by Chris Glatte
An hour passed and the men saw no signs of human activity. It was as if they were the first humans to pass this way in millennia.
Ahead he saw a river mouth. Most of his men were still in the jungle moving in line with him, searching the ground. When they came to the river edge, Captain Tagami called them down to the beach.
No one had anything to report. He looked across the river. It was bigger than he thought it would be. The flowing water would be easy to cross.
“Fill your canteens. We’ll take a break before crossing.” He looked upstream. There was a heavy mist clinging to the water and jungle. “Private Sato. Watch for Crocodiles.” Private Sato nodded and trotted upstream a few yards and took his rifle off his shoulder. The rest of the men waded in and dipped their canteens. Some scooped handfuls of water and dumped it over their heads. The cool water washed away the sticky heat.
As the men cooled off and replenished, Captain Tagami looked back the way they’d come. His footsteps disappeared on the horizon. He wondered if Sergeant Chida had been successful. He doubted it. He looked at his surroundings. He decided to wait for the rest of his squad.
Corporal O’Connor and Private Gomez watched the Japanese soldiers moving relentlessly towards them. They moved slow, in search mode. O’Connor decided the soldier nearest the lapping waves was an officer. He didn’t have any insignia he could see from this distance, but the way he carried himself made it obvious.
He got Gomez’s attention and pointed at the officer. Gomez was sitting in the rifleman’s shooting position with legs crossed, elbows resting on knees, holding his rifle steady. He took his eye from his sights and glanced at O’Connor. He shifted his aim and centered the sights on the sauntering officer. He was still a long way out, but he would be the first man to die if it came down to it.
The officer stopped at the river’s edge and yelled something. Japanese soldiers materialized from the jungle. There were more than O’Connor originally thought. He counted thirteen including the officer. It was too many to take on by themselves. Their only chance was staying hidden and undetected.
O’Connor was relieved when they didn’t cross the river. It looked like they were taking a break. Having the enemy so close didn’t allow Gomez and O’Connor to relax, but it delayed their fates.
Gomez lifted his eyes from the sights. They didn’t dare move. Their body positions would be their positions for the foreseeable future.
After twenty minutes O’Connor’s legs were numb. He flexed his toes, then his calves and quads. He felt the pins and needles of blood returning to starved muscles. It reminded him of Elk hunting with his father in the high mountains of Oregon, except in this case he didn’t want the quarry to get closer.
Two hours passed and O’Connor thought the Japanese might just set up camp. Then he saw why they were waiting. More soldiers were coming down the beach. O’Connor guessed they must have gone the other direction, and when they didn’t find anything, rejoined.
The officer was the first to stand. The other men followed and started hefting bags and weapons. There were sharp, clipped orders and the men hustled around getting ready to move out. When the three stragglers formed up, the officer had words with another soldier. He spoke then listened and nodded. He pointed to the river, and they waded in and dipped their bodies. One soldier floated on his back and let himself drift downstream.
Gomez and O’Connor were sighting down their rifles again. There were sixteen enemy soldiers a mere fifty yards away. It would be an easy thing to open fire, but O’Connor knew they wouldn’t kill them all even if they waited until they were crossing the river.
The three stragglers cooled off for another few minutes before joining the main force. One of them spoke with the officer and nodded his head, then barked something to the others. O’Connor signaled to Gomez; that soldier, a noncom, would be the second to die.
The first Japanese soldier waded into the river and started to cross. The others followed, careful to keep their spacing. O’Connor and Gomez barely breathed.
62
When the Marines realized they’d made it to friendly lines, they collapsed. They wept and shook as they realized their ordeal had finally come to an end. Private Crofter and Corporal Dawkins bent to pick them up, but they were pushed back as litter bearers picked the Marines off the ground and placed them on stretchers. They moved them like they were made of glass.
There were stretchers for the rest of them too, but they looked at the stretcher bearers with daggers, and they backed off. Sergeant Carver explained, “We’ve come this far, no way we’re quitting this close to the end.” Crofter, Dawkins and Palmer shouldered their rifles and filed in behind Sergeant Carver.
