Tark's Ticks

by Chris Glatte

  Tarkington crawled forward, the feeling in his hands finally coming back. He got to the edge of the hole, ready to take on whatever awaited him. He didn’t see anything but blackness as he gazed into the hole and, for an instant, thought everyone had simply disappeared, but the iron smell of blood and shit told him there’d been violent death moments before.

  Henry suddenly popped up, inches from his face. He looked grim in the dim light of the stars. Eduardo popped up beside him, his teeth white as he smiled. He disappeared back into the hole and Tarkington couldn’t see what he was doing but heard the slicing of cartilage and soon he popped up and held up a severed ear, his grin even wider.

  Henry ignored him, hopped out of the hole and crouched beside Tarkington. “Couldn’t wait for you to finish playing with the snake.”

  Nunes appeared from their left, grinning and dragging something huge, long and lifeless. Tarkington shook his head and felt the stress of the night fall off his shoulders, like releasing a coat of iron. He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing like a maniac. It wasn’t mirth, but the overwhelming relief of tension. He felt like he’d been blown up to bursting and at the last second before exploding someone hit a pressure valve relieving the stress.

  He got control of himself and whispered, “Let’s get outta here.”

  Getting back to the rest of the squad took a lot less time. The four of them still moved carefully, but made sure they weren’t too quiet. They didn’t want to startle a jumpy GI and get shot by friendly forces.

  Once Tarkington was back among the men, he let himself relax slightly. He took a deep breath and blew it out slow, trying to force his muscles to relax. He still felt a bit wound up. The slow sneak, the snake, the kill, it was a lot of stress and they were still a long way from friendly forces.

  He sat down and leaned against a tree, silently berating himself again for not bringing water.

  Winkleman sat next to him and tilted his helmet back. He handed Tarkington an unfamiliar canteen. He took it gratefully and tilted his head. Winkleman saw his questioning motion and whispered, “Henry took it off the dead Jap. Said you’d probably want a slug.”

  Tarkington shook his head, “Stupid not to take water out here.” He unscrewed the lid, briefly thought about the previous owner and took a gulp. It tasted wondrous as it coated his parched throat. He wanted to knock the whole thing back but forced himself to stop. “How’re the men doing? Any trouble?”

  Winkleman shook his head, “No problem. They want in on the action.” Tarkington nodded but wasn’t sure he ever wanted an experience like the one he just had. Winkleman asked, “What now?”

  Tarkington looked at his watch. He couldn’t believe it was already two AM. “Suppose we should move back to the river. Set up an ambush in case the Japs come looking for us once they find their men.”

  Winkleman nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll inform the men.” He was about to move off, but stopped and asked, “What was it like? I mean, using the knife.”

  Tarkington pushed himself up and faced Winkleman. “I was pinned down by a fucking python. Henry and Eduardo did it.” Tarkington couldn’t see his facial expression, but the tilt of his head told him he wanted the entire story later.

  They were soon moving back down the hill in single file. With each step away from the enemy, Tarkington felt better and better.

  They were nearly at the river when gunfire broke out up the hill again. Everyone stopped and crouched but only briefly, before resuming their march.

  At the river, Tarkington gathered the men and whispered. “I’ve been thinking, the Japs might try to pursue us once they find their men. Our path would be easy to follow. Let’s move back to the base of the hill, staying off the path we just made. We’ll set up an ambush and wait until mid-morning.” He wanted to apologize for having them leave their water, but an apology would only sow doubt in his leadership skills. “If they don’t come by then, we’ll get our asses back across the river.” The men nodded enthusiastically.

  They stayed well off the path and moved parallel to it. When they got to the beginning of the hill, Tarkington directed them to spread out in the shape of an 'L'. Stolly and Vick set up on the bottom part of the 'L', the BAR muzzle pointed up the trail they’d created. If the Japs came, they’d follow the trail and walk right into the ambush. The BAR would begin the killing and the riflemen would finish the job.

