“Hold off four hundred yards,” Domingo said. “I want to try this laser sighting.” He stepped out of the car and sighted on the truck that had been parked across both lanes of the road. To one side was a sedan, and they saw six or eight soldiers standing around waiting for them.
Domingo fired, then aimed and fired again. Both rounds were airbursts over the truck and car. The soldiers there melted to the ground, splattered with shrapnel from the two airbursts. One man ran behind the truck, which had had its fabric bow roof ripped to shreds. Domingo sighted in on the cab of the big truck. The fuel tank should be right under it. He fired the contact round and it hit on the cab door, blew it off, and exploded inside the cab. A moment later a secondary explosion rocked the quiet beach land as the gasoline tank detonated with a roar spraying burning fuel over the sedan and the last two rebels still alive. Domingo watched it burn for a minute. “I’ve got to get a thousand of these for my troops. We could wipe out every rebel stronghold in the whole Mindanao Island.”
They drove slowly up to the truck’s hulk. The burning sedan had been blasted halfway into the ditch. A gentle nudge by the Toyota bumper, and it continued into the shallow depression and left room for Franklin to drive through. They saw six bodies in the wreckage and no survivors. Franklin floored the sedan, and they raced down the road away from the smoking ruins.
“Why all this firepower, these roadblocks?” Franklin asked. He looked at Domingo.
“Do you know where the head man rebel has his headquarters?” Canzoneri asked Domingo.
“Not for sure. It’s a big secret even from most of the rebels. But I’m getting suspicious. He brought the hostages here. He has an ambush set up, then a log across a public road, then a military-type roadblock with rebel soldiers. This could be rebel country. He might own the countryside and the town. He could have his GHQ there in Lebak.”
“If so we’re really fucked,” Franklin said. “How will we get a phone line out to anywhere?”
“We can’t fight our way into town,” Domingo said. “If we need to do that, we’d be stopped short by a larger force. I’ve heard the rebels have bought heavier weapons lately. If it looks like the rebels control the town, we’ll have to recon, and maybe walk in and con somebody who has the phone system, or take over the building or at least one phone line. I’m sure they have phone service over here; maybe it’s microwave or satellite.”
“How big is Lebak?” Canzoneri asked.
“Never been there,” Domingo said. “Don’t see how it could be very big. No industry, no farming, no logging. What, maybe four or five hundred people? A little fishing, maybe.”
“This odometer is in miles and it shows we have done just over seventeen so far,” Franklin said. “If that town is twenty-five to thirty, we have a ways to go.”
“My guess is that with the increased amount of security and guards, the rebel leader’s GHQ must be nearby, but maybe not all the way to town.”
“So, the security should pick up the closer we come to the GHQ, and then once we break through that it would be less on the way into town?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Why else all this security out here in the wilderness?”
“So our job is to get through the last of the roadblocks and masses of rebels. Then we should be free to roll into Lebak?” Franklin asked.
“We hope,” Domingo said. “Let’s see what new surprises the rebels have for us.”
It came from the rear, and they didn’t know it was there until a machine gun mounted on a jeep chattered a dozen rounds at them, breaking out the rear window and puncturing one tire. Domingo had the Bull Pup up in a second, aimed out the blown-out rear glass, and fired a contact round at the jeep. The round hit the radiator, and exploded on contact, smashing the little rig off the road, rolling it three times, and sending the two live rebels in the vehicle flying through the air.
The Toyota slid across the road and wound up sideways in the wrong lane. Franklin shut it down.
“Casualty report,” Franklin said.
“Got some glass in the back of my head, but nothing serious,” Canzoneri said.
“Fine here,” Domingo said. “I love this twenty-millimeter.”
Franklin jerked open the door and checked the tire.
“Blown to hell,” he said. “Do we have a spare?”
“A car this old damn well better have one,” Canzoneri said. “Usually older cars have lousy rubber.”
They found the spare in the trunk, along with two submachine guns and a box of ammo. It took Franklin twelve minutes to change the tire with the bumper jack.
“I used to have contests changing tires,” he said. “I almost always won.”
Domingo had scraped most of the shattered glass from the rear seat of the car by the time they drove away from the wrecked jeep. They didn’t look for survivors.
At twenty miles from the hostage house, they found roads that went off from the highway every mile or so, usually one into the mountains and then one to the beach. All were plain dirt roads, some that had been graded up, some just tracks in the jungle and coastal grasses.
A few houses began to appear.
“If we don’t find a lot of rebel uniforms in town, how do we play it?” Franklin asked.
“If the rebels don’t control the town, there should be a police station. We’ll start there. If the town is under police control, we’ll have no trouble phoning out. I’ll use their phone.”
“Damn big ‘if,’ ” Franklin said.
Canzoneri, in the front seat, growled. “We have some trouble up ahead. Looks like another roadblock. This one has a truck in the middle of the road and a swing-up bar across the traffic lane.”
“Only two uniforms, they look different,” Franklin said.
“Could be Filipino Army men,” Domingo said. “Let’s ease up and stop and see what the situation is.”
