by Chris Glatte
Commander Hawkins laughed and slapped him on the back. “To each his own I guess.”
Hawkins went past him grinning. O’Connor watched him go wondering at the commander’s approach to enlisted men. O’Connor heard someone approaching from behind; he turned in time to see Ensign Hanks. O’Connor came to attention and snapped off a salute. He sneered back at him and saluted as he walked by without a word. O’Connor wondered at the different styles of leadership. He shrugged, guess they sort of even each other out.
45
O’Connor slept most of the day away. Private Willy woke him up at 1500. O’Connor hadn’t slept that much since being on the island. He felt disoriented but rested. As he was wiping the sleep from his eyes, Private Willy asked, “So what’re the boats like? They look fast.”
He nodded, “They are. Faster than any boat I’ve ever been on by a long shot.” Willy hung at the entrance of the tent fidgeting from foot to foot. “Something bothering you, Willy?”
He looked at O’Connor and tilted his helmet back. O’Connor thought he was the dirtiest human he’d ever come across. He kept his hygiene up the same as the other soldiers, but he was the kind of guy that always looked dirty even after showering. Private Willy shrugged, “They just seem kinda on the smallish side.”
O’Connor stared. If he wasn’t mistaken he thought Willy looked scared, but that couldn’t be, he’d seen Private Willy charge Japanese machine gun nests like it was nothing. O’Connor thought he had a death wish, in fact.
He probed, “Well yeah, smaller than anything we’ve been on I guess, but that’s kinda the point. They’re harder for the Japs to find and they pack quite a wallop.”
Before he could find out what was bothering him, Private Willy spun on his heel and left the tent. He called back, “Briefing in an hour at the docks.”
O’Connor nodded and continued lacing up his jungle boots. He’d been on the island less than a month, and already they were faded and starting to come apart at the seams. The constant mud and wetness wreaked havoc on all their gear.
The squad sat on the rickety folding chairs while Commander Hawkins went over how the insertion would go. “We’ll leave here at our normal time of 1700 and head out to sea where we’ll split up.
“Boat 278 isn’t ready for duty so will stay in dock along with boat 304. Boats 291 and 300 will patrol together to the west. The rest of us, that’s four boats, will patrol east to the insertion point.
“We’ll split the GIs up amongst boat 345 and 360. We’ll have the others cover us while we slip in close then ferry them in the rubber boats.” He paused looking around at the intently listening men.
The Navy men were in the back, most standing with their arms crossed. “We’ll be cramped with the extra men, so we’ll stay in the middle. If we encounter any Jap barges, we’ll let them go unless we can’t avoid them.”
Voices rose from the back. Commander Hawkins held up his hands. “I know, I know. I don’t want to let any of the little bastards get away either, but getting these men to shore undetected is our mission.” He stared the Navy men down. “Once that’s done, it’s business as usual.
“If we’re compromised on the way in we’ll have to abort and find another suitable spot tomorrow night, so let’s get it done tonight and get back to what we all want to be doing…killing Japs.”
The men nodded their understanding and when there were no questions the Navy men dispersed. The soldiers remained seated as Lieutenant Swan took the front.
Commander Hawkins gestured that he had the floor. Swan nodded and fixed his already combed hair. In his best rendition of a hardened combat soldier, he addressed them. “Men,” he squeaked, “this is an important mission. One which, if successful, will go a long way to saving many of your fellow soldier’s lives.” He paused looking to see if his words had any effect. Most of the men were staring at their boots, or running their hands through their hair, or inspecting their weapons. “I have no doubt you’ll do your duties and perform admirably.”
He coughed then stood up straighter. “I will be tagging along for the insertion but won’t be going ashore with you.” Sergeant Carver sat up straight; this was news to him; unwelcome news. “As much as I’d like to join you inland my duties back on Hill 260 are more pressing.” He looked the men over; they were watching now. “I’ll see you when you return.” He nodded and moved off to the side.
