Make or Break
"We can stand off their assaults," Tony said. "We can't stand sniping.
Not for long, at any rate."
Scotty grinned. "Neither can Nangolat. Let's see if I can fix his
wagon."
They watched as Scotty wet his finger, tested for wind direction, then
set the sights on his rifle. On the other side of the road Nangolat was
exhorting his troops like a good general, waving his rifle to emphasize
his words.
Scotty took a classic sharpshooter's position, relaxed but braced. Rick
saw him inhale and hold it. The rifle muzzle moved slowly, following
Nangolat's movements. Then, suddenly, the rifle spoke.
Nangolat was thrown into the midst of his warriors, while his rifle, its
stock shattered, flailed into the ranks and knocked two warriors down.
And then Nangolat went berserk. He snatched a spear from one of his men,
turned, and ran toward the defenders, screaming. A priest barked an
order and two warriors dashed forward, caught Nangolat, and hauled him
back by force.
"The old priest had sense enough to know Nangolat wouldn't make it,"
Angel said.
"All right," Tony said crisply. "We're trapped in here. It's not a bad
place to be trapped for a while. They can't get at us without crossing
open spaces, and there is enough overhang to the wall to prevent them
from dropping rocks on our heads. Also, Balaban is up there to warn us
if they try anything from that direction. But we can't stay here
forever. We need help. How do we get it?"
"It has to be the constabulary at Baguio," Rick said. "There isn't any
other help nearby. If worst comes to worst, I suppose we could call the
American ambassador and try to get him to send Air Force troops from
Clark Field."
"By the time diplomatic protocol and military red tape got untangled
we'd be old men," Scotty objected. "If we lived to be old men. Also, you
overlooked one little thing. How do we get a message to them?"
"Wait until night and one of us sneak out."
Tony looked at his watch. "We won't last until night," he said
succinctly. "It's still early morning."
Rick examined the terrain between the cave and the road, noting where
the station wagon Lazada had brought was parked.
"I'm going," he said. "Let history record that Rick Brant carried a
message to...."
"Not Garcia," Chahda said. "That was in Cuba, says my Worrold Alminack.
Carry message to cops."
"How?" Scotty demanded.
"You create a diversion. I'll get in the jeep and make a run for it."
Scotty considered. "It could work. But I'll do it."
"My idea," Rick said firmly. "I'll do it."
Tony was deep in thought. After all, the safety of the expedition was
his responsibility. "I got us into this," he said. "Bad judgment is no
excuse. I was certain it would work out."
"Would have, if Lazada had stayed home," Chahda said. "I go with Rick.
He drive, I shoot. Okay?"
"There doesn't seem to be any alternative," Tony agreed. "Staying or
going makes little difference, so far as danger is concerned. All right,
Rick. We can create a diversion when they start to charge next time. If
we start the truck and roll it toward the village, I'm sure we can
create a little excitement."
"That's smart," Scotty approved. "The truck would go right on across the
road, across the terrace, and tumble down. It wouldn't hit the village,
though. It would land on the next terrace."
"I doubt that they'd think of that in the excitement," Tony commented.
"But take away the jeep and truck and you take away our good cover from
spears. We need an earthwork fort, quickly. All hands turn to."
There were tools enough. While the Ifugao warriors argued among
themselves, and Nangolat, somewhat calmed down, tried to work them up to
a new pitch of excitement, the Spindrift group dug. Within a few minutes
there was a very respectable earthen berm across the front of the
recess. The riflemen could lie behind it and be reasonably protected
from spears.
They were just in time, too. The Ifugaos were steadying down and
Nangolat had a spear in his hand once more.
"I'll start the truck," Scotty said quickly. "Head for them, then jump
out, leaving it in first. Don't start the jeep until I'm moving. We
should be able to hold them off until you return in the Sky Wagon."
Rick suddenly realized that the steel poles for the pickup cable were
with the gear on the truck. He reminded Scotty of the fact. "I'll snatch
Tony's loot right out of your hands," he said. "That will take some of
the heart out of them."
"Or make them madder," Scotty added. They hurried to unload the truck.
Chahda checked his rifle.
"Make or break," Rick said. "If I make it, fine. If not, that breaks our
chances down to zero. But I'll make it."
Scotty ran for the truck cab, climbed in, and started the engine. The
Ifugaos stopped their yelling to look. For a moment they milled around,
uncertain, then Scotty threw the truck into gear and started directly
for them.
Rick and Chahda jumped into the jeep. Rick started the engine and pulled
out the choke slightly to avoid a possible stall. Scotty leaped from the
truck, leaving the unmanned vehicle to bounce across the meadow directly
toward the ranks of the Ifugaos! They hesitated, then scattered--and
Rick stepped on the gas.
