by Len Levinson
The dogs charged across the underbrush, and Butsko and Longtree opened fire with their submachine guns. The dogs tripped over their legs as bullets shot through their vitals and caused them to lose their coordination. Blood spurted from the holes and the dogs whined as they fell to the ground, quivering and drooling.
“Let's get out of here!” Butsko shouted loudly.
Butsko signaled to the natives, who turned around and ran through the jungle. Butsko and Longtree followed, making as much noise as they could.
Lieutenant Karuma stopped suddenly when the dogs began howling, because he knew they wouldn't make any noise unless something was seriously wrong. Then he heard the sound of the submachine guns, and he and his men hit the dirt. The submachine-gun fire lasted only for a few moments; then they could hear someone running away.
Lieutenant Karuma jumped to his feet and drew his samurai sword. “After them!” he shouted. “Don't let them get away!”
The Japanese soldiers held their weapons ready to fire and charged through the jungle, following the sound of whoever was in front of them. They came to the dogs, stopped and looked, and waited for Lieutenant Karuma to catch up. Lieutenant Karuma took one look at the dogs and knew he and his soldiers would have to track the Americans by following the noise they made.
“Hurry!” he yelled, waving his samurai sword through the air. “They're not far away!”
The Japanese soldiers ran through the jungle, jumping over fallen trees, dodging around huge boulders, ripping their faces and arms on branches that clawed at them. Lieutenant Karuma breathed through clenched teeth, running as quickly as he could, because he knew the Americans were close and he knew the men he was pursuing had to be Americans, because natives never made so much noise.
“Faster!” he screamed. “Get them!”
Ahead in the jungle the GIs and natives were deployed like a horseshoe, waiting for the Japanese soldiers to run into the open end. They'd heard the submachine gun bursts and knew Butsko and Longtree would show up at any moment.
Frankie La Barbara was positioned beside Joanna Corby, who was lying next to Miss Brockway on the right side of the ambush.
“You okay?” he said to Joanna.
“I'm fine,” she replied.
“When the fighting starts, I think you'd better not move from here, because it'll probably get down to hand-to-hand stuff pretty fast.”
“I'm not afraid,” Joanna said.
“Nobody said you were, but hand-to-hand stuff is a test of who's stronger, and you're not stronger than a Japanese soldier.”
“He's right,” Miss Brockway said. “No sense in being foolhardy.”
Joanna nodded. “Very well.”
Frankie looked at her lying on the ground and felt like climbing on top of her. She had a wonderfully round ass and great boobs, and her face was pretty, considering she wasn't wearing any makeup and had many insect bites.
She turned slowly and looked at him. Ah, thought Frankie, she can tell I want to fuck her, so he winked at her, to make sure she knew everything was going to be okay.
An amused smile broke out on her face and she turned away. Oh-ho, Frankie thought, she knows and thinks it's funny. Well, she won't think it's so funny when she's got my pepperoni up her ass.
Then, out of the jungle to the west, Frankie became aware of a commotion in the jungle.
“Here they come,” Bannon said. “Don't fire until I give the word.”
The American soldiers and natives held their rifles tightly and looked down the sights. Joanna licked her lips nervously, while Frankie caught one last glimpse of her ass.
If I ever get my hands on that girl, he thought, she'll never look at another man again.
Butsko and Longtree followed the natives and crashed noisily through the jungle. Butsko was getting worried because he thought the Japanese might figure out that they were being led into a trap. What if they stopped and sent out some patrols to probe? That's what he would have done.
One of the natives pointed straight ahead, and Butsko realized they were entering the place where the ambush would take place. It was just another part of the jungle, with no unusual terrain characteristics, but the natives and the recon platoon were deployed around the trail, and once the Japs got into it, the slaughter would begin.
Bannon raised himself to one knee to wave Butsko and Longtree onward. Butsko and Longtree bulled their way through the ambush area and kept going, while behind them they could hear the Japanese advancing through the jungle.
