by Chris Glatte
70
Lieutenant Taro stood atop Hill 260 with his arms across his chest. He watched the Americans running like scared sheep. He shook his head at the image, deadly sheep. They were retreating, but they’d left a swath of destruction. The hillside was littered with dead and dying soldiers. The tank units hadn’t gotten off easy either. He could see at least three burning hulks from his vantage point.
Lieutenant Otani joined him. He was breathing hard, and his uniform was shredded, as if he’d lost a fight with a lion. Lieutenant Taro noticed blood dripping off his fingers. “You’re hit, sir.”
Lieutenant Otani glanced at the blood in surprise. He shrugged, “I hadn’t noticed.” He followed the blood trail up to his shoulder and winced as he felt the deep gash. He kept his hand on the wound and looked down the hill towards the north knob.
Lieutenant Taro waved and got the attention of a medic. Lieutenant Otani barely noticed when the medic cut his sleeve away. He bit his lip when he felt the needle and thread sewing the gash together. “It is a minor wound compared to the horrors our men went through.”
Lieutenant Taro nodded, “Many good men died. I have no idea how many.” He looked to the clouds. “I convinced myself that I too was dead. I thought I must be, so many bullets missed me.”
Lieutenant Otani looked at him. “You led the men to victory. You were their example.” He put his bloody hand on his shoulder. “You restored your honor a thousand times today.”
The sounds of war from the other hills grew intense. An American artillery barrage arced over their heads, screaming towards Hill 700. It reminded the two officers that they need to fortify their new positions and take cover. It wouldn’t be long until the Americans counterattacked.
Lieutenant Taro pointed towards an abandoned and burned out bunker. It was the biggest of the bunkers and was undoubtedly the American’s command center. Japanese troops lingered around the entrance smoking cigarettes that smelled like Lucky Strikes, an American brand. “We can occupy the American’s old headquarters. It’s been cleared and is still relatively intact.”
Otani nodded and walked to the entrance. He peered inside. The dead had been removed, but the stench of burnt flesh was unmistakable. Otani looked at the men around him. It was time to get back to work. “Clean this bunker out and set up radios. Follow the American lines and splice into their wires. I want to have contact with HQ within the hour.” He turned to Lt. Taro. “I want the trenches dug and reinforced. Use the downed timber for cover. The Americans will come, and I want them to pay dearly for every inch. We have to hold until the other hills are taken. We won’t get reinforcements until then.” Taro nodded and went to work assigning jobs.
When evening came, Lieutenant Taro and his men were exhausted. He’d dug and struggled beside them, making their defenses as strong as they could in the short time.
The Americans hadn’t fired artillery onto Hill 260. Taro knew it was only a matter of time. He could see them scurrying around the top of the north knob a few kilometers away, no doubt digging and reinforcing. Taro had no illusions about attacking them. They barely had enough men to defend what they’d taken. They were in defensive mode, and he felt good about that. He didn’t relish watching more soldiers die trying to wade through machine gun fire and artillery. It would be the American’s turn this time.
As the daylight faded to dark, he could still hear the sounds of digging. His men were going deep, tunneling. The American’s would have to pull them out one by one. Taking this hill back would cost them dearly.
The night came, and Taro made one last check on his men before collapsing in a corner and falling asleep. A soldier tried to wake him, offering him food, but he was too tired even for that. He slept three hours and woke feeling worse than he had before sleeping.
He ate what little food he could find while watching the light show coming from the west. The artillery hadn’t subsided. He couldn’t tell if it was American or Japanese, probably both. He could hear the staccato of machine guns and the thumping of explosions. Occasionally there would be a large explosion that would light up the night. From the sea, there was fire too, as the big American naval guns joined the fight. He closed his eyes happy they weren’t aimed at him yet.
It was still dark when the bombs started dropping on Hill 260. Even though Lt. Taro expected it, it still took his breath away. The raw power of artillery shells landing close, shaking the ground, shaking his bones, wasn’t something you got used to.
