by Len Levinson
The Japanese soldier lashed out with his foot, trying to trip Captain Mason, but Captain Mason’s feet were planted solidly on the ground, and the Japanese soldier succeeded only in tripping himself up. He lost his footing and Captain Mason yanked the rifle hard. The Japanese soldier refused to let it go, and he was jerked off his feet. Captain Mason raised his knee as the Japanese soldier fell toward him, and this time he connected with the Japanese soldier’s balls.
The Japanese soldier stuck out his tongue and let his rifle go. He held his shattered balls tenderly in his hands and doubled over in pain. Captain Mason delivered a vertical buttstroke to the Japanese soldier’s face, and that straightened him up. It bent the Japanese soldier over backward, and he crashed onto his back.
Captain Mason hopped forward to ran the Japanese soldier through and finish him off for sure, when in front of him, out of a tangle of soldiers fighting hand-to-hand, there appeared an officer carrying a samurai sword.
This officer happened to be commander of the company that had attacked the recon platoon and Easy Company from their front. He was a big Japanese man, nearly six feet tall, and he fed himself better than he fed his men because he considered himself more important to the Japanese war effort than any of them.
The Japanese officer looked at Captain Mason, and Captain Mason looked back at the Japanese officer. The Japanese officer had no way of knowing that Captain Mason was an officer too, because Captain Mason wasn’t dumb enough to wear officer’s insignia into battle, but Japanese officers wore a slightly different uniform from Japanese enlisted men, with knee-high boots as opposed to the shoes and leggings worn by Japanese enlisted men.
The Japanese officer stepped toward Captain Mason. He was Captain Genzo Akasaka, a seasoned Japanese front-line commander, veteran of much hand-to-hand combat, and he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he had if he weren’t good at it. Captain Mason perceived the confidence and even arrogance in the Japanese officer’s bearing, and knew that he’d have a tough fight on his hands.
Captain Mason stopped and watched the Japanese officer draw closer with slow, deliberate steps as the Japanese officer raised his samurai sword high over his head. Captain Mason thought he’d stand pat and counter off the Japanese officer’s moves. He wasn’t afraid, but he wouldn’t do anything rash either. He too had killed many opponents in hand-to-hand combat, and in addition, US Army propaganda had convinced him that he was somebody special because he was a US Army officer.
Captain Akasaka stepped forward with his left foot. Then he stepped forward with his right foot. His samurai sword pointed straight up in the air over his head. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, and the muscles in his arms were like ropes. Captain Mason waited for him, holding his rifle and bayonet slanted at his chest level. He’d torn the sleeves off his shirt and his arm muscles were smooth bulges scratched and cut, spattered with Japanese blood.
The distance closed between the two officers. They looked into each other’s eyes, trying to gauge each other’s inner strength. Their destinies were on a collision course. Each was confident but not foolhardy. Each knew what to do and how to do it. The winner would win nothing, and the loser would lose his life. It was the ultimate game.
Captain Mason realized that the Japanese officer was wide open, with his samurai sword high over his head. Could a quick lunge with rifle and bayonet finish him off, or was the Japanese officer trying to sucker him, the way boxers sometimes carry their fists low to tempt their opponents to punch and open themselves up for a countering left hook or right cross.
Captain Mason wondered whether the Japanese officer wanted to counter off his moves, just as he wanted to counter off the Japanese officer’s moves. Captain Mason had to make a decision, and he’d learned long ago that if he didn’t know what to do, he shouldn’t do anything. He decided to stand pat and wait. The Japanese officer stopped in front of Captain Mason, still holding his samurai sword in the air. Both were within striking distance. They were two still figures, almost like statuary, on a battlefield awhirl with savagery and bloody death.
“Go ahead,” Mason muttered to the Japanese officer. “Make your move.”
Captain Akasaka couldn’t understand English, and assumed the American soldier had insulted him in some way. Or maybe the American soldier was religious and had uttered a prayer to his foolish Christian god. Either way, it didn’t matter to Captain Akasaka. He was ready to make his move anyway.
