The 164th Regiment Series Boxset

by Chris Glatte

  They’d made it three quarters of a mile from the creek when they heard the grenade go off. They hunched down, panting.

  Carver didn’t wait. He stood and waved them forward. “We’ve gotta keep moving, they’re gaining on us, dammit. Double time!”

  A groan went through the squad, but they knew they were in a race for their lives. They were tired, hungry and thirsty, but they dug deep and pushed themselves forward. The Marines were well past walking let alone running. They were carried on the backs of the soldiers, passed from man to man as they fatigued.

  Carver took his turn and was amazed how light the Marine was. With each jolting step, the Marine grunted. Carver could feel his breath on his neck, assuring him he was alive, but it seemed stringy and weak. “You hang in there, Marine. You’ve come too far to die on us now.” There was no answer, just the breathing.

  The men struggled to keep up with O’Connor’s blistering pace. Carver was amazed how easily he seemed to run. He felt like a lumbering ox, but O’Connor looked like he hardly sank in the mud at all. He knew it was an illusion, O’Connor just knew how to move well through jungle and wild country.

  It seemed like they’d been running a long time but only eight minutes had passed. Carver called a halt. He passed the Marine to Private Denn and gathered the men. They were breathing hard, swallowing, trying to wet their throats. They pulled canteens and took healthy swigs.

  When he could talk, Carver said, “This trail will take us all the way to the beach. There’s no one there to pick us up. We need to start veering towards Hill 260.” He pointed. They could make out the denuded top of the hill through a gap in the jungle. It was off to the right at a forty-five degree angle. It seemed a long ways off. “We’ve made great time, but I think it’s time to slow down and get to our lines without getting shot up.”

  Private Willy poked his thumb behind him. His other hand held pressure over his seeping wound. Carver noticed it was bleeding again. Willy said, “What about our friends coming up behind us?”

  Carver wiped his brow. “They’re a problem. They’ll be on us soon, and we have no idea how many they are.” He stared at O’Connor. “You think you can get ‘em to keep following our trail to the beach?”

  O’Connor thought about it. He looked down the trail. “I’m pretty sure there’s another creek coming up. I’ve been expecting it for awhile; can’t be much farther. We could lose ‘em there, follow the creek downstream. I’ll beat down the main trail, give ‘em fresh tracks to follow, then double back to you.”

  Sergeant Carver made up his mind. “I like it. Get us to the creek.”

  O’Connor was correct. He found the creek a few hundred yards down the trail. Unlike the previous creek this one’s water was briny and copper colored. The men filled their canteens and dropped halzone tablets in for purification. O’Connor wondered if they’d be alive long enough to get dysentery.

  Sergeant Carver squatted next to O’Connor. “We’ll split up here. I think you need another trooper with you. I don’t think one set of prints will fool them and you could use the help.”

  O’Connor was going to protest but realized he was right about the boot prints. “Right. I’ll take Gomez. Kid seems to know his way around pretty well.”

  Carver agreed, “That’s who I was thinking about.” Carver called out, “Gomez, you’re accompanying O’Connor on this adventure.”

  Private Gomez’s dark complexion went pale, but he stepped forward and gave O’Connor a nod he hoped looked confident.

  O’Connor asked, “Feel up to it?”

  Private Gomez nodded. “Hell yes.”

  O’Connor smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. He spoke up so all the men could hear, “Make sure you stay in the creek. One boot print could give it all away.” Everyone understood. They stared at O’Connor and Gomez wondering if they’d see them again. O’Connor grinned and tipped his helmet. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. We’ll see you back on the hill.” He patted his ammo pouch, “I need another grenade. I’ll set it down the trail a ways. If you hear it, you’ll know they’re following me, and so will I.”

  Carver gave him one, and reached his hand out, and said, “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll see you in a few.”

  O’Connor clasped his calloused hand and looked him in the eye. “You bet.”

  It was time to go. O’Connor and Gomez splashed across the creek and stomped around the bank on the other side, making lots of tracks. Then they trotted up the trail, sure to leave heavy boot prints.

