“Mamanua,” Eddie whispered, looking through the binos. Ramsey gave him a puzzled look. “Here,” he said, leaning over and pointing nearly eighty meters from their position. They were directly in the middle of the ambush cross fire, whoever they were. Moving his pistol to his left hand, Ramsey lifted the binos to his camouflaged face.
“What the—”
“Mamanua,” Eddie whispered again, covering Ramsey’s mouth. Three Mamanua tribal natives were stalking through the rain forest hunting wild pigs or monkeys. They were dark-skinned and wore colorful beaded skirts and necklaces. Each held a spear at shoulder level, ready to release on his prey. The natives were Negritos, black people who had immigrated from Malay to the Philippine Islands centuries ago, the first inhabitants of the archipelago. The Philippine government designated land, primarily rain forests not targeted for clear cutting, in which the tribal groups could operate with impunity. Such jungle woodlands were enclaves in time where progress had made no inroads.
The black tribesmen stalked carefully, one foot over the next, sensing something. Fifty meters. Could his men hold their fire? Ramsey looked at Eddie, who shook his head as if to say, “They are best left alone.” The lead Mamanuan looked through the bushes at him and raised his spear, preparing to hurl it forward. The others watched, lowering their spears.
He rifled the spear into the bush, not twenty meters from Ramsey’s crouched position. Ramsey closed his eyes, fearing that they had gotten one of his men. He heard a high-pitched yelping sound and saw the spear dancing in the tall grass. The natives hurried forward. Ramsey raised his “hush puppy,” prepared to engage. He felt Eddie lay his small, brown hand on his arm, holding him back.
The short black men, skin dry and whitish from the dust and heat, leaned over their prey, a wild boar, and quickly tied its feet together with hemp. They carried the black pig in the opposite direction, slung over their shoulders on a spear. As they were leaving, the lead native stopped, turned his head, stared directly into the bushes at Eddie and Chuck. He saw them, held the eye contact for a brief, knowing moment, then disappeared into the lush jungle.
Chuck lowered his pistol, comprehending that two cultures had just passed in the yellow-white Philippine sun. They had no interest in him, nor he they. Each had stared at the other, seeing a warrior of a different era. They were but mild curiosities to one another, each like a snake, harmless if unprovoked. Chuck saw in the man’s black face a sense of satisfaction and contentment. It was something more than just capturing dinner for his tribesmen. The look was the clear countenance of a simple life. Removed from the trials of government and international concerns, the Negrito seemed content with his lot. The Filipinos and peoples of other developing countries Chuck had served in, countries that had been touched by the prospects of unrealized modernization, seemed angry and hateful toward foreigners and one another.
Deciding he would contemplate the significance of his visual interchange with the Mamanuan tribesman later, he turned to more immediate problems.
Chapter 42
Ramsey’s most dominant thought was that in six more hours the helicopters would come. They could survive that long, for sure. He had to maneuver his team to the north of Cateel City, where the beach was wide and uninhabited. All around him, the sheer cliffs either dropped sharply into the water or gave way to beaches. The mountains reminded him of the Na Pali coast off the island of Kauai in Hawaii.
He motioned to his men to get moving with a pump of his clenched fist.
Looking to the east, he saw the ocean. Near the shore, the water was a tropical turquoise shade. Farther out, he could see a coral reef where waves tumbled harmlessly. Beyond the reef, the sea turned a deep, mystic blue. He knew the Philippine Trough was out there, reaching almost thirteen thousand meters into the core of the earth. What a world, he thought. Primitive tribesmen, deep oceans, tropical rain forests. The beach was as white as sugar, much like those in the Florida panhandle.
He looked grimly again at the difficult terrain that lay ahead. He knew that Talbosa’s men were only about an hour behind them. Every time his team moved, the Filipinos seemed to pick up on the scent. Only when they went into hiding did it seem as though they were secure. More than once, they had doubled back on their trail, setting up ambushes but not executing them. They were clearly outnumbered.
He flipped his compass open, aiming it toward the small village nearly six kilometers away and seemingly another atmosphere below.
That’s got to be Cateel!
He snapped his wrist, closing the compass lid, and placed it in its pouch. Another drink of water and he would be ready. He sucked from the canteen, draining it, then stood.
From his vantage, everything was downhill. It was just a matter of how steep. Taking the point on this patrol, unusual for a team leader, he inched his way down the ravine. His footing was tenuous at best as he slipped on the damp deadfall and rocky dirt. The rainy season had not officially begun yet, but enough precipitation had fallen to make the rain forest dense with high timber, wild coffee bushes, rubber plants, and an assortment of other tropical shrubs. Huge leaves from elephant plants slapped him in the face as he let the weight of his ruck force him down. Frequently he would turn his back to protect his face, holding on to plant roots above his head, a tactic he had been taught to avoid in Ranger school. But, thankfully the sadistic Ranger instructors had not yet thought of including a brigade of Abu Sayyaf rebels as a motivational tool in Ranger training.
The tactical satellite radio was another issue that he could not shake from his mind. What was wrong with it? They had checked repeatedly to make sure that they had the proper angle to the satellite. He even had Ralph Jones, the best communications sergeant in the Army, take the service panel off the radio to see if anything looked awry. Nothing did, to him. They had no other radio or batteries to test the radio against. Major Ramsey had never been so frustrated in his life.
He had little time to think of such matters, however, as he reached an impasse. He had led the group nearly all of the way down the ravine. But the last fifty-five meters were comprised of sheer rock cliffs that dropped directly into a swiftly moving mountain stream. The sloping terrain had forced him continuously to the east, off his azimuth, trapping his team on an outcropping of rocks. To double back might lead him into his pursuers. To walk the ledge south would be too dangerous. To climb the rocks to the north would be suicide. There was only one option.
Chuck halted the patrol. They took a knee, each facing outward again, except the last man, who faced to the rear. He whipped out his smokeless tobacco, smacked the can, and placed a wad in his mouth. Time to think. He pulled a forty-five-meter nylon military rope from his rucksack. Benson moved forward as all good assistant patrol leaders do when the patrol halts. He dropped his ruck as well, snatched a similar coiled rope from his pack, and began backward-feeding it to the ground, checking it for frays. Benson passed the word back to his men to begin securing their “Swiss seats” and snap links. Each man carried a four-meter sling rope that he wrapped around his waist and ran through his crotch to form a seat. Placing a ten-centimeter snap link through where the two ropes met near the belt buckle, the soldier had a seat by which he could rappel down a rope.
Chuck found a thick mahogany tree and hugged it, lifting his feet off the ground and leaning back toward the rock cliff. The tree was sturdy, with green leaves and healthy bark. It would suffice as an anchor point. He tied a round turn knot with two half hitches, snugging the hitches tight against the tree. Using only one rope, he placed the other in his pack. Benson grabbed a third rope, which Randy Tuttle had carried, and stuffed it into his pack. If the first rope did not reach all the way down, then Benson could hammer some pitons into the rock facing and make another anchor point. Ramsey knelt and placed two burlap sacks between the rope and the rock ledge to prevent fraying. Benson would go first, Chuck would go last. He gave an extra sling rope to Eddie, who knew how to rappel. Abe was another issue.