"And you speak Spanish," Weston said, thinking aloud.
Everly grunted an acknowledgment.
"And I have five thousand dollars," Weston said, with a touch of enthusi-asm in his voice.
Everly quickly dispelled it.
"If we get caught by the Army snooping around, looking for a boat, we better hope your boat pass works."
"You think that's liable to happen?"
"I don't think we're the only ones trying to get away from Bataan," Ev-erly said matter-of-factly. "And what we're doing is desertion in the face of the enemy."
"Is that how you think of it?"
"That's what it is, Mr. Weston," Everly said, and then turned and started up the side of the ditch, back toward the road.
After Weston climbed up after him, Everly had something else to say:
"I think it would be a good idea, Mr. Weston, if we split your five thou-sand dollars. In case we get separated or something."
Weston didn't like the suggestion, if it was a suggestion. But he took out the envelope and counted out twenty-five hundred dollars and handed it to Ev-erly.
He found a little consolation in the thought that if Everly wanted to steal the money, all he had to do was point the Thompson at him and take it.
"Thanks," Everly said. He removed his canteens from their covers, di-vided the money into two stacks, shoved it into the canteen cases, and then, with some difficulty, replaced the canteens.
Then he started walking down the road. Weston walked after him, very much aware that he was no longer functioning as a Marine officer in command of an enlisted man. Everly had taken command. It was not a comforting thought.
On the other hand, this Old Breed China Marine seems to know what he's doing. And obviously I don't.
[TWO]
The village on the coast was at the end of a winding dirt road-not much more than a trail. It consisted of no more than fifteen crude houses surrounding a well. The houses were built on stilts, obviously as protection against surf and high tides; some were roofed with galvanized steel, others with thatch.
Weston wondered why they didn't build their houses farther away from the water.
The shoreline was mostly dirt and rocks, onto which boats could have been beached. No boats were in sight, however, and no marks were on the shoreline indicating any had been in there, not only since the last tide, but for a long time.
But Weston, his eyes following his nose, saw fish drying.
There are boats around here somewhere.
There was a cantina.
In the cantina were four tables, perhaps a dozen rickety chairs, and a bar onto which a metal Lucky Strike cigarette advertisement had been nailed. A shelf behind the bar held a dozen glasses and half a dozen empty Coca-Cola bottles. It was tended by a very fat Filipino woman with graying hair and bad teeth.
She eyed them suspiciously.
Weston looked at Everly, waiting for him to speak to the woman. After a moment, it became apparent that Everly was waiting for him to say something to her.
Not because I'm the officer in charge, but because he doesn't want her to know he speaks Spanish. Christ, why didn 't I think of that?
Weston gestured that he wanted something to drink.
' Wo cerveza," the woman said.
Weston knew enough Spanish to understand there was no beer.
He shrugged, hoping she would interpret this to mean he would be satis-fied with whatever she had.
"Dinero?" the old woman asked.
He reached in his pocket and laid an American five-dollar bill on the bar. She picked it up, examined it carefully, laid it back down, and walked out of the cantina through a door in the rear. In two minutes she was back with one bottle of Coca-Cola. She opened it and handed it to him. Then she picked up the five-dollar bill and stuffed it in the opening of her dress.
"It's a good thing we're not really thirsty," Everly said, and then indi-cated with a barely perceptible move of his head that Weston should look be-hind him.
A small, dark-skinned man had come into the cantina. He was barefoot, and he was wearing a loose-fitting cotton pullover shirt and baggy, ragged cuffed trousers.
"Hello, American buddies," he called from behind the bar. "I speak En-glish. How are you?"
"Hello," Weston said.
"Very bad," the Filipino said. "Goddamn very bad."
"What's very bad?"
"Fucking war," the Filipino said, walking to Weston, putting out his hand, and when Weston took it, shaking it enthusiastically. "Fucking Japons. Bullshit."
"Very bad," Weston agreed.
"Hello, buddy," the Filipino said to Everly.
Everly nodded his head.
"No fucking beer," the Filipino said. "Damn near no Coca-Cola. Fucking Japons."
"Yes," Weston agreed.
"What can I do for you?" the Filipino asked.
"Actually, we're looking for a boat."
"Ha! No fucking boats anymore. You got any money?"
"We're trying to rent a boat to take us off Bataan," Weston said.
"No fucking boats. Japons maybe twenty-five miles away. Next week they be here."
"What happened to the boats that were here?" Weston asked.
"Everybody gone. Except maybe one or two boats hidden."
"We would like to rent one of the boats that are hidden," Weston said.
"Very expensive. Very illegal. Very dangerous. Be very expensive."
"How expensive?"
"Very expensive. Thousand dollars."
"How about five hundred?" Everly said.
"Thousand dollars. No boats left. Fucking war. Fucking Japons."
"All we have is one thousand dollars," Weston said. "And we'll need money when we get to Mindanao."
The slight Filipino looked thoughtful.
"Why you want to go to Mindanao?"
"To fight the Japanese," Weston said.
"Fucking Japons no fucking good. Goddamn. I will ask. But I think man with boat will want thousand dollars."
"If you take us to Mindanao," Weston said, "I'll give you a thousand dollars. Five hundred dollars now, five hundred when we get there."
"I will ask," the Filipino said. "You stay here. Drink Coca-Cola. I will comeback."
"When I see the boat, I will give you five hundred dollars," Weston said.
"You stay here. Drink Coca-Cola," the Filipino said. "I come quick."
He left the cantina the way he had come in.
"That was too easy," Everly said softly.
Weston's temper flared.
"You have any better ideas, Sergeant?"
"Your show, Mr. Weston, but if I was you, I'd put all but the one thousand someplace he can't see it."
Weston glowered at him, which didn't seem to faze Everly at all.
"If he does come back, I wouldn't give him the five hundred until we're on the boat," Everly said.
The Filipino came back after fifteen minutes, but he didn't enter the can-tina. He stood in the door and motioned for them to follow him.