by Chris Glatte
Long before the morning light, Major Celine Cruz was out of bed and dressed. The dim light of a lantern glowed and she gazed at Sergeant O’Connor. He was sprawled naked on the bed, his short cropped, red hair in stark contrast to the white pillow. She smiled, remembering the night of lovemaking. He had pleased her and made her feel things she didn’t believe she’d ever feel again. Their first coupling had been lust-filled, almost violent. She could feel his need, his power, and she relished every second. The second and third were slower and more passionate. She thought he must be inexperienced, but he was a natural.
He felt her studying him and he opened an eye. He sat up and rubbed the sleep away. She smiled, “Good morning, Sergeant.”
He grinned, “I think you can call me Sean, Major.”
She giggled. “And you should continue to call me major, particularly when we make love.”
He laughed, “Yes, sir … ma’am.” He checked his watch and jolted, becoming fully awake. “Damn, that night ended far too quickly.”
She nodded and threw him his dirty, smelly shirt. “Get dressed. As you said, the bunkers will be a ‘hard nut?’”
He grinned. “Yeah, something like that.” He swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood. He reached for her hand and she gave it to him. He looked into her eyes. “I’m hoping that wasn’t a one-time thing?” She smiled but didn’t respond. “I mean, if it was then fine, but … well I’m just hoping it wasn’t.”
Her eyes hardened and she gave his hand a squeeze. “I hope the same thing, but you know as well as I do … about war.”
He stood and pulled her into his arms. They held each other tight. No more words needed to be spoken. They understood the dangers of the many days still to come.
82
Platoon Sergeant Carver and Sergeant O’Connor were huddled behind a rock outcropping, three-hundred yards from the edge of the jungle. The cruisers and destroyers had been hammering the bunker complex off and on all night. Now it was the flyboys turn.
In the early morning light, streaking fighters lanced in and dropped five-hundred-pound bombs. The ground shook with each detonation. When their bombs were gone, they circled back and strafed until they were completely dry, then another squadron of different planes would repeat the process.
Private Hanks held the radio out to Lieutenant Swan. Swan took the handset and after identifying himself, listened. He nodded and handed it back to Hanks. He relayed their instructions. “We’re attacking in fifteen minutes. We’re moving up with the light armor, the halftracks. Command is thinking the bunkers are knocked out from the pounding they took last night and this morning.” He checked to make sure his carbine magazine was tight. “We’re gonna find out.”
Sergeant O’Connor shook his head. Private Hanks asked, “You don’t think they’re knocked out, Sarge?”
O’Connor glared at Hanks. “The Japs are never finished. We have to kill ‘em one by one. They don’t surrender and don’t give up. Even if the bunkers are pulverized, I guarantee the Japs have plenty of fight left in ‘em.” He chambered a round. “You’d think command would understand that by now.”
Swan ignored the comment. “Our company’s going in right behind the halftracks. The mortars will lay down smoke, that’s our signal to move out.”
Carver and O’Connor nodded and started to move off to their respective squads. Carver reached out and clutched O’Connor’s arm. “You okay?”
O’Connor shook his arm loose. “Yeah, I’m okay. Why you ask?”
Carver shrugged. “I don’t know, just seem different this morning.” O’Connor ignored him and moved to his squad.
The clanking of halftracks pulling forward and sitting at idle was all O’Connor could hear. A faint whiff of Celine’s scent pierced the heavy smell of gasoline. His head spun as he recalled her body and the wonderful sensations from the night before. He shook his head, gotta concentrate on the task at hand or I’m a dead man.
He wondered what role she’d be playing, if any, during the attack. Surely, they’d leave this kind of assault to the more heavily armed Americans. The Filipinos showed their worth as fighters but they didn’t know how to work with armor in an assault. Knowing she was out of danger eased his mind. I’ve got enough to worry about without worrying about her.
The arcing whistle of mortar shells shook him from his thoughts. He yelled over the din of the halftracks. “That’s the smoke. Give it some time to work, then we go.”
