by Chris Glatte
The air was filled with billowing smoke as more buildings caught fire. Carver waved the men forward and they moved amongst the burning buildings firing indiscriminately. The heat was intense and soon they couldn’t advance without burning themselves.
Lieutenant Swan called a halt and pulled them back from the inferno. There was screaming mixed with the roar of fire, but there were no more targets.
They waited at the edge of the town, watching it burn. The dry thatch burned quick and soon the buildings were nothing more than skeletal beams of wood. A stilt on the nearest building snapped like a gunshot and the men flinched. The building wavered, then came crashing down sending hot sparks soaring into the sky. A wave of heat slammed into them like a physical slap and the GIs moved back further. They were red-faced and sweat poured from their faces like they’d just dipped their heads in a shower.
Lieutenant Swan moved them further back, completely exiting the village. The platoon moved back along the road they came in on. The village was no longer in sight and the relief from the heat made Carver wonder how they’d stayed as close as they had. Swan stopped them and Carver ordered them to drink.
They’d just taken their first gulps when the welcome sound of clanking armor pulled them up short. The first vehicle was a banged up Sherman tank. It was dark green and the star on the side was faded and chipped. The turret swiveled as it rounded the corner and saw the GIs. The gaping black maw of the 75mm gun centered on the nearest man.
The platoon melted to the sides of the road and four Shermans thundered by. The ground shook as they passed and the GIs smiled and waved.
A jeep came flying around the corner and braked hard in front of the platoon. More tanks mixed with armored cars filtered past. Captain Flannigan jumped out of the jeep and strode to the GIs who were trying to make themselves look invisible.
Flannigan found Lt. Swan and yelled. “What’s all that smoke ahead?”
Swan swallowed and his oversized Adam’s apple bobbed. “The village of Pardo’s on fire. We engaged snipers with grenades and those grass huts went up in a hurry. We’re waiting for it to die down, sir. Hotter’n blazes.”
Flannigan’s face turned a bright shade of red and Carver thought his head might explode. Flannigan seethed. “Who told you to torch the town, Lieutenant?”
Swan shook his head. “No one did. Like I said it happened when we engaged the Japs.”
“Dammit, Swan. Your orders are to take the villages, not destroy them. The natives will need someplace to live after this battle’s over for chrissakes.”
Carver was ready to step in and help his officer, he’d done it plenty of times before, but Swan spoke up. “Begging your pardon, sir, but my orders are to kill Japs. If there’s a rulebook I need to follow, I wasn’t aware of it.”
Captain Flannigan stared into Swan’s eyes sending daggers, but Swan stared right back, his gaze passive. It infuriated Flannigan more. He pointed a finger and laid into him like a principal dealing with an insubordinate student. “Your orders are to kill Japanese, but not at the expense of destroying the entire area. My God, man. What if there were natives in those huts?”
Lieutenant Swan tilted his head trying to make sense of Flannigan. “It wasn’t intentional, but if burning the village kills the Japs and saves my men from being killed…” he let the thought finish itself.
Flannigan shook with anger. He liked the old Lt. Swan, the man he could push around and scare. This new officer seemed fearless. He removed his finger from Swan’s face and lowered his voice. “Just be more careful next time.”
He turned to leave, but Swan wasn’t finished. “At the expense of the men, sir?”
Flannigan stopped, shook his head then continued to the jeep. He pulled his big body into the metal seat and said something to his driver. He floored it and the Jeep fishtailed until it was faced back towards the airfield. The jeep and the captain disappeared around the corner.
Swan grinned and turned back to the GIs. “Let’s move up behind the tanks. The fire’s probably dying down by now.”
The tanks and the rest of the armor kept their distance from the town until the fires were smoldering. The hour respite allowed the GIs to eat and drink. Their dead and wounded were carted back to the beach where an aid station was set up.
