by Chris Glatte
The rocks and boulders only went ten yards before turning back to spongy jungle floor. They made it the ten yards and went prone, facing back the way they’d come. They couldn’t see the trail, the day had given way to darkness, but soon they saw dark shapes.
The soldier in front was moving in a crouch following their trail carefully. O’Connor held his breath as he walked past the spot they’d left the trail. He hadn’t noticed anything.
It took three minutes for the rest of the patrol to pass. They waited another two minutes before O’Connor whispered to Gomez. “We have to get back to the trail and get outta here. That tracker knew what he was doing. I don’t think we’ll fool him long.”
Gomez nodded and moved to the rocks. He kept his feet light, sure of each step, leaving no tracks in the dirt beside them. O’Connor was right behind him. He was sure they hadn’t left a trace.
When they got back to the trail, Gomez let O’Connor lead, and they took off. The thought of the Japanese only fifty yards up the trail pushed them forward. Even though almost twenty men had beaten the trail, it was still tough to follow in the dark.
O’Connor almost missed the original trail from the coast but recognized it in time to turn and keep Gomez from crashing into him. Gomez looked at him with wide wondering eyes. O’Connor looked to the left, the direction Carver and the rest of the patrol was, then right, the way to the coast.
He pointed right, and Gomez shook his head. “We need to catch up with the rest of the patrol. This is our chance.”
O’Connor shook his head. “We’ll lead the Japs straight to ‘em” he looked to the right again. “We need to move to the coast. Besides, they’re probably already home.”
Gomez didn’t like it, but nodded, wanting to go one way or the other. “Okay, but what do we do when we get there?”
O’Connor shrugged then turned to trot down the trail. He looked over his shoulder. “We’ll figure that out when we get there.”
It was dark, and the trail they followed was barely visible. O’Connor was moving by instinct and what he remembered from the trip in, which wasn’t much. They moved like men who’d gone far beyond the point of exhaustion, but they kept slogging, foot by foot.
O’Connor stopped and unscrewed the cap of his canteen and took a sip. He shook it and figured he had two more sips at most. In a voice he didn’t recognize, he croaked, “Need to find water.”
Private Gomez only nodded in the dark. “Shouldn’t we be covering our tracks?”
O’Connor shook his head. “Hopefully the Japs won’t figure our little trick out until morning. By then we’ll be at the coast.” He screwed the lid back on the canteen and attached it to his belt. “Figure we can swim either direction. Japs won’t have a clue which way we went. Find a good spot to come inland, find some water and hole up and rest.”
“Rest sounds good.”
O’Connor slapped him on the back. “We’ll be there soon. I keep getting whiffs of the ocean.”
Ten minutes later the jungle ended, and there was an enormous black expanse spreading out forever. It took O’Connor a moment to realize he was looking at the ocean. They’d made it to the coast. He looked at his luminescent dials on his battered watch. “It’s 1 A.M. We’ve been on the move for almost twenty four hours.”
Gomez couldn’t hold himself up any longer and fell to his knees in the soft jungle. There was a short drop to a sliver of sand. He crawled to it and sat on the jungle floor with his legs dangling. His muddy boots touched the sand. “I’ve gotta rest awhile.”
O’Connor looked the way they’d come. It was black jungle. They’d been traveling through it for hours, but now it looked menacing and deadly. He could picture Japanese soldiers bursting through with bayonets leveled. “We can’t stop yet. We’ve gotta get away from this spot. It leads straight to us.”
When Gomez didn’t move, he grabbed his hand and hefted him to his feet. Gomez moaned and swayed. “You’ve gotta dig deeper Gomez. You can’t quit when we’re so close. Come on.” He pulled him into the water and stopped. He looked each way. “They may expect it, but we’ll move west towards our lines. We’ll wade, covering our tracks. I don’t remember seeing the sand when they dropped us off, guess the tide’s out, which means it’ll come in and wash everything away, but we’ll stay in the water to be safe.” Gomez nodded, and O’Connor wrapped Gomez’s arm over his shoulder and helped him along.
