by Chris Glatte
Bucholz considered his position. “How many?”
O’Connor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We should move back and have the Navy guns take care of it. Couple a rounds should do the trick.”
Bucholz’s face purpled and a large vein popped out on his forehead. “You’re not in command anymore, corporal.”
Bucholz motioned the rest of the squad forward. When they were all there he whispered. “We’ve got a few Japs in the village, far left corner. We’re gonna flush ‘em out.”
O’Connor shook his head. In a quiet, controlled voice he said, “At least get the rest of the platoon involved.”
Bucholz shook his head. “We can handle it.” He pointed at a crouched PFC. “Collins, move forward and confirm his report.”
O’Connor seethed, but held his tongue. PFC Collins glanced at O’Connor then shuffled his way past. O’Connor watched him go. He didn’t move well, making far too much noise. O’Connor checked his carbine and sunk lower. The fireworks are gonna start any second. He looked at Bucholz. “I’d get down if I was you.” Bucholz didn’t move but spit out a long stream of tobacco laced juice. O’Connor noticed other GIs moving away from the cluster and sinking lower.
The crack of a rifle made them all dive for cover. PFC Collins yelled out and more rifles cracked. Bullets lanced through the jungle, knocking leaves and branches down. O’Connor heard Collins returning fire. Despite his yell, he was still in the fight. He looked at Bucholz whose eyes were wide. “Orders. What are your orders?”
The machine gun opened up. Bullets slammed into palms and pulped their trunks, looking like men’s insides. Bucholz yelled. “Fallback, fallback.”
O’Connor’s idea of laying low and not taking chances evaporated. “Bullshit, you’ve got a man out there.”
Bucholz’s panicked eyes darted around like a caged animal. “We’ll be cut to shreds we gotta leave.”
O’Connor ignored him. “I’m getting Collins back.” Without waiting, he turned and fast crawled forward angling left. Soon he was out of the line of fire.
The machine gun continued firing in controlled bursts, probing. O’Connor didn’t hear Collins firing anymore. He crouched behind a palm tree and peeked his head around. He could see the Nambu’s barrel smoking, and occasionally spitting fire. More rifle barrels poked out from the other huts firing randomly. One hut on this side of the village looked like it had taken the brunt of the fire. He figured that was where he’d find Collins.
Movement behind him caught his eye and he spun, but saw it was GIs from the squad following him. O’Connor grinned and nodded at them. Using hand signals, he pointed out the enemy positions. The soldier nearest was mounting a grenade launcher attachment onto his rifle. O’Connor got his attention and pointed at the hut with the Nambu. The enemy fire had stopped. O’Connor assumed they were scanning for targets.
The squad spread out around O’Connor. Once they were ready, he pointed at the GI with the launcher. He held up three fingers and counted down. When his hand was a fist, the soldier got into a crouch, aimed and fired. At the same instant the rest of the squad opened up. The grenade arced across the open space in the center of the village and landed at the base of the hut, where it met the jungle floor. It disappeared into the thatch for a second, then exploded.
O’Connor fired his carbine, spreading his bullets through the hut. An instant later the hut started smoking. Soon flames licked from the base and grew, moving upward. The machine gun was out of commission. He switched his fire to the other huts and fired until his magazine was empty. The Japanese return fire intensified and bullets whizzed and smacked into the ground all around.
O’Connor slammed in a new magazine. He yelled, “Flank left. We’ll roll ‘em up. Covering fire.” The GIs fire intensified and O’Connor rolled out from the palm and sprinted to his left. Bullets followed close behind, but he slid safely behind the thick trunk of a mangrove tree.
Three men had followed him. He yelled again, “Covering fire!” He swung his carbine around the tree and fired into the huts. The angle was such that he couldn’t see the front of the huts. He fired into them from the side. Thatch was not effective cover from bullets. The nearest hut was burning brightly sending off sparks and billowing smoke. It was nearly completely engulfed. The rest of the squad slid in around him and brought their weapons up. He saw Bucholz slide in last.
