"What happened to you?"
"...dogging a convoy...night...no moon. Destroyer snuck up and surprised us. Held us down. Rain squall. Shit. That was smart. We surfaced in a--
Lorca whipped around and bellowed to the walls, "Chief! Priority message from ComSubPac. Should I send for Mr. Chance, or do you..." He rocked back and forth for a moment, and moaned and held his hand. Then the moaning became a melody with a deliberate cadence. Lorca's head bobbed one way, then the next, as he hummed and slapped his hand on his leg with the rhythm.
"Kid's loony," muttered DeWitt.
Ingram guessed. "Is that Bach, son?"
Lorca hummed louder, then nodded. "Fugue in G Sharp Minor. One of my favorites."
"Do you play an instrument?"
"You bet. Violin."
"Then what happened--" Ingram caught himself. The man's left hand, his fingering hand, was heavily bandaged. The dressing was filthy and blood had seeped through in spots. With a sidelong glance to DeWitt, he knew Lorca wouldn't be fiddling for a while.
Suddenly, Lorca looked Ingram straight in the eye and said almost conversationally, "That Jap was smart. He knew we surfaced in a rain squall. Charged in and hit us with one round. And guess where?"
"Where?" said Ingram.
"For'ard engine room. And I was one compartment ahead of that. Boat was ripped in half."
Dewitt was incredulous. "How'd you get out?"
Lorca shook his head slowly. "I have no idea. First I was talking to Doc Gaspar, then he's splattered all over me and the lights go out. Next thing I know...I'm in a raft..."
Ingram realized the man was looking through him. It was as if a switch had turned off. "Lorca? Lorca?" said Ingram.
"Come on, son," said DeWitt.
Gradually, Lorca's face took on some color. He focused and looked from Ingram to DeWitt. "Feels good to eat real chow."
DeWitt and Ingram exchanged glances. Ingram said, "You a radioman?"
"...radioman?" said Lorca. "That's what I do. Hotshot second class. First class, soon. Passed my test."
Ingram muttered to DeWitt, "Glad the strongest thing we gave him was that Coke." He turned to Lorca. "Where are your buddies?"
Lorca focused for a moment. "Radioman. I pull in broadcasts from stateside all the time. Even got William Winter. You know him?"
"No," said Ingram.
"Ten times better than Walter Winchell. William Winter always tells it straight."
"You betcha," said DeWitt.
"You sure you haven't heard him?" asked Lorca.
"No," said Ingram.
"KGEI. My hometown. San Francisco.
"Nice town," said DeWitt, nodding at Lorca's tattoos. "'Arrivederci Tojo.' I like that. You get those in 'Frisco?"
"SAN FRAN Cisco, if you please, Sir," said Lorca.
"Sorry," said DeWitt.
Lorca's tongue lolled in his mouth. Finally, he managed, "We get Mr. Winter at ten in the morning, which means he's broadcasting at six the night before...or is it...lemme see...that's it. We're submerged most of the time when Winter's on. That's why I can't hear him so much. So that means he's on in the morning. Ten our time. Did I say that?" Lorca grinned.
Ingram called across the room to Yardly. "Did you look him over?"
"Yes, Sir. Seems okay except for fatigue and that hand. Some sort of dementia. Mr. DeWitt may be right. Shell-shock. He responds to food, though. I think time is all he needs."
Lorca picked another piece of Jackfruit and nibbled at it.
"...better not take him," Ingram mouthed to DeWitt.
DeWitt nodded slowly and whispered, "Sorry. Thought he would come in handy."
Ingram decided to try one more time. "What boat you off of, sailor?"
"Boat? I been on lots of boats," said Lorca.
Ingram reached over and patted the young man on the shoulder. "Mr. Amador will take care of you, son."
He rose and said to DeWitt, "I better go out to the boat and see how they're doing."
"Lots of boats," said Lorca. "Wolffish this time. Now she's gone. Jap round right in the For’ard engine room. BAM! I was there. You shoulda seen it."
Ingram took two steps and stopped. "What?"
DeWitt too, had half-risen. He stood frozen in place staring at Lorca.
Ingram said, "Wolffish? Wolffish?" He stared at DeWitt.
DeWitt nodded vigorously.
Ingram kneeled next to the radioman. "Sailor, did you say the Wolffish?"
