Deke hurried to the firing slit on that side and scanned the edge of the forest, but there was no sign of the archer. Reluctantly, he had to admit that maybe the man was more talented than he had been willing to give him credit for. Neither had he seen any sign of Mr. Suey. Already the fight was not going the way that Deke had expected or hoped.
After all, a few arrows were terrifying weapons, but they were not the worst of it. The garrison troops had encircled the bunker and foxholes, pouring fire at them. The simple fact was that the Americans and Filipino fighters were outnumbered two or three to one. Their only advantage was the bunker, but even that wasn’t completely impregnable. Bullets pinged constantly around the edges of the firing slits. Occasionally the Japanese bullets found their way inside.
From the interior of the bunker, one of the prisoners screamed as he was hit. The man had been little more than a bag of bones, and he collapsed and writhed on the dirt floor. Faraday bent over him, asking him where he was hit, but there was nothing that he could do. The man was beyond any kind of medical care. After a few awful moments, he finally lay still.
“Son-of-a-bitch Japs!” Faraday cursed.
In a rage, Faraday dashed to one of the firing slits and blasted away with the pistol that he’d been given earlier.
“You’re wasting ammo,” Deke pointed out.
“Maybe, but it sure as hell made me feel better.”
Deke just nodded. He couldn’t argue with that.
Out in the foxholes that made up the defensive perimeter, the Filipino fighters weren’t faring much better.
Father Francisco did not possess a weapon because his religious vows would not allow it. However, he not only directed his defenders, but brought them water and spare ammo taken from the dead and dying after he had said his prayers over them. He was also tending to the wounded as best as he could.
From the bunker Deke could see the priest from time to time, dashing between foxholes at huge personal risk. Bullets kicked up the dirt all around him whenever he appeared in the open. Once or twice Deke could have sworn that he saw bullets pluck at the priest’s robes. But the man himself remained unscathed.
Maybe God was protecting the man in some way, after all, Deke thought. Father Francisco had expressed earlier in the mission that he had begun to doubt his faith because of all the loss and suffering he had seen in the war. It was just possible that God had not lost faith in the priest.
Meanwhile, all that any of them could do was fight, hoping that they could pick off enough of the Japanese to even the odds.
“I wish to hell they would come at us in a banzai charge,” Philly said.
“No such luck,” Deke said.
It was a common misconception that the Japanese were all eager to throw away their lives in pointless banzai charges, but that was not the case. Those charges usually took place when the situation was so desperate that such tactics were a hopeless gamble. This was not the current situation. The Japanese could be stealthy adversaries. They were keeping to cover for the most part, wearing down the defenders. Deke had to hand it to Yamagata in that the man knew his business.
Another arrow whipped through the air, this time smacking against the rim of the firing slit and dropping harmlessly to the ground. Yamagata had missed, but what about the next time? That arrow had come awfully close.
Deke scanned the forest fringes for some sign of the archer, but he was too canny to show himself.
But from the woods, a new threat presented itself. There was a sudden tap, tap, tap. Almost instantaneously, a burst of slugs hit the side of the bunker all around the open firing pit in front of Deke and Philly. They instinctively ducked down.
The Japanese had a machine gun.
It had been bad enough to be pinned down by superior rifle fire and an arrow or two. This new development made things much worse.
“Well, don’t that beat all,” Deke said. “That machine gun changes things.”
Philly gave him a look from below the rim of the firing slit, where they had both sheltered when the first volley from the Nambu had chewed up the wall of the pillbox. He said, “Corn Pone, that is probably the understatement of the year.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
With the steady peck of the Nambu machine gun keeping them pinned down, the men inside the bunker and in the surrounding defensive foxholes were forced to stay low. Whenever the machine gun let up, they returned fire. The bunker door had been open for easier communication with the men in the foxholes beyond, but the lieutenant ordered it closed once the machine gun opened up.
One thing for sure was that both sides had reached a stalemate. The Americans weren’t going anywhere. Meanwhile, the Japanese couldn’t get at them. What happened next was anybody’s guess, but time was not on the Americans’ side.
“All they need to do is wait us out,” Deke said, risking another look through the scope. Instantly the tangled vegetation on the far side of the clearing sprang closer to his eye. He didn’t see any movement or targets, so held his fire. The running fight against the Japanese had used up more ammo than they had anticipated. Each shot needed to count.
“Yeah, we’re low on ammo, water, and food,” Philly agreed. “Plus, I hate to say it, but it’s starting to stink in here.”
“You got that right.” Deke wrinkled his nose. With so many men forced to shelter inside the bunker, one corner had been designated as the latrine area. Aside from the firing slits, there wasn’t much in the way of ventilation.
“So we sit here for how long?” Philly wondered.
“I don’t see Colonel Yamagata as the patient type. He’ll want to put an end to this sooner rather than later.”
“You mean the Japanese are gonna try something to shake us loose?”
“Damn straight,” Deke said.
Lieutenant Steele called for an ammo count.
“We have thirty rounds between us,” Yoshio replied. He and Rodeo were paired up, covering one of the firing slits.
Deke and Philly counted out their clips. “About the same,” Deke said.
“All right, I’ve got a dozen shells left,” Steele said, referring to his twelve-gauge shotgun. “Father Francisco and his boys are in the same boat. I wish to hell that we’d brought more ammo.”
Nobody needed to remind Steele that ammunition was heavy, and they had been traveling light on this raid. The goal had been to liberate the POWs, not engage in a running battle.
“That’s not much ammo for a last stand,” Philly said.
“Who the hell said anything about this being a last stand?” Steele demanded. “We came here to liberate these men and get them back to our lines, which is exactly what we are going to do.”
“You got it, Honcho,” Philly quickly agreed.
Deke knew that the lieutenant could make all the speeches that he wanted to, but their ability to achieve the mission goal was being severely limited by their firepower. Of course, the prisoners themselves didn’t have a weapon among them. Deke also knew that Colonel Yamagata was no fool. He would have guessed the Americans’ situation and would do something soon to force an outcome.
Also, much of the day had been lost to the stalemate. Already the sun was getting low through the treetops. It was hard to say whether nightfall would give an advantage to the Japanese or to the Americans, who might use darkness as cover to slip through the encircling enemy.
Deke didn’t have to wait long before he was proved right about the Japanese taking action, although in this case, being correct gave him no pleasure. Through the scope, he detected movement at the edge of the forest where the attackers had taken cover. He let his breath out, waiting for a target.