  They drove for what seemed to Gale endless hours. Smooth, paved roads gave way to hard surfaced ones with many bumps, but still they roared on. In their open car, with the air constantly beating on their faces, they became very sleepy, but Gale was determined to stay awake. This, she knew, was to be one of the memorable nights of her life. They were going forth to battle, even ahead of the big push, the army. Yes, this was a big night. Gale thought of the words spoken by her father just before they started. “Gale,”—his voice had been almost somber—“In the army you’ll be what you young people call ‘pushed around’. You won’t like it. For years—” “For years you’ve been trying to push me around!” she had put in with a sly smile. “And you think you didn’t succeed. Dear old Dad, you succeeded better than you knew. Anyway, you’re proud of me now, aren’t you?” “Yes! Yes! Of course!” He had coughed violently. “But what I’m trying to tell you is that in the army you’ll really be pushed around, and you’ll not like it. But you’ll have to take it. You’re in for the duration.” “What do you mean?” she had asked soberly. “You’ll be put in a place and told to wait, when you want action. You’ll want to do things worse than you’ve ever wanted to do anything before, and you’ll be told you can’t do them.” “I know! I was there!” His voice had risen. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s war, that’s all. And because it’s war you’ll have to take it.” “Well then, if it’s war I’ll take it,” had been her response. She smiled a little as she recalled those words now. Only a few weeks before she had found herself up against what seemed a stone wall. She had been told that no WACS would be allowed to go with the army into Burma and China. No indeed! But here she was going in ahead of the army! She had very little notion how it had come about, nor how long her luck would last. One thing she did know—she was not being pushed around—not yet. All of a sudden the car lights dimmed, then the car slowed down a bit. “What’s up, Jan?” she asked. “Nothin’. Dim out. That’s all,” was Jan’s quick response. “Colonel’s orders. We’re getting into a zone where there’s not supposed to be a road,—only a trail. The honorable enemy mustn’t be allowed to know about this road.” A little further on the whole procession halted, then moved on, halting every thirty seconds. “Guard,” Jan explained. As it came her turn Jan gave the countersign, submitted to a brief inspection, then drove on. A chill ran up Gale’s spine. Already they were in dangerous territory, where roads were new. “Jan,” she said, “Can you drive in the dark?” “Can I?” Jan asked. “Golly, you must have slept through your weeks at Fort Des Moines if you never saw us girls driving those big trucks in convoy.” “Oh yes, I saw them!” Gale recalled. “Well, you’d better believe they trained us. Drive in the dark? Say! They tied handkerchiefs over our eyes and made us drive for hours and hours without seeing a thing, and us in convoy, twenty trucks all going together.” “Once,” Jan laughed joyously, “I ran over a duck. But was I to blame? The duck could see, and I couldn’t.” They drove on, a little more slowly, in all but complete darkness. No friendly village lights now greeted their approach. There was no moon. Here and there dark bulks loomed,—a dog barked,—the sound of their motors changed a little, then again they were swallowed up by the night. These were the only signs of a village just passed. More and more trees lined the roadway. At times their towering tops shut out the stars. At last there came the rattle of shifting gears. “We’re going up,” Gale whispered. “This is the road we followed on our retreat.” There was a note of joyous suspense in Than Shwe’s voice. “Only then there was no road, only a rocky trail, and we girls were barefoot. Our shoes had been worn out on the rocks of the river bed.” “No road?” Gale exclaimed. “No road then, and now there is one. How come?” “It was all done by magic.” There was awe in the little Burmese girl’s voice. “I don’t know more than that. But oh! I’m so glad we’re going back!” They climbed, glided forward, then climbed again. Five times Jan shifted gears to climb. Then, after slowing down, they came to a halt. Here too the towering trees hid the stars, but beside the road a dim light shone. A thin point of light wavered along the ground, then pointed itself at Jan. “Come on. Get out,” said a familiar voice. “Time for midnight lunch at two in the morning.” “Mac!” Gale exclaimed. “It’s you!” “Sure it is! What did you think? And am I tired! I’ve driven all the way.” Mac’s voice trailed off. “Golly! It doesn’t seem like it could be two o’clock!” Jan exclaimed. “I’ve just started to drive!” At this they all laughed and piled out of the car. If Gale had hoped for a good talk with Mac, she was doomed to disappointment, for as she and Than Shwe entered the long, low room that was evidently an eating place, someone grabbed them both by the arms to exclaim: “How are you, girls? How you making it?” It was the colonel himself. “Come on,” he urged. “We’ll all sit together at this table.” So it happened that the four girls ate at the colonel’s table, along with his driver and orderly. “This is a Chinese place, but don’t order chop suey,” the colonel warned. “The waiter won’t know what you mean.” “Golly! Why not?” Jan asked. “I’ll explain that later,” said the colonel. Then he exclaimed: “Boy! Oh boy! Are