The soldiers from Able Company lead them along the jungle trail and up through the hill defenses. There was no more shooting from the Japanese. Either they’d been killed or retreated to the jungle.
As the bedraggled squad filed past the foxholes, the soldiers occupying them gawked. They were only gone a couple of days, but to the men who stayed behind, they looked like they were from another planet. They couldn’t help notice how few there were. They nodded, and some took off their helmets as if in the company of angels. Carver recognized most of the faces and nodded back.
They went to the command bunker. One of the escorts ran inside, and in seconds Lieutenant Swan ran out. The returning squad members snapped off sloppy salutes, and Swan stared with an open mouth. He looked from man to man, stopping at Sergeant Carver. He finally spoke. “Welcome back.”
Carver reached into his pocket and pulled out a bloody jangle of dog tags. He extended them and Lt. Swan took them. Swan’s mouth drooped, and he hefted them feeling their weight. Carver said, “There’s a few I couldn’t recover.”
Lieutenant Swan spread them out reading each one. “Jesus,” he murmured. He closed his fist around them and shut his eyes.
Carver slipped the satchel off his shoulder and held it out. Lieutenant Swan reached for it, “What’s this?”
“It’s what those dog tags paid for.”
Lieutenant Swan opened the satchel and pulled out a damp, cloth document. It was a map with arrows and Japanese writing. He looked at Carver with undisguised joy. “Is this what I think it is?”
Carver nodded. “Pulled it off a Jap trying to escape with it. The way they’ve been pursuing us, I’d say it’s important.”
Lieutenant Swan stuffed it back in the satchel and turned back to the bunker. “I need a debriefing. I need to know everything.”
Carver didn’t move. Lieutenant Swan stopped and looked over his shoulder in confusion. He was about to repeat the order, but Sergeant Carver spoke first. “Are Corporal O’Connor and Private Gomez here?”
Lieutenant Swan looked confused and touched the wad of dog tags jangling in his pocket. Carver shook his head. “We split up. He got the Japs to follow him while we escaped. He headed to the drop off point. He’d try to get back here on foot.”
Lieutenant Swan shook his head. “You’re the first we’ve seen. I’d know if they showed up anywhere along the line.”
Carver’s eyes flashed. “You don’t need a debrief from me.” He put his meaty hand on Cpl. Dawkin’s shoulder. “Dawkins can tell you everything.” Dawkins nearly collapsed under Carver’s hand. He looked at his sergeant with uncomprehending eyes. “These men need food and rest, and I need a ride to Puruata Island.”
Lieutenant Swan wasn’t happy, but he knew Carver wouldn’t rest until he’d done everything he could to get O’Connor and Gomez back. He sent Sergeant Milo and Private Bennett with him.
Private Bennett drove along the jungle road like a race car driver. He seemed to hit every bump and hole. Carver tried to eat K-rations but gave up after losing half of it on the floor of the jeep.
Sergeant Milo raised his voice over the engine. “The Japs attacked a transport truck along this section day before yesterday. It’s best to do it at speed. He’ll slow down in another mile.” Carver nodded, wishing he’d told him t
hat before he tried eating. Sergeant Milo continued, “Sounds like you had a hairy time out there.”
Carver didn’t bother answering. He could feel every muscle in his body screaming for sleep. Holding onto the side, he closed his eyes. He was on the edge of consciousness. Awake just enough to hold on. When they were beyond the danger zone, Private Bennett slowed slightly, and Sergeant Carver went into a jolting sleep. Sergeant Milo leaned from the back seat and held Carver’s shoulder so he wouldn’t fall out.
They arrived at the main lines fifteen minutes later. There were two soldiers on either side of the road. They waved them forward when they saw they weren’t Japanese.
Private Bennett drove through the tent city that had sprung up around the headquarters and past the lines of artillery pieces dug into the muddy ground with high walls of sandbags surrounding them.
