Amid the chaos, Steele heard a familiar voice calling his name. It was Danilo, their fearless Filipino guide. He was on his knees, both hands gripping his midsection as if trying to hold something in. Blood so thick and dark that it was more like chocolate pudding oozed from between his fingers. The lieutenant started to reach for the man’s hands to pull them away so that he could apply a bandage, but then he hesitated, afraid of what he might find. The lieutenant was far from squeamish, having seen just about everything you could see in terms of how a human being could be killed in this war, but even he had to admit that it was an ugly wound.
“Dammit, Danilo. Do not die on me. That’s an order.”
The tough guerrilla just shook his head. As usual, it was unclear just how much English he understood. But the severity of his wound was clear enough. However, there was no fear in his eyes, just resignation.
Juana was suddenly beside them. She propped her Arisaka rifle, its barrel smoking hot from the multiple rounds she had put through it, against a block of broken concrete and reached for her medical kit. “Go on,” she said. “I will stay with him. There is nothing more you can do.”
Knowing that she was right, but still reluctant to leave their loyal guide, he gave Danilo’s shoulder a squeeze. A final look passed between them; then Danilo nodded and looked away, as if giving the lieutenant permission to go.
There weren’t any medics to call because Patrol Easy was on its own. It wouldn’t have mattered. Danilo’s ragged breathing indicated that he was now struggling to stay alive.
Steele filled with grief and anger. Danilo had been through a lot with Patrol Easy — they might not have survived without him. The lieutenant promised himself that he would make sure that whatever happened to Danilo wouldn’t be in vain.
If any of them survived. Bullets still whined overhead, bouncing off the rocks and debris around him. It was a wonder that the rest of them hadn’t already ended up like Danilo.
The lieutenant got to his feet.
He looked around, seeing that what was left of his patrol had lost momentum. There was Rodeo, on his belly, firing shot after shot at the Japanese. Yoshio was doing the same, hurling insults in Japanese at the enemy between squeezing off rounds. Captain Oatmire was firing from behind a chunk of stone. The guerrillas had seemingly melted into the debris, taking cover wherever they could.
No, they couldn’t stop. If they halted their advance now, the Japanese might be able to regroup. He glanced at his watch. To make matters worse, the bombardment was set to recommence soon. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his patrol out here in the open, exposed, once the Long Toms finally resumed their deadly work.
“Let’s go!” Lieutenant Steele shouted, leading his patrol forward. Soon they were a hundred feet from the front door, then fifty, then climbing the wide stone steps leading toward the entrance.
A Japanese sprang from the shadows near the door of the legislative building, running at the lieutenant with a fixed bayonet. Steele fired the shotgun, and that was the end of that particular problem.
Moments later they were inside the building itself. Any able-bodied soldiers seemed to have fled out the back like the rats the Americans thought they were. The lobby had been turned into a makeshift hospital, with Japanese dead lined up on one side and the still-living on the other.
“Japs!” Rodeo shouted, swinging his rifle at them.
“Don’t worry about them. They aren’t going to bother anybody,” Honcho said, giving him a shove toward the door.
Unarmed and helpless, the wounded watched them with furtive eyes, but Honcho and the others kept going, not even Yoshio giving them a second glance. They moved deeper into the building’s interior. The only thing he cared about was getting the prisoners out before the US Army rained the wrath of God down on everyone’s heads in the form of heavy artillery.
He heard a deep, booming voice ahead. “Don’t shoot!”
Seconds later, a tall figure appeared, leading the rest of the prisoners. A couple of the prisoners were wounded and had to be helped by the others.
“Is this everybody?” Steele asked.
“All present and accounted for,” the tall prisoner said. “All twelve of us, in various states of repair.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
They turned and headed out of the building, passing the silent wounded again.
“What about those wounded Japanese?” Rodeo asked anxiously.
“To hell with ’em,” Honcho replied, rushing past the men lying on blankets on the marble floor. “They’ll all be dead in about ten minutes, and so will we if we don’t get out of here.”
Juana was waiting for them on the steps. The lieutenant looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head.
