“We can still negotiate this thing,” Davis had said, trying to calm and reassure the minister-run-amuck, as the other two battalions from the Twenty-fifth Infantry Division’s light infantry brigade were flying in C-17 aircraft, awaiting the clearance of the runway. And as the two Ranger battalions were jumping into Fort Magsaysay to stop the terror, the Marine expeditionary force sped toward the southwestern coast of Luzon to encircle the advancing Japanese divisions. U.S. Air Force and Navy pilots, as well, began the long and arduous process of fighting American-made, Japanese-flown jets to try to establish air superiority so the ground forces could conduct their business under an umbrella of protection.
Jennings sat in the command-and-control cell of his command ship off the western coast of Luzon, listening to spot reports as they came in from the J-2 (intelligence) and J-3 (operations) officers. There had been no time to establish massive forces as America had done during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. This was a joint contingency operation all the way, not unlike the recent action in Afghanistan. The Rangers had flown in from the Continental United States, the light infantry soldiers from Hawaii, the Marines from Okinawa, the Air Force from Guam and the continental United States, and the Navy from the Indian Ocean and Hawaii. All were supposed to converge on the island of Luzon, like dancing on the head of a pin, and mesh and coordinate and synchronize and come together as if they had practiced it a hundred times the night before.
Of course, they had not. And it did not.
The Rangers had landed and were experiencing heavy resistance from a large armored force, nearly a brigade of two hundred tanks. Caught off guard, and perhaps inserted by a naval commanding officer who did not quite understand their purpose, the Rangers were moving into the jungle, where they were more effective. But their mission had been to secure the prison camps that the ever-faulty intelligence system had declared “lightly defended.” Perhaps to a navy officer used to traveling on aircraft carriers, a brigade of tanks was no big deal. But it was devastating to the lightly armed Rangers, as they made their way back across muddy rice paddies and over the gently sloping terrain until they could blend into the jungle.
Lieutenant Colonel Buck’s light infantry battal-ion had the mission of securing the airfield at Subic Bay so the American forces could establish initial lodgments and receive additional forces. An armored brigade guarded that area as well and would be a tough foe for a light infantry brigade.
The Marines had been joined by another two brigades from Okinawa and were operating as an expeditionary force. They had the mission of destroying the two Japanese divisions that were guarding the Presidential Palace and the major financial institutions in the downtown district. Jennings had planned for them to attack from either side of Manila, performing a pincer movement to squeeze the Japanese out of the city and into the countryside, where their tanks would be forced to stay on the roads, providing easy targets for the aircraft.
It was a risky plan, particularly the Ranger action. He hoped they would be safe until he could shake some fighter aircraft loose to start hammering the tanks around Fort Magsaysay. He slowly shook his head, wondering about the Army’s light forces.
What use are they? He vowed to get them some air support as soon as they could achieve air superiority.
The Marines had landed in the darkness of the night and were advancing smoothly on either side of Manila Bay with their 25 series Light Armored Vehicles and M1 tanks. The crew-cut marines followed the roads to Manila, peering through their sights like watching television.
Jennings realized that air power was going to have to play the critical role in the highly decen-tralized operation. They needed to destroy the scrappy Japanese Air Force before they could expect to reinforce the infantry on the ground, but the fact of the matter was that two Ranger battalions were already decisively engaged. Had they miscalculated as to how much they needed?
Did they have enough forces, he wondered?
And why had his requests for more troops been denied?
Chapter 82
Through the greenish hue of his night-vision goggles, Captain Zachary Garrett could see about thirty tanks from where he was sprawled in the prone position atop a jagged ridge to the west of the airfield — the same direction from which Ayala had attacked his company and ultimately died. The early-morning air was relatively cool and damp with dew, but Zach knew that the steaming heat would quickly arrive with the sun.
The unsuspecting Japanese forces had not secured their rear area very well, unlike Zachary. The tanks he saw were lining up to move out in single file, practically in an administrative mode. He could see short men running about wildly waving their arms as if they were reacting to an emergency. The tanks were only five hundred meters away, and his Javelin tank-killing missiles should destroy them with ease. His company had procured twenty sights and over sixty rounds from the ammunition stockpile. There were more, but his men could not carry all of them.
Still, with his original nine sights from Hawaii, that gave him almost one weapons device per tank. Looking to his left, he saw Barker’s platoon lined up along the ridge, his men peering through the thermal sights, waiting for the signal. Taylor’s platoon was to the south, beneath the ridge, while Kurtz’s men were opposite him on the other side of Barker.
The other three companies from the battalion were prepared to assault from the North, across the airstrip, toward the pier. Garrett’s company was providing supporting fire for the attack. He was glad that he had a support-by-fire mission for a change. His men would welcome the relative safety of covered and concealed fighting positions as opposed to advancing on the enemy again.
Morale had risen significantly when the rest of the battalion had arrived. The men ate the extra rations that had been dumped by helicopter into their position the following morning. Their stomachs full, and their minds rested, they relished the thought of avenging the losses of Teller and Rockingham.
And then there was Matt, his brother. They had received word of the three hostages, and Zach had heard that Matt was one of the detainees. The thought of Matt as a hostage had worn on him, sapping his strength and diverting his attention. But something had transpired in him, temporarily at least, to allow him to command his soldiers. Partly, Zach knew that if anyone could survive in the Philippines, it was his brother. And partly, despite the pain, worry, anxiety, and frustration, he could feel the hand of God inside him, hammering the molten ore of his character and dipping another red-hot rod of support into the reservoir of his strength and pulling it out, steaming and rigid, once again allowing him to be himself.
Matt. Where could Matt be? Is he alive? Bastards! The thought shot through Zachary’s mind like the boomerang from hell. In and out, back and forth, ricocheting from side to side, angling to the nether regions of his mind, then soaring to the frontal lobe, striking pain and fear and hate and vengeance into his heart, kick-starting an emotional, instinctive reaction to kill every last Japanese invader. He knew by then that the Japanese were behind the whole fiasco. Yes, kill them all.
The radio crackled with a whispering voice making a net call. Zachary acknowledged. He nodded when he heard McAllister’s distinctive Boston accent, comforted by his friend’s confident cadence. One night over a few beers at the Schofield Barracks O-Club, he and McAllister had waxed philosophical, something most infantry officers avoided. But out of deep respect for one another, they tried to reach out in a manly way. Each wanted the other to know he trusted the other with his life. “If we ever get on the two-way rifle range, old boy,” McAllister had said, eyes glassy from alcohol, “I hope to hear your voice come crackling over the radio.”