The two disturbed nothing. The jungle sang in full voice, croaking and chattering, scuttling in the branches. On the other side of the wire, the Japanese stirred with their lanterns. The occasional dot of a cigarette glowed in the towers; the aroma of tobacco drifted over Tal and Kraft creeping past.
Tal guided the soldier in a circuit around the camp. From Boot Creek in the south and west, flat on their bellies in the open fields north of the wire, ranging into the deep ravine along the east, the recon man scratched in his notebook. In whispers, he asked for descriptions and details. Kraft charted every footpath inside the camp, the dao tree and ominous pit, the dwindling pile of firewood near the kitchen, the barbs of gun barrels sticking out of pillboxes, each guard post and bunker, no detail escaped his sketches. Tal stole him close enough to hear praying nuns who could not sleep, a guard humming in a watchtower, a cough inside the infirmary.
Lying on the damp banks of the creek and on dewy grass, Tal caught only distant glimpses of Carmen’s high window. He wished he could rise from hiding and walk through the air, treading only on the dark tops of the sawali barracks like the creek stones. He would not wake her but visit like a dream, murmur he was near, kiss her, and return. He didn’t know what Carmen’s fate would be if the Japanese began killing everyone in the camp. He saw no reason why they should harm her, and no reason why they should not. He whispered nothing of Carmen but watched Kraft make note of her building and the tarmac road running below its face. Kraft hadn’t been sent by MacArthur to save Filipinas. Only the internees were his mission. Carmen was Tal’s to protect.
After two hours, Tal and Kraft had completed one loop. The big lieutenant found a boulder in the ravine to lean against. With little light, to the soft beat of hunting bats, he worked in his notebook. Tal settled beside him.
Quietly, he asked, “How’d Remy look?”
The lieutenant didn’t raise his eyes. “Bushed.” The soldier jotted more items. “Your father said you were mad at him. That true?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d he do that was so bad?”
“He took my mission. I was supposed to go to Parañaque, not him.”
“There’s a war on, kid. Your old man made it, that’s what matters. Quit your bitching.”
Soundless, Tal rose. The recon man blocked him with a burly arm.
“Sit down.”
The arm was immovable.
“What’s up with you? You got something to prove? To who? Your old man? Yourself?”
“None of your business.”
“I agree. But let me give you one piece of advice. That ain’t how a man operates. A man does the right thing. He does it for the greater good. If that proves something or not, what the hell, he does it anyway. War’s not a place to show what you’re made of. I’ve seen what men are made of. Mostly guts.”
Kraft pocketed the notebook. He rose and dropped a hand to give Tal a lift.
“I’ll tell you something else, about your pop. He delivered a map and some valuable intel through some pretty treacherous territory. When he was done, he put on that piece-of-shit hat of his and said he was heading back to Los Baños with me. Dead tired and finally out of danger, and all he could think about was stepping up again to help the folks inside the camp.” Kraft prodded a finger into Tal’s chest. “That’s not proving something, kiddo. That’s just being a stand-up guy. If you want a role model, you don’t have far to look. You get me?”
“Yeah.”
“And don’t worry. The colonel’s keeping him in Parañaque. Said your old man’ll have to wait for the assault. Same as you.”
Tal swelled. “You’re gonna take me on the rescue mission?”
“You’re the best guide I got. Just watch your step.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Okay.” Kraft checked his watch. “It’s two fifteen. You got it in you for another lap?”
“Do you?”
“You’re lucky you’re not wearing a uniform, sonny. Move.”
~ * ~
The camp drowsed. The last coconut-oil lamps in the barracks were doused, the prayers and the worriers all went to bed. Lanterns floated along the fence, ghostly in the hands of sleepy guards. Old man Kolko in the kitchen snored loud enough for Tal and Kraft to hear him where they lay behind the infirmary, in the cogon grass.
On this second course around the camp, Tal brought Kraft closer to the wire. He began to see Los Baños through Kraft’s eyes, as an objective to be attacked. The place was clearly meant to keep prisoners inside the wire, not fight off an invasion from outside it. A hundred soldiers, stealthy and dangerous, could slink through the ravine into the bamboo grove, then lie here in the high grass. Cut the barbed wire, rush in and take the camp.
Kraft crawled away while Tal imagined himself in that gun-blazing rescue. He followed the recon man closer to the main gate.
They stopped at the edge of the weeds, beside the road. Thirty yards away, six guards sat near the pair of bunkers.
“Built out of dirt.” Kraft winked. “Ready-made graves.”
They lay drawing shallow breaths. Tal knew nothing of the battle plan. He supposed Kraft had said nothing in case they were captured by the Japanese. Would Tal talk under pressure? Never.
Kraft elbowed him, pointing with his chin across the pavement. He whispered, “What’s the name of that building?”
“Animal Husbandry.”
“Any Japs inside?”
“No.”
