by Chris Glatte
Lieutenant Sato lifted his gaze and stiffened his back. His salute snapped into place and Captain Ito returned it. He looked at his gold watch, a gift from his wife he hadn’t seen in three years. “Attack in ten minutes, Lieutenant.” Sato looked at his own watch and marked the time. “Carry on.”
Lieutenant Sato clicked his heels and went back to his men. He peered into the room and got the attention of his First sergeant. “Organize the men, we’re attacking in ten minutes.”
The suicide order had no effect on the sergeant. He simply grunted, “Hai,” and followed the order.
The fire coming from the American lines tapered as the Japanese huddled behind cover and prepared for the attack. They reloaded and affixed bayonets to their rifles. They took long drinks of their precious water, knowing they’d not get another chance.
At eight minutes Lieutenant Sato addressed the men. “Second platoon will stay back and provide cover until our forward units reach the fountain. Then you will follow. We will not stop for anything. Once across the plaza we will skewer the yankees and kill the murdering Filipinos. We will take no prisoners.”
The men yelled in a lusty battle cry. Sato looked at his watch, it was time. He stood and raised his submachine gun over his head. “Attack!” The men yelled and surged forward while the soldiers of the second platoon fired into the buildings and streets beyond.
Lieutenant Sato pushed his way through the narrow doorway and sprinted straight ahead. He saw winking flashes ahead. He thought he could feel the heartbeats of the men following him. Bullets whizzed past him like angry hornets. He heard meaty impacts and grunts as his soldiers were hit, but he continued forward.
The fountain was his goal. He heard the sickening sound of the American machine gun opening up. He wondered why it had taken so long. The .30 caliber bullets ripped into his men, tearing holes in his advancing line, but the soldiers behind kept pushing past their fallen comrades. The fountain was only twenty yards ahead. He could see distinct faces behind the helmets of the Americans. They looked hard and wholly evil.
He dove the last few feet and slammed into the side of the stone fountain. He could feel it shuddering with countless impacts. He went to his knees and aimed his submachine gun at the nearest building. He could see winking flashes coming from the window. He pulled the trigger, sending a ten-round burst into the darkness. He didn’t wait to see if he’d hit anything. He ducked beneath cover and came up shooting from another angle. His bullets smacked into the pile of rocks and wood in front of the American machine gun.
He ducked. The trail of fallen soldiers leading to the fountain gave him pause. His men were all around him, firing their long Arisaka rifles. Many had fallen, but more had made it this far. The second platoon broke from cover and started the long run. He yelled, “Let’s go! Attack!”
He pulled a type 99 grenade from his belt and pulled the pin. He smacked the top against the stone fountain and hurled it in the direction of the machine gun nest. He leaped into the dry pool and shuffled the few yards to the other side. He leveled his machine gun and fired a burst from the hip. The stone wall of the fountain exploded in dust and rock chips as American bullets impacted, but nothing hit him. His exploding grenade sent a cloud of dust sweeping over the American position. He yelled and leaped over the fountain wall. There was forty yards of open space to cover. He could see the yankee’s eyes. He swept his muzzle across their lines as he ran and emptied his thirty-two-round magazine.
The dust and smoke thickened and he struggled to see targets. Bullets whizzed past and smacked into men behind him, but every step brought him closer to the American lines. He went to a knee and quickly swapped out the magazine. He waved his arm, “Follow me!” He’d take his men through the American lines and kill as many as he could.
The smoke cleared slightly and he noticed a hulking mass filling the street directly to his front. His heart sank when he realized it was an American tank. He had to get close enough to make the main gun ineffective. He had to get behind it. The great cannon erupted and sent a 75mm shell lancing past his head. He could feel the heat. The shell disintegrated the fountain, sending stone and flesh in every direction.
Lieutenant Sato could feel the concussive heat sweep over his back, but he kept running. The .30 caliber muzzle poking out the front of the tank slewed toward him. The muzzle looked immense. He leveled his MP34 and fired as he ran. The green metal sparked like it was sizzling, but had no other effect.
