The 164th Regiment Series Boxset

by Chris Glatte

Including himself and O’Connor he had twelve men picked out. They stood around awaiting orders to move off the hill. Lieutenant Swan stood before them. He pulled Sergeant Carver aside. “Remember, if you run into trouble it’s okay to come back without finding the road. I want you back here no more than four days from now. You’ll run out of food after that.”

  Sergeant Carver clenched his teeth making his jawline ripple. He nodded, “Yessir.” The lieutenant nodded at the men and disappeared back into the bunker.

  Corporal O’Connor had heard the exchange. “What’s he mean, run into trouble?” he shook his head as he stared at the entrance to the bunker. “He wants it both ways. Wants us to complete the mission, but also doesn’t want any more casualties on his conscience.”

  Sergeant Carver normally wouldn’t allow a soldier to badmouth an officer, but he and O’Connor had a long history. He spit and said, “Yeah, when the chips are down, he’s losing his nerve.”

  Carver turned to the men who were sweating in the evening sun. “All right, make sure your gear’s good and tight, nothing dangling, nothing making noise. Two full canteens, full ammo load.”

  He found Private First Class Timothy with the bulky radio on his back. He pointed at him, “You stay close with that radio, never more than a few feet.” Timothy was green, but he’d performed well in training and was a magician with the radio. PFC Timothy nodded. “I want Corporal O’Connor on point.”

  The men marched down the side of the hill and entered the jungle. The platoon had thinned out the jungle in front of the hill for a better field of fire, but it was still thick.

  Once off the hill, the ground softened, and soon their feet were caked with a heavy layer of mud. Each step was difficult; their legs burdened with the extra weight. Carver tried to avoid the mud holes from the previous men’s feet, but it hardly mattered. Anywhere he stepped he sank up to his ankle. It was impossible to move quietly with all the sucking and slurping sounds.

  They walked until the evening turned to darkness. They were exhausted and had travelled less than two miles. Corporal O’Connor found themselves a dry spot amongst an assortment of volcanic boulders. It was better than sitting in the mud, but the pointed rocks weren’t comfortable by any means.

  Sergeant Carver set out security, each man taking two hour watches. Carver hoped leaving Hill 260 from the side would make it more unlikely for a Japanese patrol to find their trail. If they did, it would lead directly to them. Even as tired as they all were, few slept well.

  With dawn still an hour away, the men were up eating a light breakfast of K-rations and getting ready for another grueling day of patrolling.

  Sergeant Carver put his poncho over his head and with a red lensed flashlight found their position on the map. They’d recently gotten new maps from G2 which were much more accurate than anything they’d previously had. He found the closest area Lieutenant Swan wanted them to reconnoiter. It was another three miles due north to the base of the Crown Prince Range where a steep canyon cut into the nine thousand foot peaks. Judging by their slow progress thus far, he figured they’d reach it by the evening. He wasn’t going to push the patrol and end up walking into the middle of a Japanese patrol.

  He showed Corporal O’Connor the route he thought they should take, not direct but following a small spine that looked to be off the muddy jungle floor by a few yards. O’Connor thought he could find it and turned to get his gear together. He’d tried to sleep on the outer edge of the rocks. He’d found a comfortable spot but only got a few hours of sleep. He never slept well on an overnight patrol.

  He was rolling his poncho when he heard something out of place in the jungle. He froze, his senses going into overdrive. He couldn’t place what he’d heard, but he strained to hear it again. He was about to chalk it up to nerves when he heard a dull sucking sound, like a boot being slowly pulled from mud.

  He knew none of his squad would move that far away to take a shit. Someone was out there. Keeping low and making sure he made no noise he scampered back to Carver’s side. “There’s something out there following our trail. They’re close, maybe thirty yards.”

  Carver trusted O’Connor and didn’t hesitate. “Tell the men; we engage as they approach. It’s too late to leave this cover.” Carver moved to PFC Timothy and got on the radio. He needed to get fire support in case things got out of hand.

  O’Connor nodded and told the first man he found to pass along the order. He went back to his spot and laid out two clips and two grenades and set them on the rock beside him. He heard movement to his right and was relieved to see PFC Willy aiming his M1 into the night. They’d need his shooting skills if this were anything more than a few men.

