Everyone except for Deke and Danilo, that was. Tracers lit up the night as the machine gun opened up, pecking at the bunker. Lucky for them, the machine gunner didn’t seem to know where to direct his fire. Not bothering to crouch anymore, Deke sprinted for the cover of the jungle, Danilo right on his heels. He caught a glimpse of one of the Filipino fighters, no more than a ghostly shadow up ahead, gesturing to show him the entrance to the path. He saw the sprawled body of the dead Japanese soldier in time to jump over it, then was running down the trail.
He couldn’t believe that they had given the encircling Japanese the slip. But then he had the thought that it hardly mattered. There was no way they could outrun the enemy. Once again, this was going to be a running battle that wouldn’t end until they reached the American lines — or one side or the other was wiped out. Either way, it was a grim prospect.
Already he heard angry shouts behind him that were all too close. The enemy was giving chase, and already gaining on them. Ahead of him, the rest of the team was bunching up as the struggling ex-POWs slowed them down. Their rear-guard trio kept running into the man in front of them, probably the same fellow who had waved them toward the trail.
Deke cursed their slow pace, then reminded himself that these POWs were the whole reason they were here in the first place.
“This isn’t looking good,” Philly pointed out, once he had drifted back to join them. “Maybe we ought to have stayed in the bunker.”
“We were trapped like rats in that place,” Deke said. “No, thanks.”
He slowed down long enough to turn and fire a couple of shots at the dim blur of movement behind him. He was painfully aware that he was almost out of ammunition. The three of them hung back for a moment, catching their breath and letting the rest of the column advance.
“I’m almost out,” Deke said. “How about you?”
“I just put the last clip in my rifle. Next thing you know, we’ll have to beat them off with sticks.”
“Danilo? You got any ammo? Bullets?”
The tough Filipino seemed to comprehend the question well enough. He simply shook his head and patted the bolo knife hanging at his side. Deke nodded, understanding all too well that Danilo was already out of ammunition, although he still carried his captured Japanese rifle slung over one shoulder. Deke would have tried to go back and steal some ammo or guns off the Japanese, if he had dared.
“Let’s go,” Deke said. “We really don’t have much choice except to make a run for it.”
The three men started down the path, but all too soon they came across the others ahead of them. There was a small clearing where a large tree had blown down in a storm, leaving enough space for the ex-POWs to huddle. In the darkness, Deke could sense their exhaustion, even if he couldn’t see it. He found Faraday helping a man who had twisted his ankle on a root jutting across the trail. Faraday was trying to wrap the ankle tightly with a strip of rag to give it support. Maybe the man could go a little farther.
“Why did you stop?” Deke asked. “Where the hell is the lieutenant?”
“He doesn’t know we stopped. He thinks we’re right behind him. He went on ahead with Rodeo and Yoshio, seeing if he could contact some of the advance units of our own boys,” Faraday said. “Right after that, Mason here got tripped up by a root. I’m trying to get him back on his feet.”
“You’d best hurry. The Japanese are right behind us.”
No sooner had Deke spoken those words than a bullet snapped through the branches nearby, then another. The Japanese had seen them. Then to their surprise, an arrow zipped past, so close that Deke could hear the thwip it made cutting through the air. It meant that Colonel Yamagata was even closer. Deke raised his rifle, but there was no sign of the archer.
Danilo had seen the injured man and had used his bolo knife to cut a long staff from the branches of the deadfall, something that the soldier could use to take the weight off his injured ankle. The sooner he could hobble up the trail, the better.
The sight of the staff gave Deke an idea. He reached out and took it from Danilo. “Cut another,” he said.
Danilo shrugged and started hacking at another tree limb with his bolo knife.
“Maybe he’ll just take us all prisoner again,” Faraday said.
“To hell with that,” Deke said. “Here, take my rifle. It’s only got three rounds left, but it’s something. Philly, you and Danilo stay with Faraday.”
“What about you?” Philly asked. He nodded at the staff in Deke’s hands. “I was just joking about fighting the Japanese with sticks, you know.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Deke said. “Kill as many of these Japs as you can. And for Jasper’s sake, get these fellas moving.”
Faraday got the men up and moving. He and Philly had the only operational weapons. Somewhere up ahead, if the lieutenant got lucky, he would run into the American advance.
Deke stepped off the trail and almost immediately found himself enveloped in the deep jungle. Rather than feeling cut off and alone, Deke felt himself reassured by the darkness. He was now a hunter, just like he had been as a boy in the mountains. He felt the hopelessness he had experienced earlier slip away. An ancient kind of power flowed through him, something so old that it was more like what a wolf or a bear felt than did a modern man. It was the power of the hunter.
He had left his rifle with Faraday. But he was far from defenseless. A cold smile played across his face, one that would have chilled a witness to the bone, although there was no one to see it.
The only light came from the sliver of moon, which created dappled pools of pale silver across the forest floor. Using one of these pools of moonlight to work by, first he laid out the staff on the forest floor. Then he drew his bowie knife, revealing the shining blade in the moonlight. This was the same style of knife that had been used by his ancestors to fight the Indians, the British, the Yankees — hell, maybe some distant Cole relation had even used it at the Alamo.
Working quickly, he bound the handle to the wooden staff using a length of twine that he’d been keeping in his pocket. It wasn’t long enough, so he cut some vines and used those next. The vines were surprisingly tough and suitable to the task. The result was a spear that looked so primitive that a caveman might have used it — if a caveman happened to have a bowie knife. There was no telling how long the binding would last, but with any luck, he would need to use it only once.
Satisfied with his effort, he hefted the weapon. It felt natural in his hands.
Blade against bow, he thought.
The thought of a bow came to mind because it was Yamagata he wanted. He knew that if you wanted to kill a snake, you had to cut off its head. He had already killed Mr. Suey. If he could just eliminate Yamagata, he was sure that the Japanese pursuit would falter.
The only question that nagged at Deke was, What about Lieutenant Osako? Deke hadn’t seen him, and for all he knew, the young officer had been left back at the prison compound. He decided that it didn’t really matter, because Osako wouldn’t have the backbone for pursuing the prisoners. No, it was Yamagata who was the snake’s head.
Deke slipped through the trees, moving parallel to the jungle trail. He moved by instinct and by sound, listening for the occasional gunshots. There weren’t many, which was a good sign — it meant that the Japanese had not caught up to the Americans yet.
He had no doubt that Yamagata would be at the head of the enemy column, leading his men. Deke moved through the forest with all the practiced silence of a natural-born hunter. He soon heard voices ahead, speaking Japanese. He had found the trail.