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  Praise for Radar Girls

  “Radar Girls is a fresh, delightful romp of a novel featuring the little-known women of Hawaii recruited after Pearl Harbor to staff the islands’ radar stations. Heroine Daisy is thrown into the deep end guiding in wounded Air Force pilots and listening for Japanese attacks, while juggling family troubles and a budding romance, but she and her radar-girl gang of irrepressible friends live up to their work, their duty, and their code name Rascal in sparkling fashion. Sara Ackerman never disappoints!”

  —Kate Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of The Rose Code

  “Radar Girls is a transporting, evocative novel with a unique slant on Hawaii in the immediate aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Ackerman skillfully tells an absorbing story while also crafting an ode to friendship and the strength of women faced with crisis, giving unsung heroes a triumphant and resonant voice.”

  —Kaui Hart Hemmings, New York Times bestselling author of The Descendants

  “In Radar Girls, Ackerman again delivers a powerful story about a little-known piece of women’s history with compassion and an unforgettable cast of characters. Daisy is a heroine to cheer for as she gives all she has for her country, the man she loves and, most importantly, herself.”

  —Noelle Salazar, bestselling author of The Flight Girls

  “The perfect escape, Radar Girls delivers a pitch perfect combination of fascinating history and unforgettable characters. I loved being transported to Hawaii and learning about these adventurous, smart women who answered the call of duty at a critical time. Sara Ackerman weaves together a wonderful story about friendship and love set against the turbulence and fear of a nation at war.”

  —Elise Hooper, author of Fast Girls

  “As warm as the Hawaiian sun, Radar Girls made me love the islands Daisy and her friends stepped up to protect in World War II. Their work to safely guide ships and planes in the Pacific theater was heroic, and one more proof that there were no ‘women’s’ and ‘men’s’ jobs, just a job to be done for the good of all. Brave, determined and fun, the WARDs preserved the beauty of their home, and the big-hearted generosity of the people who live there.”

  —Anika Scott, bestselling author of The German Heiress

  “I loved this engaging look into a fascinating, little known slice of WW2 history, the creation of the Women’s Air Raid Defense (WARD). The lush tropical paradise of Hawaii, left reeling in the aftermath of the horrifying attack on Pearl Harbor, provides the perfect setting for this captivating story of friendship, heartbreak and true love. Highly recommend!”

  —Karen Robards, New York Times bestselling author of The Black Swan of Paris

  Born and raised in Hawaii, Sara Ackerman studied journalism and earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine. When she’s not writing or teaching, you’ll find her in the mountains or in the ocean.

  Radar Girls

  Sara Ackerman

  For Todd, the truest of loves,

  and the WARDs, an inspiration to us all

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Author Note

  Radar Girls - Reader’s Guide

  Questions For Discussion

  1

  THE SKY FALLS

  December 7, 1941. Waialua, O‘ahu.

  On Sunday mornings, while everyone else was singing and praying to the Lord above, Daisy could be found underwater with the pufferfish and the eagle rays. Not that she had anything against God, in fact she spoke to him often, but you couldn’t eat the Bible.

  She stood with her toes buried in the cool sand and surveyed the water. Clouds blocked the low sun, but a few beams shot out, creating blue islands of light. The big question of the day was whether to swim toward Hale‘iwa or to Mokulˉe‘ia. A swell had filled in during the night and the low rumble of surf on the outer reef cut through the quiet. Going north would be more protected, so she decided on that.

  Just before she dove in, her borrowed horse, Moon, whinnied loudly. The animal reared up, straining at the rope that tied him to the ironwood tree.

  “What is it, boy?” Daisy said, looking around for any stray dogs or something that could have spooked the animal.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen, just open beach and bushes. She walked back to the nervous horse and stood next to him, speaking in a calm voice. “Just relax and eat your grass. I’ll be back soon.”

  Moon snorted and swung his head away from her. His neck was still slick with sweat from galloping down the beach. She had known he was fast, but to feel him under her bare legs like that was something different altogether. He was speed and power and grace all mixed up in one big, beautiful horse.

  Daisy had taken a risk in riding him this morning. Nalu, the old horse that she often rode, had a swollen knee when she arrived at the stables. Moon happened to be in the next stall and had pranced around with a look that said, get me out of here. He and Daisy had developed a deep bond over the past few months, solidified by the basket of guavas that she brought to work every day. She had been itching to take him out on her own. Tall, black and spirited, Moon was without a doubt the most beautiful horse she’d ever met—and the most expensive. She was smitten, to say the least. As long as she was back before church let out, no one would ever know.

  Daisy felt bad leaving the horse on the beach in an uneasy state, but she needed to be the first one out. The Chun brothers often beat her to the best spots and she wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine. Last Sunday, she had come home with an octopus, an ulua half as big as she was, and three lobsters. They had eaten well this week, and her mother had even put on an apron and made her famous lobster casserole. It had been a long time since she’d last made it. Daisy dared to hope that maybe her mother was turning a corner, but hope had let her down over the years.

