CHAPTER ELEVEN
The nightmare that was shaping up in Manila, which Patrol Easy and thousands of other soldiers were walking into, was worsened by a rift in the Japanese command structure, its roots in the rivalry between the Imperial Japanese Army and Navy.
Earlier, the overall Japanese commander, General Yamashita, had realized that Manila was not defensible. The city was too sprawling, and the multitude of wooden structures beyond the city center would make it a death trap if any fires broke out. There was also a massive civilian population that only impeded the city’s defense. Yamashita had ordered a withdrawal from the city and was determined to make a stand elsewhere.
However, the naval officer who had taken charge of the defense of the city had different plans. Rear Admiral Sanji Iwabuchi, commander of the Imperial Japanese Navy’s 31st Naval Special Base Force, announced that he would fight to the end in Manila. They had every intention of making the fight into a bloodbath. His officers and troops seemed to agree with him wholeheartedly. Either that or they were too afraid of being labeled as cowards to speak up.
Although his forces were under the command of the Shimbu Army Group, Iwabuchi ignored army orders to withdraw from the city. The fact that this rogue commander was a naval officer left Yamashita in a bind, because the Japanese Army and Navy were autonomous and did not always cooperate or recognize the command structure the way that the Americans did, even between branches of the service. In the end, despite rivalries and jealousies, Americans and their allies understood that they were all fighting on the same side. Also, there was a clear command structure. For the Japanese, that distinction was not as clear. They were army or navy first, and Japanese second.
Iwabuchi’s troops were mostly navy men, more used to ships than street combat, although his forces included the well-trained equivalent of US Marines, and he also commanded a few thousand army soldiers. In the end, it was hard to say whether these soldiers never got the orders to withdraw in the confusion of war or perhaps felt as Iwabuchi did and preferred to make a last stand in the city after working so hard to prepare their defenses in Manila. Major Tanigawa fell into this second category.
There was no questioning Iwabuchi’s record as a career navy officer who had commanded several ships, culminating in command of one of Japan’s new cruisers. The magnificent ship was sunk by the Americans off Guadalcanal. Iwabuchi survived but apparently felt that he had lost his honor when he had lost the ship. He saw the Battle of Manila as his chance to redeem himself. Unfortunately, he would drag the fate of tens of thousands and the entire city down with him.
In one of his final orders issued to his troops, while communication to his far-flung forces was still possible, Iwabuchi made his intentions clear: “We are very glad and grateful for the opportunity of being able to serve our country in this epic battle. Now, with what strength remains, we will daringly engage the enemy. Banzai to the Emperor! We are determined to fight to the last man.”
And so they would. The table had been set for a bloody feast of combat.
In the confines of the University of Santo Tomas, Major Tanigawa had felt the noose tightening. The sounds of fighting had marched closer each day until the US troops were finally spotted.
Watching from the upper floors of the university building, the major had watched them through binoculars. They scurried like rats through the ruins. He thought that the GIs appeared dirty and disheveled. He knew that the Americans had started on Leyte and, after finally winning the fight there, they had pushed on to Luzon and Manila. It was hard to believe that they had defeated crack Japanese troops to reach this point. Despite appearances, he supposed that they must be capable warriors.
Tanigawa lowered the binoculars and gazed around his neat and spacious office. Large windows looked out over the city where the American forces were gathering. His expansive desk was ornately carved. Shelves of books lined the walls, bound in leather. They were mostly works of religion or philosophy, some in Latin, the words unknowable to him, and these antique books did not interest him beyond their beautiful appearance. Not so long ago, this had been the office of the university president, a priest who had been sent to a far less pleasant prison camp than the one for more run-of-the-mill civilians.
