Battlefield Pacific

by James Rosone

  Captain Long nodded. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll make sure to let my platoon leaders know about the presence of this unit as well. I’m not too versed in the Chinese unit patches, but it doesn’t appear that any of the units we fought here were part of that unit. They did put up a heck of a fight. If those paratroopers fight even more skillfully, then we’ll have our hands full for sure.”

  They talked for a few minutes more before the colonel sent him on his way and began to get his battalion headquarters set up and ready to receive the influx of troops that were heading his direction.

  *******

  Philippines

  San Vicente, Luzon

  32 Kilometers West of the Beach

  Captain Ma lifted the pocket binoculars to his eyes and scanned the road below them. The column of American armored vehicles had been snaking along for kilometers on the Dingalan-Gabaldon Road, heading west away from the beach. Their scouts had spotted the Americans roughly twenty minutes earlier as they continued to head toward the small village of San Vicente and the lone vehicle bridge that crossed the Pampanga River allowing vehicles to continue west further inland.

  When it became clear the Americans were going to land forces on Luzon, there were only a handful of suitable beaches. One of them happened to be roughly thirty-five kilometers from his current position. Captain Ma and his commanders knew exactly what type of American vehicles would be leading the way and knew the type of weapons they would need to defeat them. They had spent a couple of weeks preparing a series of defensive positions and traps that would hopefully cause significant damage to the Americans.

  Captain Ma glanced down at his map.

  “Good, they are about to enter my kill box,” he thought.

  He needed to make sure the Americans had crossed the bridge before they opened fire. His company had fifty Red Arrow 12 fire-and-forget infrared homing antitank missiles ready to hammer the Yankees. The engineers had also moved six 152mm artillery guns, which they had pointed directly at the road the enemy tanks would have to travel down. The 152mm guns would be used as antitank guns instead of traditional artillery, though he also had a battalion of artillery guns he could call upon if needed.

  “When should we spring the trap?” asked one of the junior captains as he nervously fidgeted with something in his hand.

  Captain Ma snorted before responding. “Patience, Yu. We want to wait until those American tanks get across the road first. Once they’re trapped on our side of the river, we’ll be able to slaughter them. When the Americans try to rush additional units over the bridge, then we’ll blow the bridge, separating them.” He was a bit perturbed that the junior captain was asking a question he had clearly been briefed on earlier.

  Ten more minutes went by as the fourth M1A2 Abrams main battle tank crossed the bridge and continued to head west. Ma lifted the hand receiver to his face and depressed the talk button. “Fire on the tanks,” he said to his gun crews.

  Seconds later, the first 152mm cannon fired, quickly followed by three other guns. The 152mm rounds flew quickly across the ground, traveling the nearly four kilometers before they slammed into the side hulls of the tanks. As soon as the rounds hit the tanks, all four of them exploded, sending shrapnel, flames, and smoke in every direction. The rest of the antitank guns picked off other armored vehicles in the American column, lighting them up as well.

  As the fighting on the ground heated up, a pair of American attack helicopters swooped in from the sky and fired antipersonnel rockets into the jungle area where his guns were dug in. Seconds after the helicopters flew in, a series of FN-6 MANPADS shot up quickly from the cover of the jungle and headed toward the American chopper. One of them was destroyed by the MANPAD, while the other helicopter fled the scene and didn’t reappear.

  At this point, dozens of American armored vehicles raced toward his positions. Rather than trying to cross the bridge as they had anticipated, the American tracked vehicles proved they could quickly and effortlessly ford the river and battle their way toward his position at the edge of the jungle, firing their own vehicle weapons at his soldiers. While the Americans raced toward them, a series of loud explosions rocked his bunker.

  “Those blasted Americans—they’re already hitting us with high-altitude air strikes,” thought Ma.

  Looking to his east, Captain Ma saw that three of his artillery guns had just been destroyed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Still, the three remaining guns continued to fire away on the now quickly approaching Americans. Once they got within two kilometers of his position, the RA-12 antitank missiles raced across the field and hammered the American vehicles. In seconds, nine American vehicles were now nothing more than burning wreckage.

  Ma switched his radio frequency to the two Type 95 antiaircraft vehicles he had tucked away under a lot of jungle foliage. “Turn your radars on and take out those American aircraft,” he ordered.

  Less than a minute later, he heard the roar of their 25mm cannons intermixed with the swooshing noise of several of their missiles as they began to seek out and destroy the American helicopters and aircraft flying within a ten-kilometer radius.

  Sadly, the two vehicles only lasted minutes before they were both destroyed by the Americans. Meanwhile, the US advance toward his position had been slowed down and then blunted altogether. There was nothing left but a burning wreck of what appeared to be an American company-level unit.

  Thirty minutes later, another American unit of comparable size moved forward and advanced along the same road. Rather than continue forward or cross the river and run toward the jungle like their comrades had, they stayed back and called in a series of air strikes against Captain Ma’s positions.

