Tough Guys Die Hard

by Len Levinson

  “Yes sir.”

  “Carry out your orders.”

  The Reverend Billie Jones raced across the shallow water and up the riverbank, flopping onto his stomach behind a bush. He motioned with his hand for his squad to take cover, and they moved across the river bank on both sides of him, hiding behind trees and fallen logs, huddling under bushes. To the right of the Second Squad, the First Squad under Sergeant Plunkett hit the dirt in a straight skirmish line.

  Then Butsko and Pfc. Guiteau came ashore, followed by Frankie La Barbara. Butsko didn’t even bother taking cover, because he was sure no Japs were around. If they were, they would’ve opened fire by now.

  “Gimme the walkie-talkie,” he said to Pfc. Guiteau.

  Guiteau handed it over, and Butsko called Captain Mason.

  “We’re across,” Butsko said. “The Japs haven’t done a fucking thing yet, which I guess you know. Over.”

  “Move in about twenty yards and take cover,” Captain Mason said. “We’re coming over right now. Over and out.”

  Butsko handed the radio back to Guiteau and turned around. He saw a dark mass approach the river on the west bank, and knew it was Easy Company getting their feet wet.

  “Move in about twenty-five yards!” Butsko said to his men. “Move it out!”

  Colonel Katsumata paced the floor back and forth in front of his desk again, his hands clasped behind his back, his nose twitching nervously. Major Honda dashed through the tent flap, his eyes glittering with excitement.

  “More Americans are crossing the river, sir!”

  Colonel Katsumata spun around so he could face Major Honda. “How many?”

  “Approximately one hundred!”

  “Where?”

  “Same place.”

  Colonel Katsumata pointed a forefinger into the air. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “Now things are getting interesting!” In quick long strides he moved behind his desk and looked at his map. “Now this is what I want done,” he said. “Let the Americans advance for two hundred yards or so. Then I want one company to hit them in their front, one company to hit them on their left flank, and one company to hit them on their right flank. Do you understand?”

  “Which companies do you want to perform these tasks, sir?”

  “The local battalion commander can determine the details of the attack. That’s what he’s there for. I’ll accompany you to the radio room, so that I can stay close to incoming information. Let’s go.”

  Colonel Katsumata put on his helmet. Major Honda already had his helmet on. Both were armed with samurai swords and Nambu pistols. Colonel Katsumata marched out of his office, and Major Honda followed him. They crossed the jungle clearing, heading for the radio tent, and all the soldiers in the vicinity wondered what was causing the two officers to rush about with such speed and determination. The two officers entered the radio tent, and Major Honda wrote down the message to be sent to the commander of Battalion B, which was in the sector of the American crossing, while Colonel Katsumata took out a cigarette and lit it up, trying to remain calm, hoping the Americans wouldn’t continue to send companies across the Driniumor, because that would mess up his plans.

  TWELVE . . .

  Butsko watched Easy Company move into the jungle behind the recon platoon. Captain Mason came forward with Sergeant Cassidy and a young soldier carrying a backpack radio, its aerial lashing the air.

  “How’re you doing, Butsko?” asked Captain Mason, a wry smile on his black-bearded features.

  “Nothing’s going on here,” Butsko replied, “but I smell Japs.”

  “I hope you’re wrong, but we’ll soon find out. Move your men forward, and my company will follow you.”

  “Yes sir,” Butsko said. “Just don’t get too far behind us.”

  “We’ll be right on your heels.”

  Butsko stood and raised his hand high in the air, then pointed forward. “Move it out!”

  His men dragged themselves up from the ground and advanced into the dark, creepy jungle. Vines hung down from the trees, scraping their shoulders and helmets. The sun rose toward the horizon, casting an eerie pink glow among the trees and branches. Birds chirped overhead as they flew from twig to twig. Otherwise it was silent—too silent for Butsko’s liking. He couldn’t believe there weren’t Japs around.