Sergeant Carver got to his feet and in an angry growl said, “Dismissed.”
At 1700 the men were crammed onto the two PT boats. O’Connor crouched beside Private Willy who looked white as a sheet. “You okay? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
Private Willy squinted and spat onto the deck. In his Midwestern nasal tone, he said, “This fucking boat’s too damned small. What’s to keep a guy from falling off?”
“What the hell Willy? You’ve been on plenty of boats, hell you crossed most of the world in one. What’s the matter with you?”
Private Willy looked nervously over the port side towards the water. He leaned in close to O’Connor’s ear and whispered, “I, I can’t swim.”
O’Connor thought he hadn’t heard correctly. “What? Can’t swim? Can’t swim?” he shook his head. “How’d you deal with all the boat rides we’ve been on?”
Willy grabbed his arm and squeezed, “Not so loud, asshole.” He looked around, but no one was paying any attention. “Those boats were big, hardly felt like we were on one at all. I could deal with that, but these little tin cans are like toys. The wind could tip ‘em over for chrissakes.”
O’Connor wiped the smile that kept trying to creep onto his face. He’d never seen Willy scared, even during the most harrowing firefights, he was as cool a soldier as he’d ever met. He leaned in, “Look, I was on this same boat last night. They’re solid. The crew’s solid too, really know their business.”
Willy scowled and interrupted, “They’re squids, swabbies. They can’t be trusted. They’ll get us all killed, me especially.”
“Just stay close to the center and keep your head down. In the dark, you won’t even notice the size. Just think about something else.”
He sneered. “Easy for you to say, you can swim. If you go out, you’ll just bob along until someone picks you up, me?”
O’Connor patted the life preserver he was wearing. “That’s what this thing’s for, as long as you’re wearing it, you can’t sink. It’ll float you.”
Private Willy guffawed, “This thing? It doesn’t look like much and what if it gets ripped off me? What then?”
O’Connor shrugged. “Then be glad you’re not live shark bait.”
Willy’s face turned another shade of white. “Jesus, Corporal, you’re a real help. A real ray of sunshine.”
O’Connor cinched up Willy’s life jacket. “There, you’re good to go.”
PT 345 was trailing PT 314 at a comfortable one hundred yards. The two other boats were in echelon behind them. They were a mile off the coast moving at a steady twelve knots to the east.
The sea wasn’t as calm as the day before and with each swell, boat 314 went out of sight until they crested the next wave. The constant up and down sent sprays of warm sea water into the faces of the soldiers. Their helmets kept most of their heads dry, but the rest of their bodies were soaked. The breeze was warm, but in combination with the water, they were starting to shiver.
To make matters worse Private Palmer got sick and spewed his guts onto the deck. The vomit was swept away quickly with the next wave but not before the smell assaulted their noses. Soon every soldier was adding their guts to the growing pile.
Sergeant Carver was not pleased. His men were taking a beating before they’d even gotten to the insertion point. He’d have a group of sick, dehydrated soldiers when he needed them to be at their best.
He stood from his crouching position and in the dark found his way to the commander’s seat. He expected Commander Hawkins but instead found Ensign Hanks. “How long til we head in?”
&nbs
p; The dark silhouette of Ensign Hanks said, “We’ll turn in about ten minutes, then we’ll slow and get you in close after we clear the shoreline.” Hanks looked towards the dark shapes of the soldiers. “How’re they holding up?”
Carver shook his head, “Not well. Most are sick.”
Ensign Hanks nodded. “Yeah, I can smell that. Tell them to take breaths in through their mouths and out through their noses.”
“Does that help?”
“Not really, but it’ll take their minds off the smell.”
Ten minutes later the engines quieted, and the boats turned towards the dark shape of the island. Sergeant Carver had no idea how far they’d come, but it seemed like many miles.
PT boat 345 and 360 hung back while the two escort boats went ahead to scout the shoreline. The bobbing of the boat was somewhat better, and the men weren’t throwing up anymore. Probably nothing left.
