Samurai & Snipers

EPILOGUE

The stubborn Japanese resistance was no match for the determined artillery barrage. Wherever the enemy took refuge in the city, the building was simply leveled. While the approach was brutal to the city itself, it saved American lives that might have been lost in street-to-street fighting. The sturdy legislative building remained standing, but with the corners knocked off and the roof sagging, it resembled a collapsed soufflé. Any remaining Japanese within had either fled — or died when chunks of the building fell on their heads.

Admiral Iwabuchi had been the driving force behind the horrific battle that had destroyed the city. With the Americans closing in, Iwabuchi decided to commit suicide in the manner of a samurai warrior. Kneeling on the floor of the dirty dugout that served as his headquarters, Iwabuchi unbuttoned his naval officer’s tunic and used a tantō knife to slit open his own belly.

As Iwabuchi’s blood and offal ran out into the dirt, one of his staff officers then swung a sword with all his might, grunting with the effort of cutting off Iwabuchi’s head. It was not cleanly done, but then again, beheading was not something that he’d had the opportunity to practice. Shaking, with tears in his eyes, the younger officer then shot himself.

It wasn’t long before their bodies were found and identified. Ritual suicide was a gruesome and brutal act that was hard for the typical American soldier to fathom, but they had seen it done before. One of the intelligence officers used the toe of his boot to roll the head over and said, “That’s Iwabuchi, all right. It’s too bad the son of a bitch didn’t kill himself from the get-go and spare the whole damn city.”

With the city firmly in US control, word came down that Patrol Easy would be shipping out soon to rejoin the rest of the 77th Infantry Division.

But first there were a few goodbyes to make, starting with young Roddy and his father. Fortunately for them, their home had been spared from destruction, and the MacGregor family had been kept safe inside their walled compound.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Roddy — and helping us get away from those damn Japanese,” MacGregor said as Patrol Easy gathered around. He looked as if he had finally gotten a decent meal and was no worse for wear, except for a bandage on his left ear where a Japanese bayonet had caught him during the scuffle on the rooftop of the legislative building.

“We couldn’t have done it without Roddy,” Lieutenant Steele said. “You have a brave son there.”

“Indeed I do,” MacGregor said, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair, much as Honcho had done from time to time when the boy was helping to guide them through the city ruins. Roddy jerked his head away as if annoyed — acting like he was too old for that nonsense — but he was smiling as he did it. “Now we have a lot of rebuilding to do. This city is just about destroyed.”

“At least you won’t be doing it alone,” Honcho said. Already, in the distance, crews of army engineers were using bulldozers to clear the streets. General MacArthur had made sending help to Manila a priority, although any real construction would have to wait until the end of the war. Other crews made up mostly of Filipinos worked to bury the dead — of which there were far too many civilian casualties.

“We’re glad to have all the help that we can get,” MacGregor agreed. “As for you fellas, go give the Japs hell. If you get to Tokyo, give Hirohito a punch in the nose from me.”

Of course they were not the only prisoners glad to get home and see families and friends from whom they had been separated. No one rested for long because survival in the city ruins required nothing but hard work. The two Red Cross nurses, including the redoubtable Catherine Rooney, had immediately gone to work helping wounded soldiers and civilians. Rooney could be heard muttering under her breath about “conditions,” but that didn’t stop her from doing everything from bandaging a wound to holding the hand of the dying. Deke decided that the nurses were two of the biggest-hearted, toughest people he had met in Manila.

Another goodbye came when they buried Danilo. There was no one to claim his body, considering that his family was far away on Leyte.

“Dammit, I figured that nobody could kill that tough bastard,” Deke said.

“When your number’s up, it’s up,” Philly said. It was a philosophy shared by many soldiers, and in some strange way it made the loss easier to bear.

Considering that Danilo had died during the most critical moments of that fight in the square, Deke had blamed himself because his crosshairs had been focused elsewhere. But when he said something aloud about that, Lieutenant Steele had been quick to dissuade him of that notion. “You made the best of two bad choices,” Honcho said. “If you hadn’t acted, every last one of those prisoners might have died. Don’t forget, those prisoners were the reason for us being there in the first place.”

Deke shook his head. “But still⁠—”

“Listen, Deke. The enemy killed Danilo. It had nothing to do with you.”

Looking down at the bundled blanket — a bundle that looked much too small to contain a force of nature like Danilo — Deke tried to decide how he felt. He would not have called Danilo a friend, because he had scarcely known him, but they had fought side by side. Danilo also had taught him a great deal of jungle craft in an environment so very different from the mountains back home. Maybe Danilo hadn’t exactly been a friend, but he’d certainly been a kindred spirit.

“I do know one thing,” Deke said. “Danilo would not want to be buried in the city.”

At Deke’s insistence, they managed to commandeer a jeep to take them beyond the city, to where the green hills began to march down to the slow-moving Pasig River. The soil here was soft, and they soon had a grave dug under a grove of banyan trees. Patrol Easy kept a wary eye out because it was no secret that some Japanese fighters had made their way to the outskirts of the city and were now hiding in the agricultural lands and forests.