O’Connor pointed at the GI with the launcher. “Put another one into the far hut.” The GI rolled onto his back and pulled another grenade and pulled it into place. When he was ready, he nodded at O’Connor. “Covering fire.” The GIs rose up and fired. The grenadier rolled to his feet, aimed, and fired. His shot was spot on. The grenade arced out and disappeared into the thatch and exploded. There was a flash, then smoke. A Japanese soldier ran from the building. He weaved back and forth but the GI’s bullets found him and he dropped with multiple gunshot wounds.
O’Connor waved them forward. “Let’s finish this.” He came out from behind the tree and sprinted into the village space. He slid in behind a stack of wood. He crouched and fired into the nearest hut. The burning hut to his left was scorching the side of his face. He could see the charred muzzle of the Nambu. He wondered about the bodies that must be inside.
GIs followed him and streamed past. He kept firing, covering their advance. A bullet thunked into the wood he crouched behind, sending splintered chunks flying. He didn’t see where it came from. He ducked and changed magazines. He had two more. He popped up and fired four shots then ducked again. This time there was no return fire. The other GIs were pouring bullets into the remaining huts.
O’Connor moved up and found cover beside a GI who’d just emptied his M1 Garand with a ‘ping.’ “You see ‘em?”
The GI shook his head. “Nah, just hitting the huts.” He expertly slipped a clip into place and readied himself to fire.
O’Connor aimed around the cover looking for return fire. The far hut was smoking where the grenade had exploded, but there was no more enemy fire. He went back behind cover. He slapped the shoulder of the GI and pointed. “That’s the hut Collins was in.” He pushed him. “Check it out, I’ll cover you.” The GI nodded and adjusted his crouch. O’Connor put his carbine up and said, “Go!” he fired into the nearest hut and the GI took off. He kicked the thatch door open and burst inside disappearing from O’Connor’s view.
The rest of the GIs continued to move forward, firing intermittently. There was no return fire. The GI poked his head out of the hut. O’Connor looked at him hoping for good news, but the soldier looked grim and shook his head. He trotted back to O’Connor’s side. “He’s dead. Riddled with bullets.”
O’Connor lowered his gaze, “Damn.” O’Connor heard Bucholz yelling orders. O’Connor got to his feet. The village was theirs.
Corporal Bucholz was back at the hut with the Nambu. It was still burning, sending chunks of burning debris into the sky, threatening to ignite the other nearby huts. O’Connor didn’t want to be inside the village if that happened. They’d be caught inside an inferno.
Bucholz was yelling for the GIs to form up on him. O’Connor stood and looked back at him. The GIs held their ground, looking to O’Connor. O’Connor nodded. “Let’s get outta here before this whole place goes up. Collect PFC Collins and move to the river.”
Two GIs went inside the hut and brought the shredded body of PFC Collins out. O’Connor asked, “Where’s his weapon?”
The GI struggling with the feet answered, “It’s in three different pieces. Shot to shit.” O’Connor nodded and the Squad moved past the burning hut, giving it a wide berth.
They formed up around Bucholz. His face was beet-red. He’d noticed the men’s hesitancy at his order to regroup on him. Collins’s body was lowered to the ground in front of Bucholz. He paled. “Damn shame.” O’Connor held his tongue. He’d be alive if we’d let the Navy shell the place. Bucholz pointed behind him at the river. “There’s a bridge crossing just upstream. It’s what we were sent to find. We
’ll hustle back to the company and report.”
O’Connor heard the sound of many boots tromping through the jungle behind them. “Looks like the company’s coming to us.”
Lieutenant Hopkins burst into the village with his weapon ready. The jungle seemed to come alive with GIs, ready for a fight. Hopkins took in the scene as the soldiers spread out. Bucholz waved his hand. “Over here, sir.”
Hopkins trotted over to the loitering GIs. He strode with purpose but pulled up short when he saw the bloody body. Collins’s eyes were shut, but his face was a deathly gray and a deep cut on his cheek oozed. He slung his Thompson and shook his head. “What the hell happened here, Bucholz? I sent you out to recon, not get into a firefight.”
Bucholz was quick to point at O’Connor. “O’Connor led the attack. Against my orders to pull back.” O’Connor didn’t say a word but stared at Bucholz. It was a cold stare, one that made Bucholz look away.
