They had been traveling too light to bother bringing ponchos. The soldiers had no choice but to tuck in their chins and bear it as the rain swept in, plastering their clothing to their bodies, leaving them soaked through. The sheer force of the water drummed on their helmets, rain sluicing off them. The guerrillas didn’t fare any better, but they didn’t complain.
Forward motion through the storm became impossible. In the blowing wind and rain, it would be too easy to simply lose the track and wander off into the jungle.
Without any hope of shelter, they hunkered down right there on the narrow trail. All around them, leaves and branches danced in the storm’s hurricane winds. Off to the right, a tree suddenly gave way and crashed to the jungle floor with such force that it shook the ground. If it had fallen a few feet closer to the trail, the massive trunk might have wiped out half of the patrol.
Through the fresh gap in the canopy, they could see lightning stitch the darkened sky in a blazing quilt. Nearby, a bolt struck with all the sound and fury of an artillery round. Deke and the others hit the ground just in case there was another electrical blast in store for them.
There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Or so it seemed.
Up ahead, Danilo was shouting something and pointing. Then he was beckoning them forward.
Deke got to his feet. Although he trusted Danilo implicitly, he couldn’t help wondering, Where the hell does he think he’s going?
Blindly, they followed the Filipino guide, squinting through the rain and even losing sight of him for several seconds at a time. The trail climbed upward, which was disconcerting, considering that each step seemed to carry them infinitesimally closer to the lightning-laced sky. But then Danilo reappeared, motioning them toward a structure that rose out of the forest.
In the flickering light, Deke could see that it was a bunker of some kind, apparently abandoned by the Japanese — or so he hoped. How Danilo had known it was here was anybody’s guess, but the man seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to navigating the forest.
This deep into the interior, the Japanese had been unable to use concrete. Instead, the walls were built of rammed earth, stone, and heavy timbers. Deke was sure that like many of the enemy fortifications, it had been built using slave labor. One weak point was the roof, which seemed to be constructed of the same heavy material to defend against shrapnel and mortar bursts, but which leaked water like a rusty bucket.
For whatever reason, the Japanese must have decided to abandon this position. If nothing else, it would provide some shelter against the storm.
The patrol piled inside. The space was cramped yet able to accommodate everyone, although some of Father Francisco’s guerrillas preferred seeking shelter in the forest nearby.
As the soldiers crowded inside, the space immediately felt claustrophobic, and the roof was too low — perhaps it was adequate for Japanese soldiers, but the taller Americans, especially Lieutenant Steele, were barely able to stand up. Still, it was a relief to be out of the thrashing wind and rain.
Flashlights provided some light. A couple of bunks had been built against one wall, and there was a rough table lashed together out of sticks and branches. Otherwise, the interior was rudimentary at best. Deke wrinkled his nose against the smell of musty earth and that fishy odor he had come to associate with the Japanese, although he was half-convinced that smell was only in his imagination.
Deke looked through the firing slits. In a flash of lightning, he got a glimpse of wet leaves and driving rain as the storm continued unabated. However, they were now sheltered from the wind and relatively dry. His opinion of the Japanese bunker suddenly improved considerably.
“Make yourselves at home,” Lieutenant Steele said. “We’ll wait out the storm here. Good work, Danilo.”
Danilo nodded at the mention of his name, but his face remained impassive. As always, it remained a mystery as to just how much English he understood.
“I hope to hell the Nips don’t suddenly decide to come back,” Philly said. He looked wet as a drowned rat and was starting to shiver. “I’m not sure this place is worth fighting over.”
“Nobody has been here in a while,” Deke pointed out.
The lieutenant had noticed that Philly was shivering, and he wasn’t the only one. Their cotton uniforms did nothing to retain body heat. It was hard to believe, considering that they usually suffered in the heat, but the rain and the sudden drop in temperature brought by the storm had left them all chilled to the bone.
“Everybody, get out of those wet clothes,” he said. “Your body heat isn’t enough to dry them. You’ll only get colder.”
The men shed their clothes and hung them from the rafters to drip dry. For simple ease of movement and function, they all went commando in the field rather than deal with an added layer of baggy and soggy boxer shorts. Consequently, the interior of the bunker soon resembled a locker room, and the soldiers were more like young men after the big game than warriors.
Philly looked Deke up and down, then laughed. Deke reddened at first, feeling his temper flare, thinking that Philly was ridiculing the deep scars that raked his torso.
As it turned out, that wasn’t what Philly found funny. “You know what, Corn Pone? If the flashlights go out, that lily-white cracker ass of yours will be enough to light this whole place up.”
“You’re one to talk, Philly. The last full moon wasn’t as bright as your backside.”
Philly laughed again. The truth was, they all had serious farmer’s tans, with hands, necks, and faces burnished to a deep brown by the tropical sun. The rest of their bodies typically remained a pale white. There were only rare occasions when they had shed their shirts to sun themselves on a beach or on a ship. Notably, none of the soldiers had tattoos — that was a tradition for the boys in the navy and marines, usually acquired during a drunken shore leave.
Despite the damp conditions, Deke quickly built a fire — he always had been good at that. The smoke gathered around the rafters, but it was a small price to pay for the warmth of the flames. Naked as jaybirds, the lieutenant included, they gathered around and heated up their rations. Gradually the raging storm began to subside. Night was coming on, so they posted a guard and got ready to sleep.
They had escaped the storm. They had dodged the Japanese who had built this place. However, the men of Patrol Easy might not have slept so soundly if they’d known that those enemy soldiers were waiting just around the corner.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At first light, the soldiers shrugged back into their clothes, which were not entirely dry, but better than the sopping-wet rags they had been. Considering the constant damp and humidity, they would likely be soaked again in no time.
All around them could be heard the constant patter of water droplets shedding from the foliage following last night’s rain. Morning mist lingered among the tree trunks. The forest bore the scars of the storm, with a few broken tree limbs scattered around. Nearby, a large tree had split cleanly in two, the new wood bright and running with sap. No doubt the tree had been struck by lightning. They had certainly heard a few lightning bolts strike near their shelter.
Above them, through the canopy of trees, a blue sky shimmered. It was the calm after the storm, the rain having cleansed the air and thinned the forest of weak trees. Deke thought that the day looked promising.
Philly seemed to be the only one compelled to talk and interrupt the silence. “Hey, somebody call room service and order up some breakfast. I’ll take some coffee for starters, then some bacon and eggs.”