One Man's Island

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  “Well, you had better! It’s low tide. We’ll have to wait, and there’d better not be any damage to the hull, or your head will roll!” he screamed. “Mr. Johnson?” he shouted, turning around on the bridge to face the ensign.

  “Right here, sir.”

  “Go take a man and see if there’s any damage below.”

  “Yes sir!” Johnson said, and scrambled as fast as he could from the bridge. The captain sat back in the captain’s chair, and toyed with his now very long beard that he’d had one of the girls braid for him, beads and seashells interlaced in it. As angry as he was for having the ship run aground, he was gleeful that he was so close to his goal. He could feel the power course through his veins.

  “Stevens!” he shouted out, and the sailor was by his side in a second.

  “You take a few men, and go get the codes off this joker on the island.”

  “Aye, aye, sir, but what if they’re armed?”

  “Well, you’ll arm yourselves, kill them and take the damn thing! It’s not rocket science. You’ve been talking with the girl, you know what she’s like. How hard can it be to take a book off a man, a girl and a pilot?”

  “Can I have the girl, sir?” he asked, a smile growing on his face, showing rotting teeth.

  “Yes, of course you can. Now go and do it!” he said, dismissing him. Stevens disappeared, and the captain sat back, toying with his beard some more.

  Below decks, Ensign Johnson was walking through a passageway and bumped into Suplee, who was also checking the hull for damage.

  “Mr. Johnson, I think the sonar dome is fucked, but everything else seems watertight.”

  “That doesn’t matter. The sonar hasn’t worked in a few years anyway. Just like everything else on this tub,” Johnson said with disgust.

  “I just wish we could get the air conditioning to work. It’s like a goddamn oven in here,” Suplee said, taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “It doesn’t matter. Remember I said we’ll wait for our time?”

  “You mean now, sir?” Suplee asked incredulously.

  “Yes, now. Follow me. Everyone else will be busy with getting ashore, they won’t notice us leaving.”

  “Sir, that island is tiny. And those people on it are bound to be all killed. Why the fuck would we want to get off here and end up just like them?”

  “I don’t know, Suplee. But something is telling me, deep down inside, we have to get off this ship right now and take our chances with whoever is on that island. That something is also telling me, they’ve got a far better chance than the captain thinks.”

  “This is just crazy, sir. I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Well, I’m leaving this ship. You can stay or come with me, it’s up to you,” he said in exasperation. Suplee looked like he was thinking for a bit, then said, “Okay, sir. I’m with you. But let me go and find Nakamura, and see if he wants to come too.”

  “Fine, but if he doesn’t want to go, he’s got to keep his mouth shut until we’re well away from the ship.”

  “You got it, sir!” Suplee said, and they headed back down the passageway towards the stern of the ship.

  ***

  Tim and Jimenez looked at the ship, now close enough that they could hear voices and yelling, but couldn’t see anyone on the decks. He looked at the bow, and saw the turret there, with a large five inch gun, and that worried him. The missiles and other things they had were useless now, they were too close, but that big gun worried him. They waited and watched, and after a while heard the sputtering of a small diesel engine. Tim grabbed Jimenez’ arm and pulled him through the trench to the other foxhole, which looked out over the small pier into the lagoon. He picked up his radio, and keyed it up.

  “I hear a small engine. You men over on the Sherman see anything?”

  The radio crackled, and he got a response right away. “Sar’ Major, they’ve just lowered some kind of boat, and there’s five guys in it. It looks like they’re coming around the bow towards you.”

  “Keep an eye out, and let me know if you see anything more,” he said and set the radio down. They saw the boat finally, it was one of the ship’s whaleboats. There were four men in the front, all holding AK47s, and the man at the rear had a long beard and ponytail, cut off blue jeans, and a sleeveless chambray navy shirt open at the chest. They motored across the lagoon, and pulled up to the pier. Two men got out and tied it up. They were very dark skinned, and he couldn’t tell if they were islanders or African. The man in the back shut down the engine, and then the rest hopped out, walking up the pier as if they owned the place.

  “What now, Sar’ Major?” Jimenez asked in a tense whisper.

