Block by block, they finally reached the university campus. A tank stood by silently, its gun covering the entrance to one of the taller buildings.
“What’s the situation?” Steele asked the tank commander.
“That’s where the Japanese are holed up with their hostages, sir,” the sergeant replied, nodding at the building. “I’ve got to say, I’d rather shoot at them than talk to them.”
“It’s new territory for us all, Sergeant,” Steele replied.
Steele looked around. Other than the tank crew, who did look itchy to open fire rather than negotiate with the enemy, the only other person around was a dark-haired boy who was keeping his distance from the soldiers. Though dark-haired and with brown almond-shaped eyes, his boyishly handsome face had pale skin and Caucasian features, seeming to combine the elements of both races in a way that surprised the lieutenant and his men. The soldiers were so used to the sight of Filipinos that they had almost forgotten that there were Americans and Europeans who had been left behind when the Japanese first sacked the city.
“Who the hell is that kid?” Steele wondered.
“Aw, he says his father is one of the prisoners inside,” the tank commander replied.
“He can’t hang around here,” Steele said.
“I told him that, but he’s still here, isn’t he?” The tank commander looked amused. “Now that you’re here, I guess it’s your turn to babysit that kid.”
“So he speaks English?”
“Sure, he speaks it as good as you or me. He just doesn’t listen so well.” The sergeant added, “Listen, sir, we’re gonna roll out. This tank isn’t doing much good here, anyhow, because if we open fire, we’ll bring that building down on the heads of everyone in it, including the hostages.”
“Good point, Sergeant. But are you sure you’re that tired of babysitting? What are you going to do instead?” Steele asked.
“We’re gonna go shoot us some rats,” the tank commander said, nodding at the large gun of the tank.
“Must be some big rats,” Steele said.
“City’s full of ’em,” the tank commander said. “Especially down at Intramuros, the old walled part of the city. That’s where the Japanese are planning to make their last stand.”
“Happy rat hunting,” Steele said.
The tank cranked up, exhaust fumes hanging heavy and the growl of the engine echoing off the stone faces of the nearby buildings. Then the tank rolled out, leaving Patrol Easy to keep watch and wait for the negotiator to arrive from HQ.
Steele looked over at the boy. “Hey, kid. Come here a minute.”
The boy approached cautiously, keeping out of arm’s reach. “Yes, sir?”
“I hear your father is inside.”
The boy nodded. He looked both angry and fearful, which was understandable under the circumstances. Steele was pretty sure there were a couple of tear tracks down the boy’s dusty face. “My father is American, but my mother is Filipino. My grandfather is judge of the appellate court. The Japanese took my father prisoner but left the rest of us alone.”
Steele could see now that in addition to his American and Filipino traits, the boy’s proud bearing hinted at some of the old Spanish blood typical of the city’s elite, which an appellate judge certainly was. Right now, it didn’t matter if the boy came from the upper classes. This was no place for any civilian, let alone a boy.
“I’m sorry about that, kid. But you need to go home. Your father wouldn’t want you to be out here. He’d want you to be home taking care of your mother.”
“She’s the one who sent me,” the boy said. “She wants me to bring him home as soon as the Japanese let him go. Our house was wrecked, so we’re living someplace else for now, and he wouldn’t be able to find us in this mess. I know this city about as well as anybody. The Japanese don’t pay much attention to a kid, so I’ve been coming and going here for weeks.”
The lieutenant rubbed his chin, thinking it over. It was bad enough that he had to cope with grouchy GIs, short-tempered commanding officers, bloodthirsty guerrillas, and sneaky Nips. Now it seemed that he also had to deal with a snot-nosed kid. He sighed.
Philly spoke up. “Honcho, you want me to give him a kick in the pants and send him on his way?”
“No, let him stay.” The lieutenant had done a quick mental calculation and didn’t like the boy’s chances of getting home alive on his own. He pointed to a large rock to Deke’s right. “Kid, get down behind that rock and don’t you move unless that man there tells you to. He’ll keep you alive if anyone can. Understood?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name, anyhow?”
“Roddy MacGregor. My father’s name is Michael.” The boy paused, then added with a touch of pride, “His friends call him Big Mike because he’s so tall.”
“All right, Roddy. Keep your head down.”
