He’d heard about these Red Cross nurses who had volunteered to help the prisoners, in turn becoming prisoners themselves. Now, instead of being released, they had either volunteered to be hostages or the Japanese had decided that female hostages gave them more negotiating power. He caught a glimpse of the nurses’ faces and saw no tears there, or even fear, but only a calm defiance.
From time to time, Deke locked eyes with the Japanese sergeant he had traded threatening glances with during the negotiation phase. Again, the Jap kept giving him what he must have thought was a mean-eyed scowl. Deke wasn’t impressed.
You don’t know the half of it, fella, he thought. His finger itched on the trigger, and he was more than eager to simply take out the Jap, but that wasn’t going to be possible under the circumstances. For now, they would just have to put up with him.
The group marched for nearly an hour across the city. The distance they covered wasn’t impressive, because the condition of the city streets made for slow going. In a few places, the Japanese had to march around obstacles rather than pick their way through. Once or twice, the rubble from collapsed buildings completely blocked the wall like a rockslide in the mountains back home. Maneuvering around it all took extra time.
Meanwhile, artillery boomed and echoed off the barren walls of the remaining intact buildings that still lined the streets. Rifles cracked and flamethrowers vomited fire into basements and dugouts, flushing out any hidden Japanese defenders. Those who fled the flames were instantly shot, and those who stayed were burned alive. Of all the weapons of war wielded by the soldiers, the flamethrower was the most horrible, a nightmare as much as it was a weapon. The sickly-sweet smell of roasted flesh drifted on the afternoon breeze. Once smelled, that odor could never be forgotten.
Tanigawa’s unit somehow managed to ignore the fate of their comrades and kept moving. Their destination soon became clear as the old walls of Intramuros came into sight.
“I’ll be damned,” Honcho muttered. “So that’s where they’re headed. Rumor has it that every Japanese soldier left in the city is holing up in there to make a last stand.”
“Looks like these boys want to join them,” Deke agreed.
Intramuros was the original walled city of Manila, walled like a medieval European city against whatever threats the surrounding countryside and seas posed. In the distant past, there had been raids by Muslim pirates against the Spanish and, of course, the constant threat of insurrection by the Filipinos themselves, who didn’t always appreciate being under the Spanish bootheel. On occasion, a warlord had risen up and found his forces broken against those thick walls.
As Honcho had stated, this walled city was where the remaining Japanese in Manila had decided to make their stand. Not only was this the oldest quarter of the city, but it was basically a fortress in its own right, offering cover for house-to-house and street-to-street fighting, where the defenders would enjoy a distinct advantage. Every inch of ground would be hard-fought inside the walled city.
There were several gates into the city. Once they reached one of these gates, the Japanese called a halt. Major Tanigawa detached himself from his men long enough to approach his escort. He was still carrying his double rifle. The expensive hunting weapon with its ornate filigree and finely checked stock looked out of place in the rough surroundings, considering that most other weapons were dull, battered, and scratched. In comparison, the submachine gun that Sergeant Inaba carried appeared completely utilitarian, to the point that it looked as if it had been welded together out of scrap metal. But Deke had seen those Type 100 submachine guns in action and knew that a quick burst could practically cut a man in half. The weapon was just as brutal as it looked.
“This is our destination,” Tanigawa announced. “We will join our comrades here.”
“That’s as far as we go, then,” Steele said. “We’ll take those prisoners off your hands now.”
Tanigawa did not reply but shouted an order in Japanese. His men began to move through the gate, still surrounding the prisoners. He still had not acknowledged the lieutenant’s comment regarding the prisoners.
“Hey!” Honcho yelled. “What the hell is going on here?”
Tanigawa continued to ignore him as his men trooped inside the old city.
Deke and Philly raised their rifles, but Lieutenant Steele shouted, “Hold your fire! You’ll hit one of the hostages. Maybe the bastards will release them once they’re inside the city walls.”
Deke did not lower his rifle. He had Tanigawa in his sights and his finger on the trigger. All that he needed to do was put slightly more pressure on the trigger—
“Deke, do not fire that rifle!” Honcho shouted. “You’ll get every last hostage killed.”
“I ain’t gonna hit anybody but that Jap officer,” he muttered around the rifle stock, fully confident of where his bullet would go. He didn’t take his finger off the trigger.
