Tark's Ticks

by Chris Glatte

  Eduardo was thrilled to hear screams of agony. Charged with success, he pulled the second grenade and leaned out again, but before he could throw it, he felt something hot and extremely painful drill into his hip. His right leg gave out and he dropped the grenade as he fell back into the crook of the tree.

  The grenade bounced off limbs and finally exploded ten feet from the ground. The explosion took Eduardo’s breath away for an instant and, despite the pain in his hip and leg, he looked down towards Raker with fear in his heart.

  He saw him writhing back and forth on his back with his hands over his ears in agony. No, no, no. He yelled “Raker!” But he knew his ears would be ringing the same way his were and that he couldn’t possibly hear him.

  Through his screams and ringing ears, Eduardo heard a new sound and knew the rest of the squad was in position and pouring fire into the remaining Japanese.

  He heard more grenades. He ground his teeth against the pain and leaned out to see explosions lighting up the area. He saw enemy soldiers lit up in freeze-frame flashes of blood and gore.

  He gripped his rifle and aimed as best he could. He saw a dark figure running away. He tried to hold steady. He pulled the trigger but the soldier continued sprinting away unscathed. A second later the waves of pain rolled over him like an ocean swell and he slipped into complete darkness.

  Tarkington watched Eduardo scamper up the tree and whispered to Henry. “No wonder the monkeys know him - he must’ve taught them to climb.”

  Henry nodded, “He’s impressive.”

  Tarkington touched his arm, “Move forward so we can cover him better.” Henry nodded and moved forward. When he was a few yards ahead, Tarkington and the rest of the squad followed.

  Raker came up next to him and whispered, “I’ll move forward and check the body once he cuts it down.” He held up a playing card with the words ‘Tark’s Ticks’ and the death’s head skull, and grinned.

  Tarkington didn’t know how he felt about that but didn’t object. Anything that messed with the enemy was a good thing, he thought and the fact that it seemed to boost the squad’s morale was also a good thing.

  In the dying light, he saw Eduardo reach out and cut the rope, sending the sniper’s body crashing through the branches. He thought he heard bones snapping and he cringed inwardly, but knew the soldier was beyond pain. Raker looked back and Tarkington nodded and crouched as Raker bounded past Henry and slid in beside the body at the base of the tree.

  The rest of the men spread out, forming a loose perimeter. The jungle was sparse and he felt exposed, but knew they wouldn’t be there much longer and the quickly approaching darkness would help conceal them.

  He scanned side to side forming a plan in case they were attacked. The area to his right was much thicker, he’d find better cover there if he needed to. He noticed Raker laying on his stomach with his rifle across the corpse. He scowled then caught movement up the tree and saw Eduardo still halfway up the tree, gesturing like a wild man. When he saw he had Tarkington’s attention he signaled there were Japs coming.

  Shit, He thought, we’re exposed. He looked beyond Raker but couldn’t see the enemy. The way Raker held his rifle steady told him they were close. Tarkington had to get the men to cover where they could attack whatever was coming from a better position.

  He got the squad’s attention. Henry and Nunes were in front but they’d also seen Eduardo and were low and waiting for orders. Tarkington pointed toward the cover thirty yards away. They’d have to travel over an even more exposed area, but it was the quickest route, and he could tell by Eduardo’s frantic motions that the enemy was just over the slight rise.

  Staying as low as possible and still moving fast, he went right and entered the open space. He glanced left, where the enemy would be and thought he saw the green uniform of a Japanese soldier. He was about to halt the men - they’d be caught in the open - when there was a rifle shot followed quickly by another. He knew it was Eduardo. There was an instant of silence, then the gates of Hell opened and the return fire shredded the tree. Tarkington could see Eduardo grinning as he cowered behind the tree trunk. Crazy bastard.

  He saw his opportunity. He waved the men forward while the enemy was preoccupied with Eduardo. During a lull, he heard Raker fire and the volume of Japanese fire increased again and he assumed they were firing on the new threat. He ran hard and could hear the thumping boots of the others right on his heels. If the Japs saw him, he’d know about it in a second. He heard a grenade explode and kept moving.