  The recon platoon slipped through the jungle, and each man was obsessed by something in addition to the Japs. Tronolone and Schlegelmilch were waiting for their chance to kill Butsko. Crow was nearly fainting with fear. Hampton gnashed his teeth in rage, because he couldn’t understand why a man like him should have to fight Japs in hot, smelly jungles. McGurk wanted to prove he wasn’t as dumb as everybody thought he was. Bisbee the thief wondered if Jap soldiers carried valuables on them, like watches and gold rings, so he could plunder their dead bodies. He hoped they had lots of gold teeth in their mouths.

  They advanced through jungle that had been fought over fiercely for the past three days, and shell craters were everywhere. The air had the stink of dried blood and rotting flesh, because a length of somebody’s finger lay under that bush, and a piece of somebody’s gut lay behind that tree. After artillery bombardments it was impossible to pick up all the pieces.

  The river could no longer be seen behind them, but it could be heard rushing and roaring. It appeared as though no Japs were around. Some of the men speculated that the Japs had been wiped out during the past few days of fighting, or they’d retreated back to Wewak where they came from; but not Butsko. His sixth sense told him Japs were watching him. He could almost feel rays from their eyes burning into his skin. His mind conjured up images of his platoon and Easy Company being attacked by Japs on all sides. Something told him they were walking into a trap.

  “Hold it right here!” Butsko said to his men. “Take cover!”

  His men dived to the ground and peered around nervously. They too were spooked by the silence and possibility of ambush. Butsko turned around and waited for Captain Mason to catch up with him, leading the men from his company.

  “What’s the holdup?” Captain Mason asked.

  “I don’t think we should go any farther,” Butsko replied.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think there’s Japs around here.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Butsko shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “We’re not stopping unless we’re ordered to stop, or the Japs open fire on us,” Captain Mason said. “What am I supposed to tell Colonel Hutchins—that we stopped because you thought there were Japs around here? He’ll go right through the fucking roof!”

  “Yeah, he sure will,” Butsko agreed.

  “Move your men out, Sergeant.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Butsko told his men to advance. They raised themselves up off the ground and trudged forward into the jungle becoming lighter every moment as the sun floated closer to the horizon. The tension was building among the men from the recon platoon and Easy Company. Everybody believed something bad would happen at any moment.

  Private Crow finally went to pieces. He dropped down to his knees, let his rifle fall to the ground, and buried his face in his hands.

  “I can’t take it anymore!” he wailed.

  Butsko looked at Frankie La Barbara, who nodded. Frankie La Barbara walked up behind Private Crow and kicked him squarely in the ass.

  “On your feet, scumbag!” Frankie La Barbara said.

  “No!” replied Crow.

  “No?” asked Frankie.

  “No!” repeated Crow.

  Frankie walked around Crow and stood in front of him, looking down. Frankie wanted to kick Crow in the face, but that would knock Crow out and then Crow wouldn’t have to advance, which was what Crow wanted. Bending over, Frankie backhanded Crow across the mouth.

  “On your feet!”

  The slap stung, and Crow shook his head. “I won’t.”

  “You fucking sissy. You punk. You creep.”

  “I don’t care.”
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  “Then you’re a dead man.”

  Frankie worked the bolt of his M 1 rifle and rammed a round into the chamber. Crow went slack and fell to the ground, rolling onto his back, his arms outspread. “Go ahead and shoot me,” Crow said. “I don’t care.”

  “Neither do I,” Frankie replied.

  Frankie pulled his bayonet off the end of his M 1 rifle and stuck it into its scabbard. Then he angled the barrel of his M 1 down and rammed it into Crow’s mouth, knocking out his front teeth, the barrel burrowing into Crow’s throat.

  Crow was stunned by the pain. He wanted to scream, but the barrel was in his throat and no sound came out. His mouth filled up with blood. He had difficulty breathing and coughed a few times.

  “I’m gonna kill you—you little fuck!” Frankie snarled, squeezing the trigger.

