by Chris Glatte
Carver nodded and unslung his Thompson. He pulled the bolt and checked he was locked and loaded. “When do we move up?”
Major Ingencio smiled and wiped his eye. “Now. We move up now.” He walked away and yelled for his men to form up. They snapped into a loose combat formation and moved toward the carnage. The GIs followed.
As they moved past the site of the base camp, the ground became uneven. Sergeant O’Connor pointed at a gaping, burnt hole in the ground. “That’s the tunnel entrance.” Carver could see half charred wires snaking into the hole. “Looks like the blast shot out the hole. Everything’s burnt.”
Carver nodded. “Wouldn’t wanna be too close to that last night.”
They moved up the slope. The ground felt different, like walking on sponge cake. Carver’s leather boots sank into the soft, churned soil. As they moved further up the hill, the walking became more difficult. There were holes, where it seemed the ground had simply sunk. It reminded Carver of the sink holes he’d seen back in South Dakota. He’d seen one swallow an entire house.
The main line of bunkers loomed ahead. Some were obviously destroyed, torn apart. They were scorched with fire. He pointed, “The blast must’ve shot through their tunnels like water through a hose. Cooked ‘em all inside.”
Sergeant O’Connor nodded. “Never knew what hit ‘em.” There was movement twenty yards ahead and O’Connor brought his M1 to his shoulder. Out of a smoking hole, a silhouette rose like an apparition. O’Connor kept his rifle trained on him. The form staggered and nearly fell on the torn ground.
Carver had his Thompson leveled and moved forward. As he got closer he could see it was a Japanese soldier. His clothes were burned away and he was charred black. Red and pink spots of flesh showed where his skin had sluffed off. Half the skin of his face remained. The other half showed white where the skull poked through. The soldier staggered forward, but his eyes were clouded white and Carver figured he was probably blind.
Carver cursed under his breath. He dropped to his knees when he heard the shot. It came from O’Connor.
The Japanese soldier fell and bits of charred flesh cracked and oozed red. O’Connor’s voice sounded cold. “I wouldn’t let a dog suffer like that. Needed to be put down.”
Carver moved forward and stood over the smoldering mess. The stink made him wince, but it was a familiar smell. He looked beyond the soldier and saw a gaping hole. He dropped into a crouch and pointed his muzzle into the hole. Black smoke curled out and disappeared in the daylight. The smell of burnt flesh was strong.
He moved to the edge and peered inside, but it was too dark. He felt the hairs on his arms stand up, it was like looking into the very pits of hell. Some of the other GIs spread out around him and crinkled their noses in disgust. Private McGillis suddenly arched forward and lost his breakfast. Corporal Mathews shook his head. “Must be a lot of ‘em down there.”
Carver stared into the abyss. “It’ll be their final resting place.”
They searched for two more hours. They found more holes beneath destroyed bunkers, but no more survivors. The stink was suffocating. Carver got the word to return to the jungle. The men wasted no time. They trotted off the hill, glad to get away from the hellish landscape and relieved they didn’t have to investigate the gaping tunnels and holes.
Sergeant O’Connor was glad to get away from the mountain of death. He blew his nose and looked at the black sludge on his kerchief. Jap goo. The smell permeated his body and seemed to ooze from every pore. Even though they’d been off the hill for hours, the smell lingered. He guessed it was tattooed forever in his skin.
He took off his helmet and wiped his brow. He glanced back at the hill. It smoldered and looked like a dying animal breathing its final breath. The thought made him think of Celine. Had she breathed her final breath? The thought made his own breath come up short. A wave of nausea swept through him and he thought he might vomit, but it passed. He closed his eyes, but the image of the staggering Japanese soldier filled his vision. What a nightmare.
He was relieved when he heard Private Perkins. “The lieutenant wants to see you.”
O’Connor nodded and stood. He swayed for a moment but moved forward. Why does every part of my body ache? He found the other NCOs gathered around Lt. Swan. His faded olive drab uniform hung off his rail-thin frame and O’Connor wondered how he managed. He wondered if he ached as much as he did.
