Battlefield Pacific

Filipino Madness

The humid heat was starting to become oppressive as sweat ran down Captain Ma Qiliang’s back, soaking his shirt. Standing up straight to stretch his back, he let out a slow groan as he twisted from side to side to loosen things up. Looking to his left, he saw his men had made good progress on camouflaging their positions.

“I hope the Americans don’t land near us. We’re not nearly ready enough to fight them yet,” he reflected.

Fang, a fellow captain, walked up to Ma, interrupting his thoughts. “You know, you could round up some people from the city nearby and have them dig these positions for you and your men,” he said. He made a sour face at how sweaty Ma had gotten while digging the foxhole he was standing in. Extending his hand, his friend offered to help pull him out.

“I suppose you’re right, but I’d prefer the locals not know the exact location where my men are dug in — less chance of them telling the Americans and us becoming target practice for their artillery,” he replied.

The snarky grin was wiped off of Fang’s face. “Do you think the Americans will land near us or further south?” he asked. It was all anyone had talked about since word had spread of the defeat of their fleet.

Ma rubbed his back briefly and then took a couple of long gulps of water from his canteen before he responded, “My spine is killing me.” He pulled himself out of the hole and lowered his voice. “Come over here, Fang. Let’s talk a little further away from the prying ears of my men.”

He and his childhood friend walked to a pile of sandbags and took a seat. Ma took another swig from his canteen. His face was frighteningly serious.

“Fang, we’ve known each other since we were little kids, so I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t believe any of us are going to make it out of this alive. The best we can do right now is try to take as many Americans with us as we can,” Ma said.

His friend was clearly shocked, but he did his best to try and hide his emotions.

Leaning in closer and lowering his voice, Fang said, “Ma, you must be careful with statements like that. If someone else were to hear you say that, they could report you as being disloyal.” There was genuine concern in his voice.

The two of them had grown up together, and both of their families were good friends. When they completed university, they had both applied to become officers in the elite paratrooper unit, where loyalty and obedience had been pounded into them. His comment about them dying on this island came as a bit of a shock.

“Fang, it’s just us. With no fleet, we’re not going to be able to keep getting supplies brought to us from home. Look at what we’re doing now,” he said, waving his hand at the defensive works they were building.

“The airport was pounded last week by the American Navy, which is why we’re out here digging ditches and fighting positions. It’s only a matter of time until the Americans land their troops here. They could do what they did to the Japanese during the last war and just leave us here and go around us. We’re trapped in the Philippines, and everyone knows it,” Ma said in a hushed tone, making sure no one around them could hear their conversation.

“I know, and I’m sure the men know as well,” conceded Fang. “We have to be strong for them, though. Just because the Navy lost a battle doesn’t mean the war is over. You know as well as I do, we have 70,000 soldiers in the Philippines. As long as we hold our ground and fight, we’ll bleed the Americans dry.” He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If we’re fighting the Americans here, then they’re not fighting in China. The Americans are weak. They’ll grow tired of this war and give up soon enough. Look at what happened to them in Iraq. They won the peace, only to lose the war when a new president was elected. It’s summer of 2018; the Americans have a new election in two years, and they’ll elect someone new, you wait and see.”

Ma smiled at his friend. “You’re right, Fang, as always. The Americans will elect someone else who will be more malleable to our way of thinking, and this war will end. If we still have control of the Philippines when that happens, then I suppose all of this will still have been worth it.”

Major General Hu Wei was getting frustrated with his superiors. The 43rd Airborne Corps was supposed to have transferred back to the Philippines following the capture of Manila. Instead, they had gotten drawn into a battle at the military base at Fort Mag, only finally crushing the local military force after the Navy was defeated in their grand battle. With no navy, and Allied warplanes now engaging the PLA Air Force over the Philippines, his paratroopers were stuck.

“How did it come to this?” he thought in anger. Then he became lost in a world of memory.

Two days after the PLA Navy was defeated in the greatest naval battle in history, the Americans had hit Luzon with a series of Tomahawk cruise missile strikes. Unfortunately for Major General Hu, several of the missiles that got through their defenses hit the headquarters of the 41st Army Group, killing Lieutenant General Lee Chen. General Lee had been the garrison commander of the Philippines and had been charged with fortifying the islands and integrating them into the Eastern Alliance. When he had been killed, Major General Hu had suddenly become the most senior PLA general in the Philippines and was summarily promoted to take his place.

The first thing General Hu had done when he’d taken control of the country was assess the air-defense and aircraft assets he had available to defend the country. Fortunately, General Lee had been given a large array of air-defense assets, but he had them scattered across Luzon in a vain belief that they would be more effective if the entire country was covered under their umbrella. Sadly, no one had explained to him that this tactic would also make it far easier for the Americans to isolate and destroy them individually.

Hu immediately ordered the surface-to-air missile systems consolidated into five concentrated points around Manila, Clark International Airport, Subic Bay, and the two other airfields the PLA Air Force had based their aircraft on.

Had he not built a heavy concentration of HQ-9 Red Banner-9 surface-to-air missile sites around Manila, Subic Bay and the Clark International Airport, the American fighter planes might have wiped out his remaining fighter planes. He quickly discovered that the vaunted Shenyang J-11 did not fare well against the American F/A-18 Super Hornets. Nearly half of their J-11s had been destroyed in the past three weeks as the American pressure continued to grow. The only bright spot he had seen in the air war was the Chengdu J-20 stealth fighters. Given he only had twenty of them, they had successfully shot down eighteen Super Hornets with zero losses. Had the Americans not lost so many of their F-35s during the naval battle, the air war might have gone decidedly against China, but so far it was even.

His aide handed him the latest reports on the American air raids, pulling him back to the here and now. Upon reading it, he smiled and looked up at Brigadier General Li Qiang, his senior PLA Air Force commander. “Are you sure this will protect our aircraft from further cruise missile attacks?” Hu asked. He wasn’t sure if he should reprimand him for this idea or give him a medal.

“General, the Americans are soft. They would never carry out an attack that would kill so many civilians in the process just to destroy a fighter plane on the ground. This plan will work, and it will keep our planes secured. I just need your permission to implement it,” Li said, smiling at the genius of his own plan and chiding himself for not having thought about it sooner.

Sitting back in his chair, Hu asked, “How many civilians will you need, and where will you place them so they don’t pose a threat to the aircraft?”

“I’ll have my people set up a series of tents near the hangars where we’re storing the J-20s for the civilians to stay in during the day. We’ll also set up some canopies on the roofs of the hangars and place civilians in them as well. Essentially, we’ll have all of our hangars, fuel dumps, and other important facilities surrounded by civilians, day and night. If the Americans hit the hangars with a smart bomb or cruise missile, they’ll kill hundreds of them.” He smirked. “I’d also like to employ this same tactic with our surface-to-air missile sites, to further deter the Americans from attacking them.”

“This man truly is devious,” thought General Hu with a certain sense of awe. His plan might just be the very action to save their air forces and delay the Americans from capturing the island.

“This certainly won’t help our cause of winning hearts and minds,” Hu said jokingly, “but I agree with you that it will deter the Americans from attacking your planes. It’s critically important that your aircraft work in concert with our air-defense systems to keep the Americans from completely controlling the skies above us. I’m not sure if headquarters will approve this, but I believe there may have been some sort of communications problem when I called to inform them. Until I hear otherwise, you’re approved to move forward with this idea, General.”

The air force general nodded and grinned at the unspoken word that they would not seek further approval for this plan beyond themselves.