Tark's Ticks

by Chris Glatte

  Tarkington nodded, “Good to see you too, sir. Any idea where first platoon is?”

  Govang nodded and waved his hand, “Somewhere on the north slope.” He looked at Henry and Winkleman and nodded. “This all you got with you?”

  “I got split during the retreat and these two went looking for me. The rest of second squad made it, far as I know.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out Private Pullman’s dog tags and held them out. Govang held out his hand and Tarkington dropped them in his palm. “Pullman didn’t make it.”

  Govang studied the etched writing and rubbed his thumb over the dried blood. “He wasn’t the only man we lost today. Not by a long shot.” He stuffed the tags into his pocket and turned back to his map.

  Tarkington asked, “Any idea what we’re doing up here, sir?” Govang looked back over his shoulder with a questioning look and Tarkington pressed, “What I mean is, the big guns are destroyed and the Japs are rolling past us on the main road. There’s nothing left up here to defend and if we don’t leave soon, we’ll be cut off.”

  Govang pursed his lips. “You should leave the strategizing to Captain Glister, Staff Sergeant.”

  Tarkington nodded and adjusted his Thompson. “Yes, sir.”

  He took a step to leave and Govang added, “We’re up here to give the rest of the division a chance to escape. If the Japs take this hill, they’ll have a commanding view of the entire peninsula. They’ll load this mountain with artillery and shoot us like ducks on a pond.”

  Tarkington looked at the ground then back up at Lt. Govang. “Well, at least that makes some sense. Thank you, sir.” Govang gave him an annoyed wave and went back to his map.

  When he was ten paces away, Lt. Govang called to him, “Oh, one more thing Staff Sergeant.”

  Tarkington stopped and looked back. “Sir?”

  “If Lieutenant Smoker sees that sword, he’ll have a shit-fit. We’ve got enough problems, take it off and stow it somewhere.”

  Tarkington gave him a sideways smile and gripped the hilt, “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

  He saw someone limping up from behind Lt. Govang. Tarkington stopped and stared. It wasn’t a GI, and the limp told him everything. He grinned and called, “Eduardo? Is that you?”

  Lt. Govang looked up at the wounded Filipino then back at Tarkington. “Take him with you, he’s been driving me nuts wanting to go find you.”

  “How’d you get out of the hospital? You’re still wounded.” Tarkington said as he stepped back and saw the bandage still wrapped around Eduardo’s hip.

  Eduardo could barely speak around his smile. “I left when bombs and planes come. Attack coming, so I left at night. Had to find second squad, but only made it here before attack. Now second squad come to me.”

  Tarkington pointed at his hip. “Does it hurt?”

  Eduardo shook his head emphatically, “No hurt. I can fight. No problem.”

  Tarkington looked at Henry and Winkleman who grinned back. Winkleman said, “You’re one tough son-of-a-bitch, Eduardo.”

  Eduardo’s smile grew even more and he pointed, “I take you to second squad.”

  They moved over the top of the hill, exchanging greetings and some handshakes with GIs from 3rd and 2nd platoons. There were a lot of other men milling about they didn’t recognize and Tarkington figured they were more cannon-cockers.

  There wasn’t much left on top of Mt. Samat besides smoking craters, charred tree stumps and broken and twisted artillery pieces. As they moved down the north slope, they came across a line of blackened Stuart tanks. Every hatch was open, as if the men inside had been forced to leave in a hurry. Tarkington hoped they all made it out and wondered if any of the tanks had been involved with the beach attacks in February. That seemed like a million years ago, but it had only been a few weeks, back when they thought they still had a chance at winning.

  They finally found 1st platoon a couple hundred yards below the crest of the mountain. They were dug into a burned-out barren section and faced downhill. About two hundred yards below them was part of the mountain road. Tarkington looked the position over. It would be a good spot to ambush whatever came up the road and had a good open killing ground if the Japanese tried to come straight at them. The flanks, however, would be difficult to defend without more men.

  “That you Tarkington?” It was Stollman.

  Vick, right beside him turned, pushed his helmet back and put his hand on his hip. “Well, well, look what the Wink dragged in.”

  Tarkington grinned and walked to the edge of their hole and sat down. Winkleman did the same but Henry crouched and looked around the area, evaluating the defenses. Tarkington asked, “Miss me?”

