“I know. We’re going to get one from the men going to the whorehouse.”
Deuce seemed not to understand for a moment. Then he nodded and said, “Yeah. Good idea, sir.”
Jock started to thank him but Deuce shrugged it off. “I did volunteer for this duty, sir,” he said. “Four times, in fact.”
“Four times? How do you figure?”
“Once when I enlisted, twice when I asked for Pacific theater duty, three times when I signed on for this mission…”
And now.
The plan to pull off the uniform snatch was a simple trick: a deception ending in quiet, deadly violence. Deuce, Boudreau, and McMillen positioned themselves well down the trail, far enough so no one at the camp could hear what was about to happen. There, they would wait, hidden from sight, until Japanese soldiers strolled by.
They didn’t have to wait long. Two smiling soldiers—actual Japanese, not Koreans—sauntered into view as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Poor bastards,” Bogater whispered. “They don’t know they already done dipped it in the honey pot for the last time. Give ’em about ten more yards, Deuce, then do your stuff.”
Ten yards—and Deuce started yelling in Japanese: “HELP ME! HELP ME, COMRADES! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! HURRY!”
Not even bothering to unsling their rifles, the two sprinted into the underbrush, straight toward the voice begging for help…
But they saw no one.
Not even Boudreau and McMillen as they sprang upon them from behind…
Each wrapping an enemy soldier’s neck with a garotte made of wire.
Deuce did the only thing he could think of to help: he stripped the slung rifles from the writhing and doomed Japanese. He wasn’t sure why he said “Gomennasai”—I’m sorry—as he did it.
The struggle went on for minutes on end, but the two Americans had their prey firmly under control.
This silent dance of death could end only one way.
Squeezing tighter and tighter…
Until one last convulsion from each blue-faced victim…
And it was over.
“What a pain in the ass! Too bad we couldn’t just slice their fucking throats,” McMillen said, “but we don’t want to get blood all over these duds now, do we?”
Deuce asked, “Do you think they’re going to miss these guys anytime soon?”
“Eventually,” McMillen replied, “but they probably ain’t the first Jap troopers who overstayed leave. What are they gonna do? Go looking for ’em in the dark? By the time they’re ready to kick ass and take names, we’ll be done with this shit and long gone.” He picked up the oil lantern the pair had dropped and handed it to Deuce. “Don’t forget to take this, too.”
As they stripped off the dead men’s uniforms, Bogater said, “Hey look—one of these jokers is a corporal. You can have some rank on you, Deuce, when you saunter into that camp.” Then he got quiet, like he was saying a prayer. When the prayer was done, he said, “Too bad you had to die for your damn clothes, mon frère.”
“Yeah,” McMillen replied. “A cryin’ fuckin’ shame.”
“The real shame,” Deuce said, “is having to die in a place as horrible as this.”
They looked at him like he was out of his mind.
“Of course it’s horrible,” McMillen said. “Didn’t they tell you this is Hell, pal?”
From the OP on Mount Dremsel, they could see the clouds of dust far below being kicked up by the horsemen and the truck following them. “They’re coming, Sergeant Major,” Ace Nishimoto said. “The fucking Japs.”
The fucking Japs…those words erased any doubt Melvin Patchett still harbored about the allegiance of his Nisei trooper.
“How many, son?”
“Three on horseback, I think…and a light truck, Sergeant Major.”
“Okay, boys,” Patchett said. “You know the drill. Nobody squeezes a trigger until I say so.”
The ambush site at the top of the spiral staircase was textbook perfect. Allred was centered on the kill zone with his M1, concealed only ten yards from where his targets would shortly be. Eight-round clip, eight dead Japs, he told himself.
Patchett covered the high end of the trail, Ace the low end. Botkin was hugging the steep downslope on the other side of the staircase, ready to pick off any Jap trying to flee that way.
The two Koreans were out of sight, tied to trees on the other side of the peak and gagged with GI socks.
