CHAPTER TWENTY
At exactly two minutes before midnight, Patrol Easy and the Filipino guerrillas sprang into action. Lieutenant Steele led them out of their hiding place in the secluded clearing.
“Let’s go,” he whispered. “It’s time to move out. Everybody knows what to do. Philly? Yoshio?”
“We’re on it, Honcho,” Philly replied.
“Just remember that this isn’t the OK Corral,” Steele said. “Don’t shoot unless they shoot first. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“All right, you two get into position.”
The two snipers headed out. From outside the fence line, Philly and Yoshio would be covering the guard tower.
Through observation, they had learned that a pair of guards walked the interior of the fence line once each hour through the night. The guards were typically half-asleep and probably returned to their beds soon after completing their circuit. The guards had just made their rounds and returned to the barracks, leaving the coast clear.
The guard tower was the weakest link of their plan. The problem was that if the machine gun in that tower opened fire before the prisoners had escaped through the fence, it would be disastrous. It would be Philly and Yoshio’s job to take out the machine gunners if that happened.
By then, of course, the entire enemy garrison would be alerted by the gunfire, but at least the guards in the tower wouldn’t be shooting at them.
Steele and Father Francisco had discussed sending Danilo into the tower at the outset of the escape attempt to neutralize the guards there, but they had ultimately decided that doing so was too risky. It would have meant crossing the open ground of the prison yard and climbing the ladder into the tower without alerting the enemy, and then neutralizing them quietly. That was a tall order, even for Danilo.
Instead, the plan was to cut a hole in the fence in the one blind spot in the guard tower’s sight line, directly behind the prisoners’ barracks. Success would rely on stealth and more than a little good luck.
Again, Steele would have preferred having Deke covering the tower instead of Philly and Yoshio, but his best marksman was currently a prisoner of the Japanese. The lieutenant hoped that wouldn’t be the case for long.
That was their plan. Everything felt cobbled together, but there hadn’t been time for anything more elaborate. It remained to be seen how it would all hold together. He recalled what General Eisenhower had famously stated about plans: “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.”
So far they really had been lucky. They had spent the better part of a day and a night under the very noses of the Japanese without being detected. That in itself was something of an accomplishment. Then again, it also spoke to the sheer density of the jungle and its ability to provide cover.
Steele had the unsettling thought that it would have been just as possible for an enemy outpost to be hidden nearby and to have gone undetected. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any signs of one or any need for it. The Japanese were safely ensconced inside the perimeter of their prison camp.
The night favored them with a waning moon, with some high cloud cover. Just a few stars poked through the gauzy fabric of the dark tropical sky. The darkness would provide a good cloak for their actions tonight.
Steele looked toward Father Francisco. The priest and guerrilla leader appeared grim, but seemed to have his band of tough Filipino fighters well in hand. He felt reassured that they were a deadly bunch, armed to the teeth right down to the wicked bolo knives hanging at their belts or strapped across their backs. The guerrillas were veterans of many missions and waited calmly for Father Francisco to give them their orders.
Because Steele couldn’t speak el lenguaje, he had to rely on the priest to communicate with the guerrillas.
“Are your men ready, Father?” Steele asked.
“We are ready,” the priest said. “We have offered up our prayers. This night is now in God’s hands.”
“Then let’s hope God is paying attention. Move out!”
The lieutenant carried a pair of wire cutters in one hand, his shotgun slung over his shoulder. Getting through the fence wouldn’t be easy. He didn’t want to rely on anyone else to get the job done.
Cautiously, he approached the perimeter fence. Although strung on rough poles made out of trees and sagging in places, the fence was deceptively strong, its patchwork appearance giving it layers that made it even more effective.
To make getting through the fence yet more difficult, the Japanese had set out rolls of barbed wire all along the exterior base of the fence. Weeds and thorny vines had grown up over that barbed wire, which had begun to rust in the damp climate. Still, the barbs were sharp enough, and he didn’t relish the thought of being ripped open by the rusty wire. The jungle wasn’t the place to get an infected wound or come down with lockjaw.
Steele crept forward and got to work with his clippers. In the darkness, he had to work by touch more than sight. Rodeo was right behind him, his hands wrapped in rags to protect them. As Steele clipped, Rodeo forced the wire and vines back to create a wider path. Crouched over, they were soon shoulder deep in the thick weeds. They could hear scurrying noises as small creatures, probably insects or rodents, got out of their way. From time to time they felt something crawling over them, which was more than a little unsettling in the dark.
“I hope to hell there’s no snakes in here,” Rodeo whispered.
“If those guards hear us, snakes will be the least of our worries. Now try to keep quiet.”
Steele was correct that they had to work with as much stealth as possible. Then again, there was only so much one could do to clip quietly through the rusty wire, but the noise of the nighttime insects did much to cloak their advance through the tangled strands. The prisoner barracks blocked their view of the guard tower, allowing them to work in one of the few blind spots along the fence line.
After several minutes dealing with the twisty rolls of barbed wire and thorny vines, they reached the fence itself. Steele had rolled down his sleeves to protect his arms, but the cloth was now shredded in a couple of places.
The two guards had already made their rounds of the interior perimeter, so Steele quickly cut several strands of the fence, and with Rodeo’s help they pulled the wire aside, creating a gap wide enough to pass through.
However, there was no one waiting for them on the other side. They had expected Deke to be there, ready to lead the prisoners out. Instead, the prison yard was empty.
They heard the sound of muffled laughter, probably from the guard tower, and then a few words of Japanese. The guards were definitely awake and alert. Steele felt his pulse pounding even heavier than it had been.
“Where the hell are they?” Rodeo whispered.
“Give them a minute,” he replied. “You know Deke. He’ll be here.”
Steele glanced at the faintly glowing hands of his watch, which showed him that it was now a few minutes after midnight. The rendezvous was behind schedule, and each minute that they lingered put them in greater danger of being discovered.
It was hard to see more than a few yards into the gloom. Taking a chance, Steele leaned forward and whispered as loudly as he dared, “Deke?”
There was no answer.
Not more than one hundred yards away, Deke remained locked inside the hot box without any hope of escape. He had no way of knowing what time it was, but he knew that the minutes were ticking away, and along with them, any opportunity for the prisoners to break out.