He did not like to consider the effect this was having on the wounded and civilians down the road.
It was possible, of course, that the Japanese would set out from Tarragona at ten, or eleven, or for that matter at half past two in the afternoon, which meant they could not leave their concealed positions on the road and move into the jungle where they could safely make fires. All they could do was wait.
And it was entirely possible that a key element of what now was seeming less and less a clever plan-Everly's riding down the road on his motorcycle to inform them the convoy was on the way-would go awry for a number of rea-sons, starting with the malfunction of the motorcycle, or a motorcycle accident, to Everly falling into the hands of the Japanese.
He found himself in the uncomfortable position of hoping that Everly had been killed. Better that than falling into the hands of the Japanese. McCoy had seen enough of Japanese techniques of interrogation to know that no man had the ability-courage had nothing to do with it-to deny Japanese inter-rogators anything they wanted to know.
He was deep in this depressing chain of thought when he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine.
Then, behind him, he heard the action of a carbine, and turned to look at Macklin.
"What are you going to do, shoot Everly?" McCoy asked sarcastically, and was immediately sorry.
This is not the time to jump all over Macklin; what I should be doing is reassuring him. I will very likely need the sonofabitch.
Macklin looked at him like a kicked puppy.
"Don't fire that thing until I shoot," McCoy said, then rose to his feet and stood behind a tree that gave him a good look at the road.
Two minutes later Everly appeared, looking from side to side as he rode very slowly down the road.
McCoy stepped from the behind the tree so that Everly could see him.
When he did, Everly cut the motorcycle's engine and coasted up to McCoy.
"They should be about ten minutes behind me," Everly said. "Four trucks. All the guards are in the last truck."
"Go hide the bike," McCoy ordered.
Everly kicked the engine to life. The noise now seemed deafening.
McCoy turned to Macklin.
"Did you hear that? Four trucks? All the guards in the last one?"
Macklin nodded.
"You stay here. I'll pass the word to the others."
Macklin visibly did not like the idea of being left alone, but he nodded his understanding.
McCoy went onto the shoulder of the road. Lieutenant Alvarez, late of the Philippine Scouts, and Lieutenant Lewis, late aide-de-camp to Rear Admiral Wagam, stood up in the positions across the road.
"We heard him," Alvarez said.
"I'm going to pass the word to them," McCoy said, gesturing down the road to where Pierce, Lamar, Zimmerman, and Wedlington were in position, "to take out all the guards as soon as I start shooting."
Alvarez nodded, and McCoy trotted farther down the road.
When he returned to his position, McCoy didn't see Macklin. After a mo-ment, he found him. He was five yards deeper inside the thick jungle than he had to be, in a squatting position behind a large tree.
Resisting the urge to tell him to get back where he had placed him, McCoy walked to him, took the spare carbine and two magazines from him, and went back to the position he had selected for himself.
He put the Springfield sling on his arm, carefully examined his stock of nine cartridges, and loaded into the rifle the five that had the best chance of firing.
The sound of the Japanese truck engines began to be heard just a minute later, far sooner than the ten minutes Everly had predicted. McCoy worked the Springfield's bolt and made sure the safety was off.
The driver of the first truck that appeared was hunched over the wheel, resting both arms on it. The soldier beside him seemed to be sleeping.
McCoy found a sight picture, the front blade of his sight on the Japanese's nose. He took a deep breath, let half of it out, and squeezed the trigger.
The Springfield slammed into his shoulder. Without thinking about it, McCoy chambered another round.
The Japanese driver seemed to jerk erect, then slumped farther over the wheel. The truck continued down the road, not slowing at all. McCoy's front sight found the other, now wide-awake, Japanese, and he squeezed off another round.
Nothing.
Furiously, he chambered a third cartridge and searched for a sight picture. He found one, but just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the head of the second Japanese jerked violently to the side.
Lieutenant Alvarez had also found a suitable sight picture.
McCoy moved his eyes to the second truck. The driver had slammed on the brakes and seemed to be trying to push the steering wheel away from him. McCoy found his nose with his front blade sight and squeezed off a round. The Springfield slammed reassuringly against his shoulder. When he found the Japanese again, he immediately lost that sight picture as the truck veered off the road and slammed into a large tree. McCoy searched for the front-seat pas-senger, and again, as he tightened his finger on the trigger, his target seemed to explode.
Lieutenant Alvarez, McCoy thought approvingly, knows how to shoot.
And then he became aware of many gunshots.
He tore off the Springfield sling and picked up the carbine, chambering a round as he did so.
He heard movement behind him, and turned to see Macklin coming out of the jungle, holding the carbine as a hunter holds a shotgun. He moved past McCoy as if he didn't see him.
McCoy's attention was diverted by a crunching sound, and he looked to-ward the sound. The first truck had driven off the road and into a tree.
The engine stalled.
McCoy jumped to his feet and ran down the road toward it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chambers Lewis start after him.
They reached the truck at about the same time. Both Japanese were beyond question dead. They rested their carbines against the fender and, with what seemed like an extraordinary amount of effort, pulled both bodies from the truck.
McCoy crawled behind the wheel, put the transmission in neutral, and cranked the engine. After a moment's hesitation, it caught. He and Chambers grinned at one another.
McCoy backed the truck onto the road. Apparently, it was undamaged. He got from behind the wheel and looked back up the road.
Captain Robert B. Macklin, USMC, was moving among the bodies on the road, shooting each one in the head with his carbine.
[NINE]
Site Sugar
Davao Oriental Province
Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines
0001 Hours 6 February 1943
With some difficulty, Captain Robert B. Macklin, USMC, read the luminous hands on his wristwatch. The hour and minute hands pointed at midnight; the second hand clicked past thirty-five seconds.
"Columbus, Columbus, this is Coffin, Coffin," the radio hissed.
"Right on schedule," Captain Macklin whispered.