The soldiers had not only the Japanese and the tropical heat to worry about, but also the terrain. Their first real obstacle turned out to be the bridge over the Tagbog River. This was just one of the many rivers and streams that drained the lush jungle highlands and flowed toward the sea.
The muddy brown river ran between high banks, swollen by recent rains to the point where it resembled an overflowing rain gutter. Though not more than ninety feet wide, the river appeared deep, with a strong current. It would be impossible for the troops to cross the river without the benefit of the bridge.
The Japanese had known this all too well. Realizing that the Americans were coming, the Japanese had made an effort to close off the road behind them by wrecking the bridge. Earlier, Patrol Easy had heard the boom of a large explosion up ahead. The wreckage of the bridge made it clear what all the ruckus had been about.
They arrived at the scene to find some of the timbers still smoldering. In all honesty, the bridge probably hadn’t been all that substantial to begin with. Here in the countryside, bridge construction relied on whatever materials were on hand, which meant wood and stone and sometimes even rope lashing rather than steel girders.
The smashed and broken lumber resembled oversize Popsicle sticks rather than properly sized bridge timbers. Halfway across the river, the single stone pillar that anchored the span remained upright.
While a few stringers were still intact, the bridge appeared to be rickety at best and a death trap at worst. In its current condition, there was no way that what was left of the structure could handle the number of men and the weight of the supplies that needed to cross.
“I was afraid of that,” the lieutenant said. “The Japanese are trying to pull up the drawbridge behind them.”
“From the looks of things, they won’t have to try too hard,” Deke said. “Now what?”
Steele replied, “We need to rebuild the bridge, that’s what.”
Deke looked doubtfully at the brown water and the structure that remained. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
At that moment, a single bullet sang through the air near their heads.
“Sniper!” someone shouted.
They sprinted for cover. The wreckage of the bridge on this side of the river provided just what they needed.
Another shot split the air overhead. Then there was a long stretch of silence.
“Anybody see him?” Philly asked.
“Nah, he’s gone for now,” Deke said.
“Well, boys, I have to say that it looks like our job won’t involve construction,” Steele said. “Our job will be keeping the men rebuilding the bridge from getting shot.”
Steele was correct in that regard. An officer arrived and started directing the reconstruction of the bridge. It was no easy task, considering that the building would need to be done mostly with salvaged materials.
Meanwhile, the scouts and snipers of Patrol Easy fanned out, keeping out of sight, and trying to get a glimpse of the enemy sniper or snipers.
It was a familiar game of cat and mouse, with the Japanese attempting to pick off the Americans trying to get the bridge into working order, while Deke and the others tried to stop them.
Like any good hunter, Deke relied on movement to spot his target. The enemy wasn’t visible behind the wall of green, but the occasional motion of the brush betrayed them.
Deke saw something stirring in the greenery on the far side of the river and fired. Seconds later he was rewarded with the sight of a Japanese soldier tumbling down the bank into the water. The enemy sniper landed face down and slowly floated away.
“One down,” Philly noted. “Who knows how many more to go.”
“Then why don’t you help me out and shoot some Japs?”
“Hey, I’m trying!”
Philly was right — it was challenging to line up the sights on an actual target on the other side. The enemy kept to cover and took potshots at them from the trees.
Meanwhile, the team of bridge builders worked valiantly, knowing that this structure was holding up the entire advance. Part of the problem was that anchoring the bridge would require someone to not only get in the water, but also to go under the water and secure supports to the stone piling that stood upright in the middle of the river.
A raft was made by lashing together logs and empty fuel barrels that the Japanese had helpfully, if unwittingly, left by the side of the road. However, that didn’t solve the problem of going underwater.
A resourceful soldier had an idea. Using a gas mask and tubing, he was able to rig a diving mask. It wasn’t much, but the idea was that it would be sufficient for him to stay under long enough to secure a rope around the stray timbers so that they could be lifted into place and lashed securely to the pillar.
Watching the diver’s preparations from the riverbank, Philly shook his head in awe. “That is one brave bastard,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust that contraption in a bathtub, much less that river.”
Deke tended to agree. He had never much cared for the water himself, that was for damn sure, especially muddy brown rivers. He thought the diving mask looked flimsy at best. But he knew that in combat situations, men took chances to do what needed to be done.
To complicate things, the enemy snipers on the far bank redoubled their fire when they saw what the dive team had planned. Bullets began to splash on the muddy surface like raindrops from a summer downpour. Troops on shore returned fire until shredded green leaves flew like confetti. This gave a temporary reprieve from the enemy, but they soon returned, forcing the dive team back to shore.
There was also the problem of time. If the Japanese brought up mortars or machine guns to add to their firepower, this would turn into a full-scale battle. Crossing the river at this exact location would become that much harder, if not downright impossible. Valuable time might be lost if the troops were forced to try another route.
Against his better judgment, Deke had an idea. It wasn’t necessarily a good one, considering his dislike for anything that had to do with water. But they were stuck sure as a fat cow in a cattle chute and needed to get something going. To that end, a plan began to take shape in Deke’s mind.
The dive team had reached shore and taken shelter behind the stone bridge pillar on the riverbank held by the GIs. Deke went down and found them.
“Show me how that mask works,” he said.
“It’s easy,” said the soldier, who was obviously proud of his invention. “Honestly, it’s more like a snorkel. You slip it on and make it as tight as possible with the straps. The breathing tube goes in through this slit here. As long as you keep the other end of the tube above water, you can breathe.”
“Can you put together another one of these masks?” Deke asked the inventor. “I want to pay those Nips on the other side of the river a visit.”
“Sure I can.”
Deke had dragged Yoshio along, mainly because he knew that he was a good swimmer. He looked at him now. “What do you think? Are you ready to help me give these bastards some hell?”
Yoshio grinned. “Let’s do it.”
While the soldier made another mask, Deke and Yoshio got organized. Deke decided to leave his rifle behind. Instead, he gathered several hand grenades. Yoshio did the same. If the grenades didn’t do the trick, he always had his bowie knife.
When the rest of Patrol Easy saw what he was planning, they made it clear that they thought he was crazy.
“The Japs will see you coming,” Philly said.
“In this water? You can’t see your hand more than six inches down,” Deke replied. “Besides, you are going to be shooting up a storm to distract them. The last place they’re going to look is the river.”