Deke didn’t know what to say to that, other than to think that Honcho was probably right. That napalm was nasty stuff. He couldn’t fathom what might be worse.
Danilo was one of the coolest customers that any of them had met, but he made a kind of groaning sound while witnessing his beloved countryside being burned up.
They couldn’t help but keep watching, mesmerized by the fire falling from the sky, until the planes ended their mission.
Sometimes the planes flying these daredevil missions needed their help. One night the division got an emergency call from several planes that had found themselves arriving in the middle of a naval raid on their base on the island of Mindoro. Unable to land, they had fled toward friendly forces on Leyte. But by the time they reached Leyte, the six planes were running short on fuel. They either had to land or take their chances trying to reach one of the aircraft carriers for a tricky nighttime landing that none of them had been trained to do. The thought of leaving land behind and heading out again over the dark ocean couldn’t have been all that appealing.
A makeshift landing field was surrounded by several trucks and jeeps, which shined their headlights on the dirt strip. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they could do.
One by one the planes made their landing approach. A single stream of enemy tracer fire coming from the hills showed that the Japanese had spotted the planes. A P-51 broke away and strafed the hill until the enemy gun fell silent. It was the last plane to land, joining the group of five P-51s and one B-25 that dropped down and made a bumpy landing on the runway — although to call it that was a stretch of the imagination.
“Boy, are we glad you guys could help us out,” one of the pilots said. Maybe it was the harsh lighting from the trucks, but he looked pale and shaken. It was a reminder that, in the end, the planes were flown by guys just like the ones on the ground. Even the most routine day might quickly become a struggle for survival, whether you were in the air or in the lush jungle.
At times the enemy emerged from hiding to make an organized attack. When this took place, it served as a reminder that the Japanese were far from defeated.
“I sure do prefer when they show themselves and attack us rather than sneaking around,” Deke remarked.
“Yeah, it makes it easier to mow them down,” Philly said.
Patrol Easy was accompanying the 305th Field Artillery Battalion near Villaba, helping to serve as their eyes and ears while the artillerymen wrestled their heavy guns down the muddy roads. Rain came and went, often in heavy downpours, so that Patrol Easy and most of the artillerymen wore their drab green ponchos. Rain sluiced off their helmets and made a constant din, reminding Deke of rain falling on an old tin roof back home.
There had been rumors that the Japanese were dug in along the ridges, ready with their own artillery. The 305th was being sent to fight fire with fire.
The artillery unit troops still got wet despite their ponchos, sweating through their shirts in the heat and humidity from the physical effort of coaxing their guns through the muddy places. There were an awful lot of those.
The 105-millimeter howitzers were mounted on rubber tires, now so liberally coated in mud that it was hard to tell where the gun began and the road ended. An erudite gunner could have pointed out that the word
While the artillerymen labored, Deke and the others dealt with the occasional Japanese snipers taking potshots at the column.
“Got ’em, I think,” said Deke, firing at a spot where he suspected a sniper was holed up. At least, the sniper had gone quiet.
Danilo waded into the brush to verify that the sniper was dead, somewhat like a retriever going after a downed pheasant. Deke covered him until he disappeared into the greenery. Danilo soon emerged, dragging a corpse behind him and displaying a rare grin. He deposited the body at Deke’s feet.
“One,” Danilo said, revealing that he could at least count that high in English. It was a reminder of the emphasis that had been placed on tallying the number of Japanese killed. Even Danilo had gotten in on the act.
“Hell, I don’t want him,” Deke said.
Nonetheless, Deke couldn’t help but study the body with some interest. The dead sniper was a small and compact man, likely around Deke’s own age. The ragged state of his uniform and a patchy beard indicated that the man had been living rough. Considering that the Japanese had fled into the hills, the man’s appearance made sense.
Philly bent down and quickly went through the man’s pockets. There was nothing of interest there, other than what appeared to be a letter with the black-and-white photograph of a young woman folded inside.
