“If what you mean by welcome mat is shooting at us, don’t be disappointed just yet,” Deke said. “Might be that we’re walking right into a trap.”
“What trap is that?”
“Maybe they’re waiting for us to come in closer.”
“It could be that they turned tail and ran at the sight of those tanks.”
“They’re probably inside those buildings,” Deke said. “I’ll bet they’ve got snipers on the top floors. They’re probably gonna shoot down on the troops from inside the buildings. That’s what I’d do if I was a Jap.”
“Which you’re not.”
“Thank the good Lord for that.”
The quiet did not last for long. Rodeo, the squad’s radio operator, got a message and passed the word in a whisper. “The boys in the tanks see movement up ahead.”
“What the hell are they waiting for? Then tell them to start shooting!” Honcho exclaimed.
There was no need for Rodeo to relay the orders. The tankers knew what to do. As if on cue, the tanks opened fire with their machine guns. Moments later, what appeared to be the enemy came into view, flowing like a tide down the street toward the advancing US forces. The tanks’ machine guns mowed down the advancing enemy in rows, their bodies quickly piling up.
But something wasn’t right. So far there wasn’t any return fire. It soon became apparent that the street wasn’t filled with enemy soldiers, but with women, children, and old men.
“Hold your fire!” Honcho shouted. “Rodeo, get on the horn and tell those tanks to stop shooting, for God’s sake. They’re killing kids and old ladies!”
The advancing Americans took their fingers off their triggers and stared, aghast at what they beheld. Many of the helpless civilians now lay dead or dying, their blood flowing along the cobblestones.
But there were wolves among the sheep.
A boy broke away from the mass of people still in the street, running toward the Americans. It was the same boy who had been forced earlier to watch his father cower before the Japanese. He held his head high, pumping his arms, running flat out on skinny legs for all that he was worth.
“What the hell?” somebody shouted.
“Don’t shoot, for Chrissake. It’s just a dumb kid.”
As the Americans lowered their weapons, Honcho stepped forward to meet the boy. Nearly breathless from his sprint, the boy reached the lieutenant and spoke the only word of English he knew. “Japanese!” he shouted, then pointed frantically behind him. “Japanese!”
Realization dawned on Honcho. He shoved the boy behind him, out of the line of fire. “Get ready! Japs! Here they come!”
Hiding among the terrified civilians had been several Japanese soldiers using the Filipinos as cover. They opened fire indiscriminately, having no compunctions about their bullets taking out a few more civilians.
The Americans struggled to react. To shoot back meant killing and wounding more civilians. Up ahead, the tanks’ machine guns had fallen silent.
A few of the GIs felt sufficiently confident about their marksmanship to shoot back, Deke among them. He picked out a Japanese soldier with a fixed bayonet and dropped him.
“Aim for the Japs,” Honcho urged. His own twelve-gauge lacked the finesse to do any good, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a pair of binoculars and calling out targets to his sniper squad.
Undeterred, the Japanese raked the tanks with fire and unleashed their weapons at the advancing infantry. Many of the GIs held their fire, unsure of whom they should shoot at. The Japanese shot several soldiers while they tried to figure out what was going on.
In the confusion, the Japanese quickly got the upper hand. Patrol Easy held steady, but some of the GIs nearby started to melt away in the confusion in the streets.
“Hold your positions!” Honcho shouted in frustration.
From their vantage point on the second floor, Ikeda and his snipers picked off several GIs. Ikeda put his crosshairs on one of the tank commanders and pulled the trigger, watching with satisfaction as the man’s lifeless body slid back into the hatch.
But the tank wasn’t full of fools. One of the crew must have seen where the shooting was coming from and took command of the situation. Slowly and deliberately, the muzzle of the tank’s gun swiveled in their direction.
“Down!” he cried, rolling away from the open window.
In the next instant, he was thrown back, ears ringing, dust clogging his mouth and eyes. On his hands and knees, dragging his rifle, he managed to reach the stairs. With a final glimpse behind him, he could see that many of his men were dead. He spotted Morosawa’s shattered body in the rubble, the man’s blood mixing with the dust.
Ikeda headed for the stairs before the tank could fire again. Even he had to admit that a rifle was no match for a tank.
Leaping down several steps at a time, he led the few men he had left down the stairs and into the safety of the alley just before another tank round blew the building to pieces.
“Pick your targets!” Honcho shouted, mainly for the benefit of the GIs within hearing range. He had managed to rally enough of the soldiers to put up a fight against the Japanese.
Deke and the rest of Patrol Easy already knew what to do. Deke swung his rifle from one Japanese soldier to the next, dropping them where they stood. More and more GIs opened fire, their magnificent M1 rifles spitting out bullets as fast as they could pull their triggers. They might not be snipers, but at this range they did just fine singling out enemy soldiers.
Fortunately the Japanese stealth attack started to fall apart as the Filipino civilians scattered. They ran for whatever shelter they could find, darting down alleys and into doorways, many of them screaming. Soon only the Japanese remained, caught out in the open.
The tanks opened fire once again with their machine guns, cutting the enemy to pieces.
Despite the clever, vengeful Japanese attack in which they had used civilians as camouflage, Palo was now in American hands.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Aboard USS Nashville, preparations were underway for another landing operation — much smaller but no less momentous than the storming of the beaches. This would be the landing that carried General MacArthur back to the shores of the Philippines.
Captured with movie cameras, it would become one of the most iconic moments of the war. MacArthur’s political enemies and even some cynical Americans would scoff at the film images as a publicity stunt. Others would find the scene inspirational, proof of American promises kept and a hard-won moment of victory in what had been a costly war.
But at that moment, the film cameras had yet to roll, and Captain Jim Oatmire was more worried about getting the chin strap of his helmet adjusted properly.
“Dammit,” he finally said in exasperation after trying for the umpteenth time to get the strap the right length to hold the helmet in place. Looking around, he could see that many of the other soldiers and officers simply let their straps dangle.
“Relax, Oatmire,” said Major Lundholm, who had watched in amusement as the staff officer fidgeted with his gear. “If the Japs decide to shoot you, that helmet won’t do you much good. And if you fall in the drink, the last thing you want is that steel washbowl dragging you under.”
“Yes, sir,” Oatmire said, gritting his teeth.
“You’re the one who said he couldn’t wait to hit the beach,” Lundholm pointed out. He spoke with the smug assurance of a man who was staying put on this mighty Brooklyn-class cruiser, safe from any Japanese snipers. “Your wish is my command.”
Not for the first time, Oatmire regretted ever lamenting that he wanted to see some action. Most headquarters staff were happy enough keeping their heads down and counting their blessings that they weren’t out there with the rest of the troops, dodging bullets and swatting mosquitoes. I had to go and open my big mouth. Major Lundholm had promised that he would get a chance to see a combat zone up close and personal. That had been back in Brisbane, when the planning for the invasion of the Philippines was still taking place.