Electricity crackled between them. It was a confrontation between two men, and it was also a confrontation between two cultures. Captain Mason couldn’t possibly think like a Japanese, and Captain Akasaka couldn’t possibly think like an American.
As an American, Captain Mason had a certain peculiar flexibility to his thinking. He could adjust to changing situations and make independent decisions. His culture wasn’t tradition-bound, and the American Army didn’t always go by the book, the way the Japanese army did. On top of everything else, Americans are basically crazy motherfuckers. Once the chips are down, Americans tend to go all-out to win. Niceties aren’t particularly important to Americans.
Niceties were everything to the Japanese. They couldn’t even pour a cup of tea without turning it into an elegant ritual, almost a ballet. The art of swordsmanship was considered a great art in Japan. Captain Akasaka’s sword had been made by an eighty-year-old swordmaker who was famous throughout Japan. The old fart received more orders for swords than he’d ever be able to make in ten lifetimes.
The Japanese military establishment, ever since the great victory against the Russians in 1905, believed in the doctrine of the one big knockout punch. They defeated the Russians in one major naval engagement. They thought they could put America out of the war by blowing the American fleet out of the water at Pearl Harbor. And in personal hand-to-hand combat, such as jiujitsu or karate, they looked for the one blow or twist or throw that would disable their opponent permanently. In swordfighting this boiled down to the one massive slash.
Samurai swords were long, sharp, and heavy. They were designed to kill with one blow. Captain Akasaka’s samurai sword was poised for such a blow. He was in position and there was no reason for him to wait any longer. He hadn’t suckered his American out of position by showing himself wide open, so he’d have to sucker him out of position some other way.
“Banzai!” shouted Captain Akasaka, stomping his left foot in front of him as if he were going to charge Captain Mason and deliver the decisive blow.
But Captain Mason didn’t commit himself to any disasterous cover-up move. Instead he just took a step backward to see whether Captain Akasaka was really going to charge, or if he was just feinting.
Captain Akasaka didn’t charge. Captain Mason saw that it was a feint. Captain Akasaka knew that Captain Mason saw that it was a feint. Captain Akasaka realized that the American soldier in front of him was maybe a little smarter than he’d thought. Captain Akasaka stepped to the left. He lowered his sword and pointed it at Captain Mason as if to say I’m gonna whip your ass. Then he raised the sword high again. He stepped to the right.
Captain Mason charged forward while Captain Akasaka was still in motion, thrusting his rifle and bayonet at Captain Akasaka’s chest. Captain Akasaka was taken by surprise, and he brought his samurai sword down swiftly to block the blow, but that time Captain Mason was feinting. Captain Mason drew back as the samurai sword passed in front of him, then lunged again.
The blade of Captain Akasaka’s samurai sword struck against the ground. His hands were down and he was wide open. Captain Mason jabbed rifle and bayonet forward and the bayonet pierced Captain Akasaka’s stomach, going in about halfway. It all happened so swiftly that Captain Akasaka didn’t even know what hit him. Captain Mason twisted his rifle and bayonet and pulled it out. A few inches of Captain Akasaka’s guts poked out of the hole in his stomach, but Captain Akasaka refused to fall. He raised his sword up from the ground and got as high as his knees, but blood was pouring out of his belly, taking his strength along with
it, and then a few more inches of guts spilled out. His knees wobbled, but still he tried to raise his samurai sword, because it was never over for a Japanese officer until it was over.
Captain Mason swung his rifle and bayonet around and bashed Captain Akasaka in the chops. Captain Akasaka was knocked cold, and the force of the blow hurled him to the ground. He lay still as blood and guts oozed out of the hole in his stomach. Captain Mason stepped on Captain Akasaka’s face and cut his throat with his bayonet. Now it was really over for Captain Akasaka.
Captain Mason bent over and picked up the samurai sword lying on the ground. He held it in both his hands and it felt perfectly balanced. It was a tachi-type sword, 700 milimeters long, and its handle was bound with thongs of sharkskin, although Captain Mason thought it was leather. He’d never understood why Japanese samurai swords never had handguards, like western swords.
“Banzai!"
