by Chris Glatte
Lt. Smoker looked at Govang who avoided his eyes. Smoker shook his head, “Nah, our orders are the same: hold the line as long as possible.”
Holiday looked grim but nodded. “Battle to the death then. Just wish they’d come and get this shit over with.” He looked out over the sun-drenched field and the dark jungle beyond.
“Who’s in command?” Tarkington asked.
“General King’s taking over command. He’s a good man. Not as flamboyant as MacArthur but, as far as I know, a good solid commander.”
“Think the Japs know? I mean they might use it as an opportunity to attack,” Tarkington mused.
Lt. Smoker shrugged, “Who knows? We can assume they do and I’d expect them to attack sometime this week. They’ve brought in massive amounts of artillery as you know and their damned bombers are constantly overhead. We’ve got nothing left to throw at them.”
Tarkington’s lips pursed and he flicked a bug off his cheek. “We’ve got a strong position here. I think we can hold a long time.”
Smoker dithered his head back and forth. “Maybe, if we had enough ammo. There are some new orders though.” The men looked at him in anticipation. “We’re to be ready to fall back at the first hint of our lines breaking. If there’s a breach we’re not to move men to fill it but to pull back to Mt. Samat and defend the high ground. That’s our rally point.”
“Mt. Samat? What happens if the Japs surround it while we're on it? We’ll be cut off.”
Smoker answered his staff sergeant. “If that happens, we’ll continue to pull back. Understand?” Tarkington nodded. “Command took a chance letting this get out. Captain Glister said they considered keeping Mac’s departure a secret, afraid it might affect the men’s morale, but decided they had a right to know the situation.” He looked the men over. “Nothing’s changed. Not really. Now we know there’s no relief and no chance of rescue. I expect the men to perform in the same brilliant manner they’ve been performing.”
Tarkington nodded and saluted, “Yes, sir. They’ll do their duty.”
When the officers moved out of earshot, Henry drawled. “We are well and truly fucked.”
Tarkington scowled at him but completely agreed with the Cajun’s assessment.
That night the intensity of the barrage was noticeably increased and lasted longer. Much of the fire was concentrated on Mt. Samat. Tarkington was thankful it wasn’t all falling on Hotel Company but he was concerned if any of the Howitzers would survive.
At dawn the ground shook once again with mid-level Japanese bombers dropping their deadly eggs over the lines. He was curled up, watching through the slats of the heavy wood trunks which formed the roof of his hole. There’d be a flash, followed immediately with a deafening clap of sound and the earth would shake.
He remembered counting the seconds between lightning strikes and thunder back on the farm, each second equated to one mile, his father told him. Here, he couldn’t distinguish one from another. It was a constant din of sound and flashes. The ground shook as if it were made of jelly.
Finally the bombs stopped. He unwound his body and shook the thick layer of dirt and debris off his shoulders and helmet. Any vestiges of the night were gone. The earth didn’t care about the bombing, the sun had risen and lit up the land like it normally did, not heeding the sickening punishment the humans heaped upon one another. It didn’t seem fair somehow. How could this bombing, which made him whimper in fear like a child, mean so little in the grand scheme of time?
He stood and moved to the front of the hole and peered through the thick smoke and dust. Chunks of tree and great clods of dirt still rained down. The cleared area gradually came into focus. There were great smoking craters where a line of five-hundred-pound bombs had impacted. He shook his head. If there’d been a wind, or if the bombers had been slightly more to the right, those craters would’ve been all that was left of 1st platoon of Hotel Company.
There was a zipping sound, followed with a thunking impact against the wooden barrier in front of his hole. As the fog from the punishing bombing cleared from his head, he realized he was hearing bullets.
He squinted and saw forms rushing across the open ground. It had been so long since he’d seen an enemy soldier, he almost didn’t believe his eyes. Finally he yelled at the top of his voice, “Japs! We’re under attack! Get ready!” Holiday came forward and Tarkington slapped his shoulder, “Make sure Winkleman’s awake and Stolly’s ready with the BAR.” Holiday nodded and ran off, dirt streaming from his helmet.