He skidded to a halt beside the small dock. Puruata Island sat across the narrow channel. Sergeant Milo hopped out the back and slung his Thompson sub-machine gun over his shoulder. He slapped Sergeant Carver on the shoulder, and his eyes snapped open, taking in his surroundings. “We’re here,” said Milo.
Carver shook his head until the cobwebs cleared. He stumbled out of the jeep, catching his foot and nearly falling flat on his face. Milo reached out and held him up. “Jesus Christ, Carver, you can barely function. This is bullshit. You need rest.”
Carver shrugged Milo’s hand off, “I’m fine. Just waking up.” He took steps towards the small boat moored to the dock. There was a sailor sitting beside it with a fishing rod in his hand. “You. Sailor. Cast off, need a ride to the island.”
It was a short trip. Carver thanked the sailor, who shrugged his shoulders and asked, “You want me to wait for you?”
Carver shook his head and hopped off the skiff onto the dock. It swayed under his feet. He noticed all the PT boats moored alongside the dock except one which was hanging from a crane. There were sailors without shirts working on the hull. As he approached, he noticed the small holes running in a line along the entire length. The sailors were filling them in with caulking and replacing some sections with new boards. They saw the GI walking with purpose towards their boathouse and stared.
Carver burst into the same airy room he’d gotten Commander Hawkins’ briefing only a few days before. Three sailors were talking in a corner. They all turned when they heard his sudden entrance. Carver didn’t waste any time. He walked up to them looking for rank insignia, but they wore dirty t-shirts. He didn’t recognize any of them and assumed they were part of the repair crew. “Where’s Commander Hawkins?”
The sailors looked him up and down. The taller of the three asked, “Who wants to know?” Carver was in no mood for bullshit and leaned into the sailor’s chest. He glared until he backed away. The sailor looked for help from his buddies, but both backed away, seeing the crazed look in the crazy infantry sergeant’s eyes. “I-I’ll go see if I can round him up for you, Sarge.”
Carver nodded, “Tell him Sergeant Carver wants a word and be quick about it.” He pushed him, and the sailor almost tripped over his own feet trying to get away.
An uncomfortable minute passed. The remaining sailors stood back wondering what this dirty, crazy sergeant wanted with their commanding officer.
Commander Hawkins entered the room and looked him up and down. “Sergeant Carver, it’s good to see you’re back safe.” Carver snapped off a salute and Hawkins returned it. “At ease.” He gestured to a chair, and Carver reluctantly sat. “What’s this all about, Sergeant?”
Carver gave him the nuts and bolts of the mission. He ended by telling him. “O’Connor and Gomez were following the trail we took in. They’re heading back to the drop off point. We need to take one of your boats out there and pick them up.”
Commander Hawkins looked at his watch. “We don’t do daylight missions, too much exposure to Jap Zeros. The Japs don’t either for the same reason.”
Carver squinted. “I haven’t seen a Zero since I’ve been here, sir. The fighter jocks cleared ‘em out.” He pointed, “My men are out there somewhere, and your boats are the quickest and best way to get ‘em out. Those men saved our asses. I can’t leave ‘em out there to die.”
Commander Hawkins looked at the floor then back to Carver. “You don’t even know if they’re alive. I can’t risk the lives of my men and these boats for a mission that might be for nothing.”
Carver shook his head. “You’re right. I don’t know if they’re alive for sure, but O’Connor’s the best jungle fighter in the whole damned Army. He’s alive, I know it in my guts.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I know it in my heart.” Commander Hawkins didn’t respond, but Carver could tell he was warming to the idea. “It’ll be quick. We’ll stay well away from the shore until were at the drop off point. We can move in fast, if they’re there they’ll hear the engines and show themselves. We’ll pick ‘em up and be back here in a couple of hours.”
Commander Hawkins said, “Plans never hold up in battle. I doubt it’ll be that easy.” He paced a few steps then nodded his head. “Okay, I’ll get the men together. They thought they were getting a much deserved day off. They won’t be happy.” Carver looked at him through exhausted eyes. Commander Hawkins nodded, “we’ll shove off in an hour. Why don’t you curl up somewhere and use the time to sleep? You look like shit.”