The signal to continue the advance came when the Shermans fired up their 400 horse power Continental engines. The roar and the billowing white smoke brought the men to their feet. The lead Sherman’s top hatch was open and a tanker in a steel pot helmet manned the mounted .50 caliber machine gun. He looked back to the other tanks and said something into his mouthpiece radio. The tank lurched beneath him and he held onto the machine gun handles. The rest of the tanks and halftracks lurched and ground forward.
The GIs filtered in behind and around the protective armor. Platoon Sergeant Carver stood as far away as possible, up against the edge of the road. Private McGillis was nearby and asked, “Why you way over there?”
Carver replied. “Those tanks are Jap magnets.” McGillis shrugged but moved a few feet further away.
A few structures still stood, but most of the town was charred and smoking. Tongues of flames still licked wooden beams; not wanting to relinquish their destructive hold.
There was no sign of live Japs, or anyone else for that matter. Carver noticed the burning soldier he’d shot. His skin was gone, exposing his charred skull and teeth. Every shred of clothing was burned away, but a shiny metal object shone against what used to be the soldier’s neck. Carver wondered if it was dog-tags or some memento from a sweetheart. He turned away as the lead Sherman’s tracks ran him over and ground him into dust.
Carver felt hollow. A vision of Lilly smiling at him from the hammock came to mind. He shook his head; how can I ever tell Lilly of such things? The vision morphed and now Lilly’s beautiful face was replaced with the charred Japanese soldier’s. The vision was so powerful he stopped and took a knee. He pinched the bridge of his nose until it hurt.
Sergeant O’Connor kneeled beside him, his M1 ready. He whispered. “What’s wrong? See something?” Carver stood and teetered slightly. O’Connor looked him over. “You okay? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Carver nodded and moved forward. “Get back to your squad, Sergeant. I’m fine. Just feeling the damned heat.” O’Connor frowned and mumbled something under his breath. Carver ignored him and shook the image from his mind. Gotta concentrate or I’ll never see that girl again.
They were almost through the village. The final buildings were still standing, saved by some inexplicable nuance of the flames. The lead Sherman’s 75mm gun kept the nearest house centered. The tanker on the .50 caliber swiveled the gun back and forth.
Sparks suddenly showered the lead tank as bullets zinged and ricocheted. The gunner crouched low in the cupola keeping his hands on the handles of the .50. He yelled something into his headset and the tank lurched to a stop. The gun pivoted towards the middle building and stopped. It elevated slightly and fired.
The GIs behind the first tank stumbled into the stopped tank and when it fired they dropped to their knees. Carver saw Lt. Swan on the radio but couldn’t tell if he was listening or giving orders.
Carver plastered himself to the ground as the Sherman fired. The 75mm shell traveled the short distance in the blink of an eye and detonated on the wall beneath the window. When the debris settled, Carver could see the front of the building was gone. The thumping of the .50 caliber filled the air and Carver watched tracers lancing into the dark building. He had his Thompson aimed, but doubted anyone could’ve survived such an onslaught.
The shooting stopped and there was a quick flash of light as the form of a Japanese soldier sprinted from the building. He dropped his rifle and ran for his life. Carver brought his weapon to his shoulder. He had a clear shot, but he hesitated. His finger was on the trigger, but the thought of killing yet another soldier suddenly made him feel sick. Shots rang out from other GIs and Carver watched the Japanese soldier�
��s back blossom red. He fell into the short grass and was lost from sight.
Carver lowered his weapon and put his head on the ground. What’s wrong with me?
78
After the airfield and the village of Pardo were taken, the road to Cebu City was wide open. Able Company along with mixed armored units and elements of the heavy weapons company advanced quickly and unopposed.
Lieutenant Swan allowed the men to glom onto the Shermans and they rode in ease and style for the first time. Carver reluctantly mounted a Sherman but made sure he had a quick and easy way off if attacked. He could see Sergeant O’Connor on the tank behind. He was standing, holding onto the turret. He had his helmet pulled low and was scanning the countryside. He looked as uncomfortable about riding the tank as Carver felt.