PFC Henry pushed his rifle through the front of the hole a couple of yards from Tarkington and licked his lips. “Looks like the wait’s finally over.”
“We’ll know soon enough if our machine guns are still operational.”
Henry cursed, “Shit, tanks.”
Tarkington saw the hulking shapes of Japanese light tanks speeding from cover. The staccato firing from multiple machine guns on either side of his hole opened up and he saw Japanese infantrymen fold and fall out of sight. He had his Thompson slung on his back and a Springfield at his shoulder. He heard Henry’s rifle bark. He put his sights on a running soldier and fired. The buck against his shoulder felt good and the burnt powder smell filled his nostrils and made his eyes burn. His target kept coming and he worked the bolt-action, adjusted and fired again. This time his target seemed to trip and dropped out of sight.
He found another darting shape and fired. The soldier spun and fell. The machine guns were firing in short bursts, wreaking havoc on the enemy. The Japanese tanks surged forward, their main guns silent but their front machine guns spewing fire. Tarkington saw soldiers using the tanks for cover. He fired, dropping one he had an angle on.
The tank stopped, rocking on its chassis, and the hand-cranked 37mm cannon moved slightly and fired. There was an explosion to Tarkington’s right and he figured it was directed at the nearest machine gun nest, but he could only see to his front. The machine gun paused, but soon continued firing.
A blast from a dug-in anti-tank gun turned the stopped tank into an inferno. The soldiers behind it scattered but were swept by withering machine-gun fire.
Tarkington saw a group run past the burning tank and he moved his barrel, tracking them and fired at the lead man, but nothing happened. He worked the bolt-action and fired again. The soldier went down screaming and clutching his bleeding belly. A trailing comrade kneeled and dragged the wounded man toward a bomb crater. Tarkington aimed carefully and fired. The soldier dropped.
The enemy was halfway across the clearing, making use of the craters from the aerial bombardment. A tank weaved around the burning hulk and Tarkington heard another roar and watched the second tank take a direct hit but the shell glanced off. It lurched to a halt and the turret slowly turned and elevated. The dull, brown metal sparked as the machine gun nest swept it with .30 caliber bullets. A soldier behind, dropped sideways.
The 37mm cannon fired. There was another shot from the anti-tank gun. This time it penetrated, leaving a gaping hole in the front glacis. Soon fire erupted from the hole and the tank’s hatches sprang open spewing tankers. Machine-gun fire swept the tank and cut down them down.
More tanks charged forward weaving around the fresh bomb craters. Tarkington carefully aimed each shot, making sure he didn’t waste any ammo. He heard Henry’s steady firing to his left, and Stollman’s BAR.
Tarkington could see five more tanks churning across the field. Another anti-tank shell slammed the lead tank’s tread and it spun to the left, suddenly losing traction. The following tank slammed into the stalled tank and the sound momentarily dwarfed the din of battle.
Another shot from the anti-tank battery and the lead tank erupted in flame. A second later, it exploded, sending hot metal and flames in every direction. Flame engulfed the other tank and soon it was burning fiercely too.
Tarkington saw nearby soldiers suddenly become human torches. They ran in every direction, desperate to escape the scalding heat. He ignored the doomed men and conce
ntrated on the soldiers still running headlong toward him.
The three remaining tanks fired their cannons, sending shells toward the anti-tank gun. The machine guns sticking from the front, spewed fire. Tarkington ducked as his hole was swept. Bullets thunked into the wood and he felt the impacts through the dirt wall.
He checked his ammo, he’d already gone through more than half of his clips for the Springfield. He had two grenades on his harness and four magazines for his Thompson.
He stood and looked out the slit. The tanks were maneuvering and he thought they must’ve silenced the anti-tank gun. The machine guns to either side continued chattering, spewing death.
He aimed and fired at a soldier’s helmet poking up from a bomb crater. The helmet flew into the air. He saw another soldier beside the first looking back at the man he’d just shot. Tarkington fired and the soldier spun backwards and disappeared into the crater.
