She had heard sketchy accounts of the colonel’s retreat from Burma. Now, for the first time, in brief but vivid form, she had heard from the lips of one who had joined in that forlorn but glorious march, the entire story. Nothing in all her life had stirred her so deeply, not even her success of the afternoon.
“And by God! We’re going back,” she seemed to hear the native girl repeat.
“If she goes, I go!” she told herself with deep-seated determination.
CHAPTER III
Radar’s Secrets Are Not Told
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.