He angled the jeep across the meadow, coaxing maximum speed out of it,
paying no attention to ruts or bumps. From beside him came the sharp
crack of Chahda's rifle. Once a spear passed overhead and dug into the
rice beyond.
Then Rick slowed for the stone blocks at the edge of the meadow and let
the jeep climb over them to the road. A spear clanged off the rear and
another ripped the rear-seat cushion. Chahda fired one shot after
another, muttering to himself in Hindi.
They were on the road! Rick gave the jeep all it would take. In his
rear-view mirror he caught a glimpse of Ifugaos pursuing him, of the
truck stopped at the edge of the meadow, then they were around the curve
of a terrace wall, free.
Rick kept the accelerator to the floor except on the worst curves. They
climbed out of the valley, crossed the ridge, and emerged at their camp.
Pilipil was waiting. They slowed long enough to yell instructions to
strike the tents and cooking gear, and load them in the jeep and be
ready to leave on a moment's notice, then they drove down the mountain
at breakneck speed, with Chahda holding on for dear life. Fortunately,
they had to pass through only one gate, and the gatekeeper waved them
right through. They passed Igorot villages, narrowly missing chickens
and pigs, then bounced across a river bed and into Bontoc.
The trip had taken one hour. The boys pulled up in front of the road
commissioner's office and ran in. De los Santos met them. "You are
excited!" he exclaimed. "Is something wrong?"
"Very wrong," Rick replied. "We must use your phone. How do I get
Baguio?"
"I will get it for you. Who do you want?"
"The constabulary!"
Santos looked startled, but he cranked the phone several times, talked
in Ilokano, and finally handed the phone to Rick.
A voice at the other end said, "Constabulary detachment. Corporal
Alvarez."
Rick said quickly, "We need help at Banaue. A party of Americans are
trapped by Ifugaos. Unless they get help quickly, they'll all be
killed!"
Corporal Alvarez replied, "There must be a mistake. The Ifugaos are
peaceful."
"Not any more," Rick yelled. "I just came from there. They're throwing
spears. They mean business!"
Suddenly the corporal was unable to understand. Rick yelled, begged, and
threatened, to no avail. At last he hung up, defeated. "Something's
fishy," he said. "Very fishy. The corporal knew what I meant, I'm sure.
He treated it as a joke. Chahda, Lazada is behind this!"
Santos coughed. Rick whirled on him. "What do you know about it?"
"Nothing, I assure you."
The man was lying. Rick was sure of it. He grabbed him by the lapels and
said, "Talk. Talk! My friends may lose their lives unless we can do
something."
Chahda took a hunting knife from his belt and put the point against
Santos' throat. "Talk," he said gently. "You have two seconds." He
pushed a little.
Santos' light-brown complexion turned dirty gray. "All right," he
gasped. "I am a good man, but Lazada is my boss. I do not like what he
has done. Last night he stayed here, and I heard him talk to the
American, Nast. They laughed about how they had told the constabulary
that a group of crazy Americans were up here and would be calling them
with a practical joke, to which they should not pay attention. They told
the constabulary this both in Baguio and Manila."
"And they believed him, because he is Assistant Secretary of the
Interior," Rick said bitterly. "Now what? We'll never convince them. He
couldn't order them not to help, so he planted a story that would do the
same thing. The only thing I can do now is call the American ambassador
and see if he can go through diplomatic channels to get help."
"Take too much time," Chahda said. "It will be too late."
Santos muttered in the native dialect.
"What was that?" Rick asked sharply.
"Filipino saying. 'What good is hay to a dead horse.'"
"Wait!" Rick had a quick mental image of the Filipino officer who had
first spoken the phrase. Colonel Felix Rojas. He would believe the
story. Hadn't he warned them?
"Get me Manila," Rick said. "Quickly. Constabulary Headquarters!"
It took time. It seemed like an hour, but was only fifteen minutes. And
Colonel Felix Rojas was on the wire.
Rick talked fast, telling the colonel the whole story, including
Chahda's espionage activities. When he had finished, Rojas said crisply,
"No time to get troops there. It will take planes. I will send a fighter
plane first. Then will come a platoon of paratroopers, if I can get the
Army to move fast enough. But it will be two hours before the troopers
can get there, even with the best speed possible. The fighter will be
there in an hour. Tell your friends to hold out. Return to Manila as
soon as your party is safe. See no one, talk to no one until you see
me."
The colonel rang off.
"An hour," Rick said. "And an hour after that before the paratroopers
arrive. Can they hold out?"
"They must," Chahda said flatly.