  “Just sit tight, Taco,” Tim said, and sat his M4 on the rim of the foxhole, flicking the safety off. When all five of them got to the end of the pier at the beach, about fifty yards or so, Tim called out to them, “That’s far enough, sport!”

  They all stopped, and the man with the ponytail came to the front of the pack of men, holding a 9mm Beretta pistol.

  “Hey!” he called out. “I’m a friend of Robyn’s, and we’re just here to say hello!”

  “Oh, you must be ‘Jimmy’,” Tim said. “Spiffy yacht, your rich daddy has.”

  “Yeah, that’s me! Jimmy! We don’t want any trouble, we just came to say hello!” he said, and started to take a step forward.

  “Don’t even think about it, dickhead. Not one more step.”

  “Hey man! You don’t know who you’re fucking with!” the man said, all signs of friendliness gone.

  Tim leaned over to Jimenez and whispered, “Taco, he takes one more step, see that big fucker in the back, the Samoan looking cocksucker? That Jimmy takes one more step, put a bullet in the black guy’s chest.”

  “But, Sar’, I’m just a—”

  “You’re a fucking rifleman now. Do it!”

  “Eh, you got it Sar’ Major,” he said, and raised his rifle, taking aim at the big man in the rear.

  “You and I both know what we came for. You just give it up, we’ll leave, and everything will be okay,” Jimmy said, and took another step forward. Jimenez’ rifle barked, and the big Samoan fell backwards, a small hole appearing in the center of his chest. The ponytailed man fell to the ground, and the other three men let lose a hail of full auto fire from their AKs, spraying the tree line with lead.

  Jimenez ducked down, and Tim pulled him up by the collar. “It’s all going over our heads. They have no idea where we are. Just sit tight,” he said, and he returned to his rifle. When they had expended all of their ammo, and didn’t get any return fire, they looked around. ‘Jimmy’ slowly stood, and did the same.

  “Now, Jimmy, if that is your name,” Tim called out to them, “you just go back to the Good Ship Lollypop and tell Captain Kangaroo he’s not getting it.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, mister!”

  “It’s Sergeant Major, sailor. And I could have killed all of you just then. Go back to your canoe, and relay my message. He wants it, he going to have to come and take it.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re making the worst mistake of your life!” Jimmy called out.

  “I know who I am. I’m the guy who’s going to make your miserable sorry life even more miserable before this day is through. Now go and give him my message before I shoot you too.”

  Jimmy grumbled a bit, and went to the others, who were busy changing magazines. Tim couldn’t hear what was being said, but it looked like they were arguing. Just then, Jimmy leveled his pistol at one of them, and cowed, they all walked back to the boat, started it up, and motored their way back to the beached ship.

  Jimenez stood there in the foxhole, and stared at the lifeless form lying on the wood planking of the pier and sighed. “I can’t believe I just shot that guy.”

  “Better him than you, Taco. Now let’s go!” Tim said, pulling him out of the foxhole and running towards the Hum-Vee. He jumped in, and started it, Jimenez getting i
n the other side. They raced passed the Hercules and out onto the runway, heading away from the ship and towards the tree line on the opposite side where the bunkers started. Halfway down the runway, the crushed coral erupted with a large blast that Tim barely avoided.

  “They’re shooting at us!” Jimenez screamed, looking back to see the turret on the bow of the ship slued around pointing at them. He saw a flash from the muzzle, and heard the shell scream over their heads as they raced towards the end of the runway. It exploded in the trees somewhere, and Tim put the pedal to the floor to try to get out of the open and into cover, as soon as he could. As soon as they pulled into the tree line, out of sight of the ship, Tim stopped and got out, grabbing his rucksack. He hunkered down next to the Hum-Vee and looked across the road at Jerry, who was just inside the tree line next to the first bunker. A shell exploded somewhere in front of them, then it was silent for a moment. Tim ran over to where Jerry was, and sat down, followed by Jimenez.

  “You set?”

  “I’m all set, Tim. We just wait now?”

  “Yeah, let’s see what they try next. They’re pretty well stuck in the channel, and not going anywhere soon.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. They heard the ship’s gun firing again, and the Hercules erupted in flames at the other end of the runway.

  “Well that’s that. We’re not going anywhere now,” Tim said.

