At least that was the plan. Deke knew well enough that trying to locate another friendly force in the hills and jungles would be a bit like trying to hit a tin can from one hundred yards while wearing a blindfold and swatting at bees. It was only the enemy that nobody ever had trouble running into.
Glancing up ahead at their guide, Deke realized that he still couldn’t determine just how old Danilo was. He was certainly older than the GIs or possibly even Lieutenant Steele, which put his age somewhere between forty and Methuselah territory. Yet the man’s wiry arms and legs seemed tireless.
Egan and Thor were sitting this one out. Instead, they would be carrying out guard duties at the beachhead. Thor’s powerful nose would be needed to sniff out any Japanese infiltrators bent on sabotage during the night.
It was true that a mission such as this, which involved traveling fast and light through rough terrain, was no place for the war dog. Still, Thor had become their mascot of sorts. Egan did not encourage them to show too much affection toward the dog, fearful that Thor might lose his aggressive edge, but the war dog wasn’t averse to allowing Deke to scratch his ears from time to time.
Deke had grown up with dogs and felt a soft spot toward Thor — he also felt like a war zone was no place for a dog. It was bad enough for the two-legged soldiers.
Steele had ordered them to travel as light as possible, carrying nothing more than a few rations, canteens, their weapons, and plenty of ammo. Nobody bothered with blankets in the tropical heat. They didn’t bother with ponchos, either — hell, they were already soaked through with sweat, so what would a little rain matter? Spare clothes were a luxury they couldn’t afford. The only real extra they were bringing along were two sets of wire cutters to deal with any fence or barbed wire that the Japanese were using to contain their prisoners.
Rodeo lugged along a handheld radio to keep in touch with HQ, although it was doubtful that the device would have much range once they got back into the hills. Rodeo also carried their scant medical supplies, which included a few bandages, some morphine, and aspirin. Any wounds or injuries that required more serious treatment likely meant that you were a dead man, anyhow.
Deke was grateful that he had finally shaken his jungle fever, an illness that had plagued him for most of the fight to seize Ormoc. The fever had left him feeling weak and hollowed out, but he had mostly regained his strength in the last couple of days. He just hoped and prayed that the fever didn’t return. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden to anyone on this mission. They trudged along, weapons at the ready, eyes scanning the jungle terrain for any sign of danger. There was no time to set up camp, no time to rest. They had to keep moving if they wanted to reach the POW camp before it was too late.
They soon reached the vicinity of Camp Downes, which had been the scene of a sharp fight only recently. The old outpost had been turned into a supply base, with material being moved up from the beachhead. They also passed the concrete bunkers that had given them so much trouble when passing through initially on their road to Ormoc.
The Japanese within those bunkers had proved to be a tough nut to crack. It had only been the arrival of the flame-thrower tanks known as Satans that had enabled them to burn out the enemy. In some cases, the tanks had fired point-blank into the bunkers.
Deke recalled how a few soldiers had insisted on collecting souvenirs in the midst of that chaos. It hadn’t ended well for them. An officer’s sword or pistol was hardly worth getting shot over.
As they approached the bunkers, they could see the blasted and blackened ruins. The area was too quiet, too still. The air was thick with an overwhelming stench of death and decay. The team approached with caution, weapons at the ready, unnerved by the quiet, and soon found themselves in the middle of what was essentially a graveyard. Any American dead had been treated with respect and buried, but the enemy dead had been left out in the open.
Scorched enemy bodies were strewn everywhere, some still in uniform, others stripped down to their underwear. In the oppressive heat inside the bunkers, some of the enemy soldiers had evidently fought wearing as little as possible.
Some had simply been shot as they fled the bunkers, but many of the bodies were burned beyond recognition, looking like something that had been left on the barbecue too long. This had once been a battleground filled with the earsplitting sounds of combat. Now the only sound was the buzzing of flies.
Deke couldn’t help but feel a sense of horror and disgust at the gruesome scene before him. He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the grip of his rifle.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Philly muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Steele motioned them forward. “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “There’s nothing for us here.”
They were glad to leave the battleground behind. The jungle canopy overhead thickened, and the air became harder to breathe. Sweat poured down their faces and soaked through their clothes. Mosquitoes and the ubiquitous gnats buzzed incessantly around their faces, but swatting them away was a futile effort. After a while, it was easier just to let them be. The breeze on the beach kept the worst of the bugs away, but here in the jungle the insects were relentless.
As they trekked deeper into the forest, the trees grew taller, and the underbrush became denser. It was like stepping into another world, one where danger lurked around every corner. Every rustle of leaves, every twig snapping underfoot, only managed to set their nerves even more on edge.
Up ahead, a tree branch cracked somewhere to their left, and they all froze in their tracks. They all ducked down, expecting a volley of gunfire.
“Hold your fire,” Steele whispered in a voice that was barely audible over the sound of the wind stirring the branches and palm fronds.
Seconds later, a pig and piglet wandered across the road, gave the soldiers a disinterested glance, and then disappeared into the foliage on the other side.
“We could’ve had bacon for dinner,” Philly said.
“Yeah, and we would have let every Japanese soldier in the vicinity know that we were here,” Steele replied. “Stick to the pork and beans in your ration cans.”
“You got it, Honcho.”
After a while, Steele traded places with Danilo and took point. It was rare for him to do that, but the lieutenant seemed unhappy with the pace. Somehow the sense of urgency was lost in translation when he had tried to explain it earlier to the Filipino.
They couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Every minute that passed was another minute the POWs were being held captive, and who knew what kind of torture they were being subjected to. Major Flanders had painted a dire picture of Japanese savagery, igniting their sense of outrage. They had to get there fast, before it was too late. They all felt the fact keenly that there were many miles to go between their current position and the POW camp.
The jungle grew darker as they wove their way through it. The only sounds aside from their footsteps were the occasional rustling of leaves and the chirping of insects. It was eerily quiet, as if the jungle were holding its breath in anticipation of their next step.
Steele led the way, his one good eye scanning the path ahead. He moved with a silent confidence that even Danilo lacked. Deke found himself following Steele’s lead without even thinking about it. It was faster than he was comfortable moving, but he trusted the lieutenant with his life.
Steele held up his hand, signaling for them to stop. He pointed ahead, where they could just make out a crumpled form on the dirt road. The figure wore a uniform — and it wasn’t an American one.