Kraft took a note, then slithered backward. With a hand on the soldiers back, Tal stopped him. Something in the scant light, almost imperceptible in the open ground between him and Carmen’s building, had caught his attention. Neither he nor Kraft saw it on their first orbit of the camp. A long slash, darker than the earth, surfaced out of the night. The harder Tal stared, the clearer and blacker it became.
A trench.
Tal whispered, “That wasn’t there when I left.”
Kraft made marks in his notebook. The ditch could not be for defense. The camp was not defensible.
“I’ve seen enough,” Kraft murmured. “Let’s go, kid.”
Tal led the soldier back to the ravine. Leaving Los Baños, they moved at a faster clip returning south through the paddies and plantations to Nanhaya. Around them, in the chirps of crickets and water frogs, the splashes of fish, and the last twinkling stars above a pale horizon, a clock seemed to tick in the world, ticking down.
~ * ~
Chapter Thirty-four
C
ARMEN SERVICED only three soldiers in the morning. Each was a camp guard who had taken sex from her before. They wore saku and pierced her sadly. They were lean and an unhealthy yellow. When they were finished, they were mild mannered. None struck her, all thanked her, one left a piece of candy.
At noon, the camp loudspeaker announced the funerals of two more internees. In her red haori, Carmen listened to the names and causes. She received no food from the makipilis and was left alone to watch the grave-digger detail at the north end of the camp. The dozen internees stabbed at the ground with painful slowness, handing the picks and shovels off as their strength waned.
Yesterday, the Japanese had dug also, an odd trench beside her building. Carmen had leaned far out to see them. The thirty guards and dozen Filipino laborers worked with the same listless energy, as sapped as the prisoners. Carmen did not question the purpose of either set of holes; they were obviously the same, both graves.
In the early afternoon, the pair of internees bodies was carried from the infirmary to the cemetery. Wrapped in sheets, they garnered no procession and the burial crowd was light. Throughout the camp, people hunkered around bowls and wooden planks, grinding at palay rice, a grain at a time, to perhaps save their lives.
For eleven months, the camp had been Carmen’s only reality beyond this room. She’d watched every moment she could, nude beneath her red robe with the sun glinting off the silk, or in her drab T-shirt at night when the camp could not see her in return
. She’d stood above it, apart, until she fell in love with a boy inside the wire, then like a tumbled angel risked everything to share his world.
Though the boy was gone now, she stayed behind to protect the camp. She could not save it. It was being starved and bled white. Tomorrow it would be gunned down.
She knew this because she watched Toshiwara leave his office. The man strode past the main gate and along the wire to her building. His boots, even with his small feet, filled the stairwell. Carmen moved into the hall to watch him in secret, to witness the arrival of the camps other angel, death.
On the landing, the commandant called for Yumi-chan. The tiny girl came to him, bowed, and received instructions. Toshiwara left after a kiss.
~ * ~
Chapter Thirty-five
M
r. Tuck?”
“Just a second.”
Remy rattled the dice beside his ear, listening to the bones. He spilled them on the bare patch of dirt, rolling a pair of threes. In the circle around him, four soldiers groaned. Two others clapped, the ones who’d bet on Remy making his point. The pile of buttons and pebbles in the pot was split among them.
Remy looked up. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
The young officer hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction he’d come through the trees.
“I’m about to brief my platoon. I wondered if you’d give me a hand.”
“Son, can I take a break?”
“The men’ll appreciate a few words from you, sir. Honest.”
Remy sighed. “Okay. Be right there.”
He thanked the soldiers kneeling with him, all copper-skinned and crew cut. He pushed his winnings into the middle. “Divvy it up, boys, and say nice things about me.”
Remy followed the lieutenant through the bivouac. Camouflaged tents sprawled under the jungle roof, hiding four hundred paratroopers. Three hours before, Major Willcox’s 1st Battalion of the 511th had trucked here from Parañaque, Remy with them. Hasty defenses had been dug, outposts manned, headquarters and communications set up. A hundred yards beyond the trees, the waters of the bay lapped the shore of Mamatid, the battalion’s launch point at dawn. Eight miles across the water waited Los Baños.
Remy emerged with the lieutenant out of the tangle of trees and brush. At the young officer’s order, four dozen soldiers knelt in front of a folding table. The lieutenant spread out a map based on the one Bascom had drawn.
This was Remy’s fifth briefing since the battalion set up camp in these woods. Major Willcox, the commanding officer, had filled in his company commanders first. In turn, they briefed the platoon leaders, who—including this lieutenant—brought the individual troops up to speed on the raid.
“Men, this is Mr. Tuck, one of the internees from Los Baños.”
Remy doffed his fedora, aware of his reedy arms.
The lieutenant continued to point at him. “There’s more’n two thousand civilians just like him still inside the barbed wire. Were gonna go get ‘em out.”
Remy replaced his hat. He stood aside, scrawny and a bit ragged. One more time, he was being trotted out to display the Japanese brutality these boys were assigned to put a stop to. Remy was gaunt, he knew it, and let himself be gaped at. He had no weapon, so for now this was how he could best serve, fidgeting and pitiable.