  The darkness was giving way to light, but the jungle was dense to O’Connor’s front. He’d only have a second to see and kill an enemy soldier before they’d be on top of him. He wished he had a Thompson like Sergeant Carver’s, for this close in fighting. What you lost in accuracy you gained in fire suppression and the pure havoc the .45 caliber bullets created.

  He took a deep breath and let it out, listening. He thought he heard another squelch of a muddy step. They were just a few yards away. It would happen any second. He pulled the rifle tight to his shoulder and looked over the sights. The seconds passed like cooling lava meandering down the side of Mt. Bagana. Then there was a sudden yell. It startled him nearly causing his bowels to loosen.

  The empty jungle suddenly was full of targets bursting forth only feet away. O’Connor didn’t need to use the sights, he fired point blank into the nearest man then shifted to the next and the next.

  Willy’s M1 barked as he swept the gun across the front. Every man was firing as fast as they could pull the trigger, but the enemy had gotten too close. They’d be amongst the rocks in seconds.

  O’Connor’s weapon ‘pinged’ as his clip ran out. Instead of reloading he palmed a grenade pulled the pin, released the handle and threw it into the jungle yelling, “Grenade!” Everyone who heard him instinctively ducked but kept firing. The explosion sounded muffled in the mud and jungle, but the flash from the explosion highlighted Japanese being shredded by shrapnel. In a smooth motion, he hurled his second grenade and palmed another clip into his M1. He waited for the explosion then rose and continued firing at anything that moved.

  He felt, rather than saw movement to his left. There were no friendlies that way. He swung his rifle, but the khaki-clad soldier was too close. The soldier grabbed the M1 and ripped it out of O’Connor’s hand, sending it flying into the jungle. I’ve lost my weapon. The thought enraged him. He’d committed the ultimate sin, the one thing the drill sergeants had pounded into his head over and over, take care of your weapon.

  He pulled the K-bar knife from his belt without consciously thinking to do so. The weapon seemed to appear in his hand.

  The enemy soldier was screaming and thrusting down with the bayonet attached to his Arisaka rifle. O’Connor’s only chance was to attack and get inside the deadly blade’s arc.

  From his crouched position he launched into the Japanese as the blade missed his back by a fraction. He slammed into the soldier like a linebacker leveling a quarterback. At the same time, he brought the K-bar around and plunged it into the soldier’s back. With speed born from adrenaline, he pulled the knife out and thrust it back in over and over until the soldier’s body went limp.

  O’Connor jumped off the body and looked for more targets. There weren’t many left, but they were in amongst the rocks fighting hand to hand. He drew his sidearm, a Webley he’d bought off a Brit in Fiji. It didn’t carry as many rounds as a service .45, but he liked the way it felt in his hand.

  He pulled back the hammer and aimed at a soldier who’d just been pushed back by Private Willy. The soldier was trying to get his balance as he toppled on top of a rock. O’Connor pulled the trigger, and the pistol bucked in his hand. Through the smoke, he could see the hole it created in the back of the Japanese soldier’s back. The soldier spun off the rock and landed at Will
y’s feet.

  O’Connor moved forward searching for more targets. The last struggle was happening where he’d left Sergeant Carver. He ran forward with his pistol extended. He couldn’t see what was happening, the struggle was partially hidden by a boulder, but he could tell it wasn’t decided.

  He ran around the boulder at the same time he saw the Japanese soldier falling backward with Sergeant Carver’s K-bar planted in his eye socket. The stricken soldier fell to the ground, smashing his head against a rock. His body convulsed and shook as the life left him. Carver leaned forward and pulled the knife from the man’s eye socket, and the convulsing stopped.

  O’Connor looked around for more enemy soldiers, but all he saw were men breathing hard with wide eyes. He yelled, “Anyone hit?” They were in too much shock to answer. He repeated the question as he scanned the area. Everyone seemed to be okay until he saw the radio man holding his arm and rocking back and forth. Blood seeped between his fingers. “You hit, Timothy?”

