"Tandag it is then. How far?" asked Ingram.
"Ummm, forty, fifty miles as the crow flies, across the peninsula. But it's mountain and jungle. It will take two or three days to get there."
"Can you give us a guide?" Ingram asked.
"Yes. The best."
"How so?" asked Ingram.
"Colonel Fertig. As I explained, he'll be calling here next week. Then he goes to the east coast. You can go with him. So the difficult part is for your boat. Now, have you negotiated the Hinatuan Passage before?"
"The what?" said Ingram, drawing closer with the others.
"Hinatuan Passage. You don't have to send them around Dinagat Island, you know," said Amador. "Here." He took a piece of paper, drew a chart and finished with, "Tonight, go no further than Madilao Point. A half-mile beyond that is a small village called Anason. That's where you stay." He turned to Ingram. "Is something wrong?"
Only then did Ingram realize he was absently shaking his head. He quickly said, "You sound as if they'll be expecting them."
"They will."
"How?"
Amador, the scholar from Harvard and Oxford, smiled. "I told you. We have tom-toms."
"I thought you were kidding," said Ingram.
"I'm not," said Amador, his eyes glowing. "Anason," he said, underlining the village name twice. He looked up at Toliver. This time tomorrow you'll be in the Pacific."
The Pacific: Even casual mention of that deep, rolling, blue body of water made Ingram tingle with anticipation. The other side of the Pacific bordered the western shores of the United States. Ollie and the rest of them would be in the Pacific. Helen, Rocky, Yardly, the Forester Brothers, Sunderland, all of them.
Home.
He looked at DeWitt. Both knew their chances were slim to intercept Radtke and keep him from warning the Japanese. Worse, their chances to hike over the mountains and rendezvous with the 51 Boat were, he knew, poor. He shook his head. The Tandag rendezvous, although great in promise, had little to do with what was most likely to happen.
Amador handed the sketch to Toliver who tucked it in his shirt pocket. He said, "You sure about this Todd?"
Ingram nodded, his stomach churning. "Positive. Now you and Rocky better finish loading."
Toliver said, "I think I have a right to know why you're staying."
"Ollie. Don't try," said Ingram. "Now go."
Toliver stared at Ingram for a long time, then said, "Tandag it is, then. Fifty bucks says we get there first." He extended a hand.
"You're on," said Ingram, shaking. "Otis. You better go with them and grab some weapons and ammo."
"Forty-five and a BAR okay?" DeWitt asked.
"And a Springfield," said Ingram.
Right." DeWitt walked out with Toliver and Bartholomew.
Ingram stood and walked to the window. He eased the curtain aside, seeing that it was quiet. The he realized his fists were balled and he shoved them in his pockets. He felt as if he were drowning. Hold on! he thought.
They were going, he would remain on Mindanao to face almost certain capture. Swallowing several times he hoped he would be up to it when it came time for the 51 Boat to shove off.
Ingram ran his hand over his mouth. Calm down, damnit! he thought.
A trace of Sunderland's cigar smoke hung in the air, reminding him of a steak and ale restaurant in Pendleton, Oregon. His parents loved to go into town on Saturday nights and eat at the Round-Up Restaurant--so named after the annual Pendleton Round-up, a cattle drive and rodeo. After dinner, his folks danced while he ran outside with his chums, sneaking cigarettes--and tipping over outhouses.
When he was fifteen, Ingram was chosen by Daisy McDermott--reigning queen of Pendleton High's graduating class--for the Round-Up Restaurant's annual Sadie Hawkins' dance. Daisy was almost eighteen and well developed. Ingram had terminal acne. Why she choose him he didn't--
"You look tired, Señor. Sit, please, " said Amador.
"Want to make sure they think of everything," Ingram muttered, taking a seat beside Helen Durand as she finished the remains of an avocado.
"It sounds like everything has been taken care of," said Amador.
In the distance, the 110th took up Beethoven's "Fifth." Amador hummed the first bars, "'de-de-de dum... Ugh," he said suddenly knitting his brow. "What's wrong with Manolo tonight, anyway?"