  The rest of the night passed slowly. Tarkington was on his back looking up at the stars through palm treetops, which swayed gently in a tropical breeze. Before the war, he thought Luzon was paradise. Sure it was hot, and when it rained, it really rained, and there were about a hundred different kinds of lethal snakes, but the different shades of green, the clear, warm water, the star-filled nights, made it all worth it. Since the war his views had changed a bit, but it was still undeniably beautiful.

  He squinted at his watch. It would be light soon. He took one last look skyward and noticed the black sky wasn’t quite as black as it had been. The night was losing its tight grasp, giving way to the coming day. Soon the stars would fade until they disappeared.

  He rolled onto his stomach and pointed his Thompson’s muzzle up the trail. He wondered who would find the dead soldiers. Would it be the other rear guard, or someone from the main force, coming to relieve them? He wondered how the corpses would look after a few hours simmering in the hole. Had they been ravaged by wild animals? He thought about the python. He shuddered remembering the feel of the snake on his arm. The weight.

  He looked for the Filipinos, somewhere to his left, further up the ‘L’. Nunes had killed the python and was more excited about it than killing the Japs. He had lugged the two-hundred-pound beast all the way to the river, intent on eating it as soon as he was able to start a fire. Tarkington supposed it would damned near feed the entire platoon. Nunes reluctantly left it beside the river, hoping another predator wouldn't run off with it.

  The fighting up the hill suddenly intensified as the sun rose over the horizon and heated the air. Tarkington cursed his water situation for the hundredth time. He was parched and was sure the rest of the men were too, but wouldn’t let on. He squinted up the hill and decided that, if the Japs were attacking 3rd platoon, they probably weren’t concerned about their rear-guard and weren’t heading his way.

  He’d made up his mind and was about to pass the word to wrap it up and move out when he heard the distinct sound of metal scraping on metal. He froze, scanning the hillside, but saw nothing. He could feel the tension of the men around him rising and knew he hadn’t imagined it. They were coming.

  With the continued engagement up the hill, he doubted it was 3rd platoon. It was unlikely they’d broken through and were making a dash to the river. His men knew not to fire until he opened up first, to be quickly followed by the BAR.

  He watched the trail, keeping his head down, peering from beneath the rim of his helmet, which he’d decorated with twigs and leaves. The men were similarly camouflaged, virtually invisible.

  Finally he saw movement. He forced himself to remain calm, trying to keep his breathing and heart rate in check. He saw the soldier emerge from behind a tree. He took a careful step, stopped and studied the surroundings before taking another step. He followed the trail, kneeling occasionally to study the tracks, then moving again.

  He was halfway into the ambush before Tarkington saw the second Japanese soldier. He was moving less cautiously, but careful not to get too close to the lead scout. There were soldiers loosely spread out behind him. They had weeds sticking from their helmets and held long rifles. Tarkington noticed one man held a sub-machine gun and wore a soft hat rather than the pith helmet of the foot soldier. He’d kill him first.

  Tarkington didn’t dare breathe as the scout passed only feet from where he lay. He had no doubt the scout would be killed in the first volley of bullets from the BAR, so he ignored him.

  With the scout past he moved his barrel slightly, aiming in the general direction of the officer. H
e took a breath and blew it out slow, allowing his fingertip to touch the trigger. He moved the muzzle the rest of the way and pulled the trigger. The Japanese soldier was only yards away and Tarkington saw his chest explode with bright blood as the .45 caliber bullets impacted and blew out his back.

  The BAR opened up and it, combined with the rifle shots from the rest of the GIs, was deafening. Tarkington swept his muzzle, firing into bodies until his 20-round magazine emptied. The BAR’s bark stopped at almost the same time. Tarkington released the mag and added a new one he had laid out nearby. He put the stock to his shoulder and searched for more targets. Rifles continued to fire as the GIs worked their bolt actions. There were no more obvious targets but Tarkington fired into a nearby soldier trying to crawl away. His bullets walked up his back sending gouts of blood and he stopped moving.

  Tarkington swept his smoking muzzle searching but saw nothing living. “Cease fire, cease fire,” he yelled and the firing petered out.

