Tark's Ticks

by Chris Glatte

  Sergeant Winkleman asked, “With what? Half of us don’t have any more ammo.”

  Tarkington growled, “That’s what the pig-stickers are for.” He indicated Raker’s bayonet. His Thompson didn’t take the bayonet attachment. He’d found two spare rounds of ACP and loaded them into an empty mag and that was all the ammo he had left. Once gone, he’d use it as a club.

  Silence greeted him as the thought of charging well-armed Japanese soldiers, at night, with only bayonets, filled their minds. Henry sighed and attached his bayonet with a click that seemed to seal their fate.

  Tarkington felt his legs would give out as the nerves of pre-combat adrenaline made him suddenly weak. He had to swallow the bile threatening to come up and the bitter taste almost made him gag. He pushed past it, knowing he’d feel better once he started moving. He got to his feet and the others did too. He put his hand on Henry’s shoulder and pushed him towards the dark trail.

  He’d just stepped onto it when there was a brief respite in the Japanese fire. A sudden and crazed scream rose from the jungle. More and more GI voices joined and soon the night air was filled with screaming GIs. Tarkington knew at once what it meant. Hotel Company was charging the Japanese, hoping to push right over the top of them with sheer force of will. “Ah, shit!” He yelled, “Come on.” He ran as fast as the darkness would allow, toward the Japanese muzzle flashes.

  Branches and thorns whipped his face and arms as he pushed through, but he kept charging. He nearly bowled over the first Japanese soldier he came to. He wasn’t firing so Tarkington didn’t see him until he’d nearly run him over. The surprised soldier had on thin wire glasses. Tarkington slapped the stock of his Thompson across the soldier’s face and he heard bone crack as the shattered glasses flew off his face. He ground the heel of his boot into his neck and put all his weight on it as he used him as a step. He felt the sickening crunch of his larynx being crushed, but didn’t look back.

  Another soldier appeared, as if from nowhere, with his rifle raised. Tarkington didn’t have time to attack, so sprang to his right and crashed into the base of a thick tree. He felt pain arc through his shoulder and down his arm. He rolled to a knee and tried to bring up his muzzle but his arm was tingling and didn’t seem to work anymore. The Japanese rifle fired and the bullet thunked into the tree trunk an inch from his head. He rolled to his back and tried to get as close to the tree as possible. He could hear the Japanese chambering another round.

  Tarkington held the Thompson like a pistol with his left hand, and leaned out the other side of the tree trunk. The barrel swung side to side unsteadily and he pulled the trigger, firing a single shot into the ground. The Thompson bucked and he rolled to his right making the pain in his shoulder worse. He heard a guttural scream of agony and looked up to see Sergeant Winkleman with his bayonet buried in the Jap’s guts, twisting. He pulled it out and, even in the darkness, Tarkington could see the stream of blood that followed the blade.

  Tarkington got to his feet unsteadily and Winkleman turned toward him with fire and hatred in his eyes. Tarkington raised his hands and Winkleman recognized him and the man he knew returned as though a mask had been removed. “You okay?”

  Tarkington shook his right arm and felt the numbness leaving, replaced with hot pins and needles. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  The firing intensified as the GIs of Hotel Company crashed into the Japanese force blocking their retreat. Tarkington saw the withering fire from one of the Nambus only yards away. He put his Thompson to his shoulder and felt the trigger. Think I have one left. Though his fingers still tingled, he could feel the coolness. He aimed carefully and fired his last round. The soldier manning the Nambu toppled over, but was soon replaced with another. Henry appeared and carefully aimed and fired twice, dropping the shooter.

  Sudden movement from the left caught their attention. Tarkington dropped his spent Thompson and unsheathed the sword. A crazed GI burst into them with his bayonet swinging and jabbing. They jumped aside and the GI continued running past them disappearing into the night, still screaming like a crazy man.

  PFC Stollman joined them, still clutching his BAR. Tarkington asked, “You still got ammo for that thing?”

