December 8, 1941.

Joaquim was already in Batangas airfield with half of the squadron present. At around 7 am, Captain Villamor read a telegram report informing them that Clark airfield picked up a formation of unidentified planes flying over at Central Luzon at high altitudes. The “bogies” streaked through the Philippine air space in a Christmas tree formation. All USAAFE forces were placed on full readiness alert.

“At what altitude?” Joaquim asked.

“25,000 feet.”

“That’s higher than what our anti-aircraft can reach.”

“American superiority, my ass,” quipped Lt. Barria.

Joaquim and the other pilots prepped up the Peashooters for combat. Boxes of .30 caliber ammunition were brought out and stacked beside the monoplanes, ready to be loaded to their Browning machine guns. Gas tanks were filled. They sat beside their planes ready for take-off notice. A red flag was hoisted up on a flagpole to signal a take-off order. Under the Captain’s orders, the squadron took turns in dispersing around the field and scanning the horizons for any approaching planes. They have all been briefed earlier to charge their guns and fire a couple to make sure it works.

During reconnaissance, Joaquim was worried about bogies coming from west of Batangas. A Japanese carrier could’ve knifed sideways toward the South China Sea and sent bombers directly to their airfield.

Joaquim finished his run before noon. Seeing nothing but a clear sky, he was hoping for some good news. Maybe the Americans had beaten them. But his assessment was short-lived.

By the time he returned to the headquarters, Capt. Villamor read a new telegram.

“The Japanese have bombed Baguio and Tuguegarao.”

“Is that confirmed?” he asked.

“Gen. MacArthur confirmed it himself. He has now authorized full offensive action, ordering all of us to defend the land as we saw fit.”

Steely, resolute faces came over all the pilots. There were now angry growls and cracking of fingers in the room.

“The skies are still clear,” the Captain added. “The Japanese may or may not reach this far south. But be ready for anything.”

Still, Joaquim could hear whispers among his fellow pilots and crewmen that the American forces in the north can serve as their buffer.

They were so wrong.

By afternoon, one of the last telegrams they received confirmed their worst nightmares. The report simply read:

CLARK AND NICHOLS ARE DOWN.

The myth of American superiority died with this news.

And just like that, the 6th Pursuit Squadron in Batangas airfield became the last aviation unit in the Philippines.

 ∞

December 10, 1941

The bells came clanging. The first wave of Japanese planes had just been spotted. A rush of adrenalin came over Joaquim as he ran past the field toward his Peashooter. There was a lot of air of unreality that this was it. And it was up to them.

Clambering up to his cockpit, he gunned his engine to life. With his skull mask on, seat belts strapped and guns ready, Joaquim was in the air in twenty minutes, his Peashooter roaring to meet these Japs head-on. The wind blew in his direction, prompting him forward. The sky was clear. The sun’s light was still soft. It was the perfect day to dogfight.

They came from the northeast coming from the direction of Laguna de Bay. First, the planes appeared as little black dots on the horizon, until they approached. More and more dots appeared. They were a mixture of heavy bombers and fighters. They were so many they could’ve cast a shadow below. Their objective was simple: turn their airfield into a cinder.

Joaquim looked at his 3 and 9 o’clock, and there were only 12 of them.

Suddenly, they were up against 40-50 Japanese planes. The smallest aviation outfit against one of the largest air raids assembled.

The 6th squadron pulled up and turned left toward the east where the sun was. To engage the Japanese head to head would be suicide. They leveled their planes a thousand feet above the enemy formation and waited for them to pass so they could attack from the rear. Suddenly, Joaquim heard a spurt of bullets rush past his right. He banked his plane sideways to get a clearer view of whose shooting at him. Five Japanese planes were climbing from 8 o’clock low.

This time, Joaquim figured, he jerked his plane toward the bandits for a head-on attack. Capt. Villamor, Lt. Cesar Basa, and Lt. Jose Kare followed suit. He wanted the Japs to think that they break easily. Doing so would have given them more confidence. The 6th Squadron’s only advantage is to surprise the enemy. Be uncertain. Unpredictable. Give them fear.

Besides, Joaquim thought, this would be an easy kill. He was above and sunlight was behind him.

