Working in the heat and humidity, a crew of GIs was able to rig a crossing using the bridge to their front. It wasn’t much — just a couple of closely spaced beams that had been wrestled into place. There would be no hope of getting any vehicles across, but it would support the weight of a few soldiers at a time. One of the beams bounced and swayed as soon as any weight was placed on it, threatening to spill the soldiers into the brown water, but they didn’t have much choice. Later, a team of engineers might be able to return and properly repair the bridge so that the road could reopen and the vehicles, with their precious supplies, could be delivered.
Having to abandon the vehicles and the supplies they carried, Patrol Easy and the rest of the soldiers from the stranded group in the convoy made their way across the mangled remains of the bridge to join the front half of the convoy. Reluctantly, the four-man crew of the M8 abandoned their vehicle, hoping that they would get it back soon enough.
The hardest part of the operation was carrying the wounded across the rickety bridge, each step threatening to send the stretchers and the stretcher-bearers into the swollen river. The task was made even more nerve-racking when a rifle cracked from the opposite bank, reminding them that the Japanese were still present. Fortunately, the enemy’s potshots didn’t cause any harm.
“Let’s move out!” Honcho shouted, once the last of the wounded had been carried across. What was left of the convoy got rolling again.
They were hardly out of sight of the smashed bridges when they began to see black smoke roiling into the sky behind them. Evidently, the Japanese had returned to the ambush site and set the abandoned vehicles on fire. So much for the plan to return and salvage the supply vehicles and the armored car.
Meanwhile, the heat increased as the sun came out again, encouraging flocks of insects that pestered the sweating troops and tortured the wounded. The heat grew until it triggered a sudden thunderstorm, bringing fresh torrents of rain that drenched the men. They slogged on through the mud and downpour.
“Just another day in paradise,” Philly muttered.
The convoy reached the division’s supply base near Valencia without further incident, other than a few potshots from Japanese snipers. Patrol Easy dealt with them, giving as good as they got. The town itself was comprised of neat single-story houses set close to the road, with mountains visible in the distance.
When they finally came to a halt, Deke dropped into the shade offered by a truck, glad to get out of the sun. The truck itself was shot to pieces and covered in scorch marks. Now that the truck had stopped, the steam from under the hood and its leaking fluids indicated that the truck wasn’t likely to move again. Lieutenant Steele had told Deke to stick close because he was going to want him around when he addressed what was left of the convoy, but for now Deke just wanted to get off his feet. Meanwhile, rumors were spreading that a Christmas dinner awaited them, even at this remote base.
Between the warmth and the jungle surroundings, it was strange to think that it was the Christmas season. This was one of the cooler months in the Philippines, but there wasn’t any hope of a white Christmas, considering that it hadn’t snowed on Leyte since maybe the Ice Age, if then. Back home, the folks who could afford it would be roasting a turkey or a ham in the oven. His nose seemed to fill with the delicious smells. The thought of home cooking made Deke’s mouth water. There had been plenty of lean times growing up, but his mother had always managed to make holiday meals special, right down to an apple pie.
As the remembered smells of Deke’s pleasant reverie dissipated, the smells that replaced them were the humid jungle, the fetid mud, and the faint odor of a Jap corpse in a ditch.
A shadow loomed over him. “Don’t think you can keep all that shade for yourself,” Philly declared.
“I’m only renting it,” Deke said.
“That’s good to know,” Philly said, then sat down so close to Deke that he was forced to move over until he was partially in the sun again.
Deke grumbled. “Now who’s keeping the shade all to himself?”
“Quit your griping, hillbilly. Skinny as you’re getting, you could sit under a blade of grass and not get sunburned.”
There was some truth to that for all of them, Deke thought. How long had it been since they had eaten a decent meal? Anyhow, the shade was a welcome relief, although both men tried to ignore the stink of burned rubber and leaking gasoline that clung to the wreckage providing the shade. The division’s hardworking mechanics did what they could to get damaged trucks back into action, but this one wasn’t going anywhere — it had been shot full of holes, its lifeblood of oil and fluids leaking into the soil.
