Tark's Ticks

by Chris Glatte

  “Us? Your family knows about us?”

  “Course they do. I talk about all you cusses in my letters. Everyone in the whole division has an open invitation anytime. We ain’t got much, but we’re happy to share.”

  “Even the rooster?”

  He nodded and grinned, “Especially the damned rooster.”

  Late in the evening, as the light was fading, the river’s surface reflected the sky and turned a soft amber. Tarkington gathered 2nd squad a few yards back from their foxholes. They left everything that would make noise, or slow them down and were left with knives, rifles, grenades and ammo.

  Tarkington looked around the circle. They’d been through a lot together and would undoubtedly go through a lot more. Most of them, he’d known for over a year - some attached later - but all of them were good soldiers. They’d all hardened since December, when they’d been well-trained but untested. Now they were survivors. Through sheer grit, skill and just plain luck, they were still alive and on the line.

  He kept his voice low, “Tonight is something different. The name of the game is stealth. PFC Henry and Raker, along with Eduardo and Nunes, will lead and switch-off as needed.” Eduardo and Nunes both smiled broadly and Tarkington continued. “Our mission is to find and kill the enemy without alerting them to our presence.”

  He looked around the circle. Men were passing around a blackened piece of burnt cork and rubbing it on their faces and the backs of their hands. With each swipe, they looked more and more deadly. “Unlike the suicide squad from last night, I intend to kill quietly and live to fight another day.” Heads nodded. “When we find the enemy, we’ll only attack if we’re sure we can get away with it.” He pointed at Stollman and Vick. “If things go south, I want you ready to deal heavy fire to cover our retreat, then I want you both on our heels. If they’re close enough, chuck a grenade to keep their heads down.” They both nodded.

  “We’ll set up a rally point once we’re across the river. If you get split up, get to the rally point and wait. We don’t want to go looking for someone who’s already safely across. I wouldn’t recommend coming back across the river until daylight anyway. Lieutenant Smoker knows we're out there and won’t fire on anyone unless he’s absolutely sure it’s Japs, but after last night, everyone’s jumpy.”

  There were nodding heads all around. Henry asked, “Who does the killing?”

  Tarkington pursed his lips and pointed at himself. “I’ll make the final call when we find the enemy.” He looked at each man, “No one does any killing unless it’s a life or death situation.” The men nodded. “Okay,” he looked at the scratched face of his watch. “We’ll move upriver and cross at a shallow spot that Raker found. Remember, it’s gonna be darker than the inside of a miner’s ass, so stay in single file, at arm’s length apart.” He stood and made sure his magazine was snug in the receiver, checked it was on safe and pulled back the bolt. “Let’s go, then.”

  Eduardo and Nunes sprang up, followed closely by PFC Raker and Henry. The rest of the men filed in behind one another and moved upstream. The air was hot, humid and thick. The late evening chorus of insects and jungle animals was deafening. They passed foxholes and nodded to their comrades. Some looked on longingly, but most were happy to be staying in the relative safety of their foxholes.

  PFC Raker led them upstream to the shallows. It wasn’t fully dark, but Tarkington nodded and the first five GIs stepped into the river while the other five covered them. Once across, the first group spread out and, after thirty seconds, waved the others across. Tarkington led the second group. The Tuol River only came up to mid-shin here and was easy to walk through.

  Once across, he crouched beside Henry and took a deep breath. They’d only moved across the river but it felt like they’d entered enemy territory. He tapped Henry’s shoulder and he moved out, followed closely by Eduardo, then Raker and Nunes. Tarkington waited as more soldiers streamed past, then followed when he figured half the squad was past. He heard the rest fall in behind and he concentrated on the surrounding jungle.

  Like the opposite bank, the jungle was thickest near the river but quickly thinned out. Soon the walking was easy. They pushed through tall grasses and thickets until the ground started gently sloping uphill. There was a brief flurry of gunfire from up the slope, marking where the Japanese were. The line of GIs stopped, like a squeezing accordion, then adjusted.