  Crow lashed out with his left foot and kicked Frankie in the balls, but Frankie saw the kick coming and turned to the side at the last moment, catching the blow on his outer thigh. The sudden movement caused Frankie to lose his balance, and he fell to the ground, pulling his rifle out of Crow’s mouth as he went down. Crow dived on Frankie and grabbed him by the throat. Blood burbled out of Crow’s mouth and he was mad enough to kill. He squeezed Frankie’s throat but Frankie delivered an uppercut to Crow’s chops and Crow went sprawling backward. Crow landed on the ground near his rifle and picked it up. He aimed it at Frankie La Barbara.

  Butsko smacked Crow on the back of his head.

  “Save it for the Japs!” he growled.

  Crow didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. He was enraged, in pain, and confused.

  Butsko pushed him forward. “Get going! We ain’t got time to play with cowards!”

  Frankie La Barbara scrambled to his feet and ran toward them, his rifle in his hands. “Lemme kill him, Sarge! I’ll kill him for you!”

  “He gets one more chance,” Butsko said to Frankie. Then he turned to Crow. “You hear that? Next time you get it. Understand?”

  Crow nodded his head angrily as blood poured out of his shattered gums. His teeth hung in there by threads. Crow needed major dental work immediately, but there were no dentists in the vicinity.

  “Get back where you’re supposed to be!” Butsko said to Crow. “On the double!”

  Crow hesitated. Butsko whacked him hard on the mouth, sending a spray of blood flying through the air.

  “I said get going!”

  Crow turned around and ran back to the main formation. He was so pissed off he was ready to scream, but he didn’t dare scream because he knew Japs might be nearby. Blood dribbled down his chin onto his uniform. He probed around in his mouth with his tongue and felt the teeth dangling there. His mind was aflame with rage and indignation. Never had he known such blatant brutality in his life. He reached the main skirmish line and spat a gob of blood at the ground, then slowed down and advanced with the rest. He was so confused and angry that he was incapable of doing anything except following Butsko’s orders.

  Butsko returned to his position midpoint between his two squads, and a few feet to their rear. Frankie dropped back behind Butsko, and now he was all wired up too. The little squabble with Crow had got his blood rushing through his veins. He winked and blinked and clicked his teeth, wishing something would happen. He was ready to fight then and there. The silence of the jungle was driving him nuts.

  Private Theophilus Hampton had seen what Frankie did to Crow, and he was horrified. The sheer animal savagery of the episode was more than his delicate mind could digest. He felt dizzy, as if he was going to faint. There was a loud roaring in his ears. He realized that he was scared. The extremity of the circumstances forced him to understand that he’d always been afraid of the war, but he’d never admitted it to himself, preferring instead to hide behind his veneer of upper-class mannerisms and lofty ridicule.

  His body tingled with fear. He hated pain. Death was beyond his imagination. He plodded along, putting one foot in front of the other, keeping up with the others. All I can do is my best, he thought. It is better to die with honor than in shame.

  The recon platoon and Easy Company continued to push forward through the jungle. Half the sun was above the horizon now, sending narrow shafts of light past trees and branches. Butsko estimated they were nearly five hundred yards east of the Driniumor, which was as far as they were supposed to go. Then they could stop and dig in, which would be safer than walking through the jungle. Morning bugs and mosquitoes swarmed around the soldiers, anxious to drink blood for breakfast. Jungle rats poked their heads out of holes to see what was going on. Monkeys stretched on the branches high in the trees. Birds sang morning serenades to each other.

  Butsko reached into his shirt pocket and took out his package of Camels. He lit the cigarette with his Zippo, and as he dropped the Zippo back into his pocket, a thunderous fusillade of rifle and machine-gun fire opened up to his front. Bullets whizzed around his head and shoulders and he dived to the ground, pressing his face against the muck.

  Pfc. Guiteau was shot through the throat on the way down, and he didn’t move after he hit the ground. His rifle lay on one side of him, and the walkie-talkie on the other side. The war was over for the game young soldier from Providence, Rhode Island.

  Butsko heard new volleys of fire from his left and right. He realized instantly that the recon platoon and Easy Company had walked into a trap.

  “Keep your heads down!” Butsko shouted. “Return the fire!”

  Butsko turned to Guiteau. “Call Captain Mason and tell him we’re pulling back.”