“Do not fire. That’s an order!”
Slowly, Deke lowered his rifle, watching as the Japanese got farther away, becoming smaller targets. The snipers’ opportunity had passed.
Honcho’s hope that the Japanese would release the hostages at this point turned out to be wishful thinking. Even with their weapons trained on the Japanese, there was nothing they could do except watch in anger and frustration as the enemy troops moved inside. Suddenly the neat ranks of Japanese fell apart as the men at the back of the column spun around and sprayed fire at Patrol Easy and the Filipinos.
Deke noticed how that damn Inaba stood in the middle of the pack of Japanese, so close that Deke could see the maniacal grin on his face as the man hosed down everything in sight with his submachine gun. Deke and the others hit the deck, dodging bullets. Deke and the others put their rifles to their shoulders, ready to return fire. They hesitated, fearful of hitting the hostages. Meanwhile, short bursts from Inaba’s weapon kept them pinned down. Deke pressed his face into the dirt and dust, his mouth filling with grit as the fat slugs ricocheted around him.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Honcho shouted. “You’ll hit the prisoners!”
The lieutenant wasn’t the only one yelling. They heard the boy give a heartrending shout: “Papa!”
But Big Mike was likely too far away to hear and too close to the enemy gunfire. They had a final glimpse of his tall figure before he and the other hostages were spirited away at muzzle-point.
Helplessly, they had no choice but to watch while the Japanese slipped away into the city, taking the hostages with them. The enemy fire slackened and Deke straightened up, keeping the rifle to his shoulder, hoping for at least a parting shot, but no good target presented itself.
He lowered the rifle and spat some of the grit from his mouth into the dirt.
“Dammit all. Now what?” Honcho wondered, clenching and unclenching his fists in helpless anger.
The lieutenant seemed to be thinking out loud, but Deke went ahead and answered.
“We go after those lying bastards, that’s what,” Deke said.
PART THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the ruins of Intramuros at the heart of the old colonial city, the final battle for Manila began. Most of the Americans knew that it was only a matter of time before they ground the enemy into defeat. However, the lives of the hostages now hung in the balance.
Like the others, Deke had watched with anger and disbelief as the Japanese disappeared into the ruins, using their human shields to keep them safe.
“What a bunch of yellow-bellied cowards,” he said. “They’re hiding behind prisoners, including a bunch of damn women.”
“They’re Nips,” Philly pointed out. “What else do you expect?”
Deke hawked up some of the dust that had been collecting at the back of his throat and spat. His own saliva tasted like bitter bile. In situations like this, one of the best things he could think to do was to shoot something. His gray eyes flashing, he looked around for a target. He didn’t see anything stirring among the rubble, which only added to his frustration.
Somewhere in the surrounding walled ruins, the Japanese were ready to make their last stand. While Patrol Easy was mainly focused on liberating the hostages that Major Tanigawa had taken, they would face more challenges. It wasn’t just Major Tanigawa and his band, but several thousand die-hard Japanese soldiers that he had joined for this final struggle.
The simplest approach would have been to shell Intramuros into rubble, indiscriminately destroying every building in sight. However, the artillery units had been informed that there were American hostages within those walls. Lieutenant Steele and Patrol Easy were being given a very narrow window to find those hostages before the shells came raining down again.
Honcho wasn’t sure there would be enough time. He went in search of the artillery commander to beg him to hold off long enough to give Patrol Easy a chance to do things their way.
“Dammit, I’ll give you until lunchtime tomorrow,” the unhappy colonel grumped when Lieutenant Steele explained the situation. He chomped on a cigar and glared at the lieutenant as if holding off on an artillery barrage was a personal affront.
“Sir, that’s just not enough time. Hell, we don’t even know where the Japanese have taken these hostages.”
The colonel did not look sold on the idea, especially when it was coming from a mere lieutenant, so Captain Oatmire spoke up. His uniform was still clean enough that he was obviously not a combat soldier. He introduced himself as MacArthur’s liaison, which was something of a stretch. Still, the fact that he had come from headquarters gave his words extra weight in this situation. What he lacked in rank he hoped to make up for with clout. “Colonel, I have direct orders from General MacArthur to get those hostages to safety.”