by Chris Glatte
There was another mortar attack two hours later. Neither had done damage except to their sleep.
Just before the sun came up, Tarkington noticed PFC Rabowski hustling toward him in a crouch. Seeing him reminded him of the sword. There hadn’t been an opportunity to make the switch yet. As he got closer, Tarkington wondered if he were coming with news about the operation, but realized the young man wouldn’t know he knew of his involvement.
He stopped at the edge of the hole and nervously looked beyond, towards the killing zone, which was getting lighter by the second. He pulled his eyes away and whispered, “Lieutenant Smoker wants to see you and Sergeant Winkleman, Staff Sergeant.” Since being reprimanded, he followed protocols when dealing with 2nd squad’s leader.
“Thank you, Private.” He pointed further down the line, “Winkleman’s two holes down.” The scrawny kid was about to leave but Tarkington grabbed his arm and Rabowski turned. Tarkington saw a flash of anger, which quickly disappeared. Kid doesn’t like being grabbed. He released his grip. “How’s my sword doing?”
Rabowski’s eyes grew to saucers and he sputtered, “S - Sword? What sword, Sarge?”
Tarkington leaned in closer. “When you gonna make the switch?”
Rabowski looked terrified thinking it was some kind of trick. He looked at Henry who ignored him, then searched the other holes, looking for Skinner, no doubt. He was a couple of holes down. Too far to see. He licked his lips and whispered, “Soon.” He looked side to side, conspiratorially. “Soon as I can, I will. He just unpacked it and put it on the little stand he made.”
Tarkington nodded and pushed him on his way. He grumbled to Henry, “Wonder what he wants now.”
He walked on stiff legs back toward officer country. Lt. Smoker was sitting on a rock, shaking dirt from the inside of his boots, when he found him. Tarkington snapped off a quick salute, figuring it was safe to do so, this far from the line and possible snipers. “Reporting as ordered, sir.” He pointed over his shoulder, “Sergeant Winkleman’s right behind me.”
Smoker finished tapping out his boot and slipped it on but didn’t buckle it. He motioned when he saw Winkleman. “Come in. I have something I wanna discuss with you.” Tarkington nodded and noticed PFC Rabowski watching him. He grinned and followed Smoker. “Have a seat on my cot, gentlemen.”
Tarkington and Winkleman removed their helmets and sat. It was all Tarkington could do not to lay down on the comfy cot and drift off to sleep. He noticed the samurai sword spanning between two carved pieces of ornate wood. The scabbard fit perfectly in the carved wood notches. It looked like it was on display in a museum.
Lieutenant Smoker saw him looking. “Found the holder in a local shop while we were moving north. Wondrous how well it fits.”
“Looks like you’re taking good care of it for me, sir,” Tarkington said trying to hide the sarcasm and failing.
“That’s not why I brought you two here, though.” Both sergeants focused on their commanding officer. It never ceased to amaze Tarkington how well-groomed he always was. It didn’t matter if they were marching or fighting, he always seemed to be coiffed and freshly-shaved. Tarkington felt his own scruff and immediately regretted not shaving before coming. “I brought you here to discuss another night mission.”
All thoughts of shaving and stealing back the sword disappeared. He glanced at Winkleman, “We’re listening.”
“Those mortars last night... it happens every night somewhere along the line. Lieutenant Meyer from Able Company told me they’ve been sticking to the same pattern for the past two weeks. They harass the same section for two nights, then move somewhere else randomly, but they always do two nights in a row.” He looked at them expectantly. Both sergeants stared back, waiting for more. “Don’t you see? Last night they hit our section. If they stick to routine, they’ll do it again tonight. If you guys are out there waiting, you can intercept them.”
Tarkington leaned back and considered. “What’s the range on those things? I mean, they might be well behind the lines, firing from the middle of a full regiment of Japs for all we know.”
“Lieutenant Meyer says they found where they fired from a week ago. Found the trampled grass from the base plates. They were only a couple hundred yards back.”
Tarkington nodded, “Sounds reasonable they’d pull the same thing. Think they use the same spot each time?” Smoker shrugged, “If we could find the spot they used last night we could stake it out and wait for them to come back.” He grinned, “Be like taking candy from a baby.”