“I’ve heard from Division. They’re falling over themselves congratulating one another. They didn’t expect this operation to go so smoothly. We only had two casualties, some idiots from the 40th put their jeep head on into an unyielding palm tree. No combat related casualties at all and the complete destruction of the Japanese forces on Bohol.” He looked the men over. They looked tired despite the easy victory. “That was a nasty scene up there. I doubt we’ll ever wash the smell off. Division wants us to stay here a few days and watch for any more enemy activity.” The men glanced back at the smoldering, stinking hill. “They didn’t specify where, so I’m moving us out of here and back to the port town. We can rest up and try to wash the stink off.” The men nodded, glad to get away from the area. “Don’t get too comfortable though. We’ll be shipping out soon to join the rest of the 164th assaulting Negros Island. It’s only a couple miles that way.” He pointed North. “Around the tip of Cebu. Negros will be a tough nut to crack. The reports from the Filipinos aren’t good. The Japs are well dug in and once again, own the high ground. There won’t be an easy victory. The Filipinos have sustained heavy casualties trying to roust them. We’ll be in for another hard fight.” He let that sink in. “We won’t be alone though. In fact, we’ll probably be held in reserve since we weren’t slated to finish up here for at least another week.”
Carver shook his head. “Reserve? Maybe in a perfect world, sir.” He looked to the others. “I wouldn’t count on that.”
The GIs entered the port town of Tagliab and were greeted like conquering heroes. The Filipino natives lined the streets much the way they had when the GIs first arrived only days before. This celebration was even more joyous. Their Japanese tormentors were finally gone.
The GIs walked in two parallel lines. Carver was beside O’Connor. He talked over the din of cheering and singing. “We hardly did a thing. Just brought the damned explosives.” A young Filipino girl ran up and shoved a bright colored flower in Carver’s belt. It was the fifth one. “I’m starting to look like some kind of parade float.” He patted the girl on the head and she beamed up at him with a broad smile.
O’Connor responded. “I need to find the radio room.”
Carver could see the worry on O’Connor’s face. It was making him look older than his twenty years. “Once we get the men settled, we’ll go to the port. See about a radio.”
O’Connor squinted at Carver. He shook his head. “You look like a damned marionette. Or a piñata.” His face turned serious. “Thanks, Sarge. The not knowing is killing me.” Carver nodded, knowing O’Connor wasn’t big on conversation. Particularly about his personal life.
An hour later the throngs of GIs were happily sprawled in the southernmost part of the town. The residents had taken them in by twos and threes, happy to share their homes with the men who’d helped destroy the hated Japanese.
Carver, O’Connor and Sergeant Levy were given an empty house whose occupants had been hung in the town square three years before. There were still family photos hanging on the walls. Carver felt like he was trespassing.
Carver studied a photo that was bigger than the rest. It showed a family. A proud man with his chest puffed out and his right hand on the shoulder of a beautiful woman, whose smile threatened to break the glass from the picture frame. His left hand rested on a young girl with long hair. The epitome of innocence and goodness. They all wore their best clothes. Carver thought they looked happy. So happy. They couldn’t foresee the storm brewing that would ultimately sweep them away like so much dust.
O’Connor stepped beside him. He glanc
ed at the photo but didn’t dwell on it. “Let’s get to the radio center.”
Carver jolted and nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He tore his eyes from the picture. He grabbed his Thompson as he left the house.
It was midday and hot, but the clouds forming on the horizon were a sure sign of rain. The closer they got to the port the more GIs and sailors they saw. There was a celebratory attitude. He thought it might be a wild night in Tagliab. He wondered if there were any MPs or Navy Shore Patrol personnel around. If so, they’d have their hands full tonight.
It was easy to find the communications area. He searched the skyline until he saw antennas swaying in the gentle breeze. He pointed and O’Connor nodded and picked up the pace. Carver held him back. “Let me do the talking.” O’Connor brushed him off and kept his pace.
