“Sure. I played it at Fort Riley.”
“Bloody good. I have a round each afternoon at three with tea. Relaxes the soul.” He shuffled as he talked and dealt the cards. “Two nights ago the Nips raided an advance post a good ways down the mountain, one that was well defended. They surprised us with a large unit. There was a nasty fight; we lost. They were looking for Bobby Lippman, a tough major from Brooklyn, and they found him, along with two other Americans. The Filipinos in the unit were either killed in battle or beheaded on the spot. That’s a favorite of the Nips, whack off the heads and leave them lying near the bodies to frighten the neighbors. Anyway, Lippman and the other Americans were taken to a prison in Manila to have a chat with some of the Nips’ toughest interrogators. I’m told that some of these officers speak the King’s English better than most Brits. Lippman’s in for a nasty time. They’ll whip him and burn him for a few days, they have a variety of methods, and if he talks we could feel it here. If he doesn’t, and I doubt he will, then they’ll have a little ceremony for him that involves one of those long swords you’ve seen. It’s a war, Banning, and as you’ve seen there are many ways to kill.”
“I thought there were bivouacs and rings of sentries at each post,” Pete said. “How did they pull a surprise?”
“We’ll never know. Their favorite trick is to bribe a local, some Filipino who needs money or rice and is willing to sell information. As the Nips close the noose, we’re starting to see less food. In some villages the peasants are skipping meals. The Nips know how to bribe. We have many posts in these mountains. Sometimes we stay in them, sometimes we don’t, but they’re our safe houses. If we’re in for the night, or perhaps a week, the locals usually find out. It’s rather easy to find a Nip and sell the intel. Are you ready for combat?”
“Damned right I am.”
“The doctor says you’re in reasonably good shape. Hell, we’re all underweight and sick with something, but you and Clay look especially gaunt. Suppose you’ve seen the worst of it.”
“We’re fine and we’re bored. Give us an assignment.”
“The two of you will go with DuBose, a squad of about ten. Camacho will always be with you, and he’s the best. You’ll leave in the middle of the night, hike three or four hours, have a look. It’s part recon, part assault. If Lippman is talking under duress we should know it by what the Nips do and where they go. After a couple of days on the trails, you’ll hook up with another unit, some of our boys from another mountain. They’ve borrowed a bomb maker who’ll string some wires and such. The target is a convoy. Should be an easy job and you’ll get to shoot some Nips. Jolly good fun.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Assuming all goes well, the bomb maker is willing to spend some time with you boys and teach you how to play with TNT. Listen and learn.”
As Pete shuffled and dealt, Granger reloaded his pipe with tobacco, and managed to do so without missing a word. “Poor Lippman. All of us vow that we’ll not be taken alive. It’s a far better thing to put a bullet in one’s head than let the Nips have their way. But it’s not always that easy. Men are often wounded first and unable to shoot themselves. Sometimes they’re asleep and surprised. And often, Banning, I think that we become so adept at survival that we believe we can survive anything, so we drop our guns, raise our hands, and are led away. Usually, I suppose, within hours there is an awful feeling of regret. You ever come close to ending it all?”
“Many times,” Pete said. “The thirst and hunger drove us all crazy, along with the constant killing. I thought that if I could only go to sleep, then I would pass on the bit about waking up. But we survived. We’re surviving now. I plan to get home, General.”
“Attaboy. But don’t let the Nips take you alive, hear me?”
“Don’t worry.”
Chapter 32
They left camp shortly after midnight, ten guerrillas in all, following two runners who could find the trails in their sleep. Six Filipinos and four Americans, all heavily armed and loaded with backpacks full of tinned food, canned water, blankets, tarps, and all the ammo they could carry. Mercifully, all movements were downward. The first lesson Pete and Clay learned was to concentrate on the boots of the man in front of them. Looking around was fruitless because there was nothing to see in the blackness. A missed step could cause a stumble and a fall and an uncertain landing.
For the first hour nothing was said. As they approached the first barrio, a lookout greeted them. In an unknown dialect, he informed Camacho that all was well. They had not seen the enemy in days. The squad circled around the huts and kept moving. There was no lookout at the second barrio and not a sound from the settlement. After three hours the ground leveled and they stopped at an advance post, four shelters built into the bush and empty. They rested for half an hour and snacked on sardines and water. DuBose drifted over and asked quietly, “Y’all doin’ all right?”
Pete and Clay assured him that they were having fun, though they were already fatigued. The others looked like they were just warming up. Off again, they began to climb, and after an hour stopped again to rest. DuBose knew what his two rookies had been through and wanted to protect them. The squad descended into a ravine, waded across a creek, and came upon a large barrio. From the bush, they watched the area for a few minutes; then Camacho ventured forth and found the lookout. Again, there had been no sign of the enemy. As they waited, DuBose eased beside Pete and drawled, “Folks here are pretty safe. Each little village is run by a boss, and the one here is a solid guy. From here, though, it’s no-man’s-land.”
“Where’s the road?” Pete asked.
“Not far.”
At daybreak, they were hiding in a ditch beside a dirt highway that was obviously well used. They heard movements on the other side, then silence. Someone said, “DuBose.”
He answered, “Over here.”
Heads suddenly popped out of the brush, and an American named Carlyle stepped forward. He commanded a dozen men, including three Yanks with mangy beards and the same weatherbeaten look. They hurried to retrieve wooden boxes filled with more TNT, and for an hour they laid the explosives and ran wires to the detonators. The bomb maker was a Filipino veteran who had obviously laid many traps. When the TNT was in place, the men retreated to the bush, with DuBose assigning positions. Pete, the sniper, hid behind some rocks and was instructed to shoot anything that moved. Clay was given a light machine gun and positioned fifty yards away.
Camacho stayed close to Pete and whispered as the sun rose. The Japanese were moving tons of supplies inland on many routes, and their mission was to harass and disrupt the lines. Spies at the port had sent word that a convoy of four or five trucks was on the way. They had no idea of the cargo, but blowing it up would be a thrill. You’ll see.
As he waited, Pete’s trigger finger itched as his stomach flipped in anticipation. It had been months since he’d been in combat and the waiting was nerve-racking. When he heard the rumble of trucks, Camacho said get ready.
Four of them. The lead and rear trucks were filled with troops to protect the cargo in the middle two. The guerrillas waited and waited and for a long moment Pete thought the explosives would not work. But when they did, the ground shook with such a fury that Pete was thrown against the rocks. The lead truck flipped like a toy, slinging soldiers into the air. The third and fourth trucks were blown onto their sides. Gunfire exploded from the bush as two dozen hidden guerrillas unloaded a brutal barrage. The Japs who had survived the explosions crawled and staggered and most were shot before they could fire a shot. The driver of the second truck crawled through the shattered front window, and Pete picked him off. Clay was in a nest to the rear of the convoy with a direct line of fire into the troop carrier. Using a Japanese Type 99 lightweight machine gun, he mowed down one Jap after another as they tried to crawl out and find their weapons. Several of them took cover behind the trucks but were shot in the back by guerrillas on the other side of the road. There was no place to hide. The gunfire was withering and went on for a good five minutes. One Jap managed to hide between trucks two and three and spray a few rounds into the trees before being hit high and low.