by Chris Glatte
“Yes, and he moves well too. He’s too quiet for a lead position and would probably resent it if he were put there. He’ll be a good counter to Raker at the scout position.”
Smoker stood, “Done.” Tarkington stood and Smoker held out his calloused hand. Tarkington took it and they shook. “We’ll be moving up toward the line in an hour or so. Get the men ready, Staff Sergeant.”
Tarkington shook his head, not believing the new title. “Shitty way to get promoted, sir.” Smoker scowled and walked off.
The main road along the west coast of Luzon was choked with civilians moving south. Hotel Company was moving north, being forced to march along the edges in single file to avoid the various carts and bicycles.
Since MacArthur instigated Operation Orange in January, the fallback to the Bataan Peninsula, there’d been a constant flow of refugees moving with the GIs and Filipino Army units, but the flow had nearly come to a stop after the initial panic of the first month. Now the roads were choked again, as the civilians saw and heard the fighting in the south.
Tarkington didn’t care about the reasons, only the fact that the extra people on the road made it harder for his men to move.
Finally, after a frustrating day of marching, Hotel Company moved off the road and settled in for the evening in a meadow. The men were exhausted. Lieutenant Smoker barked at his NCOs, “Get the men settled. We’re bivouacking here for the night.”
Tarkington was as tired as any of them but, as squad leader, couldn’t show it. “All right, this is it for the night. Spread out, dig a hole and get some grub. You know the drill.” The GIs of 2nd squad grumbled and moved off to find their little slices of paradise. The newly-minted Buck Sergeant Winkleman stepped up beside him. Tarkington asked, “How’s it feel to lead, Sergeant?”
Winkleman took his helmet off, wiped the sweat from his brow and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Haven’t had to do much yet. Just march and keep them from falling over with exhaustion.”
“Make sure they drink. It’s easy to get dehydrated out here.” They watched a GI suddenly break off from the group and dash off into the jungle, struggling to unbutton his pants. “Looks like Crown’s got the shits.”
Winkleman nodded. “Everyone’s got the shits. You telling me you don’t?”
Tarkington shook his head, “No. Shit at least three times a day and it’s not what I would call quality.”
Winkleman smiled, “If you’re saying it’s runny, that’s an understatement. Three times is nothing. I’ve seen Crown dash off the road at least four times today.”
Tarkington turned serious. “Even more reason to keep ‘em hydrated.” Winkleman nodded and Tarkington continued. “I remember when I first got off the boat over a year ago. I was so excited, I tried all the local exotic food. That first month was miserable. Never left the latrines and I thought my ass would burst into flame sometimes. My body adjusted, as did everyone’s, but now it’s as if we’re new here again. Not sure why.”
Winkleman scowled, “Think the Japs poisoned the water down here?”
Tarkington guffawed and shook his head. “They’re devious, but I don’t think they’re that devious.” He looked at the sky and saw plumes of clouds building. “Looks like we’ll be in for another drenching. Have the men be sure to build drainage into their holes. Let’s get them hurried up so we’re not eating in the rain.”
Winkleman nodded and moved off to hurry them up. Tarkington went looking for the command area. At the far end of the field he saw the company vehicles under camouflage netting. He adjusted his Thompson on his shoulder and walked across the field, nodding to GIs digging holes and eating K-rations. They looked exhausted but, after the victory at the ravine, were in good spirits.
His chest swelled with pride. He hadn’t been an NCO for more than a week, but he felt like they were his men. They’d been battered and beaten over the last few months but they were still upbeat and confident. It was a testament to their training and their grit. When we finally get reinforced, the Japs’ll wish they’d never heard of Luzon.
At the trucks, he saw the hastily-erected tent which was the company’s HQ for the night. He ducked inside and the smell of mold and canvas wasn’t unpleasant. There was a cluster of officers and a few other NCOs milling about. He noticed Lieutenant Smoker and strode up to him and saluted. He snapped a hasty salute back, “How are the men?” Smoker asked.
“Getting settled, sir. Looks like it’s going to rain on us again tonight.”