The GIs of 2nd squad moved beyond the lines an hour before dark in the hopes of finding where the Japanese mortar crew fired from the night before. Tarkington had little hope they’d be able to find the spot before darkness, but figured the risk of moving in daylight outweighed the chance.
They carried only what they needed: weapons, ammo and this time, water. They’d been given all the ammo they wanted and Tarkington made sure each man had two grenades. They were in short supply but since they were putting their asses out there it was warranted.
He’d briefed the men on how he wanted the operation to work. They’d move beyond the line and search for the firing position. If they found it they’d set up an ambush and wait. If they didn’t find it they’d hunker down and wait until the fireworks started, then move to contact. He made it clear he wanted to use grenades to keep any nearby Japanese from honing in on their rifle shots. It was to be a quick strike and a quick retreat, and only happen if everything looked good; in other words, if it looked like they could pull it off.
They moved slowly, following the Filipinos and scouts. Besides the mortar attacks, there’d been no enemy contact since the pockets were annihilated. Tarkington hoped this wouldn't be the night the Japs decided to move into their forward positions and attack.
Once they were beyond the cleared killing-field and into the jungle, the remaining daylight seemed to dim by half. They moved in an arrowhead shape with PFC Henry at the tip and Tarkington in the middle.
Tarkington saw PFC Stollman hold up a closed fist and crouch. He did the same, signaling the men behind. They’d only moved fifty-yards into the jungle. If Henry was stopping this soon, he’d spotted something.
Staying in a crouch, Tarkington moved forward, touching Stollman’s shoulder as he passed. His face was painted dark with streaks of grease. He hefted the BAR like it weighed nothing. The next man was Nunes, who grinned at him as he passed. He still had the necklace of Japanese ears hanging around his neck.
Raker saw him coming and pointed forward, never taking his finger off the trigger guard of his rifle. Tarkington slowed as he passed him, seeing Eduardo’s back and, beyond him, PFC Henry. Henry was immobile, all his concentration forward. Tarkington pulled up beside him and looked at the area he was so focused on. He didn’t notice anything.
Long seconds passed and Henry still hadn’t moved. Tarkington could feel the tension which seemed to emanate from his lead scout’s body, like heat from a stove. Tarkington leaned in and touched his shoulder lightly. Henry didn’t look at him, but murmured, “Something’s out there. I can feel it.”
Tarkington didn’t answer but nodded and concentrated on the surrounding jungle. The normal evening jungle sounds of monkeys, insects and life were undisturbed, but he knew better than to doubt Henry’s combat radar.
There was sudden movement from the treetops. Tarkington glanced up and put his finger on the trigger. There it was again, but this time he saw monkeys moving through the treetops. He leaned into Henry, “Monkeys.”
Henry still didn’t move. The monkeys started yammering incessantly. He’d seen it happen before when humans entered their area. He’d even seen them hurl shit and piss onto passing GIs, but this monkey troupe wasn’t focused on them. If they were, they’d be directly overhead. These monkeys were upset at something else, something in the treetops.
The tops of the trees still had a tiny sliver of evening sun touching them. The monkeys were screeching, surroundi
ng a huge tree with thick branches. Henry whispered, “Sniper,” and slowly brought his rifle to his shoulder. Tarkington did too, aiming in the general area but not seeing anything out of the ordinary except the crazy monkeys. Tarkington heard Henry take a shallow breath and slowly let it out, then the Springfield barked once, making the monkeys screech even louder and jump around in a frantic frenzy of displeasure. Henry quickly worked the bolt and fired again.
This time, Tarkington saw something besides monkeys. A bigger form dropped from the large tree, fell a few yards then snapped to a halt and swung, crazily spinning. “Holy shit, I see him now. Nice shot.”
Henry kept his smoking muzzle trained on the dangling sniper, but it was obvious he was dead, hanging by his foot which was tethered to the tree by a six-foot rope. The monkeys leaped to the tree and inspected the dead sniper, hurling insults and feces.
