with him. If he's not the one, you need to tell him so.”

Hannah didn't say anything as she began to gently bounce Joey. She knew her stepmother was right, but the thought of that conversation filled her with dread. She wished there were a way out that didn't involve hurting Herschel.

Sunny squinted at her. “This doesn't have to do with Freddy, does it?”

Hannah hesitated. She knew it was already too late when she said, “Not really, no.”

“Oh, Hannah,” Sunny groaned. “Not after what that boy put you and your father through last year.”

“He's changed, Sunny.”

Sunny shook her head vigorously. “Believe me, Freddy is not to be trusted.”

Hannah straightened. “Look how much he is doing to help us. He is risking so much for us.”

“He's very brave, I agree.” Sunny nodded. “But do not ever mistake courage for kindness or decency.”

“You don't know him the way I do,” Hannah said.

“Believe me, in some ways, I know him better than you do.” Sunny viewed her solemnly. “And your father? What would he have to say?”

“I probably will never find out, will I?” Hannah blurted, regretting the words even before she saw the hurt flash across Sunny's face.

***

Hannah was still racked with guilt as she entered the clearing behind the school. Today, even Freddy's hungry kisses couldn't distract her from her troubles. “What's the matter, Banana?” he asked, pulling back from her lips and holding her by the shoulders.

“I don't think I should be here.”

“Sure you should.” He winked. “We're partners in crime.”

His words only heightened her unease. Oblivious to her angst, Freddy glanced at his watch and said, “It's almost time.” He knelt down beside the transmitter, which was already set up on the blanket, its copper antenna snaking over to a nearby tree.

Hannah noticed that Freddy was again wearing clothes that were too small for him, the hems of his pants not even clearing his ankles. This time, she couldn't hold back her curiosity. “Freddy, have you grown recently?”

He frowned in confusion and then, understanding, broke into laughter. “Nah, I'm just trying to look a little younger.”

“Why would you want to look younger?” But the answer came to her with a sudden chill. “It's in case they catch you, isn't it?”

“Never hurts to be careful.” His reckless grin didn't match his words.

Suddenly, the gravity of everything—the potential consequences of their espionage, her duplicity with Herschel and her father's absence—enveloped her like a cloud of smoke. “I'd better go, Freddy.”

Distracted, Freddy turned a knob, causing the transmitter's light to glow red again. The speaker popped and crackled. “It's time.” He reached inside his shirt and unfolded the coded page. He lifted the microphone. “Alpha echo foxtrot. Alpha echo foxtrot.”

After several seconds—which, to Hannah, felt much longer than the previous time they had transmitted—a reedy voice replied, “Alpha echo foxtrot, go ahead, delta bravo victor.”

In his usual steady voice, Freddy read off the list of digits and characters. He lowered the page and said, “Confirm, alpha echo foxtrot.”

The speaker hissed, but no words came through.

“Confirm, alpha echo foxtrot,” Freddy repeated.

Nothing.

Just as Freddy was reaching to switch off the dial, they heard the voice again. “Not confirmed, delta bravo—” The reception cut in and out. “Repeat. Please repeat.”

Alarmed, Hannah looked at him. “It will take too long, Freddy.”

He raised the page and listed off the codes again, his tone still even but his cadence quicker. “Confirm, alpha echo foxtrot.”

The speaker hissed furiously before the voice returned, “Not con—” The words cut in and out. “Not confirmed, delta bravo victor. Repeat.”

Hannah couldn't control the shuffle in her feet as she waved frantically at Freddy. “Off! Turn it off!”

He glanced at her, his expression unusually anxious. “One last time. I swear.” He held the microphone to his mouth and spat out the list, his voice no longer composed.

Finished, he switched off the radio. “Confirmed, delta bravo victor,” the other voice said just as the red light dimmed and the speaker went dead.

Hannah brought a hand to her mouth. “That was too long, surely.”

Freddy jumped to his feet and frantically gathered up the copper wire. “Get out of here, Hannah!”

She hesitated. “I can wait for—”

“Go,” he cried.

She turned and rushed for the street.

Before she reached the side of the building, Freddy shouted, “Stop, Hannah!”

She too had heard the roar of an engine, followed by the heavy squeal of brakes. She froze, then spun back to face Freddy. His eyes were as wide as saucers. The copper coil fell from his hand. He chopped his hand wildly toward the foliage behind the school. “The bushes!”

Hannah dashed across the clearing and threw herself into the shrubs. Branches scraped at her face and exposed arms. She kept struggling forward, pushing herself as far into the bushes as she could. She dropped to the ground, squeezing herself between branches and trying to keep her breath quiet.

Hannah heard guttural shouts in Japanese. She looked all around for a sign of Freddy, but all she could see were tree roots. The yelling grew louder. She tried to ward off the encroaching
panic, but it was no use.
The bushes are the first place they will look for us.

Then she heard Freddy's voice, loud and clear. “I was only fooling around. I have this buddy in Frenchtown. He and I play on—”

He was cut off midsentence by the sound of his own high-pitched moan.