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.