Intersections

Copyright © 2012 Mark T. McCord

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Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. If there are only a few historical figures or actual events in the novel, the disclaimer could name them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-4590-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4592-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4591-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012915586

iUniverse rev. date: 8/28/2012

Contents

Acknowledgements

I Lisa and Brandon

II Kate and Robert

III Lisa and Brandon

IV Kate and Robert

V Lisa and Brandon

VI Kate and Robert

VII Lisa and Brandon

VIII Kate and Robert

IX Lisa and Brandon

X Kate and Robert

XI Lisa and Brandon

XII Kate and Robert

XIII Lisa and Brandon

XIV Kate and Robert

XV Lisa and Brandon

XVI Kate and Robert

XVII Lisa and Brandon

XVIII Kate and Robert

XIX Lisa and Brandon

XX Kate and Robert

XXI Lisa and Brandon

XXII Kate and Robert

XXIII Lisa and Brandon

XXIV Kate and Robert

XXV Lisa and Brandon

XXVI Kate and Robert

XXVII Lisa and Brandon

XXVIII Kate and Robert

XXIX Lisa and Brandon

XXX Kate and Robert

XXXI Lisa and Brandon

XXXII Kate and Robert

XXXIII Lisa and Brandon

XXXIV Kate and Robert

XXXV Lisa and Brandon

XXXVI Robert and Kate

XXXVII Lisa and Brandon

For Debbie and Daniel…

the most important people in my world.

In Memory of

James Ross McCord,

my father and WW II veteran

and

James Arthur McCord,

my brother and friend

Acknowledgements

This novel would not have been possible without support from so many people. First and foremost, as noted in my book dedication, is the continuous support I have received from my wife Debbie, who has been my friend and supporter for more than 28 years. She personifies what this book is about…unconditional and lasting love. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my in-laws Grace and Ernest Castor for trusting me enough to give me their most prized possession…their daughter’s hand in marriage. Also, I want to acknowledge our son Daniel for his continuous belief that I could write something worthy of being read.

I also want to acknowledge my dear mother, Ola (McCord) Blackmon, a nurse in her own right, who always believed I could achieve my goals. In addition, to my sister Sharon and my brothers Paul and Larry, I want to say thank you for all you have done for me.

My ability to write is largely due to Elsie Lang, who was my English and Literature Professor at Southwestern Oklahoma State University years ago. It was her belief in me and the training she provided, which bestowed upon me the technical skills and the confidence to put my thoughts on paper.

There are a number of seminal works on the topic of Bataan and Corregidor. Two especially assisted me during my research, namely Undefeated by Bill Sloan and We Band of Angels by Elizabeth M. Norman. I recommend each highly as they are excellent accounts of the real men and women who survived this trying time in history, such as Josephine Nesbit, Gladys Ann Mealor, and General Jonathan Wainwright.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge the supreme sacrifice of those brave men and women, military, civilian, American, and Filipino, who provided the heroic defense of Bataan and Corregidor. While most are gone now, this book is dedicated to their legacy.

Corregidor Island today…a view from Bottomside

Map of Corregidor Island with battery emplacements noted

Map of Malinta Tunnel

Malinta Tunnel east entrance

I

Lisa and Brandon

Corregidor Island loomed in the distance, still guarding the mouth of Manila Bay as it had for generations. Its guns were long ago silenced and the foliage that had been blown away along with the hopes and dreams of its inhabitants in 1942 had returned, carpeting the island with lush forests, which included mango groves and swaying coconut palms. The sea was choppy, disturbed by low-hanging clouds gorged with mid-summer rain. Somewhere in the distance, thunder erupted like one of the island’s dormant coastal guns, which had long ago pounded enemy intruders. Lisa Newhouse closed her eyes and tried to imagine the sound of the guns as they illuminated the night sky, warding off enemies with their rhythmic cadence. Seventy years had passed since those guns had made the earth shudder with their explosive power. Now they stood as silent witnesses to the darkest days of World War II for the some 12,000 Americans and Filipinos who took refuge on the island’s rocky shores after the fall of neighboring Bataan.

Adjusting her windbreaker against the breeze, Lisa held firmly to the ship’s rail and guided herself to the other side of the deck, where in the distance the Bataan Peninsula lay shrouded in mist. As a graduate student in American History and the granddaughter of a Corregidor survivor, Lisa had dreamed her whole life of visiting the island, but now that she was here it was difficult for her to grasp the magnitude of what happened during the five months when American and Filipino forces had held off a large Japanese army only to eventually succumb to inevitable defeat and surrender. She desperately wanted to connect with this place…to feel its power and experience its mystique…but with only three days to absorb its history, she doubted whether this was possible.

