DeWitt said, "What about the HUKs?" The word was from the Tagalog, meaning HUKbong Bayan Laban sa Hapon: People's Anti-Japanese Army. Formed earlier in the year by Luis Taruc, the HUK movement was fast gaining enlistments and taking its toll on Japanese occupation forces, particularly in rural areas of Central Luzon.
Aguilar turned red and pounded his fist again. "Taruc is a sonofabitch."
"What? said DeWitt.
Aguilar roared, "He joined the communist party three years ago. We...we...have mutual friends. I got angry with him and told him to quit. He said it was the new thing, the great patriotic idea of the twentieth century. We argued at a dinner party one night. There was loss of face. Over the weeks and months it became bitter. I finally cut off all communication. I wouldn't be surprised if it was Luis Taruc who sicced the Hapons on us."
"Why the hell would he do that?" asked Ingram.
Waving his hand, Aguilar sighed. "In the Commonwealth we vote with machine guns and dynamite." He scanned their blank faces. "Did you know of Tee Han Kee?"
"No." they said.
"No? How about Andong Roces or José de Jesus?"
"No."
"Tee Han Kee was vice president of the Chinese Association in Manila. Roces was of the Manila Tribune, de Jesus, of the finance ministry. All were murdered. 'Collaborative activities with the Japanese' was the reason, but," Augustine shook his head, "I'm convinced, the killings were personally motivated."
"Now, if Doña Carmella and I don't attend the victory celebration, we'll undoubtedly receive another visit from the Kempetai. Perhaps Tuga will be reading Shakespeare while his boys roast me. Or maybe he'll let me off easy and just wire up my balls and spin his little electric generator."
"So you have no alternatives," DeWitt said gently.
Aguilar nodded and said, "To escape a visit from Japan's thought police, Doña Carmella and I will probably be forced to go into the forest. That will make the Hapons angry. They will interrogate others. Maybe Augustine Vega will receive benefit of their little electrical experiments. Maybe his wife, Consuela. Who knows? Others will be hung by their feet and..." He raised a hand and dropped it. "What would you do, Major, if this were happening in your home? What would you do if this were Texas?"
DeWitt sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
Ingram said, "Things are too tense around here. We'll leave tonight."
"For a number of reasons that is a good idea," said Aguilar. "If your engine needs an overhaul then so be it. Otherwise, I suggest you run. For the next week or so, the Hapons will be in a light-hearted mood. Many parties are scheduled along with our own," he spat the words, "victory celebration."
"Their guard will be down and you can transit choke-points easily. After that, things will become extremely difficult."
"I have an idea, Señor," said Ingram.
"Yes?"
Just then Doña Carmella walked in, carrying a tray with tea service and cups. She placed it before her husband and walked out. Aguilar looked up.
Ingram said, "Come with us. Bring your wife. We'll take you to Mindanao. Australia, if you wish."
Aguilar poured and passed out cups and saucers. "Sorry, we have no chilled lemonade." He paused for a moment, then looked up to Ingram. "I don't think so."
"Sounds like you're out of choices," Ingram said. The tea's scent was wonderful. He sipped and, in spite of the day's heat and humidity, found the aroma fulfilled its promise. His voice was soft, "Please come with us."
Silence. Ingram and DeWitt looked at one another. A minute passed and they sipped tea.
Aguilar opened his mouth to speak, then checked himself. He looked at the door to the kitchen, then back to Ingram. "This...is my home, Lieutenant. Thank you, anyway."
Ingram said, "I'll leave it open. You're welcome to hop aboard, even as we cast off."
Aguilar bowed his head slightly. "Tell me. You're going to Mindanao?"
"Well, we would like to try directly for Australia. But it depends on food and parts for the engine, if it goes bonkers."
"Very well. If you need to go to Mindanao, go to Nasipit. I have friends there."
"Where's that?" asked Ingram.
"It's a small logging town on the northern coast about sixty miles south of the Surigao Straits. Agusan Province, actually. It won't be far out of your way. I'll get word to them."
Something tickled Ingram's memory. Sure, that night on the way to the Wolffish rendezvous. "I met someone..."
"Who?" asked Aguilar.
"...Pablo Amador."
"The old guy?" asked DeWitt.