  Stollman gave him a quick shake of his head, his eyes continually scanning for threats. “Couldn’t bring myself to leave her behind.” Two screaming Japanese soldiers charged, lunging from the darkness with fixed bayonets.

  Stollman jumped back, half a second before being skewered. He swung the heavy BAR into the back of the first soldier’s head as he overextended. The stock struck the back of his head and instantly caved it in, sending blood and brains out his ears. He dropped without a sound. The second soldier lunged toward Stollman’s back and he knew he’d die in another instant. Suddenly there was a slashing flash as Tarkington took him midsection. The sword sliced through bone and muscle, as though through water, and the soldier simply fell into two pieces.

  “Christ almighty.” Stollman exclaimed.

  Tarkington leaned forward and pulled the rifle from beneath the first soldier. As he searched for ammo, Henry fired and dropped another enemy soldier running past. Tarkington found an ammo pouch. He wiped the sword on the dead man’s shirt and sheathed it. He loaded the Arisaka and chambered a round. Everyone stared at the severed body in stunned silence.

  The firing tapered off, but the crazed screaming had not. The GI’s panicked run through the Japanese force seemed to have worked. Tarkington wondered how many men were lying dead and wounded in the darkness. “We’ve done all we can do. Let’s get the fuck outta here.” He took another glance behind him and stepped to the south. “Watch behind us. Move out second squad, double time.”

  They couldn’t run without slamming into trees and brambles, so they took on a consistent lope which ate up ground until they felt relatively safe. The sounds of battle and screaming had ceased, replaced with the occasional crack of a rifle and the calling of monkeys. By the time they stopped running, there was a hint of morning light on the eastern horizon.

  26

  By mid-morning, 2nd squad had reformed with the remnants of 1st platoon and Hotel Company, and was streaming south along the main road along with the rest of the division and I Corps.

  The men were exhausted. They hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours and had been fighting most of the time. Tarkington watched a man sway and drop. He remained face-down and Tarkington thought he might be dead. “Check that man,” he pointed and the nearest GI went to him, kneeled and shook his shoulder.

  The soldier lifted his head and was helped to his feet. Tarkington shook his head, they needed to rest and eat. The road was choked with GIs moving south side by side with refugees doing the same thing. Eventually they’d run out of peninsula. Then we’ll have to move to Corregidor. He looked at the haggard refugees, still pulling carts and bikes piled high with their possessions. What will happen to these people? Command won’t take them to Corregidor.

  He’d seen how the Japanese treated prisoners of war. They considered any surrender a great dishonor and treated soldiers as less than human if they surrendered while they still had breath in their lungs. He doubted they’d have any more mercy for civilians. He figured they’d consider them a burden. Something to get rid of as soon as possible.

  He looked at Eduardo, whose family was in Manila when the Japanese attacked. How must it be for him? Tarkington thought about his own family back in the States. They must be pulling their hair out with worry.

  Eduardo’s limp was more severe than normal, probably because he was as worn out as everyone else, perhaps more. His wound wasn’t healed and must hurt like hell all the time. He shook his head and once again thanked God that the Filipinos were on their side.

  We’ve let them down. The big US of A has let them down. Eduardo saw him watching and instantly straightened up and gave him a smile. Tarkington could see the strain just beneath the surface and it tore at his heart. He thought about Nunes, who hadn’t been seen since the attack. He hope
d he was killed outright. If he were captured it wouldn’t go well for him. The Japanese would view a fighting civilian as a spy and he doubted their executions would be quick and painless.

  Finally, they came to a point in the road that passed a decent-sized village. Hotel Company was steered into it by an MP. As Tarkington passed the MP, he wondered if he had any idea what company, or even what division he was directing. Had someone directed this move, or was he simply directing the most haggard-looking men into the village? He decided he didn’t care, as long as his men got to stop marching and could drink and eat something.

  They streamed into the open space and saw a water spigot. It was in the center of the open space, and Tarkington guessed it was the center of the village.