  Stollman shook his head and grinned, “Not a bit. Thought maybe the Nips did you in back there.”

  Vick shook his head, “I never doubted old Wink and Henry would find ya. Them two together? They might find you dead, but they’d find ya.”

  “Any action up here?”

  Stollman shook his head. “Only been here a coupla hours. These holes were already dug. We cleaned out some of the shit, but we didn’t have to do much.” He pointed at the road, long late-afternoon shadows crossed it. “Saw a Jap jeep, but he got a look at us and beat feet outta there. We got a few shots off but didn’t hit anything. Probably made him shit his pants though.”

  “Reconnaissance you think?”

  Stollman nodded, “Probably. But who knows with the way everything’s messed up. We’ve also seen GIs passing by down there. It’s like we’re all mixed together. No one knows exactly where the other is.”

  “Well, sounds like they know where first platoon is anyway,” said Winkleman with a sigh. Henry got to his feet and waved back at a soldier forty yards away. “I’m gonna go join Raker, unless you have something else for me, Tark.”

  “Nah, go on. I’ll track down Smoker, see what the scoop is.” He pulled himself to his feet and untied the sword belt. He wrapped the scabbard in it and handed it to Stollman. “Can you keep this safe for me? Don’t wanna cause a stir with the lieutenant.”

  Stollman took it reverently and leaned it against the dirt wall. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

  Tarkington shook his head, “Nah, just make sure it doesn’t get stolen or seen by the wrong person.” He looked around, “What direction’s he in anyway?” Vick answered, “He’s on the right flank. Maybe a hundred yards that way,” he pointed.

  Tarkington nodded and slapped Sergeant Winkleman’s back. “Let’s go find out what’s going on, Wink.”

  They found Lieutenant Smoker in the bottom of a foxhole, smoking a ragged and bent cigarette. They crouched on the edge of his hole and Tarkington said, “Haven’t seen one of those in at least a month,” he indicated the cigarette.

  Smoker took a long drag and blew it out slow. “It’s my last one. Been saving it, for what, I don’t know. It’s good to see you two made it.”

  “Yes sir, you too,” answered Tarkington. Lt. Smoker kept smoking and the silence lingered. “So, uh, what’s the plan, sir?”

  Smoker took one last drag, nearly burning his lips. He held the tiny bit of smoking tobacco up and studied it before grinding it into the side of his hole. He blew out the smoke and it filled the hole. “Plan?”

  “Yes, sir. For holding this hill. I ran into Lieutenant Govang, he said we’re to defend this hill until the rest of the division’s safely away.”

  Lt. Smoker adjusted his position so he could see over the top of the hole. He nodded and pointed toward the road. “If and when the Japs come up the road, we’re supposed to stop them.” He shrugged, “But we don’t have enough men. They’ll be able to flank us pretty quick. They won’t be stupid enough to attack up the open space. When that happens, we’ll have to move back up the mountain.”

  Tarkington glanced at Winkleman, and scowled. Lt. Smoker didn’t seem himself. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  Smoker looked at him and winced. “Wrong?” He looked at his boots and shook his head. “I don’t know
anything that’s right, Tark. I lost a lot of men this morning. Good men. Men with parents, girlfriends, wives, kids.” He pointed at the road. “And when they come up that road, I’ll lose more. We don’t have enough ammunition to last more’n a couple minutes in a fight. No support. Hell, even our vaunted leader saw the writing on the wall and left us out here to die. We’ve been abandoned. Our government, Roosevelt and all the rest. We’re already dead to them. A lost cause. A fucking footnote in a history book, Tark.” A long silence followed. Smoker folded his arms on the lip of the hole, rested his chin on his hands and sighed. “Leave me alone. I need to be alone for a bit.”

  Tarkington didn’t reply but left him brooding in his hole. Winkleman followed and when they were far enough away said, “He’s lost his nerve.”

  Tarkington shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s a good man who had a bad day. He’ll be alright. Once the bullets start flying, he’ll be back to his old self.”

  They found an empty hole near Stollman and Vick. Stollman gave him a mock salute and grinned. Tarkington grinned back and flipped him the finger. He yelled, “How much ammo you got for the BAR?”