Don’t matter whether it’s one or a dozen Japs come up that trail, Patchett thought. We got it covered.
But when the Japanese came, only three walked up the trail.
“I told you there wouldn’t be no damn horses,” Patchett muttered as he squinted for a better look at the still-distant targets. Let’s see who we got here…
A colonel led the way—no doubt, the Colonel Yamagura mentioned in the radio message. A captain and a sergeant trailed close behind. All three were armed only with pistols and swords, still hanging on their belts.
Fucking turkey shoot, y’all.
Patchett let them get close enough to count the buttons on the colonel’s tunic.
“DO IT, ALLRED!”
The last split second of their lives…not even enough time for the Japanese to register surprise when they heard Patchett’s shout.
Three shots, three dead Japs—that was all it took. Standing over his victims, Allred asked Patchett, “What if more come, Sergeant Major? They heard that shooting down the mountain for damn sure. Thought them reports would never stop echoing.”
“If they come, they come, son. Take up your old post and keep your eyes peeled. Can’t be more than a handful of ’em…just one li’l truck’s worth.”
Allred tapped the dead colonel with his foot. “What should we do with these?”
“Just drag ’em out of sight and leave ’em for now. When I feel good about untying the Ko-reans, we’ll let them do the burying. They got plenty of practice already with the four they done in.”
Allred didn’t want to view the results of his handiwork much longer. The sergeant major was right, though—this wasn’t the time to worry about burying:
More shit could be hitting the fan anytime now.
Patchett said, “I’m going up in that tower to have me a little look-see. If our Navy’s keeping on schedule, they should be in sight right about now. Sergeant Botkin, keep an ear to that radio in case Lorengau wants itself an update on that dead colonel’s arrival.”
At the base of Mount Dremsel, a bewildered Japanese corporal and his equally bewildered men had been wondering for over an hour what those shots from the mountain were all about. “They only had pistols,” a private said. “Those were rifle shots.”
The corporal scoffed. “The detachment on the OP had rifles. That’s what you heard. Probably just a salute for the colonel’s arrival.”
Another private said, “That didn’t sound like Arisaka rifles to me.”
The corporal slapped him across the head. “How would you know? You’re an animal handler—a stupid farm hand—not a weapons expert. Our orders are to remain here and care for these horses…and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“But we were supposed to be back in Lorengau tonight, Corporal.”
The Corporal slapped him again. “The plans have been changed, idiot.”
“What if the colonel doesn’t come down off the mountain, Corporal?”
“That is not possible, Private.”
Atop the swaying, creaking tower, Patchett smiled as he looked out to sea with binoculars. A fleet of tiny, far-off ships—of all types and sizes—had appeared out of the east, creeping slowly westward toward their destiny at Hollandia.
“Now ain’t that a pretty sight?” Patchett said to no one but himself. “Looks like hundreds of ’em. And I’m the only sumbitch on this shithole of an island laying eyes on ’em.”
His contentment was shattered by the faint snarl of high-flying aircraft. He scanned the sky u
ntil he found them—and was able to breathe a sigh of relief. The blue and white insignia beneath their silver wings marked them as US Army Air Force, providing an umbrella of air cover for the invasion fleet. Unchallenged, they seemed to rule the sky.
And all I gotta do is keep the Japs off this mountaintop for another twenty-two hours—until 1000 hours tomorrow—and then this whole parade will be out of sight…and we can go home.
Chapter Nineteen
As the day dragged into dusk, the pronouncement of the Japanese corporal was looking more and more shaky. What he said was not possible seemed indeed possible now—the colonel had still not come down from the mountain. Even if he did come down right now, they’d never make it back to the prison camp, much less Lorengau, before darkness and the jungle enveloped them.
To ease his grumbling men, the corporal made an announcement: “Let the horses graze along the trail until sunset, but don’t go too far in case the colonel returns. We have sufficient food and water for the night. We will make plans to camp here.”