  The jungle his forces had built their defensive forts in was subsequently pounded for nearly an hour. Each time the Americans would send in attack helicopters, his troops would pop out of their bunkers and fire off a series of MANPADS at them. A number of choppers had been shot down this way, and it was proving to be an effective tactic.

  One hour turned to five as the Americans continued to try and fight their way past his position. Each time, they sustained heavy casualties and ultimately would fall back. During the five-hour running battle, Ma’s company sustained close to fifty percent casualties, something he had never had to deal with in their previous battles. Under more normal circumstances, his forces had been relieved and not expected to fight on, let alone have to deal with having no air support or air cover.

  Eventually, Captain Ma’s commander ordered his company to withdraw to the next defensive position and prepare to repel the Americans at the next major junction.

  *******

  Manila, Philippines

  Luzon Island

  Eastern Alliance Headquarters

  Explosions could be heard off the instance, as well as the sound of jets soaring overhead. The few remaining fighters that had survived the American aerial bombardments were doing their best to provide cover for the handful of Nanchang Q-5 ground-attack aircraft that were going after the American beachheads. During the last two weeks, Major General Hu Wei’s positions across the Philippines had been getting hammered by the Americans in preparation for the invasion.

  Finally, the hour had come, and the Americans were hitting his forces all across the island. Reports were coming in from the various beachheads that the Americans had moved off the beaches and were now advancing inland.

  “The question now,” he thought to himself, “is how long can we hold out with virtually no support from the Navy or the mainland?”

  “General,” said one of the operations officers, “we received a communique from Major General Joko Subroto. The Indonesian 2nd Infantry Division has pulled back from Legazpi and is now taking up positions near Naga. It also appears that a large portion of his forces are falling back even further, to the Mount Banahaw area.”

  “Why is he having his forces fall that far back? He’s giving up precious land that we could force the Americans to figh
t for. This makes no sense,” General Hu countered as he looked at the map.

  “If the Indonesians give up the entire southern half of the island, how am I supposed to defend Manila?” he pondered.

  Another officer replied to the general’s question before anyone else could respond. “He’s falling back to the Banahaw area because he’s afraid his division may get cut off by the Americans if they land forces behind him.”

  He shook his head. There was really not much he could do. The Indonesian commander had a point, but he also didn’t appear like he wanted to fight the Americans very hard. “Send a message to General Subroto. Tell him he’s to hold his positions and not withdraw any further. His forces need to stand and fight the Americans. We’ll send him additional forces to help when we can,” he ordered. He hoped with everything in him that his Indonesian partners would do their part.

  Hu turned to his executive officer. “How are the rest of our forces holding up?” he asked.

  “Our paratrooper element near the San Vicente area hit the American Marines hard. They nearly wiped out a whole battalion of Marines before they were ordered to withdraw. So far, the paratroopers in that region are holding the Marines from moving too far inland. However, the battalion of regular infantry we stationed at Fort Mag lost control of the base to an air assault by the Marines. They’re trying to organize a counterattack, but it’s going to be hard to dislodge the Americans. They’re moving a lot of troops and equipment to the airfield,” replied Brigadier General Wang, to the dismay of everyone present.

  They had hoped to retain control of Fort Mag for a couple more weeks. If the Americans were able to establish a solid foothold there, they would be able to move on Clark International Airport and cut the top portion of the Island of Luzon in half. It would hasten their defeat if the Americans were allowed to hold Fort Mag for very long.

  “Send a message to the airborne units in the area,” ordered Hu. “They’re to pull back and, if possible, retake Fort Mag from the Americans!”

  Battle of Fort Mag

  Palayan City

  Two Kilometers Northeast of Fort Mag

  Six hours after securing the initial airfield on Fort Mag, Captain Tim Long and his company had moved over to the small village of Palayan City, less than two kilometers from the airfield, to set up a defensive perimeter. Long hated the idea of using the local church as his headquarters, so he set up in a nearby building and opted to use the church as a field hospital, should they need it.

  Throughout all the fighting, running, stopping, shooting, and the couple-kilometer trek through the heavy foliage to their current position, Captain Long hadn’t had the opportunity to take a proper bio break. He hadn’t eaten in nearly twelve hours or had nearly enough water to drink—both of which were probably the saving grace for how he had been able to hold out as long as he had—but now that they had a few minutes to think, he found the time to take care of some “proper” officer business. While seated on the lone toilet in the building, which surprisingly had running water, Long heard the sound of a vehicle approaching his headquarters.

  “God, I hope that’s First Sergeant Madero and not a hostile vehicle,” he thought.

  Finishing his business, he reached into his cargo pocket, pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and liberally used it on his hands. If he were to survive the next few minutes, he didn’t want to catch any unnecessary germs.

  Walking out of his command building, Long saw the outline of the JLTV coming around the bend in the road toward them. In the front seat, he spotted his first sergeant and one of the privates who had gone down to the airfield on foot with him a few hours ago. Clearly, they had found transportation on the way back. Captain Long breathed a sigh of relief and then waved to them as they came to a halt in front of the small three-room building. The private got out and immediately went to the back of the truck to begin unloading its contents.

