Chapter 20 — The Rescue
Fertig's Camp
Wednesday
Late Afternoon
The rain stopped before sunset. No one called it good weather. The ground was still wet, the drainage ditch would be slow, and clouds remained low enough to swallow sound unevenly. Fertig took what the night gave him and did not wait for better. The carrier teams left first. Tomas led them in small groups by different routes toward the collection point. None carried rifles. Bamboo poles were wrapped in cloth to keep them from knocking together. Litters were rolled instead of assembled.
Nanay left with the second group. Ramon had gone ahead with the small-gate team. Haggerty and Manuel would follow to the rear collection point. Dimaporo's men had already disappeared toward the old mill and farm roads. Molina remained at camp. She had not asked again. At the last turn before the trail dropped toward the warehouses, Tomas stopped the carriers and checked spacing.
“No bunching.”
One man whispered, “We know.”
Tomas looked at him. The man moved ten paces farther back. Nanay checked the cloth strips tied around each carrier's wrist. One knot marked first group. Two knots second. Three knots litter team. No names. They moved.
The Collection Point
After Dark
The collection point was a shallow depression behind a stand of trees north of the farm road. From there Nanay could not see the compound. That was deliberate. Tomas arranged the carriers beneath cover and kept them sitting. Manuel arrived with Haggerty and the folded litters.
“Fourteen carriers,” Haggerty whispered.
“Only fourteen?”
“Two did not come.”
Manuel began assigning litters. Two carriers to each first lift. Relief men behind. The extra cloth was divided. Haggerty checked his watch.
“Ten minutes.”
Nanay listened. Nothing. Then a bird call from the north. Not natural. Salim's signal. Old mill road covered. A second call came faintly from the farm track. Harun in position. Nanay looked toward the dark beyond the trees. Men now held positions across roads and fields, most of them unable to see any other part of the operation. Haggerty touched her arm.
“Stay here.”
“I know.”
He moved toward the rear medical point. Nanay remained with Tomas and the carriers.
One Whistle
Night
The first whistle came sharp and short. Gate open. The carriers stood. Nanay raised one hand.
“Wait.”
They waited. Gunfire followed almost immediately. Three shots. Then several together. The sound came from the compound. One carrier crossed himself. Another crouched lower. Nanay counted under her breath. Not seconds exactly. Enough time for men inside to move. More shots. Then shouting. A Japanese voice carried faintly across the warehouses. The small gate had opened. Nanay heard running before she saw anyone. Two figures came through the trees. Prisoners. One stumbled. The other held him upright. Behind them came a guerrilla Nanay did not recognize.
“This way.”
Nanay pointed.
“Collection point. Keep moving.”
The men passed. Then three more. Then seven. The first group had no litters among them. Walking prisoners. Tomas started the carriers toward the trail.
“Not yet,” Nanay said.
“They need help.”
“The first ones walk.”
Another group appeared. One man barefoot. One shirtless. One old enough that Nanay first thought he might be sixty. They moved badly but under their own strength. Nanay shifted them toward Haggerty.
“Keep left. Do not stop.”
A prisoner grabbed her wrist.
“Others.”
“I know.”
He let go. The flow grew. Ten. Twenty. More. Not in formation. Men emerged in uneven clusters, some guided, some simply following the backs ahead. One had blood across his forehead. Another carried a man over one shoulder. Nanay sent the first litter team forward.
“Now.”
They ran toward the fence route. Gunfire intensified. Then two whistles. Japanese reinforcement. Nanay's stomach tightened. From the south came a distant burst of rifle fire. Salim's road. Fertig's men had company. Tomas looked at her.
“More carriers?”
“Send second group.”
He did.
The Prisoners
The first litter returned with a man unconscious beneath a blanket. Manuel met them before they reached the depression.
“Set him here.”
The carriers turned immediately. No rest. A second litter came back. Then a third. The walking prisoners kept arriving. Nanay stopped counting after forty because counting no longer helped. She began sorting. Walkers left. Wounded center. Litters right. Men who could still help carried water or supported someone weaker. One prisoner spoke English.
“Officer?”
“What?”
“Where is the American officer?”
“Fertig is at the gate.”
“No. Prisoner. Captain.”
Nanay shook her head.
“I do not know.”
The man moved on. Another prisoner came through with a piece of rope still tied around one wrist. He was younger than Nanay expected.
“Laundry,” he said when he saw her.
She understood.
“You sent the cloth?”
He nodded.
“Sato?”
The man's face changed.
“Inside.”
Nanay pointed toward the trail.
