The heat beat down, humidity seeming to add extra effort to every motion. Deke forced himself to stay alert. There was no telling when the enemy might try something. Also, there were more than a few trigger-happy GIs wandering the streets who would have been happy enough to avenge the death of a buddy by opening fire on the Japanese soldiers. If someone from their own side opened fire, Deke wanted plenty of warning. He also wasn’t going to lift a finger to defend the Japanese if that happened, although it wouldn’t bode well for the prisoners within the enemy ranks.
“The Japs say they want those prisoners as insurance, but what do you really think they want with those women nurses?” Deke wondered, having seen what the marauding enemy had done to the Filipino women.
“The thought crossed my mind. I just hope to hell they don’t kill the rest of the prisoners as soon as they get where they’re going,” Philly replied. “You can’t trust these damn Japanese.”
“Don’t let the boy hear you say that. He’s upset enough as it is.”
After the boy stumbled over a bayoneted body and stared down at it in horror, Lieutenant Steele waved him over. “Stick close to me, kid. We don’t want to lose you in all this mess.”
Shaken by what he had seen, Roddy did as he was told and did not stray far from the lieutenant’s side. As for the boy’s father, Big Mike was too far away to communicate with his son. Once or twice when he did try to speak up, he only earned himself a rifle butt slammed painfully into the small of his back. That was better than the point of a bayonet, at least. But where the Japanese were concerned, he might be pushing his luck. It was clear they had little patience for their prisoners.
Deke had to hand it to the Japanese — they were quite disciplined, marching in tight order while still managing to herd the hostages along. There were a dozen hostages, mostly men, but among them, Deke counted three women who looked to be in their late thirties or even their forties. They had a no-nonsense appearance, not about to be confused with beauty queens, although one of the younger nurses had on a touch of lipstick. All three wore nurses’ uniforms, and he was amazed at their bravery.
He’d heard about these Red Cross nurses who had volunteered to help the prisoners, in turn becoming prisoners themselves. Now, instead of being released, they had either volunteered to be hostages or the Japanese had decided that female hostages gave them more negotiating power. He caught a glimpse of the nurses’ faces and saw no tears there, or even fear, but only a calm defiance.
From time to time, Deke locked eyes with the Japanese sergeant he had traded threatening glances with during the negotiation phase. Again, the Jap kept giving him what he must have thought was a mean-eyed scowl. Deke wasn’t impressed.
The group marched for nearly an hour across the city. The distance they covered wasn’t impressive, because the condition of the city streets made for slow going. In a few places, the Japanese had to march around obstacles rather than pick their way through. Once or twice, the rubble from collapsed buildings completely blocked the wall like a rockslide in the mountains back home. Maneuvering around it all took extra time.
Meanwhile, artillery boomed and echoed off the barren walls of the remaining intact buildings that still lined the streets. Rifles cracked and flamethrowers vomited fire into basements and dugouts, flushing out any hidden Japanese defenders. Those who fled the flames were instantly shot, and those who stayed were burned alive. Of all the weapons of war wielded by the soldiers, the flamethrower was the most horrible, a nightmare as much as it was a weapon. The sickly-sweet smell of roasted flesh drifted on the afternoon breeze. Once smelled, that odor could never be forgotten.
Tanigawa’s unit somehow managed to ignore the fate of their comrades and kept moving. Their destination soon became clear as the old walls of Intramuros came into sight.
“I’ll be damned,” Honcho muttered. “So that’s where they’re headed. Rumor has it that every Japanese soldier left in the city is holing up in there to make a last stand.”
“Looks like these boys want to join them,” Deke agreed.
Intramuros was the original walled city of Manila, walled like a medieval European city against whatever threats the surrounding countryside and seas posed. In the distant past, there had been raids by Muslim pirates against the Spanish and, of course, the constant threat of insurrection by the Filipinos themselves, who didn’t always appreciate being under the Spanish bootheel. On occasion, a warlord had risen up and found his forces broken against those thick walls.