Carrillo walked in, moved to the table, and spoke in Tagalog. Amador stood and listened. Then he said, "Manuel reminds me we need a new caché for our weapons in the mill before the Hapons move in. He has a couple of locations he wants to check. How soon before the boat leaves?"
"About an hour," said Ingram.
"I'll be back to see them off," said Amador, walking out with Carrillo.
Outside, the cicadas buzzed their high-pitched incessant, buzz. Inside, Lorca, Yardly, and Junior Forester snored in the shadows.
It seemed so quiet and Ingram was surprised when Helen moved close.
"Easy," she said. "Last chance to look at my handiwork." She lifted the bandage on his cheek.
"Oww, damnit." He jumped away more surprised than hurt.
"Baby," she whispered.
"Am not." He realized she was trying to cheer him up.
She paused as Lorca groaned and rolled to the wall, resuming his snoring. “Their bellies are full.”
“Ummmm.”
“Nice.”
`”Ummmm.”
"I'd better change this before..." She rose to her knees to get a better view of the cheek and in that moment shot him the quickest of smiles.
That smile more than nullified the burns on her face. Somehow, he needed to see it again so he reached up to her cheek and stroked it.
"No." She jerked away.
"Sorry."
At length, she leaned in and gently peeled the bandage off his cheek. Her closeness felt good. Then, her breath tickled his neck as it had on Corregidor. And that felt good.
She finished the dressing, caught his eye, and surrendered another brief smile. That felt good, too.
"Finally knitting, Mein Führer," she said in a clipped German accent. "You vill haf der stitches pulled in two days und you vill like it."
"Scar?"
"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant. Von Heidelberg. Seig Heil!" She thrust out an arm in a Nazi salute.
It became quiet and Ingram glanced across the room seeing that Yardly, Forester, and Lorca were in another world, the meal having done its work. Wind carried the music as the candles sputtered out one by one. And now, it seemed as if the New York Philharmonic was playing as each note, each rich phrase of "Night and Day" was executed perfectly.
"Appropriate selection," she said.
"All of a sudden it sounds like a hundred-piece orchestra."
He tugged at her hand gently; she started to move away. But then she stopped and looked down at him. Her eyes. Even with that ball cap he could still see her eyes. With a knuckle of his forefinger he leveled her chin and kissed her; tentatively at first, then fully. His hand went behind her head and he pulled her down to him. In all his life he hadn't felt anything so sweet and close and soft. She was, he knew at that moment, all he would ever need.
They parted and while she looked across the room, Ingram kissed the sores on her neck, her chin, her neck.
"No," she said.
"God, I'm glad you're here," he whispered. Helen filled him with something he knew he could never give back. Nor would he have to, for she could give it over and over again.
"Todd." She reached up and drew him to her kissing him desperately.
Forester groaned and they quickly moved apart. In the shadows, Yardly sat up, unscrewed a canteen, and held it to the bare-chested Sailor's lips.
"...easy Junior." The pharmacist's mate raised Forester's head.
Forester, his body gleaming with sweat, gulped at the canteen. Water trickled down the side of his face and neck. His voice was hoarse as he said, "That the best you can do, Bones?"
"Huh?"
"How 'bo
ut a beer?"
Yardly chuckled. "We don't have any, kid."
Forester's voice was husky. "Saw you guzzling a San Miguel."
"Uhh. That was a going-away party."
"Why didn't you save me any?"
"Uhhh...you're too young."
"Horse crap. You owe me, Bones." Forester settled back, closed his eyes, and drifted off.
Helen whispered, "sounds better."
Ingram nodded as Yardly laid down and lapsed into easy breathing.
Filled with her richness and warmth, he clasped her face in his hands surprised, in a way that he wanted her so much; surprised that he could care so tenderly for someone when he thought he had forever left such feelings in Corregidor's gruesome wreckage. Survival had been utmost in his mind. And yet, as he looked at her, she was, in a way, survival. Unbelievable.
She didn't try to stop him as he raised a hand to her ball cap and flipped it off letting her lush, ebony hair spill about her shoulders. He stroked her hair and asked, "Your middle initial?"
"Z for Zoe."
"What does it mean?"
"Greek. It means life."