“Go.” He did not.
“He is killing them.”
Nanay looked toward the compound. Gunfire. Shouting. Smoke now rising above one warehouse roof.
“Go.”
The prisoner stared at her. Then ran toward the collection point.
Three Whistles
Night
The three whistles came so close together Nanay first thought they were one broken sound. Withdraw. Everyone near the collection point stopped moving for half a second. Then movement became faster. Haggerty appeared from the darkness.
“Out.”
“How many still inside?”
Ramon shook his head. “I don't know. Fertig's coming.”
Nanay looked toward the fence route. Another cluster of prisoners appeared. Six men. One carried a wounded guerrilla. Behind them came Ramon. Blood on his sleeve. Nanay moved toward him.
“Yours?”
“No.”
He shoved the wounded guerrilla toward Manuel.
“Sato's men came from the second site. Fertig is pulling out.”
“How many prisoners left?”
“Some.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
Nanay looked past him. Another prisoner emerged. Then no one. Gunfire shifted closer. Ramon grabbed her arm.
“We leave.”
Nanay pulled free.
“One minute.”
“No.”
“One minute.”
He swore under his breath. They waited. A figure appeared. Then two. Then Fertig. He came with three men and one prisoner between them. The prisoner could barely walk.
Fertig shouted, “Move!”
Nanay moved.
[Selected excerpt continues later in the chapter.]
The River Crossing
Near Midnight
The river was higher than Nanay expected. Rain upstream. The rope crossing had been set earlier, but the current reached above the waist of shorter men. Prisoners stopped at the bank. Too many. The line bunched. Fertig swore. Nanay climbed onto a rock.
“Do not wait for the rope if you can walk.”
Some men looked at her. Others did not understand. She switched to Visayan.
“Strong men first. Two together. Hold each other.”
Movement began. Slowly. The first pair crossed. Then another. Litters could not use the rope easily. Manuel chose the worst cases. Three men carried each litter high. One carrier slipped. The prisoner nearly went into the water. Ramon caught the pole. The man screamed. Still alive. They kept moving. Japanese shots reached the trees behind them. Not aimed. Too far. Yet. Salim's men fired back. Fertig crossed last among the main group. Nanay stayed on the near bank with Haggerty until the final litter entered the water.
Haggerty shouted over the current.
“Go.”
Nanay looked back. Dark trees. Gunfire. No prisoners coming. No Fertig men. Only Salim's rear group. She crossed.
The Far Bank
After Midnight
The last Moro fighters crossed five minutes later. Harun came first. Salim last. One man between them was wounded in the thigh. Nanay counted faces.
“Two missing.”
Salim sat the wounded man down.
“Yes.”
“Dead?”
Salim looked toward the river. “I don't know.” Salim looked at her. He did not apologize. Neither did she. Fertig gathered the armed men while Manuel and Haggerty checked prisoners. No fires. No lamps except shielded light for wounds. Nanay found Tomas.
“How many?”
He shook his head.
“Too many moving.”
Fertig had three men count. Once. Then again. Ninety-two walking prisoners. Seventeen carried or supported. One hundred nine. Nanay looked at the number. The cloth had said more. Fertig looked toward the river.
“How many left?”
No one knew.
Ramon said, “Some ran another route.”
“Maybe.”
Fertig sent two scouts downstream. No one went back across.
The Wounded
Before Dawn
The rescued men lay beneath trees and improvised shelters. Manuel worked without stopping. Some wounds were old. Some new. One prisoner had fever so high he could not answer his name. Another had ribs that moved wrong when he breathed. A third had no shoes and both feet torn open. Nanay carried water. That was what was needed. She found the young laundry prisoner sitting against a tree. He still had rope around one wrist.
“Your name?”
“Luis.”
“Luis what?”
“Marquez.”
“Army?”
He nodded.
“Who is Sato?”
Luis looked toward the wounded.
“Camp officer.”
“Under Suzuki?”
“Yes.”
“How often does Suzuki come?”
“Twice. Sometimes more.”
“What happens after?”
Luis looked at her.
“You know.”
Nanay waited. He rubbed his wrist.
“They take names. Officers. Americans. Men they think know guerrillas. Some come back.”
“Some?”
Luis shook his head. Nanay did not ask him to describe the rest.
Dawn
The scouts returned at first light. Seven more prisoners had been found downstream. Five walking. Two wounded. Total: one hundred sixteen. Fertig wrote the number on the back of the map. 116. Salim stood nearby.
“Your count said more.”
“Yes.”
“Then some remain.”
“Yes.”