  He lunged into the heavy cover, pushing brambles aside, forcing his way in. He pushed for a couple yards, hearing the others doing the same. He finally came out the other side, ignoring the cuts and scrapes from thorns and vines. There was another explosion followed by men screaming. “Come on, we can flank ‘em.” He sprinted, whacking vines out of his way. Another grenade explosion. They’ve only got one more between ‘em. Have to act fast.

  As he moved, he glanced through the foliage and caught glimpses of muzzle flashes. It was nearly dark, the last vestiges of daylight giving him just enough light to move confidently. The muzzle flashes increased and he stopped the men and pointed. The men readied themselves. Tarkington pointed to the ground and got onto his belly, crawling forward until he was at the edge of the open space. The Japanese were only yards away. He could see their green uniforms every time a muzzle flash lit them up. Tarkington whispered, “Grenades,” as he pulled one off his belt.

  He pulled the pin, reared back and hurled it into the night, then ducked down along with everyone else. He kept his head down as the pops and blasts of multiple grenades exploded. More screams of agony came from the Japanese position. Tarkington fired his Thompson, picking out dots of green, until his magazine ran out. He quickly reloaded while the rest of the squad emptied their clips.

  He saw a lone Japanese soldier sprinting away. He heard a rifle crack from his left, Eduardo, but the fleeing soldier kept running. Tarkington aimed and fired just as the soldier passed a tree, and Tarkington’s slugs shredded bark, but left the lucky soldier unscathed. The soldier disappeared into the night.

  “Move forward, be careful. Remember what they did to Flynn.” Tarkington got to his feet and kept his muzzle toward the enemy as he made his way to the tree. It was fully dark now and he called out, “Raker, Eduardo. Where are you?”

  There was no immediate answer and he wondered if he’d acted too late. As he neared the base of the tree, he heard moaning and someone writhing around. He saw the bullet riddled body of the Japanese and for an instant thought it was Raker, but then he saw the private holding his ears, rocking side to side. He propped his Thompson against the tree and kneeled down at the same time calling, “Vick, get over here, Raker’s hit.”

  PFC Vick, though not a real medic, had more in his medical kit than the others and so became the squad’s de facto medic. He stumbled from the darkness, stopped at the Jap and froze. “Not him - Raker.”

  Tarkington pointed and relief flooded Vick’s face. “Oh shit, I thought that was him.” He hopped over the sniper’s body and unsnapped the pouch hooked to his belt. He gripped Raker’s shoulders trying to hold him still. “Where you hit, buddy? Where you hit?”

  Raker shook his head and released his ears. “I - I’m not hit, Japs threw a grenade, burst in front of the tree. Might’ve burst my eardrums.” He looked up in a panic. “Where’s Eduardo? He was up the tree.”

  A form darted past them and leaped, grabbing the lowest limb and swinging like a trapeze artist upward. He disappeared into the darkness, moving up the tree as though gravity had no effect. Seconds later they heard Nunes call, “Help. Help me! Eduardo hit!”

  Raker had gauze stuffed in his ears. Vick didn’t think his eardrums were burst - there was no blood - but the gauze made him feel like he was doing something for him. Eduardo, on the other hand had a jagged bullet wound in his right hip. He was unconscious when they first lowered him from the tree and Vick thought he was dead, but upon closer i
nspection, he was breathing.

  Now Eduardo was draped over Vick’s shoulder and he could feel the wetness as the wound bled down his side and the back of his pant leg. He’d done his best to cover and bind the wound, but the constant jolting as he trotted back to their lines caused more bleeding. Eduardo was awake and, despite the agony he must be feeling, never made a sound.

  Tarkington’s only focus was to get them back to their lines and get Eduardo proper medical care before he lost too much blood. The darkness made it difficult but he moved fast, not worried about stealth. If a Japanese force had gotten between them and their lines, they’d be dead by now.