Lieutenant Karuma thought there was something strange about all the noise the Americans Were making, but he didn't want to give credence to his suspicions. He was an emotional man in the grip of hatred and the desire for revenge, and he wanted to assault the Americans and natives and wipe them out. They'd bedeviled him long enough. Also, he knew the Australian girl was back there someplace, so lust had a prominent position in his mind too.
Sergeant Mitsui caught up with Lieutenant Karuma. “Sir, don't you think we should give the men a rest before we attack?”
“If we rest, we'll lose them!”
“Perhaps we should send a patrol ahead to locate their position!”
“We're almost there, Sergeant Mitsui! Press on! Charger!”
The Japanese soldiers reached deep within themselves for their last ounces of energy as they rampaged through the jungle. Lieutenant Karuma put on a burst of speed and got in front of them, waving his samurai sword in the air. His eyes were glazed with madness, and spittle flecked his lips.
“Keep moving!” he shouted. “Attack!”
Bannon saw them coming and held his submachine gun tightly against his shoulder. He had to be patient so as not to give the order to fire too soon. He must wait until all the Japs were inside the horseshoe.
The Japanese soldiers pushed and shoved their way through the jungle; in front of them was an officer swinging a samurai sword around and screaming like a maniac. Bannon drew a bead on the officer and held him in his sights. The Japs had only a few more yards to go. Bannon's heart raced with excitement, and he was afraid that something would go wrong at the last moment.
But nothing went wrong, and the Japs ran headlong into the trap, their officer exhorting them to move faster. All the natives and soldiers from the recon platoon had their sights trained on Japs, and even Joanna was ready to shoot one of them down.
“Fire!” shouted Bannon.
The soldiers from the recon platoon, the natives, and Joanna fired at the same time, and the jungle was filled with a sudden sound like a clap of thunder. Two of Bannon's bullets shot through Lieutenant Karuma's chest and he stumbled, dropping to his knees and coughing blood. The Japanese soldiers behind him were shredded by the sudden horrible volley, and then the second volley came, ripping apart more of them.
The surviving Japanese soldiers dropped to their stomachs and looked around, but they couldn't see anything except gunsmoke and the trembling of leaves as bullets swooshed by.
“Charge!” shouted Bannon.
The men from the recon platoon and the natives jumped to their feet and advanced against the Japs, firing every step of the way. Butsko and Longtree returned on the double and joined in the charge, peppering the Japanese soldiers on the ground with hot lead. The Japanese soldiers were overwhelmed by the hail of bullets and still hadn't recovered completely from the surprise. The GIs and natives swept over them, firing their weapons down, and the natives stabbed their bayonets into Japanese soldiers who didn't look completely dead.
One of the Japanese soldiers was playing dead and at the last moment raised his rifle to fire at a native in front of him, but he was in front of Bannon, who pulled his trigger and kept it pulled until the Jap's torso was riddled with holes and bits of his flesh were flying into the air.
The natives were especially ferocious, kicking the faces of dead Japanese soldiers, bending down, and slitting their throats with knives. A few wounded Japs tried to surrender, but they were shot dead on the spot.
&n
bsp; When the firing died down, all the Japanese and seven natives were dead. Thirteen natives were wounded, along with Homer Gladley, who had a Japanese bullet inside his thigh and was lying helpless on the ground.
Miss Brockway came onto the battlefield with her bag of medicine, and Joanna followed her. Miss Brockway had worked in hospitals filled with sick men, but Joanna had never seen anything like this. It was like a butcher shop where animals had just been slaughtered. Blood was everywhere, and it ran in rivulets along the ground. The sub-machine gun fire had blown men apart, and she could see their white ribs and internal organs.
“Hey, look!” said Jimmy Hughes. “Their officer is still alive!”
The soldiers and natives gathered around. Joanna walked over to take a look. Lieutenant Karuma lay on his back, bleeding profusely from two holes in his chest. His complexion was pale and his eyes half closed. He saw Joanna swimming in the mists before his eyes, and he smiled grimly, because in the clarity of onrushing death he realized that this woman—and his own madness—had led him to his doom. The woman raised her rifle and pointed it at him, and he looked straight at her, imploring her with his eyes to fire quickly and end his pain.
