Tark's Ticks

by Chris Glatte

  Henry pulled the blade of grass from his mouth and grinned. “Oma? She’s a fireball. She’s ninety-five, or thereabouts and can out-drink all of us…well, except Pappy.”

  “Tell me about that dish she makes. Jumby or Jumbo. What is it again?”

  Henry shook his head in disgust, “You damn Yankees. Jam-ba-la-ya. It ain’t that difficult.” He leaned his head back. “I don’t know what to tell you. When she’s cooking…well it’s like the air isn’t something you breathe, but savor. I swear folks from miles away will suddenly be at our doorstep. Folks I haven’t seen since the last time she cooked. That’s her way though. Pappy always complains that she makes way too much, but she makes it for the whole town. She never turns anyone away, even old Freddy who’s an A-1 deadbeat.” He shook his head. “There was always something about Freddy and her. He’s old as shit too.” He gazed into the muggy distance, “When he came around she always scooped from the bottom, where all the good stuff settles, and she always had this little twinkle in her eye when she did it.”

  Tarkington grinned and looked at Henry with one eye opened. “Think they were doing it?”

  Henry’s mouth turned down and he punched Tarkington’s arm, “Don’t talk about my Oma like that.” He shook his head, “I don’t need that image in my head.” He spit between his legs. “Does shit still work at that age? Doubt it.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about that.” He lifted his chin. “Tell me about your brother. How’s he doing?”

  Tarkington’s grin faded as he gazed across the torn-up jungle. “Joe’s a good kid.” He shook his head, “Kid…guess he’s not a kid anymore.”

  “He still at college?”

  Tarkington nodded and shrugged. “Haven’t heard from him since all this started, but last I heard he was. He’s a junior now. He better be, or I’ll kick his butt.”

  “He must be worried about you.”

  Tarkington up at the sky. “Hard being all the way across the world from them. It was bad enough before the Nips attacked, but at least we got mail. Now…” he shrugged, “Now they must be pulling their hair out.” A long silence ensued. Tarkington leaned forward, “You think our pay’s still making it to them? I mean, half my pay’s going to help with his school.”

  Henry leaned forward and looked his friend over. “Half? You’re a damned saint. You coulda saved that and gone to school yourself.”

  Tarkington shook his head. “Nah, I was never college material. Joey was always smarter. It was never in doubt. I mean when I was done with high school there was never any talk about me going to college. My folks saved up, but it was understood it was for Joe.” Henry grunted. Tarkington’s mouth turned down. “I wasn’t bitter about it; the most natural thing in the world. I only joined up so I wouldn’t have to buck another bale of hay…well, at least for a while.”

  Henry nodded. “Yeah, you ain’t too smart.”

  Tarkington punched his shoulder. “You insubordinate asshole. I should bust you to private.”

  Henry shook his head slow. “You wouldn’t do that. I’d never invite you to try Oma’s jambalaya if you did.” Henry picked up a stick and started drawing circles in the dirt. “What you think’s going on back home? I mean with the war? I’ve got three younger brothers. Lou’s old enough for the service and Willy will be next year.”

  Tarkington nodded and looked at his mud-caked boots. “We’ll take care of these Japs before they get through boot-camp. When the reinforcements come, we’ll turn these yellow bastards back and sweep them all the way back to Japan. Make Hirohito eat his damn slippers.” Henry nodded, but the silence that lingered was filled with doubt.

  There hadn’t been a shot fired from either side for two hours. Tarkington had just dozed off when Staff Sergeant Flynn stepped in front of him and kicked his boot. Tarkington jolted, lifted his helmet off his brow and squinted up at him. Flynn went to his haunches. “The captain wants us to sweep the ravine.”

  Tarkington’s eyes opened wider, “You mean attack?”

  Flynn shrugged. More men from 2nd squad lifted their helmets and listened in. “Captain thinks there aren’t too many left, if any. Wants us to sweep down there and clean out any remnants we find.”

  Tarkington pushed himself to his feet. “Sounds like an attack.”

  “Call it whatever you want, Tark, just help me get the men ready. Second squad’s leading.”

  The men moaned but were already rolling to their feet, checking their rifles. “You heard Sergeant Flynn, let’s go. Check your ammo, if you’re low, get more from supply. Take a final piss or shit and form up.”