High above on the OP, Allred told Patchett, “No sign of that Jap truck moving or any of them horses, neither. I reckon they’re all still right down there.”
“I tell you what,” Patchett said, “if they don’t want to come up, I think at first light you and me’ll go down and pay ’em a little wake-up visit.”
“Hey,” Allred said, “maybe we get rid of them and use their truck to make our getaway.”
“Bad idea, son. I’m betting by this time tomorrow—when that colonel don’t show up wherever he’s supposed to be—the road out to here’s gonna be crawling with them sumbitches. We’ll be getting out of here the same way we came, I reckon—through the woods.”
The moon cast its velvet glow across the prison camp, making the oil lantern Deuce Hashimoto carried seem redundant. Walking on shaky legs, he cursed that moonlight, a lone imposter in a dead man’s uniform, toting a strange weapon he’d never fired and hoped he never would. He wasn’t sure what force kept him moving forward.
I carry a weapon but I’ve never felt so vulnerable. A weapon can only protect you from death by dealing death…
And he had no doubt if it came down to dealing death tonight, he, the rest of Major Miles’ men, and the woman they hoped to rescue might be the ones dealt the losing hand.
It all boils down to how well I can pull off this charade.
Two gate guards, both privates…the Korean looks like he’s asleep on his feet, but the Japanese man smirks at me and asks, “Feeling better, gochō?”
Gochō…what the hell does that mean?
Maybe it means corporal. It couldn’t be some insult, could it? He wouldn’t dare—this uniform says I outrank him.
I’ll just nod and keep walking into the camp like I own the place…wobbly knees and all.
The guards quickly lose interest in me.
I’m at the women’s barracks all too quickly. I need more time…How do I talk myself in?
The lone Korean guard by the door makes it easy for me. He says, “Are you my relief?”
Shit! Is this shift change time? If I get rid of him does another guard show up any minute?
I’m in too deep now.
I tell him, “Yes. I’m your relief.”
No need to say that twice. Within seconds, he’s a shadow vanishing deep into the camp.
The walls and door are nothing but screens. I can see the women inside. Some are undressing.
I knock on the door frame.
An angry voice replies in English, “Go away, wanker!” The Australian accent is unmistakable. That same voice shifts to Japanese and, still angry, says, “Acchi ni ike!”
Different language, same message: Get lost!
Softly, in English, I say, “I must come in. Major Miles sent me.”
A swirl of activity inside…bodies moving quickly…footsteps racing toward the door.
It flies open…
At the threshold stands a fierce-looking white woman in a white shift, dark hair falling around her face in tight curls. The same one we saw in the cemetery yesterday. The group’s leader.
She looks me up and down and says, “What the bloody hell are you?”
“I’m an American soldier, ma’am, here to rescue you. Come, we must hurry.”
I don’t think she believes me.
“You said Major Miles…is he here? Is Jock here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I point toward the barbed wire fence. “Just over there.”
“Is he now, laddie? Tell me…what outfit is he from?”
A test…
“He commands First Battalion, Eighty-First Infantry, Thirty-Second Division.”
Obviously the right answer. But she still seems wary…
So I show her my dog tags..
“Let me get this right,” she says. “You’re Japanese, but you’re in the American Army?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s correct.”
“Then we have to get you out of here, bucko, and right now. If they catch you in that uniform, they’ll cut your bloody head off on the spot.”
“You really don’t need to tell me that, ma’am. If you’ll come right this—”
She interrupts, ignoring me as if command of the situation has just passed to her.
“Come on, ladies,” she says to the seven other women gathered around. “The bloody Yanks have come to save us at long last.”
“Wait a minute, ma’am! My orders are to bring just you.”
“Fuck your orders, laddie. It’s all of us or nothing. Anne Marie, grab your medical kit.”
Not the time for discussion. Stick to the plan. Hope for the best.
I hold the lantern high and wave it back and forth three times…
An eternity of seconds passes…
And then a brilliant flare from the Very pistol pops and arcs high over the far end of the camp.