Blam!
The carbine kicked into Joanna's shoulder, and Lieutenant Karuma's head blew apart. When all the pieces landed and the smoke cleared away, he was still smiling underneath his handlebar mustache, but the top of his head and most of his brains were gone. Joanna lowered her rifle and looked at him, feeling the hatred ebb away. She'd killed him and felt sick to her stomach. He was the first man she'd ever killed, and she was horrified by what she'd done, but he'd never be able to harm anybody else again.
Ten yards away Sergeant Mitsui lay mortally wounded. He'd also been shot through the chest and was covered with blood, but no native had finished him off because he looked dead.
He'd seen Joanna shoot his commanding officer, and now the fundamental instincts of a Japanese noncommissioned officer were taking over. He raised his Nambu pistol suddenly and aimed at Joanna.
The chatter of a submachine gun rent the silence.
Joanna spun around at the sound and saw Frankie La Barbara standing with his submachine in his arms, smoke rising from the barrel. Ten yards in front of him was a dead Japanese sergeant with a pistol in his hand.
Bannon also had his submachine gun ready, but Frankie had fired first. “He was aiming right at you,” Bannon said to Joanna.
Joanna was dazed and turned to Frankie. “You saved my life,” she said in a faraway voice, astounded that death had come that close to her.
“Guess so,” Frankie said, lowering his submachine gun.
“I'd be dead if it weren't for you,” she said, gazing into his eyes as he stepped closer. “How can I ever repay you?”
Frankie smirked. “You know how.”
Butsko slung his submachine gun over his shoulder. “Let's get the fuck outta here!” he shouted. “Move it out!”
FOURTEEN . . .
They returned to Segi Point after dark, carrying their wounded. Captain Eadie came out of his hut with his pistol in hand, because he'd heard the battle in the distance and had no way of knowing which side had won.
Butsko's face emerged out of the night, a cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth. “Get on the radio and call Guadalcanal,” he said. ‘Tell ‘em my men and me want that submarine as soon as it can get here.”
“What happened to the Japs?”
“We got ‘em all, but there'll be more sooner or later. You might have to move this station.”
Jimmy Hughes joined them and heard the last snatch of conversation. “I don't think so,” he said. “There have never been many Japs on this end of the island.”
“There might be after this.”
Jimmy looked at Captain Eadie. “I need a drink.”
“Come on in.”
They followed Captain Eadie into the hut, and Lieutenant MacDoughal showed up a few seconds later.
“I never want to go through anything like that again,” Lieutenant MacDoughal said, sitting at the table. “It was too close for comfort.”
“What was too close for comfort?” Butsko asked.
“That fight in the jungle.”
“Shit, we had ‘em wiped out before they even had a chance. If you think that was something, you should have been with us when we hit the beach on Guadalcanal.”
Captain Eadie lit the kerosene lamp on the table, then walked to the radio and lit the one there. He sat in front of the radio and turned it on. “Help yourselves to the whiskey,” he said over his shoulder. “You know where it is.”
Jimmy Hughes jumped up like a kangaroo and pulled the bottle down from the cupboard. He brought the bottle and some tin cups to the table and poured good stiff shots for all of them.
“Down the hatch,” he said.
The men sipped the whiskey as Captain Eadie tapped his key and transmitted the message to Guadalcanal. Butsko took out a cigarette and lit it up. The fatigue was catching up to him now, and his eyes went droopy. He wanted to go to bed, but first he had to know what Guadalcanal would tell Captain Eadie, and then he'd have to check on Homer Gladley and maybe bring him a shot of whiskey.
Captain Eadie signed off and returned to the table. ‘Tomorrow at one in the morning,” he said to Butsko, “right down there off the coast of this station. They'll signal with three flashes, and you'll answer with two and then three more. Then they'll send in the rubber boat to pick you up.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Butsko said. “Mind if I take a shot of this to the soldier who was wounded today?”