  The ground around the spigot was muddy and tracked with countless boot prints. They’d been able to fill their canteens from the occasional streams coursing off Mt. Samat, but they were down to the dregs and needed refills. The well-water would be cold, pure and refreshing.

  Men queued up, handing their canteens off to GIs, who took it upon themselves to pump and fill. The rest of the men simply sat down and started rifling through their packs for whatever food rations they could find.

  They were low on food. They hadn’t been resupplied for days. Some had left the front line so fast, they didn’t have time to grab their packs and were without food completely. Those men didn’t starve though. Everyone was in this together; ammo, water and food was shared, in that order. It meant no one was left starving, but everyone was hungry.

  The town was deserted and completely devoid of food. It had been picked clean by countless groups of hungry GIs. Tarkington saw PFC Yap applying a bandage he’d fashioned from a dirty uniform over the arm of PFC Rabowski, Lt. Smoker’s runner, and local grifter. After getting his canteen filled, Tarkington walked up to the pair. Yap looked up, “Hey Sarge. What’s the scoop?”

  Tarkington shrugged, “Don’t know really. Just followed the rest of the company in here.” He took a long swig from his canteen, his Adam's apple rising and falling.

  He’d lost a lot of weight since December and his features were just as skeletal as everyone else’s. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He still had dried blood on his face from the soldier he’d cut in half. He noticed the back of his hand coming away bloody and poured the rest of the canteen over his head, scrubbing his face. He tilted his chin toward Rabowski. “Hey, Ski, you got any food tucked away somewhere?”

  Rabowski looked at him with a hurt expression. “I wouldn’t keep anything from the guys.” Tarkington gave him a sideways look and Rabowski added, “Well, I’ve got some candy but there’s not much to ‘em and they’re good bargaining chips for better stuff. I’ve had guys trade me actual food for bits of candy with hardly any nutritional value. They’re almost better’n cigarettes.”

  “What’d you do to your arm?”

  Rabowski shrugged, “Jap bayonet sliced me.” Yap grinned and shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of bayonet wounds today. This looks more like a thorn bush, Ski.”

  Rabowski shook his head emphatically. “It’s a bayonet. Last night when we ran through ‘em.” He held up two fingers, “Scout’s honor.”

  Tarkington’s grin turned serious. “If I find out you’re holding out on me, it won’t go over well with the men. If you’ve got food, you better not hoard it. Understood?”

  Rabowski looked hurt again. “Of course Staff Sergeant. I’m on your side.” He pointed at the sword hanging from the embroidered belt. “See you got the sword. Looks good on you.”

  Tarkington gripped the handle. “If you think I owe you one, think again, Private. You paid your debt to Skinner.”

  Rabowski grinned and nodded. “Yep, that was a good deal, I’d say.”

  The heat of midday washed over them as they rested in the abandoned village. After filling canteens and eating what they could find, most GIs lay down and slept. Tarkington had his head resting on his pack beneath the shade cast from a dilapidated hut’s deck. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when the sound of far-off engines pulled him awake.

  He opened his eyes and concentrated. Had he actually heard something, or was it a dream? He was about to shut his eyes again when the noise increased and there was no doubt. He sat up and scooted from beneath the deck, put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the glaring sun and searched the sky. Since they were in a clearing, he could see a good portion of the clear, blue sky. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. He couldn’t pinpoint it but there was no doubt it was getting louder.

  Other GIs were stirring and looking skyward. Suddenly there was the unmistakable hammering noise of a Japanese machine gun. “Cover,” he yelled, but the GIs were already moving. The only cover was the buildings, and the GIs scrambled beneath them and hugged the ground.

  Tarkington saw a flash over the road and spotted a Zero only feet above the trees. He could see the flashing guns strafing the road. GIs and refugees ran from the road, many coming into the village seeking cover.

  He put the Arisaka rifle to his shoulder and tried to follow the plane as it arced upward, but he knew it would be a waste of ammo. Indeed, there was very little firing. None of the men were willing to burn through ammo with such a low chance of hitting anything.