The antennas came out the sides of an expansive tent. The heavy burlap sides were rolled up, giving the men inside some relief from the sweltering heat. There was a guard looking bored at the entrance to the tent. He had bright letters painted in white that said, ‘MP,’ on his helmet. Guess that answers that. Carver had heard about the MPs and SPs but hadn’t come across any since he’d left the states. Guess they finally caught up to the war.
O’Connor stepped up to the MP and tried to walk past. The broad chested cop stuck his meaty hand out and placed it on O’Connor’s chest, stopping him. O’Connor’s eyes went dark and Carver had to act fast or his sergeant would spend the next few days in the brig. “We have urgent business inside, Corporal.”
The MP had a Texas drawl. “You can’t just walk on by me, Sergeant.” He locked eyes with O’Connor. “I’ve got my orders.”
Carver could see the cauldron about to explode in O’Connor. The big texan was overconfident that his size would protect him, but Carver knew the man’s life hung by a thread. “Look, Corporal, we need to use the radio to check on some wounded we left back in Cebu City. Men we fought with since the Canal.”
The reference to Guadalcanal had the desired effect. Everyone knew about the battle and everyone knew the men that fought there were hardened veterans. “You were on the Canal?” His hard cop demeanor melted away and suddenly he looked like a child hoping for a bedtime story.
Carver nodded. “Course we were.”
The MP whose nametag said ‘Blake,’ looked back inside the tent. O’Connor took advantage of the hesitation and slipped past the big man. The MP reached for him, but Carver put his hand on the MP’s shoulder. “Yeah, it was really something. Japs everywhere, marauding Zeros, Jap cruisers pasting the beach every damned day and night.”
The MP turned back to Carver, forgetting about O’Connor. “Is it true about the suicide charges?”
O’Connor ignored the storytelling session and bee-lined it to the bank of radios with the lone operator sitting in front. He put his hand on the dozing man’s shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Need to get through to Division back in Cebu City.”
The corporal looked O’Connor up and down. He saw the Platoon Sergeant chatting up the MP. “Guessing this isn’t official business?”
“Look, Corporal…” he looked at his nametag, “Wicker. I need to be patched through. Now.”
Corporal Wicker evaluated the hard stare from the sergeant. His eyes widened when he saw the venom that seemed to shoot from them. He noticed the sergeant’s uniform was sun-faded and his boots were scuffed and nearly worn through at the toe. He looked like a man who’d killed many times and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again.
It wasn’t the first time he had GIs come in and want to use the radio, but he was usually able to get some loot from them. He thought demanding loot from the sergeant wouldn’t be a sound life choice. “Sure, sure thing Sergeant. I know the guy on the other end, Corporal Charlie Kent. He’s a good guy. Shoot the shit all the time.”
“Ask Charlie to find a Filipino guerrilla, someone that has information on a Major Cruz. She was wounded in the hills outside the city and I wanna know how she’s.” He hesitated. “I wanna know how that soldier’s doing.”
Corporal Wicker gave him a sly grin. “Sure thing, Sarge.” He put the headphones on and fired up the radio. It gave off a high-pitched whirring sound as it warmed up. He noticed O’Connor breathing down his neck and pulled one head phone off an ear. “You may as well wait over there. It’s gonna be awhile. He’ll have to round someone up that knows the major.”
Corporal O’Connor nodded and stepped away. He found a wooden chair and slumped down in it. He listened as Corporal Wicker called in. He adjusted a dial and nodded his head. He looked back at O’Connor and spoke into the hand-set. O’Connor couldn’t understand what he was saying but he could tell by Wicker’s laughing that he was buddies with the GI on the other end. He wanted to tell him to get on with it, but decided he’d let it play out. Wicker seemed like he’d get around to it when he could.
After a minute or two he pulled the headphones off his ears and turned back to O’Connor. “He’s checking. Said he knows a guy that’s been hanging out around the base a lot. A kid. He’ll give him the scoop. Shouldn’t be long.”
