Collins coughed deeply and spat on the ground. Like most of the men, the chill air had given him a bad cold. "Let'm die happy, sir. If he wants to think we're marines, it's just fine by me. I'm just a little surprised he pronounced his r so well. Don't they have difficulty since it's not in their alphabet?"
Once again, they lay prone on a hill and faced upward at a Japanese strongpoint. This one was a cave that had been pounded by artillery without destroying it or killing the occupants. The machine-gun fire from its narrow opening had stalled the advance, and the ground leading to it was too steep for Sergeant Orlando's tank to negotiate. Attempts to burn them out with a standard infantry flamethrower had also been futile. They were less than a hundred yards away from the cave and the inhabitants had started yelling at them in bad English.
"You die like MacArthur!"
One of the men near Paul asked, "Should we yell back, sir?"
"Don't let me stop you."
Morrell checked the shadows on the ground. In a few minutes it would be night and the advantages would shift, but to whom? Maybe he could get some men close enough in the dark to throw in a satchel charge and blow up the cave entrance. He thought back to the lecture on Okinawa and shuddered at the thought of people, even Jap soldiers who had it coming, being buried alive. He hadn't had to do that yet, but it looked as if the time was coming.
On the other hand, there was the distinct possibility that the Japs in the cave were working up enough nerve for a banzai attack, which would end it all and take them out in a blaze of fanatic glory. If that was the case, he didn't want his men out of the holes they'd dug when it occurred. They'd wait awhile.
The sky darkened and the cloud layer made it even more gloomy and difficult to see. Paul checked by radio with Captain Ruger and was told that mortars with flares were ready for firing. Paul and Ruger wished they weren't so damned close to the cave. As always, the Japs had waited until the platoon was on top of them before revealing their existence. Once again, he had wounded to care for.
"MacArthur dead! You dead too!"
"How the hell do they know these things?" Sergeant Collins wondered. "They get a newspaper in there or something?"
"Beats me," Paul answered. "You have any thoughts as to how many of them are in that cave?"
"I gotta guess at least ten or so, but not too many more. Goddamn cave just doesn't look that big."
That was close enough to what Paul was figuring. Not that many Japs, but they were so damn close to them. If only the flamethrower had killed them, but it hadn't. Maybe the cave was deep enough for the Japs to hide in and save oxygen, which also meant that there might be more Japs inside than they thought. Or maybe the enemy had built baffles or walls within the cave that the fire from the flamethrower could not negotiate its way past. It hadn't taken long for the Japs on Kyushu to figure out that a flamethrower's stream could be deflected by a wall of rocks and that the persons behind the barrier would be reasonably safe as long as their air held out.
"I want a flare," Paul ordered. A few seconds later, the hillside was illuminated with a harsh, artificial light that floated down to the earth, where it gradually faded away. There were no Japs under it.
"Nimitz eat shit!"
"Nimitz's a sailor," Paul found himself saying. "What'd you expect?" That got more laughter from those who heard it, causing Paul to wonder again just how men could find humor in such deadly circumstances. The resiliency of both himself and the men under his command was incredible.
"Banzai!"
They froze. Was there motion by the cave? Paul called for another flare. It revealed nothing.
"Banzai!" The voice was a lament and a scream. A frightening call to arms.
"Sergeant," Paul said, "you know what the hell they're doing?"
Collins was chewing gum nervously. "I think they're working up the nerve to come out. Probably liquored all to shit as well."
"Banzai! Banzai!"
"Flare," Paul ordered, and again the lights came on. Still no Japs.
Then, just as the light faded, Japanese soldiers spilled out of the cave like ants erupting from a disturbed colony. In an instant of shocking clarity, Paul could see that only a couple of the dozen or so Japanese running at them had rifles. Most carried grenades and ran toward them with their mouths wide-open and screaming incoherently. In front of them, one man, obviously their leader, waved a sword and exhorted them on.
"Fire!" Paul screamed. "More flares!"