Time inched along. The warm night air soon had the men sweating again. The smell of vomit mixed with sweat, and he breathed through his mouth.
Carver forced each man to drink water from the boat stores. Dehydration could be as deadly as the Japanese forces lingering in the jungle.
A flash of light from the shore caught his attention. He watched as the signalman reported something to Ensign Hanks, who passed it along to someone Carver presumed to be Commander Hawkins. The engines increased, and they started in towards the island.
Lieutenant Swan stumbled towards him. “Shore’s all clear. We’re heading in to drop you off. Be a couple minutes. Get the men ready to enter the boats.”
He nodded and passed it along. There was nothing to be done except move closer to the edge of the boat. The men checked their weapons, careful their muzzles were protected from the corrosive sea-water by condoms slipped over and secured with rubber bands.
The swabbies unstrapped the rubber boat and moved it to the edge. After a few minutes, the engines went to idle, and the gentle sea lapped the side.
At a whispered word from Ensign Hanks, the rubber boat was sent over the side. One of the sailors went with it and landed in the bottom. He reached up as two more sailors handed down seven paddles. He bundled and stowed them by shoving the blades under the crease between the tubes and the floor.
Sergeant Carver moved beside the sailors still on the PT boat and helped his men pass their packs and weapons. The process went smoothly despite the swell lifting and dropping the boats. Carver helped each man over the side until it was his turn.
He was about to slide off when a hand gripped his shoulder. It was Lieutenant Swan. “Good luck, Sergeant. See you in a few days.” He said it like he didn’t believe it.
Sergeant Carver nodded and let himself fall into the bottom of the boat where his men steadied him. He moved to the rear, and sat next to the sailor who would act as the rudder man. He passed out the paddles and grabbed his own. The sailor said, “Ready? Stroke.”
The men had some training in small rubber boats when they were training back on Fiji, but none of them had spent a lot of time in them. Their strokes were erratic and out of sync but soon the sailor had them paddling in cadence. The boat skimmed along the sea, the sailor steering, the soldiers providing power.
The other rubber boat came out the darkness like an apparition. The occupants of both boats were surprised, and the sailors flashed grins at one another.
They paddled in side by side. When the looming jungle seemed only feet away, they stopped paddling and swapped paddles for rifles and submachine guns. The boats drifted, the sailors kept them straight.
There was no beach. The sea ran up against the jungle like moving from desert to forest. There was nothing in between, no transition point.
The branches and vines reached out over the water, and they passed beneath them. Carver thought about snakes that no doubt lived in these trees and vines waiting to drop onto unsuspecting prey.
He took a deep breath, scanning the jungle for sign of the enemy. It’s so thick, there could be a regiment in front of me and I’d never see them.
The boats nudged up against the island, and the two men in front of each boat went over the side. The water came up to their waists, and they made a lot of noise as they struggled to get to shore. Once there, they crouched and searched for any movement then reached back for the ropes. They pulled the boats in close and held them secure as the squad scrambled to shore.
Sergeant Carver was the last man out. He hefted his pack onto his broad shoulders. Once on shore, he looked back at the sailor who was already pulling the boat away with a backstroke. He watched the boat go, the squads last chance to get home the easy way was leaving.
After five minutes Sergeant Carver combined the two groups. He found Corporal O’Connor. “We need to move away while we’ve got darkness on our side. Find us a good spot to lay up until daylight.”
O’Connor nodded and took point. As he passed Private Willy he punched him in the arm and whispered in his ear. “You can take off the life jacket now.”
46
Colonel Araki listened to his officer explaining why he’d failed to complete his mission. He gripped the bamboo cane he was forced to use until his hand ached. He’d sent him and a small squad on a simple mission to insert snipers around the American lines. Now, this fat, groveling lieutenant was giving him excuses. He’d been ambushed and lost most of his ten-man patrol.