  “I see you found a new set of wheels, First Sergeant?” Long asked jokingly.

  “My dogs are killing me. If you thought me and this private were going to hump all that ammo back here, you’re crazy, Sir,” Madero replied in good humor.

  “What did you guys manage to scrounge up?” asked Long.

  “Aside from the list of ammo you gave us, I was able to pry away five 100-foot strands of concertina wire we can use to set up the roadblocks. I also grabbed us roughly thirty additional Claymore mines, about the same number of trip flares, and additional IV bags for the corpsmen,” explained First Sergeant Madero with a smug smile of satisfaction written across his face.

  Captain Long had to laugh at the man’s resourcefulness. The guy had more connections within the brigade than he’d thought possible. Long was very fortunate that he had been given an experienced first sergeant when he had been promoted to captain. He hated to admit it, but he relied on the old guy far more than he probably should have.

  “Good job, Top. I still can’t believe you managed to snag a vehicle. See if you can make another supply run before it gets dark. I want to make sure we have everything we’ll need before nightfall. I have a feeling it’s going to be busy,” Captain Long said, hoping he might be wrong and they might catch a break. Word had it their sister battalion that had hit the beach had run up against a brick wall and gotten mauled. He hoped they hadn’t taken too many casualties.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Madero. He and a few other Marines nearby began unloading the supplies.

  As Captain Long’s men continued to fortify their various positions around this small village, he looked back in the direction of the airfield. He was happy with what he saw—several heavy-lift helicopters were sling-loading a battery worth of 105mm Howitzers.

  “Those may come in handy once they get set up,” Long thought.

  More Ospreys were flying in, dropping off what seemed like an endless supply of fresh Marines from the troop ships offshore. No one knew for certain when the Chinese attack would come, or what direction it would come from, but one thing was certain—the enemy wasn’t going to leave them unfettered at this base for long.

  *******

  Captain Ma Qiliang was exhausted. He hadn’t worked this physically hard since he had gone through airborne training nearly six years ago. Following what was, by all accounts, a very successful ambush of the American Marines, his company had been ordered to fall back before they were pulverized by the American warplanes. Hiding those 152mm Howitzers in the hills to use as tank busters had been proven to be a brilliant move.

  He felt immensely proud of how well his men had performed. They had shot down five enemy helicopters and three ground-attack aircraft, and mauling that battalion had been exhilarating. However, as great as he felt about how badly they had hurt the Americans coming ashore, the unit that had been assigned to defend Fort Mag had apparently been wiped out by heliborne troops. When his command had finally been able to get through to him, they’d ordered his company to withdraw from their current locations and move to attack the Americans at Fort Mag.

  Pulling out his map, he looked at his current position in relation to the location of Fort Mag. “Ugh, that’s got to be close to thirty kilometers away, and it’s through some fairly rough terrain,” he thought.

  Under normal conditions, his men could travel that distance in six hours. However, they had just spent the morning fighting the Americans, and now he was going to force them to march thirty kilometers and fight a much larger group of Americans.

  “Well, at least this group at the airport won’t have tanks,” he thought.

  *******

  “Captain Ma, it’s 0200 hours. The men are exhausted. Can we let them rest for a few hours before we press any further?” pleaded his senior sergeant. “We should be approaching their perimeter, if they have expanded beyond the airfield.” Ma usually deferred to his senior sergeant in these matters. After fifteen years in the 43rd Airborne, he tended to know just how far they could push the men before there would be problems, and he had earned Ma’s respect.


  Ma stopped walking and nodded in agreement. “Order the men to stop and set up camp. I want a 360-degree perimeter and one-third of the men on duty at all times. We’ll roll out again at 0515. That gives everyone roughly three hours to catch some sleep before we move to contact with the Americans.”

  While his senior sergeant got the men spread out and issued the instructions for the evening, Captain Ma and his two lieutenants looked at the map under a poncho with a red light. “We have to be really close to the Americans,” one of the officers said as he marked their exact location on the map. They were roughly four kilometers from the airfield at this point.

  “I agree,” said the other officer. “I’ll bet they’re no more than one or two kilometers away from our current position. It’s a good thing you called a halt to the march, Sir. We could’ve walked right into one of their ambushes.”

  “I’m so tired that I hadn’t even thought about that,” Ma thought. “I have to get some sleep, or I’m going to get my men killed.”

  The only silver lining was that, as his company was leaving their initial ambush point, they had run into the remnants of two other companies that had been a part of the attack on the Americans at the beach. Both companies were down to half strength and were being led by lieutenants. Ma ordered them to fall in with his command and consolidated them for the attack at Fort Mag. Once they knew where he was headed and what his orders were, they gladly joined. That brought his 118-man reinforced company up to 331, a light battalion by many standards. How they hadn’t been spotted by enemy helicopters, drones or aircraft up to that point was beyond him, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth just yet.