Finally, Lieutenant Steele turned to Deke. “Yoshio isn’t the only one who is going to create havoc. We’ll need you and your rifle on that hill, picking off any officers you see. They’re easy to spot. They’re the ones waving swords around.” Honcho shook his head. “Swords. Would you ever imagine such a thing? These Japs are a piece of work, all right.”
If the swords were a badge of office, even the lieutenant would have to admit that they were also a powerful psychological weapon. A soldier expected to be shot at. But being sliced to bits by a sword was something else altogether.
It was common for snipers to work in pairs, with one man serving as a spotter and also watching the sniper’s back while he stayed on the riflescope. Honcho added that he could spare Philly to accompany Deke.
“Hold on, sir. Just to be clear, you’re saying that just me, Deke, and Yoshio are going to attack that hill?” Philly wondered.
Deke had been wondering the same thing, but he put too much faith in Lieutenant Steele to say it out loud.
“You’ll also have the guerrillas,” Honcho reminded him. “If this is going to work, we need every man we can spare on that back trail. Remember that what we really have to do is get those guns destroyed. You’re just the sideshow, Philly.”
The shadows of the day had been growing longer. Between the two of them, Honcho and the priest agreed that it would be best not to attempt their plan at night when they would have to stumble along the unfamiliar trails, but to wait for first light. That would mean spending the night hidden from Japanese view.
Given that a few enemy planes flew low over the forest, staying hidden seemed challenging, but the priest and Filipinos did not seem concerned by the presence of the aircraft.
“We’ll make camp here,” Steele said. “It’s as good a place as any. The jungle offers us enough cover that the Japs can’t see us, even from the air — or so says the padre.”
With their orders received, the men prepared to sleep in the clearing as best as they could. It might not have been the most comfortable spot, but it helped that they were all exhausted.
As for whether or not any of them would be alive by this time tomorrow night, that was anybody’s guess.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Having made their rough camp for the night, they soon learned that they were not alone. Along with the Filipino guerrillas, a handful of women emerged from the forest, appearing silently out of the shadows. They carried jugs of water and baskets of food, which they quickly distributed to the guerrilla soldiers.
The soldiers spanned many ages, but most were young men. After all, such a rugged existence, not to mention following the steep jungle trails, was a young man’s game.
Deke didn’t know the language, but it was clear to him that many of the women seemed to know these rough soldiers. There was a tenderness between them, smiles and looks of concern over fresh wounds. Surely these women must be the mothers, wives, and sisters of the Filipino soldiers.
The priest moved among the men and women. He had a rough-but-gentle manner that made him a natural leader. He laughed with some and bowed his head in prayer with others. He seemed to know just what each person needed to tap their inner strength. After a few minutes, the women made their goodbyes and slipped back into the tropical forest. Apparently it was too dangerous for them to stay.
Eventually, Father Francisco came around to the soldiers of Patrol Easy, who had claimed a corner of the clearing as their own.
“I’ve got to warn you that we’re a difficult flock, Padre,” Lieutenant Steele said.
“Yeah, we’re sure as hell not a flock of sheep,” Philly said.
Deke noted that the priest did not seem daunted in any way as he approached.
“Here, let me take a look at that shoulder,” the priest said. “It looks as if it has bled through the bandage.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Bat said gruffly. Far be it from a marine to complain about being shot — never mind the fact that his shoulder was now covered in a bloody bandage. Honcho had done the best that he could earlier. However, it was just a field dressing. Bat’s shoulder would need more medical attention soon.
“Then you will not mind if I take a look,” the priest persisted. “I have had quite a lot of practice attending to wounds, unfortunately.”
Bat shrugged, which turned out to be a mistake, because the motion caused him to wince.
Deftly, the priest pulled back the bandages to inspect the wound. “Through and through, praise God. You are fortunate, my son. Another inch lower, or to the left, and you would be speaking with Saint Peter right now rather than a lowly priest.”
Deke also couldn’t help but wonder about the caliber of the Japanese sniper rifle. There was no doubt that the Japanese snipers were deadly enough. However, if he’d been firing a heavier round, the outcome for Bat might have been very different.
Father Francisco inspected the wound and changed the bandage expertly, doing so with practiced hands that barely caused Bat to grimace. “There, you will heal now. Just do not get shot again.”
“Easier said than done, Padre,” Bat said. “You know all about that hill we’ve got to go up in the morning to take out that battery. Easier said than done.”
“Do not worry, my son. I will be there with you — and so will God.”
Nearby, Ball snorted. “Padre, I know this guy pretty well. If that bullet had hit a little harder, I can guarantee that he’d be roasting like a marshmallow over a campfire right now. Down in that other place, you know.”
Father Francisco shook his head. “Do not be so sure. What you might think of as ‘sin’ would probably not get Saint Peter to so much as raise his eyebrows these days. Did you drink too much or enjoy the company of women? Play cards? These are merely the foibles of young men. I am sure that God did not intend for us to live as saints all the time. No, my son. Men are fools and will always do weak, foolish things. Usually, these are sins against ourselves. God can forgive us those sins. This is why there is confession and purgatory.” The priest shook his head. “Other sins cannot be forgiven so easily. I am talking about cruelty. I have seen terrible things these last two years during the Japanese occupation. Innocent men shot for no reason. Women raped. Churches destroyed. Our sisters in faith terrorized. Things so terrible that I have been caused to question my faith at times.”
Deke was sure that the priest could have found an easier refuge than the jungle, hiding out with these guerrilla fighters, but he had some inkling as to the path the priest had chosen. “Has being out here in the jungle, helping these Filipino guerrillas, helped you keep your faith?” Deke asked.
“Indeed, it has, my young friend.” The priest studied the raking scars on Deke’s face. “Did you get those in the war?”
“No.”
When Deke didn’t elaborate, the priest didn’t press him for an answer. Instead, he nodded in the lieutenant’s direction. “I also noticed that your lieutenant has one eye. How unusual. Under the rules of your army, he could go home, could he not?”
“I reckon he wants to stay and fight.”
“Good,” the priest said. “He seems to see more than some men who have two good eyes.”
If the priest had chosen to do so, he could have gone into far more detail about the atrocities carried out by the Japanese against the church — indeed, against the entire civilian population. After all, the story of the Catholic church in the Philippines was a long and thorny one. Jesuit priests had arrived with the Spanish in the early fifteen hundreds, and the first mass had been celebrated on Leyte. The Filipinos had quickly embraced their new religion. The church had brought education with it, and Western ideals, even if they were sometimes imperfect.