The village was too small to be considered a suburb of Ormoc, little more than a collection of huts that appeared peaceful enough.
Yet something wasn’t quite right. There was an air of desertion about the place. No smoke rose from any cooking fires. No people were visible. The animal pens made from tree branches and scraps of wire stood empty. Not so much as a chicken scratched the dirt. Deke couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but some instinct made him tense up and ready his weapon.
Danilo must have sensed it too. Up ahead, the Filipino slowed his pace, taking it all in. It was hard to say whether the settlement felt serene — or spooky.
Any thoughts that Ipil was a half-forgotten village evaporated when the Japanese opened fire as the company came in view of the dwellings.
“Take cover!” Merrick shouted as soldiers scrambled off the road.
The village provided good cover for the enemy, who had built dugouts under the huts or were taking advantage of the root cellars beneath. They were practically invisible as they opened fire. The tallest building seemed to be a kind of barn, almost like a hayloft, and there was a Japanese up there with a submachine gun, doing a good job of spraying the road with metal.
Caught in the open, several soldiers went down in the initial burst of fire. Deke saw a soldier throw out his arms in what might have been a gesture of welcome if it hadn’t been for the gaping bullet holes coming out his back. The man dropped his rifle, rocked back on his heels, and fell into the road, blood running from his body. Poor bastard never knew what hit him, Deke thought.
Deke scrambled behind a log that had been knocked down during the shelling. He lay on his belly in the dirt, staying as flat as possible, head down as bullets chipped chunks off the log. Philly and Yoshio slid in beside him. The rest of Patrol Easy had scattered, finding cover wherever they could. Stray bullets kicked up dirt and sand all around them.
“Son of a bitch!” Philly shouted.
Behind them they could hear Captain Merrick shouting for his men to pour fire into the huts. Nearby, Lieutenant Steele was doing his best to direct the platoon that he’d been given command of when he had joined the company.
“Aim low,” Honcho ordered. “The Nips are hiding under those huts.”
The thin walls of the huts offered the Japanese little or nothing in the way of protection as the company began to get organized and return fire. Too many of the bullets passed right through the empty huts, though. Honcho had hit the nail on the head. The Japanese were under the huts, which made them difficult targets. As men figured it out, they took up the cry, “Aim low! The bastards are under the huts!” The satisfying sound of rapid fire from M1 rifles began to fill the air.
The thing about combat was that the sheer terror of it made returning fire with any real accuracy difficult. Sure, these men were veterans of several fights, but in those first moments of the skirmish their aim was shaky, and their shots went wild. Officers like Merrick and Steele filled the all-important role of reminding the men to return fire. Eventually the soldiers’ training kicked in. The sheer volume of fire from the superior M1 rifles began to have a telling effect on the enemy, especially as the soldiers calmed down and took more accurate aim.
Lieutenant Steele had been lying flat behind another fallen log. He rolled to one knee and fired a couple of quick shots from his combat shotgun into the base of the nearest hut.
“Goddamn Nips!” he shouted, then threw himself flat once again just before a fresh flurry of shots chipped splinters from the log he was hiding behind.
As it turned out, Lieutenant Steele also had another trick up his sleeve. He grabbed Rodeo by the shoulder and dragged him close. Rodeo had traded his heavy radio for a handset radio — or “walkie-talkie,” as some called them. Steele took it from him, and everyone nearby could hear him shouting into the radio for the artillery to shorten its aim and bring some hellfire down upon the village.
Deke gulped. Everyone knew how risky that was. The smallest miscalculation would bring the shells down on their own heads instead of the Japanese.
He braced himself as the first shell came screaming in, literally burying his face in the dirt. The impact of the shell seemed to lift him up and shake him out like a rug. Then another shell hit, and another.
By some miracle, the gunners were right on target. Three artillery rounds arrived in quick succession. A couple of the huts simply disappeared. They were there one minute and gone the next, vanishing in a geyser of swirling dirt, palm fronds, and shattered lumber. A fourth shell exploded in the midst of the village, scattering debris in every direction.
Honcho called in a cease-fire over the handset. He then shouted, “Move! Move!”
Honcho led the way, shotgun held at hip level, blasting away. The artillery shells seemed to have stunned the Japanese, at least momentarily.
But the Americans weren’t the only ones able to conjure firepower out of thin air. No sooner had the company begun its advance than a roar was heard overhead. The roar was caused not by more artillery shells, but by the powerful Mitsubishi engine of a Japanese fighter plane. Skimming the treetops, the plane dipped its nose toward the ground and unleashed a long burst from its machine guns. Men scattered as the bullets churned up the ground. The roar of the plane and then the fury of its guns was deafening.
Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the plane was gone, chased by antiaircraft fire from a battery at the beachhead. The proximity of the beach was a reminder of just how little the US forces had advanced. It was also a reminder that the Japanese were far from beaten as long as they still had a few aircraft to strike at ground troops.
Deke dove for the ground with the others, scanning the sky with his rifle in case the plane decided to come back. Incredibly, he heard cheering from the Japanese position as the sound of the plane receded.
The artillery barrage had left the Japanese battered but far from defeated. The appearance of the Japanese plane hadn’t done much damage, but it had definitely been a morale booster. It had also put an end to the company’s efforts to advance.
Loud and clear, cutting through all the noise, he heard a Japanese voice taunting them, “Hey, Charlie, how you like them apples?”
It might have been funny if the enemy’s intent hadn’t been so sinister.
“I got your apples right here!” Private Frazier shouted, then unleashed his BAR into the hut where the Japanese taunt had come from. The flurry of bullets ripped chunks out of the structure, filling the air with what resembled confetti.
As it turned out, the Japanese soldier might have been gloating too soon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The brief barrage had created another problem for the Japanese, igniting fires that began to spread among the village huts, sparks carrying from one burning hut to its tinder-dry neighbor. The huts that had provided such good camouflage were now turning into death traps for the Japanese soldiers in the cellars below.
They began to escape, crawling out from under the huts and making a run for it. Some continued firing as they ran, while others simply dashed away without so much as a look back over their shoulder.
Eager for revenge, the soldiers targeted the Japanese as soon as they appeared from under a burning hut. Some of the enemy waited as long as possible to attempt their escape, finally running out with their clothes literally on fire. They didn’t get far before they were cut down.
Judging by a few of the screams that reached their ears, it was possible that some of the Japanese waited too long before trying to escape and had been trapped by the flames. The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh reached Deke’s nose. No matter how many times he smelled it in this war, he still found the cloying smell repulsive.