"Sure. But...she's gone now. Ronnie's gone, too. Neat guy."
With another look at DeWitt, Ingram asked, "You know a sailor named Radtke?"
Lorca swallowed a couple of times. "Radtke. Radtke. Yeah, Radtke. He has a good fist. I liked the way--"
"Did he make it?" roared DeWitt grabbing Lorca's right hand.
The radioman's left hand bounced against the table and fell in his lap. "Owwww." He shrunk back; his eyes darting between Ingram and DeWitt.
"Jesus." DeWitt crawled over the table, his knees knocking aside wooden bowls and cups. Grabbing one of Lorca's lapels he yelled, "Did Radtke make it?"
"Major!" shouted Helen Durand. "Stop this."
"Don't hit me," screamed Lorca.
Helen Durand and Yardly moved close. DeWitt glowered, then let go.
"Where are your buddies?" asked Ingram as evenly as he could.
Lorca put his hands over his face. "They hung the chief upside-down."
"Who?" asked DeWitt.
"Chief Hall," said Lorca. "The Japs nailed him to a tree."
"You mean crucified?" asked DeWitt.
"That's it." Lorca crossed himself. "Like in church, except upside-down. Scared the hell out of us."
"Who else is left?" asked Ingram.
"Not many, two, or is it three? Mr. Gruber could tell you."
"Radtke?" asked Ingram.
"Radtke. Yes, Radtke. He paddled the raft," squeaked Lorca.
"He's in the hills with them?"
"With Lil' Adolf. Yes."
"Damn!" said Ingram, sitting back.
"Please don't hit me," moaned Lorca.
"Don't worry, son," Ingram said. "Here. Lay down." He nodded to Helen Durand and Yardly, and helped the youngster lay back. Soon he was breathing evenly and they draped a blanket over him.
Ingram's head swirled and he knew it wasn't from any concussion. He stood, surprised that he had to lean on the wall for a moment, "I have to go outside and check on things..." He headed for the door. Radtke! That bastard Radtke here in Mindanao. He'd have to stay and track him down, but he didn't want to. Ingram cursed, wondering why it was up to him; why he was the one shackled with this impossible task. He paused at the door and looked back momentarily.
There she was, ball cap and all, looking marvelous. Yet, her head was cocked as she looked at him. For that matter, so were Amador's and DeWitt's.
"Where the hell are you going?" asked DeWitt.
"I need air."
"You what?" asked DeWitt.
"Damnit, Otis, shut up." Ingram walked out.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
21 May, 1942
Agusan Province Foothills
Northern Mindanao, Philippines
"For the last time Radtke, we go when I say we go," said Ensign Gruber.
"Sir, it's been nine days," said Radtke.
Ensign Gruber barely looked like an ensign. His khakis were tattered, he wore no shoes, and he hadn't shaved since the Wolffish went down, his George Brent moustache unrecognizable. Radtke didn't look any better.
Gruber said, "We're laying low, damnit. Now fill that jug and let's go."
"He give you anything to eat?"
Old Lumaban, a sun-wrinkled potato farmer, lived in a hut on a broad plain looking over the Butuan Bay, where Döttmer could see Nasipit, a tantalizing six miles to the northeast.
"Another sackful. Ready?" said Gruber, putting away his wallet. "Damnit," he muttered. "Only two bucks left." Lumaban sold them six potatoes every two days. It wasn't enough to sustai
n them, and none of them knew enough about survival to catch food on a consistent basis. Although, day before yesterday they caught a monkey. Gruber and Kimble held the wiggling thing, which shrieked horribly, until it seemed their eardrums were about to shred. It wasn't until it bit Gruber that Döttmer stepped in and choked it to death. No one knew how to butcher it and the meat was stringy. But they felt better.
The only reason they didn't head for Nasipit was because of what happened to Chief Hall. It was the day after they landed, and Hall had volunteered to go into a little coastal village for food. He bought two sacks of food from a Chinese storekeeper and was belching his way out of the village when a Japanese patrol walked in from the other end. The storekeeper screamed and ranted, pointing to a clump of bushes where Hall was hiding. The Japanese captured Hall with a horrified Döttmer, Gruber, Lorca, and Kimble watching from the distance. They ran into the jungle, hiding in a cave they had found earlier. Hall screamed so loud that night they couldn't sleep. The next day, as they hiked a road into the mountains, they found him crucified: upside-down.