Smoker nodded, “Yep. Wish we coulda found a place with cover, but the men’ll have to make do.”
“Yes sir. They’re used to that.”
“Captain Glister thinks this might be more than just an overnight bivouac. Looks like we’ll be staying here at least a full day. The men can use a rest.”
Tarkington nodded, “Yes sir. I agree. Any word on those other beach landings?”
Smoker shook his head, “Only that there were some. I do know they haven’t broken out anywhere. If they had we’d be called to help since we’re the only regular infantry unit in the area.” Tarkington nodded. Lieutenant Smoker turned when his name was called. He waved to another officer then turned back to Tarkington. “You be sure to get some rest too. I need you at your best.” He looked at Tarkington’s sleeve. “You’ll have to wait on your stripes.”
Tarkington shrugged, “It’s not important sir.” He saluted, turned to the tent flap and strode into the daylight. The day was darkening quickly. Evening was coming, but the fluffy clouds from earlier had grown and taken on a darker, more sinister aspect. He shook his head and hustled back toward 2nd squad hoping to get settled and get some food before the deluge began.
The sun rose and ended what had been the longest night of Tarkington’s life. The rain had come in waves and lasted for two hours, then slacked off, stopped completely, then continued for another two hours.
Foxholes quickly filled with water, despite the best efforts to build drainage. The GIs resorted to bailing the water with their helmets, like they were trying to keep a boat with many holes afloat. It was exhausting and even those lucky enough to have gotten their ponchos secured over their holes had to stay awake and make sure it stayed in place.
Tarkington shared a hole with Henry. While he’d been talking with Lt. Smoker the evening before, Henry had dug a wide hole and staked ponchos out with rope. It worked well to keep the water from flooding them directly but the rivulets of water running over the ground were impossible to keep out and soon they had six inches of standing water, making it impossible to lay down and sleep. Tarkington thought he might have fallen asleep on his feet for a couple of minutes, but he wasn’t even sure about that. He just knew he felt like shit. He hadn’t slept much the night before either - none of the men had.
PFC Holiday poked his head beneath the poncho. “You in here Sarge?”
Tarkington nodded and growled, “Yeah. What is it Holiday?” Holiday smiled and thrust a coffee pot in his face. “Holy shit, you’re a saint.” He fumbled in his sopping pack and pulled out a beat-up steel cup. He wiped the grit from the bottom and held it out. Holiday carefully filled his cup and it steamed, warming Tarkington’s face. He savored his first sip. It tasted like nectar from the gods. Henry went for his pack, but Holiday shook his head, “Have to share. Not enough for everybody.”
Tarkington passed the steaming cup to Henry who smelled it and sipped. He shook his head and handed it back. “You’re a magician Holiday.”
“Don’t you mean a voodoo doctor or something, Cajun?” He pulled back taking the coffee pot with him. “More mouths to feed.”
Tarkington took another sip and handed it to Henry. “I’ve gotta check on the men. Hold this for me while I try to get out of this cesspool.” He poked his head out, “It finally stopped raining.”
“Course it has. Had to clear up to allow the heat of the day to cook us.”
Tarkington noted the edge in Henry’s voice. He’d been with him a long time and he knew it t
ook a lot to affect his mood negatively. He was the most even-keeled person he’d ever met. If he was losing it, God only knew how the other men were faring. He crawled from the hole and got to his feet. His boots sank in the mud as he stretched his back. Henry poked his head out and tried to hand him the coffee cup. Tarkington shook his head, “Finish it.”
The meadow had become a quagmire during the night. None of his squad had been slated for guard duty, but he doubted anyone had got any sleep. “Jesus, what a mess,” he muttered.
Rather than disturb the men, he made his way back to the HQ tent. Every step, his boots sank into the ground and accumulated piles of sticky mud. Soon it felt as though he was carrying ten extra pounds of muck. By the time he got to the tent, he was out of breath and sweating. What a lovely place.
