by Chris Glatte
“Most of the Japs are on the other side, but there’s plenty on this side too. Division thinks there may be two thousand troops dug in those hills.” He gestured to the low hills in front of the taller mountain range. They looked green and lush. Carver wondered how thick it would be. Cebu and Bohol hadn’t been too bad. So far, the jungles weren’t nearly as thick and rancid as Bougainville or Guadalcanal. “The local contingent of Filipino fighters tells us there’s a few Japs still in Dumaguate, but we’ll be landing in Sibulan a few miles north. We expect the Japs to run for the hills once they see us land.”
“Why’s that, sir?” Carver had been fighting the Japanese a long time and hadn’t seen them run from a fight.
“It’s what happened on the other side. The 182nd landed and the Japs faded into the jungle leaving behind all sorts of minefields and tank traps. It was effective. Our guys took a lot more casualties than if the Japs had stayed in one place and slugged it out. At this point, they know they can’t stand and fight. Using guerrilla tactics, they can kill more of us, which is all they seem to care about.”
Carver shook his head. “We can’t seem to convince ‘em they’re beat.” He looked out over the lush island with its white beaches. “A lot more of us are gonna die before this thing’s over. If they’re fighting like this here? Think what’s gonna happen when we land on Japan. Everyone able to wield anything evenly remotely dangerous will be gunning for us.”
Lieutenant Swan slapped Carver’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Shouldn’t be telling you this,” he looked around like he was searching for a spy. “The Americal Division’s slated to be the leading force on that operation. Once were done here, we start resupplying and training for mainland Japan.”
Carver looked at his feet and shook his head. The image of Lilly filled his thoughts, and a sadness flooded him. All thoughts of a life after this war shattered like a ship upon a craggy reef.
Lieutenant Swan was alarmed at his reaction. “Hey, don’t sweat it, Sergeant.” He beamed, “You and I are survivors.”
Carver felt embarrassed. “Sorry, sir. Just tired I guess.”
Swan nodded. “We’ll be offloading within the hour. Have the men ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get those men north of town and set up a perimeter,” yelled Lieutenant Swan. Platoon Sergeant Carver directed Sergeant Levy to move the men through the town quickly.
As expected there was no enemy resistance. The landing had gone off perfectly. It had only taken two hours to get the entire Regiment offloaded. As on Bohol, they were met with the local Filipino resistance fighters. They’d assured them there were no Japanese in the area.
Captain Flannigan stood before the ranking Filipino officer and asked, “so, where are they?”
With a broad grin and broken English, he pointed south. “In Duagarte. They leave now.”
Flannigan didn’t like hearing that. “Let’s move out and cut ‘em off before they get to the hills.” He looked around for Lt. Swan. “Swan! Where are you?”
Lieutenant Swan walked up to Flannigan with another captain in tow. Swan saluted and addressed Flannigan. “Sir, this is Captain Ludwig from Hotel Company, 40th Division. They’ve just arrived.”
Captain Flannigan looked his counterpart over. He was filthy with mud and dust and smelled of jungle and cordite. “Looks like you’ve had a rough go of it, Captain.”
Captain Ludwig squinted at the taller Flannigan. “We ran into the Japs on day one in a little village. They were defending a key bridge crossing. We finally took the bridge and have been in a running battle with the remnants of that unit ever since.”
Flannigan frowned. “Casualties?”
Ludwig looked at his boots and nodded. “Lost twenty-two men. Most at the bridge.”
Flannigan pointed south. “The Filipino resistance says there’s Japs in Duagarte, but they’re heading for the hills. Probably hooking up with the force you’ve been fighting.”
Ludwig frowned. “It would be better if we kept that from happening. They’re all but used up. If they connect, they’ll be able to resupply.”
Flannigan pointed past the village. “We could send soldiers up that valley, act like a stopping force.” He waved the leader of the Filipinos forward. “Captain Garcia could lead us.”
Ludwig nodded. “My men need to resupply, but we can be up there pretty quick.”
Flannigan shook his head. “I’ve already got men moving in that direction. You should rest your men, get some hot chow.” He looked him up and down and crinkled his nose, “Maybe bathe.”