  GIs got to their feet and were suddenly visible and obvious. Nunes and Eduardo sprang forward, their knives out, ready to collect trophies. Sergeant Winkleman called, “Give me a head count.”

  Tarkington answered, “One okay,” and listened as all eight men answered. He breathed a sigh of relief. No one was hit. He saw Raker move forward near the officer he’d shot. “Raker, see if that Jap officer's got anything useful on him.”

  Raker nodded and got onto his haunches, balancing his rifle across his legs and went through his pockets. Tarkington walked past the two nearby Japanese riflemen. Both were dead, staring straight up, their grisly wounds seeping blood through their uniforms. By the time he got to Raker, he had a handful of papers and what looked like a crude map. He shrugged and handed it to Tarkington who looked it over briefly and shoved it all into a pocket.

  Raker pushed the dead officer onto his belly, exposing the gaping wounds in his back. The .45 caliber bullets left dime sized entry holes but the exit wounds took large chunks of meat and bone. The small backpack was soaked red. Raker opened it and pulled out various items, the last being a tattered American flag. He held it up, “Bastards,” he muttered and shoved it into his pocket.

  Sergeant Winkleman hustled down the path, stepping over bodies. “I count seven dead. When the firing started there were still at least three that were out of the ambush. We fired on ‘em anyway, but they probably made it.”

  Tarkington nodded, “Alright. Collect their rifles, we’ll dump ‘em in the river as we cross.” He raised his voice, “Move out.”

  18

  When Tarkington was done briefing Lt. Smoker, he smiled. “Well, I’d say that was a successful mission, Tark. Nine Nips KIA and not a scratch on any of ya.” He held up the documents and map, “You even managed to bring me something to pass up to Captain Glister.”

  Tarkington nodded and pointed at the documents. “Since we weren’t supposed to be out there, how you gonna explain those?”

  “The Captain won’t argue with success. I’m the officer in charge down here, he’ll defer to my decisions.” Winkleman was grinning and shaking his head trying not to laugh. “What’s so damned funny, Sergeant?”

  Winkleman straightened but couldn’t keep the smile from showing. “Sorry, sir. I’m just thinking about our fearless squad leader pinned down by a damned snake a few feet from a Jap.” He shook his head and laughed. “I woulda given up a whole year’s pay to have seen that.”

  Tarkington glowered and shook his head, but couldn’t keep the smile from coming. “Not good, no doubt about it.” He laughed. “I wasn’t sure what was gonna happen.” He held up a hand, “On the one hand, eaten,” he held up the other, “on the other, shot. It wasn’t ideal.”

  Lieutenant Smoker pointed toward the flat ground behind them. “Nunes insisted on a fire, he’s cooking snake steaks right now. Promised he could keep it smokeless.” He looked that way. “Eduardo and Nunes are good men.” He shook his head, “but we can’t let ‘em keep taking ears for trophies.”

  Tarkington shrugged, “Better’n scrotums, I guess.”

  They all laughed then Smoker got serious, “Make ‘em curb that shit, Tark. It’s not civilized.”

  Tarkington nodded. “I’ll talk to them, sir.”

  Around noon, 3rd platoon showed up across the river. 1st platoon was ready, having seen movement, but immediately recognized their comrades. They stood in their foxholes and waved and yelled for them to cross.

  Lieutenant Smoker shook hands with Lieutenant Grunwald while slapping him on the back. “Damn good to see you, Max.” Lt. Grunwald smiled and nodded despite his obvious exhaustion. “How’d you break out? I didn’t hear a firefight.”

  Grunwald shrugged, “We heard a brief but intense battle below us this morning. I sent my scouts to check it out and discovered there weren’t any Japs left. They’d bugged out. The Filipinos are pushing forward and think they’ll have this pocket dealt with by the end of the day.”

  Smoker nodded. “You heard second squad’s ambush. They were out there last night.”

  Grunwald nodded, “We came across the bodies. Japs must’ve been thin and thought another force was coming up behind ‘em, I guess.”

