"And the weather was the primary reason they got the jump on us?" This was from Edwards, and it was evident from his voice that he was used to being behind a microphone as well as a typewriter.
"Yes, although we knew it was likely coming, there was little we could do to prevent them from moving and massing their forces under the cover of cloud and rain. We dug in as much as possible and we can only hope it was enough."
"Sort of like the Ardennes all over again, eh, General?" This from the Brit, Burchett.
"Except that we are much better prepared. It shows that possessing overwhelming power is not always enough to prevent a desperate enemy from trying one last throw of the dice. The Japs will doubtless achieve local penetrations and overrun some positions, but they will be stopped." Ridgway faced Baldwin. "Like you said, we will suffer many, many needless casualties. Except for the fighting in I Corps area, the war is over."
"Any comment on the kamikazes?" asked White.
Ridgway's expression turned even grimmer than before. "That the Japs would use kamikazes on frontline positions came as a complete shock. With our warships pulled back, we expected suicide attacks on fuel depots, storage dumps, and command centers, but not on frontline trenches and pillboxes. Gentlemen, they hurt us badly with that tactic. Our antiaircraft guns were almost all situated farther rear. Just like the picket destroyers caught hell off Okinawa, our boys in the foxholes and trenches are taking a beating, and there isn't a helluva lot we can do about it."
"But why doesn't the weather hamper them like it does us?" Baldwin queried. He had seen Iwo Jima and was familiar with hell.
"Because they don't care. Jap planes by the hundreds, maybe a couple of thousand, are skimming a few feet over the hills, and when they see something that looks like our lines, they line up and crash into it. Since they intend to die in the first place, they are willing to take risks that we wouldn't even consider. If they lose some of their pilots through accidental crashes into the wrong hillsides, they just don't seem to give a damn."
It was White's turn. "What about Hirohito? Where is he and what's he up to?"
"Hirohito is now in Kagoshima City trying to coordinate an end to the hostilities. He has recorded messages for the Japanese troops and people that are being broadcast as we speak. Additionally, hundreds of thousands of leaflets are being dropped on the combatants. Hopefully, it'll work.
"The remnants of Japan's armies in the Philippines under General Yamashita have given up as a result of Hirohito's actions, and the garrisons of Rabaul and Hong Kong have also surrendered. Even in Kyushu, General Yokoyama is trying to recall his troops. It's working. It'll take time, but it's working." Then Ridgway sagged. "I can only hope that it isn't too late for our boys in I Corps."
Edwards looked up from his notes. "When will Hirohito be going to Tokyo, and what about General Homma's position with us?"
"The emperor feels that his place is on Kyushu, and everyone agrees with him. General Homma and Admiral Ozawa have pretty well shut down the Japanese military on Honshu and elsewhere, so there's no need for the emperor's presence there to help things along. Hirohito has told Bradley that if it would help, he would march to the front lines and try to stop the Japanese attacks in person. It won't happen, of course, but we believe his sincerity and it does show that he is fully committed to the goal of ending the fighting."
White was concerned. "But what about Homma? Isn't he the man responsible for the Bataan Death March? If he is instrumental in ending the war, does that mean he won't be prosecuted?"
Ridgway shrugged. War crimes trials were none of his concern, at least not yet. "Maybe his actions show he isn't as guilty as we thought? On the other hand, you may also be right. Helping to end this crap might just win some people a lot of forgiveness."
Burchett seemed to shiver. "In the meantime, God help the men in the front lines who are having to endure this awful fighting."
The reporters looked at each other. "I think we're about done, aren't we?" White said, speaking for the group.
"Yes."
"Well then, General, how much of what you've said will we be able to print?"
Ridgway laughed grimly. "Not a damned word."
CHAPTER 82
ROUND TOP
Paul Morrell was consumed with fear and anger. Japs were less than a hundred yards away in the trenches along where the kamikaze had crashed. The Japs had swarmed up the hill and overrun what remained before he could shore up the defenses and replace the casualties. Worse, a misunderstanding had sent Sergeant Collins and the reserve force of twenty men in a counterattack that had seen them chewed up by the Japs. Only a handful of men had returned, and Collins wasn't one of them.
"What now, Lieutenant?" It was First Sergeant Mackensen, and Paul saw fear in his face as well. The sergeant was normally a rock, but now he was as scared as anyone. Death in the form of untold numbers of Japs was only a little ways away.
Ironically, the long night had ended and the weather had begun to clear up, which meant that he could see the Jap trenches more clearly. Sometimes he could see their helmets and bayonets as they moved around and got organized. Shooting between the two groups was constant, and Paul wondered which of the many dead bodies on the ground between the two lines was his friend Collins.
"Lieutenant," Mackensen insisted, "what the hell do we do now?"
Paul began to shake again. With enormous effort, he gathered himself. There were orders to give. "We go to Last Stand. Order everybody out of their trenches and into Last Stand."
It was desperation, but what other choice did he have? Last Stand was the sardonic name given by the troops to the earthen berm that ran around Orlando's tank. In front of the berm was a line of trenches. It was Paul's idea. Men could shoot from behind the berm and from the trenches, which would effectively double their firepower. It would also make them more vulnerable to machine gun and mortar fire because they would be so closely packed, but it was a chance he had to take. Already Jap mortar rounds were falling, and a number of his wounded had been pulled back to the narrow ground between the tank and the berm.