Carver nodded and threw him a salute. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.”
Hawkins gnashed his jaw and shook his head, “I already do, Sergeant.”
63
O’Connor and Gomez watched the Japanese soldiers wading across the river. They had their M1’s leveled on the officer and the sergeant. They followed their movements with their barrels. The sergeant was in front of the group and the officer in the middle. The first soldier stepped out of the river and onto their side of the creek. He looked around with his long rifle at waist level.
The day was bright and hot, and still morning. It would be another scorcher on Bougainville. Sweat dripped off the tip of O’Connor’s nose and pooled on the rifle stock. He wondered if he’d live long enough to see midday.
As more enemy soldiers came out of the water, they spread out, coming closer to their position. The lead soldier stopped on the sand right in front of their hiding spot. He looked at the ground scanning for footprints. O’Connor thanked God the heavy rainstorm had erased any sign of their passing.
O’Connor watched the soldier out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t look directly at him, fearing his gaze would alert some hidden sense. He’d seen it happen plenty of times while hunting big game. He kept his rifle pointed at the officer who was coming out of the river. If they were discovered in the next couple of seconds, he’d shoot him first then shift to the soldier standing in front of him.
Long seconds passed as the soldier waited for his comrades to catch up. Once they did, he looked into the jungle and sighed. He mumbled something under his breath and pushed into the brambles.
Their hiding place was in the thickest portion they could find. Hopefully, the soldier would avoid the extra work it would take to push through it. He’d have to come straight at them with a concerted effort to stumble upon them.
O’Connor decided if he did come, he’d drop his rifle and use his knife. It would be quieter and may give them a chance to slip into the jungle without alerting any other soldiers. He had little doubt they’d track them down if they found their trail.
The soldier called out, startling O’Connor and Gomez. O’Connor felt his heart rate increase as his body flushed with adrenaline. He could feel Gomez stiffen in his seated position, but neither made a sound.
The soldier called out again, and this time there was an answering call from the beach. Another soldier was coming to join him. O’Connor wondered how thorough they’d be. If they searched diligently they’d find their hideout, and he had little doubt they’d die.
Once the second soldier stepped into the jungle they exchanged words and the first soldier se
emed to point directly at O’Connor. The second soldier looked into the jungle, and nodded. He stepped past the first soldier and pushed into the thickest section, using his rifle to push vines and branches out of the way. With the first soldier watching there’d be no way for O’Connor to kill him with his knife.
He shifted his rifle barrel almost imperceptibly to the advancing soldier. He figured Gomez was doing the same, but they couldn’t risk speaking. O’Connor went over it in his head. He’d shoot the closest soldier then the second soldier, then find the officer again.
The Japanese soldier pushed and struggled. He’d advanced to within ten feet. O’Connor glimpsed flashes of the man. His face was dripping sweat beneath his helmet, and he grunted with each step.
O’Connor knew Gomez was waiting for him to make the first move. Another two steps and I’ll fire. O’Connor put pressure on the trigger. He aligned the barrel with the soldier’s chest. At this range, the thirty caliber bullet would barely slow down as it passed through his body. The second soldier was behind but slightly forward. If Gomez didn’t kill him first, it would be an easy traverse. If he did it fast enough, he should be able to get a bead on the officer before he could find cover.
The soldier stopped, took off his helmet and wiped his forehead. O’Connor applied more pressure on the trigger. He decided not to wait. The second soldier suddenly yelled, and the close soldier turned to look at him. There was a deep thrumming sound coming from the ocean. At first, O’Connor didn’t know what it was, but as the sound grew, he realized it was the familiar sound of a PT boat going full throttle.
The soldiers ran out of the jungle to join their squad on the beach. Gomez looked back at O’Connor with a questioning glance. O’Connor shrugged and took the opportunity to get out of his crouching position. His legs were asleep, and they almost collapsed when he tried to stand. He ignored the pain as blood rushed into them. He leaned forward and pushed vines and brambles away trying to see what was happening.