“Follow me,” I say. ”Walk straight for the watchtower. Don’t run. Don’t make a sound.”
The Australian woman hesitates. “But the guard in the tower…”
“He’ll be looking the wrong way,” I answer, praying my words are true.
“What if he’s not?”
“Then he’ll be shot.”
“Why don’t you just shoot him now?”
“Because then they’ll know for sure we’re here. Now please, ma’am…hurry!”
The women follow my commands without further questions. Confused voices shout in Japanese throughout the camp. We’re at the fence beneath the tower in a dozen quick steps. Oscar Solo is there—he’s spread open the barbed wire with a tree branch. He helps the women step through.
First Sergeant Hadley is just beyond the wire. He seems shocked as the number of escapees grows far past the solitary one he expected. When Oscar finally closes the gap in the wire, Hadley says, “This looks like a little more than we figured on…but let’s all get the hell out of here. That flare won’t keep them spinning in circles much longer. Can’t believe we didn’t have to fire one stinking shot.”
They crashed through the pitch black jungle with McMillen in the lead, feeling his way along the discarded telephone wire Oscar had strung to mark the trail. As the shouts of the confused Japanese in the camp fell farther and farther behind, Hadley said, “Hold up here. Everybody down…give the major and Youngblood a chance to catch up.”
Jillian crawled up next to Hadley and said, “I didn’t get a chance to do this before, Thomas.” She hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you tossers again…and I can’t thank you all enough.”
If it hadn’t been pitch black, she could’ve seen he was blushing. “Don’t thank me, Miss Forbes. It was Deuce—our Japanese-American guy—who made it all happen.”
“Oh, believe me, he was the very first one I thanked. Now where the hell is Jock?”
They didn’t have to wait long for him. Two men approached out of the darkness, the crunch of their hurried footfalls heard long before their d
ark shapes came into view. Jock and Joe Youngblood exchanged passwords with McMillen and joined the others.
Jock picked out Jillian’s silhouette among those of the crouching women. He would have known her anywhere. Their embrace was silent, brief…but its power unmistakable, drawing them together like the opposing poles of magnets, pulling everyone and everything with it.
Close by, Joe Youngblood felt the power, too. But rather than attracting him, it was pushing him away, propelling him down a dark, endless tunnel from which there would be no return.
He knew who The Woman in White was: a spirit, here to take his earthly life.
The wire marking their escape path came to its end. “All right,” Jock said, “this is where we stay until sun-up.”
He dispersed his GIs and native guide into a tight perimeter with the women huddled at the center. Once satisfied with their position, he sat down next to Jillian. There was so much he wanted to ask her—and tell her—but this wasn’t the time. Their survival hinged on more immediate matters.
“How am I going to protect and feed all these other women, Jill?”
“You won’t have to. When the sun comes up, the native women will scatter to their villages. They all come from somewhere here on Manus. That’ll leave just me and Anne Marie. She’s Dutch but speaks bloody good English. You can handle her, right?”
“Yeah…probably.”
“Good,” Jillian replied, “because you’ll need her. She’s a bloody good nurse. And we just stole a bagful of medical supplies. We’ve even got quinine.”
“Quinine? Who’s got malaria?”
“We all do, silly. You and all your lads must have it, too, long as you’ve been in these parts.”
He nodded.
“I thought so. Probably still taking that Atabrine...and it’s still making you all as yellow as the Japanese, too, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah, it has. Wait until you see us when the sun comes up.”
They settled into a comfortable stillness totally out of place in the mayhem, savoring the fact they were nestled against each other once again. It had been a year since they were together like this, a year of which they knew next to nothing about the other’s suffering. All that mattered was they were both here—if even for the briefest of moments—until fortune and war would, no doubt, tear them apart once again.
Operation Blind Spot (Jock Miles WW2 Adventure Series Book 4) Page 11
