However, the naval officer who had taken charge of the defense of the city had different plans. Rear Admiral Sanji Iwabuchi, commander of the Imperial Japanese Navy’s 31st Naval Special Base Force, announced that he would fight to the end in Manila. They had every intention of making the fight into a bloodbath. His officers and troops seemed to agree with him wholeheartedly. Either that or they were too afraid of being labeled as cowards to speak up.
Although his forces were under the command of the Shimbu Army Group, Iwabuchi ignored army orders to withdraw from the city. The fact that this rogue commander was a naval officer left Yamashita in a bind, because the Japanese Army and Navy were autonomous and did not always cooperate or recognize the command structure the way that the Americans did, even between branches of the service. In the end, despite rivalries and jealousies, Americans and their allies understood that they were all fighting on the same side. Also, there was a clear command structure. For the Japanese, that distinction was not as clear. They were army or navy first, and Japanese second.
Iwabuchi’s troops were mostly navy men, more used to ships than street combat, although his forces included the well-trained equivalent of US Marines, and he also commanded a few thousand army soldiers. In the end, it was hard to say whether these soldiers never got the orders to withdraw in the confusion of war or perhaps felt as Iwabuchi did and preferred to make a last stand in the city after working so hard to prepare their defenses in Manila. Major Tanigawa fell into this second category.
There was no questioning Iwabuchi’s record as a career navy officer who had commanded several ships, culminating in command of one of Japan’s new cruisers. The magnificent ship was sunk by the Americans off Guadalcanal. Iwabuchi survived but apparently felt that he had lost his honor when he had lost the ship. He saw the Battle of Manila as his chance to redeem himself. Unfortunately, he would drag the fate of tens of thousands and the entire city down with him.
In one of his final orders issued to his troops, while communication to his far-flung forces was still possible, Iwabuchi made his intentions clear: “We are very glad and grateful for the opportunity of being able to serve our country in this epic battle. Now, with what strength remains, we will daringly engage the enemy. Banzai to the Emperor! We are determined to fight to the last man.”
And so they would. The table had been set for a bloody feast of combat.
In the confines of the University of Santo Tomas, Major Tanigawa had felt the noose tightening. The sounds of fighting had marched closer each day until the US troops were finally spotted.
Watching from the upper floors of the university building, the major had watched them through binoculars. They scurried like rats through the ruins. He thought that the GIs appeared dirty and disheveled. He knew that the Americans had started on Leyte and, after finally winning the fight there, they had pushed on to Luzon and Manila. It was hard to believe that they had defeated crack Japanese troops to reach this point. Despite appearances, he supposed that they must be capable warriors.
Tanigawa lowered the binoculars and gazed around his neat and spacious office. Large windows looked out over the city where the American forces were gathering. His expansive desk was ornately carved. Shelves of books lined the walls, bound in leather. They were mostly works of religion or philosophy, some in Latin, the words unknowable to him, and these antique books did not interest him beyond their beautiful appearance. Not so long ago, this had been the office of the university president, a priest who had been sent to a far less pleasant prison camp than the one for more run-of-the-mill civilians.
Although Tanigawa rarely drank, he had kept a crystal decanter of brandy left behind by the university president as a trophy. There was his own officer’s sword, polished to perfection, gleaming on its stand next to the treasured double rifle with its intricate scrollwork. Both weapons were quite valuable, having been passed down through the family. Truth be told, they were the most valuable items Tanigawa owned. Above them, a framed portrait of the Emperor hung proudly on the wall. The room was neat and orderly, everything in its proper place. Just the way Tanigawa liked it. The very idea of the Americans ransacking his office offended him. In his mind, the space within the walls of his office represented Japan itself. He could not stand the idea of this space being defiled.
