HE WAS AWAKENED by a pounding in his brain that was insistent. The dust that had erupted through the passageway covered his prone body in a layer of dirt and grime and assaulted his nostrils1 causing him to choke. He buried his face in his arm to shield it from the fine particles that permeated the air around him. Lying there in the dark1 he became aware of the dullness in his body and the pain in the back of his head and he slowly remembered. He also became aware of the smell of cordite in the air and the fact that he couldn't hear.
More than ten minutes passed before his hearing came back. By then the dust had sufficiently settled to enable him to look around and survey his prison. He guessed that he was inside the lateral that the gunman had been pointing to earlier. He also guessed that the gunman had used explosives to entomb him. Curious though, he had been left in the tunnel alive? Why had he not been finished off?
Getting to his feet, he fingered the lump on the back of his head and thought ruefully that the gunman's companion had meant business. Then Maxine's face appeared before him and he became anxious. If she were still alive1 he needed to get out of this place and find her.
The blow on the head must have dulled his brain1 he decided or he would have noticed it before. The place was gloomy but not pitch black as you would expect in a place without light. As he moved along the tunnel his surroundings began to take shape. Then he saw why. A thin shaft of sunlight was filtering through a hole in one side of the tunnel.
Looking around1 he found a piece of rusty iron that would serve as a pick and he set to work. There was little earth and rock to excavate though and he soon found himself standing in brilliant sunshine.
As he started down the hill, he walked by but did not notice the tiny piece of twisted metal that had landed back on earth twenty minutes before. The chunk of shrapnel lay there preening itself in the sun as it wondered where the rest of its huge casing had disappeared to. Never again would it form part of a large shell that members of the Japanese 2nd Independent Heavy Artillery Regiment of the Hayakawa Detachment had once loaded into the breech of a 240-millimeter gun. Settling down as it cooled1 the discarded fragment recalled that first and last glorious flight so many years before from the hills of Pico de Loro across the sparkling blue water1 and that fateful plunge into the earth. It would be good to rest again now that it had finally served its purpose.
To Lechaim, it was evident as he scrambled down the hill that something had discharged violently within the earth. The acrid smoke hanging in the air and the torn fresh soil scattered around were evidence enough of that. Surely1 no one but a fool would have used a charge that large just to imprison him in the tunnel, he thought. Then his mind was elsewhere as his eyes became fixed on the horizon where a speck of belching smoke was all that could be seen of the departing island ferry.
Before he had time to contemplate his situation1 he saw his means of getting off the island. Unbelievably, there it was; a yacht sailing inshore. Running down to the water's edge, he waved his arms frantically.
“Who's that, Don? The slender dark-haired woman on the yacht asked her husband.
“I’m not sure!” he replied. “Hand me those binoculars sweetheart!”
He put them to his eyes and exclaimed, “Shit! it's a man and he's covered in ...”
“What?” his wife asked as her curiosity took over.
“Shit!”
“Don1 do you have to swear?”
“Sorry sweetheart1 but it does look like crap all over him!”
As he turned the thirty-foot white-hulled boat towards the shore, two girls in their late teens joined them on deck. “What is it Dad?” one asked
“Be careful, Don! It could be anyone! It might not be safe!” his wife exclaimed.
“What is not safe?” their son asked as he too appeared on deck. A tall strapping lad in his early twenties, he was the clone of his father in every way.
Don left the questions unanswered as he guided the boat in. Instead, he commented1 “We can't leave him there. We'll stand off a bit though just in case.”
Lechaim shouted to them when they were within hailing distance, “Hi there! I’ve been stranded! Any chance of taking me back to Manila?”
Don1 reassured by the educated voice of the man on shore1 said to his son1 “Go and get him1 Hank!”
“Right dad! Come on you two!” he then said to his sisters. “Come and help me with the boat.”
It took Hank only a few minutes to retrieve the castaway and ferry him aboard.
“Hi! Don Talbot is my name and this,” the skipper said looking at the small woman beside him,'“is my wife, Jenny!”
“Pleasure to meet you all. My name's Lewis!” he said holding out his hand. He thought it best not to give them his full name.
Don Talbot was a likable man, strongly built, tall, tanned, and fair-haired like Lechaim, around forty-five or so. He shook the hand Lechaim offered.
“What are you doing here buddy?” Don asked. “And how the hell did you get in that state?” Then he remembered why they had turned towards the island, to begin with. “Don't tell me you were caught up in that explosion?” he asked and looked questioningly at the dirty and disheveled figure before him.
“Something like that!”
“What caused it anyway?” Lechaim heard the petite woman next to him ask.
“I'm not sure!” Lechaim replied. “An unexploded shell finally decided to go off, I suspect!” He had been mulling over the cause of the explosion while he had been watching the boy rowing over to him. Now that he had time to think about it, it seemed the most likely cause of an explosion of that magnitude.
The man's daughters had been looking closely at Lechaim but they still found it hard to believe their eyes.
One of them nudged her father with her elbow. “Dad!”
“Not now Becky!” but she continued to elbow him.
“What?” he asked exasperatedly
She whispered something in his ear and his eyes narrowed as he took fresh stock of Lechaim. He could see that he had been recognized so Lechaim got his question in first. “Do you have a ship-to-shore radio aboard?”