Ludwig squinted and scowled but was too tired to argue. “Combat’s a dirty business, Captain.”
Platoon Sergeant Carver walked beside Lt. Swan. They’d left the cheering villagers behind and were weaving their way up a winding path beside a crystal-clear creek. On point was a cadre of hard looking Filipino fighters. “How far you figure we need to go?”
Lieutenant Swan shrugged. “Captain Ignacio has a spot in mind. Says it’s a likely spot for the Japs to come through.”
“Any idea how many Japs we’re dealing with?”
“Nope. Only know they’re battle weary.”
Carver dropped back to check on the men. They’d been off the boat a day, but the heat, dust and strain of being in enemy territory made them look like they’d been at if for weeks. Despite their ragged look, he knew they were a deadly force of hardened veterans and he wouldn’t want to be moving into harm’s way with any other men. He thought about O’Connor. Wonder how he’s doing? He thought of their fight. At first he’d been enraged by the blatant disrespect, but as the weeks passed he realized his old friend was lashing out at the situation, not him personally. He grinned, son-of-a-bitch can sure throw a punch. He touched his still tender nose.
A half-hour later Captain Ignacio halted the column. The canyon forked into another side canyon with a well-used trail. The jungle was thick and would force travelers toward the side-canyon trail. An idyllic little creek babbled over stones at the bottom of the canyon. Some GIs dipped their hands and rubbed the cool water over their necks and heads.
Carver assessed the area. He was at Lt. Swan’s side again. “Good place to set up an ambush. The Japs have to come along the trail. They’ll funnel right down on us.”
Lieutenant Swan agreed. “We’ll put second platoon on the uphill side and the Filipinos on the downhill side.” He looked south. The jungle wasn’t as thick behind them, like it had been thinned out before the war. Swan figured it was some kind of logging operation. “As long as they don’t come from behind us.”
Carver said. “We can put some security back there, sir.”
Swan nodded. “Let’s get it set up. Put the thirty-caliber machine guns on the flanks and one shooting straight down the path of the ’T.’ I’ll call in our coordinates, get some fire missions set up in case we need it.”
The men set about digging in. The soft ground was easy to work with. The black, fertile dirt smelled loamy. The Filipinos didn’t have entrenching tools but borrowed the GI’s.
Within an hour the second platoon and the attached Filipinos were dug in. Now, all they had to do was wait. Carver was in a hole with Corporal Mathews. He had his M1 Garand propped on the side of the hole. They’d dug it deep and wide. There was plenty of room for both of them. They were on the side of the hill just up from the trail. The next hole to their right was the machine gun crew. They were a few meters up from the creek. They were well concealed, the deadly .30 caliber’s barrel the only thing poking through the camouflage. If the Japs came down this path, they’d be torn apart.
Further up the hill, another .30 caliber aimed down the trail. They had a more limited view but would be able to engage anyone coming through the thick jungle. The third machine gun was set up on the other side of the trail amongst the Filipinos.
Carver looked through the jungle canopy. It was relatively thin and he could see through all the way to the sea. Great black clouds were forming across the bay
and it looked like Cebu was about to get drenched. “Hope that shit stays over there.”
Mathews looked where he was looking. “Doubt it. Hasn’t rained in a whole day. We’re definitely overdue.” He slapped at his neck and his hand came away with a blood spot. “At least the mosquitos aren’t as bad as Bougainville.”
“Nothing was as bad as Bougainville. Far as I’m concerned the Japs can keep it.”
The day waned and the GIs of second platoon tried to stay focused. The day turned dark as a black sheet of rain moved from Cebu to the bay. The GIs were directly in its path. There was no doubt they’d be caught in a deluge soon.
Lieutenant Swan ordered the men to break out their ponchos and dig outlet drains in their holes if they hadn’t already. For most of the men, adding a way for the water to run out of their foxholes was as automatic as putting their boots on.
The bay disappeared, as the rain swept across and smacked into Negros. Soon after, the first fat drops started to fall on their ambush position. “Here it comes. Gonna be a doozy.” Carver hunkered under his poncho but kept a slit open to keep an eye on the trail. Visibility dropped to a few feet as the sky seemed to open up like a faucet. The constant splatter on his poncho drowned out all sound. It felt like he was sitting beneath a particularly brutal waterfall.