  Carver watched them go. Hope the Japs take the bait. The men stood in the creek waiting for the word to move. “Alright, let’s do this right. Single file, don’t step out of the creek. Grant, you’re on point, move steady but know there’s bound to be Japs out here.”

  Private Grant nodded and waded down the creek bed. The water came up to his knees, and the rock bottom made for easy walking.

  The men moved out in single file, taking careful steps. The briny water made each footfall a mystery, but it would also serve to keep their tracks hidden. They were making a lot of noise sloshing through, but soon they’d be around the corner and out of earshot from the trail. Carver figured the Japanese were still at least a half hour behind them, plenty of time to disappear.

  The squad moved down the creekbed steadily for forty-five minutes until the creek steepened and started moving faster. There wasn’t a lot of water, but the increased gradient made the walking tough, and he couldn’t tell how long the rapids went. It seemed it was building up to something; maybe a waterfall.

  Sergeant Carver stopped the squad. He figured they’d moved far enough downstream. He hadn’t heard the grenade trap O’Connor had said he would set, but sloshing through water and now the noise of the rapids made that impossible. He had to assume the Japs followed O’Connor and Gomez. He was sure they hadn’t left signs for them to suspect they’d gone down the creek. He wondered how his two soldiers were faring. He shook the notion from his head. He had to concentrate on getting these men home.

  Carver signaled to spread out and set a perimeter. He motioned Private Grant to him. “You and Daniels move down the creek. I need to know how far this rapid goes. We may need to start moving through the jungle again.” Grant slugged Daniels and signaled him to follow. They moved down the creek and were soon out of sight.

  Carver figured they had to be close to Hill 260, but the thick jungle surrounding the creek made it impossible to see further than a few feet.

  Minutes later Private Grant and Daniels came splashing up the creek. Carver knew by the way they kept glancing over their shoulders that something was wrong.

  Out of breath and wide-eyed, Grant gasped, “Japs everywhere moving along the bank. They’re right behind us!”

  The rest of the squad heard and looked to Carver for direction. He signaled them to move into the jungle on the opposite bank.

  They pushed and struggled to penetrate the jungle. Carver followed Grant into a hole he’d pushed through. Within seconds the squad disappeared into the greenery. He was only feet away from the creek but completely concealed. The sound of the whitewater covered any sounds the Japanese soldiers were making, so he parted the jungle to see what was happening.

  The creek returned to its incessant task of moving down the canyon as if they’d never been there. He watched the far bank. He could only see a small section through his hole, but soon enough he saw movement. The far bank wasn’t as thick with vegetation, there were gaps, and he could see Japanese soldiers moving. They were moving fast, and he knew they weren’t a random patrol. They were searching. Trying to find and cut off his squad.

  Carver figured it was at least a platoon. They moved along steadily, not giving any notice to their hiding spot. An officer came into view. He was obvious with his pistol and the submachine gun strapped across his back.

  Carver watched him. He moved well. He stopped along with two soldiers. The officer looked at the creek and walked to the bank. He said something to
his men and they nodded and continued upstream, but the officer kneeled and dipped his hat. He wrung it out and placed it back on his head. He rubbed his neck and looked across the creek seeming to stare directly at him.

  Carver knew there was no way he could see him, but he continued to stare. Carver froze and made a conscious decision not to stare back. He kept the officer in his peripheral vision, not wanting him to feel his stare. He knew the rest of the squad was seeing the same thing and hoped no one did anything stupid.

  The officer stood and stretched his neck side to side, still concentrating on the opposite bank.

  Private Denn wasn’t in a good position when the Japanese platoon showed up. He’d pushed his way into the brush, but he wasn’t able to find a solid piece of ground to rest his feet. He’d sat down on thick vines and branches only a few feet above the creek. He’d pulled his feet up and tried to jam them into the brush, but it wasn’t solid. He struggled to keep his feet from falling into the creek, but his weight was working against him, and he slid, millimeter by millimeter. He thought he was home-free until the damned officer decided to stop.