Hopkins leveled his eyes at O’Connor. “This true Corporal?”
O’Connor spit a stream of clear spit. “I led the attack, yes sir.”
“Goddamit, you wanna tell me why you disobeyed Bucholz?”
O’Connor looked back at the squirming corporal. “I had my reasons.”
Bucholz shook his head. “He’s no good. That’s why he was kicked out of his other company. He needs to be out of this unit, sir.”
Private First-Class Fletcher watched the exchange. He shook his head. “Sir, that’s not the way it happ …”
He was cut off by Hopkins. “Did I ask you for your input, Private?” PFC Fletcher held his tongue but looked at the other men for help. Another was about to speak when firing erupted from the direction of the bridge.
O’Connor went to ground and pointed. “Japs coming across the bridge!”
Captain Ludwig was on the radio soon after the Japanese tried to cross the bridge. While he was calling in the guns the rest of the company spread out to either side of the bridge.
O’Connor was behind a stack of rotting wood. He could feel the wood splinter as it absorbed Japanese bullets. The concentration of fire told him there was a large force. He rolled to his right and chanced a look. Bullets whizzed by, but he was able to get a quick view of the bridge. It looked well-built and new. He thought it was probably built by, or at least designed by the Japanese. He pulled back as more bullets smacked into the dirt and sent spouts of soil into the air.
He looked behind him and saw the other GIs in his squad with their heads down. PFC Fletcher peered from beneath his helmet. O’Connor could barely see his eyes. “Stay down. Wait for the fire mission.”
A GI closer to the bridge yelled, “Here they come!”
The suppressing fire subsided. O’Connor arched his neck and strained to see over the wood pile. He glimpsed khaki uniforms sprinting across the bridge. They flashed by the wooden struts.
O’Connor got to his knees and pulled his M1 up. He sighted on a figure running full tilt across the two-hundred-foot span. He led him and fired, but his bullets whacked into the heavy wood of a strut. It didn’t take long before the soldier was in the open again. O’Connor touched the trigger and sent four more shots. The soldier staggered and dropped out of sight behind the next strut.
O’Connor dropped behind cover again and looked back at Fletcher. “They’re coming across the bridge.” Fletcher nodded and pulled himself into a crouch. O’Connor watched him sight over his carbine and fire. When Fletcher dropped down, O’Connor went up again. He saw a Japanese soldier halfway across the bridge, crouched with his Arisaka rifle at his shoulder. The Japanese fired and expertly worked the bolt. O’Connor aimed carefully and fired twice. This time there was no doubt. The soldier was flung backwards, leaving his rifle on the wooden railing. O’Connor dropped again and Fletcher went up.
The rest of the company was firing now, but the Japanese were making progress, leapfrogging over one another. A machine gun opened up from the far side of the span. O’Connor flinched at the sound, but the fire wasn’t directed his way.
He popped up again and searched for the source. He glimpsed the telltale white smoke coming from the jungle near the other side of the bridge. He fired through the cover until his magazine was dry. He dropped down and reloaded.
O’Connor heard Bucholz yell. “Riverbank, riverbank!” O’Connor watched Fletcher shift his aim to the river. It flowed at the bottom of the canyon thirty feet down. It moved fast, but calm on its way to the ocean, completely aloof of the battle raging along its banks.
O’Connor stayed low, keeping the wood pile between himself and the fire coming from the bridge. He looked to the river and realized he’d was exposed from that direction.
He saw Japanese soldiers running through the jungle, some coming down to the riverbank. He aimed at a soldier bringing his rifle to his shoulder. He fired and watched his bullets slam into the crouched Japanese. The soldier staggered backward then toppled forward and splashed into the river. O’Connor put two more bullets into him and the body jolted, then slowly drifted downstream.
More soldiers were taking up positions on the riverbank and O’Connor knew he had to move or be sliced up. He yelled, “We’ve gotta move! We’re exposed.”