  Another Zero zipped past, firing. The road erupted in dust, geysers of dirt and blood. Some of the refugees, unwilling to leave their possessions, were cut down as they tried to pull their carts off the road.

  A third Zero made a run, slewing the wings side to side, spraying death into the gully alongside the road. Tarkington couldn’t help himself, he had to fight back. He gave the speeding Zero a good lead and fired. The kick against his shoulder felt good. He knew it would be a miracle to cause any damage, but he felt better. He watched the plane arc up, unscathed. It made a graceful turn, joining its comrades as they moved off, seeking out other targets.

  With the threat passed, the GIs filtered out from beneath the houses and stood around wondering if they should go back to sleep or get ready to march. The dust was thick over the road and there were cries of pain. Tarkington was almost immune to the sound by now.

  He spotted Lt. Smoker walking his way. He looked better than the last time he’d seen him. He stopped in the center of the village and barked, “We’re staying here until dark, so find a good place to rack out. We’ll form up at 1800 hours right here.”

  There was a smattering of relieved comments as the GIs moved to find shady spots to spend the next few hours.

  At 1700 hours, 1st platoon’s officers and NCOs were called to meet at the impromptu HQ, which had been set up in the biggest building in the village. Tarkington was sure to leave his sword with Henry for safekeeping. He walked alongside Sergeant Winkleman, who asked, “What’s this all about?”

  Tarkington shook his head and spat. “I don’t know, but I doubt it’s good news. It’s never good when one platoon is pulled from the rest.” Winkleman nodded his agreement.

  Tarkington entered the building and, when his eyes adjusted to the low light, saw Captain Glister, Lt. Govang, Lt. Smoker and a Major he didn’t recognize. The Major was short and balding and looked like he should be in an accounting office crunching numbers, rather than on the front lines in Luzon.

  There was nowhere to sit, so they stood and looked expectantly at the officers. Captain Glister stepped forward. “Hotel Company will be marching out of here in an hour. We’ll march most of the night, getting as far south as possible. Hopefully all the way to Mariveles.” He indicated the Major, “This is Major Grinton. He’s with G2 intelligence.”

  The major looked completely unprepared to be standing before them. He fidgeted and sweated more than the temperature warranted. He looked tired and overworked, just like everyone else, but he also had a nervousness to him, which labeled him as a pencil-pusher rather than a combat soldier.

  He stammered, “Men,” he dropped the pencil he was holding and bent over to pick it up. He stuffed it
behind his ear cleared his throat and started again. “The situation’s not good. The Japs are pushing hard after the breakthrough. We’re spread all over, but the main Allied Force is still intact, for the most part. With the constant harassment from the air, we need to move at night, but the Japanese are only a couple of miles behind us. They’ve slowed, probably to move onto Mt. Samat with artillery. Once in place, they’ll be able to shell us nearly all the way to Mariveles. That, combined with the air attacks makes movement during daylight impossible.” He paused and wiped his brow. Tarkington thought he might pass out any moment. “Which brings me to why you’re here.”

  “Here it comes,” Tarkington whispered from the side of his mouth.

  “We need a blocking force behind us. We need to slow the Jap advance so we can establish another line of resistance.” He licked his lips and looked around the room. “First platoon has been chosen for the task.”

  There was a smattering of angry voices which were silenced by Captain Glister. “All right, can it.”

  Staff Sergeant Mahoney from 1st squad raised his hand and Captain Glister pointed at him. “Sir, we don’t have much ammo. What’re we supposed to slow ‘em down with?”

  Captain Glister took over the briefing. “I was getting to that. We’ve consolidated enough ammo for you to get the job done. Along with Springfield ammo, we also have crates of grenades, mines and even a few bazookas. You’ll have a squad from the heavy weapons platoon attached to you with two .30 caliber Brownings and two mortar tubes.” There was a smattering of conversation and nods of approval. “You’re job isn’t to stop the Japs, but to slow them down. Hit them quick, inflict damage and retreat. Don’t get into anything protracted. You’ll be completely on your own, we can’t send help.” He looked around the room, “Any more questions?”