Desperate, Not Hopeless

A United States Army, most of it composed of half-trained Filipinos, last week fought the first great U.S. battle of World War II. The U.S. Army of the Far East was fighting desperately, skillfully and against great odds--fighting and slowly losing for reasons beyond its control.

For by slicing the islands' supply line from Pearl Harbor west, by heavy attacks on Philippine airfields, by plain wear & tear on the islands' limited aircraft equipment, Japan had won the first requisite of victory: command of the air. Overwhelming in numbers, the Jap flailed at the U.S. positions with rifle, machine gun, tank and plane, careless of his losses. Bitterly, savagely and calculatingly, the tall men from the U.S. and the short men from the island fought back. It was a battle of churning movement: swift slashes of armored cars and men in trucks, ceaseless slamming of artillery, swiftly emplaced, swiftly moved with the tide of battle.

But unless the Philippines could get help from the outside--planes, munitions, men, decisive U.S. Naval intervention--they would be lost. There was not a man in the lines who did not know it. General Douglas MacArthur had said that the islands could be held, but only if their supply was continuous and decisive. He had also often told his young officers: "Any machine-gun nest can be captured if the attacker is willing to pay the price. So can the Philippines be captured if the enemy is willing to write off the losses."

The Jap was writing off his losses. He came by thousands. During last week he may have set down as many as 200,000 troops on Luzon, thousands more on Mindanao 600 miles to the south. Some of his soldiers were veterans. Some were youngsters from 15 to 18. They were ill-clothed, lightly armed with .25-caliber rifles and submachine guns. But the lightness of their ammunition (U.S.'s lightest: .30-caliber) enabled them to carry more rounds.

The Jap came in droves, met withering fire, marched stoically up to it and took his medicine with a grunt. There were more where he came from. And as long as he was-on his feet he knocked out U.S. soldiers with his small arms. If this had not been true, there would have been no necessity for the U.S. Army's retirement to its prepared positions ringing defenseless, bomb-battered Manila (see p. 20).

Enemy's Round. The Jap had achieved command of the air by the end of the war's second week. Close to his air bases, he had poured inferior aircraft south to Luzon, and by numbers taken a toll of better U.S. planes. He had also established three Luzon beachheads, apparently with airdromes: at Legaspi, Aparri, Vigan. Then he opened the battle's second phase.

Johnny Jones & Others. One morning at dawn as last week began, 56 ships stood off Lingayen Gulf, gateway to the broad, fertile Pampanga plain leading south 120 miles between mountain ranges toward Manila. Long strategists' pick for the deadly thrust, Lingayen was heavily defended. But the Jap moved in, attempting landings on a stretch from Lingayen northward. A heavy U.S. force under Major General Jonathan M. Wainwright was waiting for him.

From the sandy shore and the swamp beyond, artillery flamed. A U.S. gunner named Johnny Jones plunked two 75-mm. shells into a transport at the water line. It sank. Other transports were sunk by artillerymen working under fire from Jap destroyers and a cruiser or two. Barges loaded with Jap soldiers were battered into bloody, waterlogged messes. But farther up the shore the Japs got ashore and moved down, attacking the defenders as more invaders landed behind them.

Down from Vigan pushed another Jap column. Armored cars met it on the roads, whirled through a dizzying skirmish, shellacked the Jap. Some of them took to the trees, were shot down by U.S. soldiers. From the fringe of the gulf black columns of smoke rose. The U.S. Army had burned its gasoline dumps. It fell back in orderly fashion through villages where the Filipino civilians cheered and showed the "V" with their fingers. The Jap threw an armored spearhead east toward the islands' summer capital at Baguio. U.S. forces withdrew to save damage to the Philippines' most beautiful city.

By week's end, the drive from Lingayen Gulf had been stopped and the front was stabilized. The Jap was not yet in force in Pampanga plain. Filipino and U.S. soldiers agreed that he was going to have a hell of a time entrenching himself there, a still tougher time moving south. As on the road from Baguio, the hills still hemmed him in in all his forward positions, and the country is rough, tough and thorny.

New Threats. Meantime, in the sheltered water of Lamon Bay, first at Atimonan and later at Mauban, the Jap put down another heavy force. It had tanks, and tanks were sent out to meet it. In a heavy engagement both sides suffered considerable losses on a battlefield between 60 and 75 miles from Manila. From Lamon Bay the Jap thrust toward the southwest, flung himself across the narrow peninsula south from Mauban to Tayabas Bay.

Calvary at Cavite. Meanwhile Jap bombers smashed again at the Naval base at Cavite. Armed with the fruits of his fifth column's reconnaissance, he knew here, as at other targets, exactly what he was shooting at, wasted his bombs only because many of them were duds and because his aim was not nearly as good as it looked in the first week of war.

But by sheer repetition he was effective. Toward week's end columns of smoke rising from Cavite told Manilans that the base's supplies were being destroyed--whether by the Jap or by their defenders, they could not tell. Cavite, once a powerful secondary Naval base, was all but out of action, could not be used in any event until the Jap was curbed in the air.

War by Propaganda. The Jap dropped propaganda leaflets while his fifth columnists on the ground (including members of the native Sakdalista Party) spread rumors of poisoned water supplies, of many another horror. The Filipinos were poor subjects. Like the Russian peasant when Germany struck, they knew only that the invader was trying to take their land. The native soldier fought with increased bitterness.

By night, along all the fronts, the battle went on. The Jap came upon his own parties, fired on them by mistake. Probably U.S. defenders did too, but more rarely because the Nip had the initiative, had to keep moving. On the northern front pious Filipino troops identified themselves at night by shouting "Adios Ko" (God be with you). The Jap caught on and echoed the password, but his accent was wrong and his shout brought destruction from Filipino rifles.

In Davao, on the south shore of Mindanao, Lieut. Colonel Roger Hilsman and his small force still fought the invader. But it was a losing fight, a small-scale replica of the great battle of Luzon. Unless help should come, all the Philippines' defenders could hope for was the bitter, bloody price of a last-ditch fight. It would not be in vain. As long as the Philippines held out, the Jap could not exert his full force on the vital fortress of Singapore.

And if Douglas MacArthur and his men could hold out long enough, they might still be saved. The Jap was likely to lose the impetus of his first drive as he hit the prepared defense positions, was going to feel in his formations, as well as in his stoic soul, the loss of thousands of fighting men. The U.S. Navy, which this week promised help to the Philippines (see p. 17) might still make the battle's result a question of whose supplies could hold out longer.

In the end Douglas MacArthur might still win. His position was desperate. It was likely to get worse. But it was not yet hopeless.

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