Unbelievable. He gathered her in his arms, seeing light dance on her pupils. She knew what he was thinking! She captured him with her eyes, much like when he'd first met her in Corregidor's Hospital Tunnel.
"Here." He reached in his pocket and dropped his academy ring in her hand.
"My God! Where'd you find it?"
He told her as he closed her fingers over it, kissing her on the forehead then fully on the mouth.
After a while he said, "Would you call my Mom when you get to Australia?"
"That's your job. I'll see you in four days."
"In case I'm not there, tell her--"
She put her hand over his mouth. "Four days, damnit. Don't let me down."
"If I don't make it" he said, kissing her ear. "Hell, I don't know. Just tell Mom...ohhh."
"What?"
He choked in the nape of her neck. "God. I don't feel brave."
She held him, stroking the back of his head. "Todd, what's all this about brave? None of us are brave. We just do what we have to do."
"I tell that to my Sailors. Some of us just crap in our pants more than others."
"Well, don't worry about it."
There was a long silence. He took a deep breath saying, "I know." He looked at her. "I feel dumb."
"Feeling chicken is okay. Feeling dumb is a luxury."
He grinned. "Why is that so damned funny?"
"I don't know. Now tell me. Where is your mother?"
"Pendleton." Geez, her eyes. The hell with it. He pulled her tight and kissed her again. They held each other for a moment, then she rested her head on his shoulder.
"What about your Pop?" she asked.
"Gone. Car wreck my junior year."
"I'll call her."
"Thanks. And when I get out of here, I'll--what? Find you in Ramona?"
"Durand Ranch. We're in the book."
Again he kissed her, harder than before, as the music came in stronger than before.
But this time it was a lone trumpet. Its notes were long and mournful and tugged at his mind. In one sense the melody was rude and crass and caustic yet beautiful, rich, and completely fulfilling, and it had nothing to do with Helen and what they were doing--yet demanded his attention.
He pulled away. She looked up at him, her lips still parted.
There it was! He sat straight up and cocked an ear to the window.
"What is it?" She sat up beside him.
"Damnit."
That trumpet. Melancholy notes filtered through the little tin hut. It was a kaleidoscopic recollection he'd hoped he would never hear again. With the notes came the sound of cannon fire, Caballo Island, jail. He pressed his hands to his temples.
"Todd?" Helen searched for his eyes but they were squeezed shut. "Todd!" she demanded.
"I'm okay." He watched her swim back into focus. "For a moment I thought I heard..."
He put his hand on her shoulders and pulled her toward him-- "Sonofabitch!" DeWitt burst into the room and stepped to the window.
A strong breeze swirled through Nasipit on its way from Butuan Bay and the Bohol Sea. With it came precise, well-turned strains of the lone trumpeter. In the sharpest detail, Ingram imagined the horn's gleaming lacquered brass bell weaving before its master whose notes embroidered the night with his macabre message.
He jumped to his feet and joined DeWitt at the window. He said, "The "Deguello." It's him. He must be sitting in with the 110th. The bastard is still laughing at us."
"Not us. He doesn't even know we're here," said DeWitt, propping a BAR and Springfield rifle against the wall.
"Doesn't matter. The sonofabitch is laughing." Ingram grabbed the Springfield. "Let's take care of this bastard right now. Then we can still--"
Amador and Carrillo ran in and skidded to a halt, wheezing.
"What is it?" said Ingram.
Both stood speechless as their chests heaved.
Helen got up and put her arm around Amador. "Sit," she said. "Both of you."
They sat; Helen poured water and gave it to them. "Drink," she ordered.
Amador gulped and water dribbled down his chin. He passed the cup to Carrillo, then plopped his white-silver mane against the wall. "Lieutenant Tuga," he gasped.
"What?" said Ingram and DeWitt.
Amador spat, "Lieutenant Tuga and his damned Hapons. A whole company. They're moving in tonight. And they just captured the 110th."
"How can they be captured and still keep playing?" demanded DeWitt.
Amador spat again. "I'm sure Tuga makes them play. It's for his amusement. He likes to see his prey wiggle."
"Now? Tonight?" said Ingram. "But you said--"
"I know. I know. What can I say? They're on their way here, now," said Amador.
"Let's shove the boat off chop, chop. Get your stuff, Helen." said Ingram. He started for the door.