Ingram nodded. "But then, he's probably dead, now."
"You mentioned him earlier," said Aguilar. "The reason I was so cagey is that I wondered if you knew."
"Knew what?" said Ingram and DeWitt.
Amador said, "He escaped and was put on the steamer two days ago. He should have reached Nasipit by now."
"He escaped?" said Ingram. "Why couldn't the--"
Aguilar waved a hand. "I don't know. Something about a secret place in Diaz's that only holds one person. The Hapons set the torch, the place burned to the ground, Amador barely got out, I'm told.
"His family had a big lumbering mill just like me. But the Hapons took everything..."
DeWitt blurted, "We need a radio transmitter. One powerful enough to contact Australia or even the United States."
"It's too bad," said Aguilar. "Fito Diaz ran the resistance. He had a radio. A big Halicrafters."
"Damn!" Ingram stood and walked to the window.
"Why do you need it?" asked Aguilar.
DeWitt said, "Something really important. Do you know of anyone else with a radio?"
"Not on Marinduque. Maybe on Mindanao."
Ingram nodded to a large spotted pig on a long tether strolling among the sleepers outside. "That one of yours?"
"Yes, meet Delores, one of my sows."
They watched Delores sniff at Beardsley's heel and waddle on. Ingram said, "Mindanao. That's over four hundred miles from here."
"Is it so important it can't wait?"
Ingram turned and looked at DeWitt. "Yes," they said.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"There may be another way," said Aguilar.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
9 May, 1942
Imperial Japanese Army Garrison
Marinduque Island, Philippines
It was just Ingram, Farwell, and Sunderland. The others stood by the '51 Boat ready to put to sea. Sunderland carried his BAR, Ingram packed the .45, and Farwell carried a Springfield.
Ingram wiped sweat off his forehead and checked his watch: 8:30. He couldn't remember if there was a moon tonight and kicked himself for not checking.
Sunderland sat on haunches, holding the BAR's butt in the ground, and whispered, "Where the hell are they?"
Ingram peered through the bushes as the waterfall gurgled pleasantly to their left. The Japanese garrison stood before them. Once the simple fishing village of San José, it consisted of seven nipa huts, a two-hundred-foot pier, a utility shed, and a freshwater stream that ran conveniently from the waterfall pool through the village's center.
The nipa hut, so called because it was thatched with feathery leaves from the nipa palm, was a single-room structure built on bamboo stilts several feet above the ground. The raised floor had several advantages. It nullified insect and land crab infestation while providing a marvelous natural circulation system through a floor made of split bamboo. This meant a comfortable sleep, even on humid nights. Also, it was a means of corralling livestock. The villagers tossed food scraps and crumbs through the split bamboo flooring feeding their pigs and chickens below. Fires were built in a sandbox in one corner, but there was no chimney, so the smoke escaped out the windows or through floor cracks.
A disadvantage of the nipa system was the ripe aroma. Human and animal feces underneath offended Western propriety, the Japanese sharing this outlook. This was why, according to Don Aguil
ar, the utility shed had been converted to a latrine.
There were nine nipa huts in San José. Eight were small, perhaps twelve by twelve. The one closest to Ingram was much larger, maybe twenty by thirty. It was a community building with a large porch on three sides; a doorway on the fourth wall gave way to a small room. The Japanese had converted it to their headquarters, and the focal point of Ingram's interest was the fifty-foot radio antenna that protruded through the roof.
"Sssst!" Sunderland waved frantically and they crouched further into shadows.
A Japanese corporal stepped from the headquarters building and sauntered by, smoking a cigarette.
"Taking a leak I'll bet," whispered Sunderland.
Farwell squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something.
"Bucket Mouth, damnit!" said Sunderland.
"Come on, Farwell," said Ingram.
"Skipper," said Farwell. "I haven't pounded a key for years."
"You're all we got, Farwell. You have to," hissed Ingram. "Now, come on. Say it again."
"Why can't I just write it down?" said Farwell.
Ingram said, "We can't afford to be captured with something that sensitive. It would be our death warrant. And a lot of others, I think, like Aguilar and his people.
"No," Ingram shook his head. "You'll have to go by memory."
Farwell's eyes darted. "I don't read Japanese."