Although Tanigawa rarely drank, he had kept a crystal decanter of brandy left behind by the university president as a trophy. There was his own officer’s sword, polished to perfection, gleaming on its stand next to the treasured double rifle with its intricate scrollwork. Both weapons were quite valuable, having been passed down through the family. Truth be told, they were the most valuable items Tanigawa owned. Above them, a framed portrait of the Emperor hung proudly on the wall. The room was neat and orderly, everything in its proper place. Just the way Tanigawa liked it. The very idea of the Americans ransacking his office offended him. In his mind, the space within the walls of his office represented Japan itself. He could not stand the idea of this space being defiled.
To guard against that eventuality, Tanigawa had placed a gallon can of kerosene in the corner, out of sight, although now and then he caught a whiff of the strong-smelling flammable liquid. When the time came, he planned to splash the kerosene over everything and set it on fire. He would not let the enemy enjoy the spoils of war. As for the brandy, he would enjoy a glass and then add the alcohol to fuel the flames.
He sighed, his momentary bitterness ebbing as he thought of all the tasks that still needed to be done, for he was a man who welcomed action. He supposed that he had always known that this day would come, but the actuality of the looming conflict now sank in. Tanigawa was no coward. He would fight until the end and die like a true samurai.
He was reassured by the fact that his men were ready. Once again, he ran through a mental checklist of their defenses. Under the direction of himself and Sergeant Inaba, his men had turned the university campus into a fortress, this main building becoming a bunker. Machine guns had been set up on the surrounding streets, the positions well protected by sandbags, to give his men commanding fields of fire down all the approaches to the main building. Barbed wire was strung across the approaches to funnel the enemy into streets covered by the machine guns. Tanigawa had put a great deal of thought and attention into these defenses. They would be able to hold out for a long time against infantry.
However, at this late stage of the game, his one nagging worry concerned the American tanks. Machine guns would be no use against their armored sides. Meanwhile, the Sherman tanks could take their time blasting away at his own positions, softening them. Tanigawa had no heavy weapons at this disposal, aside from a few mortars. There was little he could do against tanks. However, he had issued orders to prepare a supply of satchel charges that his men could use as a last-ditch defense against any tanks, hurling themselves into the tracks and setting off a blast, trading their lives to disable the tanks. In Tanigawa’s mind, it seemed like a fair exchange.
But best of all, his ultimate weapon would be the prisoners that he held. The Americans would be loath to see these people killed, considering that many of those held at the university were their fellow Americans who had lived in Manila. When the time came, Tanigawa planned to use the prisoners to his advantage. If some died in the process, then so be it.
He called for Sergeant Inaba, who kept a small office just down the hall from his own. Again, he thought of how much he had come to rely on Inaba, who was ultimately a man of humble origins. In some ways this went against Tanigawa’s inclinations, but the usual chain of command had not been possible because first his lieutenant, and then his captain, had caught fevers. The lieutenant had died and the captain remained in the hospital. Inaba had also gotten sick, but he’d proved too tough for the fever. He was also utterly reliable in obeying Tanigawa’s orders. He had proved himself to be worth far more than any of Tanigawa’s officers.
“Any updates on the enemy’s movements?” Tanigawa asked his sergeant, although he had been watching the approaching Americans through his binoculars.
Sergeant Inaba replied, “Our men have not yet engaged them, sir. However, they are not more than a few blocks away at this point.” Inaba paused, emotion playing across his features. His face, normally so impassive or twisted into a scowl, literally rippled as he expressed his despair, eyes wide and mouth open, before his features hardened into anger. “I cannot believe we are in this situation. It is like a nightmare.”
“It is the situation we face, Inaba. We will fight and die as we must.”
“Have you heard from headquarters? We need reinforcements, sir. We do not have enough men.”
“We need to keep our heads, Inaba. We will fight with the men we have.”
“How long do you think we can hold them off?”
“Until the end, Inaba.”
“Hai!” Inaba sprang to attention, his old fire having returned. Tanigawa could always count on Inaba.
“Keep me informed,” Tanigawa said. “That is all.”
He picked up the binoculars again and turned to the window. He had meant what he’d said to Inaba. They would fight to the end, but not necessarily in this building.
When the time came, he would share his plan with his men. Until then, he thought, let the Americans come.