The frogmen (16 page)

"What difference does it make? If anybody sees us it won't make any difference to them where we came from."

"It might," Amos said. "We need clothes." He

picked up one of the empty copra sacks and held it against his chest. "Just right."

Using the knife, Amos cut a slit in the bottom seam big enough to get his head through. Then he cut two slits in the side seams for his arms. Pulling the thing on, he stood up and looked at himself, the dark gray sack coming almost to his feet. "How's that?"

"I've seen better. When's the last time you got a haircut?" Max asked.

"Month? Two months?"

John was pulling the spare air tanks out of another sack. "It's okay, except where you stick out."

Amos looked at his bare white arms. "We could spread mud on ourselves," he said vaguely, knowing that would not work very well on this island, where it rained every half hour.

His weight belt, still loaded with equipment, lay on the gravel beach. Amos went over and took one of the packets of shark repellent out of the canvas pouch. The stuff was about the size and shape of a cake of soap and was wrapped in waterproof waxed paper.

Amos hadn't met anybody who had actually repelled a shark with it, but the theory was good. If a shark got interested in you all you had to do was break open one of the cakes, which contained not only a chemical sharks didn't like but a black dye that was supposed to spread out all around you and hide you.

He broke open the cake, dipped the exposed end in the water, and rubbed it down his arm. "Very

fine," he said, looking at the streak it made on his skin. "We'll put it on after we get outside so it won't wash off in here."

John finished making the slit in his sack, but as he started to put it on, he stopped and looked at Amos and Max. "What are we going out there for?"

"We've got some information the Navy wants," Amos said. "We've got the code to send it in and the man to send it. All we need is a radio."

John pulled the sack down over his head. "So we're just going to walk in someplace where a million Japanese are sitting around playing acey-deucey and say, 'Pardon me, may I borrow your radio to blow you up?'"

Max was breaking some lengths of rope off the life line. "We got to get some more chow anyway. Here, you guys, tie this around your waist. It'll give you some shape and something to hang that gun on."

John tied the rope around his waist and posed. "How's that, Max?"

"You're not my type, but it's not bad."

Amos and John went up through the hole first and then dropped a line down to Max. Crouched on the barren stretch of the lava flow, John and Amos daubed themselves with the shark repellent as Max sat looking at the little village. "They would have been home tonight," he said. "Only—Reeder wiped them out. I never liked Reeder."

"You think you could talk those people into letting us stay there? Hiding us?" Amos said.

Max thought about it. "They told me on the boat

that the Japanese come around every day or so and ransack the place, take all the food they have. They'd find us. And when they did they'd finish off those people."

"Yeah," Amos said, covering the last white patch of John's skin. "Okay. If they catch us, nothing but name, rank, and serial number."

"I hope they give me time to say that much," John said.

At the edge of the lava the jungle began, growing thicker as they moved inland.

The sound of the engine was absolutely unreal, but when the headlights lit the jungle, they were startled by the sight of a road that had been cut through it only a few feet ahead of them.

Crouching in the dripping ferns, they watched the big truck crawling along, it's dual wheels deep in the dirt ruts. As it passed them, they could see that it was loaded with what looked like at least 16-inch projectiles, the pointed ends banded with yellow and red paint.

"Them ain't BBs," Max whispered.

"They're getting ready for us," Amos said quietly. "Only—we aren't coming."

The building squatted in the jungle like a small fort, completely concealed from the sky by a canopy of trees. Square, low, and flat-roofed, it was made of thick concrete, the roof at least two feet thick and heavily reinforced. There were no windows; the light came through narrow gun ports in the walls. The only door was in the solid wall facing the road and was made of metal.

Staying concealed in the jungle, they carefully circled the building, studying it.

Behind the fort there was another, smaller building, also of thick concrete. The doors and windows

were open, and in the moonlight they could see two big diesel generators, one of which was running.

Motioning for Max and John to wait, Amos went over to the side of the main building and looked in through one of the slits in the wall.

