  Than Shwe, who had become the center of an impromptu gathering, slipped away, and the circle broke up. After stirring her iced tea thoughtfully, Gale drank it slowly, set the glass down, rose, stretched herself, then retired to a secluded corner. The magazine was a blind. She did not read—had not intended to read. She wanted to be alone to think. Life for her had moved rapidly that day. She had gone to the field to practice with an anti-aircraft gunner. Her sham battle had turned into a real fight. With her help Mac had downed a Jap bomber and at this moment was being toasted by his comrades. She had no doubt of that. She had asked him to leave her name out of it. That he would respect her wish she did not doubt. But there were the two gunners. What of them? “It’s a great world,” she whispered with a sigh. “A man shoots down a bomber and is covered with glory. A gal assists in downing the bomber, does the heavy end of the job, if you ask me, and what does she get? I ask you. A good bawling out, if someone gives her away. For what? For jeopardizing her life in the defense of her country and the defense of India, China, Burma and all the rest.” For months this whole question of woman’s part in the war had been in her hair. She had graduated from college in June. Her twenty-first birthday came three days after graduation. On her birthday she had joined the WACS. She had planned for this a long time. In college she had taken all the courses that would help—outdoor gym work, Red Cross, first aid, and all the rest. From college she had gone to Fort Des Moines where many of the WACS had received their training. How she had loved that place! Fine old brick barracks, great spreading elms, all that went for making an army camp seem wonderful—that was Fort Des Moines! They had worked hard. Endless hours—up early, to bed late. She hadn’t minded for she was preparing herself for something truly great. Was she not to be a real soldier? To have a part in a great war? Surely this must be true. They had taken one A out of WAAC, making it Woman’s Army Corps. That “Army” was the really big word. Because she had always been interested in radio, had built receiving and sending sets with her father’s help, she had taken up the radio branch of the service. When her primary training was over at Fort Des Moines she had gone to a special school for further radio training. There she had learned to operate and repair all manner of army sets. She had entertained fond dreams of soaring away in a flying fortress as its radio engineer. And then the magic of radar had come breaking into her little world. Radar had charmed and intrigued her. She was allowed to remain for a special course in radar. She had gotten this far in her bittersweet meditations there on the shady porch at the “Club” in India when a slight stir at her right caught her attention. Someone had taken a chair close to hers. On looking up she was surprised to see that it was the native girl nurse, Than Shwe. She favored her with her best smile. “Pardon,” the girl hesitated. “Just now I hear that something, they say radar, helped bring down a Jap bomber. This is splendid. But what is radar?” Gale started. So there it was, so soon! Did Than Shwe suspect that she was the one who had helped with radar? She doubted that. “Radar,” she replied quietly, “is like radio.” “But you do not shoot with radio,” the native girl stared. “Nor with radar, either.” Gale laughed softly. “What is it then that radar does? And how does it do this?” The little native girl’s voice was eager. “I can’t tell you much, Than Shwe.” Gale’s voice was kind. She liked this native girl. Gladly would she march at her side on the way back to Burma, and beyond. “This much I can tell you,” she went on. “It has been printed in a magazine and is no military secret. With radar we send out radio impulses, like little sparks, only you can’t see them. We send out thousands and thousands of them. Most of these go on and on like lost sheep. We never hear of them again.” “But some of these,” Than Shwe whispered. “Yes,” Gale agreed, “some of these run into a solid object like a ship or an airplane. Then they bound back like a flash to tell us that so many feet or inches away they ran into something and got a terrible bump.” “Oh!” Than Shwe gave a leap. “Then you know where the enemy ship or plane is! That is quite wonderful!” “Yes, Than Shwe, it is wonderful. But that’s all I can tell you, absolutely all.” Gale’s tone was fearfully final. “I will not ask you one more question,” said the native girl. And she kept her promise for a long, long time. “Than Shwe,” said Gale. “That colonel you were talking about a little while ago, the one who waded the river in shorts with a tommy gun on his shoulders and brought you all safely out of Burma—was that our colonel, the one we have here now?” “Yes, the same one.” Than Shwe’s voice was low. “And he is going back?” “Yes. Very soon.” “And you are going?” “Very soon. That is all I must say.” “Thanks, Than Shwe,” Gale whispered. “Thanks a lot.” A moment later Than Shwe’s chair was empty. As Gale resumed her meditations, it was with a disturbed mind. Somehow the story of her afternoon’s adventure had gotten round. It had not yet been definitely connected with her. Or had it? In the end it