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There were just a handful of them on this patrol: Lieutenant Steele, Deke, Philly, Yoshio, and Rodeo. Philly was already grumbling about having to walk who knew how many hours before they reached that POW camp.

Their Filipino guerrilla guide, Danilo, was on point. There hadn’t been any discussion about him joining this dangerous mission. He had simply attached himself to their patrol, ready to go — and silent as always.

Deke felt reassured by his presence. The deeply tanned Filipino was wise in the ways of the jungle — plus, he was a tough nut to crack. Danilo appeared to have a select knowledge of English, understanding only as much as he wanted to. Nonetheless, they would welcome even his limited communication skills once they linked up with the Filipino guerrillas somewhere up ahead.

At least that was the plan. Deke knew well enough that trying to locate another friendly force in the hills and jungles would be a bit like trying to hit a tin can from one hundred yards while wearing a blindfold and swatting at bees. It was only the enemy that nobody ever had trouble running into.

Glancing up ahead at their guide, Deke realized that he still couldn’t determine just how old Danilo was. He was certainly older than the GIs or possibly even Lieutenant Steele, which put his age somewhere between forty and Methuselah territory. Yet the man’s wiry arms and legs seemed tireless.

Egan and Thor were sitting this one out. Instead, they would be carrying out guard duties at the beachhead. Thor’s powerful nose would be needed to sniff out any Japanese infiltrators bent on sabotage during the night.

It was true that a mission such as this, which involved traveling fast and light through rough terrain, was no place for the war dog. Still, Thor had become their mascot of sorts. Egan did not encourage them to show too much affection toward the dog, fearful that Thor might lose his aggressive edge, but the war dog wasn’t averse to allowing Deke to scratch his ears from time to time.

Deke had grown up with dogs and felt a soft spot toward Thor — he also felt like a war zone was no place for a dog. It was bad enough for the two-legged soldiers.

Steele had ordered them to travel as light as possible, carrying nothing more than a few rations, canteens, their weapons, and plenty of ammo. Nobody bothered with blankets in the tropical heat. They didn’t bother with ponchos, either — hell, they were already soaked through with sweat, so what would a little rain matter? Spare clothes were a luxury they couldn’t afford. The only real extra they were bringing along were two sets of wire cutters to deal with any fence or barbed wire that the Japanese were using to contain their prisoners.

Rodeo lugged along a handheld radio to keep in touch with HQ, although it was doubtful that the device would have much range once they got back into the hills. Rodeo also carried their scant medical supplies, which included a few bandages, some morphine, and aspirin. Any wounds or injuries that required more serious treatment likely meant that you were a dead man, anyhow.

Deke was grateful that he had finally shaken his jungle fever, an illness that had plagued him for most of the fight to seize Ormoc. The fever had left him feeling weak and hollowed out, but he had mostly regained his strength in the last couple of days. He just hoped and prayed that the fever didn’t return. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden to anyone on this mission. They trudged along, weapons at the ready, eyes scanning the jungle terrain for any sign of danger. There was no time to set up camp, no time to rest. They had to keep moving if they wanted to reach the POW camp before it was too late.

They soon reached the vicinity of Camp Downes, which had been the scene of a sharp fight only recently. The old outpost had been turned into a supply base, with material being moved up from the beachhead. They also passed the concrete bunkers that had given them so much trouble when passing through initially on their road to Ormoc.

The Japanese within those bunkers had proved to be a tough nut to crack. It had only been the arrival of the flame-thrower tanks known as Satans that had enabled them to burn out the enemy. In some cases, the tanks had fired point-blank into the bunkers.

Deke recalled how a few soldiers had insisted on collecting souvenirs in the midst of that chaos. It hadn’t ended well for them. An officer’s sword or pistol was hardly worth getting shot over.

As they approached the bunkers, they could see the blasted and blackened ruins. The area was too quiet, too still. The air was thick with an overwhelming stench of death and decay. The team approached with caution, weapons at the ready, unnerved by the quiet, and soon found themselves in the middle of what was essentially a graveyard. Any American dead had been treated with respect and buried, but the enemy dead had been left out in the open.