The jungle ahead disappeared in a thick layer of white and gray smoke. The halftrack engines roared and they lurched forward in a staggered line. O’Connor waved his arm forward and the men stood and walked, keeping pace with the armor. Atop each halftrack a soldier manned a .50 caliber machine gun with armor shielding. There were two more GIs riding inside, along with the driver. They were bazooka teams. The idea was to get them close enough to the bunkers to jump out and put fire into them. The infantry’s job was to cover the bazooka teams and overwhelm the bunkers.
They entered the smoke screen and the smoldering jungle. The bunker system was another fifty yards. The halftracks slowed to maneuver. The jungle was sparse, but still a factor. The buzzing sound of a Japanese Nambu machine gun cut through the engine and tread noise. O’Connor ducked as he saw sparks tinkling on the side of the nearest halftrack. The gunner responded by swiveling the .50 caliber and depressing the trigger. The heavy thumping drowned out the Japanese guns. The halftrack spewed exhaust as the driver gunned it forward.
O’Connor waved the men forward. They had to stay close to the halftracks even though every fiber in his body was telling him to avoid them like the plague.
More fire ripped up and down the line. O’Connor yelled, “They’re still kicking alright. Don’t bunch up but keep covering the halftracks.” He had to trot to keep up now. The smoke hung in the jungle like a thick web. The halftracks were dim silhouettes sparking with ricochets and muzzle flashes. He searched for the enemy positions but couldn’t see any through the smoke.
The whistling of mortars froze his blood. “Incoming,” he yelled. The halftrack directly in front of him suddenly blossomed with fire. It lurched to a stop and burned. The gunner was gone, the big gun pointing straight up. O’Connor instinctively dove to the ground. He still couldn’t see anything, but he felt bullets whizzing over his head. More bright flashes in the smoke told him more halftracks were being obliterated.
He made a quick decision. He got to his knees and yelled, “Let’s go, move up!” The men didn’t hesitate. O’Connor held his carbine in front and ran in a crouch to a thick palm beside the burning halftrack. He could make out other GIs ducking into cover all around him. The halftrack was charred and he noticed the front had a large, jagged hole. Direct hit. “Cover me!” He didn’t wait for a response but got to his feet and ran forward to the next palm. He heard his men firing into the smoke. The ground shook as geysers of dirt erupted with mortar strikes. He heard GIs screaming in agony.
He brought his M1 up and fired a spread of five shots, while his squad leapfrogged past him. Then he was up and running. A light breeze sifted through and the smoke dissipated. The landscape was suddenly clear and visible. The pounding from the naval artillery and the air attacks had turned the area into a wasteland of smoking craters, but the heavily fortified bunkers still poked up with their deadly firing ports and slits. They were pockmarked, but for the most part, intact.
O’Connor took in the scene and yelled. “Bunkers front! Take cover!” The tree he was behind splintered and shredded as bullets slammed into it. He made himself as small a target as possible as the air to either side came alive with bullets. He watched in horror as Private Crenshaw tried to crawl to safety, but bullets stitched him from head to toe and he rolled out of sight.
He could still hear the roar of halftrack engines and the hammering of .50 caliber machine guns, but the two nearest his squad were burning pyres. The Japanese fire suddenly stopped and he took the opportunity to run forward and hurl himself into the bott
om of a bomb crater. More GIs joined him and they huddled as the gunners finished reloading then continued to fire. Mortar rounds impacted randomly, sending shards of hot metal in every direction.
Private Griffin clutched O’Connor’s shoulder and with wide, panicked eyes stuttered, “What do we do Sarge? What the fuck do we do?”
O’Connor shrugged out of his grip and crawled to the top of the crater. He peered out then ducked back down. “Listen up! The nearest bunker’s forty yards away. It’s got us covered, but I don’t think they know where we are. They’re firing at something off to the left, probably a halftrack.” The huddled GIs looked pathetic, but they listened to their sergeant who’d gotten them this far. “We can take ‘em.”
Private Griffin was almost crying. “What about the halftracks and the bazooka crews? They’re supposed to take ‘em out, not us.”
“The fucking halftracks are gone along with the bazooka teams. It’s up to us now.” He slid to the bottom of the hole and gripped Griffin’s arms. He squeezed until Griffin tried to pull away, but O’Connor squeezed harder and leaned in close. “Pull yourself together, soldier. Now!” Griffin looked down and wiped his nose. He gave O’Connor a short nod. A mortar round landed near the front of their hole and sent thick, black dirt onto them. “We can’t stay here.”