They moved two hundred yards splashing through the shallows. They’d both fallen multiple times and O’Connor was worried about their weapons in the salt water. If we need ‘em, we’re fucked anyway.
They came to a point where the sand formed more of a beach. It poked out from the main island like a short tentacle. They moved along the shallows until the beach ended at the side of a river.
At first, O’Connor didn’t recognize what it was, thinking it some odd ocean current. When he realized it was fresh water, he fell to his knees and drank a mouthful. It took every ounce of his will to spit it out. “It’s freshwater,” he rasped. Gomez dropped and put his head in, taking gulps. O’Connor pulled him up by his hair. “Put it in your canteen and add the tablets or you’ll be sick by morning.”
Gomez shook his head, “Fuck it.”
“Goddamit.” He pushed Gomez, and he fell on his back in the sand. “You’ll be useless to me if you’re puking, shitting and dying tomorrow. Now, do what I say.”
Gomez’s eyes flared, but he knew the corporal was right and pulled himself to a sitting position. He filled his canteen and O’Connor dropped in one of the tabs. Waiting the few minutes would be more torture. “Tell me when to drink,” he sneered.
Finally, they drank. They drank and refilled, drank and refilled. Their parched bodies soaked up the life-sustaining water and made them feel human again.
O’Connor stood and looked the way they’d come. The night was dark, lit only by the magnificent expanse of stars filling the sky to the horizon. Even in his exhaustion, O’Connor took a moment to take in the night’s beauty. It looked like they were completely alone, no sign of Japanese soldiers following them, but that would change come morning.
The river flowed into the sea as it had done for thousands of years and would for thousands more. It didn’t care about his predicament. It didn’t care about the war, it didn’t care about anything but the passage of time and the cycles of life.
He remembered the maps they’d pored over before the mission. There were several rivers he remembered seeing, some little more than creeks and at least two that were more substantial. He didn’t remember seeing any on their boat ride in. He tried to picture which river this one was, hoping it might help him decide how far friendly lines were, but it was useless. He felt like his mind was running through thick taffy.
Gomez stood beside him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Do we cross?”
O’Connor nodded, “I think so. We’ll lay up somewhere on the other side. We’ll hear anyone coming across.” Gomez nodded, and O’Connor waded in.
The bottom was sandy until he was a third of the way then it changed to gravel and rock. O’Connor looked upstream searching for anything that looked like a log coming downstream. He’d seen what a saltwater crocodile could do to a man. He hadn’t seen any on this island paradise, but this looked like perfect habitat.
They made it to the other side without incident. The water went up to their waists, and the strong current had pushed them downstream a couple yards. They were panting like they’d run a hundred yard dash. They walked up the rivers edge to hide any footprints, then angled into the jungle.
O’Connor stopped a few feet inside its expanse, unwilling to venture further into the darkness. The ground felt springy but dry. He looked side to side, cleared some brush and sat. “This’ll do.” He put his rifle across his bent legs. “I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep.” Gomez nodded and laid down clutching his M1 like a lover. He was asleep in seconds.
O’Connor could hear his soft breathing and wanted nothing mo
re than to slip into oblivion, but he bit his dry lips and fought the urge. It was a long two hours.
Captain Tagami was irritated. They’d been stopped for ten minutes while his trackers searched for the American trail without success. He’d let them work, keeping his distance, but he’d had enough. He strode through his lounging men until he reached the head of the column. Sergeant Chida stood with his arms crossed while the two trackers moved about on their hands and knees. When he noticed Captain Tagami in the darkness, he stiffened. Tagami barked, “Why can’t these men find the trail, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Chida stared straight ahead and in a clipped tone responded, “They are having difficulty finding sign in the dark, sir.”