Rifle and BAR fire rippled down the American line. Japs were hit, tumbled, and jerked about. Within seconds, a half dozen were down and writhing on the ground, but another handful had made it through. More gunfire erupted and additional enemy soldiers thrashed and twitched and rolled downhill. They were dead, but their momentum carried them forward.
A couple of them were still unhit. The officer with the sword was nowhere to be seen, but two men with grenades in each hand were almost on them. Then there was one. He stopped a few yards in front of them and hurled both grenades just as his body was ripped to bloody pieces by a score of bullets.
One grenade exploded harmlessly in front of them, but Paul watched in horror as the second grenade arced through the air toward the soldiers to his left. First, he heard screams of panic, then a loud PHUMP! and finally a call for a medic.
While the rest of the platoon continued to shoot the fallen Japanese to make sure they were dead, Paul raced to where the cry for a medic continued with rising intensity. He leaped into a ditch where two previously wounded men looked on in shock at the body of their medic, Corporal Wills. Wills lay facedown with his arms stretched out. Blood and gore saturated the ground on all sides around his abdomen. Sickened by what he knew he would find, Paul turned the man over.
Wills's body from the chest cavity to the hips had been hollowed out as if a giant scoop had spooned out his body organs. Paul could see his heart along with his spinal cord and hip bones. The heart twitched a couple of times and stopped. Wills's face bore a look of surprise.
Paul turned away and vomited while the two wounded men began to whimper. He returned Wills to his facedown position and the whimpering stopped.
When he could finally speak, Paul asked the two wounded men what had happened. One spoke while the other nodded agreement. "Sir, the grenade rolled in and Wills jumped on it. Maybe he thought he could throw it out, but there wasn't time. He jumped on it and it blew him all to shit."
A second medic arrived, and a shaken Paul Morrell left the site to find Captain Ruger. Collins told him Ruger had arrived and was at the Jap cave. Paul climbed the darkened, body-cluttered ground to the cave mouth. He flinched as someone emerged from the cave and into the night. It was Ruger.
"Try not to shoot me, Mr. Morrell."
Paul's left hand had started shaking. "Sorry, sir."
"The cave is empty. A couple of dead bodies, but nothing else." Ruger ignored Paul's nervous reaction to the fight. "The place wasn't booby-trapped and they left nothing useful. Just some ammo cases and a few bottles of what looks like home-brewed whiskey. The filthy swine drank everything before they attacked and didn't leave a damn thing for us. Good job stopping them, Paul. That was a helluva fight."
Paul disagreed. "One of them got through and killed Wills. I had thirty men on line and they couldn't stop a dozen Nips who were at point-blank range."
"Couldn't be helped, and you're being too hard on yourself and them. The Japs were running downhill and had only a little ways to go. Your men didn't have time to choose targets, so I'll bet most of your men, those who fired, all hit the same targets. Hell, that officer with the sword probably got shot a hundred times. I'll bet everybody wanted a chunk of his skinny yellow ass."
Paul recalled how only a few had gone down in the first fusillade. "Yeah. But what do you mean 'those who fired'? Everybody shot, didn't they?"
Ruger laughed. "In a situation like that I'll bet half your boys were so shocked shitless by the sight of real live Japs running down their throats that they couldn'
t shoot at all. Either that or they fired so wildly they stood a better chance of hitting the moon than they did the bad guys. Tell me, how many of them did you kill with that popgun of yours?"
Paul thought for a second, and the answer stunned him. "I was so scared of the Japs, and so busy yelling for someone to shoot them along with calling for more flares, that I never did a thing with my carbine. I might as well have left it at home."
"That's what I mean, Paul. And your boys probably did better than most would've. After all, we're veterans now."
There was no sarcasm in Ruger's comments. Once again, hours of boredom had been followed by seconds of sheer terror. Some soldiers had done well, others poorly. All had behaved normally.
"Captain, I want Wills decorated," Paul said, and explained that the young medic had thrown himself on the grenade in an apparent effort to save the other two men.
"You sure he actually fell on it intentionally?" Ruger asked. "Maybe he just stumbled trying to throw it away or while trying to get out of there himself?"