  They finally broke out of the jungle and into the buffer area. He couldn’t see any signs of Hotel Company but knew they were only forty yards away in the darkness. He halted the men and they bumped into each other before finally stopping and crouching. He could hear them breathing hard. He put his hand to his mouth and called, “Second squad coming in with wounded. Don’t shoot.”

  He waited for a response and finally got one. “Babe.”

  “Ruth,” he answered. He got to his feet and waved the men forward, “Come on.”

  He saw soldiers standing in foxholes with their rifles ready. When they saw Vick carrying Eduardo they moved forward to help. He was placed on a stretcher and carried toward the rear. Raker was standing nearby and Tarkington told him, “You too Raker. Get your ears checked out.” Raker didn’t move. “Someone tap his shoulder and get him moving.” He waited until it was done. “Wink, with me, the rest of you resupply and get some rest.”

  The men moved off, glancing back the way Eduardo’d been taken. Tarkington and Winkleman walked side by side to find Lt. Smoker. Winkleman asked, “Think he’ll make it? Eduardo?”

  Tarkington nodded, “Think so, he’s a tough old cuss, but I’m no doctor.”

  They found Lieutenant Smoker standing outside his tent waiting for them, his hands on his hips. “Heard the firefight, I put the men on alert.”

  Tarkington nodded, “Yes sir. But I don’t think the Japs are coming in force. We tangled with a sniper and figure the force we encountered was coming to check on their man.”

  Lieutenant Smoker nodded in the darkness but held up his hand. “Captain Glister will want to hear this. Save it for him.”

  They followed Lieutenant Smoker further back, weaving past snoring GIs.

  Captain Gima listened to the near hysterical private tell him how his entire squad was wiped out. When he was finished, Gima nodded and with a wave sent him away. The private saluted and left the tent.

  Captain Gima addressed Lieutenant Eto. “That one ran away from the fight. I can see it in his eyes. He’s a coward.”

  Lt. Eto nodded, “Yes, sir. What would you have me do?”

  The captain considered, “Nothing for now, but keep an eye on him. If he runs away again, we’ll have to punish him.” Lt. Eto bowed slightly. Captain Gima stood, put his officer’s cap on and adjusted the strap. “Assemble your squad, bring stretcher bearers. I will accompany you to the site of the battle.” Lieutenant Eto clicked his heels, saluted and left the tent.

  Captain Gima grabbed the sub-machine gun leaning nearby and checked it was loaded. Since being ordered to pull his company back from the line days before, he was itching to get back into the fight. He felt the Filipinos and Americans were close to breaking and wanted his company to be at the front of the attack when they did.

  He didn’t agree with General Homma’s assessment, that they needed to soften up the line with more artillery and air attacks, but it was not his place to question orders. Someday he’d be in command of the Division and he’d be more aggressive, but for now they were pulled back awaiting the arrival of hundreds more artillery pieces.

  He wrapped his belt around his waist, making sure he had two magazines for the Type-100 sub-machine gun. He hoped they encountered the enemy. He wasn’t a commander that stayed in the background. He led from the front - which didn’t always sit well with the other company commanders - but he craved battle, like his ancestors before him. To him, it was like air. It sustained him and kept him alive.

  He ducked, walked out of the front of his tent and adjusted his uniform. There were lamps around camp, putting off low light. It was poor light-discipline, but he allowed it since the Americans and Filipinos had lost all their aircraft. He saw Lt. Eto standing with his hands behind his back, watching his twelve-man squad form in front of him. They had their backs to Captain Gima.

  Gima waited until they were assembled then walked to the front. Lieutenant Eto barked, “Attention,” and the men snapped to attention.

  Gima took his place beside Lt. Eto and looked the men over. They were fine, victorious and honorable soldiers. He was proud to lead them to the enemy. He noticed more than half the men had long stretchers resting on their shoulders beside their slung rifles. He nodded and murmured to Lt. Eto, “Carry on, Lieutenant. We leave immediately.” He looked around and asked, “Where is the private? He needs to lead us to the spot.”