He scurried into a hole along with other soldiers and hoped they wouldn’t be buried. The artillery lasted an hour. It seemed much longer.
When it finally stopped, he poked his head out and listened through ringing ears. Debris was falling like snow. There weren’t any jungle sounds. Indeed the jungle had been stripped from the hill like it had endured a tight haircut.
The brief silence didn’t last. He could hear the unmistakable sound of tanks clanking up the hill. He looked over the edge and in the dim light of early morning saw American Sherman tanks churning towards them.
He clutched the soldier next to him, a young man who looked no older than sixteen. “Go to the command bunker and tell Lieutenant Otani the Americans are attacking from the north knob with tanks and troops.” He held onto the man’s shoulder and stood to get a better look down the hill. He counted the tanks he could see. “Tell him there are at least five tanks and probably more.” He pushed the soldier, and he ran to do his bidding.
Mortar rounds started falling all along the hill. He told his men to remain under cover until they could get good shots. He heard the crack of a rifle off to his right. A sniper. In a low crouch, he went to the sound.
The sniper was laying amongst fallen timbers with his rifle perched on a rotten stump. Taro stopped and watched him sighting through the scope mounted rifle. He moved the barrel to the right then centered and fired. The rifle jumped in his hand, and the rifleman smoothly reloaded another round.
Taro peered over the edge of the trench and watched the advancing Americans. They moved cautiously, letting their mortar crews work the hill and using the Sherman’s for cover. He could see plenty of targets though, men not able to hide behind the moving hunk of metal. The sniper rifle cracked, and this time Taro saw a green-clad soldier fall. He felt no pity, but pride in his shooter. It was a long shot, but he made it look easy.
Firing erupted up and down the line. His men were done watching and were engaging the Americans. The tanks stopped and fired at the muzzle flashes with their 75mm cannons. The sound of the .30 caliber front mounted machine guns joined in, and soon the air above Taro’s head was buzzing again.
He stayed down, hoping his machine gun crews heeded their orders not to shoot until the Americans were close. The tank cannons would make quick work of them once they were spotted. He licked his dry lips hoping Lieutenant Otani’s plan worked.
He watched as the tanks rolled past the line of holes the men had dug late into the night. Each hole was occupied with a soldier equipped with a rifle and two precious grenades. Their attack would be the signal to start the mortar barrage. The plan was to pin the Americans down and take out the tanks one by one, once separated from the infantry.
He watched in morbid fascination as the tanks went past the holes. It was working. The Americans didn’t notice them. The hole covers popped open. The men had timed it perfectly allowing the American infantry cowering behind the tanks to get far enough ahead so they could expose themselves without being seen.
Taro watched two of his men pop up and hurl grenades. They looked like rocks from this far away but the explosions burst in the middle of the American infantry, and he saw many fall. They were back in their holes before the GIs knew what hit them.
More explosions sent GIs flying. The infantry faltered and started looking behind them for the unseen threat. One of his men poked his head up and was about to throw another grenade, but he was seen and gunned down by a soldier wielding a Thompson submachine gun.
The GIs re
alized what was happening and stopped advancing. Their weapons pointed back the way they’d come. Lieutenant Taro watched as one by one the Americans silenced the holes. The tanks clanked forward leaving the infantry behind. Mortar rounds fired from the reverse side of Hill 260 started landing amongst the tanks.
71
The early morning assault on Hill 260 wasn’t what Sergeant Carver wanted to happen, but the brass hadn’t asked his opinion. He’d been patched up by the medics and told to occupy a cot in the medical tent. He’d slept for two hours, but that was all he could stand. He hobbled away from the infirmary without anyone noticing. He found his Thompson near the front door and slung it over his shoulder.
He limped across the North knob, each step burned and ached. The medics thought they’d gotten all the shrapnel out of his leg, but it still burned like fire. They’d told him he was lucky there weren’t any pieces lodged too deep. He didn’t feel lucky.