would be. And then? “Oh, well! Let them do what they think they must,” she whispered. Once more her mind was busy with the days just past. When her radar course at the school had been completed she was ready for work. She had been sent to Texas where she worked, not at radar, but radio, directing traffic for an airfield. That was interesting and, for a time, exciting. She had made many fine friends. But this had not satisfied her. There was a war. She had joined the army. She wanted to be a soldier. She had applied for overseas service and was accepted. North Africa and Australia had been suggested, and then India. She had often dreamed of India with its temple bells, its sacred monkeys and much else that was strange and weird. More than that, she knew that India was to be the starting place for the march across Burma and across China to Tokio, and the end of the war. Why should she not be in the finish? India it should be. And India it was. Once again Gale became conscious of the arrival of an occupant for the chair at her side. It was the WAC with the long face. (Cora Shaw was her name.) Cora was slim, precise, devoted to her conventions and to the young captain whom she served as yeoman (private secretary). Her captain was charged with the task of securing billets for American troops arriving in the city. No matter how many went with the colonel, “very soon” others would be coming—two transports had arrived that very day. For this reason Cora’s captain would remain in the city, and so too would Cora, which was, Gale guessed, just what Cora wanted—a good safe spot with a handsome captain at her side. “And why not?” Gale asked herself. “Who could wish for a nicer safer way to fight a war?” She didn’t quite know the answer to that one, so she passed it up to turn an inquiring face toward the girl with a long face. “Dearie, I just heard the strangest thing.” Cora could purr like a cat. She was purring now. “They shot down a Jap bomber near the airport this afternoon.” “Did they?” Gale drawled. “How sort of thrilling.” “Yes, of course. And do you know they say that somehow radar, that new invention, helped to bring him down,” Cora purred on. Gale was seized with a mild panic. How much did this girl know? Whatever she knew she would tell—she was that kind. For a space of seconds Gale said nothing. Then she managed her slow drawl again: “Oh yes! Radar?” “The bomber came down close to the gun that fired the shot.” Cora gave Gale a searching look. “Oh dear! I hope none of our group was mixed up in that.” “Mixed up in a falling bomber?” Gale exclaimed. “Goodness yes! She might get hurt!” “That’s not what I mean!” Cora dropped her purr. “You know as well as I do that some of the WACS have been trained in the use of radar. And you know also that we are not supposed to be in places of extreme danger!” “Oh dear, no!” Gale drawled. “We’re ladies, all of us. And ladies don’t go in for rough stuff. They don’t even swear.” That was a blow under the belt. Cora recoiled. But in a moment she was purring again. “Dearie, could you tell me a little about radar? How does it work? How can it help bring down a bomber?” “What’s this?” Gale asked herself. “Is she a spy?” To Cora she said, “No, I can’t tell you a thing. Radar’s been written up in a magazine—Life, I think. All that is to be known by common, everyday folks is written down there. The librarian can find the copy for you.” At that she took up her own magazine. The interview was ended, but she did not yet know how much Cora knew about the affair and would not for worlds have asked. “I’ll be sent back to America,” she told herself. Well, at least she had experienced one thrill, and that was a lot more than a girl like Cora would ever know. At that she began again, rather sadly reviewing her past. What appeared to be the death blow to her fond hope of having what she considered to be a real part, a part filled with thrills and danger in a real war, had come shortly after her landing in India. A large group of WACS had been gathered in a USO recreation hall. There they had been assured in a lengthy and rather severe speech by a fellow WAC who had been a matron in a girls’ school that under no circumstances would they be asked, or allowed, to enter the field of actual battle. That, in fact, India was their ultimate destination, and that they had arrived. “Well, what do you want?” a prim little gremlin was asking her at this moment. “You are in India, and today you have had a real part in a real battle of the air.” “Yes,” was her reply to the gremlin. “The Japs were over this place three months ago. They were over again today. When the colonel and his grand American army get on the march, the Japs will be too busy for a return visit. So then we will be quite free to dream the happy hours away.” “Bah!” she exclaimed aloud. “What’s that about?” came in a brisk, masculine voice. Startled, Gale sprang to her feet. “As you were,” said the voice. She found herself looking not into the face of a gremlin but at the colonel, their colonel, he of the hairy legs and the tommy gun over his shoulder—the little native girl’s dream of a great man, a real colonel. “As you were,” the colonel repeated, dropping into the big easy chair at her side. |
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