we in luck! This Chink’s been raiding a hen coop. There’s stewed chicken and dumplings to be had. How about an order all round? This is on me. It’s the happiest night of my life.” There was a chorus of assents, and so the meal was ordered. “Why so happy, colonel?” Jan asked. “Oh! Don’t you know?” Than Shwe exclaimed. “This is our road of remembrance, is it not colonel?” “Yes, yes!” he agreed. “Our road of remembrance. Than Shwe and I are going back.” “We came down this road when it was only a path. You were in ragged shorts and I was barefoot.” Than Shwe laughed. “We were retreating from Burma,” the colonel chuckled. “A ragged handful of us.” “But we were singing as if we had just won the war. We were singing for the future, colonel!” The little nurse was as happy as her chief. “Yes, Than Shwe, we were singing for the future. That time the Japs beat the tar out of us. We had a ragged army of untrained Chinese soldiers and a few English troops, all fine fighters, but scattered all over the map. The Japs drove us out.” “But now,” the colonel’s voice rose, “Now we’ve got what it takes—tanks, guns, planes and men—thousands and thousands of well-trained men. We’ve got the power and we’re going back. Back to Burma, back to Rangoon, yes, and back to Mandalay! With God’s help we’re going back to Mandalay!” At that the colonel’s aide, who had a splendid baritone voice, sang: “Come ye back to Mandalay, where the flying fishes play.” At once the entire group—it was a large eating place packed with soldiers—roared out: “Come ye back to Mandalay Where the old flotilla lay Can’t you hear her paddle chunking From Rangoon to Mandalay? On the road to Mandalay Where the flying fishes play And the dawn comes up like thunder Out of China, ’cross the bay.” They were in the midst of the song when Gale’s eye was caught by a bright candle held by someone in the doorway leading to the kitchen. At first she thought the person was a child, for the candle was held low. The whole place was lit by candles. Then the person held the candle higher, and she saw his face. “Look, Colonel!” She exclaimed. “Look quick!” “Where?” “That door! Oh! Now he’s gone!” “Who was there? Why all the excitement?” the colonel asked. “It was the Black Dwarf.” “Oh! The Black Dwarf,” he murmured. Truth was, she had only half his attention. He had been enjoying the celebration to the very bottom of his soul. Now as the song lagged, he roared out: “Come ye back to Mandalay!” And they sang it all over again. As for Gale, her eyes were still glued to that door. She fully expected to see the Black Dwarf again. But he did not reappear. He was gone, perhaps farther than she could dream. When the song ended Gale found herself in a quandary. The colonel was having the time of his life. Should she interrupt this to tell him of the Black Dwarf? After all, what did she have to tell about this strange little man? She had seen him once on the edge of the airfield, and twice in the dugout during an air raid. And now he was here. What was there to that? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps a great deal. The Black Dwarf could wait, for here came the food. It was a glorious feast, enjoyed by all; chicken with dumplings, baked sweet potatoes, fruit salad, and of all things—ice cream. “It seems strange,” she said to the colonel. “What is strange?” His eyes twinkled. “This food. How could they do it on such short notice?” “They had notice enough. Everything has been planned in advance. Everything.” He repeated. “Wait till you see how we have planned it! Every beam—every spike is in its place. You will be amazed.” She only half understood what he was saying, but she was impressed. “I am to be part of something big!” she whispered to herself. Her bosom swelled. “Something really big!” “Colonel,” said Isabelle, “Tell us why we shouldn’t order chop suey in a Chinese restaurant over here.” “Because they’d laugh at you,” was the surprising reply. “Over here, chop suey is beggar’s hash. When a beggar gets good and hungry, he goes from door to door with a big wooden bowl. At every door some scrap of food is thrown into the bowl. When he gets home he chops it all up fine and eats it.” “But in America we pay fancy prices for chop suey!” Gale protested. “How come?” “It goes back to the Gold Rush days of California,” said the colonel. There were a lot of Chinese workmen in one camp. They had their own restaurant. “One night a bunch of white miners thought they’d try Chinese food, so they went in demanding to be served. It was late. Only scraps were left, so the frightened Chink threw the scraps into a big bowl, chopped them up and served them. “‘That’s a swell dish!’ one of the miners exclaimed. ‘What do you call it?’ “‘Chop Suey,’ was the Chink’s reply. ‘Beggar’s hash’, to him. And that,” laughed the colonel, “started beggar’s hash joints all over America.” When the party rose to leave, Gale hurried to one of the waiters to whisper: “You have a man here who is a—a—sort of dwarf, don’t you?” “We did have.” The man scowled. “He used to work here. That was some time past. Tonight he came back and said he wanted to work. We took him in. Now when we need him most he has skipped out! Gone! Bah! He’s no good!” Gale was tempted to repeat his words—“Bah! He is no good!” She did not, but in the future the words were to come back to her and she was to repeat them more than ever. |
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