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“Just fine, Father,” Lieutenant Steele said, looking amused. “The maid even left a mint on the pillow.”

The priest shook out his damp cassock, and a centipede the size of a pinkie finger fell out and crawled away. “Look at that little fellow,” he said. “I have to say, I would have preferred a mint.”

The guerrillas ate a quick breakfast, sharing a loaf of home-baked bread that was only somewhat damp from the rain. Father Francisco said a brief prayer over it first. Religion seemed to thrive in these bitter conditions.

Then the group moved out, Danilo and Deke once more in the lead. In the wake of the storm, the air among the trees felt more oppressive than ever. They moved through a humid funk.

It was not easy going. The storm made it necessary to constantly stop and clear fallen trees and brush blocking the jungle trail. The guerrillas’ bolo knives made quick work of the obstacles, while Deke used his bowie knife to hack at the coils of vines that had fallen across the trail.

Mosquitoes pestered the men, clouds of them so thick that they buzzed constantly in their ears. Spiders hadn’t wasted any time weaving new webs across the path, taking advantage of the swarms of insects that had hatched in the wet conditions left by the storm. Out at the front of the column, Deke broke through the webs and tangled with a few spiders that would have given a tarantula a run for its money.

Along with the humidity, the tension of this mission seemed to have grown more palpable. A cloud passed over the morning sun, plunging the path into gloom once again. The day suddenly felt less promising.

“According to the map, we still have a ways to go,” Lieutenant Steele said. “The storm cost us a lot of time, and the mess it left isn’t helping any.”

“At least there haven’t been any Japanese through here,” muttered Philly, who was following a few feet behind Deke, more than happy to let him clear the way.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Deke responded. “The closer that we get to that POW camp, there’s bound to be some Japanese around.”

Deke had a sixth sense about these things, and his instincts had never let him down before. He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t still be here if he hadn’t learned to trust those instincts. It was like some sort of internal weather vane that you ignored to your peril.

He wasn’t the only one attuned to the surroundings. Up ahead he saw that Danilo had also adjusted his pace and grown more cautious. Instead of bulling through the debris across the path, Danilo was going under it or around it, moving quietly. Deke followed his lead and did the same.

He could sense that they were being watched, although it seemed impossible that anyone else could be out here in this dense forest or see any distance through it. He raised his rifle and peered through the scope, scanning the trees ahead for any sign of movement.

Except for a few birds flitting through the trees, there was nothing.

Slowly, Deke lowered his rifle. Something about this section of forest they were moving through just didn’t feel right.

As they rounded a bend, they came across a small clearing. In the center of the clearing were several small huts made from tree saplings and thatch. Deke counted at least a half-dozen huts — not enough to count as a village, perhaps not even big enough to be a hamlet, but an outpost of some kind.

A thin wisp of smoke curled up from one of the huts, as if from a small cooking fire. Clearly this village had been occupied recently, but no one appeared to greet them. The place was empty as a ghost town.

Deke had a bad feeling about this.

The column came to a halt. Both the lieutenant and the priest crept forward to confer with Deke and Danilo.

Deacon scanned the area for any signs of movement, rifle at the ready.

“This can’t be the compound,” Steele whispered, nodding at the huts while he kept both hands wrapped around his shotgun. “There’s sure as hell no fence around it, for starters. This is something else altogether.”

“No, we are not nearly close enough to where the POWs are being held,” Father Francisco agreed. “My men who have seen it say that the compound is much larger and well defended.”

“Then what is this place?” Philly wondered. “I don’t see any Japanese.”

“Philly, just who the hell else would be out here?” Deke asked.

“I don’t like it,” Philly said, pointing at the chimney smoke rising from the hut. If somebody wasn’t still in there, then they were nearby. “It’s spooky.”

“Yoshio, give them a howdy,” Steele said. “Let’s just see if anybody is around.”

Yoshio crept forward cautiously and shouted a greeting in Japanese.

“Ohayou!”

The only response was silence.

They would soon have their answer as to who occupied the huts.

Steele issued his orders. “Deke, you and Philly work your way around the back. I’ll cover the front with Father Francisco and his men. Keep your eyes open, everybody. Let’s figure out just what the hell is going on here.”