Also, they were not alone. None other than Father Francisco had found them in the ruins of the city just the day before and had agreed to preside over the burial of one of his old guerrilla fighters.

“Requiem æternam dona eis Domine,” he said in Latin.

The first shovel of rich earth pattered down on Danilo’s body, making him forever a part of his beloved country for which he had fought and died.

Burying Danilo had been tough, but for Deke the hardest goodbye was yet to come.

Finally, the orders arrived for them to get down to the harbor, where they would be boarding a troop transport. He had been dreading this moment. It wasn’t the thought of what was next, but what he was leaving behind.

Juana would be staying in Manila, helping the occupation take out the few remaining Japanese defenders who had fled to the hills. At some point, she would put her rifle aside and begin the important work of rebuilding her country.

She accompanied them down to the port, where a ship was waiting to carry troops to the next islands, that much closer to Japan. The port was a flurry of activity, soldiers in olive green uniforms bustling about with the shouts of NCOs ringing in their ears. The ship stood tall and formidable, its drab metal exterior failing to look cheerful even in the bright sun. In the harbor beyond, the water sparkled a deep blue, its waves lapping against the ship’s sides. Considering that up until a few hours before the harbor front and surrounding city had been a scene of intense fighting, the peaceful setting felt surreal.

Father Francisco offered to marry them on the spot, but after considering it briefly, they shook their heads in unison. They both knew that fate was carrying them far apart, rather than together.

Juana stood stiffly as if holding in her emotions, still carrying her Arisaka rifle slung over one shoulder. Deke had the Springfield slung over his own shoulder. Birds of a feather, he thought. For a long moment they simply stood facing one another. Then something passed between them, and they stepped closer and embraced. They would have melted into each other if they could have. Then the moment passed and they stepped apart. It was only a short step, yet it felt as if the entire world had slid between them in that instant.

“Take care, mi soldado,” Juana said, reaching out to trace her finger down the unscarred side of Deke’s face.

He put a stray tendril of hair over her ear. “You do the same, mi guerrera.”

Then Deke turned and started up the temporary quay toward the waiting ship. He didn’t look back, because that was bad luck.

Once they were aboard, Deke stood at the ship’s rail and finally looked back toward the spot where he had left Juana, but she was gone. He felt a sudden emptiness, as if a piece of him had been removed. It was an unexpected feeling, and he took a moment to try to understand it.

After all, Deke had always reckoned that he was destined to live a lonely life, that he didn’t need anyone in it. He recalled the softness of Juana beside him, her warm body, even the smell of her skin and hair. Just maybe, he realized, he’d been wrong about never needing anyone.

“I guess that girl finally got through your shell,” said Philly, who was standing next to him. “Maybe Deacon Cole isn’t as tough as he lets on.”

“Just keep it up and you’ll find out,” Deke said, some of the old steel back in his voice. But after a moment he wondered, “Do you think I’ll ever see her again?”

“We’re still in the middle of a war, Corn Pone. None of us know if we’ll live to see the next sunrise. Right now we’ve got to cross an ocean that’s crawling with Japanese submarines and a sky that could fill up with Zeros any minute. I wouldn’t go buying any green bananas.”

Deke nodded. He supposed that Philly was right and he was better off not counting on seeing Juana again. Hell, they hadn’t even agreed to write to each other, although it seemed unlikely that their letters would find one another in the chaos of war. If nothing else, he had his memories.

Having boarded the ship that was crossing Manila Bay bound for the vast South China Sea, Patrol Easy was leaving another chapter of the war behind. The fight had left them battered and bruised, having lost three men over the months of bitter battles, including Danilo. It was all a bitter pill to swallow. And yet it was satisfying to know that the Philippines was finally being restored to American hands.

“Hey, Honcho, where are we headed?” Philly asked. He had spotted the lieutenant on deck, coming away from a powwow with a handful of other officers. They all looked dead tired, maybe Lieutenant Steele most of all, considering that he was clearly the oldest of the bunch.

“We’re going to the Ryukyu Islands to handle some trouble there,” the lieutenant replied. “It’s a place called Ie Shima. Among other things, rumor has it that the Japanese Navy has a base there with suicide speedboats that they are sending out against our navy.”

“I guess when they need a job done right, they know who to call. No rest for the weary.”

The lieutenant clapped him on the shoulder. “Gee, Philly, you’re finally catching on.”

There were a few bright spots now that they were leaving Manila behind. Aboard the ship, they were reunited with Private Egan and his war dog, Thor. Deke realized that Patrol Easy had suffered even more losses, if you included Egan’s first war dog, Whoa Nelly, killed in the fighting. While the rest of Patrol Easy had been engaged in Manila, Egan and Thor had been doing guard duty at the port, alert against Japanese saboteurs as American vessels began to fill the waterfront.

Deke reached down and scratched Thor’s ears. “Nice to see you again, boy,” he said.

Egan had been watching with some concern, ready to pull back on Thor’s leash. “Thor doesn’t let just anybody do that, you know.”

“I reckon he’s a good judge of character,” Deke said, who continued scratching Thor’s ears. He always had liked dogs and had mixed emotions about them getting dragged into the war.

