Still, that small triumph hadn’t been enough. Deke had the nagging feeling that maybe they had won the battle but lost the war, so to speak.
Faraday moved closer and took hold of the front of Deke’s uniform shirt, bunching it up in his fist. It was not a threatening gesture, but a way of making sure he had Deke’s full attention. Deke tried to pull away, but Faraday wouldn’t let him go. Given his current condition, Faraday had a surprising amount of strength.
“You listen to me, and listen good,” Faraday said. “Not just anybody could have come into that camp and done what you did. Right away, you got under Mr. Suey’s skin, and Yamagata’s too. That showed me right away that you were the right man for the job.”
“Some job I did—”
“Hold on. I’m not through yet.” Faraday tightened his grip on Deke’s shirt. “I’ve heard your buddies talk about what a great shot you are, and I saw some of that today. If anybody is going to take out that snake-eyed Yamagata, it’s going to be you. Hell, you told me that you fought a bear and lived to talk about it. You got us this far, so don’t give up now. I know I haven’t pulled rank much with you, but that’s an order, by the way.”
“Yes, sir,” Deke muttered.
Faraday let go of his shirt. Deke still wasn’t entirely convinced, but Faraday had given him something to think about.
As they waited, the men of Patrol Easy shared around what was left of their food. Divided among so many, it didn’t go far. That was all right — Deke didn’t feel much like eating, anyway.
Next, Deke did what he always did in situations like this. He fieldstripped his rifle and gave it a thorough cleaning. He didn’t need much light to see what he was doing. He knew every inch of the rifle as well as he knew the back of his hand or the contours of the scarred side of his face. There weren’t too many bullets left to go down the rifled grooves of the barrel, but he knew that each one must count.
He found the activity itself calming. Bit by bit, the awful memory of seeing the arrow fly into Truslow faded.
When he had finished cleaning the rifle, he turned his attention to his knife. The hand-forged bowie knife was perfect for jungle combat and already razor sharp. Nonetheless, he took out a whetstone, spat on it, then steadily scraped the blade across it. This was a sound that had preceded combat going back to ancient times. In the end, these rituals of cleaning the rifle and sharpening the knife were as much about preparing one’s mind as it was about preparing one’s weapons.
After several minutes of working with the whetstone, Deke tested the edge of the blade with his thumb. It was so sharp that he could feel the steel wanting to cut him before his thumb was anywhere near it. What was sharper than a razor, he wondered? This bowie knife, that’s what.
Not long after that, Father Francisco came in with one of the Filipino fighters, who turned out to speak a little English. The guerrilla had been wounded, and his arm was heavily bandaged. The priest had gone unscathed despite the heavy volume of Japanese fire that had been directed at the men in the outlying foxholes. It seemed to be a testament that someone up above was looking out for him.
“Padre, how are your men holding up?” Steele asked quietly, taking the priest to one corner of the bunker.
“We are low on ammunition,” he said. “Also, we have no more food or water.”
“Same here,” Steele said. “That’s why I propose that we try to get out of here. It won’t be easy.”
“We have no other choice,” the priest said.
The only plan seemed to be to make a run for it by connecting with the trailhead and getting as far out ahead of the Japanese as they could. Briefly, a diversion was considered, but quickly dismissed. It would be better if they could catch the Japanese off guard.
As plans went, it wasn’t much of one. “Honestly, we don’t need an elaborate plan,” the lieutenant said. “What we need is a little luck.”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” Father Francisco said with a smile. Opening his arms in a welcoming gesture, he invited the men in the bunker to pray with him. A chorus of mumbled voices joined in. As the old saying went, there was no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole. The priest led some of the prayers in Spanish for the benefit of his guerrilla fighters, then switched to English for the Americans. Deke prayed along with them because he figured that the Lord above was more likely to pay attention with a priest leading the prayers.
“Thank you, Padre,” Lieutenant Steele said. “Let’s hope somebody upstairs was listening.”
“He always listens,” the priest said confidently, then slipped back out the door to rejoin his own men.
Deke peered out at the darkness, but there was no sign of the Japanese — not even a whisper. He had the disconcerting thought that they were listening back, wondering what the Americans would do next. The night itself wasn’t exactly quiet, because it was filled with the sounds of insects and night birds. From time to time the screech of some larger animal made their skin crawl.
Fortunately for all of them, it was a dark night with just a sliver of waxing moon visible. High-flying clouds scuttled across the moon and stars, adding to the darkness. If it had been any brighter, Deke wouldn’t have liked their chances. The odds weren’t exactly in their favor, but at least the dark conditions of the jungle night favored them.
Around midnight, Steele quietly gave the order to move out.
“I’ll take the lead,” the lieutenant said. “Deke, I want you and Danilo to watch our backside. It will be your job to buy us some time once the Japanese come after us — and rest assured that they will. Whatever you do, don’t fall behind, because there’s nobody to come and get you.”
“You got it, Honcho.”
It was clear that this wasn’t going to be easy. The former POWs were in rough shape. Their entire party was low on ammunition and supplies. But there was no point in sitting around and waiting for the inevitable while the Japanese figured out what to do next.
Steele looked around one last time, trying to give everyone a reassuring nod. Then he went out the door of the bunker and started across the clearing, crouching low. The men followed in a file, moving as quietly as possible.
Somebody stumbled, and there was the sound of a boot sole scuffing a rock. It seemed to carry forever through the stillness.
“Quiet!” Steele whispered, as loudly as he dared.
The rest of the men crept forward as quietly as possible. They all knew that if the machine gun opened fire, then they’d be cut to pieces. It was a huge gamble, but they really didn’t have any choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Deke gave Danilo a nod, then started after the others filing out of the bunker. The open clearing wasn’t more than a hundred yards across from the bunker at its center, but it felt like miles. By some miracle, most of the others had reached the other side before the first shot rang out.
With a certain amount of relief, he recognized the deep boom of Lieutenant Steele’s shotgun. Whoever had been on the business end of that muzzle wouldn’t be sending any more letters home to Tokyo.
“Run, dammit, run!” he heard Steele shout. “Once you’re on the trail, don’t stop for anything!”
Fortunately, the bulk of the men were almost across the clearing. As if by a sixth sense, Steele must have managed to find the entrance to the path in the dark. They were luckier still that the enemy machine gun wasn’t brought into play immediately, allowing the rest of the group to get across.