  Flynn pointed, “Meet over there in ten minutes and be ready to go.” Ten minutes later 2nd squad, along with the rest of 1st and 2nd platoons, was milling about well back from the edge of the ravine. Lieutenant Smoker said, “Attention,” and the men straightened their backs and faced Captain Glister who was sauntering their way.

  “At ease.” He put his fists on his hips. “Men, there’s been another Jap attack along the Orion-Bagac Line. It seems to have been coordinated with this attack and, like this one, it failed. However, there was a small force that did manage to get through a gap in our lines. The gap has since been closed but there’s a force of Japs dug into the jungle behind our lines that will need to be dealt with. HQ wants us to finish the Japs here then move north to help eliminate the pockets of enemies that got through. Once done, we’ll join the main line of defense.” He gestured into the ravine. “We haven’t seen or heard any of the enemy for over two hours. The Japs are either all dead, out of ammo, or too tired and injured to be much of a threat, but we have to make sure. The mission’s simple. First and second platoons will sweep the ravine all the way to the ocean, killing or capturing whatever enemies you may find.” He lifted his chin and looked down his patrician nose. “It’s my belief you won’t find much resistance, but be careful. They are Japs after all.” Lieutenant Govang and Smoker, the two officers snapped to attention. “Get it done.”

  In unison they said, “Yes sir.”

  Glister turned and walked back toward the hastily set up tent that was HQ. Lieutenant Smoker barked out orders and 1st platoon split up into squads and spread out. 2nd platoon, led by Lt. Govang spread out behind them.

  Tarkington made sure 2nd team had plenty of space between each soldier and when Sergeant Flynn waved his hand forward, he took his first step into the ravine. Two of the Stuart tanks were behind them, but the two forward tanks were still twenty yards ahead. He admired their hulking metal shapes as he walked by, wishing they could roll forward with them. He passed GIs in their foxholes who nodded and grinned and wished them luck in low, hissing voices.

  Tarkington made sure his Thompson’s safety was off, ready for instant action. He didn’t see an enemy body for another twenty yards, then he saw several. The ground sloped downward steeply in sections and there were many downed trees and churned-up ground to maneuver through. He stepped over a downed palm and leveled his sub-machine gun at a group of enemy soldiers tangled together as if they were spaghetti. He couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other began. He guessed they were victims of one of the Stuarts 37mm cannon.

  He kept his muzzle leveled as he passed them, but it was obvious they weren’t playing possum. He stepped into a still-smoking crater and looked to either side. The GIs were keeping pace, their rifles leveled and their eyes open for trouble. More bodies; victims of machine gun fire and mortar shells. The stagnant air was already starting to take on a sour smell and the incessant buzzing of flies filled the air.

  He heard a GI from his left call out, “Got a live one over here.” It was PFC Stollman, the BAR man. “We helping these guys or putting them out of their misery?”

  Tarkington pursed his lips. It was a good question. There’d been plenty of gruesome stories depicting Japanese brutality. Tarkington hadn’t seen it personally but an entire squad from 4th platoon had been wiped out and when Hotel Company took bac
k the contested ground the following day, they found the squad hacked and mutilated with their genitals cut off and jammed into their dead mouths. He heard Staff Sergeant Flynn call out, “Medic.” Guess that answers that, thought Tarkington. “Keep moving forward.”

  Tarkington looked to his right and saw Henry chewing another blade of grass and sweeping his rifle side to side. He caught Tarkington’s look and shook his head.

  The unmistakable sound of a screaming Japanese soldier pierced the muggy air. Tarkington looked to his left in time to see the wounded Japanese soldier pull something from behind his back and hold it up. Time stood still as both Staff Sergeant Flynn and Stollman stared in frozen horror. Flynn snapped into action and flung himself into the wounded soldier. His body collided at the same instant the grenade exploded. Flynn’s upper body simply liquefied and became one with the Japanese soldier’s, leaving two sets of legs and nothing else.

  There was a grim silence, then a yell of pain and anguish spewed from Stollman like something from another world. Tarkington yelled, “Stay put, keep watch for Japs.” He sprinted to the scene and pulled up short, seeing the grisly results of the grenade. He fought down vomit, forcing himself to swallow the acidic spew. He ran past the carnage and slid in beside Stollman, who was writhing on the ground, clutching his ears and still screaming.