The room was made up of alcoves, one on each of the three walls he could see. The partitions were of concrete, sticking out into the room and supporting the roof.

In one of the alcoves he could see the end of a double-decker wooden bunk and the feet of two men apparently asleep on thin, straw mattresses.

In the alcove directly across from him was a makeshift kitchen, with a hot plate, utensils, bottles, and some painted metal canisters.

In the alcove to his right, opposite the door, the partition almost blocked his view, and all he could see was what appeared to be an electrical device of some sort. There were knobs and dials and a row of switches. Someone was behind the partition, for Amos could see little clouds of cigarette smoke occasionally and could just make out the curved back of a wooden chair.

In the center of the room two Japanese in uniform were sitting at a table playing a game.

Standing up as high as he could to look down along the inside of the wall nearest him, he could see only a low bench and what appeared to be yellow raincoats hanging on nails.

He moved around to the front of the building to

inspect the metal door and was surprised to find that there was no knob and apparently no lock that could be worked from the outside. It was just a blank slab of metal set into the concrete, and when he touched it he could tell that this was a massive thing.

Going back to Max and John, Amos looked up behind the generator shack and now saw what Tanaka must have meant by the tall tree. In the moonlight it was hard to tell, but this single tree was much taller than any of those around it and was narrow and almost limbless.

"Go take a look, John," Amos whispered. "I think there's a radio in there."

"Yeah?" John asked, his voice excited. "Transmitter?"

"You'll know. But watch it, there's at least five of them in there."

Max and Amos watched him going cautiously toward the building.

Max's voice sounded a little excited too. "Can we take it?"

"Wouldn't do any good now. We haven't got the coding board."

"Want me to go get it?"

John came running back into the jungle. "Oh, man! Now that's a big ma-moo."

"Transmitter?" Amos asked.

"The works."

"I'll go get the coding board," Max said.

"No, wait; we better stick together." Amos stood

looking at the squat little building. "Anyway, weve still got to get in there."

"How many did you say there were?" Max asked. "Five? Then why not just blast through the door."

"Not through that door," Amos said. "It's solid steel, locked on the inside."

"Well . . . then through the window. As soon as you start shooting they'll probably come piling out of there. John and I'll take them at the door."

"It's no good," Amos said. "Whatever we do has got to guarantee opening that door."

John laughed. "Just go up and knock on it."

"Yeah, how do you say in Japanese, 'Ain't nobody out here but us chickens'?" Amos asked. "Well, I guess we better get the coding board first."

The radio shack was at the top of a one-lane dirt road that branched off from the main coastal road below, and they walked along it, keeping to the side.

"Start working out the message, Amos," John said. "It's going to take a while to encode it. And keep it short. Something I can send with no goofs and no garbles."

"The main thing is to tell them to come on," Amos said. "Then how. If we can't get the rest of the message sent, at least they'll have that."

Spacing the words, Max said, "Come through channel dead slow."

Amos thought about that. "Or— Attack! Speed in channel dead slow."

"I like that. Attack!" John said.

"Then," Amos went on, "say Mines unsweepable, pressure fired. Keep hull pressure low, speed slow."

"Have we got it?" Max said.

"Attack" Amos said. "Channel speed dead slow. Mines unsweepable, pressure fired. Keep hull pressure low, speed slow."

John said, "It's pretty long. How about just "Pressure mines unsweepahle? That leaves out a word."

They had almost reached the main road when they saw the headlights splashing off the canopy of tree limbs above the road.

"Sounds like a car, not a truck," Max said.

"Just a car," John said.

Amos watched the light grow stronger. "I'm going to stop it."

Max reached out and grabbed him. "Hold on, man! They'll shoot you."

"Who, me?" Amos asked in a girlish voice. "Shoot a little native girl looking for some fun? Listen, if there're a lot of people in it, I won't fool around. But if there're only one or two, you be ready."

