Broken Jewel - [World War II 05]

by David L. Robbins

  Gusto unfolded two pages, handed them to Tal.

  “Here’s a copy of the order.”

  Tal scanned the document while Gusto explained it. The guerrillas were commanded to collect info on everything about the camp, the guards, and the internees. The final paragraph allowed the guerrillas to mount a rescue on their own, without the Americans.

  Tal asked, “So what am I doing here?”

  “We’ve got to coordinate with the people inside the camp. Preferably an official, someone the internees will listen to and who can negotiate for them. That’s not you, I assume. But we figure you know who it is and can bring him here. Two nights from now.”

  Tal decided quickly on Mr. Lucas. Remy was in better condition, but he lacked the authority Gusto wanted. Not only was Lucas respected, he was the youngest of the Internee Committee, the one member of that group most likely to make it under the wire and back.

  “What else?”

  “That’s it for now.” Gusto rose, Tal with him. The guerrilla didn’t reach for another handshake.

  Magdalena kept her seat. “Sit, both of you.” She motioned to the food left on the plates. She’d touched none of it, and Tal had controlled his hunger so Gusto would not see him desperate. At the woman’s insistence, both took their chairs. She ate first, picking from the cheese. Tal and Gusto tucked in.

  To let the two gorge, Magdalena made conversation.

  “Gusto was my husband’s religion teacher here at the college. I was too poor a student to understand his classes. I switched to history.”

  Gusto inclined his head in appreciation. “You had more important things to study. History is mankind’s legacy. God is mankind’s dream.”

  Magdalena said, “My husband is a commander of the PQOG. He was Gusto’s best pupil.”

  “Romeo was my most bullheaded, at any rate.”

  Tal, in his three years inside the wire, had studied nothing but what and how to steal from the guards and ways to outlive them. With another boiled egg puffing his cheeks, he turned the talk to a more pragmatic topic.

  He asked Gusto, “Can you really do it without the army?”

  The guerrilla, with better manners, waited until Tal had swallowed before answering.

  “That is the right question.”

  “And?”

  Gusto peeled one more egg. He pushed it past his lips, leaving his answer hanging until he’d finished.

  “Not without getting a lot of your people killed. No.”

  Gusto stood first. Tal joined him on his feet.

  “So, Mr. Tuck, we will do it with the army.”

  Gusto extended his left hand for a less-painful parting shake. Tal took it.

  Magdalena moved to a cabinet. From a drawer she pulled two packs of Lucky Strikes, not the same olive drab packaging the fighter pilot had dropped into the camp two months ago. Tal held real American-issue Luckies, a red ball on a white field, L.S/M.F.T. across the bottom.

  She said, “Take these. Show them to whoever you need to convince. Tell them the Americans are close by.”

  Tal pocketed the smokes. With a glance around the den, the empty plate and bowl, Tal headed for the kitchen, resisting the urge to linger.

  Behind him, Gusto spoke to Magdalena, “Salamat. Paalam.” Tal turned to say the same. Thank you. Goodbye.

  She ushered both outside with kisses to their cheeks. Magdalena closed the door. The kitchen light extinguished. Gusto led the way into the darkened yard. The guerrilla stopped, to set a hand against Tal’s arm.

  “Bring your man here in two nights.”

  With that, Gusto crouched and slid away into the night. Tal left Faculty Hill for the slope leading into the ravine. He tried to move the way Gusto had, focused and blended into the rocks and arching branches. Tal advanced through the ravine with a single-mindedness he’d not had before. He imagined Japanese soldiers at every bend, along the rugged bank, listening for one careless step. He paused with every sound, figuring the animals would reveal a presence to him. Tal did not grow fatigued and his alertness did not wane.

  Never had he been trusted with something the measure of this. Not just his own life but the welfare of thousands, every one an intimate to him from years of imprisonment together, hinged on his choice of where to plant his boot, when to hold his breath, whether to swat a bug from his face. Carmen had picked him for this, Remy had faith in him, Gusto relied on him. He had Lucky Strikes and a letter from the U.S. Army in his pocket.

  At 1:30 a.m., Tal reached the wire behind the infirmary He slid into the camp without noise. The lanterns of the guards swayed along the perimeter, taking no notice of him creeping to his own barracks.

  Remy waited on the back steps. Tal arrived nearly beside him in the dark before revealing himself. Remy started, a hand over his heart.

  “Jeez, boy,” he whispered. “Like to scare me to death.”

  “Slide over.”

  Remy made room on the step. “If I kick off, who’s gonna build my casket?”

  “Don’t worry. We’re all gonna kick off together.” Tal handed over one of the packs of Luckies. “Or we’re all getting out.”

  “Well, would you looky here.” Pleased, Remy split the foil to shake out a pair of smokes. The two lit up from the same match, hiding the flame. Tal dragged deeply, savoring the Virginia tobacco.

  Tal said, “Smells like Uncle Sam.”