  He gripped his shoulder and pinned him to the ground searching for the wound that must be there. “Stolly, Stolly. Where you hit? Where you hit, dammit?” The BAR loader, PFC Vick slid in next to him. “Hold him down.”

  Vick was much smaller than Stollman, but strong, with wiry, rope-like muscle. He grabbed Stollman’s legs and kept them from thrashing. Finally Tarkington got the BAR man’s attention by yelling in his face, “Stolly!” Stollman opened his eyes and released the grip on his ears. He looked around like waking from a nightmare. When he saw what was left of Flynn’s body, his eyes turned wet and glassy and he reached out for him. He blubbered, “Flynn, Sergeant Flynn. Oh my God, Flynn.” Tarkington saw the eyes change from wretched sadness to all consuming rage in a flash. “Cock-sucking-motherfucking-son-of-a-bitch!”

  Tarkington held him down as he tried to lunge and attack what was left of the enemy soldier. “Calm down, calm down.” He shook him and made him focus on his eyes. “Are you hit?”

  Stollman hesitated, taking stock of his body. He shook his head, “Ears are ringing bad.” He felt his torso and his groin, “I’m, I’m not hit. S - Sergeant Flynn saved…he saved me. Oh my God.”

  Tarkington released him and he put his head into his hands and cried. His shoulders shook in convulsions of grief. Vick sat beside him and put his arm around his shoulder, looking up at Tarkington with sad eyes.

  Lieutenant Smoker stepped from behind a tree and crouched, taking in the scene. PFC Skinner, a rifleman, was beside him. He took one look at the pair of smoking, bloody legs and lunged forward and lost his lunch. Smoker stepped around him and crouched beside Tarkington. “Flynn?” He asked. Tarkington nodded. Smoker shook his head and cursed. He put his hand to his mouth to maximize his voice. “From now on, no prisoners. Understand? If you come across a wounded Jap, or even one you think might be playing possum, shoot him or stick him. Don’t take chances.” There was a smattering of acknowledgment. “Vick, take the BAR. I’ll have someone take Flynn and Stollman back up the ridge.”

  Stollman’s snapped his head up. He wiped his eyes and his face turned to stone. “Sir, I’m okay. I can fight.”

  Smoker nodded and pursed his lips, “Okay. Okay.” He stood and waved them forward, “Move out.”

  As they advanced deeper into the ravine, and came across more bodies, shots rang out as GIs made sure. Tarkington could feel the difference in the men. He could feel their anger. Their contempt for the Japanese was palpable.

  Soon they were at the bottom of the ravine and at the edge of the beach. Lieutenant Smoker held up his hand and the GIs stopped and crouched. The beach was full of mortar craters and boot prints. The barge was still beached, the boat’s right side holed from the near miss of the 81mm mortar shells. Tarkington strained to see where he and his men had been and thought he could see the rocks they’d used for cover. He noticed the neatly lined-up bodies, covered with canvas shrouds, that he’d seen in the first rays of dawn. That seemed like a million years ago, but had only been a few hours.

  Smoker caught his eye and waved his arm forward, signaling he wanted his squad to advance while the rest of them covered. Tarkington nodded and signaled 2nd squad to advance. He stepped from the jungle and into the wide-open beach. He had his Thompson’s safety off and felt completely exposed. The rest of the squad spread out and moved down the beach steadily.

  When they were halfway to the water’s edge, Tarkington saw movement on the barge. He threw himself onto his stomach at the same time yelling, “Cover! Barge!”

  He put the stock of the Thompson to his shoulder and saw three enemy heads poking above the front of the barge, then he saw the smoke and flash of their burp guns. The air snapped with bullets. He fired; walking his heavy slugs into the barge. Vick opened up with the BAR and the rest of the squad unleashed everything they had. The barge splintered and shredded and sparked. The sea water spouted in great geysers, wetting the boat and making it glisten in the midday sun.

  Tarkington didn’t see any more enemy heads and the enemy fire had stopped. He quickly reloaded and peered over his smoking barrel. “Cease fire. Cease fire!” Most of them had burned through their clips and he could hear them working to reload. “Raker, Winkleman, with me.” He got to his feet, “Rest of you cover us.”