On signal, men raced from their positions and into Last Stand. Paul was dismayed at how few they were. Mackensen sorted them out and made sure there were no gaps in the lines. The Japs must be doing much the same thing, Paul realized. They were gathering for one last push past the useless howitzers and into Last Stand. He wondered just what the hell the Japs would do with the hill when they took it. The Japs had suffered badly. The slopes of Round Top were littered with dead and the trench was full of them.
"Lieutenant." It was Orlando from the tank.
"What?"
"I just want you to know that our hitherto inexhaustible supply of ammo is pretty well shot, pardon my pun."
It didn't surprise Paul. Everyone's weapon had been firing constantly. A lot of their reserve stores had been destroyed by the plane, while others were out of reach because of the Jap advance.
"When we run out of bullets we go to bayonets. When we're all out of weapons," Paul answered with an almost maniacal laugh, "we'll piss on them."
That brought nervous laughter from a couple of the men who heard it. Funny, but there was no talk of surrender. The Japs would kill anyone who even tried, so what would be the point?
"Banzai! " came the shriek from the trench, and he saw a sword waving in the air. "Banzai, banzai, banzai!"
A sea of humanity lifted out of the trenches and up the slope of the hill. The men in Last Stand fired as rapidly as they could, with the two machine guns on the tank joining in. They launched mortar shells at their highest possible trajectory so they would come down just outside the berm. Japs fell by the dozen, by the score, but they still came on. Many fired at the Americans as they advanced and the air became filled with grenades. The noise was deafening as men shot at each other at close range, screamed, and died. Neither the berm nor the trenches provided full protection, and more of Paul's command fell.
Paul turned to Sergeant Orlando,
whose head was sticking out of the driver's hatch. "Now," Paul managed to say with a calmness he didn't feel. "Use firefly, Sergeant."
The brief and incongruous sound of a warning siren caused the men behind the berm to duck. Then, a second's pause that lasted an eternity. At last, a tongue of flame peeked out of the tank's barrel and then surged outward in a sea of fire. Some of the advancing Japs were caught in it, while others saw it and stopped in sudden fear while their ranks continued to be riddled by bullets. The bravest men in the world are terrified by fire, and the Japanese were no exception. Those who could began to turn and run from burning death. It was no use. Death caught them in its flaming grip.
Orlando traversed the turret so that the flamethrower mounted in the barrel of the cannon created a circle of fire around Last Stand. The Japanese on the hill were turned into human torches that jumped and fell and screamed. Again and again, the tongues of flame licked the land outside the berm, sucking and scorching the life from it. Paul huddled with the others on the ground behind the berm and felt the flamethrower's hot breath as the barrel propelled its fire over them.
Finally, Orlando turned off his death machine. Blackened, burning Japs were everywhere, and the stench of burned meat was overpowering. Most of the Japanese were prone, but a few were frozen in sitting positions, and a handful still moved and twitched. Rifle fire from the berm ended their suffering. Paul noticed that it had grown astonishingly silent around Last Stand. No one was yelling "Banzai," and no one was shooting at them. Firefly, the flamethrower replacement for the tank's cannon, had worked. The firefly apparatus had sent the flames out much farther than a handheld flamethrower could, and with horrifyingly deadly effect.
The tank's engine roar broke the silence. Orlando plowed his tank through the berm and over the dead and dying. Almost leisurely, he drove along the circumference of the original defenses atop the hill. The flamethrower surged again as he scorched the slopes leading to Round Top, enlarging the circle of death, while the tank's machine guns added to the carnage.
The tank stopped and the driver's hatch opened. "They're all gone, Lieutenant," said Orlando. "Only dead ones left."
Paul nodded and sagged to the ground, exhausted beyond feeling. The Japs were gone, at least for the moment. Would they return? No, he corrected himself. When would they return? The Japs always returned. They never stopped and they were always there. Japs would be a part of his life forever. Then he realized that it had stopped raining and that he could hear planes flying high in the air above him.
CHAPTER 83
NORTH OF MT. UGLY
Sgt. Yuji Yokota grieved for the men of his decimated command. He had grown fond of the innocent young boys who had trusted him, and now so many were gone, their youthful lives snuffed out for no reason. He could only hope that some were still alive and were simply running from the horrors they'd witnessed. If so, he wouldn't blame them. It was the most awful death imaginable. There was nothing to describe the fear of being burned alive. His own personal bravery had vanished, and he had run with the rest of them, away from the hill and their hellish tormentor.
Even so, Yokota and his men had been fortunate. They had arrived late at the assembly point and had gone up the hill in the third wave, not the first. This had enabled them to flee when the jets of fire had commenced streaking down the hill, turning so many into screaming torches. Many of his boy soldiers had not made it back safely, but, overall, they had fared better than those who'd preceded them. Those brave soldiers of Japan were dead.
Lieutenant Uji staggered over to where Yokota squatted on the ground. Uji had lost his glasses and had to squint to see Yokota.