Lieutenant Swan was talking on the radio. He nodded and signed off. He got Carver’s attention. “We’re a quarter mile from Cebu City. We’ll dismount as we approach and spread out. Regimental HQ doesn’t seem to know what we’ll find, but they seem to think the city’s already pacified.” Carver looked confused and Swan continued. “Thinks the Filipino resistance might’ve routed the Japs already.”
Carver nodded and felt a weight fall from his shoulders. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been dreading the prospect of house to house fighting. His men were jungle fighters. They weren’t trained to fight in a city. They’d have to learn as they fought and that meant a lot of men would die.
Minutes later the column slowed and Lt. Swan signaled for them to dismount. GIs sprang from the tanks and dispersed. Once clear, the tanks spread out to the surrounding countryside. The jungle had given way to agricultural fields. The heavy tank treads tore up the dark soil, sending plumes off the back-end. The GIs stayed clear, letting the tanks churn past them.
As the tanks approached the outskirts of the sprawling city they were met, not by Japanese but by cheering Filipino resistance fighters. They were holding up their rifles, an assortment of Japanese Arisakas, American M1s, and Enfields. Some were shirtless, but the majority wore loose fitting white shirts. A few looked like they were in uniform. Leading the group was a tall white man. He walked with a stiff back and Carver could tell right away he must be an officer.
The tanks stopped when they were yards from the group. With their engines at idle, Carver could hear the Filipinos cheering. They thrust their weapons over their heads and screamed and hooted. The tall officer’s face was split into a wide grin. The top hatches of the M4 Shermans popped open and the tankers poked their heads out like turtles from their shells.
Lieutenant Swan waved the men forward and they advanced until they stood in front of the cheering Filipinos. Swan stepped forward and gave a quick salute. The tall officer saluted back and extended his hand. Swan shook it. “I’m Colonel Cushing and these are my merry band of cutthroats.” He gestured to the Filipinos and their cheers went up a few decibels. He had to yell to be heard. “We’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival. Welcome to Cebu City.” With that, the Filipinos moved amongst them shaking hands and slapping backs. The GIs smiled and laughed and celebrated. The excitement and joy at being out from beneath the boot of the Japanese was contagious. No one noticed the jeep that skidded to a halt beside the closest tank.
Platoon Sergeant Carver tried to maintain his composure, but the celebratory feeling combined with not having to battle house to house made him smile and return back slaps and hugs. He noticed even Sergeant O’Connor was smiling.
The celebration was finally broken up by Colonel Cushing. He simply raised his booming voice above the din and the Filipinos went silent and separated themselves from the GIs. That’s when Captain Flannigan made himself known. He strode up to Cushing and looked him up and down. Colonel Cushing’s jovial demeanor disappeared in an instant and he raised his chin and looked down his nose at Flannigan. “I’m Colonel Cushing. Who might you be, Captain?”
Flannigan went ramrod straight and fired off a quick salute. “Captain Flannigan at your service, sir. I’m the C.O. of Able Company.” He gestured to the GIs surrounding him.
“Well, captain you’ll find Cebu City is mostly free of Japs. We struck last night and pushed General Manjome’s troops into the northwest corner of the city. They took a lot of casualties, but around two thousand of them remain. They’re surrounded behind a walled section of the city. Follow me.” He pointed over his shoulder. “My HQ’s in the center of the city. I’ll show you the situation on the map.”
Flannigan looked beyond him into the city. He shook his head. “I’m sure General Arnold will want to speak with you back at the HQ, Colonel.”
Colonel Cushing shook his head. “I’ve been in contact with General Arnold, he’s on his way in too.” He put his hand on Flannigan’s shoulder. Even against Flannigan’s large frame, the gnarled hand looked huge. “Don’t worry captain, it’s perfectly safe.”
Captain Flannigan’s face flushed red and he muttered, “Yes sir.” The nearby GIs couldn’t contain their smiles. Flannigan’s demeanor went from embarrassed to angry in an instant. He barked, “Lieutenant Swan.” He swiveled trying to locate him.
Swan was beside him. He raised his hand. “Here, sir.”