Japanese bullets whizzed past his ears. He kept firing into the jungle, moving his carbine from target to target, unsure if he was hitting anything. He heard the distinctive sound of a bullet hitting flesh and heard a grunt and the clatter of a dropped weapon. He didn’t have time to see who was hit. He moved backwards, firing as he went.
When his magazine emptied he turned to sprint for cover, but the heavy whoosh of a passing locomotive overhead made him dive for cover. The jungle beyond the river erupted and the shock wave of a 5-inch shell rippled the river water and slammed into him, knocking the wind from his lungs. He stayed down as more big shells passed and slammed into the Japanese position.
The naval barrage lasted less than a minute, but it felt like a year. Each crushing impact swept over him and rattled his brain. When it ended he shook his head and listened as jungle debris rained down all around. It seemed like a quick, violent storm had passed through. He peered from beneath his dirt encrusted helmet. The river continued to flow, but it was covered with a thick layer of debris. He thought he could probably walk across it.
There was no movement from the far bank. There was only thick smoke and churned up soil. The machine gun was silent. He remembered the GI who’d been hit just before the barrage. He went into a crouch and looked for his squad. One by one heads emerged as they recovered from the close fire mission. He saw an inert form a couple yards away. The GI was on his back, staring into the bright sky.
O’Connor shook the dirt off and went to the soldier’s side. He brushed the dirt off his still face. It was PFC Fletcher. He felt for a pulse, but knew it was useless. He barely knew him, but he knew enough. He was a good soldier and a good man. Yet another life wasted by the brutality of war.
More firing erupted from his side of the river. It was light at first but gaining intensity. O’Connor scanned the enemy bank but didn’t see movement. He heard Captain Ludwig. “Move up! Move up! Take the bridge.”
The GIs shook off the effects of the barrage like zombies rising from the grave. O’Connor’s first instinct was to join the charge, but a deep tiredness overtook him and he stayed next to Fletcher’s body. He stared at his unseeing eyes. There was no pain there. He looked completely at peace. O’Connor envied him. He heard yelling and tore his eyes from Fletcher’s. The GIs were bounding across the bridge, firing intermittently towards the dense jungle.
Someone slapped his shoulder. “Come on soldier, move up!” It was Corporal Bucholz. O’Connor glared at him and the urge to shoot him was strong. The rest of the squad followed Bucholz. O’Connor staggered to his feet. He took one last look at Fletcher’s graying face. He felt like an old man, but he trotted behind the rest of the squad.
92
Platoon Sergeant Carver didn’t like how things had been left with Sergeant
- now Corporal O’Connor. He’d fought beside him through every major engagement since the beaches at Guadalcanal, and now he was about to land on another island, but without him.
O’Connor had been shuffled off under guard right after the fight. It was the last Carver saw of him. That had been two weeks ago. He was told he’d been reassigned to Hotel Company which would be assaulting the island from the northeast, along with elements of the 40th Division. He heard they’d already landed and were driving down the beach to meet up with them in the southeastern corner. For all he knew, O’Connor could already be dead.
Carver and the 164th Regiment were landing at the south-east end, near Sibulan. They were to advance to contact with the help of the Filipino guides. Once the Japanese were engaged, the 40th would hit them from their flank. That was assuming they didn’t run into any Japanese during their trek down the beach.
The boat ride from Tagliban Harbor to the landing zone, only took a couple hours. The sounds of naval gunfire rippled around the inlets, making it difficult to pin down exactly where it was coming from. It became immediately apparent when the troop ship crossed the tip of Cebu’s western most coast line. Negros island was suddenly visible like a shining green snake. A big one. The U.S. Navy was shelling something far inland. So far, in fact, that Carver couldn’t see the resulting explosions
The brass had told them they didn’t expect a hostile landing, so the fire mission perplexed Carver. He nudged Lieutenant Swan. “What the hell they firing at, sir?”
Swan shrugged but pointed toward the towering mountains forming a spine through the center of the island. “The 182nd Division’s been attacking from the northern side for nearly a month now. They’ve had it pretty rough from what I’ve heard. They’ve pushed the Japs back into the hills though. Probably a fire mission supporting them.”
Carver nodded. “Nice to have ‘em around, case we run into anything unusual.”