He’d gone to the biggest bunker on the hill trying to get information. He was just about to enter when he heard yelling. Someone was getting chewed out. He stopped and listened. Captain Flannigan was giving someone hell. He couldn’t hear any replies, but he would bet money the officer receiving the dressing down was Lt. Swan.
He only caught bits and pieces, but he heard a lot of words like, ‘retreat, orders, hold the line, insubordination and court martial.’ The brass wasn’t happy they’d retreated off Hill 260.
Carver’s blood boiled. Flannigan made it sound like there was another choice. He grit his teeth. There was another choice…death. He clenched his jaw and was about to burst into the bunker and be courtmartialed himself when a voice beside him said, “Thought you were in the medical tent.”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Corporal O’Connor. Carver knew he’d been awake since before the attack, but he looked as ready to go as he always did. “No cute nurses.” He stepped away from the bunker. “I’ve been out of it, know anything?”
O’Connor nodded. “You didn’t hear? Flannigan wants us to take the hill back in the morning.”
“Shit.”
Sergeant Carver didn’t check in with Lt. Swan before the attack. He simply lined up with everyone else. His leg ached, and he had a distinct limp, but he wouldn’t be left behind. He was happy to see they had tanks to walk behind.
At first, he wondered if the Japanese had left Hill 260. The tanks with the infantry close behind met no resistance. That fantasy shattered when the man in front of him dropped from a sniper’s Bullet. The grinding of the tank’s engine and treads muffled the shot, but there was no doubt about the results. The GI was dead before he hit the ground. “Sniper,” he yelled and the men got as close to the hulking Sherman’s backside as they could.
They moved slowly up the hill. The tank treads churning against the soft ground. The hill was covered with downed trees and blasted ground. They had to choose their routes carefully or risk getting stuck.
Carver peered around the edge of the tank. They were almost a quarter of the way up the hill. Maybe most of them have bugged out. He shook his head knowing it was bullshit.
An explosion erupted amongst the men behind the tank to his right. He hadn’t heard artillery or the screaming of mortars. Whatever it was, it killed and maimed a number of soldiers. They screamed and thrashed clutching their wounds. Another explosion and more men were down. What the hell’s happening?
He instinctively kneeled, letting the tank move ahead. He searched three hundred sixty degrees around. Something caught his eye behind him, and he spun bringing his Thompson to bear. A Japanese soldier materialized from the ground about to throw a grenade. Carver flicked the safety off and pulled the trigger, walking .45 caliber slugs up his body. The soldier fell back into his hole, the grenade following him, leaving no doubt.
Carver watched as more holes opened with more Japanese hurling grenades. He yelled a warning and motioned to take cover. The GIs dove to the ground. Carver yelled, “they’re behind us in holes.”
The next Japanese to pop up was gunned down by the waiting guns. The infantry advance had stopped. Carver watched as more holes were uncovered and the grizzly work of killing the occupants continued.
Enemy mortar rounds started whistling down amongst the tanks. The tankers were oblivious to the Japs in the holes and continued grinding up the hill. The mortar fire walked down towards the infantry, and they had no choice but to hunker down. The tanks got further away from the GIs.
Sergeant Carver realized their mistake and urged the men forward. “We have to guard the tank’s flanks.” He stood up to move forward, but the pain in his leg and the flying shrapnel kept him down. He watched in horror as more Japanese in hide holes between him and the tanks emerged and charged with satchels clutched to their chests.
He leveled his Thompson and fired into one of the attackers. The soldier fell but got back to his feet and made it the final few steps to the back of a Sherman. There was an explosion, and the soldier and the tank disappeared in flame. There were similar explosions amongst the unprotected tanks.
When the smoke and debris cleared, six of the ten Sherman tanks were blazing pyres.
The shock from the devastating suicide attack pulsed through the GIs like a lightning bolt. They stared in awe, then sprang into action running forward to protect the remaining tanks, despite the mortar fire.
Carver willed himself to keep moving despite his aching leg. Mortar rounds exploded around him, but he pushed through and made it to the back of one of the Shermans. It was stopped, it’s 75mm gun firing as fast as it could be loaded. The .30 caliber machine gun raked the hill searching for more hidden Japanese. The burning hulks spewed black smoke making Carver choke.
