Immediately I knew what they’d done. They’d paddled down the river and gone after that communications ship anchored in the harbor. From the controlled rate of fire, even at this distance, I could tell Rooster was doing the shooting. Disciplined bursts, never rapid-continuous fire, he always told me. The barrel jumped when it was fired, so you wanted to let it settle back on target between bursts of three to four rounds. After not much more than a minute, the racket ceased. If Rooster had succeeded in wrecking the Japs’ communications ship, Tachibana and his remaining garrison were now isolated in beautiful downtown Orotai.
Moving the POWs to safety in the surrounding forests took the rest of the night. Villagers from the smaller settlements had been called into service to bring food and clean water. Others had been tasked to build small encampments up on the edge of the lowland forests where they gave onto the volcanic fields. There wasn’t all that much food to go around, but the POWs were used to surviving on a cup of watery gruel per day. Now they were getting clean water, fresh fruit, and the ubiquitous rice balls flavored with protein-rich fish sauce. They were also getting the first baths they’d seen since arriving in Talawan. Heretofore they’d had to stand or lie out in the tropical downpours; now there was the miracle of soap. These were simple things, but a vast improvement on their prior conditions. Above all they now had hope of survival. For all our success, however, I was still mindful of Tachibana and his hostages once he discovered what we’d done.
A hue and cry awakened me just after dawn as bearers brought two men in on litters. I first thought we’d missed a couple of POWs, but then I realized it was Rooster and Tomaldo they were bringing in. I hurried over to see how bad it was. Tomaldo had been shot twice, once in the hand and a second wound on the side of his neck. He was conscious and anxious to tell me what happened. Rooster had a bullet wound to his chest. The bandages someone had put on were blood-soaked to the point of saturation and his face was a frightening gray color. He was in and out of consciousness. I leaned in close to see if I could hear the sounds of a sucking chest wound, but his breathing appeared to be normal if very shallow. The entry hole indicated that the bullet may just have clipped the top of his right lung. I couldn’t find an exit wound, and that spelled trouble. The healing women immediately surrounded him, including Tini who cried out when she saw all the blood. I asked Tomaldo what had happened.
They’d been able to surprise the floating comms station under cover of a rain squall. Rooster had wanted to get in as close as possible and then shoot half the ammunition into the single, center deckhouse and then use the rest to punch a hundred holes in the ship’s side right at the waterline. The remains of the ship’s crew climbed out of the smoking wreckage of the deckhouse while Rooster was busy opening her hull to the sea and fought back. They were using rifles and Tomaldo had been hit twice almost immediately. Rooster had then lifted the barrels of the fifty and mowed down the Japs, firing at them on the deck until he’d run out of ammo. One lone survivor then stepped out of the trawler’s pilothouse and shot Rooster in the chest before losing his balance as the ancient ship lurched over onto her starboard side, preparing to capsize. A moment later she rolled completely upside down while the Filipino paddlers backed the banca boat away from the scene as fast as they could. They stopped their frantic paddling once the trawler disappeared into the darkness to tend to Tomaldo and Rooster and to dump the fifties over the side.
Having done what they could they then paddled back into the river, keeping as close to the far bank as they could. The Jap garrison in Orotai was by then fully alerted. There were searchlights everywhere amid the sound of police whistles and even a bugle carrying across the dark water. They knew that their communications ship had been attacked but that was about all they knew.
Magron appeared while Tomaldo was telling me all this and began to talk to Tomaldo in Tagalog. Magron was clearly excited, so much so that Tomaldo couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I interrupted and asked Tomaldo what was going on.
“He wants to attack the garrison in Orotai immediately,” Tomaldo said, sitting down now as the pain began to sink in. “Before Tachibana kills all the hostages. There is word that Jap soldiers were seen in the POW camp at daybreak, so Tachibana now knows they’ve escaped.”
I knew what that meant: there would be no more doubts about a general uprising of the Filipinos on Talawan. The question was: What could he do about it? Killing the hostages might make him feel better, but it wouldn’t change his tactical situation, especially now that his radio links had been severed. The problem was that a dawn attack on an alerted garrison would produce more casualties on our side than theirs, and would certainly seal the fate of the hostages.
“Tell him I think he should spend the day moving his people into position around Orotai. He has some machine guns from the towers and some rifles now, plus his fire archers, but it will take hours to get his men assembled and into position. Tachibana will put patrols out during the daylight hours, so you will need patrols of your own. Take the Negritos with you on patrol; they can probably mount an ambush better than you and your people can.”
Tomaldo was translating all this as I spoke. I could see Magron was frustrated. He was a man of action, not delay. Tomaldo kept going after he’d translated what I’d said. He used a respectful voice while arguing for my plan over some sudden charge of our very light brigade against the compound.
“Ask him if his men can operate the POW camp machine guns,” I interjected. Magron frowned when he heard the question and then shook his head.
“I can show them,” I said. “Even two or three machine guns would be very useful if they make one of their banzai charges. A man with a bow cannot shoot fast enough to kill a twelve-man squad that does not fear death.”
Magron grunted. I realized he was tired, if not exhausted. I’d been able to snatch a couple hours of sleep after the POW camp raid. He had not. He nodded his head once, emphatically.
“As you say,” Tomaldo announced. I told him that Magron should get some food and then a few hours of sleep. He would need to be wide awake tonight.
Magron didn’t take well to that suggestion, declaring he was not tired and just because he was old, he was not weak. He then stomped off towards the cook fire for some food. I told Tomaldo to ask the women to attend to him and to get him to sleep for a little while.
I then went to check on Rooster. The women had him on a cot in one of the newly rebuilt huts. Tomaldo followed me over there. The women told him that the American had lost a lot of blood but that the bullet appeared to have gone right through him. They had given him some water and a few sips of their pain-killing witches’ brew. Tini sat on the ground at his head, wiping his brow and trying to be brave.
I noticed that Tomaldo was starting to look a little gray around the edges. When I pointed this out to one of the women he, too, was immediately taken under care. I came out from the shelter to see Magron sitting against one of the broken tree stumps, sound asleep. There was a bowl next to him, and one of the really old women was sitting next to him, keeping the bugs away with a palm-frond fan.
Good, I thought. Then finally I went to check on Father Abriol. He was still laid up in the tree cavity and asleep or, more likely, doped. His color had returned and when I put my nose down to the bandaged stump there was no smell of decomposition. Maybe, I thought. Just maybe.
All the principal fighters were now hors de combat. I went to find some water and then I started asking via hand gestures where those captured Jap machine guns were.