"Two men will testify that he made no effort to save his own life, even if he could, and that he jumped on the grenade to save his men."
Ruger started the walk down the hill. Paul saw that he was carrying the Jap officer's sheathed samurai sword. "What're you going to do with that thing, Captain?"
Ruger paused and waved it awkwardly with one hand. The long, single-edged blade was designed to be gripped with two hands. "Keep it as a trophy for the company. If I left it here, some rear-echelon asshole would pick it up and send it home as a souvenir of his bravery. These things are individually made and may have belonged to that Jap's family for generations, maybe longer. If I can, I'll try to get it back to his relatives after the war is over. If not, I'll keep it or give it to a museum. The Jap was a brave man. Incredibly stupid, but brave."
"So was Wills, sir. Brave that is, not stupid."
"So put him in for something, Paul. How 'bout the Distinguished Service Cross?"
Paul could see Wills's mutilated body and the eternal look of surprise on his young face. Wills had been one of the good guys in the platoon, although Paul now thought of just about all of them as good guys. "No, sir, let's go all the way. Let's put Wills in for the Medal of Honor."
Ruger thought for a moment. Politicians and senior officers getting honors for just being in the vicinity of the shooting, and not for doing anything even remotely heroic. What Wills had done on a bleak hill on Kyushu definitely deserved to be remembered.
"Yeah," Ruger answered softly, "let's do it."
Paul felt better. Wills's death would have some reason for occurring. "And another thing, Captain. You'd might want to stop waving that sword around. Some Jap sniper's likely to get a little pissed at you for having it instead of the original owner."
He laughed out loud when Ruger quickly dropped the sword down to his leg and looked nervously about.
CHAPTER 46
KOREA, NORTH OF THE HAN RIVER
Light feathers of icy snow whipped the barren hill overlooking the frosty brown waters of the Han River. A few miles to the west was the ruined city of Seoul. It could only be seen as a distant and still-smoking blur on the horizon, but it marked the only part of Korea south of the muddy and ice-swollen Han River currently occupied by Soviet forces.
To Marshal Aleksandr Vasilevsky, commander in chief of the Red Army's Far Eastern Forces, the city of Seoul and the Han River line constituted only a temporary halt in the inexorable advance of the Soviet forces against the Japanese armies. That the halt was essential and commanded by Moscow did not affect his opinion that it was temporary.
On August 9, 1945, the same day the Americans dropped the second nuclear bomb, on Nagasaki, a million and a half Soviet soldiers and airmen had surged into Manchuria and then on into Korea and China. Organized into three army fronts- the Trans-Baikal, the First Far Eastern, and the Second Far Eastern- they consisted of eighty infantry and armored divisions, which contained five thousand armored vehicles and twenty-six thousand guns and mortars along with a fleet of five thousand planes. This overwhelming and battle-hardened force was hurled at the Japanese, who were pitifully short of manpower and modern weapons.
With few exceptions, Japanese forces confronting them had already been depleted by the need to transfer so many frontline soldiers back to Japan and had been swept aside or bypassed. Japanese airpower was nonexistent, and Japanese armor was laughably inadequate against the Soviet T-34, the finest tank in the world. The vaunted Japanese soldier had no chance to stand and fight against Soviet armor and firepower. In the face of the ferocious Soviet onslaught and far away from home, many Japanese units had crumbled and run, making the code of Bushido a joke. Within a few weeks, Manchuria, northern Korea, and northern China had been overrun with only moderate losses to the Red Army attackers.
On orders from the Stavka, the Soviet military's high command and in reality the word of Joseph Stalin, Vasilevsky had diverted forces from the drive on Korea to concentrate on the efforts in China. The Korean peninsula was an apple that could be plucked at any time, while the opportunity to take China from the Japanese, and to help the Chinese Red Army at the same time, was too great to be ignored.
It also mattered that the tenuous Soviet supply line from west of the Urals to Manchuria was overloaded and could not sustain Vasilevsky's entire army with food, fuel, and ammunition. When the Siberian winter closed down roads and rail lines, choices had to be made as to which areas would be supported by the limited resources, and sustaining operations in China was the choice.