He reached for the radio on the back of the tank, hoping it was still operational. More troops were at his side using the tank for cover as they fired up the hill. Carver keyed the side of the radio and heard static. “Tank crew, this is Sergeant Carver. You need to move forward. We’re with you the rest of the way. We’ll keep the Japs off your tail.”
The reply was curt, “Roger.” The tank lurched forward. The others followed, and they advanced up the hill.
Bullets zinged and ricocheted off the front of the tank. Carver looked at the other tanks and was dismayed how few soldiers he saw clustered behind them. They’d lost a lot of men over the past twenty four hours. There hadn’t been any reinforcements besides the tanks and their crews. The platoon was whittled down to an almost ineffective force and they were being asked to root out a dug in enemy.
The only thing evening the playing field was the fact that the Japanese had taken even more casualties. Carver wondered how many were waiting for them.
They were halfway up the hill when the tanks stopped. Carver nearly bumped into the back-end. He lifted the radio and listened. He nodded and signed off. “There’s an airstrike coming, followed by an artillery strike. Find some cover.”
Under cover of the hammering machine guns and cannons of the tanks, the men spread out and started scraping out depressions in the jungle floor. There was plenty of cover with all the fallen trees and churned up ground. Bullets whizzed and snapped over their heads as they dug in.
Ten minutes passed before the air filled with diving fighters. Carver kept his head down but watched as they dove and dropped their two hundred pound bombs. The top of the hill erupted as wave after wave passed. The ground shook and he had the sensation of holding on so he wouldn’t fall off the world.
When they ran out of bombs, they strafed until their guns were empty, then arced out over the sea and lined up for the Cape Torokina Airfield six miles away.
Carver lifted his head. The top of the hill was covered in dust and debris. New fires dotted the landscape spewing black and white smoke. There was no movement, no firing, but he knew the Japanese were there, waiting.
A few minutes later the air filled with artillery shells. The fire concentrated on top of the hill. Carver doubted the command bunker Lt. Swan operated out of yesterday, was st
ill standing.
The thought brought him up short. He’d been concentrating on getting into the fight with his men. He realized he had no idea where Lt. Swan was. As the shells thumped into the Japanese line, he leaned over and saw Corporal O’Connor laying on his stomach with his arms over his head. He was covered in a layer of dust and bits of jungle fauna. He yelled over the din of the artillery, “Hey O’Connor, you seen the lieutenant?”
O’Connor lifted his head and gazed through slit eyelids. Carver had the impression he’d woken him. O’Connor nodded and pointed down the hill, “He’s leading from the rear as usual.”
Carver nodded and yelled back. “As long as he keeps the artillery coming, I’m okay with that.”
The artillery fell like rain for another ten minutes. When it stopped, there was an unnatural silence. The brief calm was broken by the revving motors of the four Sherman tanks moving forward.
72
Lieutenant Taro sat beside the battered body of Lieutenant Otani. The American air attack and artillery had been deadly. He had no idea how many soldiers were dead. He only knew the officer in charge was dead, which meant he was in command. It was beyond comprehension. How had he survived when so many others died?
He gazed down the smoking trench line. It was filled with pieces of soldiers and ruined equipment. The smell of burnt bodies and cordite burned his nose. They’d dug deep, but the relentless bombing had collapsed most of the holes along with the soldiers. Am I the only one left?
He picked up his rifle. It was crusted in dirt and mud. He ran his hand over the cold steel barrel. He sighed, wondering how much longer he’d have to heft it around. He looked over his shoulder. The Americans rumbled up the hill, despite losing tanks to the heroic suicide bombers.
The occasional bullet smacked into the ground in front of him; probing fire. He took one last look at the dead eyes of his commander and clawed his way to the lip of the trench. The Americans were less than a kilometer away. A blackness descended over him. He wanted to end this misery once and for all.