  Vick reached into his belt and pulled out two magazines. “These and the one loaded. Three mags.”

  Tarkington nodded and whispered to Winkleman. “Jesus, Smoker’s right. They’ll burn through that in minutes. Find out how much ammo second squad’s got. I need an accurate count before it gets dark.” Winkleman nodded and labored out of the hole, “Oh and Wink?” Winkleman stood over him waiting for another order. “Thanks for coming back to get me. Means a lot.”

  Winkleman nodded, “You’d do the same for me.”

  The sunset turned the sky brilliant with reds and yellows. The air was hot and humid but there was a slight breeze, making it almost pleasant. Winkleman returned with grim news. 2nd squad along with the rest of Hotel Company, had fled the battle with just what they had in their ammo belts. After they split up the remaining ammunition, each man had three clips for their Springfields and one grenade each. Winkleman and Tarkington each had four magazines for their Thompsons and, once they ran out, they’d have little chance of finding more ammo.

  Two hours passed and the sounds of battle seemed louder in the darkness. There were distant flashes in every direction, making Tarkington feel surrounded. An artillery strike lit up the horizon to the south and he suspected some unfortunate convoy, trying to move under the safety of darkness, was being pasted. How long until the Japs come up to finish us off?

  As if in answer, he heard the sounds of struggling engines. He peered over the edge of the hole at the road below. It looked pale, nearly white, in the light from the half moon. He put his Thompson against the dirt wall. He slapped Winkleman who jolted awake instantly. Tarkington whispered, “Something’s coming. Alert the men.” He glanced at Eduardo to his right, who was already up and alert.

  Before Winkleman could follow the order there was someone behind their hole moving quickly in a crouch. Tarkington recognized PFC Rabowski’s high-pitched voice. “Lieutenant says to get ready for contact. Wait for first squad, conserve ammo and be ready to pull back. Rally point on top of the hill.” He kept moving, repeating the same order again at each hole.

  Tarkington nodded, “Told you Smoker’d get his shit together.”

  Winkleman shrugged and aimed his Thompson down the hill. “He’s awful quick to retreat,” he grumbled.

  “Hell, we shoulda never come up here. They’ll brush us aside like we’re not even here. We won’t slow ‘em down enough to make a difference. The sooner we’re off this hill the better, and if it means firing a few shots and running, well, fine with me.”

  “Never like running away. Getting damned used to it by now though.”

  Tarkington pointed, “There. See the lights?”

  Through the trees, around the corner from the part of the road they could see, was a line of yellow headlights moving up the hill. “They’re not even worried about their lights. Coming up here like they’re going to the damn market for eggs.”

  “They’ll be in range of first squad pretty soon.” Tarkington pointed right, “You can just make ‘em out.”

  Winkleman nodded, “I see ‘em. Hope they’re able to get back up the hill before they’re mowed down.”

  “Hopefully they got the mines placed in time. Once they go off and we see their grenades, that’s the signal to cover fire.”

  Winkleman acted annoyed. “I know the plan, Tark.”

  “I know - just helps me to say it out loud.” He suddenly felt the familiar weakness and faint nausea which came before every firefight. He’d felt it so many times in the last few months, he wondered why it still surprised him.

  The line of vehicles continued to grind up the hill, making the tight switchbacks, until they were on the section of road directly below them. Tarkington licked his lips and brought his Thompson to his shoulder. He squinted over the sights, keeping pace with their slow progress.

  There was a sudden, blinding flash which lit up the first truck. The concussive sound rolled up the hill like something alive and Tarkington ducked his head instinctively. The truck lifted off the ground, tilting downslope slowly as flames and shrapnel swept through the cabin, instantly killing anyone in the cab and flinging the soldiers in the back in every direction.

  Tarkington cursed himself for watching. He’d ruined his night vision. The 1st squad was up and hurling grenades toward the following vehicles and troops. Tarkington aimed, making sure his safety was off. Compared to the massive mine explosion, the grenades looked like firecrackers going off, but the brief flashes lit up other vehicles and he could see Japanese soldiers darting like moths around a porch light.