  O’Connor holstered his pistol and ran to him. He pulled the white faced Timothy’s hand away and could see a bloody mess of bone and muscle mixed with the green of his uniform. Carver saw the wound and called the medic. “Dawkins, we need a medic!”

  Corporal Dawkins came around the corner his M1 still smoking. He dropped it and pulled out his medical kit as he looked at the wound. “Cut his sleeve off so I can see it,” he said as he pulled out bandages and an ampule of morphine. O’Connor drew his K-bar which was still dark red and sticky with blood. He cut away Timothy’s sleeve.

  Dawkins was about to stick the morphine into his arm when Carver stopped him. “Hold off on the morphine, Doc. We gotta get the hell outta here in a hurry.”

  He stepped in front of his radio man’s face and tilted his chin so he was staring him in the eye. “We can’t carry you, Private. You have to walk, or we’ll never make it out of here. The morphine will put you into la-la land, and you won’t be able to walk, okay?” when he got no response Carver slapped him across the cheek. The slap focused his eyes. “You understand? You’ve gotta stay with us until we get to a more secure area. The Japs’ll be all over us after the ruckus we just made.” Timothy nodded and slurred through the pain. “I’m okay, Sarge. I can make it.”

  Carver nodded. “I know you can. Doc’ll slap a bandage on you, we’ll give the radio to Private Willy, and we’ll get the fuck outta here.”

  Sergeant Carver backed away to allow Corporal Dawkins to work. Private Willy was already hefting the radio. The contents of his pack were divvied up to the rest of the men, and they were ready to move inside of ten minutes.

  O’Connor asked, “Where we going Sarge?”

  Carver checked his Thompson’s magazine and slapped it into place. “I’d say this qualifies as, ‘running into trouble.’ We’re getting our asses back to Hill 260.”

  41

  Sergeant Carver didn’t need to tell the men they had to hurry. They knew any Japanese troops within hearing distance would be on them within the hour. “We’ll go east; it looks like the ground is firm. We can cover our tracks easier.” He looked at O’Connor who nodded. Carver looked around for a point man. Normally he would’ve given the job to Private Willy, but he wanted his experienced man in charge of the radio. “I’ll take point until we’re out of the area,” he said.

  Carver moved to the front and took them east along the spur of volcanic rock. He moved fast, jumping from rock to rock, trying to leave no tracks.

  The rocks ran out thirty yards from their bivouac site. He stepped onto the jungle floor. It was hard, like normal ground. He hunched over and moved into the denseness of the jungle.

  He led them due east for what he figured was about a quarter mile. The jungle was dense, but by staying low, they could move through it faster. He stopped and held up his hand. They stopped and pointed their weapons in a defensive posture.

  O’Connor moved through the column until he was beside Sergeant Carver. The sweat on his brow dripped like a faucet. He nodded at Carver. “This seems like a better route. Better than that shitty mess.” He pointed with his thumb the way they’d come in.

  Carver nodded. “I want you to lead us south now. We’ll come up to the east of Hill 260 if we go due south from here.” O’Connor nodded and moved off to the right. Carver let the men move past him until he saw Private Willy, and the radio. He took his place in front of him. Willy nodded, his black eyes unreadable behind his greasy eyebrows. Carver wondered what the man did before the war. Probably a mafia hit-man.

  The image of Willy back at the rocks flashed across his mind. The man had taken on three Japs hand to hand. He’d killed all three with his knife before they knew what hit them. He was the most skilled knife fighter he’d ever seen, above and beyond anything the Army taught.

  The scary thing, was the way he seemed to relish the fight. He’d lick his lips in anticipation like he was getting ready for a turkey dinner. Carver was glad he was on his side but didn’t doubt that if he crossed Willy in peacetime, he’d carve him up the way he did those Japs without a second thought.

  They moved for a half hour before O’Connor stopped, and held up his hand, then signaled to take cover. Like silent snakes, the men lowered themselves prone, and watched and waited. The wounded PFC Timothy was glad for the rest. It was all he could do not to cry out with every jarring step.

  A minute passed. Sergeant Carver trusted O’Connor more than any other man alive. He’d stay down until signaled. O’Connor didn’t spook easily. If he wanted them down, Japs were close.