“There’s something to be said about that,” Egan agreed. “He knows he can trust you.”

Deke gave Thor a final pat and then looked out to sea, where diamonds of sunlight tipped the waves. Overhead, a formation of fighters buzzed low, serving as their eyes and ears as the small flotilla steamed forward. There was nothing out there but water, but he knew that on the other side of that vast ocean lay another island, and more islands beyond that, stretching all the way to Japan.

He wondered what Juana was doing at that moment, whether she was also thinking of him, or if she had already forgotten about him. Deke smiled to himself and shook his head. Maybe Philly was right — when it came to Juana, he’d gotten it bad. It would take a while for that missing piece of him to grow back.

He glanced over at Thor, who seemed to have the right idea. The dog was stretched out in the sunshine, taking a nap. Lieutenant Steele had added that they had more than a thousand miles of ocean to cross before they reached Ie Shima, so they were settling in for a long voyage. Men had taken up whatever space they could find on deck, some of them reading like Yoshio, his nose already buried in a Western, or they smoked cigarettes, or wrote letters home.

Philly had gotten a card game together, and he tried to wave Deke over, but Deke just shook his head, not interested.

Instead, Deke lay down next to Thor, feeling the sun warm him and the tropical breeze brush his hair. He was normally on high alert, but here on the ocean he had no choice but to put his trust in the ship’s crew. Realizing that, it was like a weight had lifted, and he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks.

He closed his eyes and felt his mind drift. That was all right; there would be more fighting, and when it came, he would be ready.

Captain Jim Oatmire had returned to headquarters. He had not thought that he would ever look forward to mess hall cooking or his bunk, but they were far superior to C rations and sleeping on the ground. He didn’t miss any part of that. However, he did find himself missing the soldiers and guerrillas of Patrol Easy. They had an easy camaraderie that did not exist among the headquarters staff, where there were many egos to navigate and toes to step on. Although he was an officer, the soldiers had accepted him once he had proved his worth.

His original assignment to negotiate the release of hostages from the Japanese had taken some twists and turns, not going at all the way he had expected, but ultimately the hostages had survived. He knew well enough that Patrol Easy had saved the hostages, though, not him.

He didn’t feel that he deserved it, but back at HQ the outcome had earned him an attaboy — and something more. None other than General MacArthur’s chief of staff had some news for him. He had summoned Oatmire to a meeting.

“You’ve done such a good job, son, that the Old Man is sending you to Okinawa for the big show.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do there?” He waited a beat and added “sir,” realizing that Patrol Easy had rubbed off on him in more ways than one.

“I guess you could say you’re going to be a troubleshooter. Get some sleep and some chow. You’ll head out tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. That’s great,” Oatmire said, realizing with a sinking feeling that his hopes of a few days of rest had just evaporated like the morning mist in the rays of the rising sun. “That’s really great.”

The ripples left by the fighting in the Philippines kept flowing months and even years after the war. On July 4, 1946, the Philippines was recognized by the United States as an independent democratic nation. For the first time in centuries, the people of the Philippines could determine their own destiny. More than seventeen thousand Americans would stay behind as permanent residents, men and women who gave their lives fighting Imperial Japan, forever sleeping in the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial.

There was also unfinished business from the war. Early one morning in 1946, General Tomoyuki Yamashita put on his dress uniform that had been stripped of any rank or insignia. Slowly and with dignity, he climbed thirteen steps to a platform where a rope with a hangman’s noose waited.

It had taken him less than a minute to climb the stairs, but his journey to this fateful moment had taken months, if not years.

After the defeat in Manila, there had been no good end for the Japanese forces that remained in the Philippines. As the overall Japanese commanding general, Yamashita had remained behind with his troops, fighting as best they could despite running out of food, medical supplies, and ammunition. They had been abandoned by Japan. In the end, his forces became little more than a nuisance rather than a military presence. Finally, Yamashita had seen no choice but to surrender.

He lingered during the next few months as one of the highest-ranking Japanese officers held prisoner. After the war, he was put on trial for war crimes. There had to be some justice for so many civilian deaths. Some might even have called it revenge. The military trial had been a matter of going through the motions. It was a foregone conclusion that Yamashita would be found guilty of the killing spree that his troops had undertaken, although the actions of his desperate men appeared to be counter to the orders he had given.

During the trial, the general had tried to explain himself: “My command was as big as MacArthur’s or Lord Louis Mountbatten’s. How could I tell if some of my soldiers misbehaved themselves? It was impossible for any man in my position to control every action of his subordinate commanders, let alone the deeds of individual soldiers. The charges are completely new to me. If they had happened, and I had known about them, I would have punished the wrongdoers severely. But in war someone has to lose. What I am really being charged with is losing the war. It could have happened to General MacArthur, you know.”

But that was not how the war had turned out. Ultimately, Yamashita’s defense seemed to overlook the fact that a commander is ultimately responsible for the actions of his troops, even the lowliest private.

Swiftly, he was found guilty and sentenced to death for the war crimes committed by his troops.

Not being in a forgiving mood, President Harry Truman denied a request for a pardon.

And so Yamashita found himself climbing those steps, finally taking a drop into eternity. Justice had been done.