“Help yourself.”
Butsko tossed down his drink and filled the cup with a couple of ounces for Billie Jones. “See you guys later,” he said. Standing, he adjusted his cap on his head and walked out of the hut.
Natives moved around in the clearing, and at the edge of the jungle a bunch of them were chanting. The mood was jubilant, and Butsko thought of how good it was to be a winner and how terrible to be a loser, rotting in the jungle, providing food for scavengers and maggots.
Butsko found Homer Gladley lying on his back in the area of the jungle where the men from the recon platoon were bivouacked. Bannon and Longtree were sound asleep already, Frankie La Barbara was nowhere to be seen, and Hotshot Stevenson and Billie Jones were away in the hospital area rigged up by Miss Brockway. Homer Gladley didn't want to go to the hospital area because he didn't think he was hurt that seriously. Butsko knelt down beside Homer, who was smoking a cigarette, his eyes half closed because he was shot full of morphine. Miss Brockway had cut off his pant leg, and the white bandage could be seen tied around his thigh.
“How're you feeling?” Butsko asked.
“Real good, Sarge. Real good.”
“I brought you something to drink.” Butsko held out the tin cup.
Homer took it and sipped some down. “Thanks,” he wheezed.
“We're leaving tomorrow night,” Butsko said.
“I guess they'll put me in the hospital when I get back.”
“Yeah, with all the nurses.”
“That won't be so bad.”
“Won't be bad at all.” Butsko looked around. “Where's Frankie La Barbara?”
“Ain't he around here?” Homer asked.
“No.”
“Maybe he's gone to the shithouse.”
“Yeah.” Butsko touched Homer on the shoulder. “Take it easy, pal. See you in the morning.”
“Right.”
Butsko stood up, adjusted the submachine gun on his shoulder, and walked back to Captain Eadie's radio shack.
Frankie sat on a fallen tree behind some bushes at the bottom of the plateau, smoking a cigarette in the darkness. A few feet away were the sandy beach and the waves of the Pacific Ocean crashing on the shore. The sky was clear and filled with sparkling stars, and the half-moon of a few days before had become a three-quarter moon, casting an eerie glow onto the island.
Maybe she won't come, Frankie thought. Ma
ybe she's gonna be a cunt just like the rest of them. He puffed his cigarette and scratched his head, nervous as hell, because he hoped she'd show up. He wanted desperately to get his hands on her and make mad, passionate love.
She said she'd come. He'd sidled next to her as they were returning to Segi Point and suggested that they go swimming together, and she said she'd meet him on the beach. She smiled when she said it, but it was a sad, wistful smile, as if she wanted to but didn't want to at the same time. Maybe she said she'd meet him only because he'd saved her life and she felt she owed him something, and maybe now she was having second thoughts or Miss Brockway had talked her out of it.
Frankie was getting fidgety. It was another warm night, with a strong breeze blowing off the ocean, keeping away the insects. The island was a nightmare except for this little corner of it. It reminded him of the beaches of Australia, which were vast and breathtakingly beautiful.
He saw something moving on the beach, and his heart beat like a tom-tom. It was she; he could tell by her walk, smooth and willowy. The wind blew her hair in front of her face and she pulled it away with a graceful, flowing gesture.
Frankie arose from the bushes and walked toward her, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his hands in his pants pockets and his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, his dogtags showing against his hairy chest.
“Hi,” he said to her, a roguish smile on his face.
“Hello.”
She smiled, and he thought he would drown in the shimmering pools that were her eyes. The wind tousled her long blond hair and plastered her khaki blouse against her body, showing the outlines of her breasts.
“I was afraid you wouldn't come,” he confessed.
“What made you think I wouldn't come?”
“I don't know. I guess because it would be too good to be true if you did come.”
“Well, here I am,” she said.
“I guess so.” After waiting for her so long, and now being enchanted by her beauty, Frankie didn't know what to do next. “Nice night, isn't it?”
She looked around at the ocean and the sky. “Very nice.”
