“Go, go!” Steele shouted, the time for quiet having passed. All that mattered now was getting some distance between themselves and the Japanese before the garrison could organize a pursuit.
The soldiers fled up the jungle trail. It was hard going in the dark, with each of the soldiers trying to follow the dim blur of the man in front of him. There were no lights because that would have truly given their position away. Branches and vines bordering the trail slapped at them, blinding them even more. Deke shoved at the undergrowth that seemed to be clawing at them and trying to hold them back.
The machine gun opened back up, filling the night with the dreaded woodpecker-like tap, tap, tap of the deadly rhythmic gun. Now that they were clear of the prison compound, the POWs were no longer blocked from sight by the barracks. Tracers and bullets tore at the forest cover, shredding the leaves and branches so that they rained debris on the fleeing soldiers. Fortunately for them, the machine gunner was still shooting over their heads or into the surrounding jungle.
Now came the time for Father Francisco and his guerrillas to play their role. It was part of the strategy that the priest and the lieutenant had agreed upon. As the rest of the column fled, the priest led his men into the forest on both sides of the trail.
When the Japanese came after them, the guerrillas would have a surprise waiting.
“Everybody keep moving,” Steele urged the weary POWs. “Move, move!”
His voice from the head of the column helped to provide a beacon for the POWs. Exhausted and weak though they were, they managed to trot down the trail, getting farther from the prison compound with every step.
However, the firing of the machine gun had alerted the rest of the Japanese garrison, who came spilling out of the guard barracks. Some were only half-dressed, but they all carried weapons. Some ran to fire up the generator so that the compound was soon bathed in electric light. A quick search revealed the hole in the fence and the route that the POWs and raiders had taken.
Through the midst of the pandemonium, Colonel Yamagata strode with his bow over one shoulder, making him an instantly recognizable figure.
As he came running from the prison barracks, Lieutenant Osako found the commandant and said excitedly, “Sir, the prisoners are all gone!”
Yamagata was shocked, but he did a good job of hiding his reaction from his men. To those watching, it almost seemed as if he had planned or somehow allowed this escape to take place. “They will not get far,” he said. “They have no food, no weapons, and they are very weak.”
“Yes, sir.”
However, the commandant was curious about one thing. “What about the American soldier who was being held in the hot box? Is he still there?”
“I am sorry to report that he has escaped,” Osako replied, fearing that he had forever stained himself in Yamagata’s eyes as the bearer of bad news.
Sergeant Matsueda came running up. He ignored Osako and turned his attention on Colonel Yamagata. “Sir, we found the hole in the fence that they escaped through. With your permission, I will pursue them.”
Yamagata nodded. The sergeant gathered a handful of trusted men and started down the trail after the fleeing enemy.
They did not get far. Father Francisco and his guerrillas were waiting for them. Several Japanese fell as the Filipinos opened fire.
Sergeant Matsueda did not leap to the ground like the others, but hurled a hand grenade in the direction that the muzzle flashes were coming from. He closed his eyes against the blinding flash, then smiled in satisfaction at the dying screams of more than one of the raiders. Before they could recover, he threw another grenade.
“On your feet, let’s go!” he screamed at the men who had dived to the ground. He paused long enough to pull several of them upright, then plunged down the trail. More rifles cracked, but this time the Japanese were ready, and fired back. The forest gloom was soon punctuated by the bright rifle flashes.
Matsueda was surprised to find Colonel Yamagata at his side. The officer had appeared out of nowhere, apparently eager to join the pursuit. The commandant appeared oblivious to the rifle fire being exchanged, ignoring the crackle and zing of bullets in the darkness.
Yamagata drew his bow and fired an arrow at the silhouette of one of the Filipino guerrillas. Pierced by Yamagata’s arrow, the guerrilla fell to his knees. A Japanese soldier ran up and finished the man, using his bayonet. Yamagata nodded with satisfaction.
Still, the Japanese were unable to push past the organized guerrilla defense that blocked the jungle trail. The two sides fought a hot and determined skirmish, the stabbing flames of muzzle flashes filling the night.
Yamagata’s bow released again, the twang of the bowstring lost in the sound of gunfire. Another one of the guerrilla’s muzzle flashes winked out and went dark.
Still, Yamagata saw that he was losing too many men. The Japanese had walked right into an ambush set by the guerrillas. Although they outnumbered the enemy, their piecemeal attack was being cut to bits. In the dark, it was impossible to see whom they faced.
Yamagata issued orders to end the attack. “We will fall back to the compound,” he said. “Most of the prisoners are too weak to get far. We will organize ourselves and pursue them at first light.”
“I cannot believe they have all escaped,” Matsueda said. “It must have something to do with that new prisoner. It was all part of some plan, and we fell for it.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Sergeant. We will catch them tomorrow and put an end to these POWs and raiders. Perhaps it is for the best. If we no longer have prisoners to guard, then we can join those fighting to stop the American advance. We can be soldiers for a change!”
As the Japanese headed back to the prison compound, they were not pursued by the guerrillas, who must have been confident that they had stopped the Japanese. An uneasy quiet returned to the tropical night.
It seemed that the POWs and their liberators had gotten away, at least for now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Patrol Easy and their guerrilla allies knew that there was no time to rest. They realized that the Japanese would not be giving up so easily. The enemy would surely regroup and give chase. The attack by the guerrillas had taken them by surprise and stopped the pursuit for now, but for how long?
Lieutenant Steele was well aware that the reprieve was only temporary.
Soon the entire garrison would be giving chase. The enemy would be well rested, better armed, and more numerous in terms of able-bodied fighting men. Steele and his patrol had been focused on liberating the prisoners, but not on fighting a running battle against the enemy. This was all turning out to be far more than they had bargained for.
Then again, what else was new?
“Keep moving, keep moving,” the lieutenant urged, going down the slow-moving column. “Speed it up, boys. I’ve seen my grandma move faster.”
Their snail’s pace was frustrating. He resisted the urge to give the slower soldiers a shove to move them along. After all, some of them were so weak that they were barely able to keep upright. His heart went out to them, but at the same time, he really needed them to move faster.
The rear-guard action by Father Francisco and his guerrillas had indeed bought them some time, but they were losing precious minutes in the way that money slipped through the fingers of a drunken sailor.
Looking at the condition of the former POWs, it was easy to see why they weren’t moving along the jungle trail more rapidly. Most were emaciated to the point where they appeared hollow eyed, almost skeletal. They literally did not have enough meat on their bones to give them the strength to keep walking. These had all been good men, good soldiers.