Spotlight: Under the Java Moon: A Novel of World War II by Heather B. Moore
/
Based on a true story, this gripping WWII novel captures the resilience, hope, and courage of a Dutch family who is separated during the war when the Japanese occupy the Dutch East Indies.
Java Island, 1941
Six-year-old Rita Vischer cowers in her family’s dug-out bomb shelter, listening to the sirens and waiting for a bomb to fall. Her charmed life on Java―living with other Dutch families―had always been peaceful, but when Holland declares war on Japan and the Japanese army invades Indonesia, Rita’s family is forced to relocate to a POW camp, and Rita must help care for her little brother, Georgie.
Mary Vischer is three months pregnant when she enters the Tjident women’s camp with thousands of other women and children. Her husband, George, is somewhere on the Java Sea with the Dutch Navy, so she must care alone for her young children, Rita and Georgie, and her frail mother. The brutal conditions of the overcrowded camp make starvation, malaria, and dysentery a grim reality. Mary must do everything she can to keep her family alive.
George Vischer survives the bombing of his minesweeper but feels little hope floating on a small dinghy in the Java Sea. Reaching the northern tip of the Thousand Island would be a miracle. Focusing on the love of his life, Mary, and his two children, he battles against the sea and merciless sun. He’ll do whatever it takes to close the divide between him and his family, even if it means risking being captured by the Japanese.
Under the Java Moon highlights a little-known part of WWII history and the impact of war on Indonesia, its people, and the more than 100,000 Dutch men, women, and children who were funneled into prison camps and faced with the ultimate fight for survival.
Excerpt
The full moon was both a blessing and a curse, George decided. The Auxiliary Minesweeper Endeh, a 175-ton vessel that typically held sixty crew but now held only twenty-four, had been forced to change course since Japanese ships were blocking the Soenda Strait.
“Looks like we’re heading north,” Vos said, coming to stand by George at the railing as the sea breeze tugged at their clothing. Vos spoke in a low voice, as if there were a nearby Japanese vessel listening in.
George nodded, his only answer for now.
Everyone was on edge, and the tension was as thick as tar. Conversation among the men was limited and brief. No one slept, even though it was nearly four in the morning. Although the minesweeper’s intended job was to detect and detonate enemy mines, no one was focused on that. The real threat was a Japanese ship spotting them.
Hooft joined them at the rail, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Any news?” George ventured to ask.
“Rouwenhorst is taking us to the South Borneo coast, and from there we’ll cruise between the smaller Soenda Islands. We’ll make a break for Australia once we’re clear.”
George heard the roughness in Hooft’s voice, and he turned toward him. When they’d been readying for departure, Hooft had taken it upon himself to cut away the main mast of the minesweeper in order to make the silhouette smaller. While pushing the mast overboard, he’d been struck in the abdomen.
He’d brushed it off then, but now, his face twisted in pain as he held an arm against his stomach.
“Are you in pain?” George asked. “Maybe you should lie down? That hit was stronger than we thought.”
Hooft grimaced but shook his head. “I think I cracked a rib, but it will heal soon enough.”
“I agree, and you should lie down,” Vos said.
“Not going to happen,” Hooft said. “Not with Japanese all around us.”
Vos sighed, then craned his head to examine the skies. “We should have left at first dark. This moon is exposing our path.”
George wholeheartedly agreed. But they’d had to do all the inspections first, and with the mission planned last minute, they couldn’t have left any earlier. He followed Hooft’s gaze and studied the large white sphere in the black sky. Was its brightness keeping Mary awake too? He hoped she had gone to bed after he’d left. She needed all the rest she could get. Before leaving, he’d written down all the information he thought she might need, including a note to the bank manager that Mary should have access to their funds.
He hoped his officer’s pay would continue no matter who occupied Java, and that even if rations were stricter, his family would have plenty of food and supplies for their needs. His consolation was that Oma was in good health at sixty-seven. She was a strong woman and had endured many trials already. Perhaps it was both a blessing and a curse that she’d come to the Netherlands East Indies. She’d missed the breakout of the war in Europe and the subsequent German invasion of the Netherlands, yet now . . .
“It’s nearly 4:00 a.m.,” Vos said.
“Right.” George headed to the engine room where his shift was about to start. Before he reached the stairs, he saw a dark form about two hundred meters away. The moonlight splashed across a destroyer ship, and since the Allied ships were either sunk or crippled, that could mean only one thing.
The destroyer was Japanese.
Had they spotted the minesweeper yet?
Then, another form emerged . . . a second Japanese destroyer.
George blinked in the moonlight, hoping that his eyes were bleary and playing a trick on him. What were the chances the Endeh could slip past undetected? None . . . echoed through George’s mind.
His breath jerked, and he turned and hurried down the steps to the engine room. At the bottom of the stairs, he made the announcement, “There are two Japanese destroyers following us.”
Lieutenant Van Wijnmalen’s eyes rounded, and he sprinted up the stairs.