Entering the tent was like entering a different world; a dry one. Cots had been put out and the officers of Hotel Company were just rousting themselves, looking wholly rested. He looked down at his uniform, it was dripping wet, his boots leaving great clods of mud. He stopped, thinking he shouldn’t muddy the place up. He felt like he’d entered the farmhouse back home that his mother worked so hard to keep clean.
Lieutenant Govang saw him in the doorway. “Jesus, Sergeant. You fall in a mud-hole or something?”
Tarkington’s first impulse was to leave and not dirty anything else, like he was being scolded by his mother. That quickly passed as anger flushed his face bright red. His jaw rippled as he ground his teeth together. His men had suffered all night while they’d slept warm and dry on cots. He was beyond sleep-deprived and his fuse was short. “No, sir.” He barked, too loudly. “The entire field’s a mud-hole. We’ve been standing in it all goddamned night…sir.”
The outburst brought every officer’s eyes up. Tarkington opened and closed his fists, trying to get control of the emotions just beneath the surface.
Lieutenant Smoker got to his feet and walked quickly to his newly-minted Staff Sergeant. “Sergeant Tarkington, glad you’re here,” he said loudly. He put his hand on his shoulder and turned him back toward the door. He could feel Tarkington’s tense, corded muscles. He leaned forward and spoke softly so only he could hear. “Take it easy, soldier, before you do something stupid.” He went to the tent flap and stepped into the morning light, still guiding Tarkington. As soon as he stepped outside, his boot sank into the mud up to his ankle. He looked down then up at the sodden field. Soaked, miserable GIs dotted the field, moving like zombies. “Jesus,” he whispered. “I had no idea it rained that much. We’ve gotta get the men back to the road, find somewhere to dry out.” He slapped Tarkington’s shoulder. “Get ‘em up. I’ll talk to Captain Glister.”
Two hours later, they were marching north along the road. The mud and grime had dried and flaked off their faded uniforms like crusty old skin. The column moved slow. Tarkington wanted to find a dry place and lay down. He knew he wasn’t alone, but he kept the tired despair he felt inside off his face. He needed to stay upbeat for the men, who were at their wits end, especially the GIs of 2nd squad who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Mariveles. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other - that was all he could do.
They walked for an hour before they caught up to their trucks which were pulled to the side of the road. There was still a steady flow of refugees, but they weren’t as thick as they’d been the day before. At the trucks, officers were directing the men toward a trail leading west. Most of them didn’t notice, just followed the directions given until they found themselves on a pristine beach facing a placid China Sea.
The company spread out, filling the beach and looking around with confused expressions. Tarkington gazed out to sea. Getting a boat ride? His fuzzy mind asked. “What the fuck is this?” drawled Henry.
Captain Glister’s booming voice answered the question. “I want every soldier stripped naked and bathed along with your clothes. When you’re done doing that, the locals cooked up some fine hot chow.” He pointed toward the jungle. There was a group of Filipinos waving hello and grinning broadly. They labored over smoking fires and the smell of cooking fish filled the air. “Then find a good spot and rack out. We march again in five hours.” There was a roar of approval. The exhaustion fell from their shoulders and they stripped naked in a matter of seconds and trotted into the sea, turning the water muddy.
Tarkington’s smile grew until he felt his face would burst. He saw Lieutenant Smoker, twenty yards off, grinning and nodding. All thoughts he'd had of killing the officers in slow, agonizing ways left his mind. He gave Smoker an exaggerated salute, stripped naked and joined the men.
11
With the men’s morale restored, the remainder of the march north went smoother and faster. The closer they got to the Orion-Bagac line, the fewer refugees they encountered, making their progress even faster.
The company halted and the officers and NCOs were called forward. Tarkington and Winkleman stood in a small church outbuilding. There was a quiet hum of chatter until Captain Glister entered and someone called out, “Atten-chun!” The chatter instantly stopped and the men braced and straightened their ranks.