Captain Mason looked up and saw two Japanese soldiers running toward him, aiming their rifles and bayonets at him. They’d spotted their commanding officer lying on the ground and now intended to avenge his death.
“Banzai!” they cried in unison, and Captain Mason raised the sword over his head. He leaped toward his left and swung the sword diagonally as soon as he landed, lopping off the head of the Japanese soldier on the left, and the Japanese soldier’s head went flying in the air like a baseball off the bat of Babe Ruth. The other Japanese soldier turned to face Captain Mason, and Captain Mason swung again, whacking him on the biceps of his left arm. The sword cut easily through flesh and bone and buried itself in the Japanese soldier’s ribs, cracking a few of them.
The Japanese soldier collapsed onto the ground. Captain Mason pulled the sword free and spun around, swinging it from the side and chopping off the top half of a Japanese soldier’s head. On the backswing he struck a Japanese soldier on the shoulder, slicing right into the shoulder socket, and the Japanese soldier went unconscious from the sudden horrible pain. More Japanese soldiers charged toward Captain Mason to avenge the death of their commanding officer, who lay near Captain Mason’s feet, and Captain Mason swung low, busting off the leg of one Japanese soldier. He swung a bit higher the next time and connected with the waist of the next Japanese soldier, slicing swiftly through the soft meat, even severing the Japanese soldier’s spine. The Japanese soldier’s torso broke in two, and he looked like a closing jacknife as he fell to the ground.
Captain Mason charged forward, swinging the samurai sword downward. He connected with the helmet of a Japanese soldier, and the helmet deflected the sword to the side, sparks flying into the air. The Japanese soldier lunged at Captain Mason with his rifle and bayonet, and Captain Mason swung to the side with the samurai sword, slamming it against the Japanese soldier’s rifle and bayonet. More sparks filled the air, and then the Reverend Billie Jones came up behind the Japanese soldier, thrusting his rifle and bayonet into the Japanese soldier’s back.
The Japanese soldier dropped to his knees. Captain Mason watched as the Reverend Billie Jones pulled his bayonet out of the Japanese soldier’s back. Billie Jones turned around and Captain Mason joined him as more Japs ran toward them. Jones parried the lunge from one Japanese rifle and bayonet and smashed the Japanese soldier in the face. Captain Mason brought his samurai sword down on the head of a Japanese soldier who’d lost his helmet in the fierce rough-and-tumble fighting, and cut his head in two, the blade of the samurai sword burying itself in the chest cavity of the Japanese soldier, who was thrown to his knees by the force of the blow.
Captain Mason couldn’t pull the sword loose. No matter how he pried and yanked, it remained lodged inside the Japanese soldier’s chest. Fuck it, Captain Mason thought, picking up the Japanese soldier’s rifle and bayonet. He held it in both his hands and looked around. No Japanese soldiers charging him, so he decided to charge them. He spotted a bunch of Japanese soldiers fighting with GIs not far away, and he ran toward them, leaping over the dead body of Captain Akasaka. The Reverend Billie Jones followed Captain Mason into the slashing, kicking, spitting melee, leaving the dead body of Captain Akasaka behind.
Captain Akasaka was stretched out grotesquely on the ground. Two feet of guts protruded out of his stomach, but the blood no longer oozed out. That was because Captain Akasaka had no more blood to ooze. Most of his blood comprised the big crimson puddle in which he lay. The sun rose in the sky and a shaft of light shone on his body, enveloping it in a golden glow, making the gold watch on his wrist shine.
Two bright eyes were fixed upon that watch. The eyes were in the head of Private Bisbee, who crouched low behind a pile of dead American and Japanese soldiers nearby, a bloody Ka-bar knife held point up in his left hand.
Bisbee had thrown his steel pot away at the beginning of the battle, because it weighed him down. On his left arm he wore seven wristwatches, and on his right arm he wore five. His pockets were stuffed with wallets taken from the bodies of American and Japanese soldiers. Bisbee had killed only when someone interfered with his looting of dead bodies. He didn’t care much about the battle. He was a pathological thief and he viewed the battle only as an opportunity to steal everything that wasn’t nailed down.
