The Bone Hunters Read Free Page B

machine gun thudded into the dirt in front of him as Sean rose from the ditch. A moment later, he was through the open passenger door and behind the wheel as Captain Allen returned suppressing fire at the machine gun position on the roof.
    Ramming the gearshift into first, Sean engaged the clutch and the truck lurched forward. As it gained speed, machine gun bullets raked its side and the engine compartment. The truck kept going.
    They had gone several miles when Sean slowed down and stopped again. They were in open country. He gently lifted J.D. back onto the seat and examined his wounds. The right eye was gone, but the bullet had only creased his skull. Sean placed a gauze bandage around the empty cavity. The bleeding from his chest wound had slowed to a trickle. Sean removed an ampoule of morphine from the truck’s medical kit as J.D. grimaced at him through the pain.
    â€œDon’t want it,” he said.
    â€œI need to get you to a corpsman,” said Sean.
    J.D.’s left eye squeezed shut.
    â€œGet to the port,” he said. “We can’t be more than a couple hours away.”
    If the road ahead is clear of Japs,
thought Sean. Hepicked up the half-full bottle of Haig & Haig and tipped it toward J.D.’s mouth. The sergeant took several deep swallows before Sean poured another inch onto his wound.
    â€œLet’s go,” J.D. growled.
    Sean drove through the night repeating the same silent prayer.
Save him, Lord. Save him, Lord.
Save him, Lord
. J.D.’s breathing got increasingly ragged. Each time they hit a mud-clogged rut in the roadway, the cab would shudder violently and J.D.’s hand would tighten convulsively on Sean’s wounded right arm.
    It was after three in the morning when Sean saw the lights of Chinwangtao in the distance. The always bustling city was nearly empty. As they drove through the streets, the quiet was unearthly. Sean didn’t stop until they reached the piers where the big oceangoing ships had to dock.
    When he was heading across the concrete jetty that led to the outlying piers, J.D. regained consciousness. Sean pointed out to him a small detachment of Chinese soldiers hauling bales of cotton toward the walls of two large warehouses.
    â€œThey’re setting fire to the port,” said J.D. “The Japs must be close.”
    Sean drove down the length of the last pier. All the ship’s berths were empty until he reached the end of the wharf. A darkened ship slowly materialized out of the gloom. Sean could see Chinese coolies rolling oil drums up the gangway to the forward deck. Far above them on the bridge, an officer was yelling down to the men on the dock and waving his arms in a circular motion.
    â€œThey’re pulling out,” said J.D. “I can’t see the name of the ship.”
    Sean got out of the truck and ran to the edge of the gangway.
    â€œIs this the
President Harrison
?” he yelled up to the officer on the bridge.
    The man looked down at him and laughed.
    â€œI hear she vas sunk by de Japs,” he said in a thick European accent. “This the
Prins Willem
.”
    The
Prins Willem
was obviously an old coast runner. It stank of leaking fuel, and reddish stains streaked the once-white paint on the superstructure. The hull plates were covered with huge patches of rust. Sean didn’t know much about ships, but this one didn’t look as if it could make it out of the harbor.
    â€œVe leaf now . . . Jap here anytime,” the officer called out.
    His crewmen began hauling in the mooring lines.
    â€œThere is something real important in that truck,” yelled Sean as the ship slowly began to edge away from the pier. “Can you take us with you?”
    â€œVat is it?” demanded the officer.
    â€œI don’t know, but they don’t want the Japs to get it,” he called out.
    The officer stared at him for several seconds. Then he waved to the half dozen coolies who were still