O’Connor stood up. “He say what the kid’s name is?” Wicker shook his head. O’Connor wondered if it was Sam, the boy-soldier who’d helped lead them to the Japanese flank. He could still hear Carver regaling the MP with bullshit stories from Guadalcanal. The MP hung on every word, like he was listening to MacArthur himself.
Five minutes passed when Wicker put down his girly magazine he’d been drooling over and picked up the headphones. He motioned for O’Connor who was already moving to his side. He kneeled beside the corporal.
Wicker listened for a moment then said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What you find out?” He listened and nodded his head, but before he got any information, O’Connor ripped the headphones off his head and pulled them over his ears. “Goddammit, sergeant. You nearly pulled my ears off,” complained Wicker.
O’Connor ignored him and spoke into the hand-set. “Corporal Kent, this is Sergeant O’Connor. What you find out?”
There was a second of confused silence then Cpl. Kent’s tinny voice came through. “What happened to Percy?”
O’Connor looked at Corporal Wicker and winced, Percy? “He’s fine, just want to hear it first-hand.”
The tinny voice came through like it was a thousand miles away. “Suit yourself. My boy Sam knows the major real well. He helped bring her out of the jungle, he says. He’s pretty upset about it, could hardly speak when I asked. He’s a tough kid, it must really be tearing him up to affect him like that. I wonder how he knew her…”
O’Connor interrupted and yelled into the head-set. “Tell me how she is, goddammit!”
There was a two second pause that seemed to take an eternity. “Boy says he thinks she’s dead.”
O’Connor could feel his guts heave and he had to swallow the bile threatening to spew from his throat. The bitter taste stung his nasal cavity and his eyes watered. The world went blurry. He gripped the set and his voice cracked. “Put, put the boy on. Put Sam on. Is he there?”
Charlie could hear the anguish in O’Connor’s voice. He spoke quieter. “No, he’s not here. Had to run off. I was lucky to find him as quick as I did.”
O’Connor shook his head. “You, you said he thinks she’s dead. Is that exactly what he said? He used the word ‘think?’”
There was a pause as Charlie thought about the conversation. “Yeah, he said ‘think.’ I’m sure of it.”
O’Connor shook his head. “Why? Why’s he unsure?”
He was trying to process. Charlie answered. “I’m sure he meant she’s dead. You know these Filipinos fuck up English all the time. He meant she’s dead. I, I’m awfully sorry, Sergeant. I … “
O’Connor ripped the headphones off and didn’t hear the rest of Corporal Kent’s condolences. Corporal Wicker picked the headphones off the ground and checked they weren’t damaged. He muttered under his breath about ungrateful sons-of-bitches.
O’Connor stumbled to
the door. Carver saw him coming and knew he’d gotten bad news, the worst news possible. He broke off his conversation with the MP and stepped aside. O’Connor shuffled past him like he wasn’t there. He left the MP watching his back as he trotted to catch up. He didn’t try to speak, he knew there was nothing he could say that would make any difference.
He guided him to the little house they were staying in and made sure he found his bed. He left him staring at the ceiling. O’Connor hadn’t spoken a word. Carver broke the silence. “I’ll be in the next room. Need anything, just holler.” O’Connor didn’t reply and Carver didn’t wait around. He’d seen a stack of letters on the dining table as he’d walked by and he notice they were all addressed to him. Lilly.
89
Carver didn’t hear anything from O’Connor’s room. He sat at the tiny dining table and went through each letter. They carried her faint essence and he felt drunk each time he re-read them. They were mostly mundane, telling of the daily life of an Army nurse.
He got his blood up when she told him how the doctor who’d signed off on his leg had come on to her soon after he’d left. She teased him that she was considering it, since he was a rich doctor, but decided she liked her rugged sergeant’s larger member. He had to re-read that line a few times. He shook his head and almost laughed out loud at her crassness but shoved his fist in his mouth and ran outside. He didn’t want O’Connor to hear. His joy wouldn’t help him.
