It had rained during the night, one of the brief, soaking downpours typical of the tropics, leaving the foliage dripping and the trail muddy. Within a few minutes of starting out, they were all wet through.
Deke didn’t mind. He was glad to get moving again. As far as he was concerned, they had been sitting around long enough. He was eager to get back into action in some way, shape, or form.
“You don’t seem too concerned about this mission,” Philly said. “Sounds to me like we got the short end of the stick.”
“I reckon we’d be going to Leyte one way or another,” Deke said. “Now we’re just going a little early. We’ll know where all the best places are before anyone else gets there.”
“Best places? I hate to break this to you, Deke, but we’re not going to a resort island for some R & R.”
Deke snorted, then grew serious. “You know what it was like hitting the beach here on Guam. If the Japs had some big guns up in the hills, there wouldn’t have been nothin’ left of us. We can’t let that happen at the next one. We’ve got to give our guys a chance.”
“Honestly, Deke, sometimes I can’t tell if you’re the world’s biggest Boy Scout or just an idiot.”
“In that case, quit flappin’ your jaw and save your breath. You’re gonna need it. Have you seen that hill we have to climb?”
Up ahead, Lieutenant Steele was leading the way up the jungle trail. He had indeed picked a large hill for them to climb, all the way to the summit.
Not so long ago, that summit had been defended by Japanese troops. After a long, bloody fight, the Japanese had finally been defeated. Still, there was at least some threat from the Japanese remaining. Estimates varied, but anywhere from hundreds to a few thousand Japanese troops remained hidden in the jungles, especially in the mountainous regions.
These Japanese troops were holdouts who had refused to surrender. A few remained fearful of the Americans and had taken to the jungle in hopes of avoiding capture — never mind the fact that the Japanese POWs were treated well and had plenty of food. Having seen how American POWs were mistreated, the US had gone to great lengths to do just the opposite for the captured Japanese. They were given food, clothing, shelter, and medical care. It wasn’t all that hard to provide for the enemy prisoners, considering that there were precious few of them.
The vast majority of the holdouts hidden in Guam’s mountainous jungles were diehards who would rather die than surrender to the enemy. They were now fighting what basically amounted to a guerrilla war, attacking convoys and infiltrating American camps at night to cut a few throats and wreak whatever havoc they could. When they’d had enough, whatever was left of their group would mount their own banzai charge — essentially committing suicide. It was a fanaticism that few Americans could understand.
One thing for sure, Deke thought, the Japanese were a tough nut to crack.
They sweated even more as the ground rose and the sun climbed. At first, the two marines had joined Steele at the front of the patrol, probably intending to teach these army boys how it was done. But they had underestimated Steele, who, despite the flecks of gray in his hair, seemed to have a body that matched his name, his legs pumping relentlessly up the hill.
In fact, Steele and Deke were in the best shape of them all. Steele never talked much about himself, but he had dropped enough information that his men had pieced his story together. Before the war, Steele had apparently toned his muscles playing tennis and shooting trap at country clubs. Athletes often turned to flab off the field. Steele seemed to be an exception to the rule. Deke had honed his muscles growing up on a farm and later in the sawmill. When you grew up splitting firewood, digging ditches, and performing other backbreaking work on a daily basis, those lean muscles stuck with you. You also weren’t afraid of a little sweat or hard work.
Winded, the two marines had drifted back until they were directly in front of Deke, who brought up the rear.
That was just fine by him. He wouldn’t have rested easy with anyone else back here — and Lieutenant Steele probably wouldn’t have either. He kept his eyes on the jungle, just in case any of those holdout Japs were around. It was a favorite enemy tactic to wait until a patrol passed by and then attack them from the rear when they least expected it. Deke didn’t plan on letting that happen.
Overhead, the sun filtered down through the fronds of the tropical trees, creating a diffused light beneath the forest canopy. Insects buzzed constantly and birds sang overhead, oblivious to the affairs of men. It almost made Deke wonder what they were doing out here, anyway.
Deke had basically grown up outdoors and had spent countless hours wandering the woods and mountains, usually with a rifle or shotgun in his hands. He loved the mountain woods in a way that would be hard to explain to someone who hadn’t had that experience. These jungle forests were so different, almost an alien world. Most of the other GIs griped and complained about the jungle, but Deke found it captivating. One moment he could be moving along a trail, and the next he could step off the trail and almost completely disappear into the foliage and gloom. The jungle might be an enemy, but in some ways it could also be a friend. When it came to the jungle, there were two sides to the coin — and two edges to the knife.
Ahead of him, the two big marines were slowing down even more as the trail climbed. Deke slowed his own pace somewhat, but he was wary of falling too far behind. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get too strung out on the trail, just in case there were any enemy holdouts in the area.
From time to time, the leathernecks glanced back at him, as if to make sure that he was still there. Here in the jungle, that probably wasn’t a bad instinct. He didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation with the marines, however.
“You don’t say much, do you?” the tall one asked after a while.
“Ain’t nothin’ to say.”
They walked on in silence, enveloped by the natural sounds of the jungle.
Deke wasn’t much for small talk. He wasn’t much interested in making friends — or enemies, for that matter. It remained to be seen if the soldiers and marines could truly be a team. One way or another, Deke reckoned that they had to be if the mission was going to succeed. He supposed that one of the reasons that Honcho had organized this hike was not only to whip everybody into shape, but also to do what he could in the area of team building. So far, it didn’t seem to be going very well.
A few minutes later, Deke’s concerns about what the jungle might be hiding proved all too justified. They had reached a place when the canopy had opened up so that tall clumps of kunai grass grew in the sunny patches. In fact, the spot might have made a decent picnic grove. But something wasn’t right. Deke crouched, scanning the dense landscape, trying to determine what had set off his inner alarm bell. His nose caught a whiff — ever so faint — of what smelled like woodsmoke. It was certainly a smell that was out of place in the dampness of the rain forest. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire — the Nipponese kind, he thought.
Even now, they might be in some Jap’s machine-gun sights.
“Hold up,” he whispered to the tall marine.
The two marines had the good sense not to ask any questions and instantly went on alert.
Deke gave a low whistle that imitated a whip-poor-will perfectly. He wasn’t sure that whip-poor-wills existed here on Guam, but the whistle blended in well enough with the other birdsongs. It was a signal that he and Honcho had agreed upon. Seconds later, he heard a whistle in reply. The column came to a halt, and the members of Patrol Easy crouched among the sharp spikes of kunai grass, weapons at the ready.