  December brought cooler water, and her skin prickled as she dived in. Visibility was only about fifteen feet because of the swell, but it hardly mattered because she knew every contour of the reef, all the resident fish families, and even the local blacktip sharks that patrolled the coastline. With each kick, the knots in her back loosened. Working six days a week took a toll on her, but who else was going to earn the money? Certainly not her mom, Louise. And without the money, there would be no food and no house.

  As Daisy moved along, clouds gave way to sunlight that warmed her back. Schools of yellow tang and manini parted around her, glowing. Her route took her out about a hundred yards, before she veered right along a ledge that dropped onto a sandy floor. Tufts of red limu grew out of the cracks, and spiny wana dotted the coral. She kept an eye out for shell trails.

  Then, all around her, the water hummed. She tasted fuel on her tongue. She popped her head up and scanned the h
orizon for any signs of a ship. But soon it was obvious the sound was not coming from the sea, but rather the sky. Several planes buzzed just overhead before banking and heading toward the pineapple fields. Then another. And another. Must be more military training. But on Sunday? She dived and continued on. With the swell also came current, and she fought to stay on course.

  It took her twice as long to reach her destination, though along the way she plucked two hand-sized tiger cowries hiding in a crevice. Those often brought a good price. When she reached part of the reef full of lobster holes, Daisy set her spear on a coral head and put on her gloves. Lucky thing the tide was low. The first few holes were empty, but she finally caught sight of a set of spindly antennas. Her heart dropped. That hole was off-limits. Last time she’d nearly had her arm taken off by a moray eel as thick as her torso. She passed by the other holes again, stuck her hand in a few, but came up with nothing.

  Hungry and tired after a long week at the ranch, she decided to head back to Moon. The current had picked up and she fought to make any headway, dreaming of scrambled eggs, steamed watercress and Portuguese sausage. As she approached the beach, the water started buzzing again. She kept swimming and kicked down after a pˉapio. Military maneuvers had ramped up lately, but she never paid them any mind. There were more immediate things to worry about.

  By now, the buzzing had turned into a deep vibration of the water all around. When she came up for air, she found a rock to stand on to see what was happening. From behind the ironwood trees, less than fifty feet over the water, a plane with red circles under its wings zoomed toward her, passing directly over her head, followed closely by an olive green plane with a white star on its side. The kind she was used to seeing—a P-40 Warhawk.

  The rat-tat-tat of gunfire had her diving back into the water. What kind of idiots were these, shooting real guns over a residential area? Anger bunched in her chest.

  Unless?

  From shore came a loud whinny. She saw Moon rear up on the rope, his front hooves pawing at the air. Daisy half swam, half ran toward the beach, desperate to get to him and calm him down. The lead plane suddenly pulled up its nose, flew straight up and banked around. They were both heading back toward the shoreline, weaving only a dozen feet off the water. She dived to the bottom again and held on to a rock for as long as her lungs would allow. After coming up for air, she made a mad dash for Moon. To hell with the planes. She was almost to him when the rope snapped. She reached out, her hand closing around the frayed edge, burning as the rope slipped through. And then he was gone.

  “Moon! No!” Daisy screamed.

  He was tearing down the beach toward Hale‘iwa at a full gallop. She took a few desperate strides after him.

  Above, the two planes rolled and twisted at impossible angles. There was no mistaking the fact that this was no drill. She dived behind the massive ironwood tree, cowering in its folds. She choked on her breath. Her whole body trembled.

  Stay calm.

  For a few seconds, it sounded like the planes were heading away, but moments later, they returned. She risked a peek. This time, the Japanese plane was in hot pursuit, and the P-40 had a line of smoke pouring from its engine. Please, God, let him make it!

  They were headed right for her, yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away. As the Japanese plane was steadily gaining on the Warhawk, the American pilot pulled into a barrel roll and miraculously reversed the Zero’s advantage. Whoever he was, the man knew how to fly. Then, quick bursts of gunfire ripped open the Zero’s fuselage and shattered the canopy. Daisy saw the Japanese pilot slump forward as his plane burst into flame and fell toward the sea. She ducked back behind the tree just as the explosion cut through the sky, rattling her teeth and piercing her ears. A loud splash and the sound of metal crashing on rock told her everything she needed to know.

  She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t lift her. In a panic, she looked down to see if she’d been hit by something. But all her body parts were intact. As she tried to catch her breath, Daisy watched the crippled P-40 skim the trees, heading toward the airstrip just down the way. She thought of the Japanese pilot, locked away in his watery grave. She thought of the American pilot, and was thankful for his survival.

  And then she thought of Moon, terrified and frantic and running wild. She prayed he didn’t get himself hurt. Even as it was, she would be fired. No question about that. Unless she could come up with a brilliant reason why she’d taken him—and then lost him.

