by Chris Glatte
Carver ignored him. “I’ve got Curtis and Crofter up there. When you hear ‘em fire, it means the Japs are damned close. What’re you all standing around for? Let’s get down this damned falls.”
Private Palmer stood on the left side of the canyon on the lip of the waterfall. The water rushed off the grooved edge like a thick funnel. It fell twenty feet before the laws of physics took over, and the funnel spread out then crashed into the pool with a constant roar.
Carver leaned over the edge trying to see the pool. He was sure the scene would be beautiful if he didn’t have a platoon of Japanese soldiers chasing him.
The roar of the waterfall surrounded him, and a sudden dread filled him. “Daniels,” the young private turned almost stumbling. “Move upstream twenty yards and listen for the Crofter and Curtis’s shots.” Daniels nodded and lumbered through the creek.
Sergeant Carver went to where Private Palmer was making his way over the cliff edge. He had his M1 slung over his back, and he was slipping over the first ledge to a narrow lower ledge six feet below.
He slid on his butt, moving along the wet slippery slope. When he’d gone three feet, he started to slide. He yelled out as he lost control and dropped the final three feet onto the ledge. He collapsed only inches from rolling off the edge. He looked up at Carver and gave him a thumbs up.
He reached out and pulled on a thick vine that snaked over the second ledge. He yanked hard testing its strength. It pulled away from its attachment but arrested again and seemed to be solid.
Carver cupped his hand over his mouth, “Does it make it to the bottom? Can we climb down it?”
Palmer leaned out and tried to move the vine back and forth to distinguish it from all the others. He looked up at Carver and shrugged his shoulders. He yelled up, “Can’t tell, but looks good. It’s our only choice.”
A second later Carver heard yelling and turned upstream to see Private First Class Daniels sprinting through the water, “They’re coming! They’re coming!”
Carver unslung his Thompson and moved upstream. Daniels stopped beside him, his eyes wide. Carver stopped him, “Get the men over the side.” He pointed to the ledge the squad was hovering around.
Private Willy came out of the darkness beside Carver. He was limping and pale. In a calm voice, he said, “I’ll help you cover Crofter and Curtis.”
Carver nodded and yelled at the rest of the men. “Get over the side. Now!” He and Willy moved upstream and found cover. Stepping away from the roar of the falls, the sound of gunfire filled the canyon walls. There were flashes of muzzles lighting up the night. Ricocheting bullets zinged and buzzed in the canyon. Two dark shapes were coming towards them, running as fast as their legs would carry them.
When they were almost on them, Carver stepped out, and Private Crofter lost his balance and fell into the knee deep water. He fully immersed and came up spluttering. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell outta me, Sarge.” He got to his feet and pointed upstream. “Pretty sure we hit one or two of ‘em. They’re right on our asses though.”
Carver slapped him on the shoulder. “Good job, the others are on the left edge of the waterfall, follow ‘em down. We’ll cover you.” Curtis and Crofter looked around and saw Willy’s teeth shining from the shadows. They nodded and left them.
Carver aimed down his sights. “Let ‘em get close enough for my Thompson.” Carver could sense more than see Willy nodding his understanding.
They didn’t have long to wait. The Japanese soldiers came down the middle of the creek moving from boulder to boulder. They weren’t running but moved steadily in the darkness.
Carver had his Thompson to his shoulder. He crouched in the water with the barrel resting on a boulder. His sights were on the first silhouette. He knew Willy would be targeting the soldiers further upstream with his more accurate M1. Willy was waiting for Carver to open up.
When the first soldier was fifteen yards away and filling his sights, he squeezed off two shots. The soldier dropped out of sight, and Carver was on the next target, a soldier behind and to the right of the first. He squeezed off another round sending the soldier sprawling and splashing.
It was impossible to discern officers from enlisted men in the darkness, but Willy picked his first target based on his position in the group. He was in the middle and moved like he was in charge. It was a gut instinct. When Carver opened up, Willy fired. The soldier went down hard, and he shifted to the next. He fired in quick succession working his way from left to right until the Japanese were behind cover. He was sure he’d hit three others.