Sunderland spit, "Bucket Mouth! You little bastard. I'll give you two choices. You deal with that damn radio, or you deal with me."
"Easy, Sunderland," whispered Ingram. "Okay, Farwell. One more time."
Farwell ran a finger around his collar. His eyes darted around the camp and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Finally, he rubbed his temples and managed, "uh, power on and set to five hundred kilocycles." He swallowed several times.
"Go on."
"Transmit, uh...'To: Any U.S. Intelligence Unit this Net. From: Ingram, Alton C., Lt. USN 638217.' Uh, 'Item one: Escaped Corregidor night of 6 May, 1942. Item two: Now at large.'"
"Right," said Ingram.
Farwell looked up through the trees. "'Item two--'"
Sunderland hissed, "'Item three,' jerk!"
Farwell closed his eyes and bit his lip. "'Item three: Epperson, Dwight G., Lt. USN murdered by Radtke, Walter, CT2, night of 29 April.'" Farwell looked at Ingram. "This is no shit?"
"Bucket Mouth!" hissed Sunderland.
Ingram nodded.
Farwell gulped, looking as if he were in a trance. "'Item four: All info known by Epperson compromised to Radtke, who took Minox photos.'"
"Yes," said Ingram. That was the important part. But he didn't want the message to say exactly what Radtke knew since the transmission most likely would be intercepted by the Japanese.
Farwell seemed a little more confident. "'Item five: Strongly believe Radtke a spy. Item six: Radtke evacuated U.S.S. Wolffish 3 May 1942. Item seven: Advise arrest of Radtke before Wolffish returns port. Item eight: Advise interrogation by qualified authorities.'" Farwell looked at Ingram. "BT?"
"BT," said Ingram. BT signified the end of a Navy message. "Good job, Farwell. I'm sure you'll do--"
"Shhht," from Sunderland.
The Japanese corporal wandered past on his return trip, zipping up his fly. He mounted the steps and went inside the headquarters building.
"Mr. Ingram," whispered Farwell.
Ingram looked at the quartermaster.
"Your name really Alton C.? I thought they called you Todd?"
"Crimenitley," moaned Sunderland, slapping a hand over his eyes.
Sweat beaded on Farwell's forehead and upper lip, and he fidgeted. Skilled at sending flashing light and semaphore signals, Farwell hadn't been close to a telegraph key since his signalman's course in San Diego, nine years before. His wife and seven-year-old daughter lived in Vallejo, California, and he was scared to death. There was no recourse because Ingram had ordered him to do this: to send this message since he was the best qualified among them. In a phrase, Farwell, Luther A., quartermaster second class, U.S. Navy Bluejacket and ordinary American citizen was scared out of his skin.
Ingram whispered, "My initials. ACI. They called me 'Ace' at the Academy. Now it's just Todd."
Farwell swallowed rapidly. "Uh, huh."
Ingram said, "Alton was my grandfather's name, Farwell. Isaac Alton, on my mother's side. He came west on the Oregon Trail. They--"
"Here we go," whispered Sunderland.
Emilio Aguilar and Augustine Vega walked by. Dutifully trotting behind Aguilar was his sow, Delores, connected by a rope. It was the large, spotted pig Ingram had seen earlier in the day. The two Filipinos walked around the headquarters building into the main compound where the flagpole was situated, an area illuminated by lights mounted on the surrounding huts. Aguilar cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, "Haaalooo."
Three Japanese soldiers, accompanied by a lieutenant popped into the compound and walked up to Aguilar. They clucked and grinned at Delores who, sensing their intentions, took refuge behind Aguilar's legs.
With great swooping motions, Aguilar and Vega took off their hats and bowed while the Japanese corporal walked out of the hut and leaned on the porch rail to watch and smoke his cigarette.
"That's everybody," rasped Ingram.
"I ain't gonna believe this 'til I see it," whispered Farwell.
It was obvious the Filipinos didn't speak Japanese and the soldiers didn't speak Tagalog. Soon, their discussion became a pigeon Tagalog-Japanese that sounded like forty parrots just set afire. Casually, Aguilar pulled his rope tight, Delores grunted and their harangue rose a notch in intensity with one of the soldiers, a sergeant, occasionally running a hand over the butt of a pistol holstered at his waist.