As they trudged past, Gruber and Kimble retched, and Döttmer had trouble holding his bile, too. But Lorca barely blinked at Hall's corpse.
"Don't trust nobody," muttered Kimble as they moved deeper into the foothills.
Döttmer, who had planned to simply turn himself in, was as horrified as the rest and decided to stick with them, waiting for things to sort themselves out.
Three nights later Lorca wandered off. Thankfully, that was one less mouth to feed.
* * * * *
It was late afternoon at their campsite when Döttmer made his decision. He finished his potato and said, "Mr. Gruber, I'm going into town."
"You'll do no such thing," said Gruber.
Döttmer stood, picked up a potato, and started eating.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Gruber shouted. "That's for tomorr--ugggh"
Döttmer grabbed what was left of Gruber's shirt and twisted with both hands, hearing a soft tearing sound. He said through clenched teeth, "Try and stop me, you little bastard, and I'll kill you. Understand?"
Gruber gurgled and nodded desperately. Döttmer threw him into the bushes and walked down the trail. Fifteen minutes later, he looked back, hearing footsteps. It was Kimble, the storekeeper, jogging to catch up. So be it.
Later, they heard feet shuffling behind them and waited in a clump of trees. It was Gruber and they let him pass, figuring Lil' Adolph would make a good point ferreting out any Japs that might be ahead.
As the sun touched the horizon, they gained the narrow coast road, which was no more than a two-wheel dirt track. They were close to Nasipit, Döttmer knew, as Gruber stumbled along about three hundred yards ahead. Suddenly, he disappeared around a bend and they heard shouting and laughter. But the voices were not the guttural commands of Japanese soldiers; the voices belonged to men and women and children. Cautiously, Döttmer and Kimble eased around the bend finding a raised gazebo decorated with colorful posters and quilts and streamers. Folding chairs were set up on the gazebo; beside them lay musical instruments. Filipino men and women and children were gathered around a campfire. Gruber sat among them, his face beaming as they handed him a slab of poached fish on a camote leaf.
A thunderstorm rumbled in the distance, and reds and oranges and pinks drenched the skies above Mindanao as Döttmer and Kimble trudged up to the campfire.
The Filipinos closed around them, shaking Döttmer's and Kimble's hands. Ensign Gruber, without a thought for the past said, "About time you got here." With his fingers, Gruber broke off a chunk and ate greedily. He said, "Say hello to Roberto Manolo. He tells me they do this twice a month."
A Filipino with slicked back hair, wearing a peculiar combination of Sam Brown belt, jodhpurs, and knee-high boots, shook hands with Kimble. "All Americans are welcome," he said in obvious delight.
Turning to Döttmer with a broad smile, he extended both hands. Döttmer quickly shoved his left hand behind his back, tucking it into his belt and mumbled, "Thanks for letting us stay."
An uneasy silence was fractured when Gruber said through greasy lips, "Roberto is the leader of the 110th Music Division of the United States Forces in the Philippines. Did I say that right, Roberto?"
Manolo smiled for Döttmer and Kimble. "Submariners, you are safe here, and we have enough food. Please." He ladled a bowl of rice for each of and handed it over.
An hour later, Döttmer had had his fill of rice and poached fish and burped contentedly. He settled back as the lead violin sounded an "A," the other players taking up the note in organized cacophony. Silence descended as the last of the twilight's glow warmed the western sky.
Manolo stood high on a fallen tree trunk checking lookouts at both ends of the clearing. They waved "okay." He waved back, then stepped down and took his place at the podium. Manolo raised his baton and the 110th Music Division of the United States Forces in the Philippines opened with "The Star Spangled Banner." The musicians sat stiffly and played while everyone stood with their hands over their hearts. Döttmer watched with fascination as Manolo finished the anthem with a great flourish. Not bad, for only fifteen men; a little tinny maybe, but not bad.
The anthem over, Döttmer sat and leaned against the tree trunk. Gruber kept to his feet and said, "We've pushed our luck far enough. Let's go."
Döttmer, his hands behind his head, looked up briefly and said, "No."
"What? I'm ordering you," said Gruber. "You can be court-martialed for disobeying a superior officer."
"Remember what I told you up in the hills?" said Döttmer evenly.