  He took careful steps, his Thompson at his shoulder, still aimed at the shredded barge. Raker was to his right, Winkleman to his left. At first, they walked, but as they closed they trotted. The gentle lapping of the sea was the only sound. They crouched in front of the barge and Tarkington could smell the shredded wood, it reminded him of a sawmill. There was no sound coming from the barge. He held up his right hand with three fingers extended. He counted down. When his hand was in a fist, they all sprang forward and lunged over the gunwales. Tarkington was first over the side. He saw gray uniforms and blood. He fired into the mass, and their bodies shuddered but they were already dead.

  He hopped out of the boat, letting the sea clean his bloody boots. He signaled the all-clear and the rest of the squad rose up from the sand. Beyond them the rest of the GIs stepped from the jungle. He addressed Raker, “These were the sailors we tangled with this morning.” Raker nodded, “Yep, think so.”

  Winkleman jumped from the barge holding his rifle in one hand and a burp gun in the other. “This one’s still in good shape.” He slung it over his shoulder. “Good for close-in stuff.”

  Tarkington moved off to the left. “Raker, let’s check out the tunnel.” Raker nodded and followed with Winkleman close behind.

  Tarkington wrapped his sling around his forearm and aimed at the boulders they’d used for cover that morning. It looked completely different from this angle and he wondered if he were in the right spot. Raker pointed, “Entrance is over there.” He angled right and, sure enough, Tarkington saw the bushy tree branch hiding the entrance. Raker slowed, leveling his rifle.

  Tarkington put his Thompson to his shoulder and crouched, covering him. Winkleman did the same with his newfound burp gun. Raker moved to the entrance and pulled back the branch, keeping his rifle leveled with one hand. He crouched and peered forward. Tarkington tensed, ready to fire at the first sign of trouble, but Raker relaxed, stood and turned back to him holding his nose. “Damn smorgasbord gone bad in there.” He let the branch fall back into place and stepped away. “Best leave them be. That grenade really did a number on ‘em.”

  10

  After clearing the ravine and beach, 1st and 2nd platoons were back on top of the ridge. It had been a successful mission - the Japanese force destroyed to the last man - but it felt hollow. 2nd squad formed a circle around what was left of their squad leader’s body. Someone had found his helme
t and rifle and laid it on top of the remains to keep the wind from pulling back the shroud.

  Lieutenant Smoker approached and stood beside Tarkington. “He was a good man. A good soldier and leader.” Tarkington nodded. “He’ll be missed.” A breeze came up from the ravine bringing with it the smell of decay and rot. The 3rd and 4th platoons were in the process of hauling the dead Japanese to the beach for a mass burial. Smoker put his hand on Tarkington’s shoulder. “Need a private word with you, Sergeant.”

  Tarkington tore his eyes from the poncho, “Yes sir.” He left the circle, following Lt. Smoker to a fallen palm tree. Smoker sat and indicated he should too. Smoker pulled out two cigarettes and handed one to Tarkington. He pulled a well-used Zippo lighter from his pants pocket and struck it to flame, holding it out for Tarkington. Tarkington took a long drag and let it seep out his mouth and nose. Smoker did the same feeling the nicotine course through his brain. “With Flynn gone I need someone to take over the role of squad leader. I know you’re a freshly-minted sergeant, but I need you to step up and lead the men. Are you up for that?”

  Tarkington looked stunned, but nodded. “Yes, sir. I guess I have to be.”

  “I’ve watched you, you’re ready. The men respect you and will follow you and that’s really what matters.” He scowled. “It’s not like I have a lot of reserve NCOs lying around.”

  Tarkington nodded, “Yes sir.”

  “Any ideas on who to pull up to assistant squad leader?”

  Tarkington pursed his lips and looked at the passing clouds, then refocused on the ground. He nodded. “Henry’s a good man, but I’d rather have him in second position as a scout with Raker, and move Winkleman to assistant squad leader.”

  Smoker considered and, after a brief pause, nodded. “Hadn’t thought about Winkleman. He’s the lead scout, but I can see him switching roles. Good choice. Henry’ll be good at scout; he can smell trouble coming a mile away.”