Captain Tagami barked at the men on the ground. “Stand up.” The two trackers shot to their feet and stood at attention. Even in the dark Tagami could see they were scared. “Where have the Americans gone?” Neither spoke, each waiting for the other. Tagami flared, “Answer me.”
The nearest soldier sputtered, “The trail stops. They, they must have doubled back and left from another spot, sir.”
Tagami questioned him, “Why can’t you pick up their trail?” He knew why the moment he said it; he and the rest of the men were standing on the trail they would have doubled back on. He gritted his teeth and addressed Sergeant Chida. “We probably walked right past them without noticing. They could be miles away in any direction.” Sergeant Chida didn’t respond but nodded once.
Captain Tagami looked at the men sitting on the trail eating and drinking, taking advantage of the temporary stop. They were dark shapes against the night, but he knew they were exhausted.
He made a decision. “Sergeant, find us a suitable place to lay up for the night, somewhere dry. We’ll rest and search for the Americans with fresh eyes in the morning.”
Sergeant Chida said, “Hai,” and sent the trackers in opposite directions to find a suitable sleeping area.
59
Sergeant Carver was as surprised as anyone when he hit the water at the base of the waterfall and knifed through ten feet to the muddy bottom. His legs hit hard, but the water cushioned him enough not to hurt anything. He opened his eyes, and the darkness was complete. The briny water and night combined to make the world inky black.
The waterfall smashing into the pool right behind him buffeted his body. The roar was constant but soothing. He stayed crouched on the bottom of the pool holding his breath and wishing he’d died. If the pool had been shallow, he’d be dead already and done with all this killing and fear. He wished he could stay under and drown peacefully, but his men still needed him.
He pushed off the bottom, but instead of rocketing to the surface, he stayed stuck. He pushed again, but his right foot wouldn’t budge. The mud had him in a death grip. He yanked hard and felt it move slightly. He felt panic growing like a cancer in his gut. He pushed and yanked and twisted, but he couldn’t get loose. His lungs started to burn like fire.
He still held the Thompson in his hands. He reached the barrel down to his foot. He jabbed it into the mud over and over trying to loosen its grip. It worked, but not enough. He felt his body shutting down. In desperation, he flicked off the safety and put the barrel beside his foot. Will it fire? He pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening, and he felt the pressure of the bullet leaving the barrel. He gave one more pull, and his foot came loose. He shot to the surface and took in a gasping lung-full of precious air.
He moved to the edge of the pool, stroking as best he could weighted down by the Thompson and the satchel. He got to the bank and pulled himself up. He heard a shot and saw a muzzle flash. He remembered he was in the middle of a battle.
He laid low, catching his breath. When he had control, he assessed the situation. Using the boulders for cover, he brought the Thompson up, aiming where he’d seen the muzzle flash.
He was still breathing hard trying to keep his muzzle up and ready. When he didn’t see anything, he put the barrel down and rolled onto his back looking up at the stars gleaming through the hole in the jungle canopy. He heard shots; they were faint against the roar of the waterfall.
He lifted his head and saw muzzle flashes coming from the side of the waterfall. His men were down and firing. He ducked realizing he was in the middle of the firefight. Be a hell of a thing to be killed by my own men.
Bullets whizzed and zinged above his head traveling in both directions. One smacked into the rock above his head, and he knew he needed to get out of there. He pushed back into the pool and walked along the bottom with only his head above water. He moved to the right until he could come out of the water without being seen. He slithered to a nearby log which looked like it must have come down the waterfall during high flows. He propped himself against it and peered over the top. There were more muzzle flashes from downstream. His men returned fire from the waterfall.
Carver centered his muzzle where he’d seen the flashes. He was about to fire, but it would be a long shot. Once he fired and gave away his position, the Japs would shift their attention to him. He got to his belly and positioned the satchel, so it laid on his back. He pushed the Thompson in front and crawled under the log. The muzzle flashes erupted again.