  Ironwood cones cut into her bare thighs. A few minutes passed, and she tried to stand again. This time, her legs obeyed and she walked out onto the beach. Not thirty feet offshore, the plane lay in several charred pieces on the reef, smoldering. The cockpit was underwater and the smell of burnt metal mixed with salt water and gasoline. She felt sick to her stomach.

  Where had the Japanese plane come from? And more important, were there more? Maybe she should have paid more attention to the warnings.

  She thought about going after Moon again. She owed him that much. This had happened on her watch and the poor horse had been terrified. But then she thought about her mother. Daisy took off running toward home. There was no point in trying to catch up with Moon, anyway. He would be long gone. Her mother, on the other hand, was likely to have worked herself into a bad state—if she was awake. You never knew with her.

  Halfway to the house she shared with her mother, a distant roar came from somewhere behind the mountains. Or was it just the sound of huge surf that had a way of bouncing off the cliff walls?

  Daisy stopped to catch her breath and make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Time slowed. The beach was as lovely as ever, sand white and fine and scattered with broken shells. Ironwood and coconut trees in equal abundance rustled in the light trade winds. Squinting, she noticed a raincloud had moved off the tip of Ka‘ena Point, causing a rainbow fragment to form just off the ocean.

  The sound grew louder, like a swarm of bees had taken up residence between her ears. The ground began to rumble. She started off again down the beach as fast as her lungs allowed, moments before a wall of planes appeared over the Wai‘anae Mountains. Some were mere feet above the cliffs while others stayed high. They were stacked and rowed so neatly, they seemed to be in a motion picture. Daisy beelined up to the trees and doubled over. She spit up salt water. Every single one of the planes had red circles painted on their wings or sides. A whole sky full of Japanese planes. Hundreds. And not one American plane in sight.

  2

  THE BUST

  Their shack, as Daisy referred to the house, was nestled in a cluster of bent ironwood trees, all by its lonesome. Set back far from the beach to protect it from a direct blast of onshore winds, it still took a constant battering and the salty air and elements had done a fine job reclaiming it. Windowpanes had been blasted opaque, you could see through the back wall, and flowers had taken up residence in the gutters. The siding had gone from forest green to pale green to peeling gray, the roof turned to rust.

  When he had first started working up at the ranch, Daisy’s father had somehow persuaded Mr. Montgomery to sell him the small parcel of beachfront property for the price of a bag of sand. Most likely because it was in no-man’s-land between Waialua and the ranch. And because her father had been the best horse trainer in Hawai‘i and everyone knew it.

  She flung open the front door and ran inside. “Mom?” she called.

  All quiet. She tiptoed across the lauhala mat in the living room, avoiding the creaking floorboards. Her mother spent much of her life in one of two states—sleeping or staring out to sea. The bedroom door was cracked and a lump lay under the blankets, pillow over her head. There was no point in trying to wake her, so Daisy ran back outside, hopped on her bike and rode for the stables.

  The air was ripe with burnt sugarcane and a scratchy feeling of dread. She bumped along a dirt road as fast as her old bike would carry her. That plume of black smoke a
bove Schofield caused her heart to sink. So many Japanese planes could mean only one thing. An attack or invasion of some kind was happening. But the sky remained empty and she saw no signs of ships on the horizon.

  By the time she reached the stables, she had worked out what to tell Mr. Silva—the only person at the ranch who was even close to being a friend—and beg that he help her find Moon. Whether or not he would risk his job was another story. Jobs were not easy to come by, especially on this side of the island. Daisy counted herself lucky to have one. When she rounded the corner by the entrance, she about fell over on her bike. Mr. Silva’s rusted truck was gone and in its place sat Mr. Montgomery’s shiny new Ford, motor running and door open.

  As far as old Hal Montgomery was concerned, Daisy was mostly invisible. She had worked for him going on seven years now—since she was sixteen—but she was a girl and girls were fluffy, pretty things who wore fancy dresses and attended parties. Not short-haired, trouser-wearing, outdoorsy misfits. And certainly not horse trainers and skin divers. Nope, those jobs belonged to men. There was also the matter of her father’s death, but she preferred not to think about that.

  Should she turn around and hightail it out of there before he caught sight of her? He’d find out eventually, and he would be livid. Daisy pulled her bike behind the toolshed and slipped around the back side of the stables, peering in through a cloudy window. The tension in the air from earlier had dissipated and the horses were all quiet. A tall form stood in front of the old horse—Nalu—she was supposed to ride. It was hard to tell through the foggy pane, but the man looked too tall and too thin to be Hal Montgomery.

  Horsefeathers! It was Walker, Montgomery’s son. A line of perspiration formed on the back of her neck and she had the strong urge to flee. Not that Daisy had had much interaction with Walker in recent years. He was aloof and intimidating and the kind of person who made her forget how to speak, but he loved Moon fiercely. Of that she was sure. Just then, he turned and started jogging toward the door. His face was in shadow but it felt like he was looking right at her. She froze. If she ducked away now, he would surely catch the movement. She did it anyway.