Tracie Peterson (14 page)

The emerald green brilliance below him grew ever closer and Erik found he had no way to maneuver himself out of the range of the trees. He felt lucky to even be reaching land. He’d never been one to listen very faithfully to his flight briefings when it came to details about the surrounding areas. The Solomons might well have over nine hundred different islands, but all Erik really knew was his plane had now become a permanent part of the Pacific Ocean and he was about to land only God knew where.

Looking to the cloudless sky, he murmured, “Hope you’ll remember I’m down here.” His faith in God, seemingly strong at home when things had been easy, had been shaken from his first moment in uniform.

Heading ever closer to the trees, Erik caught a momentary glimmer of a silvery ribbon. A river, he figured. Or at least a creek. He did remember from his training that rivers and creeks often connected to paths, which would in turn lead to some form of civilization—although Erik doubted there was any form of civilization on this island. It looked completed deserted.

“Looks can be deceiving, old man,” he told himself. He strained his eyes against the leafy growth beneath him. Trees, trees, and more trees.

“Better than being lunch for the sharks,” he said, trying hard to look for silver linings. His mother had always said that God wouldn’t give you more than you could handle. He was trusting that to be true.

Erik had little time to comment on anything else. The chute wasn’t slowing him down as much as he would have liked, and now he faced the jungle tops with a sense of trepidation. This just hadn’t been his week. Or month. Or year.

His boots hit the branches first and after that it was a rhythmic beating of palm fronds, vines, and various other branches against his body, tearing at his clothes and skin, reaching gnarled fingers to poke and prod him like some ancient backwoods doctor. At this rate, his body would be pulverized before the chute finally managed to snag a branch.

Feeling the tension in his groin and shoulders as the harness and straps reached their limits, Erik found himself momentarily halted before being snapped back up a short distance only to be dropped down again. When he finally came to a halt, he closed his eyes and waited a moment before moving. He wanted to make sure he’d really come to a stop and that he was still in one piece—that he wasn’t dead.

“I’m alive,” he said, almost gasping for breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until just that moment.

For a few minutes his head seemed to spin while he awaited the return of blood to his brain. Slowly he opened his eyes and began to move rather gingerly, testing his body for damage. His legs moved easily—too easily. Glancing down, he quickly ascertained why. The ground was still well below him. At least he hoped that was ground
down there, somewhere. The darkness and intricate weave of the jungle vegetation made it impossible to see much of anything.

Seeing overhead where the chute had caught itself up in the rain forest canopy, Erik realized he’d dropped into quite a predicament. If only it were raining, his day might be complete.

“Well, if this just isn’t a plum dandy way to end a day of fighting. A fellow can’t even have a minute to revel in his glory.” He twisted against the chute rather violently before realizing that if he were to free the thing, he might yet meet his death from the long-distance plunge.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he wondered aloud. He had little to go by. No one had ever really instructed him on how to free himself from such an adventure. He had a jungle kit consisting of survival gear. Maybe that would give him some ideas.

He tried to work the kit free, only then noticing that he’d cut his hand pretty badly. No telling where he’d done it. He wiped the blood against his flight suit and continued trying to free his supplies.

Hanging in the air was beginning to lose its charm. Erik managed to slip the jungle kit loose, but just as he opened the pack, movement at his side caused him to freeze. Glancing over, trying hard to be nonchalant about the entire matter, Erik let out a yelp at the sight of a slithering tree boa.

With the yelp went the jungle kit. Flashing out against the green foliage, the articles rained down on the land below, not giving so much as a sound when they reached the bottom.
If
they reached the bottom. For all Erik knew, he might as well have been suspended over a bottomless cavern or a swamp.

The boa seemed concerned with neither Erik nor the jungle kit. It simply slithered off to some unknown destination. Erik really didn’t care so long as the thing kept moving away from him.