  Tarkington waited while his scouts listened and evaluated the best way to continue. A minute passed before the line moved again, even slower now. He swept his Thompson side to side, searching for anything which would help him identify an ambush.

  The firing stopped and the night took on an unnatural silence. The insects slowly resumed their nocturnal lives, until it was a chorus of chirps, whistles and buzzes again.

  Without the firing, they were steering blind. Coming out here seemed like a good idea from the relative safety of the far bank, but now he was out here, he wondered. Doubts flashed in his mind. These were his men, under his command. Sure they’d volunteered, but what choice did they really have? If they refused, they’d become outsiders. He suddenly felt reckless; putting the men’s lives at risk for no reason. He felt the doubt rising up, trying to bend his will.

  His inner voice reprimanded him, remembering the slaughter the Japanese had wrought since December. They were responsible for the situation. His men were caught up in it. It wasn’t fair, but it was the way it was and there was no getting around that. They were fighting a losing battle, but by taking the fight to the enemy they were simply risking an earlier death, postponing what he was convinced would ultimately be a poor outcome.

  Even if the rumored, mile-long resupply was on its way, which he doubted, they’d still be hard-pressed to push the Japanese off Luzon. From all accounts the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor caught the US Navy with their pants down. Even if only half the scuttlebutt he’d heard about losses were true, they’d been dealt a huge blow, perhaps a knockout blow. A resupply would have to come by sea, and without a Navy how would that be possible?

  His mind came back to reality when he nearly ran into the back of PFC Skinner’s sweat-soaked back. He crouched and fanned his weapon side to side. Skinner tapped his leg and he squinted at him through the darkness. Skinner indicated they wanted him up front.

  Tarkington stepped to the side and moved past the line of crouching men. He could see their shining, alert eyes as he passed and he felt pride swell in his chest. These were fine soldiers. Tark’s Ticks, the name flashed in his mind without warning and he shook his head, but had to admit he liked the sound of it.

  When he got close, he noticed his scouts on their bellies. He lay down slowly, careful not to make noise and crawled forward. He tapped someone’s boot and the soldier, he thought it was Raker, moved sideways and Tarkington moved into the space. When he was beside Raker, he saw Henry ahead a few more feet and moved to his side. Once there, Henry slowly moved his hand and held up two fingers then pointed. Tarkington could feel the tension which seemed to emanate from his lead scout. That, combined with his slow, careful movements, told him they were very close to the enemy.

  Tarkington focused all his senses forward, trying to see, or sense where they were. Finally he noticed a slight movement and he nearly stopped breathing when he realized they were only fifteen feet from two round mounds which could only be the pith helmets of Japanese soldiers. He guessed he was seeing the rear guard of the main Japanese force. He couldn’t tell which way they were looking, or if they were even awake, but he froze in place and felt his heart rate increase to what he thought must be unhealthy levels.

  At glacial pace, he moved his head until he was looking at Henry who was staring back at him only inches away. Tarkington pushed himself backwards an inch and Henry understood he wanted to withdraw, and he followed suit.

  It took nearly ten minutes before they were finally far enough away to move to crouches. Tarkington wiped the sweat and grime from his face, feeling like he’d just run an ult
ra slow marathon. They moved back another thirty yards before huddling up. In whispered, one-sided conversation he told the others what they’d found. He addressed Eduardo and Nunes. “You think you could check for any more rear guards without being seen?”

  They both nodded enthusiastically and Eduardo whispered, “No problem, Tark.”

  Tarkington saw his huge smile and smiled back. “No heroics, just see if there are any more and get back here as quickly as you can.” Each Filipino nodded and moved in opposite directions, melting into the jungle like soundless ghosts. The rest of the squad created a defensive perimeter.

  Once the Filipinos were out of sight, Raker whispered, “We can take that rear guard out without alerting anyone.”

  Tarkington nodded his agreement. He thought so too but wanted to be sure there were no surprises. Fifteen minutes passed before Eduardo suddenly appeared like a ghost from the right. Henry was the first to notice him, but if he’d been an enemy soldier he would’ve gotten the jump on them easily. Tarkington was once again glad he was on his side.

