“Like a freight train.”
“You know what? You picked one hell of a time to get sick again. We’re in the middle of another battle.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
It soon became clear that the elimination of one enemy sniper was just a drop in the bucket. The Japanese snipers were scattered throughout the city, taking shots at any US soldiers who appeared in their sights. It was a highly effective strategy for pinning down the advance through the city streets.
And those were only the snipers. Far more daunting were the well-placed bunkers, covering the streets with machine-gun fire. Men scrambled for cover, pinned down one moment, running for their lives the next. They had known this wasn’t going to be an easy job, but it looked as if breaking the enemy stranglehold on Ormoc was going to be even more bloody and costly than expected.
Fortunately, the Americans had at least some aces up their sleeves.
What the Japanese hadn’t counted on were the tanks. Once again, the tanks were the heroes of the hour, able to advance into a hail of machine-gun fire. Even fire from the antiaircraft guns that the Japanese had turned into ground defense weapons bounced off the tanks’ thick steel hides.
The tanks rolled right up to the defensive emplacements and opened fire at nearly point-blank range, obliterating the enemy defenses. For the most part, the tanks refrained from using flamethrowers for fear of incinerating the largely stick-built city — the resulting inferno might trap any civilians or US soldiers within.
Frustrated Japanese defenders attempted to take out the tanks by rushing them with so-called sticky bombs, or they tried to hurl satchel charges under the tanks. However, the infantry moving forward in support of the tanks made quick work of the attackers, turning their efforts into nothing more than another suicide mission. Flesh never won against steel.
The Japanese fought back strongly as ever, employing interlocking fields of fire and rushing reinforcements into the gaps to slow the American advance. However, the army advance moved forward like a grindstone, wearing down the Japanese despite their determination.
Powerful as they were, the tanks could do only so much. Many of the Japanese were scattered around the town in smaller groups, often in the houses, fighting as independent units. A few tanks couldn’t deal with them all. In places, the streets narrowed to the point where the tanks couldn’t reach some of the houses being held by the Japanese.
That job fell to the soldiers. They were forced to go house to house, fighting their way up the streets, each dwelling having been turned into its own version of a fortress. It was a slow and bloody process, considering that the Americans didn’t want to leave behind any defenders who could literally shoot them in the back.
“What a mess,” said Philly, grabbing some shade alongside Deke during a lull in the fighting. “I feel like we’re fighting in all directions.”
“That’s because we are,” Deke said. His head was swimming from the fever, and he took a drink of water from his canteen, hoping that it would help quench his thirst. It didn’t. “I reckon we’re just in the eye of the hurricane.”
More shots spattered around them, and they ran for cover.
The remaining soldiers of Patrol Easy had plunked themselves down nearby, spread out along a low stone wall. Yoshio was nearest to Deke, then Rodeo and Alphabet.
Danilo sat a little apart as always, if “sitting” was the right term. He tended to squat on his haunches. It didn’t look very comfortable to Deke, but it was how most of the other Filipino guerrillas sat when they were out in the open or in the jungle. Danilo kept his rifle across his knees and his mean-looking bolo knife slung across his back.
Deke felt functional despite the fever, but it didn’t help that his movements seemed to be taking place in a fog. He also felt oddly removed from the situation, almost as if he were watching someone else from a distance, maybe an actor in a movie. Again, fever and exhaustion were to blame.
He shook his head, trying to get back to reality. He needed to get with the program, and fast.
If he wasn’t careful, he was going to have an eternity to catch up on his sleep.
Somehow a handful of rear-echelon troops had gotten mixed up with them, including the skinny clerk, Private Rafferty, that Deke recognized from the fight back at the ridge. It was a reminder of how thin the division was spread, when every man was needed for the fight. There would be no reinforcements coming — every spare soldier in the division was in the field.
Things in Ormoc might quickly go south if the Japanese turned out to have more men than expected.
“Look at that. You’re still alive,” Deke said to the clerk.
“You sound surprised,” Rafferty replied, offering him a lopsided grin.
“Keep your head down, and don’t do anything stupid if you want to stay that way.”
The clerk gave him a quick nod to show that he understood. “These Japanese don’t know when to quit.”
“Don’t you worry, kid. They’re saying the same thing about us right about now.”
Missing from the group was Lieutenant Steele, who was trying to bring up the rest of the company. They were a couple of blocks back, held up by a hail of machine-gun fire. The dreaded Nambu machine guns hammered away, their deadly rhythm making them sound like bloodthirsty woodpeckers. Tap, tap, tap.
To make matters worse, the Japanese had planned their fields of fire for maximum efficiency. They also set traps, luring the advancing American units with a lull in the fire, then opening up when they had multiple targets in front of their guns.
Another absent member of Patrol Easy was Private Egan. He and his war dog, Thor, were toward the rear of the company, sniffing out any enemy soldiers who might be trying to hide, so that they wouldn’t cause problems later. The enemy soldiers had a nasty habit of attacking the advancing units from the rear with rifle fire and grenades.
However, the battle clearly had been taking its toll on the enemy. Nearby was a dead Japanese soldier. Deke was surprised to see that the dead man bore a chrysanthemum and anchor symbol on his helmet. He recalled that he had seen this symbol before, when Honcho had pointed out that it designated these troops as part of the Japanese Special Landing Forces. These were elite troops who had seen combat around the Pacific, especially in China. Essentially, they were the Japanese equivalent of marines. Crack troops with a fearsome reputation that was well deserved.
No wonder this had been such a tough fight so far. It was clear that the Japanese were throwing everything they had at Leyte.
Studying the body of the elite soldier, Deke thought, At least that’s one less for us to deal with. Not so tough now, are you, fella?
Yoshio scurried out and quickly went through the dead Japanese’s pockets, returning to the safety of the wall with a few items clutched in his hand.
“Anything?” Philly asked as Yoshio scanned the papers. Yoshio was under orders to gather any intelligence that he could.
Yoshio shook his head, then held up a snapshot of a young woman and child. “Only letters from home.”
It was yet another reminder that the enemy was all too human, even soldiers from an elite unit.
Not only were the snipers doing what they could to take out any Japanese marksmen, but they were also seeing what lay ahead for the advancing troops by serving as their eyes and ears. From time to time, Captain Merrick sent a runner to relay that information.
“Heads up,” Philly said. “Here comes the runner. Poor bastard.”
They could see the man coming, using whatever he could for cover, including the burned-out carcass of an automobile that was still smoldering, licks of flame fed by what was left of the seats, tires, and engine grease. The reeking smoke provided him with some cover.