O’Connor pulled a smoke grenade from his belt. “I’m gonna throw this, when it goes off I want you three,” he pointed at the nearest GIs, “to lay down fire on the gun-ports.” He gripped Griffin’s shoulder. “Griffin and I will run to the side of the ports and throw in grenades.” He gripped a fragmentation grenade. Griffin turned another shade of white but didn’t say a word. O’Connor looked him in the eye and Griffin gritted his teeth and nodded.
The battle was raging over their heads. Japanese machine guns were now dominating the battle. A few .50 calibers were still in the mix, but O’Connor decided most must be out of business. He wondered how the rest of the company was faring. More men had rolled into the crater bringing their number to eight. Plenty to suppress the bunker while he and Griffin advanced. He shuddered to think what would happen if a mortar shell landed in the center of their hole.
O’Connor and Griffin crawled to the right side of the crater while the others filled in the rest. He poked his head up again for another look, then dropped back. He spoke into Griffin’s ear. “Take a look.” Griffin poked his head up and came down quick. “We’ll run to the side. They don’t know we’re here.” Griffin nodded, committed to his fate. He checked his carbine. O’Connor slapped his shoulder and looked to the other men. “Ready?” They were poised just below the lip, ready to move up and fire on the bunker.
O’Connor pulled his feet beneath himself. He primed the smoke canister and hurled it in the direction of the bunker. He took a deep breath and blew it out slow. He yelled, “One, two, three.” He leaped out of the hole and took off like a jackrabbit. The smoke canister popped and spewed white smoke, but he’d thrown it too far to the left and he could still see the firing ports and the winking muzzle flashes of the machine guns. They weren’t aimed his way, but they’d see him any second.
The firing ports suddenly erupted in dust and the metal frame sparked like someone had lit off a string of firecrackers. The machine gun stopped firing, but the muzzle was shifting towards him. He’d covered half the distance when Griffin streaked past him as if he were standing still. Damn, that boy’s fast.
The covering fire continued to hammer the ports, but the muzzle continued to swing. Griffin reached the side of the bunker first and pushed his back tight against the concrete, breathing hard. O’Connor dove for the side at the same instant the Japanese gunner opened up. A stream of bullets grazed past his back and he swore he could feel their heat.
He rolled to his feet beside Griffin and out of harm’s way. Griffin’s eyes were wide. “Shit, I thought you were a goner, Sarge.”
“Cover our backside.” O’Connor put down his rifle and pulled a grenade from his belt and reached for one on Griffin’s. With a grenade in each hand he kept his back pressed to the wall and scooted toward the firing slits. The GIs had melted back into their cover, and the nambu was sending hot metal their way. O’Connor pulled the pins. He could hear Japanese voices chattering. He leaned out and with a flick, sent the first grenade through the firing port, followed quickly by the second. The voices turned to yelling and when the grenades exploded, to screams.
O’Connor stepped closer and thrust his carbine barrel into the port and emptied his magazine, spreading his bullets. He pulled back and reloaded. There was firing coming from Griffin. O’Connor joined him in time to see him pouring fire into two Japanese soldiers who’d come out the back of the bunker. Another soldier burst out and O’Connor poured five bullets into him. He dropped like a sack of rice and blood oozed from his ruptured chest. O’Connor yelled, “Get a grenade into that door!”
Griffin clutched his last grenade and pulled the pin. The door was partway open, the hinges on the far side. He had a three-foot opening to hit. He reared back like he was delivering a fastball and hurled it. The grenade hit the side of the door and bounced straight back. Griffin yelled, “Shit!” and tried to move away, but he slipped and fell onto his back. The grenade came to rest at his feet.
O’Connor dropped his rifle and gripped a chunk of Griffin’s shirt. He pulled with everything he had. The thump of the grenade came an instant later and Griffin screamed.
O’Connor thought he’d be mortally wounded at least, but Griffin got to his feet and repeated, “Holy shit, holy shit,” like it was his new mantra.