He saw one plane in his crosshairs, then pulled the trigger.

Then the most amazing happened….

The Japanese plane rolled from side to side, easily dodging his bullets. Their planes crossed each other, the Japanese streaking above him. When Joaquim saw the plane up close, it was black, apart from a red circle painted on its wings. He instantly recognized it. It was the supposed mythical Fighter 100. Their manual only had a silhouette of it--and a rumor.

Capt Villamor and Lt. Cesar Basa descended toward the Japanese formation below. While Joaquim pulled his plane up to break his dive, his body suddenly felt a thousand pounds heavier. He looked up, trying to spot the Japs. He saw two of them accomplish a loop with such a tight turning radius that was impossible for a Peashooter to pull off. They dove after Capt. Villamor and Lt. Basa.

Meanwhile, Joaquim was looking for the other two. To his surprise, they were closing in fast. Before they could get into their crosshairs, they were already peppering him with bullets, some of it tapping my rear. Nobody ever gets in my tail. Joaquim was half-panicked. The myth of the Fighter 100 was true—its speed, its maneuverability, it’s out of this world.

What chance do I have? Joaquim thought frantically.

More bullets tapped the hull of his plane, barely missing the open cockpit—swishing past his head.

At that point, something came over Joaquim. Something took over. Turn back every damn Jap, he intoned. He gripped the stick and the throttle tighter. His teeth gritted. In less than an instant, his whole body froze, and with it, the momentary seconds. He quickly stepped on the rudder pedals, so that he would yaw left and right, and slow down. He was looking up toward the approaching enemy plane, timing its approach, bidding his time.

The enemy plane screamed toward him. Instantly, he pulled his stick to his chest, his plane nosing up and did a quick stall, his right foot hard on the rudder, his plane now on a slow corkscrew spin. Once the Jap’s plane passed him, he angled his Peashooter to the enemy’s wings and managed to clip it.

CLANG! went their planes.

The Fighter 100 caught fire, and down it spun toward the earth. Joaquim knew how rugged his Peashooters was; he didn’t realize it was this tough.

Meanwhile, the other bandit attempted another loop to get another pass at Joaquim. The Filipino pilot then throttled down, pushed the stick forward, and performed a frantic, almost vertical, dive to get off the stall. Before he knew it, the enemy plane riddled him with another round of bullets. Joaquim couldn’t believe how fast these planes were. He turned the throttle on the dive and had less than a few seconds to crash to the ground. He jerked his stick to pull up, but with no response. He turned the full throttle to thrust more air pressure over the elevators and recovered at the last few feet, his landing gear almost touching the trees. The Japanese had it worse, however. In trying to pull from the dive, his wings broke off and the plane smashed violently to the ground. The explosion was so violent that it shook Joaquim’s Peashooter. 

Joaquim noticed his plane leaked fuel and returned to base afterward, expecting the worst. They might have already dropped bombs on the whole place. To his surprise, Batangas airfield was still intact, except for a few burning quarters located on the sidelines. The bombers certainly missed their mark.

The day was won. By noon, against all odds, the 6th Pursuit Squadron successfully turned the Japanese force back to where they came. More importantly, all their Peashooters were accounted for.

Capt. Villamor downed two planes, while Lt. Cesar Basa, Lt. Barria, and Lt. Jose each downed one.

They were celebrating, howling in the bunker, when Capt. Villamor pulled a chair, stood on it, and gave a whistle.

“Settle down fella's,” he bellowed. “I apologize if I’m not much of a cheerleader, so I have to tell you. You celebrate this victory and you’ll end up thinking you’ve won something. The reality is, those Japs aren’t done—they’re just warming up. They’ll come back. I don’t know when. Maybe tomorrow or maybe in a couple of hours. If you think that because you’ve won today was good enough, then stop. That is how you get killed. Don’t let your guards down. No matter what.”

“Hear! Hear!”

“Salute to the Captain,” bellowed Lt. Barria.

With that, everyone went back to their planes, prepping up, getting ready for another round of dogfight.

Before Joaquim returned to his Peashooter, the Captain called him back.

“Joaquim, can you tell me how in the world you downed two planes without firing a single shot?”