Having to abandon the vehicles and the supplies they carried, Patrol Easy and the rest of the soldiers from the stranded group in the convoy made their way across the mangled remains of the bridge to join the front half of the convoy. Reluctantly, the four-man crew of the M8 abandoned their vehicle, hoping that they would get it back soon enough.
The hardest part of the operation was carrying the wounded across the rickety bridge, each step threatening to send the stretchers and the stretcher-bearers into the swollen river. The task was made even more nerve-racking when a rifle cracked from the opposite bank, reminding them that the Japanese were still present. Fortunately, the enemy’s potshots didn’t cause any harm.
“Let’s move out!” Honcho shouted, once the last of the wounded had been carried across. What was left of the convoy got rolling again.
They were hardly out of sight of the smashed bridges when they began to see black smoke roiling into the sky behind them. Evidently, the Japanese had returned to the ambush site and set the abandoned vehicles on fire. So much for the plan to return and salvage the supply vehicles and the armored car.
Meanwhile, the heat increased as the sun came out again, encouraging flocks of insects that pestered the sweating troops and tortured the wounded. The heat grew until it triggered a sudden thunderstorm, bringing fresh torrents of rain that drenched the men. They slogged on through the mud and downpour.
“Just another day in paradise,” Philly muttered.
CHAPTER TWO
The convoy reached the division’s supply base near Valencia without further incident, other than a few potshots from Japanese snipers. Patrol Easy dealt with them, giving as good as they got. The town itself was comprised of neat single-story houses set close to the road, with mountains visible in the distance.
When they finally came to a halt, Deke dropped into the shade offered by a truck, glad to get out of the sun. The truck itself was shot to pieces and covered in scorch marks. Now that the truck had stopped, the steam from under the hood and its leaking fluids indicated that the truck wasn’t likely to move again. Lieutenant Steele had told Deke to stick close because he was going to want him around when he addressed what was left of the convoy, but for now Deke just wanted to get off his feet. Meanwhile, rumors were spreading that a Christmas dinner awaited them, even at this remote base. I’ll believe it when I see it, Deke thought.
Between the warmth and the jungle surroundings, it was strange to think that it was the Christmas season. This was one of the cooler months in the Philippines, but there wasn’t any hope of a white Christmas, considering that it hadn’t snowed on Leyte since maybe the Ice Age, if then. Back home, the folks who could afford it would be roasting a turkey or a ham in the oven. His nose seemed to fill with the delicious smells. The thought of home cooking made Deke’s mouth water. There had been plenty of lean times growing up, but his mother had always managed to make holiday meals special, right down to an apple pie.
As the remembered smells of Deke’s pleasant reverie dissipated, the smells that replaced them were the humid jungle, the fetid mud, and the faint odor of a Jap corpse in a ditch.
A shadow loomed over him. “Don’t think you can keep all that shade for yourself,” Philly declared.
“I’m only renting it,” Deke said.
“That’s good to know,” Philly said, then sat down so close to Deke that he was forced to move over until he was partially in the sun again.
Deke grumbled. “Now who’s keeping the shade all to himself?”
“Quit your griping, hillbilly. Skinny as you’re getting, you could sit under a blade of grass and not get sunburned.”
There was some truth to that for all of them, Deke thought. How long had it been since they had eaten a decent meal? Anyhow, the shade was a welcome relief, although both men tried to ignore the stink of burned rubber and leaking gasoline that clung to the wreckage providing the shade. The division’s hardworking mechanics did what they could to get damaged trucks back into action, but this one wasn’t going anywhere — it had been shot full of holes, its lifeblood of oil and fluids leaking into the soil.
The wrecked vehicle was a reminder that the fighting had become a war of attrition. The loss of each ship, each plane, each tank, each truck, each soldier, was felt keenly as the American forces slowly wore down the Japanese. It wasn’t easy, given a supply line that stretched clear across the Pacific, but the Americans could eventually replace what was lost, while the Japanese could not.
Even so, the enemy didn’t have the good sense to surrender, so there was no choice but to keep fighting.