The foxhole quickly deteriorated into a sloppy mess. The sides turned to goo and the bottom started to fill up despite the ditch they’d dug at the far end. Runoff from uphill sloshed over the lip and cascaded into the hole forming a minor waterfall.
Carver leaned close to Mathew’s ear. “Creek’s gonna rise.” Mathews looked past sheets of rain and nodded. Carver continued. “I’m gonna move down and make sure the MG nest is far enough uphill. Flash flood could take ‘em out.”
Mathews nearly had to shout to be heard. “You won’t get ten feet. You’ll slide out of here like a hockey puck.”
Carver nodded. “Yeah, I may not make it back to you.” He secured his Thompson on his back and slapped Mathew’s shoulder. He dug his hands into the muddy ground and lunged out of the hole. He immediately slipped and fell onto his chest. The slight downward angle was enough to send him sliding. He went a couple feet, gaining speed before he reached out and hooked a passing palm tree. He held tight and his body swung around until he faced back up the hill. The Bright day from just a few minutes before was replaced with an unnatural darkness. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in either direction. He strained to see Mathews, but it was as if he’d traveled miles in his brief slide.
He kicked his boots into the mushy ground, trying to get a purchase before he let go of the palm. The creek-bed was thirty yards from his hole, but it might as well have been in another universe.
He let go of the palm and his toehold held. He backed his way down the hill one step at a time. He felt like an ice climber on some bizarre watery descent. He finally made it to less steep ground and was able to stand. He searched the area but couldn’t see anyone. He knew there was an entire platoon of men nearby, but he felt like he was on the moon.
He kept trudging down the hill and finally the sound of rushing water overtook the sound of the hammering rain. He crouched and squinted. He felt rivulets of cold water lancing down his body. Even the most robust rain gear wouldn’t be enough to keep the rainwater out, and he wore an Army issue poncho. He took a few more careful steps toward the sound of rushing water. He called out, “Hello!” There was no point trying to keep quiet. If the Japs were nearby they’d be hunkered down for sure.
He took another step toward the edge of the creek and slipped. He fell onto his ass and immediately started sliding toward the creek he still couldn’t see. Shit, I’ll be swept away and they’ll never find my body. He gained speed despite digging his hands and heels into the mud. Suddenly he hit an edge and dropped. He thought he’d hit the raging creek, but instead slammed into soft, protesting bodies.
The GI yelled, “What the hell’s that?” He shook off the unknown visitor and Carver slipped to the bottom of the foxhole.
There was more yelling, but Carver’s booming voice cut through. “It’s me! It’s Carver!”
He felt his voice was barely audible above the roar of the creek and the rain, but the nearest man heard him. “Carver? That you?”
Carver got to his feet. The bottom of the hole was filled shin-deep with water. He yelled into the soldier’s ear. “We gotta get you outta here. The creek’s gonna keep rising. You’ll be swept away.”
“We’re twenty feet from the creek,” He protested.
Carver shook his head, a motion no one could see. “I think it’s right there and rising.”
He tugged at the GI’s shoulder but he resisted. “Lemme get the gun,” he yelled. “Tommy, we’re leaving,” he yelled at the loader beside him.
Tommy yelled back. “What? Why?”
Carver yelled above the din. “Cause I said so. Now move out, now!” The rain subsided slightly in that moment and the visibility went from zero to a couple of yards. Carver’s eyes went wide and he pointed. “Shit! Leave the gun, we gotta go now!”
The GIs looked up and saw the dark churning water of the creek. The placid, idyllic babbling brook they’d crossed with hardly a jump was now a massive, black cauldron, full of rolling debris. It was climbing toward them like an angry black devil and it was only feet away.
Carver jumped out of the hole and reached back to help the two GIs out. He gripped the first man and pulled him over the side. He seemed to weigh a ton, but he got him out of the hole. The GI turned back to help his buddy, but Tommy was still trying to lift the .30 caliber off the mount. His efforts were thwarted by the slick ground. He couldn’t get a good purchase and every time he tried to lift the gun, his boots went out from beneath him. “Forget the gun, Tommy. We gotta go, now!”