  “Captain Glister’s gonna want to debrief you I’m sure, but you and your men look hungry.”

  Grunwald looked at him hopefully. “Yeah, we’ve been on half rations.”

  Smoker slapped his back and guided him toward the rear, “Think your men would enjoy a two-hundred-pound python?”

  Grunwald face turned sour, “Aw shit. I thought you meant something good. Snake?”

  Smoker grinned, “I haven’t tried it yet, but the Filipinos sure are excited about it.” The dull thunder of battle rolled down from the hill and Grunwald and Smoker stopped and looked. “Sounds like Major Durante’s found the Japs.”

  Grunwald nodded. “I don’t know how those guys have anything left. The Japs kept up constant pressure. Those men, and particularly Durante, haven’t slept more than a coupla minutes for days now.”

  Smoker shrugged, “Guess that goes for the Japs too then.”

  “Japs too…” His eyes glazed as he thought about the past days, “They’re fanatics. Thank God they ran out of mortar shells. They can’t have much ammo left. We had to keep a constant watch - they were sneaking around with their damned knives all night.” He looked down. “Lost a few men that first night.” He looked up and Lt. Smoker could see he was struggling. “We learned to stay awake after that. Slept during the day when we could.” The intensity of the firing increased. “Hope they kill every last one of those sons-of-bitches.” His tone was dangerous and filled with hatred.

  Smoker nodded, “Me too. Me too.”

  They kept a few men on the line and rotated the watch so everyone got a chance to try the snake. Grunwald’s men, once they took a bite, attacked the thick steaks with abandon. Nunes and Eduardo spiced the meat with various plants they found and salt tabs were ground up and sprinkled on the sizzling meat. They’d spread the fire, until there was a long section of coals. They’d fashioned stout limbs and sections of the snake were draped over them. The meat sizzled and dripped juices onto the coals, causing mini-eruptions of flame to lick and darken the meat.

  The mood lightened quickly as bellies filled and the GIs of 3rd platoon finally felt safe. The past few days' stress dropped from their shoulders and they joked, burped, farted and ate.

  Occasionally, someone would stand abruptly, clutch their ass and bolt into the privacy of the jungle to expel their bowels. Diarrhea was rampant and many men had already been taken off the line with dysentery. It was a problem that could only be fixed by getting out of the jungle, but they all knew that wasn’t going to happen. It was a reality they had to live with every day.

  The GIs of 1st platoon manned the foxholes along the river bank while the men of 3rd platoon slept. With their bellies filled, and in a relatively safe area, Lt. Grunwald ordered his men to sleep before moving up the hill to report to Captain Glister. Smoker knew Glister mus
t be aching for a report, since 3rd platoon’s radio had stopped working the day before, but he understood Grunwald’s need to take care of his men first.

  They didn’t need to be told twice. They simply dropped where they were and the sounds of snoring and deep breathing soon followed. Grunwald himself was propped against a tree with his helmet pulled over his eyes, breathing deep and steady.

  Staff Sergeant Tarkington stood beside Lt. Smoker looking the men over. “They’ve been through hell and back.”

  “Yeah, and unfortunately there’s no end in sight.” He lifted his head to the hill listening to the distant sounds of gunfire. It was more sporadic now and further away. “Sounds like this pocket of Japs are through though.”

  Tarkington followed his gaze. “You think a resupply’s coming, sir? A mile-long line of ships?”

  The silence stretched and Tarkington thought perhaps he’d overstepped his bounds. Finally he answered, “Doesn’t seem possible, but it’s the only thing keeping the men’s morale up.” He looked Tarkington in the eye, “Without hope, this whole thing’ll collapse in a week.” He adjusted his stance and leaned in, “Don’t tell the men anything different. That’s an order.”

  Tarkington stiffened, “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “How’re your men doing after the long night?”

  Tarkington nodded, “Fine, sir. They slept most of the morning and the meal made ‘em sleepy again, but they’re ready for whatever’s next.”

  Smoker grinned, “Tark’s Ticks.” He looked for a reaction.