  Sergeant Carver realized he’d been holding his breath as he saw the officer start to turn back to the clearing. He let it out slowly then gulped it back when he heard a splash upstream from his position. The Jap officer spun to the sound bringing his machine gun off his back in a practiced, smooth motion.

  Carver was bringing his Thompson around when Private Denn’s M1 shattered the evening. The creek in front of the officer erupted in geysers of water, and the leaves and branches around his head jumped and fell to the ground. The officer crouched and unleashed accurate return fire from his type 100 submachine gun, then took off like a track star into the jungle.

  Carver put the Thompson to his shoulder and sent a stream of .45 caliber, but he knew he hadn’t hit anything. The officer must have been a trained sprinter.

  The rest of the squad fired, but Carver yelled, “Cease fire! Move downstream on the double!”

  As one, the squad emerged from the jungle, one man short. “Sarge, Denn’s down, Denn’s down!”

  Corporal Dawkins ran up the creek like a mad man and crouched by Denn’s side. Blood mixed with water as the life left Private Denn’s body. Dawkins felt for a pulse, but he was gone. He reached into his bloody shirt and yanked the dog tags off his neck, and stuffed them into his pants pocket. He yelled, “Denn’s KIA, nothing I can do!”

  Sergeant Carver yelled back, “Grab his gun and any ammo and leave him. We gotta go now!” He grabbed Private Crofter as he splashed by, “Take us downstream,” he pushed him forward. “Double time down the creek! Hans, Grant, take the rear. Keep their heads down but don’t dilly dally.”

  The rest of the squad splashed downstream, and Carver followed the last man. He was just around the corner when he heard the rear guard’s M1s. He stopped and waited for his two soldiers with his Thompson ready. He heard their splashes and the cracks of Arisaka rifles and the zipping of bullets passing close.

  They came around the corner running full tilt. The water splashed wildly with each footfall. Around them, bullets added to the churn. Carver urged them to hurry. They ran by him, and Carver waited for a target. He didn’t have long to wait. Three soldiers came sprinting downstream. Staying in his crouch, he pulled the trigger and swept the Thompson across their bodies and they toppled like bowling pins. He didn’t wait for more but turned and followed his fleeing men.

  Bullets zipped and smacked into boulders and water all around him, but none found their mark. He caught up to the squad. They’d come to a narrow part of the creek. Downstream the creek entered a canyon with steep, moss covered walls. Carver had a decision to make, either stay in the creekbed and be trapped in the canyon or move to the bank and try to lose them in the jungle.

  The men crouched behind boulders, their weapons aimed upstream past Carver. As he slid in behind a boulder, the squad opened up on a group of Japanese coming downstream. They were exposed and easy targets. They went down and stayed down. No more soldiers came down the center of the creek, but Carver could see flashes of khaki uniforms in the jungle. If he didn’t move now, they’d flank him. He took a look downstream and made his decision. He pointed to the jungle, “Into the jungle, now!”

  The squad rose and moved to the bank, but immediately met with an onslaught of fire. The Japanese were shooting so fast it sounded like one continuous roar. The first two GIs went down immediately, and the rest dove into the shallow water finding any cover they could. Beside Carver, Dawkins jumped to his feet and took a step towards the downed men. Carver grabbed his arm and held him back. He had to yell to make himself heard over the Japanese fire, “They’re gone, nothing you can do!”

  Dawkins tried to break away. “How do you know? You don’t know that! Let me go!”

  Carver held, squeezing his arm like a vise. “Knock it off! They’re fucking dead!” he cupped his hand around his mouth and bellowed, “Move downstream, move downstream! I’ll cover you!”

  The men looked back at him and nodded. Bullets were zinging off rocks and making huge fountains of water. Carver gave one last squeeze on Dawkin’s arm and yelled, “Covering fire, now!” He released his arm and came around the boulder and laid down a long stream of .45 caliber fire. Dawkins added his eight rounds of .30 caliber until his M1 pinged and he inserted a new clip.

