It was clear that the two Filipinos didn’t understand a word of English. The priest turned to them and seemed to offer an explanation in their own language, nodding at the Americans. The two men nodded curtly, watching the GIs and marines with wary eyes. These guerrilla fighters were clearly tough customers. However, their stony faces melted into smiles as the priest apparently went into more detail. Finally, it seemed, help was on the way after their lonely fight against the occupation forces.
“I have told them that you are the first of many more soldiers,” Father Francisco said. “Our prayers have been answered. They won’t be fighting on their own for much longer.”
On closer inspection, it was clear that Father Francisco had been living rough. His cassock was torn in places and roughly sewn back together, but clean enough, considering the circumstances. His collar must have been bright white once, but it was now a grayish brown. He was taller and heavier than the two guerrilla fighters and lighter skinned, hinting at Spanish ancestry. He was overdue for a shave, his chin covered in graying stubble, and the priest’s hair reached nearly to his collar. With his unkempt appearance and the tattered clerical robes, he could have passed for a mad holy man in the wilderness.
“With all due respect, Padre, it’s going to take more than prayers to defeat the Japanese,” Honcho said.
The priest gave a devilish smile that was disconcerting to see on the face of a man of God. Deke decided that this was no milksop preacher, but more of a fire-and-brimstone sort. Then again, he had explained that he was a Jesuit, and they hadn’t been known for backing down from any challenge. Deke took an instant liking to him.
“I am not a soldier,” Father Francisco said. “I carry no weapons but my faith. I cannot harm another human being. That would be wrong, of course. But I do not think God will mind if I help men like these do what I cannot do myself. They will see to the bullets. I will see to their souls.”
“Seems like a good arrangement,” Honcho agreed. “Can’t argue with that.”
“As I said before, we heard the shooting,” the priest said. “What happened?”
“That was us. I suppose the Japanese are looking for us.”
“They tend to be noisy when they are on patrol, thank God,” the priest said. “That’s the second patrol we’ve heard today. You’ve certainly stirred them up.”
“Unfortunately, we’re going to have to stir them up some more,” Honcho said. “You see, there’s a gun battery at the top of the hill, and we’re here to take it out.”
The priest nodded. “The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”
“The what?”
“Sorry, I am afraid that’s just a poor attempt at humor on my part. That is the nickname that I’ve given those three guns. We know all about them.”
“Our code name for those guns is Cerberus.”
Father Francisco nodded. “Of course. The three-headed monster that guards the entrance to Hades.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that a Catholic priest would be versed in mythology.”
“And I would not have thought that I would be living in the jungle, having been ejected from my church by the Japanese. These are strange times.”
“Good point,” Honcho agreed.
“How do you propose to ‘take it out,’ as you say?”
“I don’t think we have much choice but to attack right up the middle. That’s our plan for now. With any luck, we’ll get close enough, especially if we can surprise them again.”
Father Francisco scratched his chin, seeming to think that over. “I am sorry, but that is not a very good plan.”
“Is that right?” The lieutenant scratched his own chin, thinking it over. “Have you got a better plan, Padre?”
The priest smiled devilishly again. His brown eyes sparkled. There was definitely some Spanish conquistador in him somewhere. “You want to reach the top of the hill? As a matter of fact, I do have a better plan for doing just that. But first, I suggest that we leave this area. The Japanese are very methodical in their patrols. I believe they search using a grid pattern. They missed us last time, but they won’t miss us again. We need to move to a more secure area to wait for dark, and then to spend the night.”
“Where would we go?”
“Leave that to me,” the priest said. He nodded at the Filipino guerrilla on his left flank — the one wearing the pinstriped shirt — and the man immediately turned and led the way into the jungle.
At a signal from Honcho, Deke was the first to follow him. Immediately, Deke was impressed by the Filipino’s woodcraft. He slipped through the jungle with barely a sound or without any hesitation, apparently sure of exactly where he was going, although there wasn’t any trail to speak of. Once or twice, the man looked back as if to see if Deke was following him. He grunted with satisfaction, apparently pleased at Deke’s own ability to move silently through the greenery, then pressed on deeper into the tangle of vegetation. The rest of Patrol Easy, along with the priest and the other Filipino guerrilla, followed in their wake.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There didn’t seem to be any reason not to trust the priest or the Filipinos. They were the furthest thing possible from Japanese agents. Not only that, but the Americans desperately needed friends at the moment, considering that the enemy was combing the forest for them. Given their situation, the soldiers of Patrol Easy didn’t have much choice but to put their faith in this mad priest and his Filipino henchmen.
Anyhow, if these Filipinos had wanted to turn them over to the Japanese, all they would have needed to do was to shout as the Japanese patrol passed earlier.
Finally, they reached wherever it was that they were going. Deke could see that they had skirted the base and come around to the back side of the hill, managing to avoid the enemy patrols in the process.
The Filipino brought them into another clearing that was surrounded on all sides by dense jungle. Deke realized that the clearing was a kind of camp, with hammocks hung between trees at the edge of the clearing and even a chair set up. A high, rough-hewn bench stood to one side, with a crucifix hanging from the tree trunk behind it.
And not just any tree trunk. The trunk was several feet across at the base, with the tree itself rising above the neighboring forest canopy — although many of its branches appeared conspicuously gray and withered. With the ancient, dying tree as a backdrop, the priest had built a makeshift altar in front of it.
Deke had to admit that he was impressed by the faith of these people. The Japanese occupiers had denied them use of their church, but they could not keep them from practicing their religion. Deke’s family never had been much on churchgoing, but that didn’t mean his mother hadn’t read aloud from the Bible on occasion or that they hadn’t given thanks during meals.
He didn’t really know what religion he was. He supposed you might call it Pentecostal, in that mountain people were always seeking manifestations of the Holy Spirit in the world around them — everyday miracles.
The bottom line was that Deke was as God-fearing as the next soldier. After all, you couldn’t be a soldier without some form of faith, not when you were hunkered down in a foxhole with bullets flying all around.
“We will be relatively safe here for the time being,” the priest said. Again, he spoke to the Filipinos in their own language, and the men slipped away into the surrounding jungle, perhaps to keep an eye out for any Japanese.
“We’re not here to hide out,” Honcho said. “We need to take out those guns, and the clock is ticking. If Cerberus is still in place when the invasion fleet arrives, it’s going to be a goddamn massacre. Sorry, Padre. I meant no offense.”