Tarkington looked behind him and signaled Raker to stay put. Raker nodded and passed the signal to the others. He whispered, “See any more?”
Henry shook his head but kept his rifle aimed toward the trees. “Think there’s more?” Tarkington asked.
Henry finally relaxed, brought his rifle off his shoulder and said, “I think that was it. Nice to have help from the monkeys for once.”
Tarkington nodded but had a decision to make. The shots might’ve attracted attention. If the Japs were close they might send a squad to investigate, or they might not have heard anything, or they might assume the shots were from their sniper.
The light was fading fast. He made his decision. He tapped Henry and pointed right, “Take us a hundred fifty yards that way. Find a good spot to hunker down.”
Henry nodded. Tarkington took one last look at the dangling sniper surrounded by excited monkeys. He figured he’d be visible for another twenty minutes, then it would be too dark. If the Japs investigated and found their man dead, they’d know there was a group of enemies out here and make a concerted effort to find them.
He saw Eduardo smiling at him and he waved him forward. He pointed at the sniper’s body. “Can you climb up there and get rid of him? Would the monkeys be a problem?”
Eduardo spotted the body and slapped Henry’s shoulder in admiration, then nodded, “I climb, unggoys know me. No problem.” He saw Tarkington’s confusion and explained, “Unggoy is monkey.”
“They know you?” Eduardo’s grin grew and Tarkington shook his head. “Get up there and get back here quick. We’ll cover you.”
Eduardo looked back and caught Nunes’ eye. He gave him a slight nod and moved toward the big tree, keeping low but moving fast. He held his rifle in his right hand, low to the ground. He snaked through the sparse jungle, his senses on high alert.
He reached the base of the tree and looked up at the dangling body, still swaying slightly. He heard dripping and noticed a small pool of blood. The monkeys were gazing down at him. Despite what he told Sergeant Tarkington, the monkeys didn’t know him and would not like him climbing what looked like their favorite tree. The Japanese sniper must’ve climbed the tree when the monkeys were away, he thought. Picking this tree had cost him his life.
He slung his rifle and looked back the way he came. He saw PFC Henry leading the squad forward to better cover him. He smiled but resisted waving. He leaped, grabbed the first branch and pulled himself up from branch to branch until he was forty feet off the ground. The monkeys started yammering again, watching his approach with extreme interest. Eduardo gave them a reassuring smile and lowered his eyes. He’d killed many Macaque monkeys for meat and he supposed they sensed this, so he kept his eyes down, being as innocuous as possible.
He was at the same level as the dangling Japanese. He saw two bullet holes: one in his neck, one in his chest. He marveled at Henry’s shooting skills. He was the only American whose jungle skills were even close to his own. He moved like a native, silent and deadly.
He reached for the next branch and pulled himself up. The monkeys were squawking and making quick dashes at him, which he simply ignored. He knew they wouldn’t attack him unless he were obviously injured or they were protecting young. He continued to keep his eyes down, and did his best to ignore them. He pulled out his knife and, holding the tree trunk, leaned out over space and touched the taut rope. The instant his razor-sharp blade made contact, the rope snapped and the Japanese soldier dropped, bouncing from limb to limb all the way to the ground.
Eduardo glanced up at the monkeys just in time to see one hurling feces. He saw it coming but fought the instinct to move out of the way. The shit hit him in the chest and splattered. He moved down the branches without looking back. Sometimes allowing the beasts a victory was the best way to not rile them more. There was renewed squawking. He was descending, obviously leaving, so something else must have got their attention.
He froze and looked out over the sparse jungle to the north. It was nearly dark, but he could clearly see men moving toward his tree. Japs, he thought. He moved to the other side of the tree trunk, shielding himself from the approaching enemy squad and waved to get the attention of the GIs. He saw PFC Raker at the base of the tree, checking the sniper, paying no attention to him. He finally saw Tarkington looking at him.
Eduardo signaled as best as he could that there were Japs coming. Tark seemed to understand and he passed it along to the others. Raker was out of reach though and still going through the sniper’s pockets. He had to get his attention quick or he’d be seen.