  Lieutenant Eto’s lips turned white as he pressed them firmly together. He pointed, “He comes now, sir. He was getting his wounds checked.”

  Captain Gima saw the skinny private scampering towards him with his head down. He noticed a white bandage wrapped around his upper arm. When the private was close, he stopped and snapped his heels together and gave the officers a quick salute and a bow. Gima addressed him. “I didn’t realize you were wounded, Private. Can you lead us back to the battleground?”

  “Hai, sir,” he instantly answered.

  Gima nodded. Perhaps this boy wasn’t a coward after all. “What is your name, Private?”

  “Private Hano, sir.”

  Gima indicated the direction of the front line, “Carry on, Private Hano.”

  Captain Gima watched him move toward the darkness at the edge of camp and Lt. Eto and the rest of the squad followed. He found his place near the center, being sure Lt. Eto was a few soldiers away. He held his sub-machine gun at the ready, his trigger-finger resting on the trigger guard. He doubted the enemy would still be lingering, but it was better to be safe.

  They moved slowly for an hour before the procession finally stopped. He squinted into the darkness but couldn’t see more than a few men. After half a minute he moved forward and found Lt. Eto.

  Eto pointed and, again, Gima strained but couldn’t see anything. He did, however, sense something. He didn’t know if it was a premonition or some faint smell, but he knew a battle had been waged nearby. He put his hand on Lt. Eto’s shoulder and pushed him gently forward. Eto nodded and signaled for the men to advance.

  Soon they were among bodies. The smell of dead men’s bowels and the early phases of decomposition filled his senses and he did his best to ignore it. He breathed through his mouth and watched the squad spread out to the perimeter while the men with the stretchers started hefting bodies.

  Captain Gima walked until he came across a soldier on his belly. In the faint light from the stars he could see the soldier’s shirt was glistening, as if it were wet. He crouched down and put his fingers on the man’s neck. It was cold and he knew immediately he was dead.

  He was about to move on to the next man when a slight breeze moved something on the man’s back. He squinted and reached for it, pulling away what looked like a playing card. He held it up, shifting it back and forth, trying to see it better. He thought it was the five of hearts, but he couldn’t be sure. He scowled and looked closer, there was something more but he couldn’t make it out.

  He crouched, set his machine gun down and brought his flashlight out. He signaled the closest soldier and whispered, “Give me your tunic and helmet. The soldier did so immediately and without question and Gima put the helmet on and draped the shirt over his head. He turned the flashlight on and shone it onto the card for three seconds then shut it off and handed the helmet and tunic back to the soldier.

  Minutes later, Lieutenant Eto approached him. “Sir, there are no survivors. The
first group of stretcher bearers are loaded and ready to move out.”

  Captain Gima nodded. “I will lead them back to headquarters myself. Stay vigilant, there may be enemy nearby.” Lt. Eto nodded and Gima asked, “Have you found playing cards?”

  Lieutenant Eto nodded and pursed his lips. “Hai. On every soldier, sir.”

  Gima murmured, “Tark’s Ticks.” The lieutenant looked at him quizzically. “Collect all you find and bring them back with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  21

  Staff Sergeant Tarkington worried that the success of their mission would lead to more such raids. But for the rest of the month they stayed on the line and didn’t venture forward. He was glad 1st platoon, and particularly 2nd squad, was allowed to act as line soldiers. It gave the men time to settle into the line and get used to things.

  On the evening of March 1st, he commandeered a jeep and visited the field hospital where Eduardo was being treated. He knew he’d had surgery to remove the bullet and was recovering, but he hadn’t had the chance to visit yet.

  He finally found him in a stuffy ward filled with other Filipino and American soldiers. Eduardo waved when he saw him and his smile reached ear-to-ear. Tarkington stood beside him and looked him over. He was shirtless and had a clean bandage covering his right side. “How you doing, soldier?”

  Eduardo nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, something he’d picked up from his American counterparts. “I good as new, Sergeant Tark.” He looked around like he didn’t want others to hear, then said, “Doctor won’t let me go back.”