They did not get far. Father Francisco and his guerrillas were waiting for them. Several Japanese fell as the Filipinos opened fire.

Sergeant Matsueda did not leap to the ground like the others, but hurled a hand grenade in the direction that the muzzle flashes were coming from. He closed his eyes against the blinding flash, then smiled in satisfaction at the dying screams of more than one of the raiders. Before they could recover, he threw another grenade.

“On your feet, let’s go!” he screamed at the men who had dived to the ground. He paused long enough to pull several of them upright, then plunged down the trail. More rifles cracked, but this time the Japanese were ready, and fired back. The forest gloom was soon punctuated by the bright rifle flashes.

Matsueda was surprised to find Colonel Yamagata at his side. The officer had appeared out of nowhere, apparently eager to join the pursuit. The commandant appeared oblivious to the rifle fire being exchanged, ignoring the crackle and zing of bullets in the darkness.

Yamagata drew his bow and fired an arrow at the silhouette of one of the Filipino guerrillas. Pierced by Yamagata’s arrow, the guerrilla fell to his knees. A Japanese soldier ran up and finished the man, using his bayonet. Yamagata nodded with satisfaction.

Still, the Japanese were unable to push past the organized guerrilla defense that blocked the jungle trail. The two sides fought a hot and determined skirmish, the stabbing flames of muzzle flashes filling the night.

Yamagata’s bow released again, the twang of the bowstring lost in the sound of gunfire. Another one of the guerrilla’s muzzle flashes winked out and went dark.

Still, Yamagata saw that he was losing too many men. The Japanese had walked right into an ambush set by the guerrillas. Although they outnumbered the enemy, their piecemeal attack was being cut to bits. In the dark, it was impossible to see whom they faced.

Yamagata issued orders to end the attack. “We will fall back to the compound,” he said. “Most of the prisoners are too weak to get far. We will organize ourselves and pursue them at first light.”

“I cannot believe they have all escaped,” Matsueda said. “It must have something to do with that new prisoner. It was all part of some plan, and we fell for it.”

“Do not trouble yourself, Sergeant. We will catch them tomorrow and put an end to these POWs and raiders. Perhaps it is for the best. If we no longer have prisoners to guard, then we can join those fighting to stop the American advance. We can be soldiers for a change!”

As the Japanese headed back to the prison compound, they were not pursued by the guerrillas, who must have been confident that they had stopped the Japanese. An uneasy quiet returned to the tropical night.

It seemed that the POWs and their liberators had gotten away, at least for now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Patrol Easy and their guerrilla allies knew that there was no time to rest. They realized that the Japanese would not be giving up so easily. The enemy would surely regroup and give chase. The attack by the guerrillas had taken them by surprise and stopped the pursuit for now, but for how long?

Lieutenant Steele was well aware that the reprieve was only temporary.

Soon the entire garrison would be giving chase. The enemy would be well rested, better armed, and more numerous in terms of able-bodied fighting men. Steele and his patrol had been focused on liberating the prisoners, but not on fighting a running battle against the enemy. This was all turning out to be far more than they had bargained for.

Then again, what else was new?

“Keep moving, keep moving,” the lieutenant urged, going down the slow-moving column. “Speed it up, boys. I’ve seen my grandma move faster.”

Their snail’s pace was frustrating. He resisted the urge to give the slower soldiers a shove to move them along. After all, some of them were so weak that they were barely able to keep upright. His heart went out to them, but at the same time, he really needed them to move faster.

The rear-guard action by Father Francisco and his guerrillas had indeed bought them some time, but they were losing precious minutes in the way that money slipped through the fingers of a drunken sailor.

Looking at the condition of the former POWs, it was easy to see why they weren’t moving along the jungle trail more rapidly. Most were emaciated to the point where they appeared hollow eyed, almost skeletal. They literally did not have enough meat on their bones to give them the strength to keep walking. These had all been good men, good soldiers.

To see his fellow Americans in this condition simply made Steele feel fresh anger toward the Japanese. How could they have treated the POWs so poorly? He took it as a sign of the overall disdain that the Japanese had for Americans.