Despite all their precautions, it had probably been too much to expect that they would get through the night without any encounters with the Japanese. But when trouble did arrive, it came in a surprising way.
Toward midnight, a truck came rumbling up the road. The night was just bright enough with moonlight reflected off the surrounding flooded fields that they could see the dim outline of the vehicle and a few details. It clearly wasn’t American. The markings were Japanese, and the truck lacked the familiar silhouette of the GMC trucks, although it had a canvas cover across the back. Finally, the engine sounded different, pitched higher than the US truck motors.
“Who the hell is that?” Lieutenant Steele wondered.
“Not one of our guys, that’s for damn sure. But what the hell is he up to?”
The truck lumbered into the village, came to a stop, then reversed as if looking for a good spot to turn around. It didn’t seem like an attack, and the truck wasn’t in any particular hurry. Instead, the truck driver seemed to be expecting to find other Japanese in the village. You could almost hear the driver thinking, Where the hell is everybody?
Ominously, they could hear a few shouts from within the canvas covering. The truck must be carrying Japanese troops.
Nobody was interested in taking prisoners.
Several rifles were already trained on the truck. A machine gun was also brought up.
Lieutenant Steele raised his shotgun. “Pour it into ’em, boys!”
As the first shots rang out, the driver must have realized his mistake. The truck hurtled forward, returning the way it had come, but it didn’t get far. The windshield shattered in a shower of glass. The machine gun stitched holes down the canvas. A single enemy soldier managed to tumble out the back, but he was immediately riddled with bullets. Driverless, the truck came to a stop only when it crashed into a hut and lost its forward momentum. Smoke and steam leaked from the engine, but the motor was still running. Finally, a sergeant approached, reached through the shattered window, and shut down the engine.
Despite the sobering sight of the wrecked truck, a few soldiers cheered. It had been deeply satisfying to pour out their frustrations on the truck.
“Everybody shut the hell up!” Steele shouted. The cheering died away.
Deke and Philly had been among those firing at the truck.
“If the Japanese didn’t know we were here, they sure as hell do now,” Philly said.
“You got that right,” Deke agreed.
Steele headed off in the direction of the sentries posted on the road.
“I wouldn’t want to be those fellas,” Philly said. “I believe Honcho is about to tear them a new asshole.”
“What the hell were they thinking?” Deke wondered.
The truck should have been stopped by sentries who had been posted on the road, but the explanation that they stammered out to an angry Lieutenant Steele was that the driver had waved at them, and they had momentarily thought that the truck might actually have been commandeered by American forces, similar to trucks that had been captured earlier near Camp Downes. In the confusion of nighttime, the Japanese driver must have mistaken the sentries for troops from his own side. It was just another one of those wartime incidents that defied explanation.
The rest of the night passed uneasily. Nobody slept well, expecting an attack in force from the Japanese. Deke and the others moved far up the road, closer to Highway 2, which was surely the direction that an attack would come from.
However, nothing materialized. As the sky brightened on the horizon to reveal another tropical dawn, the GIs were relieved to see that the road ahead and the surrounding rice paddies were empty. Either the truck hadn’t been missed all that much, or the noise of the attack on the truck had been swallowed up in the night.
The sun was barely up when they reached the supply highway. Although this section of the highway was well traveled, it was not defended. This meant that the soldiers quickly moved across it and set up a defensive position. They had created a roadblock, cutting the enemy’s ability to move supplies and men to and from the last open port that the Japanese held.
Up and down the highway, other units from the division were also moving into position. Judging by the sound of distant gunfire, those other units were not having such an easy time of it.
Although their arrival had not been contested, the plan was not to stay put. A company was left behind to dig in and stop any approaching vehicles. The remainder of the unit was to move north up the highway, securing the road and sweeping any Japanese defenses out of their path. The last phase of wresting control of Leyte from the Japanese had begun.
“Let’s move out!” shouted an officer.
The 306th headed up the road, with Deke and the rest of Patrol Easy once again at the front of the column. Step by step, they moved deeper into enemy territory.
“What I’d like to know is, where the hell are all of the Japanese?” Philly wondered out loud.
Deke nodded at the road ahead. “I reckon we’ll find out soon enough.”
The column continued its advance northward on Highway 2. The open fields fell away and were replaced by a wall of vegetation that marched right to the edge of the mostly dirt highway. The ground began to rise as well, the road winding through small hills that would eventually become the distant mountains, where it was rumored that entire Japanese divisions lay hidden, waiting for the right moment to attack. Looking at the dark hills, it seemed to Deke that anything was possible.
This was territory that favored defense.
It didn’t take long to prove that point, as if anyone had doubts. They rounded a bend in the road and were greeted with a flurry of gunfire.
Deke hit the ground, Danilo beside him, as bullets stitched the dirt road.
“Son of a bitch!” Philly swore, but managed to pop off a few shots from directly behind them. Much farther behind the men on the point, the larger column came to a halt.
Deke didn’t see a target but realized that it didn’t matter. What they needed now was suppressing fire. He put shot after shot into the greenery. The shooting subsided, which meant that he had either gotten the bastards, or that they had slunk away, probably to prepare for another ambush.
Cautiously, he raised himself to one knee, then finally stood and dusted himself off. He was so covered in dried, caked mud from his journeys through the rice paddies that a little more dirt hardly mattered.
“Everybody all right?” Lieutenant Steele asked. By some miracle, they’d all come through the Japanese ambush unscathed. “Keep an eye out. We can expect more of the same up ahead.”
“Then I reckon it’s gonna be a long walk to Palompon,” Deke said.
CHAPTER FIVE
The column crept along the road, burdened by their gear and watching the surrounding vegetation warily. They had begun to pass refugees streaming in the opposite direction, running away from the Japanese and the fighting that was sure to come. Men hurried by with children or the elderly clinging to their backs. What few possessions they could carry were stuffed into baskets and battered suitcases. Cows and dogs were led on ropes.
Fear was etched into the faces of the civilians, although a few gave the Americans encouraging smiles and nods. But for most of the Filipinos fleeing war, getting their families to safety was their only priority.
Although Deke’s attention was drawn to the refugees, for the most part he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, his senses sharp and alert. The sounds of shuffling feet and protesting animals created a constant background noise, but he kept his ears open for the first crack of an enemy rifle that would indicate an ambush.
He could feel the weight of the humid air and the oppressive heat that permeated the crowded road. Sweat beaded across his forehead, but he made no attempt to wipe it off, his hands steady on his rifle.