Winter in June by Kathryn Miller Haines Page A

tried to. But they were so scared of the Japanese they wouldn’t listen. Eventually the hysteria died down, the Americans got control of the island, and the natives realized they had nothing more to fear.” No wonder they were so nice to us when we arrived.
    â€œWhat’s up on that cliff?” I pointed toward what looked like a roadside billboard faced away from us. “Don’t tell me Burma Shave is advertising all the way down here.”
    He shook his head and stifled a laugh. “Nope, that’s a sign Admiral Halsey put up.”
    â€œWhat does it say?”
    â€œYou really want to know?”
    I nodded.
    He took a deep breath. “Kill Japs, kill Japs, kill more Japs. You will help kill the yellow bastards if you do your job well.”
    My stomach churned. We were used to anti-Japanese sentiment at home—lord knows they’d earned it—but it didn’t seem so…overt. We dealt with them by sending them away to work camps and making them villains in our movies (played by Chinese actors, since we didn’t want to reward our enemy by employing them). Sure we called them nasty names and encouraged kids to join in the effort by distributing official Jap hunter cards, but I couldn’t recall ever saying anything quite so pointed. If I couldn’t handle the language of war, how was I going to deal with the violence of it? “That’s subtle.”
    â€œThe military’s not known for subtlety. The admiral did it to boost morale at a time when his men really needed it.”
    â€œAnd apparently it did the trick.” Did the opposition have similar signs encouraging our deaths? What nicknames had they reduced the Allies to?
    Dotty pointed in the opposite direction, at a number of buildings with curved rooftops that rose above the trees. The sun reflected off the steel structures, making them seem even more out of place against the rest of the environment. “You can see the enlisted mess and PX through there. Just past them is the commissary, the infirmary, and the supply huts.”
    â€œI was expecting everything to be made out of twigs and leaves,” said Jayne. I shared her surprise. There was something disturbing about seeing these permanent-looking structures. If it was necessary to build buildings and make roads, then our government expected this war to go on for a very long time.
    â€œSome things are made the native way, but when the military wants to put up something fast and sturdy, they do it by Quonset hut,” said Dotty. Ace followed the curve of the road, where canvas living quarters were lined up in clusters. The roof of each dwelling peaked at the center the way a circus big top did; only instead of inviting us with brilliant colors, these tents were made of army green canvas bleached by the sun. Wires strung from poles made it clear that while the living conditions were simple, there was, at least, electricity to be had. “And here we are.”
    The Jeep in front of us stopped, and we followed suit. Jayne scanned the sight before her, her mouth so wide I was worried one of the myriad bugs flying about might go inside and set up camp. “This is it?” she said.
    â€œWhat were you expecting?” asked Dotty.
    She stepped out of the Jeep and examined tents that were little more than olive drab sheets tied to poles. “Walls.”
    â€œTrust me,” said Ace. “These are A+ accommodations. You guys have a floor. Not many people can claim that.”
    The others climbed out of their Jeep, and they led us into a large tent outfitted with five cots that hadn’t yet been made up. Stacks of rough blankets and linens awaited our attention on each bed. There was another object there, which I think was a pillow, though from the condition of the fabric covering, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that they were filled with coconut husks rather than goosedown. Two-by-fours forming crossbeams were mounted