Calming his nerves, Erik tried to analyze the situation as best he could. The only reasonable solution seemed to be that he somehow get loose of the chute and climb down the nearest tree. Having been quite a tree climber as a boy, Erik assumed the matter could be done without too much difficulty.

“Maybe it has been a good five or six years since I did any serious climbing,” he said to no one but himself, “but I bet I can still handle it.”

He thought of his mother back in Longview, Washington. A regular member of Faith Church and a devout woman of God, Lena Anderson would have told him that God could handle it. And maybe He could—if He were listening. Erik only allowed himself a small moment of guilt as he realized how negative he’d become. He had grown up in church and knew God for himself. He’d accepted Jesus as his Savior when he was a boy of thirteen. But somehow the last few months had done more to tear at his faith than the preceding twenty years of life.

His first disappointment had been in finding himself stationed at Guadalcanal or “The Canal,” as the marines called it, where everything ran on a shoestring. Not only that, but his first few weeks there had consisted of a constant barrage of enemy fire at night and a military game of “Get ’em before they get you” during the day. It held no charm and did absolutely nothing to endear the South Pacific to him.

His second disappointment was a seeming lack of concern or interest from the folks back home. He’d had so few letters or packages from home that his despair had grown into a lurking, shadowy monster of doubt. They didn’t care. They didn’t even know he existed. He’d left Longview and then Washington and then the continental United States. It was as if he’d simply disappeared, and once out of sight, he was definitely out of mind.

But surely Mary Ann remembered him. He smiled and his tension seemed to ease a bit. He thought of her angelic face, eyes as blue as the waters he’d just flown over, and a sweet innocence that made him want her for the mother of his children.

“
I’ll write to you every day
,” she had told him when they’d shared a private moment before his departure. The church had sponsored a going-away party for several of their young men, and Erik had been among their numbers.

“
I’ll think of you day and night
,” she promised. “
I just wish you didn’t have to go
.”

“
It’s my duty
,” Erik had assured her, but now he could only wonder if he’d done the right thing. Here he was hanging from a tree in the South Pacific, and Mary Ann was somewhere in Seattle—probably at the mercy of those wolves in sheep’s clothing who were left at home running things.

“No sense feeling sorry for yourself,” he said, but the image of Mary Ann’s sweet face refused to fade from his thoughts. “I have to be strong and remain focused on my task. I have to come home to you in one piece.”

Erik gave a slight bounce against the chute straps. They held fast. Maybe, he reasoned, he could swing back and forth and grab on to that fairly smooth barked trunk to his left. Like a five-year-old at the park, he swung his legs forward in an overexaggerated manner and let the chips fall where they would.

The chute didn’t so much as budge. It was wedged in good and tight and, for reasons that seemed to elude understanding, even the silk seemed firmly resistant to tearing.

He caught the trunk on his third good swing. Hugging the tree like the lifeline it was, Erik managed to get ahold of his knife and saw through the shroud lines of his parachute. The fluttering in his stomach gave rise to a nervous notion that maybe he was making a mistake. Like an umbilical cord being cut, Erik realized his security was now in his own ability to survive. But then again, he was a marine.

“
God is your light and your salvation, son
,” whispered the memory of his mother’s words.

“Let it be so,” Erik prayed.

The sounds of the jungle permeated the vegetation. Somewhere to his right came the unmistakable scolding of an irritated bird. Obviously distressed by Erik’s appearance in their territory, a number of birds joined in the chorus. And there were other noises—trees rustling, tapping sounds, rubbing and scraping sounds. The place was alive with its own kind of music. Erik just hadn’t bothered to hear it until now. His own rapidly beating heart, the rushing blood against his eardrums, had been all that he could focus on. But now as his breathing evened and his heartbeat relaxed a bit, Erik became more than a little aware that he had landed in the midst of an entirely new world.

His descent proved less than eventful, and when at last Erik put his feet back on the spongy yet solid ground of the island, he let out a huge sigh of relief. Training told him to sit down and take stock of the situation and figure out where he was. Looking around, he shook his head.