The lieutenant stepped before the table. “This is going to be a multipronged, simultaneous assault. Sea, air, and land. It’s going to require perfect timing. That’s why we were handpicked for the job. Gather ‘round, gentlemen.”
The soldiers formed a semicircle around the table. When all had a view of the map, the lieutenant continued.
“Here’s the setup. Right now, a task force under Colonel Shorty Soule is making its way down Highway One. In this task force are a battalion from the 188th Glider Infantry, the 675th and 472nd field artilleries, and a platoon of engineers from 127th Airborne. Before dark, these units will arrive at the north bank of the San Juan River, in range of the Japanese on the south bank and the Lecheria Hills.”
With a fingertip, the officer highlighted the names and terrain as they became part of the plan. His platoon nodded. Some removed their helmets or rubbed the backs of their necks.
“H-hour tomorrow morning for the raid on the camp is 0700. When the assault begins, the Soule task force will attack across the river toward Los Baños. They’ll take and hold this territory while a guerrilla force captures the makipili town of Calamba. This will be our overland withdrawal route after we secure the internee camp. The Soule force will arrive at the camp with trucks to transport the raiders and the internees out. That’s the first purpose of the task force. The second is to act as a diversion, pulling the Japs’ attention away from the camp. This is mighty damned important because the whole Jap Tiger Division is positioned eight miles south of the camp around San Pablo. If the Tigers don’t bite on Soule’s fake, if they get wind that our target is really Los Baños, we’re gonna be in for a long day. The Soule force will engage the Tigers to slow them down if they move our way, but Shorty can only buy us a few hours. That’s why we’re going to hit the camp fast and get the hell out of there. Finally, the Soule force will provide assistance to us at the camp, as needed.”
One soldier said, “Ain’t gonna be needed, Lieutenant.”
“Good to hear. Next is the jump component. Tonight, B Company is sleeping under the wings of nine C-47s at Nichols Field. Tomorrow morning, at 0640, they’ll take off. At precisely 0700, the first of a hundred and twenty chutes is going to open at five hundred feet altitude just east of the camp. The drop zone will be smoke-marked and defended by guerrillas. Once B Company’s on the ground, they’ll regroup and take part in the raid.”
“Sir?” A soldier raised a hand. “How big is the Jap garrison?”
The lieutenant motioned for Remy to stand beside him. Remy felt tired and stunted. A day and a half of moving, talking, and worrying was gaining on him.
He told the soldiers all he knew of the camp’s guards, their number, condition, plus how the assault was timed to interrupt their morning calisthenics. Remy skipped the locations of the gun towers and pillboxes, leaving those for the lieutenant. He drifted back to the perimeter of the briefing. One soldier offered Remy his canteen. Another mumbled a quiet “Don’t worry, sir.”
The lieutenant continued, addressing the details of the camp’s defenses, plus the ditches and arroyos where the platoon could find cover approaching the Japanese machine guns.
The young officer ordered his soldiers to kneel again on the forest floor. Remy sat, struggling to keep his eyelids up. He sipped from the soldier’s canteen to keep himself awake.
The lieutenant continued: “Early tomorrow morning, Lieutenant Kraft’s recon platoon and a guerrilla force will move into concealed positions around the camp. They’ll remain hidden until the first chute from B Company pops. That’ll be the signal to start the raid. Recon and the guerrillas will breach the wire and engage the Japs’ outer defenses. If all goes right, we should be arriving at our debarkation point at the same time. Our job is to dismount along with two howitzers from D Battery, 457th Artillery, and defend the beachhead.”
Another hand went up. “Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Corporal?”
“Dismount from what?”
The officer checked his watch. “Come with me, boys.”
The platoon rose as one. Remy, so tired he could have slept where he sat, tagged along.
The lieutenant led them out of the Mamatid woods to the water’s edge. During the short walk, a grumble of many engines swelled out of the north. The platoon looked up and around, confused at the growing motor roar that was neither airplane nor tank.
“What the hell?” the men muttered. “It’s comin’ from the bay.” These were airborne soldiers, accustomed to dropping into battle vertically, silently. Many of them had taken off in airplanes but had never landed in one. Whatever bore down on them raised enough ruckus to alert every enemy for miles in all
directions.
The platoon reached the bay in time to catch the first amphibious tractor waddling onto the beach. The dripping leviathan churned sand under spinning metal tracks, spat a vile exhaust, and made an earsplitting clank, louder on land than in the water. It featured armored flanks, two mounted machine guns, and a loading ramp in the stern.
Three abreast, a long rank of more than fifty amtracs rumbled ashore off the shimmering water. The paratroopers complained about their deafening clatter and slothlike pace. Remy gazed in awe at the ingenuity to construct a machine that was part tank, part boat, two vehicles seemingly impossible to combine. He wondered what other marvels the world had ginned up while he was in prison.
Broken Jewel - [World War II 05] Page 32