George turned to the control room, his chest tight with tension. The others had gone silent, staring at him. Then the commander’s urgent voice came over the 1MC—or 1 Main Circuit, the ship’s main public address system. “This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Two Japanese destroyers have been spotted. God’s grace will get us past them undetected, but right now, halve the engine speed.”
George and the others set to work immediately. No one spoke as they went about their duties to halve the engine speed. By the time the engine speed had slowed, perspiration stood out on George’s face.
Each moment of waiting passed with agonizing slowness.
Then George heard a popping sound above the engine noise. Guns. Light caliber guns by the sound of it. The Japanese were firing at the minesweeper.
Almost instantly, the commander’s voice came through the 1MC, “Slow the engine to a crawl.”
George set about the task. The engine was at its lowest setting, and for a moment the bullets stopped. He moved to the edge of the engine room, trying to hear better as the other engineers watched him in silence, fear plain in their expressions.
George wiped at the sweat on his face. His throat felt like it had been scratched dry. He needed water. What he really wanted to do was get out of this stuffy engine room and find a lifeboat. Were the Japanese destroyers toying with them? Or had they moved on from the small minesweeper?
“Stop the engines!” the commander said, his tone urgent, even panicked. “This is not a drill. This is not a drill. All engines must cease.”
George spun back into the room and followed orders.
Then, the ship’s alarm clanged at the same moment Van Wijnmalen came barreling down the stairs. “Life jackets!” he hollered as he grabbed his from the supply along the wall. “Everyone up on deck and to the lifeboat!”
The alarm continued to clang. And the commander’s voice blared through the 1MC, “This is not a drill. All hands to the lifeboats.”
George and the others reached for their life jackets as Van Wijnmalen tugged his on. The man turned back toward the stairs and headed up.
But he didn’t get very far.
One second, George was reaching for a life jacket, and the next Lieutenant Van Wijnmalen disappeared. No. Everything disappeared.
The engine room. The men around him. The walls. The floor.
We’ve been hit, George dimly thought. His ears were throbbing, and his head felt like it had burst, then come back together, only to burst again.
What was that sound?
It was a high-pitched keening, almost mechanical, but louder than anything George had ever heard. He tried to lift his hands to cover his ears, but his arms were so very heavy. The high-pitched sound lowered and separated.
“Vischer, jump!”
Someone was calling his name? Telling him to . . . jump?
George’s eyelids felt like sandpaper, but he dragged them open. The first thing he saw was searchlights skating across the minesweeper’s deck. He began to remember. The alarm, the commander telling everyone to get in the lifeboat. The sound of gunfire. The searchlights must be the Japanese. And now he was on deck. Wait. How was he on deck? Hadn’t he been in the engine room?
Then he smelled it. Smoke. He turned his head to see flames. The ship was on fire, and . . . there were men lying on the deck like he was. Not moving.
With a groan, George pushed up on one elbow. His skin felt like it was on fire, although he couldn’t see any flames on his clothing. Rips in his pants revealed gashes from shrapnel.
Nothing hurt, though. How was that possible?
“Van Wijnmalen,” George murmured to the man lying a few feet from him. His face wasn’t right, though. It was half gone.
At the realization, pain shot through George, and he began to feel his injuries. Like a throbbing, living thing. He couldn’t pinpoint where he hurt, though—it was everywhere.
“Jump, Vischer, jump!” someone called to him. But the sound was muted, almost like he was dreaming it.
He turned his face toward the railing, away from the fire. Men bobbed in the water that reflected the glittering stars. The Japanese destroyer’s searchlights lit up the men’s faces, then moved on. Beyond them, the lifeboat was on fire. The men wouldn’t last long in the water, and only a couple of them were wearing life vests. How this realization got through George’s murky mind, he didn’t know.
With another groan, he moved to his knees. Then slowly, he stood. Pain lanced through his wounds, but at least he was on his feet. Another sweep of searchlights passed over him, and he wondered if the Japanese saw him staggering. All the men he passed on the way were dead. George was the last one alive on the minesweeper.
This excerpt was taken with permission from Under the Java Moon: A Novel of World War II by Heather B. Moore (Shadow Mountain Publishing, September 5, 2023). This content is not to be copied or published elsewhere without written permission from Shadow Mountain Publishing.
Buy on Amazon | Audible | Bookshop.org
About the Author
Heather B. Moore is a USA Today bestselling author of more than ninety publications. Heather writes primarily historical and #herstory fiction about the humanity and heroism of the everyday person. Publishing in a breadth of genres, Heather dives into the hearts and souls of her characters, meshing her love of research with her love of storytelling.
Her ancient era historicals and thrillers are written under pen name H.B. Moore. She writes historical women's fiction, romance and inspirational non-fiction under Heather B. Moore, and . . . speculative fiction under Jane Redd. This can all be confusing, so her kids just call her Mom. Heather attended Cairo American College in Egypt and the Anglican School of Jerusalem in Israel. Despite failing her high school AP English exam, Heather persevered and earned a Bachelor of Science degree from Brigham Young University in something other than English. More at c.
Conmect:
Twitter: @heatherbmoore
Instagram: @authorhbmoore
Facebook: group - Fans of Heather B. Moore