Captain Akasaka’s gold watch entranced Bisbee, who crept forward, looking to the left and right to make sure no Japanese soldier was sneaking up on him. He held the Ka-bar knife ready just in case, as he moved closer to the body of Captain Akasaka.
Finally Bisbee reached his goal. He raised Captain Akasaka’s wrist and looked at the watch. It was a Longines, an expensive Swiss watch, and that meant the gold was really gold. Bisbee’s eyes sparkled with delight as he unfastened the watchband, made out of black pigskin. He held the watch up to the light and could see the second hand going around. The watch still was working. Bisbee fastened it to his right arm, next to a Benrus he’d removed from the body of a dead American soldier.
Bisbee returned his attention to the dead Japanese soldier, realizing he was an officer because of his knee-high boots. Officers usually had more money than enlisted men, and Bisbee licked his lips in anticipation of what he might find in the officer’s pockets.
But first he went for the gold. He pulled apart the Japanese officer’s mangled lips and looked inside his mouth, but the Japanese officer’s teeth were covered with blood. Bisbee rubbed the teeth with his fingers, but that only smeared the blood and he still couldn’t see the gold. He unfastened his canteen and poured some water into the dead Japanese officer’s mouth, then pulled his hankerchief from his back pocket and wiped off the dead Japanese officer’s teeth.
Bisbee saw the glitter of gold deep in the Japanese officer’s mouth, covering a lower molar. Lifting his pliers from his back pocket, he inserted them into the Japanese officer’s mouth, grasped the tooth, and pulled hard. But the tooth wouldn’t come out. Bisbee twisted and yanked, and that made the tooth loose. Pulling again, the tooth tore loose from the Japanese officer’s gums and it came out into the light of day.
Bisbee held the tooth up to the light. It had the most gold of any tooth he’d pulled that morning, and with great joy he dropped it into his shirt pocket with the other gold teeth he’d pulled. Then he opened the Japanese officer’s mouth again and looked around for more gold. He smiled when he saw some on an upper right molar, all the way back, near the officer’s throat. He pushed the pliers into the officer’s mouth and maneuvered them around the tooth, when he heard footsteps advancing toward him.
Glancing up, he saw a Japanese soldier approaching swiftly, an expression of indignation on his face. The Japanese soldier had spotted Bisbee plundering the corpse of his dead commanding officer, and was horrified. It confirmed all his worst prejudices about Americans, and he was going to stop the ghoulish theft if it was the last thing he did.
He angled his rifle and bayonet downward, lunging forward. Bisbee jumped backward, turning the blade of his Ka-bar knife around in his hand so that he held it by the tip. The Japanese soldier stepped over Captain Akasaka’s body, to position hims
elf in front of it so that he could defend it from the depredations of the American thief in front of him, and Bisbee reared back his arm. He shot it forward quickly and let the knife go. It flashed in the air and buried itself to the hilt in the throat of the Japanese soldier, who dropped to his knees and then fell on his face, pushing the knife in deeper.
Bisbee stepped forward and knelt, pulling the knife out of the Japanese soldier’s throat. Bisbee had been a roustabout with a third-rate traveling carnival before the war. He’d made friends with the knife-thrower, who’d taught him the tricks of his trade. Bisbee’s ambition had been to become a knife-thrower too, but then the war came and turned his life upside down.
Bisbee returned to the body of the Japanese officer and pulled out the last gold molar. Then he searched through the Japanese officer’s pockets and found his wallet. Opening it up, Bisbee saw a sheaf of Japanese paper money. Bisbee didn’t know how much it was, but that part didn’t matter so much to him. Bisbee was a pathological thief. He loved to steal, and the value of what he was stealing was secondary.
Photographs and cards were in the wallet, and Bisbee pulled them out to have a look. The part of the battlefield where he crouched was fairly quiet now, the main focus of the struggle having moved forward. The card on top was an ID of some kind, showing a picture of the dead Japanese officer in the corner. Underneath it was a photograph of a beautiful Japanese woman wearing a kimono and a traditional Japanese hairstyle with chopsticks, or what looked like chopsticks, poking out of it.