  There were a few shots from other sections but 2nd squad held their fire. Tarkington had both eyes open scanning. It was a long shot for his Thompson and he didn’t want to shoot over the heads of 1st squad, who were running as fast as they could back up the hill. For the time being, at least, there was no pursuit.

  He felt like he was watching a football game, cheering for the men retreating up the hill. He muttered to himself, “Come on you bastards, move it.”

  Beside him Winkleman commented, “They’re gonna make it.”

  They’d just made it past the halfway point when the Japanese finally reacted and muzzle flashes from the road erupted, and soon tracer fire from a Nambu machine gun sliced through the night.

  Tarkington aimed at the muzzle flash, which looked to be mounted on the back of a truck. He fired a short burst, adjusted and fired again. He was acutely aware of his ammo situation. Eduardo’s rifle barked and he smoothly worked the bolt and fired again.

  The fire from the road subsided, allowing 1st squad to continue trudging up the hill. Bullets started whizzing and snapping past Tarkington’s ears as the Japanese saw their muzzle flashes and adjusted their fire. The Nambu’s tracer shifted towards him and it seemed like it was shooting tennis-ball-sized bullets directly at him. He ducked down, pulling Eduardo with him. He felt the impacts through the dirt wall as bullets slammed into the ground all around their hole.

  Eduardo popped up, aimed and fired, then quickly ducked again. Tarkington went up, found a muzzle flash and fired two more rounds, then ducked. He yelled to Winkleman. “Gotta keep ‘em concentrated on us. First squad’s almost clear.” He saw Winkleman nod and stand up with his Thompson at his shoulder. He fired and the flash lit up his half-bearded face. He dropped back down, pulled the magazine and checked it, then slammed it back into place.

  Tarkington lifted his head, trying to see 1st squad’s progress. In the dim moonlight, he could just make them out as flitting shapes. He saw they were near the top. Most of the enemy fire had shifted his way, but he could tell by their low crouches and quick dashes to cover, that they were still taking fire.

  Up and down the line of foxholes 1st platoon’s muzzle flashes lit up the night. Tarkington watched as a GI from 1st squad bolted from cover, took a few steps then dropped. Even over the di
n of battle he heard the soldier’s agonized scream. Dammit. He aimed and fired until his magazine ran dry, then dropped into his hole and swapped it out for a fresh mag. Two left.

  He fired single shots, aiming carefully, trying to make every shot count, but he was firing at muzzle flashes, his only intention to keep the enemies’ heads down.

  He saw GIs from the retreating squad finally making it to the line of foxholes and disappearing into the safety of the holes. Tarkington stopped firing, watching to see what the Japanese would do next. He yelled, “Hey Stolly!”

  “Sarge?” He answered.

  “You still got the sword?”

  “Of course. I’ll send Vick.”

  Moments later Vick was sliding into the hole beside him. He handed over the sword and scabbard, still wrapped in the cloth belt. “Here you go, Sarge. Think we’ll be leaving here soon?” he asked nervously, glancing down the hill.

  Tarkington nodded, “Hopefully. How much ammo’d Stolly go through?”

  “Not much, less than a mag. He was careful.”

  “Good. Get back to your hole and be ready to move. Rendezvous on the ridge.” Vick nodded and ran off in a crouch, covering the twenty yards to his hole in seconds.

  Tarkington wrapped the belt and tied it securely around his waist, then moved the scabbard to his right side and gripped the leather handle. It felt good in his hand, natural.

  Winkleman was watching him. “If you have to use that thing, we’ll be in deep shit.”

  Tarkington nodded and looked down the hill. “See anything?” The only light coming from the road was from the burning lead truck. He could still make out the outlines of more trucks and see the occasional muzzle flash, but the headlights had been extinguished. “Looks like the road’s blocked for now.”

  Winkleman agreed, “Yep, and first squad made it to cover.”

  Suddenly there was a flurry of muzzle flashes from the forest to the right of their position, followed with answering flashes from 1st platoon’s right flank. “Shit, they’re trying to flank us, just like the lieutenant said.” The Nambu opened up from the road, sweeping the defensive line in front of them. Tarkington dove down as bullets sent geysers of dirt into the night air. He yelled, “Watch our front, they may be making a move.” He watched Eduardo poke his head up then quickly back down. “See anything?”