Ten more yards and he’d be beyond the arc of the gun. His hopes were shattered when the machine gun erupted in flame and the heavy bullets slammed into his soft flesh. Sato felt nothing, but suddenly his legs wouldn’t work and he was falling. He tried to yell in frustration, but there was only silence. His head smacked the hard ground and his helmet rolled off his head. He watched it settle onto its back. The slow back and forth motion lulling his senses. Then only blackness.
General Manjome heard the attack start. The increased volume of fire left no doubt. “Move the men, Captain.”
Captain Ito barked an order and the lead elements of what was left of the division moved out the back, led by one of the only remaining loyal Filipinos. Ito had his pistol out and ready. He was right behind the guide. In English he said, “If you betray us, you’ll be the first to die, Berto.”
Berto Santos looked Captain Ito in the eye. “I will be killed if my countrymen find me. Even if I helped them find you, they’d still kill me. My people do not forget, ever.”
Captain Ito nodded. He doubted the treasonous scum would betray them, but traitors could never be fully trusted. The jungle was right up against the back of the city here. The Filipino moved along the edge, looking for something. Finally, he pointed and went seemingly into a wall of green. After a few yards a little-used path seemed to spring from nowhere. Berto led them through dense jungle.
The main road leading out the back of the city was lightly defended by Filipinos and the Japanese could have easily overrun the position, but the Americans would arrive soon to seal off the area, and there could be no delay. General Manjome wanted his troops to slip away without being noticed and the trail was perfect.
Berto trotted along the trail. It was well hidden and until today, the Japanese didn’t know of its existence. Berto assured them it led deep into the jungle and passed close to the bunker system.
Soon the remaining troops of General Manjome’s division arrived undetected at the bunkers. They quickly spread throughout the well-hidden and well stockpiled structure. Machine guns were placed in the gun ports, mortars were readied in the covered gun pits and for the first time that day, the Japanese soldiers ate without worrying for their lives.
General Manjome looked out the gun-port of his central bunker and nodded. “The Americans will find us soon enough, and when they do, they’ll wish they hadn’t. We have an excellent chance to keep them here indefinitely.”
Captain Ito nodded, “Yes sir. The men are ready to stand and fight to the last.”
81
Platoon Sergeant Carver stood beside Sergeant O’Connor and looked over the courtyard. It was littered with what looked like a full company of Japanese soldiers. “Looks like they got close.”
O’Connor nodded. “They might’ve overrun us if the tank jockeys didn’t show up when they did.” He pointed toward the remains of the .30 caliber machine gun position. “Jap grenade took out our thirty crew, left us lacking some firepower.” He looked at his boots. “Killed the gunner, Corporal Skinner. The loader, Watkins was shaken up, but he’ll be okay.”
“Any other casualties?”
“Crenshaw got knocked out. Bullet creased his scalp, but he’s fine.” He motioned behind him. “He’s getting patched up with Doc Haley. Robertson took a round to the head. He’s gone.” He brushed some ash off his M1. “How’d you fare? I heard an awful lot of shooting coming from your direction.”
Carver pulled the brim of his helmet back and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Lost Culligan and Frost. The
Japs didn’t wanna give up their flank. It’d just gotten quiet when they attacked across the courtyard. There was no one firing at us. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Boys were whooping and hollering like it was opening day of duck season.” He took his helmet off and looked over the mass of bodies. “They never had a chance.”
“Yeah well, good thing.”
“Fact is, they were a diversion. The rest of ‘em squirted out the back and disappeared somehow. We’ve got men back there, a light screen that was being built up, but they didn’t see a thing.”
“Tunnels?”
“Nah, we found their tracks. They used a well-hidden little game trail. It cuts through a thick creek-bed, right through our guys.” He shook his head. “They’re holed up in some kind of bunker system in the jungle. Looks like a tough nut to crack.”