  Carver could feel insects moving beneath him, edging their way into his pants and shirt front, but he ignored them. He listened for any unnatural sound and soon heard the shuffling of feet through the jungle, then the low murmur of unintelligible voices. He moved only his eyeballs, but couldn’t see the soldiers he knew were there. Suddenly there was a Japanese boot in front of his nose. The distinctive notched toe gave no doubt it belonged to a Japanese infantryman. Carver stopped breathing. He tried to calm his heart, but it felt like it would pound out of his chest. He watched as the boot hesitated. Have they seen me? He thought sure he’d feel a bayonet in his back any second. The boot picked up and stepped forward. The Jap was being quiet, hunting him and his men.

  No more soldiers came that close, but he could hear more passing all around him. When he didn’t sense more, he waited another five minutes. None of his men moved a muscle. O’Connor was the first to move. He faded back to the first man in line, and the signal went back for Carver to come forward.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slow. That was too close. He low crawled forward to O’Connor who seemed unfazed.

  O’Connor grinned, “Thought I was gonna get stepped on.”

  Carver nodded trying not to show his fear. “Guess we got lucky. Take us forward, doubt they’ll be another patrol, but stay focused.”

  O’Connor nodded and turned to take the lead. Sergeant Carver went back to his spot looking each man in the eye. They all looked like they’d seen a ghost. When he got to his spot, Private Willy showed him his knife. He whispered, “If that nip would’ve seen you, I would’ve skewered him, Sarge.” Carver nodded and flashed him the thumbs up. Crazy fucker looks disappointed.

  They didn’t come across more patrols, but they did see signs of them. There were boot tracks on the muddy ground, and they found a trampled area only a half mile from Hill 260. The area seemed to be swarming with the enemy. Carver marked the spot on his map as a possible artillery target.

  O’Connor took a grenade from Private Willy, who wasn’t happy about it, and set a booby trap. He scraped a small depression in the middle of the clearing, and after pulling the pin placed the grenade with the handle facing up. He reached into his ammo pouch, and pulled out a clip for his M1. He pulled a jungle leaf, and shredded it into strips. When he found the correct sized leaf strand, he threaded it through the M1 clip, then tied a loop at the other end of the strand, and looped it over the handle of the grenade.


  He concealed the grenade, and set the clip on top. The shiny brass of the thirty caliber bullets would catch the eye of anyone coming through, and when they picked up the clip the tension would pull the handle of the grenade, and maim or kill anyone nearby.

  Sergeant Carver wasn’t happy about the delay, but was satisfied with the trap. He recognized it from some they’d seen on Guadalcanal. The Japanese killed and maimed more than a few of his men that way. They’d learned through hard lessons not to pick up strange items that didn’t seem to belong in the jungle.

  When O’Connor finished he picked up his rifle, and as he walked past Carver said, “A little payback.”

  Carver grunted and nodded. O’Connor took point, and they used every bit of caution for the next two hours. The men were tiring when they came to a small clearing, and could see Hill 260 poking up from the jungle floor. It looked like it had gotten a shave from a lazy barber. The sparse trees shredded by artillery looked like stubble. They were still too far away to see their platoon members, but the sight gave them hope that they’d make it back.

  They entered their perimeter in the same spot they’d left. It heartened Carver when he was stopped and asked the password long before an enemy soldier could’ve caused damage.

  Private Denn sounded scared as he challenged them, but Carver had radioed ahead telling Lt. Swan about his early arrival, and his need of medical care for PFC Timothy, so they were expecting his squad.

  As Carver passed him, he slapped his shoulder, “Good job, Denn. If I were a Jap, I’d be hightailing it out of here.”

  Denn gave him an ‘aw gee’ smile. “Thanks, Sarge.” Sergeant Carver shook his head, and trudged up the hill.

  Their squad was met halfway up by another set of medics who put PFC Timothy onto a stretcher, and walked him the rest of the way.

  Lieutenant Swan was waiting on top; his face went white as he saw the bloody bandage on Timothy’s shoulder. Sergeant Carver gave him a quick salute. “Doc Dawkins says he’ll be fine, but out of action for awhile.”