Sunderland whispered, "Watch the sergeant. He's a hothead. When he's had enough, the sonofabitch is gonna draw that thing. End of discussion."
Farwell said, "This ain't gonna work." He started crawling away on all fours. Ingram and Sunderland caught him by the armpits and pulled him back between them.
As predicted, Aguilar lost control of his sales pitch. They all shouted at one another and the Japanese corporal stepped off the porch and walked over.
Suddenly, the sergeant whipped out his pistol, an eight millimeter Nambu, and pointed it at Aguilar. Aguilar's hands shot into the air and the rope, which was at short stay, jerked Delores's neck. The pig squealed horribly and ran around Aguilar and Vega, winding the rope around their legs. Aguilar shouted something, dropped the rope, and two-stepped out of the bight. Like Aguilar, Vega deftly cleared the rope, and Delores was off. Grunting and squealing, she dashed under a nipa hut, with all five in pursuit.
At the hut, the sergeant shouted, waved his Nambu, and kicked Vega in the rump. Vega dove beneath the hut, while the lieutenant circled around the other side. Delores blasted out from under, dashing between the incredulous lieutenant's legs.
Ingram slapped Farwell's back. "Go!"
With Sunderland standing guard, they burst through the shrubs and up the steps. Inside, the floor and walls were finished with rough lumber. There were two desks, file cabinets and book shelves. A thick drape covered a storeroom doorway on the opposite wall. The radio, a five-foot-high freestanding unit, was mounted against the back wall. Farwell ran for it while Ingram peeked out the window to keep an eye on the pig chase.
"Power on?" asked Ingram.
Farwell fiddled with knobs, "Everything is in Japanese but it looks like its warmed up and in standby. Yeah. You say five hundred KC?"
"Right," said Ingram. Five hundred kilocycles was the international distress frequency. He hoped an Allied receiver would be tuned to it.
"Got it," said Farwell. He flipped a guard switch. "This is a good set." He picked up earphones and put them on.
Desperately squealing, Delores ran under the headquarters hut. Ingram and Farwell dove for the floor hearing the Japanese outside shriek at Vega and Aguilar. Peeking through a knot hole, Ingram watched Delores zip right underneath. N
ext was Vega's back. And, uncannily, the Filipino stopped and looked up at Ingram and smiled, then shot forward again in hot pursuit.
The posse of six formed up on the other side and chased Delores into the latrine.
"Whew." Farwell stood and fiddled with the radio again.
While Farwell worked at the radio, Ingram hunched by the desk. Rising to his knees, he looked at the top. There was an ebony blotter with ornate pen set next to it. A calendar, scrolled with beautiful flowers, lay open on the blotter. Even though it was in Japanese, the month must have been May, because Xs were meticulously drawn through the Arabic numbers up to the ninth.
Tucked in the blotter's lower right corner was a copy of the Manila Tribune, dated May 8, 1942. Ingram picked it up, seeing a picture of General Wainwright with one of his aides. Both wore rumpled khakis and were seated in a room furnished in wicker. A microphone labeled KZRH was placed before Wainwright, and behind him stood a Japanese with slicked-back hair, wearing rimless glasses and a well-pressed white suit. The main column quoted Wainwright's radio message:
'By virtue of the authority vested in me by the President of the United States, I, as Commanding General of the United States forces in the Philippines, hereby resume direct command of Major General Sharp, commander of Visayan and Mindanao forces, and all troops under his command. I will now give a direct order to General Sharp. I repeat, please notify him. The subject is surrender. To Major General William J. Sharp, Jr. This is the message. To put a stop to further useless sacrifice of life on the fortified islands, yesterday I tendered to Lieutenant General Homma, Commander in the Philippines, the surrender of the four harbor defense posts in Manila Bay. General Homma declined to accept unless the surrender included places under your command. It became apparent that they would be destroyed by the airplanes and tanks which have overwhelmed Corregidor.
After leaving General Homma with no agreement, I decided to accept, in the name of humanity, his proposal and tendered at midnight to the senior Japanese office on Corregidor the formal surrender of all American and Filipino troops on the Philippine Islands. You will, therefore, be guided accordingly and will, I repeat, will surrender all of your forces to the proper Japanese officer.
THE LAST LIEUTENANT: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 1) Page 33