Eduardo scraped the shit from the front of his shirt and worked it into a ball. He threw it hard and watched it hit Raker’s shoulder and splatter his face. Raker looked up - annoyance and disgust on his face - but he saw Eduardo frantically motioning and knew he was in trouble.
20
There was no time for Eduardo to get out of the tree before the Japanese would be upon him, so he made himself as small a target as he could and slowly pulled his trusted rifle off his back, resting the barrel in the notch of a branch coming off the tree trunk.
Even in the dim light he could see multiple targets. He counted at least ten soldiers. He took his eyes from his sights and looked down at the base of the tree. PFC Raker was on his belly using the dead sniper’s body for cover. Eduardo could see his rifle resting across the man’s bloody chest.
He looked toward the rest of the squad and saw them moving to the right, out of the way of the advancing enemy and toward a thicker part of the jungle. He hoped they weren’t seen in the next few minutes or they’d be sitting ducks.
He brought his eye back to his sights and found what looked like either an officer or an NCO. He was dressed like the others, but he held a pistol rather than a rifle, setting him apart and earning Eduardo’s interest. He didn’t know if he should shoot, or wait until his squad did. His instincts told him he should shoot, but perhaps Tark was trying for a surprise ambush-style attack, and shooting too early would ruin it.
The lead enemy soldier was close, only a few meters from the base of the tree. The monkeys had stopped squawking, perhaps feeling the tension of the coming battle. The lead enemy scout stopped suddenly and held up a hand. Eduardo could barely see him against the green and brown foliage, but something had spooked him. Did he see the dead sniper and Private Raker only meters away? Or did he notice the movement of the men further back.
The officer crouched and held up a hand and the rest of the enemy squad stopped and crouched. Eduardo made his decision. If he didn’t shoot now, he’d lose sight of the officer in the darkness. The officer was close. He couldn’t miss. He adjusted his sights slightly and pulled the trigger. The rifle bucked and he saw the officer’s head snap back and his body crumpled to the ground in a heap. He smoothly worked the bolt, chambering another round before the Japanese reacted. He shot the man directly behind the officer and saw his chest blossom red as he dropped his rifle and fell like a sack of rice.
Before he could chamber a third round, the rest of the Japanese reacted. The muzzle flash was easy to spot and they unloaded a volley of fire. Eduardo
pulled behind the thick trunk and felt the tree vibrate with bullet impacts. Branches and leaves broke off and the air was alive with bullets. Despite the danger, Eduardo couldn’t help but smile. He’d killed another two of them. Two more that would never return to their hated homeland.
While the air around him buzzed, he looked down and saw Raker fire his first shot. He didn’t dare expose himself to see if he hit anyone, but continued watching the second scout working the bolt action and firing over and over. The enemy fire directed at him shifted to Raker and Eduardo took the opportunity to lean out the other side of the tree.
He saw a muzzle flash and quickly aimed and fired behind it slightly where he hoped the Japanese soldier would be. He quickly chambered another round and fired again before pulling back. Once again, the tree shook and splintered, but absorbed the bullets. Eduardo muttered a low apology to the tree.
A quick motion beneath him caught his attention and he saw Raker just finishing throwing a grenade. Eduardo had forgotten he had two grenades himself.
Since it was the first time Nunes and Eduardo had had them, Sergeant Winkleman had spent a good portion of the day teaching them with a deactivated grenade. It was the same weight, just lacked the explosives.
He’d shown them how to arm and throw them. He’d even set up barrels and they tried to put the grenade into them from various distances. He and Nunes had enjoyed it very much, making it a competition. By the time they went on patrol, they were experts.
Raker’s grenade exploded lighting up the early darkness for an instant and sending shockwaves and shrapnel in all directions. Eduardo slung his rifle and pulled one of his two grenades off his belt. He made sure of his footing on the thick branch, making sure he wouldn’t fall. He found the pin, pulled it and leaned out while holding the tree trunk with his left hand and threw it as far as he could with his right. He was forty feet above the ground. The grenade traveled over the Japanese and exploded ten feet above their heads, sending chunks of metal in a wide arc.