Bartholomew caromed into the hut and whipped off his hat.
"What is it?" asked Ingram.
Bartholomew shook his head. "Engine won't start. Battery's dead."
"What?" said Ingram and DeWitt.
"Damn thing's flatter'n a pancake. Won't even turn."
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
21 May, 1942
Nasipit, Mindanao
Philippines
Ingram demanded. "But you recharged it."
"Yessir. Worked great two hours ago," said Bartholomew.
"What happened?" asked Ingram.
"Just gave out. Dead cell, I imagine."
"Look, Rocky. We just got word. Japs are moving in tonight."
"No shit?" said Bartholomew.
"So recharge it again," said DeWitt.
Bartholomew whipped off his hat. "Ask Carlos. The charger belongs to his cousin." The dead battery had been taken to Carlos Ramirez’s cousin, a mechanic with a decent inventory of tools.
"And Carlos's cousin lives five miles away," said Amador.
"The hell you say," said Bartholomew.
With mournful strains, the Deguello started again. Abruptly, it stopped, a note going sour.
"Rocky," Ingram sputtered, his fists jammed in his pockets.
“Sir?” Bartholomew waited with arched eyebrows.
Ingram's tongue finally connected. "We have to get you out tonight."
"Sir, don't I know it." said Bartholomew.
"You're sure it's the battery?" asked Ingram.
"Nine innings," said Bartholomew.
"Damn!" said Ingram. "Come on." He stepped through the door.
"Todd?" said DeWitt. He almost had to run to catch up.
Ingram stopped and pointed at the hut. "Otis, load Forester. Grab Lorca."
DeWitt said, "You're sending that nut case?"
"Might as well," said Ingram. "Two medics taking care of two wounded sailors aren't bad odds. He looked over his shoulder seeing Helen and Yardly nod "okay."
"
But how?" asked DeWitt.
"Don't know. With the tide, if it's on slack. Or rig a sail. Maybe, they can pole or row the damn thing out of the harbor. At least back to the Kinabhangan River. Otherwise, the 51 Boat stays for the rest of the war under that wharf, with Japs goose-stepping overhead." He snapped his fingers. "I know. Let's tow it out with Carrillo’s little boat.
Bartholomew muttered, "May as well try." He ran past Ingram toward the dirt road. "I'll wind up the boys."
"Otis. Can you help Bones with the stretcher?" asked Ingram.
"Of course." DeWitt spun and dashed into the hut. Ingram watched him go, amazed the major hadn't complained.
They walked quickly around the lumber mill toward the wharf. Amador said, "I'll speak with Manuel."
"Thanks." In spite of the dead battery, Ingram felt alive. He'd made a decision and something was happening. Part one of his plan would soon swing into action. They would find a battery, he was sure, or at least get the old one recharged somehow. And he and DeWitt would somehow get to Radtke. Maybe even tonight. What worried him was that it sounded as if Radtke had been sitting in with the 110th, making them sound far better than they ever had. And now, it seemed the band was in the hands of the Kempetai, Radtke included. Still, one sniper shot could take care of him. And they knew where to look. Maybe. Just maybe they would meet the 51 Boat in Tandag, after all. Maybe he would find his way to Australia and home.
He felt a rush of anticipation. Home.
He walked faster, calling over his shoulder, "Helen, got your gear?"
Helen quickstepped to keep up. "It's all just what Pete gave--"
A truck roared around the corner, it's headlights flashing across the mill.
"Down!" rasped Ingram. The three ducked behind a pile of empty oil drums while Guzman and Helen, not having crossed the road, ran back behind a small ship chandlery.
"My God!" Bartholomew pointed. The truck's headlights perfectly framed DeWitt and Yardly carrying a bare-chested Junior Forester's stretcher across the road.
Ingram was frozen as the truck ground to a stop. Two Japanese soldiers dressed in jungle fatigues jumped out and ran, shouting into the headlight beams. The soldiers quickly fixed bayonets and leveled their rifles at the stretcher party while the truck's doors wrenched open and three more figures stepped into the light. Two were corporals, the other an officer.
THE LAST LIEUTENANT: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 1) Page 47
