THE LAST LIEUTENANT: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 1)

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  "The hell with the overhaul. Too many Japs around here," Ingram said.

  "Where are you headed?" asked Aguilar.

  "We stopped here looking for..." Ingram cut it off in mid-sentence because Aguilar's eyes had narrowed. He was going to say he was looking for a radio. Even mention Amador. Instead, he said, "...looking for fuel and food."

  "I see."

  "With enough of that, we'll make Australia," said Ingram.

  "Why Australia?"

  "Is there some place better? China?"

  "Mindanao. Your people are there, in the hills with the resistance."

  Ingram said, "Mindanao is still free?" The Japanese had invaded and occupied Davao on Mindanao's southern coast months ago. But they had only recently attacked the northern half, concentrating on the Bukidnon Plateau, well known for its sprawling Del Monte pineapple plantation.

  "Unfortunately, no. General Wainwright ordered General Sharp to surrender."

  "Wainwright. They must have tortured him to make him say that," said DeWitt, shaking his head.

  "He was on the radio," Aguilar said.

  The others gathered around. DeWitt asked, "When?"

  Aguilar said, "Two nights ago, KZRH carried the broadcast. It was General Wainwright speaking. At least that's what the announcer said. He told Sharp he had resumed command of all forces in the Philippines, and ordered him to surrender."

  "So General Chynoweth had to surrender, too?" asked Ingram.

  "Mmmmm," said Aguilar. This meant the whole Philippine Archipelago was lost--with General William F. Sharp's twenty-five thousand troops on Mindanao--and another twenty thousand commanded by Brigadier General Bradford G. Chynoweth in the Visayan Islands, the Central Philippines.

  DeWitt shook his head. "Sharp was finished anyway. It was more like a capitulation."

  Aguilar said, "So now, all of Mindanao is controlled by the Hapons. But many Americans are up in the hills."

  Ingram said, "With the Moros?" The Moros, a tribe of fierce Moslem-Malays, lived in Western Mindanao.

  Aguilar shrugged. "They're guerrillas, now."

  "Better to run with them, than Japs," said Bartholomew.

  Suddenly, what looked like fly specks on the horizon materialized into two Zero float planes. Coming from the north, the Zeros circled, as they had earlier when they startled the 51 Boat. One swooped low. Barrel-shaped objects detached from under the float plane's wings and splashed in the ocean.

  Holloway shook his head. "Do you think Roosevelt really meant it when he said--"

  The sea erupted in twin columns of brownish-black where the Zero made its drop. The second plane curved out of a bank, leveled its wings, and headed for the same spot, zipping over the roiling sea and dropping its load. Soon, two more bursts of charcoal-gray water shot in the air.

  "What the hell are they depth charging?" asked Ingram.

  "Practice. There is a tethered underwater target."

  "That's why they didn't see us this morning," Ingram said. "They were too busy playing with firecrackers."

  "Going over that reef was remarkable. I haven't seen anyone do that in years."

  "Lucky."

  Again, Aguilar looked at him narrowly.

  The hell with it, he thought. "Submarines put in here?"

  "Yes, one came in here a little over a week ago."

  "And they dropped a load of people from Corregidor?"

  "Well, yes. We picked them up. How did you know?" asked Aguilar.

  "Jackpot, Otis."

  Aguilar asked, "You knew them?"

  Aguilar had lingered on the word knew in an ominous way. Ingram asked, "Is anything wrong?"

  Aguilar told them about the massacre at Diaz.

  "Jesus." Ingram stepped back, running a hand over his face. "Did anybody live?"

  "The ones they didn't butcher, they sent to Fortune Island."

  "How many?" asked DeWitt.

  "Hard to tell. Ten or so," Aguilar said slowly. "Lieutenant Tuga doesn't like to take prisoners."

  "We put thirty people on that submarine," gasped Ingram. "Any idea who survived?"

  "No."

  "You sure?"

  "Why do you ask?" said Aguilar.

  "Doesn't matter." Helen. Helen Durand. He put his hand to his cheek, hearing her rich voice, her laughter. Closing his eyes, he saw her wrists and arms as she bent over to sew up his cheek. She was so close he felt her breath on his face. Odd. Why hadn't he thought about her breath on his cheek then? It felt so good. For a second he thought he felt it now, but it was just the southerly stirring over Marinduque.