“Too dangerous,” Franklin said. “I’m keeping one of them in my sights. Canzoneri, you aim for the second one. If it isn’t what it seems to be, we blast them and race on through.”
“I’m not sure of those uniforms,” Domingo said. “Not even sure that my Army would post any men out here. And if we did, why a roadblock?”
When the car came to within a hundred yards of the block, one soldier held up a submachine gun in both hands for them to stop. He was on the driver’s side. Another armed man stood on the passenger’s side. Both stood waiting.
Franklin stopped the car five feet from the guards, who swung up their weapons.
“Step out of the car, please,” one guard said in English. The other guard said something in Filipino.
Domingo frowned and said something back in Filipino.
“Not our men,” Domingo shouted. Franklin felt the first round from the guard’s submachine gun hit the Toyota.
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Franklin jerked his Colt carbine up over the car’s windowsill and slammed three rounds into the chest of the surprised guard, who had fired into the door panel evidently as a warning shot. Domingo had out his .45 pistol, and fired three times so fast they sounded like one round. The rebel on the passenger’s side caught one in the chest, one in his throat, and the third one on his forehead, jolting him backward like he’d been yanked to the rear by a rope.
“Charge!” Canzoneri said, looking out the window for a new target. He found none. The thin pole across the single lane of the roadway that was left open shattered against the front of the Toyota just below the hood ornament and splintered away on both sides.
They were through. There appeared to be no one beside the two guards at the block.
“What the hell next?” Franklin asked. “How far are we from the real town?”
“More buildings along here, looks like some houses too,” Canzoneri said.
“Looks like this could be the start of the town, the old barangay,” Domingo said. “Several families would settle an area together and give it its name. The practice is still around, but often now used in sections of a l
arger city. This has that feel. Like several of these barangays merge and you have a small town.”
“I can see more buildings ahead,” Franklin said. “Looks like a real town with wooden buildings and even some telephone poles.”
“Watch for rebels in their green uniforms,” Domingo said. “If the police are controlling the town, then there probably won’t be any rebels carrying guns. Most Filipinos don’t own guns.”
Franklin slowed. Now they could see children playing in the yards. There were no real streets yet, just some roads wandering off toward the sea.
“Should we turn in here and not be so obvious?” Franklin asked.
“Not yet,” Domingo said. “Up there at those two-story buildings would be a good spot to give it a try.”
Two men standing near a small house with a corrugated metal roofed stared at them as they drove past. No wave, no friendly smiles.
“Probably think we’re rebels,” Domingo said. He dropped the magazine out of his .45, and pushed three fresh rounds into it, filling it up. Now he had eight shots again.
The buildings were looking more Western now, but some nipa huts with their thatched roofs were still mixed in.
“Next street to the right,” Domingo said. It was more of an order this time. Franklin grinned. “Aye aye,” he said.
The street had wooden-frame buildings on both sides. The street was dirt, and looked like it had been freshly watered to keep down the dust. Halfway along the street Franklin saw a two-story building with a Philippine flag flying over it. A telephone pole nearby trailed lines into the building that could be both telephone and electrical.
“That one?” Franklin asked.
“Ah, yes, the flag. That’s either the city hall or the police station or maybe the post office,” Domingo said. “Worth a try. Keep your weapons out of sight and stay in the car. My turf now, okay?”
“Yes. We’ll sit tight,” Canzoneri said.
“I’m leaving the rifle here, just my .45 on my hip. I doubt if I’ll have any trouble. If I can, I’ll use one of their phones. If I’m not out in ten minutes, bring your weapons and come in softly and gently. It may just be trouble with the phone lines.”
Franklin eased the Toyota to a stop in front of the building. He saw only four other cars in the street. General Domingo slid out of the car and walked directly to the front door of the building. It had four windows showing on the street, but they weren’t big enough that the SEALs could see inside.
Domingo turned the knob and walked inside with a military manner. It was the police station. He saw only two uniformed men behind a long counter across the front. A woman not in uniform sat behind a pair of telephones. She looked up.
“Yes, how may I help you?”
“I’d like to speak with the police commander.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not here this week. We do have a lieutenant who you can talk to. What is your name, please?”
“Captain Nofrando Domingo. I’m a policeman from another area. It’s quite urgent.”
The woman chattered at one of the uniformed men. She spoke in Filipino, which Domingo understood. She said, “He says he’s a policeman, so be careful.”
The man stood and came to the counter. He held out his hand. “Lieutenant Rosales, temporarily in charge here. Will you come into the office where we can talk?”
Domingo had scanned the small area. Nothing seemed out of order or dangerous. A filled gun cabinet on the wall with a glass front had a keyhole on the door. It could be locked.
“Yes, of course.”
They went into a room to the left and the lieutenant closed the door. Domingo saw the office had another door leading back into the other areas of the building.
Rosales sat in a chair behind a clean-topped desk and smiled.
“Now, what’s the business that you have?”
“First, jurisdiction. In my charts there is no major policing presence here in Lebak. Most matters are handled by the police in Kiamba or Cotatabo.”
“Progress, Captain Domingo. We were granted jurisdiction here only two months ago. It’s not unusual that you had not been informed. Where are you stationed?”