  A minute later Nunes slithered into sight. The perimeter let them in, then collapsed inward, so they could all hear. Eduardo spoke, “One more enemy far that way,” he pointed the way he’d gone.

  “Far enough away not to see us move on his pals?”

  Eduardo nodded emphatically. “Far. No hear us.” They all looked at Nunes who simply shook his head. There was no one that way.

  Tarkington nodded and took a deep breath. The situation was suddenly stark, real and terrifying. “Okay. We move on the two nearest Japs.”

  PFC Vick scooted forward and eagerly whispered, “I’ll do it.”

  The corners of Tarkington’s mouth turned down. He understood Vick had lost his closest friend, Private First Class Crown, just a few hundred yards up the hill from where they crouched. He shook his head, “You need to stick with Stolly and the BAR. You’re our cover if this goes bad.” Vick didn’t respond, but Tarkington could tell he was bitter.

  He looked around the circle. He couldn’t clearly see their expressions, but none of them were obviously shrinking from the prospects of killing the Japanese. “Me and Henry will do it, backed up by Eduardo and Nunes.” No one spoke. He was in charge and the decision had been made. “We’ll move left and come at them from the side. The rest of you, be ready, but know we might be running straight at you if something goes wrong.” He paused, making it up as he went along. “We’ll yell ‘Alamo’ if that happens. Clear?” There was nodding all around. He took a deep breath and looked at his watch. He could hardly see the luminescent dials through the scratched surface. “We’ll wait an hour. Hopefully they’ll get sleepy.”

  17

  Eduardo and Nunes unslung their long rifles and propped them against a tree. Tarkington looked at Henry and shook his head. He couldn’t see moving without his trusty Thompson. He slung it crosswise across his back and cinched down the sling until he was satisfied it wouldn’t move and make noise. The hour had passed slow as molasses. The night had cooled slightly and despite the clear skies and shining stars, Tarkington thought it was darker than normal.

  An uncontrollable shiver coursed through him, not from the slight temperature change, but the coming action. He reached for his knife and drew it in a smooth motion. The heavy blade felt good in his hand. He’d decided he didn’t want to wait to draw it in case the snick of the metal leaving the leather sheath alerted his prey. He’d crawl with it drawn and ready to deal death.

  He imagined how it would go, thinking back to his training. They’d covered hand-to-hand combat, mostly with bayonets and rifles, but they’d also practiced knife fighting. He remembered the British instructor, a specialist brought in for the occasion, telling them that the best way to win a knife fight was to bring a gun.

  They’d practiced with partially-scorched wooden knives. The charcoaled edges marked the opponent, telling them if they’d been stabbed or sliced. He remembered that by the end, they were all covered with black marks and slices. He remembered the Brit holding one of the GI's arms out for inspection after he’d successfully driven his wooden blade in for a kill thrust. The GI’s arms were marked with scores of black marks. ‘Though he killed the opponent, he’ll be out of commission for weeks healing all these cuts and slashes. Moral of the story: no one wins in a knife fight.’ He gulped against a suddenly dry throat. Can’t let it come to that. It’s all in the sneak.

  He assessed himself. His bladder was empty and his bowels were calm. He looked at the Filipinos and his scouts, who stared back. He nodded and tapped Eduardo, who turned and moved past the loose perimeter and into the darkness with Nunes close behind and to the side. Henry and Tarkington followed, moving side by side.

  They moved slowly and silently for what Tarkington thought to be forty yards, before the Filipinos stopped and sat on their haunches. Sweat was pouring off Tarkington’s nose and he wished he’d brought a canteen. Despite the weight and noise, it was a mistake not to have brought water. He silently cursed himself and vowed not to make that mistake again. He glanced over at Henry who seemed calm and cool. Has he ever been flustered? He was glad to have him by his side.