  And that crazy old Filipino telling his stories of Corregidor, the evil magistrate. Ingram was trying to make sense of that while hell itself descended on the fortified islands two miles away. What was that guy's name? "...Amador, Pablo Amador. He--"

  "You know Pablo Amador?" asked Aguilar.

  Ingram's lips pressed white. He looked down and nudged a rock with his boot.

  Aguilar said, "Señor. You said Pablo Amador?"

  Ingram rubbed his eyes. He hoped it was the sun. "Who? Yes. We'd just met. You see..."

  Bartholomew walked up. "Skipper. What are the chances of starting Whittaker on that overhaul?"

  "None, I'm afraid," said Ingram. He pointed to the garrison and told Bartholomew of their plight.

  Aguilar said, "Tonight you can move your boat. I have a good spot in mind for you, where you can do the overhaul."

  Ingram ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

  "You okay, Skipper?" said Bartholomew.

  "Fine. Mr. Aguilar is right. Let's stretch out in that grove and wait 'til nightfall."

  Augustine Vega stepped up. The two spoke in Tagalog for a moment, then Aguilar said, "Oh, no, Mr. Ingram. Not that place. It's swampy. Land crabs, leeches, even pythons. No. You come to my house. Good food. Hot showers while the wood holds out. I have a razor. You can all shave." He thumbed Ingram's cheek tenderly. "...tsk, tsk, I may have something for that, too."

  "How far is it?" asked Ingram.

  Aguilar jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "About five miles."

  "I see. Tell me. What is it that you do?" Ingram asked.

  "Lumber mill. Except the Hapons take our machinery. So now we grow bananas and raise pigs."

  "We can't walk five miles," said Ingram.

  "We have a truck."

  Bartholomew said, "We ought to take Pete. He deserves decent chow like the rest of us."

  Ingram looked at Mompog Pass once more. He had hardly known her. She--"

  "Skipper?" asked Bartholomew.

  Ingram wiped a hand over his face. "Let's go."

  * * * * *

  The truck, an ancient Ford, bounced through a heavily wooded forest. After forty-five minutes of monotonous switchbacks, they pulled up to the Aguilar home, which was situated at the edge of a stepped meadow. The house stood on the upper plateau, where it enjoyed a commanding view of Tayabas Bay, Mompog Passage, and Luzon, eighteen miles distant. It was a large, four bedroom, single-story structure, done in ranch style with an adobe roof. The furniture was sparse, with only a few pieces--rattan chairs, sofa and table, and reed carpeting covering a cement floor. Except for a crucifix over the fireplace, nothing else decorated the bare white walls. The kitchen was large and homey as was the dining room except, again, there was little furniture.

  Without a word, Aguilar's wife, a pensive heavyset woman wearing a shawl, produced bowls loaded with roast chicken and white rice. They gathered outside, at a long, rough mahogany table under a canvas awning. While not totally satiating their hunger the food was good. And they were smart enough not to complain, since the Aguilars were undoubtedly stretching their larder to the limit. But they were surprised when Doña Aguilar laid out jackfruit and bananas for dessert, and poured real coffee.

  Later, they took turns firing an ancient wood-burning boiler to heat water for showers and shaving. Ingram took his turn at the razor finding it not quite sharp to begin with. Even so, it produce
d that wonderful tingling feeling which accompanies a clean face. Then he showered and, with a decent meal under his belt, felt like taking a nap. He stood with Holloway, Bartholomew, and Toliver under a tree as the others threw out mats and began to stretch out.

  Ingram scanned the branches overhead. Holloway chuckled, "Afraid of snipers?"

  With a last glance in the branches, Ingram unrolled a reed mat and lay down. "I heard of a guy on Cebu. He fell asleep under a tree like this, and the next thing he knew, a python dropped on him and wrapped its coils so fast the guy didn't even have time to gurgle. He was about five feet ten inches in height, but the python squeezed so hard, every bone was broken and the guy was stretched to seven feet."

  Holloway gasped.

  Ingram said, "And guess what?"

  "What?"

  "Even at that, the guy was still alive when the snake swallowed him."

  Without a smile Ingram turned on his side and closed his eyes. Holloway carefully examined the branches overhead before he fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  Something shook. Ingram opened his eyes to find DeWitt kneeling over him. Blinking at the oppressive heat, he checked his watch: almost two o'clock. He'd been asleep over four hours. "Yes?"