"Suit yourself." Gruber turned and said, "Kimble?"
Döttmer heard the gears of capitulation grinding in poor Kimble's head. The man had no choice. Finally, he stood with a pleading look at Döttmer.
"Radtke?" Gruber said a last time.
"Get lost," said Döttmer.
Kimble spread his arms, then flopped them to his side and said, "Jesus, Radtke. He'll hang your ass."
"The man's a dolt," said Döttmer, ignoring Gruber.
"We'll see," said Gruber. With Kimble trailing behind, he trudged back into the jungle.
Satisfied he was through with the U.S. Navy, Döttmer muttered "wiedersehen" under his breath. He watched Gruber and Kimble move into darkness, and then turned to concentrate on the three trumpeters. One of them played an exquisite King whose beautifully lacquered bell gleamed in the sunset. He tapped his foot, listening to the 110th strike up "Alexander's Ragtime Band."
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
21 May, 1942
Nasipit, Mindanao
Philippines
The honky-tonk melody of "Alexander's Ragtime Band" wafted through the evening. Darkness closed around Ingram as he headed toward the pier, hardly noticing the music becoming clearer as light zephyrs blew from the west. He walked across the road and onto the pier where he found his crew stowing gear. They were making good progress and he really didn't have anything to add, so he paced for a few minutes, racking his mind over what that radioman had said.
Radtke was here is what the man said! The 51 Boat had to go tonight but he had to stay.
Damnit!
Looking up at the night sky, he took deep breaths, sniffing Mindanao's rich air. Panoply of evening stars popped out, claiming what was left of the day. It was clear, with hardly any wind. The seas would be calm tonight, he decided; a good time to dash up the coast for the Surigao Straits. Except, he wouldn't be aboard.
Toliver looked up from the boat and caught his eye. With a grin, he flipped a piece of canvas off four wooden cases stowed amidships.
Ingram had to squint to make out the labels: Dynamite. Toliver had added two more cases to the ones they found in the Pima. Toliver grinned, "Like the Coast Guard says, 'always prepared.'"
"Where did you get it?" asked Ingram.
"Part of Ramirez’s stash in the mill."
Ingram drew a breath. "I'll say. Look, Ollie. Could you and Rocky join me in the
hut, please?"
"Got a lot to do, Todd," said Toliver.
"Now," said Ingram.
Looking at one another, Toliver and Bartholomew followed him back to the hut, where they sat with DeWitt, Pablo Amador and Helen Durand. Wind blew, the curtains rustled, and strains from the 110th flowed in. This time, they sounded a bit cheesy as they tried the "Waltz of the Flowers." Ingram found it hard to speak and the silence seemed extended despite the music, so Amador offered, "Regrettably the 110th volunteer band hasn't the benefit of Leopold Stokowski," he said with a smirk. "But it's good though, don't you think? A bizarre intrusion of civilization?"
"Where are they?" asked Ingram.
Amador cocked his head and sniffed, "I'd say the little gazebo just beyond the power station," he said.
Helen said, "They sound sad--so melancholy. Not happy, like before."
"Perhaps it's because you have to leave and they're serenading you," said Amador.
Ingram took a deep breath and said, "There's been a change in plans."
"What Skipper?" said Bartholomew.
"Major DeWitt and I are staying. I want you, Lieutenant Toliver, to take command of the 51 Boat. Chief Bartholomew will be exec. You'll shove off tonight, transit the Surigao Straits and pick up Major DeWitt and me in four days."
"Why?" said Toliver.
DeWitt said, "Something very important has come up."
"It has to do with that radioman," blurted Bartholomew.
Ingram said, "Mr. Amador. Is there a place on the east coast where we could rendezvous?"
Amador poured Fundatore and then said, "I don't understand. What is so grave?"
"We can't tell you," said Ingram.
Amador looked up, his expression said "why?"
"If you're captured..." said Ingram.
"Oh," Amador said. He scratched his chin for a moment. "I suppose you could go to Lengungan Island."
"Where is that?" said Toliver.
Amador took another sip and said, "Right off Tandag village at the mouth of the Tandag River." He ran his hand through his white hair and said, "Actually the village itself would be better. I know some people, and it is well protected from the ocean."
THE LAST LIEUTENANT: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 1) Page 46