“I’m usually at Buayan. Here on a special mission for the President. You may have heard about it. It’s called the further integration of our aboriginal people.”
“Yes, that’s moving along nicely for us. We’ve contacted two of the tribes up in the hills.”
“Good. I can make a good report then. I need to call Davao. I trust your microwave units are working properly?”
“Davao? I’d think you would report to Manila.”
“Usually. The Vice President is handling most of this and he’s in Davao for another day. So I need to get your report to him quickly.”
“I’ll check to see if the lines are available,” the lieutenant said, starting to stand.
“I can do that myself, Lieutenant. Please stand and face the wall and lace your fingers on top of your head.”
“What? You are joking.”
Domingo drew the .45 in one practiced move and centered the muzzle on the lieutenant’s chest. “Now would be a good time to move, Lieutenant. Face to the wall, hands on top of your head, and lean in and touch your forehead to the wall. Now, or I’ll shoot you dead.”
Slowly the man complied. Domingo went behind the desk, picked up the phone. He dialed information. “Yes, operator, I need the number for the Davao Air Base in Davao. Yes, in Davao.” He waited. A moment later he wrote the number down on a pad of paper on the desk.
“Could you dial it for me, operator? My phone isn’t working well.” He paused. “Yes, thank you.” He waited for it to ring. The policeman edged toward the door. “Not another inch, or you’re dead, you rebel. Stay right there.
“Yes, I want the base commander,” Domingo said into the phone. It took a few moments; as he waited, a knock came on the door.
“No, no messages, wait outside,” Domingo called loudly.
“This is Colonel Romano,” said the voice on the phone.
“Colonel, Nofrando Domingo. We need two CH-46’s to fly at once to a rock house on the west coast about thirty miles north of Lebak. Get them off for a round trip within ten minutes. You’ll have thirty-one return passengers.” He paused, listening.
“Yes, I’m fine, the other bird did go down. No casualties. Get those birds over there as quickly as possible.”
He hung up, and had started to turn when a shot blasted into the room from the room’s back door and he felt a searing, knife-sharp pain in his right shoulder. He dropped the .45 and grabbed his arm.
“Now, Mr. Domingo, or should I say General Domingo, we have a bit of a turn of events, no?” Rosales said. “I have some questions for you. Thanks, Pepe. I can handle the general for now. Check out those other two men in the Toyota out front.”
Just as he said it, the door to the front of the office burst open and Franklin stormed in, the Colt Carbine out in front. He saw the man holding the pistol near the back door and before the rebel could move, Franklin took him down with three rounds in the chest. The sound of the three cartridges going off filled the room with a bouncing thundering sound that kept going from wall to wall.
Right behind Franklin came Canzoneri, and just as Franklin shot, Canzoneri put a single round in Lieutenant Rosales’s chest where his heart was supposed to be. He went down like a brain-shot steer in a slaughterhouse.
When the sound faded, Domingo bent and grabbed his .45 off the deck. Canzoneri looked at the general’s right shoulder, and used a kerchief from around his neck as a bandage and a wad of tissue from a box on the desk for a pad, wrapping the entry wound tightly to stop the bleeding.
“Just a tad late, guys,” Domingo said. “When did you figure them for ringers?”
“When the woman out front listened to your talk on the telephone,” Franklin said. “The woman had a tap on the line at the desk. The other one vanished out the back and we tied her up, then came in, as you say, a tad too late.”
>
“You get through to the air base?” asked Canzoneri.
“Yes, the base commander said he’d get two CH-46’s on the way within fifteen minutes. So, we should have those thirty-one hostages on their way to Davao soon.”
“Now how do we find the other eighteen?” Franklin asked.
“I was hoping we could ask one of these two, but looks like we’re too late.”
“What about the broad outside?” Canzoneri said. “She can still talk. Should I bring her in here?”
Domingo nodded.
She was young, twenty-eight maybe, Franklin figured. Her skin was a shade lighter than Domingo’s. She said her name was Rosa.
“Why all these Mexican names?” Canzoneri asked.
“The Philippines was a colony of Spain for over three hundred years,” Domingo said. “They decreed that every person in the country must have a Spanish name. All the Spanish names you see today are holdovers from the Spanish reign.”
Domingo turned back to Rosa.
“Now, young lady. You are a rebel, we know that. You have conspired against your homeland. Your two friends here are dead, you can see their bodies. I am trying to be civilized about this, but I do have a short temper. Do not irritate me. Some questions. Where is your home?”
“Here, Lebak.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes. I have two children.”
“Is your husband a rebel?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Away with the People’s Army.”
“Who is the leader of the People’s Army?”
“I don’t know. None of my friends know.”
“What is the Eagle’s Nest?”
She flinched when he said the words, and he looked at her closely. “You recognized the name. What is it and where is it?”
Rosa looked straight ahead and didn’t say a word.
“Tie her hands behind her back,” Domingo said. Franklin did.
“Canzoneri, lock the front door and any back doors. Stand guard out near the front door.” He hurried out.
Ambush sts-15 Page 19