He moved closer using the boulders for cover. The fire from his men was the real danger. He hoped he was far enough off to the right to stay out of their fire. He ran five feet up and slammed his back into a boulder. He peered around spotting another boulder. It would give him cover from friendly fire and put him ten feet away from the Japs.
He took the satchel off and placed it at the base of the boulder. He needed to have free movement.
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He counted to himself; one, two, three and ran to the boulder. He slid into cover waiting for the bullets to come but instead, he heard the whispering of Japanese soldiers. There was a shot and the sound of another bullet being chambered.
He pulled the magazine from his Thompson and felt the weight; it was nearly full. He pushed it back in quietly, waiting for another shot. When it came, he slammed the magazine home, pulled the primer back, and stepped from behind the boulder with the Thompson on his shoulder. The dark shapes of soldiers were only feet away. No one noticed him. They were too busy watching the waterfall. He squeezed the trigger and walked his fire from right to left. The flames from his muzzle nearly reached the writhing soldiers. Their faces lit up in terror and surprise, and they shook and danced as the bullets tore them apart.
Carver burned through his entire magazine, making sure they were dead. He stood above them, his feet spread apart, the muzzle of his Thompson smoking and glowing a soft orange.
The bodies sprawled in front of him were indistinguishable from one another. The darkness robbed him the sight of gore seeping from their dead bodies. He was thankful for that.
A voice from out of the darkness brought him back from his stare. “Sarge? Is that you?”
The American soldier at the creek had put up an impressive last stand. Lieutenant Koga respected the warrior spirit that must have flowed through the American. He’d fought Americans many times and knew they were dangerous and unpredictable fighters. He’d stopped referring to them as cowards long ago. He’d seen them kill too many of his men not to respect them. The dead GI at his feet had taken many of his men, even wounding Sergeant Higashi.
“Sergeant, take the men downstream quickly. Find the rest of them and destroy them.”
The burly sergeant nodded and splashed downstream exhorting the men to follow. He no longer cared about being careful.
The single American had been sacrificed to allow the main force to escape. They were in full retreat and wouldn’t be waiting to gun him down.
Running in a creekbed in the middle of the night was tough, but he managed to keep his feet. He heard other soldiers trip and fall behind him. He almost didn’t stop in time before falling off the edge of the waterfall. He stopped himself on the brink and yelled for his men to stop. They skidded and slipped, but none went over the
edge.
Sergeant Higashi peered over, but he couldn’t see anything except dark shapes that looked like boulders. He aimed his submachine gun at the surrounding walls, but they were steep and impassable. He wondered if the Americans had fallen over the edge.
One of his soldiers called out, “There, down there,” pointing to the area beside the waterfall. Sergeant Higashi squinted and saw movement. The boulders were moving.
Lieutenant Koga saw the movement at the same time his sergeant did. He pointed and yelled, “Fire. Kill them.”
The remainder of his platoon spread out along the lip of the waterfall and hastily aimed at the Americans. First one then another fired until the entire platoon was shooting as fast as they could cycle their bolt actions. Though dark, they could see men falling and diving for cover.
There was return fire coming from further downstream. Lieutenant Koga saw some of his men lurch and topple forward off the cliff. One soldier fell into the rushing water beside him and went down the spout of water. Koga lost sight of him as he entered the pool below.
He aimed his submachine gun at the muzzle flashes and squeezed off a long burst. The American fire stopped, and he hoped he’d killed him, but there was return fire coming from the base of the waterfall. His men had to lean out and shoot almost straight down. He watched another soldier shudder as bullets sliced through him and he fell forward into the darkness. “Pull back from the edge, pull back,” he yelled. The men followed his order and looked at him. Lieutenant Koga pulled a grenade from his waist. “Grenades.”
The men pulled grenades and held them at the ready. Koga judged the five-second fuse would be perfect. He counted down from three and fourteen grenades hissed their way towards the base of the falls.