The tanks halted their advance and fired their cannons, targeting the machine gun nests. The metal sparked as the machine guns tried to stop them. There was an explosion to Tarkington’s left and the machine gun nest stopped firing.
Tarkington fired his last bullet in the clip and ducked down. He reloaded and leaned the rifle against the wall and unslung his Thompson. He pulled the charging handle and staying low moved toward the machine gun nest. As he passed Henry he yelled, “I’m checking on the machine gun crew, be right back!” Henry didn’t take his eyes from his sights, but nodded and kept methodically firing.
Tarkington moved into the light of the trench system. His bunker was covered, keeping it cool and relatively dark. The trenches were open to the sky and the sudden light and heat made him feel exposed. He stayed crouched and moved past 2nd squad soldiers busily firing and reloading.
He came to another bunker entrance and stepped through. Stollman was firing controlled bursts from the BAR. Vick was close, firing his Springfield. Tarkington tapped Stollman’s leg, “You doing okay on ammo?”
Stollman looked back and shrugged. “I’ve got enough for a bit, but could use more.” Bullets smacked the wooden roof, sending splinters onto their helmets.
“I’m checking the machine gun crew.”
Stollman shook his head, “They’ve had it. Fucking tanks got it. Vick already checked, says the gun’s blown to shit along with the crew.”
Vick fired, worked the bolt and looked over at Tarkington and nodded. “Not much left of ‘em, Sarge.”
A new sound made them all pause. Stollman hunkered lower, “Shit, artillery.”
Tarkington heard the same thing but shook his head. “That’s ours. Hallelujah, I didn’t think I’d ever hear friendly artillery again.” He moved beside Stollman and peered from the firing slit. Great geysers of dirt and flame erupted in the center of the field. The three remaining tanks jolted forward trying to close the gap but the artillery was accurate and bracketed them. Japanese infantrymen were flung into the air like rag dolls and Tarkington couldn’t help but cheer. “Yeah!” He pumped his fist, “give ‘em hell.”
It was a brief barrage, less than a minute but the effect was devastating. Tarkington left the bunker, heading back the way he’d come. He heard Stollman’s BAR bark a short burst. He stopped in the trench and poked his head over the lip. He could see much better from this vantage point. The three tanks were burning, turning black. There were still infantrymen, but they were hunkered, no longer charging forward.
He ran along the trench encouraging the men. “Be sure of each shot. We’ve stopped the bastards cold.”
He entered his bunker and Sergeant Winkleman was there with wide eyes. “There you are. We’re moving back. Smoker says the line folded east of us. The Japs pushed through and we're to skedaddle back to Mt. Samat.”
“Dammit,” Tarkington seethed. “We’ll never have a better defensive line than we’ve got right now.” He shook his head bitterly, “We could hold ‘em here forever if we just had enough ammo.”
Winkleman stared at him, then shrugged, “Neither here nor there. We gotta move back now or we’ll be cut off.”
Tarkington slammed his fist into the dirt wall. “Dammit. Okay, pass it along, we’re moving out. Have the men meet right here. We leave in five minutes.” He tapped Henry’s shoulder and he moved down the trench-line to inform the rest of 2nd squad.
The firing from the field increased in tempo. Tarkington heard more engine noises and went to the firing slit. “Shit, more tanks coming.” He saw an enemy soldier stand and look back, waving the tanks and his men forward. Tarkington found his rifle and centered the officer’s chest in his sights and fired. The officer staggered and looked down at his chest. Tarkington fired again, and the officer went to his knees momentarily then toppled over.
He fired the rest of the clip and turned in time to see the rest of 2nd squad breathing hard, watching him. “Alright use the trenches and move quick, stick together. If you get separated, get to Mt. Samat.” He looked to each man. They were energized and their eyes blazed with life. “Let’s go!”
The GIs filtered out of the bunker and into the trench. Tarkington watched the last man leave, then went to where his sword was hidden. He took it out and wrapped the belt around his waist. The solid weight felt good. He gripped his Thompson and followed 2nd squad into the trench.