Captain Glister looked concerned. “Stand at ease.” He cleared his throat and looked them over, then nodded. “Here’s the situation. The Jap landings on the beaches south were a disaster for them. The few prisoners we captured told us the landings didn’t go as planned. They were poorly coordinated and most hit the wrong beaches. You can thank the PT boats for most of that. However, the thrust at the Orion-Bagac Line, which happened at the same time, was partially successful. At least one regiment of Japanese broke through at a weak point on the western portion of I corps and pushed into the Tuol River Valley. It appears they split into two different forces. The Filipino First Regular Division has surrounded them and essentially cut them off, but they still pose a threat, and take men and material away from the front-line.” He paused and looked at the assembled men, who hung on every word. “The Filipinos have asked for help and we’ve been volunteered.”
There was a hum of grumbling. Winkleman leaned toward Tarkington and whispered, “We the only unit left or something?”
Tarkington ignored him as Glister continued. “We’ll be in support, just watching the rear, plugging any holes the Japs might try to slip through. Able and Charlie will also be involved, but this’ll mostly be a Filipino action. As we’ve all seen, they’re more than capable. We’ll stay here tonight, then move out in the morning. That is all. Dismissed.”
After a good night’s sleep Tarkington woke feeling better than he had in days. There was a hot breakfast of eggs, toast and coffee. There was no talking as the men shoveled food in as if it were their last meal.
As they left the tiny town, the feeling was almost happy. It was 1st platoon’s turn to ride the trucks. Tarkington grinned at the bad jokes the men were telling. There was raucous laughter - something he hadn’t heard from them since before December 8th. Morale was high. They’d defeated the Japanese thrust at the beaches and doled out real damage. They were moving north instead of retreating south, and even though the newly established Orion-Bagac line was a fallback position, it felt like they were advancing for once. They felt like US Army soldiers again; proud and deadly.
The trucks pulled off the paved road and took a heavily pockmarked dirt road through the jungle. They climbed, taking treacherous hairpin switchbacks that quieted the men. Tarkington was near the tailgate and could see how close the drivers were getting to the sloped edges. It wasn’t sheer, but the trucks would definitely tip if they went off the edge. He was ready to bail out at the first hint of trouble.
Finally the road crested the hill and the trucks spread out on a lush plateau and stopped. The men were ordered to dismount. Tarkington didn’t like the openness. He immediately searched the sky for enemy planes. The trucks and troops would be an irresistible target for the roving planes of the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force. He felt better when he saw the bristling barrels of multiple 20mm anti-aircra
ft guns pointing skyward, manned by diligent Filipino troops.
Despite the defenses, he wanted the men out of field as soon as possible. He saw Lt. Smoker stretching his back. He’d been riding in the second truck’s cab. Tarkington ordered, “Assemble the men, I’m gonna talk with Lieutenant Smoker.” Winkleman nodded and called 2nd squad to him.
Smoker saw Tarkington coming and waved. He unfolded a map and spread it over the hood of the truck. His brow dripped sweat, splashed onto the paper and immediately evaporated. By the time Tarkington got there, he was folding the map back up. He pointed at the sloping hill a half mile away. It rose up from a ravine full of dense jungle. “That ravine over there’s the Tuol river. Far as I can tell the Japs are beyond it, dug into that hill. Looks like they can see every little thing we do.” Tarkington nodded and scanned the sky again. Smoker noticed and nodded. “I know. We’re exposed. Get your squad to the trees over there, see if it’s good ground for the trucks.”
Tarkington nodded, careful not to salute for fear of Japanese snipers. He trotted back to 2nd squad. “Let’s move to the trees, double time.” He trotted off, leading the men the two-hundred yards. It felt good to shake the stiffness from his legs and by the time he got to the cover he was breathing hard and sweating. After sitting for most of the day, it was invigorating.
His senses peaked, searching for some sign of the enemy in the jungle. He waved, getting Henry’s attention. He signaled him forward and his new scout nodded and moved. Henry went out of sight but soon reappeared and gave Tarkington a thumbs up.
Tarkington stood. “Move into cover and set up a perimeter.” He searched for his other scout. “Raker, run back and tell Lieutenant Smoker to send the trucks. The ground’s solid and there’s room for the trucks between the trees.” Raker nodded and hustled off.