Sam Santos perked up. “Did you say bunkers?”
Platoon Sergeant Carver noticed the young Filipino for the first time. “You know something about that?”
Sam nodded. “I helped build it, along with many others. We were forced to work. I know it very well.”
Carver looked at O’Connor who gave him a nod, Sam could be trusted. “You think you could draw us a picture? Sure would help to know what we’re getting into.”
Sam smiled and nodded. “Piece of cake.” He said it slow, unsure it was the correct phrase.
O’Connor laughed and slapped his back. “You got it, Sam. Need to get you to Lieutenant Swan.”
Sam and Felipe were back in the warehouse where they’d been chained every night. The chains were gone, and the space was filled with tables and the hustle of a headquarters. The miserable hours spent in squalor and captivity seemed a lifetime ago, though it had only been a few days.
They stood at a table with a large map of the island spread before them. General Arnold, Colonel Cushing, Captain Flannigan, and Lieutenant Swan stood on the other side along with other high-ranking officers.
Felipe did most of the talking. Sam hoped no one would ask him a question. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk. He was afraid he’d sputter and embarrass himself in front of the great men. How had he come to be standing in front of these towering, king-like Americans? Days before he’d been chained to the floor of this very building, eating worm filled rice. The difference was astounding and hard to wrap his head around.
Felipe circled an area on the map with the nub of a pencil. “The bunkers are interconnected by trenches and tunnels. They zigzag. Nothing’s straight. There are ten bunkers, each have two machine gun ports. Just behind them are wider trenches with heavy wooden covers that can be opened and closed to fire mortars. I don’t know these weapons but they have a lot of them and they’re big.”
Sam opened his mouth, trying to speak, but nothing came out. General Arnold leaned across the table. “You have something to add, son?”
Sam stared and managed a nod. He swallowed as all eyes were on him. His voice sounded small and weak. “Yes. Yes sir. They have twenty-four of them. The mortars. I counted them.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I did that.”
General Arnold grinned. “Well, I’m glad you did. Every bit of information’s valuable. Tell us everything you know about it.”
They spent the next hour filling in everything they remembered. Major Cruz arrived. She added her own memories. When they finished drawing up a detailed schematic of the bunkers, Major Cruz shook her head. “We should have known General Manjome would retreat to the bunkers. We could have occupied them ourselves and cut them to shreds.”
Colonel Cushing shook his head. “It’s my failure Major. Mine alone.”
General Arnold shook his head. “Nonsense. No one can predict the future. You’re Filipinos gave us this city with minimal casualties. I hate to think where we’d be without you.” He returned his attention to the map. “We’ve got the precise coordinates of this place. We’ll gather our forces tonight and let the navy and artillery boys pound the crap out of ‘em all night. We’ll see what’s left in the morning.”
That night, despite the coming battle, felt like a celebration. Able Company was spread across a city block. The locals pulled out food and drink they’d been hiding from the Japanese for years. There were fire pits with various forms of meat cooking on spits. The sizzle and drip of huge lizards didn’t look appetizing, but the taste surprised the Americans brave enough to try. There was music playing on every corner and the Filipino women strutted around in their finest clothes trying to attract the attention of the Americans. It wasn’t hard to do.
Platoon Sergeant Carver was sitting on a box of .30 caliber ammunition reading a letter in the dim light of a fire. His hands were black with dirt, grime and gunpowder, but he was careful not to smudge the precious paper. He’d read the letter fifty times through and had it memorized. He concentrated on the curved lines of Lilly’s fine penmanship, thinking about her strong hands clutching the pen. Those same hands had brought him so much pleasure.
He brought the letter to his nose again and closed his eyes as he caught the hint of her smell. It seemed out of place here. It reminded him that the constant smell of rot and decay he’d become so used to, wasn’t the only smell in the world. There was still goodness in the world beyond the war. It smelled like the future.