He followed them around the ninety-degree turn leading toward the latrines and the rear. He could hear firing coming from the field and heard the buzz of bullets slicing through the air above his head. There was no way they could see him, they were simply firing as they advanced. Over the din of fire, he could hear the grinding churn of the enemy tanks.
They had to get out of the area before the tanks made it past the bunkers or they’d be mowed down once they left the relative safety of the trench. He caught up to the last man, Sergeant Winkleman. They were running, but not fast enough for Tarkington’s liking. “Move, move, move,” he yelled and the line surged forward as the GIs straightened up and sprinted.
Soon they broke out of the back of the escape trench and leaped over the festering, fly-infested latrine. The line spread out as men darted in and out of trees and boulders. Bullets whizzed past, thudded into trees and zinged off rocks.
The 2nd squad mixed with the rest of 1st platoon. A GI to the side of Tarkington grunted and went down in a heap. Tarkington stopped to help, and saw the first tank’s underbelly as it churned over a bunker then flopped down once over the obstacle. It was seventy yards back. He lunged for the fallen GI at the same instant the front machine gun turret’s muzzle winked and flashed.
Bullets swept inches over his head as he dove and landed beside the GI. He was helmet to helmet with him. He pulled the helmet trying to get the soldier’s attention. It slid off and Tarkington felt bile rising in his throat as the GI’s brains sloshed into the helmet.
He got to his feet and took off running, trying to put as many trees as he could between himself and the tanks. He leaped over more bodies, glancing at their faces, trying to gauge if they were still alive. He could feel fear in his belly, rising through his throat, telling him he’d be shot in the back any second. He ran until his legs finally seized and he fell to the ground, out of breath, petrified and completely alone.
23
Tarkington was on his back for a full two minutes trying to get catch his breath. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to suppress the fear that had gripped his heart like a vice during his headlong run. Anger flooded his body and he turned onto his stomach, the word ‘coward’ flashing in his head like a beacon.
He looked from side to side, trying to get his bearings but there was nothing but sparse jungle, dotted with pines. He heard firing and a brief firefight off to the left, which ended with the crash of an explosion.
He pushed himself to his feet and felt his body shaking from exertion and lack of food and water. Suddenly his thirst gripped him and he clutched at his side, feeling the sword but not his canteen. He looked desperately around for it, but decided he must’ve lost it somet
ime during his shameful run.
He closed his parched mouth and tried to think about anything but his thirst. He grit his teeth and shook his head but couldn’t get his mind to shift to anything but getting water. He thought of home, but the image of cool well-water cascading from the spigot made his thirst even worse. He held out his hand, it shook the way he’d seen old-timer’s hands shake while sipping lemonade on the porch. Lemonade!
He forced himself to stand, his legs still shaky. He knew Mt. Samat was due south. He glanced north and didn’t see anyone coming. He briefly thought about retracing his steps but knew it was a stupid idea. He shook his head. Pull yourself together, Tark. You find first platoon, you find water. The thought energized him and he moved shakily south, his Thompson over his sweat-soaked shoulder.
The sound of fighting was like background music. It droned from all sides, sometimes building to a crescendo, then dropping to a shot here and there, but never quite stopping. He heard aircraft overhead and wondered briefly if they were friendlies but quickly put the ridiculous notion from his mind.
The plane’s sounds changed and he recognized the high-pitched whistling wings of diving aircraft. They were off to his left. The whistling was quickly replaced with the impact of bombs.
He kept walking, wondering what they were attacking. The sounds continued, over and over. He got to a clearing and looked up, seeing the bright metallic Zeros slicing through the air, attacking a raised bit of land. A thought kept trying to rise to the surface of his thirst-addled brain. Finally he shook the cobwebs out and realized it had to be Mt. Samat. The Japs were attacking Mt. Samat. It suddenly made perfect sense to him and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
The thought brought his thirst raging to the surface again. The need to find water suddenly consumed every part of his being. His mind crystallized for an instant. I’ll bet there’s water coming off that mountain. He veered toward the mountain, ignoring the blossoming explosions.