  Remy blew a fat smoke ring. “To hell with that. It smells like MacArthur.”

  He admired the hovering gray circle. Tal produced like a magician one more boiled egg and gave it to Remy.

  ~ * ~

  Lucas lay faceup under the fence, snagged on a barb, cursing under his breath.

  Tal wagged a finger in the dark to quiet the man. Plucking the wire out of his shirt, Tal dragged him under the armpits until his boots came clear.

  Tal led the way through the high grass, orchard, and bamboo toward the ravine. He moved in a way that caused no stir in the brush around him. He looked back many times to instruct Lucas and keep him hushed.

  Lucas grew winded and asked to pause at the rim of the creek bed. The creatures of the ravine did not like men to be still, they were most tolerant when they knew where intruders were. He let Lucas rest only a minute before guiding him down the slope. Unsure and awkward, Lucas reached the bottom without rolling any stones underfoot.

  Moving through the ravine, Tal shortened his strides so Lucas could shadow him. This was the man’s first time outside the camp without an armed guard watching him cut firewood. Lucas’s attention careened from slick rocks under his feet into the trees, where monkeys dashed between branches and owls perched in vigil. He jerked at sounds Tal knew as the night concert of free creatures and flowing water. Likely, Lucas was thinking of Clem and Donnelly, that they’d followed this path, too, and died returning from it. Tal worked to keep Lucas’s attention fixed on him.

  Lucas still considered him a thief. The committeeman had shown surprise when it was the Tuck boy who’d brought him the letter from Gusto and the American army, plus the pack of Luckies. Lucas had asked: How’d you get these? Remy had advised Tal not to say, to protect Carmen and the boy with the bolo at his back. Lucas sniffed, reluctant to tie his fate to one of the camp’s troublemakers, the boy linked to the silk-robed girl above the camp. Lucas called a committee meeting to show them Gusto’s letter and the cigarettes. He emerged from that meeting agreeing to come tonight, but had not dropped his mistrust.

  Tal guided Lucas to Faculty Hill, arriving on time. He rapped on Magdalena’s back door. Gusto answered.

  “I asked her to stay away, just for tonight,” the guerrilla explained, opening the door. “She left more eggs.”

  Tal introduced Gusto to Lucas. The two men shared a leanness born of different circumstances, one from starvation, the other out of constant peril. Gusto endured another handshake with his bloodied nails.

  They arranged themselves in the den around a bowl of peeled boiled eggs. Tal plucked the first egg. The men showed
restraint and watched him eat alone. Chewing, Tal gauged the contrasts between them, both of similar age, one a lithe brown fighter, the other stringy and pale, hesitant, a diplomat. Tal reached for another egg. Gusto slid the bowl from his reach to offer it instead to Lucas. The committeeman inclined his head and accepted. Then Gusto helped himself.

  Food in his mouth helped Lucas relax his stiff hold on himself. Gusto winked at Tal, then set the bowl of eggs again where he could reach them. Tal gulped another.

  “Thank you,” Lucas said with a satisfied exhalation, “thank you.”

  “Of course,” Gusto answered.

  “Listen, we appreciate the risk you and your people are taking for us.”

  “We’re all taking risks, Mr. Lucas.”

  Tal nodded, cheeks full.

  Gusto continued, “I assume you’re a responsible person in the camp. You have authority to speak for the internees.”

  “I’m on the committee. And yes, I have the authority. There’s just one problem.”

  Gusto grabbed another egg and mulled it. “A problem?”

  Lucas cleared his throat. “At the moment, I haven’t got permission.”

  Gusto set down the egg. He laced his fingers, leaning back to tap his blackened nails against his knuckles. “Continue.”

  “The minute young Tuck came to me, I called a committee meeting. I’ll be honest, the others have a skeptical view of the guerrillas. They’re not happy with your activities so close to the camp. By that I mean cutting guards’ throats. They don’t believe we should have direct dealings with you. They want contact only with the American army.”

  “Did you show them the letter from the army?”

  “Of course. They weren’t happy about that, either. You gave a copy to Talbot to bring back into the camp. What if he’d been caught or shot, and they’d found that on him? The entire camp might’ve been executed ten minutes later. It wasn’t a clever thing to do.”

  Tal flared. “You didn’t tell me the committee was against you coming.”

  “I had good reason not to. I was afraid you’d react like you are now.”

  “Well, I’m not going to get caught.”

  Lucas held up a hand. “That’s not the point, son. The committee doesn’t trust the guerrillas or you. But I do.”

  “Why?” asked Gusto.

  “Because we don’t have a choice.”

  “Thanks.” Tal flung himself against the sofa cushions.

  Gusto said, “Then you disagree with your committee.”

  “I don’t think we should sit around and do nothing. I’ve got my reservations, but yes, I disagree.”

  “If I can convince you, can you convince them?”

  “Can’t say. I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “Does your committee even know you’re here.”

  “Actually, no.”