Carver and Willy leaned back under cover waiting for the return fire. It came a second later. The air buzzed and snapped as bullets whipped by and smacked into water and rock.
Carver yelled over the gunfire. “We’ve gotta give ‘em a few more minutes to get down the cliff.”
Willy didn’t answer but leaned out and fired into the canyon. The Japanese fire stopped momentarily then concentrated on Willy’s muzzle flashes. Carver leaned out and aimed at the closest muzzle flash. He fired three times, then leaned back as the boulder shook with incoming rounds. There’s too damned many of ‘em. “We gotta go, Willy. Count of three, I’ll cover you.”
Willy’s voice came back to him in a conversational tone, but he could make out the words. “I’ll cover you, Sergeant Carver. You go first.”
His voice sent alarms through Carver. He looked to where he knew Willy crouched, but could only make out a dim silhouette against the canyon wall. “You hit?”
Willy’s voice disconnected and far away. “One, two, three.” Willy leaned out and fired at the multiple muzzle flashes; walking his fire with deadly precision.
Sergeant Carver cussed but pushed off and ran downstream with bullets chasing him. He dove behind another boulder and spun around to cover Willy’s retreat, but Willy continued firing until Carver heard the ‘ping’ of an empty clip. He called, “Willy!”
The Japanese heard the emptied weapon too and lunged downstream. Carver aimed but before he could pull the trigger he heard Willy’s M1 bark again, and the Japanese dropped into the water. It must be his last clip. He yelled one more time, “Willy, now!” but Willy kept firing.
Carver took the opportunity and ran to the edge of the cliff. No one was in sight. He skidded and slipped, almost going over the edge. He crouched and looked down at the smaller ledge. Private First Class Daniels was aiming his M1 at his head. Carver put up his hands, “It’s me, it’s me.”
Daniels waved him down. “Come on. The others are halfway down.”
Carver took one last look back up the creek. Willy was still firing. Must have a hidden clip. His shots were sporadic, like he was conserving every shot. Hope he saves the last one for himself. The Japanese would do unspeakable things to him if he were captured. It reminded him of his three Marines. “Where are Kendrick, Sparks, and Paulson?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He slung his Thompson over his back and shimmied down the slope on his butt until there was no more grip, then fell into Daniels who kept him from toppling over the edge.
“They’re almost down. They went first with Dawkins and Palmer.” He looked to the ledge Carver had just come from, “Where’s Willy?”
Carver shook his head, “Saving our bacon.” He pointed with his thumb and for the first time realized what Willy was doing. “He’s holding the Japs off till we’re clear. He, he’s sacrificing himself for us.”
Daniels stared into Carver’s eyes and was about to speak when the side of his head exploded, spraying Carver with blood, bone and gray matter. Carver stared, not comprehending what he’d just seen. A bullet sliced into his cheek and burned him out of his trance. He dropped to his belly as more bullets smacked into the cliff face behind him. Daniel’s lifeless eyes stared at him, and his dead body slowly toppled off the cliff and out of sight.
Sergeant Carver could see winks of muzzle flashes in the creek below the waterfall pool. The Japs are waiting for us. He shook his head trying to clear the image
of Daniels dying. His cheek burned like fire. His hand came away bloody when he probed it.
Jap bullets were smacking all around him. They haven’t spotted the others. They’re only shooting at me. He decided it would be best to keep it that way. From a prone position, he lifted the Thompson and aimed it in the general direction of the enemy, and squeezed off a couple of rounds. The Thompson kicked like a mule, slamming his cheek, making him wince, but his muzzle flash had the desired effect. The Japanese renewed their efforts, shooting at him and not the rest of the squad.
The roar of the waterfall and the smacking of close bullet impacts was all he could hear. How long till the Japs get past Willy and poke their heads over the side? He aimed his Thompson at the ledge waiting, but nothing came. Back on his belly, he slithered to the edge and peered down. He could see his men only yards from the bottom.
