“The thought crossed my mind. I just hope to hell they don’t kill the rest of the prisoners as soon as they get where they’re going,” Philly replied. “You can’t trust these damn Japanese.”
“Don’t let the boy hear you say that. He’s upset enough as it is.”
After the boy stumbled over a bayoneted body and stared down at it in horror, Lieutenant Steele waved him over. “Stick close to me, kid. We don’t want to lose you in all this mess.”
Shaken by what he had seen, Roddy did as he was told and did not stray far from the lieutenant’s side. As for the boy’s father, Big Mike was too far away to communicate with his son. Once or twice when he did try to speak up, he only earned himself a rifle butt slammed painfully into the small of his back. That was better than the point of a bayonet, at least. But where the Japanese were concerned, he might be pushing his luck. It was clear they had little patience for their prisoners.
Deke had to hand it to the Japanese — they were quite disciplined, marching in tight order while still managing to herd the hostages along. There were a dozen hostages, mostly men, but among them, Deke counted three women who looked to be in their late thirties or even their forties. They had a no-nonsense appearance, not about to be confused with beauty queens, although one of the younger nurses had on a touch of lipstick. All three wore nurses’ uniforms, and he was amazed at their bravery.
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!”