Flannigan shook his head. “There you are. Get the men sorted, this isn’t some damned parade.”
Swan noticed a sympathetic glance from Colonel Cushing. Swan said, “Yes sir. Right away, sir.”
The men moved away from their new Filipino friends and formed a loose column without being told. Colonel Cushing moved to the front of the group with Captain Flannigan by his side. The large column of men, followed by tanks and halftracks streamed into town along the main street.
The street was lined with countless cheering Filipinos. They waved American and British flags and anything else they could find. They hung from windows and sang and smiled and laughed. Lieutenant Swan was leading the GIs who were in column behind the Filipinos. He leaned close to Carver’s ear. “Looks a hell of a lot like a parade to me.”
After a brief stop in the city center to eat and resupply, they moved toward the northwest corner. The celebratory feeling ended as they neared the area. There were barricades manned by smiling Filipinos. Able Company spread out and hunkered behind cover. The Armor spread to side streets and aimed their turrets toward likely buildings.
Captain Flannigan crouched down beside Colonel Cushing. Lieutenant Swan, Platoon Sergeant Carver and Sergeant O’Connor were nearby. Colonel Cushing tapped a diminutive Filipino next to him. The fighter turned and noticed the Colonel. A smile spread across the fighter’s mocha colored face. Colonel Cushing squeezed her shoulder and introduced her. “This is Major Cruz. She’s been my second in command since this whole thing started. Without her, none of this would’ve been possible.”
She nodded at the new faces and shook each man’s hand as she was introduced. When she held her small hand out to Sergeant O’Connor he could only stare. His eyes were glazed over. The moment lengthened until Carver finally jabbed O’Connor in the ribs and said, “Snap out of it Sergeant.”
O’Connor tore his gaze from her soft brown eyes and blushed. He took off his helmet as if it was a dress hat and held it to his chest. He took her hand. It seemed small and delicate, but he felt the hard callouses on her palm. She smiled and her eyes softened into ovals. She pointed at his helmet and in nearly accent-less English, said, “You’re going to need that, Sergeant.” Confusion flooded his face. She released his hand and took the helmet from him. She held it over his red hair and placed it carefully.
O’Connor pulled back and tore his gaze from the deep pools of her eyes and stuttered. “Th-thank you…” he suddenly remembered himself, “Major.” He cleared his throat and felt he should do something. He straightened his back and snapped off a quick salute. O’Connor noticed Carver’s grin and blushed deeper.
She smiled and turned back to the colonel. She pointed toward a walled section of the city. “The Japanese are inside the walls. They occupy the top floors and can see us when w
e move. They have snipers. Now that the Americans are here with their tanks, we can kill them.”
Colonel Cushing nodded and addressed Captain Flannigan. “Call in your artillery and air assets. That’s all we need to get inside and get in amongst them. It won’t take long after that.”
Flannigan jumped at the opportunity to get away from the front line. “I’ll have to run it by General Arnold.” He looked back the way they’d come. “I’ll take a few of your men to escort me back to my jeep, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Swan pointed at Private Hanks who was holding out his radio. “You can use this, sir.”
Flannigan scowled and shook his head. “Nah, mine’s more powerful. I’ll need a clear signal.” Swan called out three GIs to escort Flannigan back to his jeep. He took his leave. “I’ll be in contact. Don’t assault until I’ve given you the word, Lieutenant.” Swan nodded and Flannigan trotted off surrounded by three GIs.
Colonel Cushing watched him go. “Doesn’t enjoy the front line much does he?”
Lieutenant Swan was embarrassed for his commander. “No sir. Not really.”
A bullet whizzed over their heads and slapped into the road beside Captain Flannigan. He went into a full sprint, pumping his arms and high stepping. The GIs escorting him trotted to the sides of the street and kept cover between themselves and the sniper. A dirt geyser erupted well behind Flannigan, followed immediately by the crack of the rifle. It was enough to send him into an even higher gear.
Colonel Cushing grinned. “That man’s got a future in the hundred meter dash, if he survives this thing.”
