In more ways than one, the church was the center of the town’s life. Whether it was by design or not, Palo Cathedral remained the tallest building in town, presiding over Palo with its sheer physical presence. Its original stones dated to 1598. As awful as this day was, the centuries-old stones of the cathedral served as a reminder that these events were merely a flyspeck in the flow of time.
The Japanese had no appreciation of the old Spanish culture or Western religion, especially when something as powerful in the lives of Filipinos as the church could challenge their own control. In fact, they viewed the traditions of their occupied country with contempt.
One of the cathedral’s current priests, Father Francisco, had taken to the hills and jungles alongside the courageous Filipino guerrillas battling the Japanese. Persecuted as he was by the Japanese, the priest had no choice but to leave. It had been only a matter of time before the Japanese either imprisoned him — or worse.
Knowing of this connection to the guerrillas, the Japanese occupiers had shown little sympathy for the citizens of Palo.
To make matters worse for the town, the Japanese military could do anything it wished with impunity. As the highest power in the land, the Japanese army had no one to answer to but themselves. The town’s civilian government had been disbanded or replaced with obsequious local men willing to do the bidding of the Japanese. Local military commanders understood that General Yamashita, the ultimate power on Leyte, had far more concerns than the treatment of the locals.
Consequently, Ikeda had been a familiar sight in the town, and a feared one as well, going door to door in search of guerrilla fighters, his band of soldiers acting like thugs. He hadn’t held out much hope of finding any weapons or ammunition, much less an actual guerrilla fighter hiding in one of the houses. His real purpose had been to punish the townspeople for helping the guerrillas.
The way that Ikeda saw it, he had lost more than his fair share of men who had made the mistake of venturing too far into the forests occupied by the Filipino freedom fighters. Small bands of Japanese troops were easy pickings for the guerrillas. Why shouldn’t the townspeople pay a price for their support of the guerrillas?
The arrival of American forces meant long-awaited liberation from under the Japanese bootheel. But not quite yet.
Liberation was not going to be as easy as the Filipinos might have hoped. As it turned out, Ikeda and the Japanese had one final cruelty and injustice to visit upon the town and its people.
At the moment the Americans were focused on taking strategic positions such as Hill 522. Although they were using the bridge across the Bangon, US forces had shown little interest in the town. When the Americans did get around to occupying Palo, the Japanese planned a surprise for them.
Having rounded up the fleeing townspeople, the Japanese drove them back into the streets at bayonet point, herding them like cattle.
Most of the Filipinos were women and children, old men or boys. The old men were frail, and the boys were very young. Any male sturdy enough to work had long since been drafted by the Japanese to dig rifle pits and carry logs or baskets of earth during the frenzied effort to build defenses before the arrival of US forces. Of course, many young men had given the Japanese the slip to join the guerrilla forces rallying around Father Francisco.
In the frenzied streets, some of the women chattered in frightened voices. Small children cried. They were all totally at the mercy of the Japanese soldiers.
“Be quiet!” Ikeda shouted at the cowed villagers who now crowded the street. An officer stood nearby. Although he was in charge, he gave Ikeda a nod of approval. “I must have silence!”
They could hear the sounds of battle growing nearby, the deadly clatter of machine guns and the thump of mortars. Any civilian could be forgiven for finding these sounds terrifying. Staring at the enemy’s rifles and bayonets, the townspeople had no choice but to comply with Ikeda’s demands. They fell silent.
“You have been chosen for a great honor,” Ikeda said. He gazed around at the frightened townspeople in order to let his words sink in. The handful of Filipinos who understood Japanese translated for the others. “You will lead the fight against the Americans.”
The confused townspeople looked at one another in bewilderment, not sure what the Japanese officer was talking about. They had no weapons, and more than that, they wanted to welcome the Americans, not fight them.
But from the looks of things, they wouldn’t be given any say. Whatever the Japanese had planned for them, they would have no choice but to obey.
On Hill 522, the bulk of the fighting was over, but the real killing was only about to begin.
A few Japanese soldiers popped up now and then to fire a few shots, or even to deliver a mortar shell, but meaningful resistance was over. The GIs had come to the part of the job that focused on smoking out the enemy wherever they could. Egan’s war dog, Thor, was kept occupied going around to the tunnel entrances and the cave mouths, sniffing out the enemy. His frantic barking echoed across the hillside.
When word arrived that Patrol Easy would be joining the force moving to occupy the town of Palo, it was welcome news. They’d had enough of this place.
“Fine by me,” said Philly, watching as a detail moved cautiously from one hole and pillbox to another, casting in grenades or satchel charges. The details had developed a deadly efficiency as they wiped out any Japanese defenders who might still be hiding on the hill. The ground shook with the detonations.
As the largest charges exploded, they sent a roar up the tunnels and out into the air. It sounded like a Hellcat engine in a dive, a giant buzzsaw and a volcano all rolled into one. He couldn’t think of a worse fate than being trapped underground and awaiting certain death. Deke shuddered, some part of him sympathetic to the Japanese on the receiving end of these efforts. He supposed that he hated the Japs as much as any soldier. But this extermination didn’t sit right with him.
Even worse was watching drums of gasoline or diesel oil being poured into the deeper holes. With theatrical nonchalance, an officer or sergeant would take a couple of puffs from a cigarette, then toss it down the hole. The message seemed to be that he gave as much thought to killing the Japanese in the hole as he gave to tossing away a cigarette butt.
What followed was not an explosion but a suffocating whoosh of fire. Angry orange flames soon rolled out and licked at the tropical air. The acrid smoke from the petroleum flames soon mixed with the disgusting odor of burned flesh and singed hair that wafted out from below. No matter how many times a soldier smelled that, there was no getting used to such a nauseating smell.
“This makes me sick,” Deke muttered. “Sick to my soul, that’s what. Burning folks alive. How the hell can a man do that to another man?”
The hollow look in Philly’s eyes showed his agreement. “There’s no answer to that, country boy.”
“War is one thing, kill or be killed and all that, but this is something else,” Deke went on. “This has got to be a sin. It ain’t right.”
“Tell it to Hirohito,” Philly said, his voice suddenly taut with anger. He wasn’t mad at Deke, but at the situation. “It’s his damn fault, not our fellas. Hell, it’s not even the fault of the Nips we’re roasting alive down there. Well, not all their fault. Hirohito is the one that started this whole mess. He’s the one that’s done this to them.”
Deke supposed that what Philly was saying had a lot of truth to it, but right now, Hirohito was nowhere to be seen. What he did see were lots of GIs eager to pour gasoline into the tunnel entrances.
As the day progressed, the pace of the annihilation increased. At first, one of the officers had gotten Yoshio to go around and shout for the Japanese to surrender. Dutifully he yelled into hole after hole, but there weren’t any takers before the gasoline and grenades were poured in. After a while, no offer of quarter was given.