Lisa was so engrossed in her surroundings that she was startled when Brandon Wales, a classmate from the University of Tennessee, tapped her on the shoulder. Brandon was by far the most knowledgeable historian she had ever met, even surpassing most of her professors in the sheer volume of information he possessed, as well as in his passion for the subject. World War II was his area of specialization, so she was fully aware that he was in his element. At five-feet eight with a slight build, Brandon seemed even smaller when surrounded by the vast bay. His longish black hair blew helter-skelter as light rain began to fall, and soon the lenses of his glasses were dotted with mist. Not being comfortable in social situations, Brandon had few friends outside of Lisa, who had been his study partner for almost a year. Standing on the deck, he looked at her with the same seriousness she had seen many times, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his excitement.

I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry, he said softly, his speech slow and deliberate as always.

Don’t worry about it. I was just lost in thought. Are the others driving Dr. Wilcox crazy yet? Without thinking she touched Brandon’s arm to steady herself as the boat pitched against the choppy sea, making him blush and avert his eyes.

Actually, I think he’s asleep. The jet lag really hit him hard last night. Most of the others are asleep too.

Lisa smiled. But not us, huh partner? She gave him a playful punch on the arm, causing him to blush again. There it is, she sighed contentedly, The Rock. We’ve waited a long time for this, haven’t we?

Brandon nodded his head, absently pushing his glasses higher on his nose. I can’t believe I’m here. Three days and two nights on Corregidor, he said incredulously, shaking his head and running a hand through his unruly hair.

Looking at him as he struggled to maintain his balance against the wind and flailing seas, Lisa remembered the day their lives had intersected. Knowing Brandon by reputation, she had intentionally picked him as her study partner, as he was by far the smartest person in her graduate seminar group. She was a serious student and she wanted to study with someone who was equally serious. She had also picked him because she was sure no one else would. When she entered class on the day of the selection, Brandon was sitting in the corner front row seat, which he always occupied, lost in his reading while others chatted about last night’s party or tomorrow’s assignment. Lisa determined then and there that when her turn came, she would pick him as her study partner. When she did, her best friend Rachel Owens snickered loud enough for their professor, Dr. Wilcox, to give her sharp look. That had been more than a year ago and since then Lisa and Brandon had formed a strange bond, which not even they fully understood.

It is pretty unbelievable, Lisa said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. My grandpa always wanted to come back here, but he never had the money. I wonder how he would have felt visiting Corregidor again after all those years?

It would probably have been strange, Brandon said quietly. Too many memories.

Maybe, but he used to tell me that defending this island was one of the most important things he had ever done. He was very proud to have served in the Philippines. He always said that he lived history, and I guess he was right, Lisa said as she took off her orange Tennessee Volunteers cap and tied her blond hair back in a ponytail. Well, here we are.

The staff of the Sun Tours ferry that had brought them from Manila stepped onto the deck to begin the procedures for docking at Corregidor Harbor. On shore, other staff members maneuvered thick ropes into position to tie up the ferry when it docked. Behind the group standing on the dock was a sign, which said in large, black letters, Welcome to Corregidor. In the parking lot adjacent to the dock, tour guides waited patiently by their open-sided buses, ready to welcome the more than one hundred tourists who had braved the wet weekday weather.

Lisa put her hands in the pockets of her windbreaker and shivered a little as the rain began to fall harder. She glanced at Brandon, whose eyes gleamed like stars on a dark night. His understated excitement made her smile. As an academic, he was trying so hard to be professional, but she knew he was ready to jump out of his skin

As the ferry captain moved the boat into position for docking, Brandon pointed to the first bus on the right. There’s bus number five…that’s our bus.

Wow. Really? Lisa asked playfully. I didn’t know you were good at math too. She bumped him with her hip, making him steady himself against the rail. You really do have to eat something or you’re going to blow away in this wind.

Brandon did not take his eyes off the island, but his smile denoted his acknowledgement. I thought it was you cheerleaders who didn’t eat?

I haven’t been a cheerleader since high school, thank you, and I eat plenty. I just can’t gain any weight. I’ve weighed 110 pounds since I was…

Born, Brandon said almost inaudibly, shocking her with his attempt at humor.

Brandon made a funny, Lisa exclaimed, clapping her hands and hopping up and down in feigned excitement. I can’t believe it.

Smiling again, Brandon turned to go inside as the crew opened the doors to let the passengers file onto the dock.

Hold on turbo, Lisa said. They aren’t going to leave without us. There are only fifteen in our group and we have a whole bus to ourselves, so you’ll get a window seat for sure.

Her remonstration came too late, as Brandon was already scurrying toward the exit. Lisa shook her head and followed him, noting that the rain had stopped and the sun was peeking through the clouds. As she stepped onto the dock, she whispered, I’m here gramps…and I feel you here with me.

Brandon bounded into the bus, oblivious to the tour guide’s instructions, already clutching his camera as though MacArthur was going to walk around the corner any moment.

He’s such a freak, one of Lisa’s classmates commented to no one in particular. He’s so excited I’m surprised he hasn’t wet his pants.

The girl next to her giggled, never looking up from texting on her smart phone. How would you know whether or not he’s excited? She quipped. He has the personality of a grapefruit.

Hey, her friend commented sarcastically, I like grapefruits so watch it.