The combat on Leyte had certainly taken its toll on Patrol Easy. It turned out that Patrol Easy wasn’t going to stay undermanned for long. They’d been assigned a dozen new men, some of them combat veterans who had been separated from their units for one reason or another, and others support staff who’d made the mistake of saying they wanted to get into the fight. Given the losses in the Philippines so far, division command was happy to oblige them.
Now those men were gathered around Lieutenant Steele in the shade of an immense balete tree that grew beside the road. Impatiently, Steele motioned for Deke and Philly to join them. While the Americans sat on the ground, Danilo squatted on his haunches in true Filipino fashion.
Danilo’s dark, watchful eyes studied the branches of the balete tree with trepidation, but it wasn’t enemy snipers he was looking for. Balete trees grew to be even more massive than this one, with some centuries old. There were more than a few local legends of these balete trees being inhabited by the spirits of the dead. When the breeze stirred the leaves, making them dance as if with a mind of their own, it was easy to understand why some believed the trees to be haunted.
Before speaking, Steele took a moment to look around at the men, his gaze settling briefly on each man as if taking his measure before moving on. By the time he finally spoke, he had their full attention.
“A lot of you are probably wondering what’s next,” Steele began. “Well, our strategy is straightforward, boys. When you see the enemy, shoot him.”
That comment brought a murmur of approval and even some laughter. However, the lieutenant’s face didn’t show any traces of humor.
“It’s kind of like getting rid of rats,” Philly said. “Except these rats can shoot back.”
“The more of them we kill, the fewer there are to shoot back,” Steele pointed out. “It’s that simple, boys. We go where they send us, and we shoot Japs.”
“C’mon, Lieutenant, haven’t we done enough?” Philly wanted to know. “We haven’t even had our Christmas dinner yet — unless rumors are the only thing being served up.”
“Keep talking, Philly, and the only thing you’re gonna get is some cold C rations and no can opener except your bayonet.”
That response made some of the new men snicker. Patrol Easy made up the core of the undersized platoon Steele had been put in charge of since before the ambush on the convoy. Officers were in short supply. The others clammed up when Deke glared at them. Some of them met his eyes, then quickly looked away. With his gray eyes and the deep scars on one side of his face, Deke had that effect on people.
Philly muttered something under his breath, then fell silent. With another officer, Philly would likely have earned himself a chewing-out with his smart-aleck comments, but Steele put up with him. The lieutenant was used to it, and he knew that when push came to shove, Philly was a good soldier, so he gave him some leeway.
Steele went on to confirm what the gathered men already suspected, which was that Japanese forces had scattered into the hills, but they had not given up. In some places, entire regiments were still holding out, remaining a thorn in the side of the U.S Army’s advance. However, most of the enemy had been reduced to smaller units or even handfuls of determined men. That was old news to Deke.
As long as there’s one enemy soldier out there with a sharp stick, he’ll be fighting us, Deke thought. He knew from experience that most of the Japanese were armed with far more than sharp sticks.
“One more thing,” Steele said. “I want to introduce our acting sergeant, Deacon Cole. Some of you new guys don’t know him, but he’s the hillbilly over there with the pretty face. What he says is as good as what I say.”
Deke looked up in surprise.
Philly nudged him with an elbow and muttered. “There you go, Deke. Merry freakin’ Christmas, Sergeant.”
Steele wrapped up, although Deke’s head was spinning so that he barely heard the rest. They’d be moving out again in the morning.
One of the new men approach him. “Deacon, huh? You’re not some kind of religious fella, are you?”
Philly answered for him. “He’s especially good at funerals. He’ll be glad to say a few words when we bury you, buddy.”
That shut the new guy up, and he suddenly took an intense interest in his boot laces.
Meanwhile, Steele had another surprise in addition to Deke’s promotion. It turned out that they really were having a Christmas dinner, even if it was a day late.
The decision to serve a traditional Christmas dinner on December 26, rather than on the holiday itself, had been made quite deliberately by General Bruce, commander of the 77th Infantry Division. Throughout the Pacific, similar decisions had been made to align with the time difference. Their dinner would coincide with what was actually Christmas Day in the continental United States. Across the thousands of miles of ocean, the troops would be celebrating Christmas at the same time as folks back home. It was an important real-time connection that had nothing to do with dates on a calendar.