Vasilevsky had halted his operations in Korea while focusing his efforts in China and had been pleased with the results. Beijing and Shanghai had fallen along with a number of other major cities, and the Soviets still drove southward.
But now, as he watched the columns of antlike figures cross the pontoon bridges of the Han River, Marshal Aleksandr Vasilevsky was no longer quite so pleased with his success. That was because Lazar Kaganovich stood beside him on the frozen hill overlooking the Han. Kaganovich was the deputy premier of the Soviet Union, theoretically second only to Joseph Stalin.
The fifty-year-old Vasilevsky had originally been a czarist officer and had, before that, even studied for the priesthood. Both occurred before the Revolution, which, when it came, he endorsed with fervor. With his background, along with his tendency to be cultured rather than affect the crudeness of so many other Soviet officers, Vasilevsky had never felt comfortable in the inner circles of the Soviet hierarchy.
Even though Stalin himself had once considered taking holy orders, Vasilevsky was still concerned that his relatively elitist background might come back to haunt him. He had worked closely with Stalin and knew that he had the power of death at his whim. Vasilevsky's command at the far end of the Soviet empire pleased him because it meant he was far from the reaches of Joseph Stalin and the murderous intrigues of the Soviet empire.
However, Lazar Kaganovich's presence on the Korean hill meant that Stalin had reached out to him. To some people, the huge but cadaverous-looking Kaganovich personified evil. Years earlier, he had delivered his own teenage daughter to be seduced by Stalin, then permitted his own brother to be executed. Kaganovich had further demonstrated his loyalty to Stalin when he orchestrated the death by starvation of the millions of prosperous farmers, the kulaks, whose continuing prosperity insulted the egalitarian ideals of communism. As deputy premier to a man who kept everything to himself, Kaganovich's main role was to be Stalin's executioner.
"Does the sight please you?" Kaganovich asked.
Vasilevsky wondered how any man could permit Stalin to flick his own daughter, murder his brother, and still work for him. Kaganovich's degree of devotion to Stalin was frightening.
"Indeed it does, comrade, as does anything Comrade Stalin wishes."
"Some might say that we are letting the Japanese get away," he said, gesturing to the columns of Japanese infantry that moved across the bridges in plain sight and under scores o
f silent Soviet guns.
Vasilevsky recognized the clumsy probe and deflected it. "Anyone who felt that way would be disloyal. Comrade Stalin knows what he is doing and has proven that many times over."
"Good. Even though we all felt you would understand and comply, it was considered important enough that I come here to bring you the message in person."
"I understand." Vasilevsky also understood that the penalty for hesitation in complying with Stalin's order would have been a bullet to the brain from Kaganovich's pistol. It had been widely rumored that Stalin had gotten Kaganovich's daughter pregnant as a result of the seduction. Vasilevsky wondered what had happened to the unfortunate girl and her bastard child. He doubted that either still lived.
Yet, despite his personal and unrevealed misgivings, Vasilevsky had to admire the audacity of the new situation. Kaganovich's message was that Stalin had reached a secret accord with the Japanese government. Under it, the Red armies in Korea would halt in place and safe passage through the Russian lines would be granted to the Japanese forces in China and other parts of Asia. The results of the agreement were below Vasilevsky. Long lines of Japanese soldiers, including many taken prisoner in the preceding battles, were crossing over the Han and back into Japanese control.
"Comrade Kaganovich, how long do you think the secret of the accord will endure?"
Kaganovich's laugh was a sharp cackle. "Long enough for many tens of thousands of Japanese to escape to Korea, and long enough for us to tilt the balance of the war of liberation against the corrupt Chiang Kai-shek regime in the favor of Mao Tse-tung's Marxist forces. Then, like Poland and eastern Germany, we will present the United States with a fait accompli which they can only undo by force of arms. They will not fight for China any more than they will for Poland or any other country we desire to control."
"Do we care what ultimately happens to the Japanese crossing our lines? Have we made further arrangements to get them to Japan itself?"
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