  DeWitt's voice was soft. "How do you figure this guy, Lieutenant?"

  "Aguilar?" Ingram propped on an elbow, running his hand through his hair.

  "I'm trying to figure what makes him tick," said DeWitt.

  Ingram said, "The Japs took their milling machinery. Ruined their livelihood. So I guess they don't like Japs."

  DeWitt pulled an envelope from his pocket. "This was on the floor of the truck."

  "What?" Ingram sat all the way up and took the envelope. It was a high quality, buff stationery the size of a formal wedding invitation. A meticulous script on the envelope invited the attention of: Don Emilio and Doña Carmella Aguilar.

  DeWitt looked both ways then spat, "What the hell is this guy up to?"

  Wide awake now, Ingram pulled out the inner envelope. "The truck, huh?"

  "Stickin' out from under the front seat," said DeWitt.

  The announcement was printed in black script on high quality, heavy stock; one side was in English, the other Japanese. It said:

  The Chairman of the Executive Commission

  requests the honor of your company

  at a Reception

  in celebration of the victory of the

  Imperial Japanese Army and Navy

  in the Philippines

  to be held on

  Monday, May the eighteenth

  nineteen hundred and forty-two

  from five to six o'clock in the afternoon

  Malacañan Palace

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  9 May, 1942

  Aguilar House, Marinduque, Island

  Philippines

  Gunner's Mate First Class Kermit G. Sunderland snored soundly as Ingram reached under the man's mat and withdrew the .45.--the same Colt M1911A1 pistol that the malaria-vexed Sergeant Bruno La Follette had tossed from the Caballo dock in those last, hideous moments. Creeping through the bushes behind DeWitt, Ingram made sure the pistol's clip was full. Then he ran the slide and thumbed off the safety. Insects buzzed in the early afternoon's heat as they crept over veranda and porch and drew up to the front door.

  It was wide open.

  With a nod to DeWitt, Ingram lead the way through a small entry hall. He peeked around the corner into the living room and saw Aguilar asleep on a couch. Light snoring down the hall could only have been Doña Aguilar.

  "Siesta," mouthed Ingram.

  They crept up to Aguilar. Ingram took a two-handed grip on the pistol while DeWitt tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Uhhhh?" Aguilar blinked at the .45's muzzle. Tearing sleep from his eyes he tried to focus on what was behind the barrel. Ingram touched a forefinger to his lips and said in a low voice, "Just a few questions, Señor."

  "Is this the way you treat your hosts?" growled Aguilar.

  DeWitt flipped the invitation on Aguilar's stomach and spat, "Is this the way you fight your enemy? By attending their parties--their little victory celebrations?"

  Aguilar focused on the rich card stock, comprehension registering on his face. He raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. "May I rise, please?" he said.

  Ingram nodded.

  Aguilar sat up, lurched forward, and propped his elbows on his knees. Laying his head in his hands, he said in a voice hoarse with sleep, "You are a fool, Major."

  "Sure," DeWitt smirked.

  "Lieutenant Tuga and his Hapon filth are out delivering these invitations right now. That's why no one is at the garrison to speak of."

  "Sure," DeWitt said again.

  "You're making a big mistake." said Aguilar.

  "Prove us wrong," said DeWitt.

  "Alright." Aguilar sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Vargas wants us to form into regions. He calls them DANAs, for District and Neighborhood Associations." When he fled the Philippines with MacArthur, President Manuel Quezon designated his executive secretary, Jorgé Vargas, to take over and work with Japan's occupation forces.

  "Sort of like a Nazi cell?" sneered DeWitt.

  Ingram flipped on the .45's safety, stuffed the pistol in his belt, and sat.

  DeWitt barked, "Lieutenant?"

  Ingram said, "Major. Sit down and take a load off."

  DeWitt glared at Ingram and sat.

  Aguilar said, "Thank you, Señor." Looking at DeWitt he said, "Yes, similar to Nazi cells. And who do you think has been appointed leader of DANA Marinduque Del Norte?"

  "You?" DeWitt said.