He squinted searching for the enemy beyond. They’d stopped firing, seeing if they’d hit anything. He looked at the black pool of water far below. He could see the whitewater as it plunged into the pool. There was no way he was going to use the vines to climb down; the Japs could see him. He only had one choice.
The ledge he was on stuck out four feet from the wall and extended fifteen feet towards the waterfall, but the pool was another twenty feet out, at least. He couldn’t judge how far it dropped, but it looked like he could make the pool if he got a good enough push off the ledge. There was no telling how deep the pool was. He might be jumping to his death even if he made the pool.
Still on his belly, he pushed his way back until he couldn’t go any farther. He got on his knees, took off his helmet and pack, made sure the satchel was in place, then got to his feet. The Japs hadn’t started firing again, but they’d see him any second. He took a deep breath, and gripping his Thompson, ran as fast as he could along the ledge. He concentrated on the edge, he’d have to time it perfectly, or he wouldn’t get a good push, and he’d die in the rocks below.
He noticed the winking of muzzle flashes, the Japs had seen him. He planted his right foot on the edge and pushed off with everything he had left, and he fell through dark, empty space. The wind rushed through his hair, and he kicked his legs reaching for all the distance he could muster. He knew he was about to die, but it was peaceful. He was flying and he knew the crushing weight of gravity would end his war without pain.
Private Willy counted to three then leaned out and fired at the muzzle flashes that seemed to be everywhere. He was calm, his breathing steady as he squeezed off eight rounds. He couldn’t see his bullets hit their marks, but he knew his shots were accurate. The clip ‘pinged’ and as fluid as the water flowing past his bloody legs, he pulled and inserted a new clip.
The Japanese soldiers heard the distinctive ‘ping’ too and took the opportunity to rush him. They’d only gotten a few steps when Willy leaned out again, and this time he saw his targets crashing into the creek. Chalk up three more dead Japs.
The return fire was intense, and he leaned against the boulder feeling its cool hardness against his cheek. He felt warmth down his side and knew he was bleeding again.
He’d never stopped bleeding. Dawkins had patched him up as best he could, but there was nothing more he could do out in the jungle. The medic thought he’d only been grazed, but when the wound kept oozing through the bandage, he’d taken a closer look and realized the bullet must’ve nicked a small artery near his right kidney. He was slowly bleeding out.
Dawkins wanted to tell Sergeant Carver, but Willy put his rifle barrel against his jaw and made him swear not to. Dawkins promised, saying, “You don’t need to be such an asshole about it, Willy. Just ask for Christ’s sake.”
Running down the creek to the waterfall had been the hardest thing Willy had ever done. He’d resigned himself to die in the canyon during the night, but it wasn’t to be. Sergeant Carver wanted to move. He’d stood up and swayed for a full minute before finally being able to follow the squad. Each jarring step sent daggers into his side. It was all he could do not to yell out, but he wouldn’t allow the weakness to show through. Dawkins kept giving him glances, but he had his hands full with the emaciated Marines and couldn’t help.
Looking over the edge of the cliff, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he could climb down the vines. He could hardly hold his rifle, let alone support his body weight. He saw covering the retreat as a way to do some good and kill more Japs.
He hugged the rock and flinched as bullets chipped away at the front. Every instinct told him he should move, if only a few feet, but he felt weak, like a child. He heard Sergeant Carver yelling for him to follow. He leaned out and fired at another muzzle flash. He tried to yell out for him to run while he had the chance, but it only came out as a squeak.
Bullets smacked with renewed vigor. He looked up at the night sky. The canyon walls kept the jungle from forming a complete canopy and Willy could see the intense pinpricks of light from a thousand stars. Not a bad place to die.
Splashing from upstream brought him back to reality. Not yet, Willy. Not yet. Gotta give ‘em more time. He rolled out from behind the boulder in a prone position. Two soldiers were running straight at him only feet away. He angled his muzzle and pulled the trigger. He could hear the bullets impacting and lancing through them like they were made of paper. They toppled. One slammed into the boulder and slid backward. The other fell in a soaking splash beside him then slowly drifted downstream. More soldiers further back. He fired in their direction keeping their heads down.