  Gusto kneaded the furrows of his dark brow. “I like you, Mr. Lucas.” He selected one of the last eggs to hand to the committeeman. “I hope we can save you.” To Tal, the guerrilla said, “Stop pouting, boy. Eat.”

  The three crammed eggs in their mouths whole. The collective pause exposed their common hunger. This formed a pact to move forward.

  When he’d wiped the last bits from his lip, Gusto said, “Since the boy and I met two nights ago, there’s been progress on the rescue plan. The army has decided to take the lead, with the guerrillas in support. Does that ease your mind, Mr. Lucas?”

  “Yes.”

  Gusto outlined the attack scenario. Sometime in the next week to ten days, a reinforced battalion of the 11th Airborne was going to launch an infantry assault southeast of Manila along National Highway 1. This force would strike at Japanese units along the San Juan River near Calamba. The action was intended to do two things: block the enemy from moving troops up from the Lecheria Hills west of the camp, and distract the massive Tiger Division away from Los Baños, the real objective of the mission.

  Before the attack, a small recon force would take positions with the guerrillas around the camp, concealed in the creek, ravine, and jungle. An airborne company would drop from low altitude just outside the wire. The signal for the recon platoon and guerrillas was the pop of the first chute. The plan called for the group on the ground to charge the camp and neutralize the guards, with assistance from the paratroopers as they landed and reached the gates. Once resistance was eliminated, the soldiers would organize the internees to escort them out of the camp while the guerrillas set up a perimeter against a Japanese counterattack.

  Lucas nodded through the presentation, until Gusto finished.

  “Can I ask a few questions?”

  “I hope I have answers.”

  “Me, too. Are you aware that half the camp is weak from malnutrition and disease? Plus, there’s a couple hundred that are bedridden. We’ve got women and small children. How on earth are you going to get twenty-one hundred people in this condition through forty miles of enemy lines? We’re certainly not going to walk out. You didn’t mention trucks, but even if you did, I don’t think the guerrillas can protect that much highway.”

  “We don’t know yet. That part of the plan is still taking shape.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lucas fingered his chin. “Uh-huh. Well, that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

  “Can’t be helped.”

  “I see. Moving on. You mentioned a week to ten days. Honestly, what if the Japs decide to kill us before that?”

  Tal, who’d be among the bodies if this happened, listened to Gusto’s reply with keen interest.

  “We’ve got someone on the inside keeping an eye on the guards. We get regular reports. We think... we hope we’ll get a warning before something like that happens.”

  Carmen. Tal thought of what she had to do to collect this information. He wondered if Gusto knew or cared, or what Lucas would say with his disapproving way if he knew the Filipina in the window might be his salvation.

  “One last question,” Lucas said. “How do you figure the internees will survive an all-out gun battle at the camp? We’re civilians, not soldiers.”

  Gusto leaned forward on his padded chair. “I don’t expect you to just survive, Mr. Lucas. I expect you to take part.”

  Lucas lowered his jaw, appearing unsure of what he’d just heard. “Beg pardon?”

  “Terry’s Hunters can smuggle weapons into the camp. When the attack starts, the internees can defend themselves and help with the raid.”

  Lucas flung up both hands as though warding off something rushing at him.

  “Absolutely not. We’re not arming the internees.”

  “Explain, Mr. Lucas.”

  “We’re a civilian camp. Noncombatants. That’s the only protection we’ve got. The moment any of us touches a gun, we turn into legitimate targets for the Japanese. No, sir. No.”

  Gusto hoisted a finger topped by a blackened nail to underscore his distaste for Lucas’s refusal.

  “Do the Japanese observe international law by starving you? Did they check with attorneys before they shot your two friends? Would you like to know what’s happening right now inside Manila to noncombatants?”

  Lucas remained motionless.

  Gusto increased his volume. “We’ve just heard about more massacres, at Muntinlupa and New Bilibid Prison. Mr. Lucas, it’s only a matter of time until the Japanese murder every civilian in Los Baños. No one knows when that’s coming, but it will come. If we don’t have our rescue forces ready in time, you’ll have to defend yourselves. That’s the simple truth. And if it happens, are you ready for that much blood on your hands?”

  Lucas would not be swayed. “I’ll do what I can to get you cooperation from the internees. But we won’t be taking your guns. Keep them. You’ll use them better than we would.”

  Gusto did not keep frustration off his face. Tal saw the wisdom of both positions. When the fighting started, the internees would be sitting ducks should the Japanese pick that moment for a final grand gesture in the emperor’s name. If the guards t
urned their guns on the internees—and they’d already proven they would do it—a slaughter could arise in seconds that would exceed anything Tal had heard on the radio. On the other hand, if just one of the guerrillas’ guns were found inside the camp during a search, it might kick off the killing anyway.

  The guerrilla said, “We want one more meeting. Four nights from now, on the eighteenth. We’ll need someone who knows the camp inside and out, to give us everything you’ve got on Japanese gun placements, maps, up-to-date numbers, and the health of internees.”