  "Yes, me. Vargas appointed me. No matter who occupies our country: Moslems, Spanish, Americans, Japanese; Filipinos know how to play their games. And Vargas, that son of a bitch, is as good at it as anybody." Aguilar waved the invitation. "Do you think, Major, that Doña Carmella and I will enjoy having to put on our finest clothes and go all the way to Manila for a party..." Aguilar's face turned red and he sputtered, "A stupid party that lasts from five to six in the afternoon?"

  "I'm sorry," said Ingram.

  Aguilar slammed a fist and yelled, "You two don't know the best part. The best part is we don't have any clothes. How do you like that? Besides taking my furniture and silverware and crystal and milling machinery, the Hapons emptied our closets.

  Aguilar's face turned red again. He struggled to control his breathing. "My family has had the mill for over a hundred years. I'm a second-generation college graduate. My father was the first; we went to Texas A&M."

  "Now, that was smart," said DeWitt, cranking his twang up a notch.

  Aguilar barely flicked his eyes. "We have been the patriarchs of Marinduque del Norte for a long time. But now, I'm just a pig farmer who must borrow clothes for the privilege of traveling all the way to Malacañan Palace for one glorious hour."

  Alberto rushed in clacking the bolt on his Springfield. He stood among them, undecided where to aim. Not bothering to look up, Ingram said, "Careful. That thing's loaded."

  "Get out of here," bellowed Aguilar.

  Alberto had no sooner ducked out the front door than Doña Carmella emerged from the hall. "Emilio?"

  Aguilar spoke softly to his wife in Tagalog. Her gaze dropped to the floor; she nodded and went back to her room.

  "Did you look in her face?" Aguilar asked.

  Ingram coughed. DeWitt, also afraid to say "yes," gazed out the window.

  "Until six months ago she was a happy woman. She made me happy. She made everybody happy. She fed us and clothed us and read the bible to us and raised our sons. She fed beggars and sent them into the mill for work. Everybody laughed when she was around. Our children. Our friends. Our workers. Everybody loved Doña Carmella."

  Don Aguilar cleared his throat then said, "Lieutenant Tuga and his Hapons came to my mill. It took them two days to take everything apart and haul it away. The day after that they came here. They tied me up and then backed a truck up to the
front door and helped themselves to..." he waved a hand, "Our son." Aguilar's eyes turned red. "Ambrosio, thirteen years old, he was brash and outgoing, doing stupid, harmless things. He laughed and was happy like his mother.

  "When the Tuga came, one of his men shoved Doña Carmella against the wall while another butted her in the stomach with a rifle. Ambrosio jumped on the soldier's back and..." Aguilar pointed at the window. "Out there. The tree under which you slept. They hung him upside down and used him for bayonet practice."

  Ingram's fingers tightened on the chair's arms. DeWitt sucked air through his teeth.

  Aguilar took a deep breath and said, "They became tired of that and while Ambrosio dangled overhead, they built a bonfire under him. He lived for another forty-five minutes.

  "During all this, they ripped off Doña Carmella's clothes and...did nothing. They laughed at her. While Ambrosio screamed and roasted they formed a circle and pushed her from man to man. That's all." Aguilar ran a hand over his face. "They laughed at her."

  "I'm sorry," said Ingram.

  DeWitt said, "I wish we could have done something."

  Aguilar said, "And during all this, that bastard Tuga sat in his truck and read a book." Aguilar's eyes blinked. He sat a little straighter and brushed his hair back. His lips twisted into a tight smile. "Don't you think it amusing that we must find our way to Luzon to enjoy the Hapon's 'Victory Party' wearing borrowed clothes?"

  DeWitt looked around the room. "Why didn't they take all your furniture?"

  "I don't know," said Aguilar. "Tuga knew the expensive pieces. The piano. Our dining table, chairs and hutch. Bedroom furniture. Those pieces came from Spain over a hundred years ago. The crystal was from Ireland. That is what they took."

  DeWitt picked up the invitation and turned it over in his hands.

  Aguilar said, "That was five months ago. Now, apparently Jorgé Vargas and his masters have decided bygones are bygones and are willing to 'forgive me.' Simply stated, they want me to control things for them in Marinduque del Norte."

  DeWitt said, "Tell them to stuff it."

  Aguilar said, "Understand this, Major." My response will be closely scrutinized by Vargas and his masters. If I go, the Kempetai will think I am their puppet. That's not so bad, except I'll be viewed as such. And in the Philippines we have our own brand of politics." He looked at DeWitt.