Gladly, he returned to the firelight and handed Philly back his sword. “Better hang on to that,” he said. He followed the Chamorro guide’s example and spread his blanket on the cave floor, suddenly exhausted.
Lieutenant Steele and Yoshio had taken the first watch. They sat with their backs to the cave, and the lieutenant kept his shotgun across his knees. He had borrowed Whoa Nelly and had her on a leash beside him. Yoshio didn’t inspire much confidence, but between the dog and Steele’s twelve-gauge, Deke reckoned that they were well guarded. He couldn’t help but be reminded of how secure he had felt as a boy, when he had lain in the loft upstairs in the early-morning darkness, hearing his father getting the coffee ready downstairs. With the reassuring sound of his father up and about, he had drifted back to sleep, knowing that all was right with the world.
This cave in the jungle was a far cry from the cabin where Deke had grown up. But as far as Deke was concerned, the cave was a whole lot better than trying to sleep in a foxhole filled with water, worried about Jap infiltrators — which was where they had been the night before. He rolled himself in his blanket and muttered to Philly, “Sweet dreams.”
“Yeah,” Philly said, then gulped and clutched the sword tight.
They were up and moving at first light. If night came quickly to the jungle, then morning liked to sleep in. Mists hung about among the trees. Reluctantly, the sun made its way through the canopy, turning the clouds of mist into bursts of rainbow colors that mixed among the brilliant green foliage.
Deke, who had an eye for the natural world, found the morning jungle stunning. But he knew all too well that they weren’t here to sightsee.
“It would almost be pretty if the jungle and everything in it wasn’t out to kill us,” said Yoshio, who also seemed in wonder of the scenery.
“Amen to that,” Deke said. “Now keep your eyes open.”
“I think I had my eyes open most of the night,” Philly grumbled. “I wasn’t sure which one I should worry more about — bats, snakes, Japs, or spiders as big as my mess kit.”
“You survived,” Deke pointed out. “I have a feelin’ that nighttime was the easy part.”
Not everyone had seen the spider that Deke had speared in the cave, so Philly was searching the clearing for the carcass. “Where did that thing go?”
“I reckon that it wasn’t dead yet and scurried off, or somethin’ ate it.”
“What the hell eats a giant spider?”
“A bigger spider.”
Philly quickly abandoned his search. “Never mind, then. I’m done with spiders. I’ll be happy if I never see so much as a daddy longlegs ever again.”
It was true that the night in the cave hadn’t exactly been restful. If the squad hadn’t been so tired, it was doubtful that anyone would have slept at all. Even Lieutenant Steele looked weary, although he didn’t complain.
After a so-called breakfast that consisted of a few bites of rations washed down with a swig or two of the halazone-flavored canteen water, they set out. Once again, Tony Cruz and Deke took point. They made a good team, both men moving silently down the trail that led away from the cave. From time to time, the Chamorro guide looked back at Deke and nodded approvingly. For that matter, Deke was impressed by the guide, who seemed unperturbed by whatever the jungle threw at them.
The trail climbed and the jungle seemed to grow darker. Heavy clouds showed through the canopy, and rain began to fall. The leaves broke up the downpour, but everything dripped. The path became a muddy stream that further soaked their feet, but they didn’t have any choice but to follow it because the jungle on either side was impenetrable.
They passed a few rocky outcroppings, but there was still no sign of any Japanese soldiers. The enemy must have retreated even farther into the jungle reaches.
“There are supposed to be thousands of Japs still on this island,” Philly said, when the squad halted for a short break. “What I’d like to know is: Where the hell are they?”
Nobody had a good answer for that. “Don’t worry, the Japs won’t show themselves until they start shooting,” the lieutenant said. “Just be ready.”
“I was born ready,” Philly said, but the words rang hollow in the jungle vastness.
They followed the path to the top of a peak and started down the other side. The slick mud made for treacherous footing, and once or twice someone in the squad fell and crashed into the underbrush. To Deke’s ears, it sounded loud as an elephant and surely would have alerted any Japanese in the area, but the rain managed to muffle their passage.
They were all glad, though, when the rain stopped and the water running down the path was reduced to a trickle. Once the rain ended, the sun came back out, and the steamy heat in the stillness among the trees intensified. Fresh clouds of insects seemed to have hatched after the rain. They buzzed relentlessly around their ears. Deke knotted a rag at his throat to keep the bugs off the back of his neck. He noticed that the insects didn’t seem to bother Tony Cruz at all.
Deke had half expected the path they were following to peter out like the others, but to his surprise, the path became wider and more worn. The jungle itself also began to thin out. To Deke’s mind, these were signs that they might be approaching areas where there was a greater chance of encountering Japanese activity. Although the trail was now easier to follow, their Chamorro guide began to move more slowly and cautiously, rather than faster, along the trail.
His instincts proved correct. Up ahead, they heard voices. The path disappeared around a bend so that he couldn’t see who was up there. Deke raised a hand and gave the warning sign.
“What is it?” Steele demanded.
“Japs!” Deke hissed.
The squad spread out as best it could, weapons at the ready, waiting for whoever was on the path to come around the bend and into view. Deke raised his rifle.
Tony Cruz had done the same but then quickly lowered his weapon.
“No Japs,” he said. “Chamorro.”
Deke passed the word. “Don’t shoot!”
“What?”
“Tony here says it ain’t Japs.”
An instant later, a trio of men appeared around the bend in the jungle path. They had been talking jovially among themselves but froze when they saw the GIs arrayed on the trail, weapons pointed at them. The trio carried what looked like Japanese rifles. They wore ragged civilian clothes, but definitely not enemy uniforms.
Tony Cruz called out to them, and the men replied with joyous shouts, running toward the Americans.
“What the hell?” Steele said. “Yoshio, get up here and see if you can figure out what they’re saying.”
“I do not speak the Chamorro language.”
“You’re supposed to be an interpreter. I’m sure that you’ll figure it out.”
It didn’t take an expert to determine that the Chamorros were overjoyed to see American GIs. Up close, it was evident that the three men were underfed, too skinny, their clothes barely more than rags. They looked like gaunt old men from a distance, but it was evident that they were hardly more than teenagers. All three babbled at once, waving their rifles like trophies and pointing them in all directions.
“Yoshio, tell them to put those rifles down before they shoot somebody by accident,” Steele ordered. It was clear that the young men were not trained soldiers, but their account soon revealed that they were warriors at heart.
“We are the first Americans that they have seen,” Yoshio said, beginning to piece together the epiglottic babble of Chamorro, English, and a few stray words of Spanish into a woeful tale. “They have been held in a labor camp for two years, forced to work building fortifications for the Japanese. The Japanese were very cruel. Once all the shelling began on the island, the Japanese began to abandon the camp. Two days ago, they overpowered the few remaining guards, took these rifles, and went in search of help. There are many others in the camp, sick and starving.”