They braced themselves, ready for it, expecting the Japanese to come over the remnants of the wall and pour down into the alley. A grenade flew over the wall, then another, the Japanese returning the earlier favor. The blasts echoed ruthlessly between the alley walls, shrapnel shrieking. By some miracle, nobody was hurt.
But no soldiers followed. For whatever reason, the Japanese had decided to break off the attack. Maybe, in their minds, a handful of Americans just weren’t worth the effort. They had bigger fish to fry.
Lieutenant Steele stood up. He had taken shelter behind a miniature landslide that seemed to be made up primarily of broken doors and garbage cans. Something dark, foul-smelling, and wet clung to the knees of his fatigues.
“All right, show’s over,” he announced. “Let’s get the hell out of here and find some shelter for the night. Those Japanese will be on the prowl.”
If the Japanese had broken off their attack against the Americans, it was only because they had easier targets to occupy their attention.
Major Tanigawa and his men moved out, but not before Sergeant Inaba asked, “What about the American soldiers?”
“Never mind the Yanks,” Tanigawa said. “If they return, we shall teach them another lesson.”
For the Japanese, teaching that lesson had come at a cost. Inaba did not point out that Tanigawa was stepping around the bodies of the men slain by grenades. He had been fortunate in being out of range, although some of his patrol had not shared that good luck.
A few more bodies lay scattered in the rubble, killed in the melee with the Americans. Ultimately, they had been driven off.
Inaba thought that was too bad. He had wanted another crack at the sniper, the one with the scars on his face. But it was not to be. No matter — they had sent the Americans running like beaten dogs.
During the initial American attack, he and Tanigawa had gone back to the legislative building to organize the counterattack, hurling their men at the small American force. By the time that they could rejoin the attack, the Americans had retreated, climbing the wall at the end of what appeared to be an alley running between the larger buildings on this side of the street. Running like the cowards they were.
Major Tanigawa did not seem interested in pursuing the Americans, so Inaba had little choice but to do as he was told. Also, he suspected that the major was correct. The patrol that had been probing their position was not strong enough to pose any real threat or storm the legislative building itself. It was only a matter of time before US forces reached them in greater numbers, or unleashed their air force or artillery against Japanese positions.
“Major, where are we going?” Inaba could not help but ask.
Major Tanigawa smiled. “Hunting,” he said.
Major Tanigawa led his men into the city, shooting any civilian on sight. Others were put to the bayonet. Whether the victim was gray haired, or a woman or child, didn’t matter. Anyone they caught was slain. These civilians were only trying to flee the fighting and get themselves or their families to safety.
Even soldiers who ordinarily would have shown restraint found themselves driven on in their killing spree by the officers and by their fellow soldiers.
When they’d finally had enough, the major brought his men back to the legislative building. His troops were now in a bloodthirsty mood, and their eyes fell upon the prisoners, under guard by a few men that they had left behind.
“Should we finish them off?” Sergeant Inaba asked. “These prisoners have troubled us long enough.”
The major shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “They may still have some value to us. As long as we have the prisoners, the Americans may wait to shell this building.”
Inaba nodded. As usual, the major was thinking two steps ahead of him. “Hai!” he said.
“Make sure the men eat well,” the major said, referring to the captured foodstuffs they had found. “Allow them a few bottles of sake. One way or another, this fight will end tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
As the light began to fade, Patrol Easy moved to hole up for the night in the ruins of an old house. Perhaps the house had once been grand, but the stucco facade was now scorched and cracked, ravaged by war in addition to the neglect brought on by the years of Japanese occupation. It might even be said that the battered house very much resembled the mood of the snipers.
Currently, the dwelling’s chief attribute was that the house had thick walls and barred windows that would keep out enemy infiltrators during the night. In a sense, the house was a small fortress within the walled city itself.