“You okay?” O’Connor spun Griffin around to face him. Griffin stared blankly. “Hey! You okay?” He shook him and Griffin finally managed a shaky nod.
There was more movement inside the bunker door. O’Connor released his grip on Griffin and pulled his last grenade. He threw a strike through the opening. There was yelling coming from inside. He dove away, pulling Griffin along with him. The dull thud was followed by smoke billowing from the door.
The rest of the squad moved from the safety of the bomb crater and joined them on the wall of the bunker. There was fighting up and down the line. The chatter of Japanese machine guns still dominated. As far as O’Connor could tell, the bunkers to either side were still in Japanese hands. “We’ve gotta clear this bunker.” He pointed to the front firing slits. Thin streaks of smoke leaked through. O’Connor pointed at the three GIs nearest the front. “Fire into the holes. The rest of us will go through the back. Once we’re inside, cover the door.” The GIs nodded their understanding and moved toward the firing slits. They thrust their rifles inside and fired until their clips and magazines were empty.
O’Connor pushed Griffin’s shoulder. “Go.” Griffin jumped down into the trench followed by the other four GIs. O’Connor took up the rear. Griffin grabbed the door handle and pulled it open all the way. Private Hughes was first through. He was followed closely by Pvts. Dawson, Muse, and Taggert. O’Connor took one last look down the trench. It traveled straight for ten yards then disappeared around the corner.
He ducked into the darkness. The smell of burnt flesh and blood assaulted his senses. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. He could see his men moving cautiously with their weapons ready. He stepped over a shredded body, glancing quickly at the soldier’s blank eyes. The shrill yell of a Japanese soldier pierced the silence. Private Dawson fired his M1 carbine into the charging attacker. The muzzle flash lit up the concrete walls. The rest of the GIs spread out and fired into the main room. The bullets ricocheted and blasted dust from the walls.
O’Connor rounded the corner as the firing stopped. There were bodies everywhere. The light streaming through the firing ports illuminated their grotesque wounds. The soldiers were shredded with shrapnel and bullet wounds. There was no sign of life. O’Connor wanted to get out as quickly as possible. “Let’s get out of here. We need to link up with…” A sudden flash of movement behind him caught his eye. The glinting of a long b
ayonet thrusting toward his gut. He parried the bayonet at the last possible instant. He went low and felt the weight of the soldier plow into him. O’Connor planted his feet and took the weight, then thrust forward and threw the Japanese soldier off him.
With some breathing room, he brought up his short carbine and leveled it at the soldier’s chest and fired. The Japanese staggered backward, then yelled and charged forward. O’Connor kept firing, but his attacker kept coming, leading with the long steel pig sticker. O’Connor stepped inside the thrusting bayonet and swung the stock of his rifle into the soldier’s face. He heard the skull crunch as it caved into his brain, ending the attack.
O’Connor was taking in ragged breaths. Griffin shouted, “You okay, Sarge?”
O’Connor nodded. “Where’d that guy come from?”
The men streamed past him and soon Griffin yelled. “There’s a stairway leading down.”
O’Connor collected his wits and strode to where his men stood on the edge of a stairway. He held up his hand for silence. The battle was still raging outside, but he thought he heard voices, lots of voices. He whispered. “Sounds like a lot of ‘em down there.” He felt for grenades but knew he’d used all he had. “Get ready with grenades. Hurry.” The GIs pulled grenades off their belts. O’Connor held out his hand. “Give me one.” Private Hughes accommodated.
O’Connor pulled the pin but kept the lever tight and took the first cautious step down. The stairway curved making it impossible to see where it ended. With each step the sounds of enemy troops grew louder. O’Connor was ready to run back up the stairs at the first sign of an attack. He’d be able to see around the corner in another step. He signaled for his men to stop and took the step. He crouched low, trying to see. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a mass of Japanese at the base of the stairs.
He didn’t hesitate. He hurled the grenade and took off, taking the stairs by twos. “Throw ‘em and get out of here!” The GI’s eyes were big as saucers seeing their sergeant fleeing so quickly. They hurled their own grenades and took off after him. They were out the door when the soft thuds of multiple explosions went off.