Tommy got back to his feet and looked up at his buddy. He lunged for the gun again, “Can’t leave it here.” He dug his feet in and pulled up. The machine gun came off the mount and he looked up grinning. “Got it. I told you -” He was interrupted when the creek surged and the mass of water and debris swept over the hole and slammed into his chest. He simply disappeared. One moment he was there, the next he was gone, replaced with an angry black mass of debris.
Carver held onto the GI’s poncho as he tried to lunge for his friend. He held tight and screamed at him. “He’s gone! We gotta move!”
The soldier wailed, “Tommy! Tommy, no!” Carver pulled him up the hill. He didn’t look back but he felt the rising creek of half dirt, half water reaching to snatch him, like a hungry crocodile.
The soldier finally stopped struggling and shook Carver off. He made his own way, and they slogged up the hillside a few yards. For every step forward, they slipped half a step backwards, but they finally got far enough away from the raging creek, and stopped. Carver tucked into the base of a palm tree and the mud slid past him, feeding the creek. The gunner tucked tight and Carver could feel his body jolt as he sobbed for his friend. He pretended not to notice.
The rain lasted another twenty minutes but it subsided slightly and the creek didn’t rise more. The daylight gradually returned and the rain suddenly stopped as abruptly as it started. The raging creek quickly lost its power. Carver watched as it dropped inch by inch then foot by foot. The sight was mesmerizing. It was still muddy, but the power that it possessed was gone. The foxhole they’d come from was gone, as if it had never existed, along with Tommy’s body.
Carver looked up through the dripping jungle canopy. He could see blue sky. The day was waning into evening. It was as if the violence of the previous hour had never happened. The only evidence, the muddy ground and the line of black debris strewn along the high-water mark of the creek.
Carver reached out and squeezed the gunner’s shoulder. “You okay?”
The soldier didn’t respond at first. He looked up through red-rimmed, watery eyes. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He looked back to where the foxhole had been, then back at Carver. “Yeah,
I’m okay.”
Carver stood and surveyed the area. It looked nothing like it had. He couldn’t see the foxholes and the platoon of GIs he knew were there. Then, one by one he saw heads popping up and looking around in dazed confusion. “I’m gonna go find Lieutenant Swan.” The soldier nodded but didn’t stand. He kept staring at the creek, like it would re-animate and climb up to kill him.
Private Haskins was the only casualty from the flash flood. Private First-Class Watts, the gunner, wanted to look for his body, but night was approaching and Lt. Swan wouldn’t allow it. He barked out orders. “Get your foxholes back in shape and get those thirty cals back up. There’s still a cadre of Japs out there somewhere.”
As the light faded and darkness set in, Carver sat beside PFC Mathews again. Mathews whispered, “Think they’ll come tonight?”
Carver shrugged. “They’re probably desperate to link up and re-supply. From what I hear, they’re low on everything, including food. If there’s one time to move at night, this would be it.”
Mathews stared into the jungle. A thin sheen of mist covered the ground. The darkness combined with the mist cut visibility to near zero. “If they do, they’ll be right on top of us before we see ‘em.”
Carver nodded. “Long as we see ‘em first we’ll be fine. Try to get some shut-eye. I’ll take the first watch.”
Mathews nodded and slipped to the bottom of the muddy hole. The standing water was gone, but the sloppy mess it left behind seeped into his crotch. He removed his helmet and sat on it. It sank into the muck, but finally stopped when it was halfway covered. He dug into his pack and opened a can of C-Rats. He slurped up what passed for spaghetti and tried to get comfortable.
Carver heard his deep breathing moments later. He shook his head, wishing he could fall asleep that quickly. He’s like O’Connor, can sleep instantly. The thought of O’Connor took his mind off the jungle. He knew O’Connor was linked with the 40th, the same unit that had been fighting a running battle with the Japanese he was set up to ambush. He’d gotten orders to set the ambush before he was able to check on his old friend. He worried briefly but decided there was no point to it. He’s been through worse than that.
