feasted. He thought about the Boneyard, and the hundreds of starved corpses he had buried. He thought about the hellship and heard the screams of the trapped men as they went under. One moment he enjoyed the food and banter and soothing American English with its variety of accents, and the next moment he sat muted, unable to eat as another nightmare flooded his memory.
The flashbacks, nightmares, and horrors would never go away.
Late in the evening, they were led to the showers and given bars of soap. The water was lukewarm and felt marvelous. At first they wanted to shave, but every other American had a heavy beard, so they passed on the opportunity. They were given underwear and clean socks and mismatched army fatigues, though in the bush there were no established uniforms. The doctor, also an American, examined them and noted the obvious problems. He had plenty of medicines and promised them that after a couple of weeks they would be ready to fight. They were shown to a bamboo hut, their new barracks, and given real cots with blankets. In the morning, they would meet their commander and be given more guns than they could carry.
Alone in the darkness, they whispered of home, which seemed closer than ever.
Chapter 31
The West Luzon Resistance Force was under the firm command of General Bernard Granger, a British hero from World War I. Granger was about sixty, lean and tough and military to the core. He had lived in the Philippines for the past twenty years and at one time owned a large coffee plantation that the Japanese confiscated, killing two of his sons in the process and forcing him to flee to the mountains with his wife and what was left of his family. They lived in a bunker deeper in the jungle, and from there he commanded his force. His men adored him and referred to him as Lord Granger.
He was at his desk under a canopy of camouflaged netting when Pete and Clay were ushered in and introduced. He sent his aides away, though his bodyguards stayed close. He welcomed the Americans in his high-pitched, very proper British cadence and ordered a round of tea. Pete and Clay sat in bamboo chairs and admired him from the first moment. At times his left eye was partially hidden by a crease in his smart safari hat. When he spoke he removed the stem of a corncob pipe, and when he listened he stuck it between his teeth and chewed it as if digesting every word. “I hear you survived the nastiness down on Bataan,” he said in his singsong voice. “Probably worse than we’ve heard.”
They nodded and described it for a few moments. Bataan was brutal, but O’Donnell was worse.
“And the Nips are shipping off boys to the coal mines back home, I hear,” Granger said as he poured tea in porcelain cups.
Pete described the hellship and their rescue at sea.
“We’ll get the bloody bastards eventually,” Granger said. “If they don’t get us first. I hope you realize that your odds of survival have improved, but in the end we’re all dead men.”
“Better to go down fighting,” Clay said.
“That’s the spirit. Our job is to create enough mischief to hamstring the Nips and prove that these islands are worth saving. We fear that the Allies might try to beat them without bothering with us. The high command thinks it can bypass these islands and hit Japan, and it’s entirely possible, you know? But MacArthur promised to return and that’s what keeps us going. Our Filipino boys must have something to fight for. It’s their property to begin with. Milk and sugar?”
Pete and Clay declined. They would have preferred strong coffee, but they were still thankful for the large breakfast. Granger chatted on, then abruptly stopped and looked at Pete. “So what’s the skinny on you?”
Pete went through a short bio. West Point, seven years active in the Twenty-Sixth Cavalry, then sort of a forced retirement for personal reasons. Had to save the family farm. Wife and two kids back in Mississippi. Rank of first lieutenant.
Granger’s eyes danced and never blinked as he caught and analyzed every word. “So you can ride a horse?”
“With or without a saddle,” Pete said.
“I’ve heard of the Twenty-Sixth. Expert marksman, I take it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need snipers. Never enough snipers.”
“Give me a rifle.”
“You were at Fort Stotsenburg?”
“Yes, but only briefly before December.”
“Bloody Nips are using the base there for their Zeros and dive-bombers. Heavier