  The rest of the squad ran as fast as they could over the uneven ground. When they were almost out of sight, Carver punched Dawkin’s arm and yelled, “Go!” Carver unleashed another long burst then took off after him.

  With the steep gradient, they couldn’t see far downstream, but they could tell the creek went into a steep canyon. There didn’t look to be any way out except downstream. He hoped it didn’t end in an impassable waterfall. They’d be trapped with Japs upstream and no exit downstream.

  The squad stopped to wait for Carver and Dawkins just inside the beginning of the canyon. The entrance was choked with large boulders that had broken loose from the cliff-side sometime in the last millennium. No more bullets were chasing them downstream. The Japanese were weighing their options too.

  Carver slid in behind a large boulder trying to get control of his breathing. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. Private First Class Daniels, spoke into his ear. “I’ve sent Palmer downstream to figure out if there’s a way out of here. Thought this looked like a good spot to make a stand. The Japs can’t get to us unless they come straight down the creek.”

  Carver got control of his breathing, and nodded. “Good job, I think you’re right. We’ll stop here until Palmer gets back.” He looked to the towering cliff walls to either side. “We can’t scale these walls. If there’s no exit downstream we’re fucked.”

  He looked the squad over. They were exhausted and scared. They’d been fighting and running all day without pause. He noticed the two missing soldiers were Private Grant and Hans. He imagined their bullet-riddled bodies floating upstream.

  Private Willy was staring at him. He gave him a nod and Willy nodded back then moved his eyes back upstream. Willy pointed, “Here they come.”

  Carver leaned around his boulder. The Japs were using the smaller boulders upstream for cover, trying to get as close as possible before engaging. He called out. “How many grenades we got left?” The men called out their status. With the one he had, they had five left.

  He watched the Japanese advance. “Hold your fire until they’re within grenade distance.” He looked at Private Crofter crouched five yards away. “Crofter,” he looked at Carver. His face was black with mud and gunpowder, his wide eyes white holes within. “You and I will throw on my command.” Crofter nodded and reached back for his one grenade. Carver raised his voice, “Wait for our grenades then give ‘em hell.”

  The squad nodded and settled into firing positions. The Japanese soldiers kept coming, moving from boulder to boulder. When they were twenty yards away, he nodded at Crofter who crouched with his finger through the grenade pin. The
y pulled the pins simultaneously and hurled them. The Japanese saw the movement and fired, but they were under cover before the bullets slammed and ricocheted off boulders.

  There was a pause then a sharp yell from a Japanese soldier, then the blast of the grenades. The sound was loud in the confines of the canyon, making Carver wince. The boulders protecting the Japanese soldiers now became deadly, as shrapnel ricocheted and shredded flesh.

  The squad opened up, laying down fire. The Japanese soldiers not behind cover were hit and dropped out of sight. There was yelling and screaming, then return fire. The concussion from the grenades and the withering fire kept the Japanese off balance, and their fire was inaccurate.

  Carver could see a group of cowering soldiers trying to stay behind a rock that wasn’t big enough for all of them. He yelled to Private Palmer. “Throw me your grenade!” Palmer was lying down. He rolled to the side and unclipped his grenade. He rose to a crouch and tossed it the ten feet to Carver. In one motion Carver caught it with two hands, pulled the pin and arced it into the group of soldiers. It was a perfect throw, landing on the back of the middle man. It blew, and all four of the Japanese soldiers went down.

  Their deaths seemed to take the fight out of the remaining soldiers. They rose up and with arms flailing and legs pumping retreated back upstream.

  They were easy targets for the squad. Only a few escaped back to the rest of their platoon. Sergeant Carver met Private Willy’s eyes. He was chuckling to himself, enjoying the slaughter. Once again, Carver was glad Willy was on his side.

  Private Palmer came up through the rocks and boulders. He was breathing hard. He took off his helmet and wiped his brow. When he caught his breath, Palmer said, “The canyon continues for another three hundred yards. It’s steep all the way, no chance to climb out. The creek is steep, kinda like here,” he gestured around him, “But steeper.”