More muzzle flashes and more bullets filled the air. He didn’t have the strength to roll back to cover, so he leveled the M1 and fired back. He felt an intense heat in his left shoulder, and he couldn’t keep the barrel lifted. He hefted the M1 with one hand and fired at a figure dashing from cover. The soldier dropped out of sight the same instant he realized he’d fired his last shot.
Out of ammo, he dropped his M1 and pulled his K-bar knife from its leather sheath. He planned to fight to the death. No torture for Private Willy. He heard the soldiers coming, splashing towards him. They knew he was empty or wounded or both.
Willy pulled himself to his knees. He kept his head down, partially submerged. His left shoulder felt shredded, and his right hand was hidden under his belly, hiding the knife. He could feel his body shutting down. One final burst is all I need.
The Japanese soldiers formed a circle with rifles aimed down at him. Willy heard the guttural gibberish of his hated enemies’ language. Little closer. A soldier put his boot on Willy’s right shoulder to push him over.
Like a cobra snake striking, Willy rose up. The soldier lost his balance and Willy used his final ounce of strength to leap on him and sink his knife into the soft skin beneath his chin. The soldier’s mouth was open and Willy could see the knife in his throat reflecting his grimace back at him. It was the last thing he saw.
Bayonets sank into Private Willy’s back. Over and over they lunged into him, screaming their hatred and fear. It took the strong voice of their lieutenant to stop them.
58
O’Connor had no reason to believe the Japanese were following him and not the trail to the coast, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency. The darkness made travel difficult, but he kept a good pace.
Private Gomez was tired, but the brief stop for calories and water had energized him, and he wasn’t having trouble keeping up. He asked O’Connor, “Where we headed?”
O’Connor stopped and turned, breathing hard. “We’re angling towards the coast. If I’m right, we’ll hit water well west of where the Japs will. I’m hoping there’ll be some beach, and we’ll be able to get out of the jungle and move faster back to Cape Torokina.”
In shock, Gomez said, “Cape Torokina? That’s a long way west.” O’Connor nodded. Gomez sighed. “We’ve got a long walk ahead.” He looked where they’d come from, “Sure hope the Japs aren’t following us.”
O’Connor took his helmet off and wiped his brow. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that…” Gome
z looked him in the eye. O’Connor said, “You too?”
Gomez nodded. “Can’t shake the feeling.” They were both silent, then Gomez asked, “What should we do?”
O’Connor looked around the jungle. The terrain seemed to be rising like they were slowly ascending a hill. “Only way to know for sure is to lay up somewhere and wait.” He pointed. “We’ll keep going this way until we find a good spot.”
Gomez looked nervous, “If they’re able to follow us through this shit, they’ll find us, no problem.”
O’Connor nodded and worked the problem. “We’ll double back on ‘em. I used to do it to my hunting buddy all the time.” He moved ahead continuing to talk. “Need to find a good spot to move ninety degrees off the trail. Look for hard ground or a boulder field. Something that doesn’t leave tracks.”
Gomez nodded and pointed back the way they’d come. “There was a spot like that back about fifty yards.”
O’Connor nodded. “I remember it.” He turned, “Let’s get there. It’s even better doing it this way. While they’re trying to figure out where the hell we are, we’ll get back on the trail and run out of here.” He followed Gomez. “Careful, they could be closer than we think.”
Gomez got to the spot. It was a piece of hard ground with medium sized boulders strewn amongst smaller rocks. He stopped and waited for O’Connor. They both crouched and surveyed the area. O’Connor said, “This’ll work. You go first.” He pointed where he wanted him to go. “I’ll follow and make sure we don’t leave any tracks. Be as light on your feet as possible.”
Gomez tensed and looked down the trail. He clutched O’Connor’s arm, “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.
O’Connor didn’t hesitate. He pushed Gomez off the trail and onto the rocks. He followed close behind checking for any sign of their passage. It wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t have much time before he heard the footsteps of Japanese soldiers tromping down the trail.