  Eduardo pointed right, indicating the Japanese were that way. Henry looked at Tarkington, who nodded and, both staying in crouches, moved slowly. Tarkington made sure of each step, placing his foot, gradually weighting it, trying to feel for anything beneath his sole that could make noise.

  After ten excruciating yards, Henry stopped and lowered himself to his belly and pulled his knife silently from the sheath. Tarkington wished he hadn’t pulled his knife early. His hand was sweaty, the grip was wet and he had to concentrate to keep from dropping it. Another fuck up, he thought.

  He glanced back and was shocked to see Eduardo and Nunes only feet behind him, smiling. Their knives were still sheathed. He wondered if he should change the plan, let them do the killing.

  Like Henry, they were used to using their knives. Before the Japanese banzai attack a few days before, he’d never used a knife for anything but skinning deer and other innocuous chores. Henry told him tales of having to stab alligators on the bayou when they were too close for a safe gunshot. It didn’t happen every day, but it happened enough that he’d learned how to handle a knife with skill. Eduardo and Nunes looked like they’d been doing similar things far more often in the jungles of Luzon. Why the hell’d I volunteer myself for this? He knew the answer: he wouldn’t ask his men to do anything he wouldn’t do first. Tark’s Ticks, he thought.

  He slid to his belly and slithered forward until he and Henry were beside each other. Henry’s eyes sparkled in the night and Tarkington followed his gaze and saw the dim silhouette of a Japanese helmet and shoulders. He was only twelve feet away, facing down the hill.

  He thought they must be on shifts; the other soldier must be sleeping in the bottom of the hole. His sphincter tightened. What if he’s taking a piss and is on his way back right now? He got control of his pounding heart, pushing the fear down with a concerted effort. He’d deal with whatever hand he was dealt.

  Henry moved left and Tarkington followed, wanting to come at them from behind. He felt something large crawl over the sleeve of his right arm. It wasn’t the first encounter that night with creepy-crawlies, indeed it was nearly constant, but this was something altogether different. This had weight and he knew immediately it was some kind of snake.

  Most of the snakes on Luzon were deadly poisonous. He froze and felt his sweat turn cold and prickly on his forehead. The urge to fling whatever was crossing over his arm was nearly overwhelming. He focused on the snake, trying to see the skin design and color, hoping to God it wasn’t a King Cobra.

  It moved across his right arm and continued over his left. He suddenly felt the weight of it and he realized his arms were pinned. He decided it had to be a python. They could grow to twenty feet and weigh three hundred pounds. What would he do if it started wrapping itself around his warm body? He’d heard many stories about man-eating pythons
. They were a reality here.

  He flexed his hand, holding the knife. Could he kill it without making too much noise? No way, he decided, if he stabbed it, the thing would thrash around making it sound like the entire forest was coming down. The thing was huge, and besides, he was pinned.

  The snake continued moving over his arms. He could feel the scales as its thousands of bandy muscles flexed and relaxed, propelling it across the jungle floor. He desperately looked for Henry, but he was out of sight.

  He couldn’t decide what he was more afraid of: the snake or the Japanese soldier only feet away. Would he rather be shot, or crushed and swallowed whole? Neither were at the top of his list.

  Finally he felt the weight lessen on his right arm as the end of the snake neared. The thing must be twenty feet long. The tail passed over his arm and blood coursed back into his hand, sending painful pins and needles into his numb hand. He gripped the knife handle, barely feeling it. Shit, how will this work? He flexed both hands trying to force feeling back into them. He dared a glance back, but Eduardo and Nunes were gone. He suddenly felt very alone. He brought his gaze back to the Japanese soldier, still staring off into the jungle, oblivious to what was transpiring only feet away.

  A quick movement caught Tarkington’s attention and he saw Henry’s silhouette lunge forward like a striking cobra. The Japanese soldier suddenly arched backward as the two shadows came together. There was a sickening gurgling sound as the soldier’s throat was cut and his head nearly severed from his shoulders. There was a splash as though a bucket of water had spilled. Another shadow joined the first and there was a yelp which was snuffed out almost as soon as it started.