"Why fool around at all, Amos?"

"We need them, and we need that car." He handed the .45 to Max and ran down to the intersection of the road.

It was a small passenger car, bouncing along in the deep ruts of the main road.

Amos, his copra-sack skirt swishing wildly, came out of the side road and turned toward the car, staggering along with his head down, his long hair falling forward.

The car almost ran him down before stopping.

Amos veered out of the way as though to go past it, but when he saw that there was only one man in it, he lurched against the door.

The man was yelling at him and reached out to push him away, when Amos yanked the door open. The man almost fell into his arms.

Max and John were there beside him. Max pulled the man clear and held him for a moment.

The man didn't make a sound.

Max took the gun out of the holster, handed it to John, then picked up the man and started away with him.

"We need his clothes,'' Amos said. "John, g et tms car turned around."

Max and Amos stripped the man to his underwear, and then Max picked up the body and threw it away.

John came back with the car, and they piled in.

"Take it down to the lava. We'll hide it in the bushes."

"'38 Chevy," John said as he started down the road. "Good year for Chevies."

At the lava, Max and Amos got out, and as John backed the car off the road, they concealed its passage through the underbrush as well as they could.

They dropped down through the hole in the cave, John's and Amos' dresses floating up around their heads. As they swam awkwardly toward the beach, Amos said, "Plug up the hole with a wet suit so we can use the flashlight."

In the darkness, Max slung his scuba on, and John found a wet suit and a coil of line. Amos felt along the pebbles until he found Tanaka's leg.

"How are you, Commander?" he asked.

There was no answer.

"Commander?" Amos said, feeling around until he found Tanaka's hand lying limp on the beach.

There was a slow pulse, and as Amos held it, the hand moved a little. "Amos?"

"Yeah. You okay?"

"What's happening?"

He sounded so weak. "Do you think you could stand being lifted out of here?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters," Amos said. "We've got some clothes for you."

"Okay, let there be light," John said, and splashed down off Max's shoulders.

Amos found one of the flashlights and shone it first on Tanaka.

It was shocking. He had been bleeding again from the mouth and somehow seemed to have shriveled up, his face just skin and bones.

Amos moved the light off him. "You encode the message, John. Max, help me get the uniform on him."

"What's happening?" Tanaka asked almost in a whisper.

"We need you," Amos said quietly.

Max brought the bundle of wet clothes over, and they sorted them out. "Pants first," Amos said.

They got the pants and shoes on, and then Amos unfolded the uniform jacket and held it up.

In the glow from the flashlight it looked as though Tanaka were trying to smile. His voice was so low and hoarse that Amos had to put his head down close.

"You demoted me," Tanaka whispered. "That's only a lieutenant."

Down the beach, John suddenly shone his flashlight on them. "How'd you say it? Mines are fired by pressure and unsweepable?"

"Mines unsweepable, pressure fired," Amos said.

The uniform was big enough so that they could button it over the bandages, but by the time they finished, beads of sweat were pouring down Tanaka's face.

"How about it, John?"

"All set."

As Max waded out into the water, Amos said to Tanaka, "We're going to lift you out now, Commander. Stay with us."

Tanaka said nothing as Amos moved him gently down into the water and then swam him over to where John was on Max's shoulders, taking the wet suit down.

They hurt Tanaka getting him through the hole. At times, as they worked him upward, his breath sounded almost like a file on metal.

When Max came up, they carried Tanaka to the car and put him in the back seat, Amos and Max on each side of him, holding him upright.

John started the car and, with headlights off, crashed out of the jungle and bounced viciously until he got it settled in the ruts. Then he turned the headlights on and started down the road.

"Take it easy on the bumps," Max said.

It began to rain again, the big drops rattling on the car, as John steered carefully through the muddy ruts.

"We're going to take you up to the radio station, Commander," Amos told him, "so you can talk to them in Japanese and get them to open the door. Do you think you can do that, sir?"