Ikeda was stunned. “Sir? I do not understand. What if they come back? We must hunt them down first.”
Noguchi appeared surprisingly calm, despite the fact that the enemy soldiers had attacked the hill. The rest of the Japanese soldiers on the hill, men and officers alike, did not look nearly as calm. They ran in all directions, jumping into trenches, having traded their shovels for rifles. The officer watched it all and nodded with satisfaction. Rotund and short, he suddenly resembled a Buddha figure more than ever, a reminder that Noguchi was not a career military man but an engineer who had been pressed into service as an officer.
Ikeda scowled, thinking that a real officer would have ordered him after the raiders. He shifted from foot to foot, unable to contain his energy and his anger.
“The enemy will not return anytime soon. Not today,” Noguchi said. “Maybe tonight, under cover of darkness. There were no more than a dozen raiders, if even that many. What can so few hope to accomplish? They will need to rely on stealth — and darkness, if they have any hope of a successful attack on the battery.”
“The battery?”
“Of course, Ikeda. Why else would American soldiers be here? There is no doubt that they plan an invasion. They know that they must destroy this battery before their invasion of our little beach. But their hopes are misguided.”
“With all respect, sir, let me take a group of men and track them down.”
Noguchi clapped a meaty hand on Ikeda’s shoulder. While the sniper looked grim and angry, Noguchi had a smile on his face. “I want you here, Ikeda. Why chase the fox when he will come to you? It is likely that these enemy soldiers are highly trained. On this hill, we have every advantage that in the jungle we do not have. Not only that, we all know that there are Filipino guerrillas at work under the direction of that Jesuit priest.”
The Japanese knew all about the priest who lived in the forest alongside the Filipino fighters. It was true that the guerrillas had been a constant thorn in their side during the months of work. While the Filipinos stopped short of an all-out attack, they had constantly harassed the Japanese supply lines. The guerrillas knew better than to attack organized troops and patrols. However, soldiers who made the mistake of venturing too far into the undergrowth often did not come back. It had been a great cause of frustration to Ikeda, who found it hard to chase ghosts that simply melted into the jungle and who knew every animal trail and ravine so well.
But he wasn’t about to admit as much to this officer.
“I do not fear a few peasants and their filthy monk!” he shouted.
Noguchi raised his eyebrows at the outburst. As casual as Noguchi seemed compared to other officers, considering that he was an engineer and builder first and foremost, even he had his limits to breaches of discipline, and that included questioning orders.
“I appreciate your fighting spirit, Ikeda. Truly I do, and we will put it to use yet. You see, I am not talking about fear, but about strategy.”
Ikeda still wasn’t sure that he understood. His every instinct was still to go on the hunt. Yet he had no choice but to respond, “Of course, sir.”
“Our orders are not to chase raiders but to prepare for the defense of this hill — which is a key to defending this island. It may seem like a distant outpost, an unimportant task, but make no mistake that Leyte is a stepping-stone to our homeland. That is why the Americans want this hill, and this island. You and that rifle of yours will not allow the raiders to get this far, will you, Ikeda? Your men will be in position to defend this hill at any cost against another attempt to destroy this bunker and those guns. That is why I want you here, not chasing shadows around the forest.”
Chastened, Ikeda’s doubts about Noguchi had abated. The officer seemed well aware of the threat but was not allowing himself to make a hotheaded reaction.
Ikeda straightened, coming to attention. “Hai!”
“Good. We shall wait for the Americans to return — and when they do, this time we shall be ready.” Noguchi nodded at the crew that was busy around the entrance to the bunker, digging frantically. “Besides, if the raiders do make it this far, to the top of the hill, there will be a surprise waiting for them.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dawn’s gray light filtered ever so slowly down through the jungle canopy. None of the men had expected to sleep well, given their surroundings, but exhaustion was a tremendous soporific. The soldiers of Patrol Easy awoke with new energy, along with apprehension, knowing that the operation to attack the Japanese bunker and destroy the enemy battery was about to begin.
To his surprise, Deke awoke feeling more or less himself. The worst of it was his right hand, which ached from having gripped the rifle all night in his sleep. He shook it out and accepted half a tropical chocolate bar that Philly handed him, saying, “Breakfast.”
“Where’s my biscuits and white gravy at?” Deke asked.
“Ugh. That sounds like something they’d feed to inmates at the Eastern State Penitentiary. As punishment, you know. I’ll never understand you hillbillies.”
“No reason to get sore. I’ll settle for some grits and scrapple for breakfast.”
“Aw, shut up and eat your damn C rations.”
Grinning, Deke did just that, washing the chow down with a few swigs of water. It wasn’t much of a breakfast, but at least it was something. The warm water tasted strongly of metal from the canteen and halazone tablets. He wouldn’t have minded a hot mug of coffee, just to chase the cobwebs out of his brain.
The Filipino guerrillas in the clearing were also having their version of breakfast, something called bilo bilo, which were basically rice balls cooked in coconut milk. It looked a whole lot better than what Deke had just eaten.
They had started small fires just for the purpose of making breakfast. The fires were so circumspect that Deke could have held them in one hand — just big enough to heat a small amount of water or coconut milk. Deke found himself impressed. It was just the sort of fire a sly woodsy back home would have built to cook a rabbit but stay hidden from revenuers — or Indians in the olden days.
The guerrillas were skilled in jungle-craft and they knew to use dry, sap-free wood so that their fires scarcely made any smoke that would have given away their position to Japanese patrols — or aircraft. To Deke’s surprise, they also brewed coffee, and Deke gratefully accepted a tin cup of java, gulping it down while it was still too hot.
Each Filipino ate a handful of the rice balls between double-checking his equipment. With their short pants, rope-soled sandals, and ragged shirts, they hardly resembled soldiers. Considering that a few women and even a couple of children had joined them for the night, there was a family aspect of the guerrilla unit that was generally lacking in most military camps.
However, there was no mistaking that these were soldiers, all the same. The guerrillas all handled their rifles with easy familiarity, and their weapons gleamed from the care that they’d been given. Several of the Filipinos also wore bare-bladed bolo knives that swung from their belts. The bolo knives with their curved blades were meant to hack their way through the underbrush. If it came down to it, those would be savage weapons in close-quarters fighting.
The Japs might have their swords, but Deke shuddered at the thought of facing a swinging bolo. Some of the Filipinos also carried a short, wickedly curved knife known as a kris. Nope, definitely not the sort of knife he would want to go up against. With their captured Japanese rifles, bolo knives, and kris blades, these Filipino guerrillas were armed to the teeth.