The whoop of a soldier brought him back to reality. Up and down the street he could see the forms of his men in silhouette. They were laughing, lifting bottles of local hooch and clutching at eager young Filipino women. The background noise of thumping artillery and the flashes of light to the west reminded him that while his men celebrated, the Japanese occupiers, less than a mile away were catching hell.
He thought about the morning. Able Company would be leading the attack again. He folded the letter and carefully re-inserted it into the envelope. He tucked it into his breast pocket and patted it. He took a deep breath wondering if he’d ever see Lilly again.
Sergeant O’Connor walked amongst his celebrating men. The orders were clear, they’d be attacking in the morning. The men needed to rest and prepare, but that wasn’t happening, and he didn’t give a shit. The men needed to blow off steam. They’d spent the entire day in combat and would do so again in a few hours. Let them have their fun.
Many Filipino women had thrown themselves at him as he walked, but he’d quietly pushed them all away. He was as young and red-blooded as the rest of the men, but he was only interested in one Filipino woman. He hadn’t been able to get Major Celine Cruz out of his head since meeting her the day before. He knew it was folly, she was an officer and a foreigner, but the fact remained.
He walked aimlessly through the many parties surrounding bonfires. He told himself he was keeping the men in-line. Making sure they weren’t getting too out of hand, but he kept his eyes peeled for the fiery freedom fighter.
He’d come to the edge of the city and stopped at a raging bonfire surrounded by dancing and gyrating GIs and Filipinos. He had his carbine slung over his shoulder and he held his hands out to the heat. A drunk Private Vincent stumbled into him. “Sarge? That you? It is you.” He held out a piece of white meat skewered on the end of a stick. “You gotta try this. It’s delicious,” he slurred the last word making it sound anything but.
O’Connor eyed the meat. He recognized the dark skin of a lizard. He shook his head. “No thanks, Vincent.”
He pushed the stick away, but Vincent wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You gotta try it. You gotta. It’s delicious.”
O’Connor eyed the soldier. He was swaying on his feet, held up by the small Filipino at his side whose smile could melt the icecaps. He was about to refuse again, when another voice he recognized joined. “It tastes like chicken, Sergeant.”
Relief flooded O’Connor. He realized he’d been worried for Major Cruz’s safety. He turned away from Vincent and faced the diminutive Major. He stared at her soft features. She wore brown, baggy pants and a rumpled brown shirt, two sizes too large. She looked like a child, but her eyes were those of a hardened
combat veteran. She smiled and he thought his heart would burst from his chest. “You led your men well today, Sergeant.”
He shook his head, reminding himself. She’s an officer. “Thank you, Major, but we couldn’t have done it without you and your fighters.”
She nodded. “Walk with me, won’t you?” She turned from the revelry of the dancers and walked down the street. He tripped but caught himself and walked beside her. They moved away from the bonfire. O’Connor could hear Private Vincent regaling the poor Filipino girl with war stories. Major Cruz smiled. “They deserve a little relaxation. It was a long day.”
O’Connor replied, “They’re acting like the whole thing’s over. We attack the bunkers in the morning and that won’t be an easy nut to crack.” She looked at him curiously and he explained. “It won’t be easy, that’s what I mean.”
She giggled and he thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Her face hardened. “I was married once. A good man, but foolish. He fought the Japanese when they first invaded.” She stared at the ground, remembering. “They made an example of him. Strung him up in the center of town naked and whipped him. He bled to death.” She stopped and looked into O’Connor’s blue eyes. “He used to look at me the same way you do.” O’Connor started to apologize, but she stopped him. “I miss that look.”
He stared down at her. The distant firelight danced in her brown eyes. He bent forward, wondering if this was really happening. She pulled him to her and their lips touched tenderly, then with more force as the passion coursed through their bodies.
She broke away and he felt drunk. She clutched his hand and pulled him after her. In a lusty voice she murmured, “I know a quiet, comfortable place.” O’Connor thought she could lead him straight into a meat grinder and he wouldn’t care. He didn’t think he could be any happier, but she proved him wrong.