  Guiteau didn’t move. Butsko saw the ribbon of blood around Guiteau’s neck, and realized that Guiteau was dead. Butsko crawled over Guiteau’s warm body and picked up the walkie-talkie, pressing the button and calling Captain Mason, but Captain Mason didn’t answer. All Butsko could hear was the crackle of electricity on the airwaves, and the sound of rifles and machine guns all around him.

  “Pull back!” Butsko shouted to his men. “Keep six feet between you! Keep firing!” As soon as he closed his mouth he heard whistling above his head. Uh-oh, he thought.

  The whistle sounded louder, and a few seconds later a mortar shell landed twenty feet to his right. He heard another whistle, and then a second mortar shell hit the dirt, blowing apart trees and branches, sending clods of earth flying through the air. Bullets flew like hail over the soldiers’ heads. More mortar rounds landed in their midst, exploding thunderously, making the ears of the soldiers ring. Butsko realized that the Japs had them boxed in. He and his men couldn’t move.

  “Take cover!” Butsko screamed. “Stay where you are! Kill any Jap who shows his face!” McGurk had been trying to crawl back when he heard this new order, so he calmly and determinedly turned around and faced front again. Bullets slammed into the ground all around him, and one bullet struck his shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh, but McGurk barely flinched. Blood poured down his arm as he lined up the sights on his BAR. He couldn’t see any Japanese faces but knew they were out there someplace, so he tapped the cartridge clip to make sure it was attached to the bottom of the chamber properly, clicked off the safety, and opened fire. The BAR danced around on its skinny bipod legs as hot lead streamed out of the barrel. McGurk leaned his considerable weight on the stock to make the BAR settle down, and continued to fire in bursts of three. He felt good because he was doing as he was told and nobody was cussing him out. In fact, he kind of liked the excitement. He hoped some Japs would attack so he could beat the shit out of them. He didn’t like Japs very much, and was anxious to prove to Butsko that he was as good a soldier as anybody else in the Army.

  The other men in the recon platoon fired their rifles straight ahead into the jungle, although they couldn’t see a hell of a lot. Mortar rounds continued to crash down around them, but it wasn’t a very intense barrage. The veterans in the platoon had seen much worse. Still, any mortar barrage was nothing to joke around about. Any mortar round could blow you to bits, and after the smoke cleared, there wouldn�
�t be enough of you left to put into a C-ration can.

  Finally Butsko got through to Captain Mason on the walkie-talkie. “We’re pinned down!” Butsko said. “You’d better call for help!”

  “I already called,” Captain Mason said. “It’s on the way.”

  On the west bank of the Driniumor River, General Clyde Hawkins watched Fox Company of the Twenty-third Regiment wade into the water, on its way to reinforce Easy Company and the recon platoon. He and the officers with him could hear the sounds of rifles and machine guns and the blasts of mortars.

  “Well,” said General Hawkins, slapping his swagger stick against his leg, “now we know the Japs haven’t rolled over and died. The reconnaissance was a success.” He looked at Colonel Hutchins. “Support your men out there until they can fight off the Japs in front of them, and then pull them back.”

  “Yes sir,” Colonel Hutchins said without much enthusiasm.

  “Carry on.”

  General Hawkins stood for a few moments, waiting for Colonel Hutchins to salute him, but Colonel Hutchins made no move to do so. Finally General Hawkins turned around and walked back to his jeep. Now he could report to General Hall that the Japs still were feisty and strong on the other side of the Driniumor. General Hall would need to know that, so he could plan further operations more intelligently.

  General Hawkins climbed into his jeep. “Take me to General Hall’s headquarters,” he told his driver.

  “Yes sir.”

  His driver started up the jeep, shifted into gear, and drove away. The jeep disappeared behind a stand of trees.

  Colonel Hutchins watched him go. “That son of a bitch,” he said.

  Lieutenant Colonel Lechler and the other officers nearby said nothing, because they were afraid to bad-mouth their division commander.

  Colonel Hutchins wasn’t troubled by that fear. “That fuck is going back to where it’s safe while my men are bleeding out there.” He turned to Lieutenant Colonel Lechler. “Prepare to send George Company over.”