The Nugget by P. T. Deutermann

Author:P. T. Deutermann
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

EIGHTEEN

The next morning we were awakened by the rumble of yet another small earthquake. The sound seemed to echo, as if it ricocheted from one end of the lava tube to the other. Father Abriol was sitting right where I’d left him, already awake. When he saw we were awake he got up, stirred the embers of the fire, and plopped an odd-shaped pot down on the flames. Soon the smell of coffee permeated the tunnel. Coffee in the Philippines, I thought. And tobacco. Boy, did I have a lot to learn.

He showed us to the latrine a hundred feet or so down the tunnel, where the floor cracked open, revealing a seemingly bottomless chasm. We walked back up to the camp, washed up, re-stowed the pallets, and then we gathered around the firepit, munching on some kind of flatbread he’d produced from a wicker basket and drinking some truly wonderful coffee. I asked about the coffee.

“Been here in the Philippines since the sixteen hundreds,” he said. “Spanish friars brought it in from Mexico. Most of it’s grown up in the highlands of Luzon to the north. There’s one tiny plantation on the slopes of that smoking volcano you saw. We Filipinos are addicted to it, especially in Manila.”

“I can see why,” I said. “I thought Navy coffee was good, but this…”

He nodded, obviously pleased that we approved. Then he grew serious. “From what you told me, the Navy doesn’t know what happened to your submarine or even the fact that you are alive, correct?”

“We weren’t privy to what messages were being sent or received when we were on the boat. They said they reported picking us up but never got an answer back as to what to do with us, as I remember. We were mostly trying to not be a burden.”

“I’m asking because there’s a radio down in one of the villages. I think we need to tell Manila about you. Maybe they can send another submarine to pick you up.”

The expression on Rooster’s face revealed exactly what he thought about getting on another submarine. He quickly steered the conversation away from that really bad idea. “What kind of radio?” he asked.

“It’s a radio, that’s all I know,” Father Abriol replied. “Uses a telegraph key. It runs on a hand-cranked generator and I’m the designated operator since I’ve begun learning Morse code. We get our instructions from the resistance headquarters near Manila once a week. In turn, if I have something to report, I do it precisely at one in the morning. I report as to what Japanese ships are here or whenever anything changes. They told us to move the radio immediately to another village every time I use it.”

“And what are your instructions, Father Abriol?” I asked.

“There’s only one deep-water anchorage on Talawan Island,” he replied. “The Japs landed earlier this year and went to work on making Orotai, which is not much more than a large fishing village, some kind of temporary base. Right now, my orders are to report any Japanese shipping that comes here, especially warships.

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