Compounding the soldiers’ exhaustion was the fact that the fight for Intramuros had not been going well. The Japanese had sworn to fight to the last man, and so far they were living up to that pledge. The code of the samurai warrior seemed to beat in the heart of every Japanese in this city. For them, there would be no surrender. The battered army troops were getting frustrated by their losses. Consequently, it was only a matter of time before the full brunt of the US Army’s massive artillery firepower was brought to bear on the city. If they hoped to rescue the hostages, Patrol Easy was running out of time.
Inside the temporary shelter of the house, the patrol was licking its wounds, both literal and figurative. The Japanese enemy had chewed them up royally today, seemingly always one step ahead of them, as if reading their minds. It was not only frustrating; it had been costly to life and limb, with one of the Filipino snipers having been killed and one wounded. Deke himself had suffered a minor wound — he knew that it could have been much worse.
They all felt battered after today, but they could not yet give up. Tomorrow they faced a stark reality. They would have to find the hostages early in the day or watch as the old walled city was obliterated along with anyone inside it — hostages included.
Why were they even bothering? It was a good question. Of course, the boy’s father was one of the hostages, but that wasn’t the only reason to try to get them back. It was just the idea that the hostages were somehow an extension of home. Also, the Japanese had tricked them and gone back on their word by not releasing the hostages. When Deke thought of that snake Major Tanigawa and his henchman Sergeant Inaba, he felt himself getting angry all over again.
If the soldiers and even their tireless guerrilla allies appeared disheartened, their young guide looked the most dejected of all. Maybe he had started out the day with a sense of adventure, but seeing men die had cured him of that. It seemed to be sinking in for the boy that war was a deadly business. Like most boys his age, he’d probably been caught up in the excitement of it all. Because of his age and his relatively wealthy family, he had been sheltered from the worst of the war. Not any longer. For better or for worse, he had been forced to grow up a great deal in a single day based on what he had witnessed.
Honcho opened rations and handed them to the boy, along with a spoon. Franks and beans — the finest tinned rations a soldier could expect. “Eat up, kid. You’re gonna need the energy.”
“Yes, sir,” Roddy said. At first, he picked listlessly at the food, but then hunger overcame exhaustion and the sound of the spoon could be heard scraping against the empty metal can. As if by magic, chocolate ration bars appeared next to him on the stone block that was serving as the boy’s seat.
Honcho watched him eat for a moment, then said, “Hey, kid, you know what? Your father would be proud of you.”
The boy smiled in spite of himself and perked up. “Thank you, sir.”
“I thought I’d tell you that since he’s not around to say it. But don’t you worry, kid, he’ll tell you that himself soon enough.”
Roddy nodded and tackled a chocolate bar. The Hershey’s tropical bar or D ration was chalky, engineered not to melt in the heat, and while they weren’t exactly candy, they would somewhat satisfy the sweet tooth of a hungry boy. The kid deserved a whole lot more, like maybe an ice-cream sundae, but this was the best they could do in these conditions.
Deke realized that the lieutenant had an easy way of talking with the boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. The lieutenant reached down and mussed the boy’s hair. It was such an automatic gesture that it hinted at Honcho having done this before, maybe back home, to a young nephew — or maybe his own son. Deke realized how little any of them really knew about the lieutenant. He had never mentioned family of any kind, but now Deke wondered. They lived and fought elbow to elbow, yet they all managed to keep some part of themselves private, especially officers, who naturally kept apart from the enlisted men.
Each man had a different way of handling the war. There were men who preferred not to think about home or the future because those were only distractions from the business of being a soldier. Some men, like Philly, talked constantly about home, women, food, baseball, or whatever else came into their heads. You couldn’t blame them — it was their way of dealing with being thousands of miles from home and being shot at to boot.
Deke preferred not to share anything too personal. Hell, now that he thought about it, Philly was probably the only one of the bunch who even knew he had a sister. Then again, it wasn’t hard to guess at Deke’s background or his nature. There was no hiding his Appalachian accent or those hard gray eyes that resembled ice chips when looking down the barrel of a rifle. He couldn’t hide the scars on his face and body, either, although few knew the story behind them.