Before he finished explaining, Colonel Araki smacked the cane down on the wooden table separating them. It sounded like a gunshot, and the lieutenant nearly jumped out of his boots. He bowed his head and waited for the verbal bombardment that was sure to follow.
With barely suppressed rage Colonel Araki seethed, “It was a simple mission, Lieutenant. How is it possible you failed? How could you lose eight men on a mission of stealth? How could you walk into an ambush?” He’d already heard the excuses. “I’ll tell you how. You’re incompetent. You’re an incompetent, fat buffoon.” He stepped from behind the table wincing at the pain in his right leg.
It was a lasting gift from the Americans on Guadalcanal. Most of the front of his leg had been shredded by an artillery shell. He’d been in a group of four other officers trying to organize a fighting retreat. He’d been the only survivor when the shell exploded only yards from them. He’d been thrown twenty feet backward into a burning tank.
When he came to, he realized he’d been left for dead. Through sheer force of will, he’d crawled into the jungle back towards his lines. It had taken three days before he finally came across a friendly patrol. He was whisked off the island and spent long months in a jungle hospital on Bougainville. The pain was constant. He used it to fuel his hatred for the round-eyed Yankees.
He stood in front of the cowed junior officer. He gnashed his teeth. He was short on officers and couldn’t afford to relieve him. Who’d I replace him with? The impossible situation brought his anger close to boiling over.
He took a deep breath thinking of his Sensei back in Tokyo. He tried to center himself, get control of his feelings. In a calm voice, he said. “You have disgraced your unit and yourself. I’m taking you off the line and sending you to Major Kotani’s unit in the rear. He’s in charge of our prison camp. Maybe seeing Americans on a daily basis will teach you to loath them as I do and fight harder.” The lieutenant kept his head bowed, staring at Colonel Araki’s polished leather boots. “Do you think you can perform your duties for Major Kotani, Lieutenant?”
He bowed deeper and said, “Hai, sir.”
“You’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll send you with a squad from Alpha Company.” He reached behind him and held up a leather bag. “This is a courier bag.” He waited until Lieutenant Taro looked at the bag and nodded. “You’ll deliver this to Major Kotani. It’s important that its contents get there, do you understand?”
He reached out for the bag, but Colonel Araki kept it. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow, the less time it’s in your incompetent hands, the better. The POW camp is two miles to the rear. We don’t have any tru
cks available at the moment, so you’ll have to walk. You’ll have a full squad with you.” He eyed him, “You think you can deliver it without getting those men killed and losing my bag?”
The lieutenant gulped and nodded. “Hai, sir.”
Lieutenant Taro entered Colonel Araki’s tent the next morning and bowed until the colonel acknowledged him. He had great respect for the tough combat veteran, but also fear. He thought sure the colonel was either going to relieve him or put a bullet between his eyes last evening. Colonel Araki’s acid temper was legendary amongst the junior officers. No one wanted to be on his bad side, and that’s exactly where Lieutenant Taro found himself.
“Lieutenant Taro, good morning. Are you ready to move to the POW camp?”
Lieutenant Taro snapped his heels and bowed deeper. “Yessir. The squad from Able Company is assembled and ready to escort me and the satchel to Major Kotani.”
Colonel Araki smiled and nodded. His demeanor was opposite from the evening before. “Good, you will leave immediately. Once there, deliver the satchel to Major Kotani only, then send the squad back here.”
He paused and looked him over. His distaste for Taro’s pudgy body was obvious. “Major Kotani is a tough soldier; you can learn a lot from him. I’ll expect you to be much improved when I see you again.” He leaned into Taro’s space. “Don’t let me down again, Lieutenant. I assure you it will be the last time.”
Lieutenant Taro snapped his heels again and saluted. “I will not let you down, sir. I will die first.”
Colonel Araki handed him the satchel. “Good. Dismissed.”
When he left the tent, Lieutenant Taro let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His legs felt heavy like they were made of cement. He approached the squad of men formed up in line with a surly looking sergeant standing to the side.