The other girl giggled again until she saw Lisa out of the corner of her eye. She looked away and said sheepishly, We were just kidding around. Sorry.

Lisa glowered at them and said nothing. She had heard it all before. Instead, she turned and walked to the bus, leaving them in awkward silence. She sat behind Brandon who was already snapping photos.

Are you trying to set a new record for the number of photos taken at the dock? She quipped playfully, leaning forward and waving her hand in front of the lens. Then, in her best narrator’s voice, she said, Picture number 320 shows Lisa’s hand at the famous Corregidor dock.

Without taking his eyes off the bay, Brandon replied, And number 321 is of Lisa being thrown off the bus at Corregidor dock.

Lisa laughed and squeezed his shoulders. That’s funny stuff, Brandon, she said. You’re channeling your inner comedian. I like it.

For the next hour, the bus traversed the narrow roads that led to the island’s most important sites, such as the south dock where General Douglas MacArthur made the famous statement I shall return, as he was being evacuated to Australia. All the while, Lisa reflected on the time when the island was not the lush paradise it is today, but instead was a smoldering mass of rubble and rock where besieged and frightened Americans and Filipinos waited for their doom. What had it been like in those dark days? How had the defenders ever managed to get through them without losing their hope, their sanity, or both? It occurred to her that these were questions she should have asked her grandpa when he was alive. Now it was too late. The answers were lost to history. At best they were synthesized through the interpretation of scholars who had written extensively on the fall of Bataan and Corregidor, but at the worst they were disbursed like dust in the wind with no hope of ever finding them.

II

Kate and Robert

Sunday, April 19, 1942 began the same as every other day over the past two weeks, with the terrifying boom of bombs falling on Corregidor, eviscerating its vegetation and armaments while at the same time frazzling the nerves of the soldiers, sailors, Marines, nurses, and Filipino civilians who huddled in Malinta Tunnel. With every boom there was a subsequent shudder, causing dust to fall from the tunnel’s ceiling and some of the sick and wounded in the tunnel’s 1,000 bed hospital to cry out. Others simply curled up into a fetal position and pulled a blanket over their heads, while still others prayed, cried, or even cursed the Japanese. As the earth shook from another explosion, Second Lieutenant Kate De Marco leaned against the wall to steady herself, closing her eyes to block out the chaos around her. Her repast was short lived, however, as a patient near her began to sob.

Nurse! Nurse! He wailed. Please make it stop! I can’t take it anymore. Please make it stop! His body shook with sobs as panic overtook him.

From across the room, another patient, equally in a state of panic shouted, Shut the hell up you idiot. They’re gonna keep bombing us until they blow this rock to kingdom come!

Kate sat on the edge of the sobbing soldier’s bed, putting her hand on his shoulder and leaning close to him. Don’t listen to him private. It’s going to be all right. Really it is. We’ve got Marines protecting the beach and our gunners are giving the Japs fits…and besides, she whispered leaning even closer, no one can get to us in here. As long as we are in this tunnel, nothing or no one can get to us.

The soldier’s sobs began to abate and he put his hand in hers. She was still sitting with him five minutes later when her charge nurse Lieutenant Josephine Nesbit, or Mama Josie as the Filipino nurses called her, rushed into the ward, worry lines etched on her face. Mama Josie was a tall, no-nonsense nurse with more than twenty years’ experience. Even as tough as she was, the nurses under her command loved her for her professionalism and compassion. Mama Josie motioned for Kate to join her at the entrance to the lateral, which ran to the main tunnel.

"Kate, I’m sorry to do this but I need you to double time it to the west entrance. They’re bringing a wounded soldier in from Bottomside[1] and I can’t find a corpsman. Take a gurney and some supplies with you. Get someone to help you if you need it."

Yes, lieutenant, right away. Noticing there were tears welling in Mama Josie’s eyes, Kate took her hand. Is everything all right?

Wearily, with quivering lips, the usually tough-as-nails Josephine Nesbitt shook her head. Nothing is ever going to be all right again, she said with a sigh. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her back, and pulled her hand away. Go, Kate. Go, now.

After commandeering a gurney and gathering supplies, Kate recruited another nurse, her friend Frances Frankie Corley, to help her push the gurney through the chaos of the lateral, weaving in and out of people and equipment as they raced to the main tunnel. All the while Kate called out for a corpsman, but none emerged.

She and Frankie had just arrived at the west entrance when the massive steel doors that led outside the tunnel began to open. It was the first time in days that either of them had seen real daylight and for a moment they squinted against the sun, trying to adjust their eyes to the morning brightness. Just as Kate was able to make out two soldiers scurrying down the road that led from Bottomside, a deafening boom filled the air and the ground convulsed as if it would crack open. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, coating Kate’s jet-black hair with whitish/gray powder. Debris flew by the doors, clanking against the steel and obscuring the two soldiers in smoke and ash. When it cleared, they both lay on the road nearly fifty yards from the tunnel. One soldier tried to rise, but is legs gave way and he dropped to