“I’m in a jungle. Somewhere in the Pacific. Okay, so that’s resolved.”

He laughed as he recalled his next issue of training. Stay with the aircraft because it’s big and easily spotted. “Well, that might work—if the plane wasn’t under hundreds of feet of ocean.” He paused. “So much for training.”

Wiping the sweat from his neck, Erik surveyed the area for his survival kit. It was nowhere to be seen. The thick vegetation and overgrowth of the undisturbed jungle refused to give up its secrets. It became a strange game of hide-and-seek and Erik didn’t stand a chance.

On his hands and knees, he felt his way through some of the mossy terrain, but when something moved under his touch, Erik began to realize he might very well be in more danger than he thought. Jumping to his feet, he reached for the reassurance of his .45 revolver. At least he had managed to hang on to it. There were six rounds chambered and another six in reserve. Certainly not enough ammunition to fight a one-man war, but maybe enough to keep him alive while he searched for some form of rescue.

Besides this, he had his knife. Together, the two could double as tools and weapons. Surely it was enough to keep him going. It had to be. There wasn’t anything else to rely on.

“
Erik Anderson, you know full well that you can always rely on God
,” he heard his mother chide.

Nodding, he felt his spirits lift only marginally. “Yes, ma’am,” he said as if his mother were at his side. He glanced around at the creeping, crawling, oozing charm of the jungle and laughed out loud. “But I can’t exactly sit here and wait for a lightning bolt from heaven.”

Seattle, Washington, December 1942

“Isn’t Ray just swell!” Mary Ann Roland declared as she paraded through the shared boarding room with a new pair of stockings. “I can’t believe he just gave these to us for free.”

Ellen Anderson eyed her friend suspiciously. “Maybe they aren’t for free. Did you ever stop to think that Ray Blasingham might very well have a price in mind? You need to be careful, Mary Ann.”

“Oh, you’re just worried I’ll fall for him and leave your brother Erik at the altar,” she said in a teasing tone. She knew, however, that Ellen did worry about such things. “I adore Erik and I would never do anything to hurt him.” She plopped onto the bed, still admiring the stockings. “Besides, I’ve told Erik about Ray, and I’ve told Ray about Erik. I think Ray realizes how much I miss Erik. He’s just trying to be nice to us.”

Ellen shook her head. “Don’t count on that.”

Mary Ann put the hose aside. “You said yourself that there was nothing wrong with having a little fun. Why, we only started going to those dances with Ray because you said we were doing our part for the war by keeping morale up.”

“I don’t have a problem with letting Ray act as an escort to the two of us,” Ellen admitted. She toyed with her brown hair before pinning it into a neat bun. “I just have a problem with us taking gifts from him. Ray is your foreman, after all. You let it get around that the boss is paying you extra favors and you’ll lose every friend you have.” She secured a hairnet over the bun, then walked to the bed she shared with Mary Ann. Housing was so short, they were lucky to even have a bed to share. “You’d better get a move on or we’ll be late for work.”

“I’m sure Mr. Boeing would understand.” Nevertheless, she’d never been late to work and didn’t intend to start now. She tucked
the stockings into her dresser drawer, gave them one last look of longing, then left them to await her return. Surely Ellen was wrong about Ray and the situation causing problems. He was just a nice man who knew how lonely she was. Besides, he had that whole problem with his one leg being shorter than the other and not being able to get into the war. He’d told her how sad it made him to watch his buddies go off to war and not be able to join them. It had just about broken Mary Ann’s heart. She knew how hard it had been on her uncle Morris not to be able to go to the Great War. Why, Mama said it had been the undoing of Uncle Morris and that he’d taken to drinking and bootlegging after that. Mary Ann surely didn’t want to see something like that happen to Ray, and if she could help to keep his spirits up, then she just knew it was the Christian thing to do.