"We must attack again, Sergeant."
Yokota was incredulous. "Why? There's only us left. Everyone else is dead."
The temerity of the question shocked Uji and he cocked his fist as if to strike Yokota for his insolence. Then he changed his mind and merely shook his head. "It is our duty and our destiny. We must attack again."
"Lieutenant, there are only about forty of us left out of the eighty that attacked the first time."
Uji stiffened. "We ran, Sergeant. We ran like frightened dogs and I was one of them. We shamed ourselves and Japan by our actions. We must gain redemption."
"Plane!" a soldier yelled. Discussion ceased as the frightened men scrambled to make themselves small and invisible. The weather was quickly clearing, and there was no place to hide from the terrors of the sky. Yokota doubted if they would now get anywhere near the hill before being bombed or strafed. He squinted upward and saw a B-17. Its bomb-bay doors were opened and he awaited a rain of death, but, instead of bombs, thousands of sheets of paper began to fall like large snowflakes.
"Leave them," Uji commanded as the leaflets settled about them. Reading American propaganda was forbidden. However, it was a useless command as everyone grabbed a sheet. If nothing else, American propaganda leaflets made halfway decent toilet paper.
Yokota stared at the paper in his hand. On it was a picture of Hirohito standing alongside a little white man who was identified as Truman, the president of the United States, and they stood together as equals with the bulk of Mt. Kagoshima in the background.
In disbelief, he read the text. And then he read it a second time. The war was over. An honorable peace had been made. The integrity of Japan and her culture would continue. The emperor commanded that everyone withdraw from the American positions and head north to safety.
Uji crumpled the copy he'd been reading and threw it on the ground. Tears streamed down his face. "We attack."
Yokota stood and glared at the lieutenant. "No! You read the emperor's orders. We are to withdraw."
Uji was on the edge of hysteria. "They are lies, all lies. Even if we cannot succeed, we must give up our lives for Japan."
This enraged Yokota. Did the fool want to kill all of the remaining lambs? He grabbed the lieutenant by the collar of his jacket and jammed the paper in his face. "Would you disobey your emperor? Read where he forbids further suicides. To do what you now wish would bring shame to us, not glory."
Uji sagged and began to sob. After a moment, he managed to speak. "You are right, Sergeant. Even though it is hateful, we must obey the emperor. Take the men to the rear. I will follow."
Yokota looked about at the surviving boy soldiers, who watched him with hope, fear, and confusion mixed on their faces. "No, Lieutenant," he said gently, "you will not follow. You will lead us back to safety. Just like the emperor orders."
CHAPTER 84
ROUND TOP
General Monck and Colonel Parker left their jeep at the base of the hill and began the climb to the top of the battle-scarred mound. Both men were shocked by what they saw. The ground itself had been scorched, and the Japanese dead still lay where they'd fallen. Burned and blackened bodies with their clothes burned off gestured to them with charred limbs thrust upward. Body parts, many unidentifiable, had to be avoided as they walked. Monck slipped and recoiled in revulsion as his hand came to rest on what might have been part of a skull.
As they reached the crest, they stepped over the trench. There were bodies in it, but others were strewn about as if they had been pulled from the trench.
"Someone was looking for our boys," Parker commented softly. "And making sure the Japs were really dead." American dead and wounded had just been evacuated from the killing ground.
"The smell is awful," Parker added in understatement. The smell was nauseating. "I don't think I'll ever be able to eat roast beef again."
Monck corrected him. "It smells like pork." He wanted to gag.
They passed the blackened skeleton of a crashed plane. Its tail was pointed incongruously to the sky. They had seen many like it in their inspection of the regimental area. Kamikazes had caused almost as many casualties as the Japanese banzai attacks.
An American walked around the hill taking pictures while a second took notes. "Correspondents," said Parker. "I just hope they get the story right for once. It deserves to be
told."
Monck led the way through the breach in the earthen berm. Numerous pairs of eyes were on them, but there had been no attempt to challenge or call out to them. For all their rank, Monck and Parker might as well have been invisible. They looked at the living men, many of whom walked or stood like zombies. Finally, one disassociated himself from the group and walked over to them. Monck was hard put to recognize the exhausted and filthy man as Lt. Paul Morrell.
Monck stopped Morrell from saluting and put his arm around the younger man's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, General," Paul said, his voice and body quivering.
Monck was confused. "Sorry? For what?"
Paul's voice was choked with emotion. "I lost half my men."
"No," Monck said with gentle firmness. "You saved half your men. You and your men are heroes. You stood off at least a battalion of Japs and you're still here to talk about it. Son, I'm the one who should apologize. I tried to get you more help, but there was nothing to give you."
But Monck wondered what he could have done that would have saved lives on Round Top. Fewer than seventy had survived unhurt. Monck's doubts would haunt him for the rest of his life, just as Morrell would have to live with his. The fury and intensity of the Japanese attacks had stunned them. Someone who wasn't there had picturesquely described the assaults as waves from a stormy sea crashing over rocks with the rocks finally prevailing. Only the rocks and the waves were flesh and blood, not granite and water.
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