  “Oh we’re fucked now!” Jimenez said.

  Tim ignored him, and looked back at Jerry. “Where are Holly and Robyn?”

  “They’re with some of my men, about a hundred yards back.”

  “Good. Now we need to take care of that gun on the ship,” he said, pulling out his radio and keying it up. “Sherman, take out that turret on the ship and then shift your fire to the bridge.”

  “It’s about fucking time!” was the reply he got over the radio. He immediately heard the high pitched crack of the tank gun firing.

  Tim looked through the binoculars and saw a huge gout of flame shoot out of the turret on the ship, followed by a black cloud of smoke. The ship’s cannon was silenced. He heard the tank fire a few more times, then there was a loud sound like tearing paper, and the tank on the far side of the channel exploded, its turret flying into the air several yards before slamming down onto the ground upside down. Only a plume of black smoke remained, to show where the tank was.

  ***

  “Just like shooting fish in a barrel!” Cmd. Wright said. He turned to the man coming out of CIC, who was frowning.

  “Captain! The Phalanx gun has jammed!” the man said.

  “That’s okay. It did its job. Grab thirty or so men and get them in the other boat, along with Stevens. Ferry them if you have to! It’s time we showed this joker who is boss of this ocean!”

  “What about the big gun? That is destroyed!”

  “Once I get those codes, I won’t need it anymore!” he said gleefully. “Now go do as you’re told, and get those goddamn codes! He can’t be all that powerful!” The man scampered off the bridge like a shot.

  “How dare he! Doesn’t he know I command these seas?” Wright said to no one, pounding his fist into the armrest. He got up and looked out over the railing to the men now being lowered into the second boat, and to the men scrambling down the rope ladder to Stevens’ boat. He leaned over the side and called down to them, “You don’t come back until you have the codes, and bring that man’s head to me! I’ll hoist it up on the mast for all to see!”

  Stevens just waved, and took an AK-47 offered to him.

  ***

  “Well, that was short lived. Goddamn Phalanx tore up that Sherman,” Jerry said, as he watched the smoke rise from where the tank had been, ammunition cooking off, and exploding at irregular intervals.

  “Yeah, and we lost three men just now. At least we knocked out the cannon,” Tim sighed.

  “What now? We have no ride back,” Jimenez said, looking woefully at the burning Hercules.

  “We’ll just have to hold on until that Aussie ship gets here,” Tim said, looking down the runway at the C-130 now reduced to a burning hulk, its wings drooping forlornly from the rapidly melting fuselage. Black smoke and flames were billowing out of the wreckage, obscuring the concrete huts. He got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He lifted the binoculars and saw two boats now, and it looked like they were ferrying men, ten at a time, onto the pier. They were standing around waiting it seemed, to be told what to do. When it looked to be about thirty men on the beach, one of them pointed in the direction of the huts, and several of them disappeared behind the smoke.

  Tim smiled. “Good. I left them a little present there when they go inside.”

  “Yeah, what sort of present?” Jerry asked.

  “I put in ten pounds of TNT from the bunkers with a tripwire inside the door. Hope the shit still works.” As he finished his sentence, he heard a deep crump!. “Well, I guess that answered my question.” He looked down towards the huts to see a brown cloud of smoke rising. He saw several of them running around towards the huts, and then come back to the others, who as a group started towards them on the beach.

  “Now it’s time for my little surprise for them,” Jerry said, and picked up a blasting machine. He attached the wires to the two posts, inserted the T handle and waited. When the majority of them were where he wanted, he twisted the handle, and the machine let out a little whir. A second later, the beach erupted in five large plumes of sand and black smoke. A second or two later, Tim and Jerry heard the loud crump of the artillery shells that they had buried earlier detonate. “Nice to be giving a little back after so many years of taking shit like that!”

  “I agree. But I don’t think that took care of them all, unfortunately,” Tim said, looking back towards the other end of the runway.

  “But it’ll teach them not to bunch up like that,” Jerry said.

  They could see the dust still settling, but several of them were standing up and picking up their rifles, heading back out, a little slower this time. What no one on either side saw were three figures climbing over the railing on the fantail of the ship, dropping into the sea, and swimming away towards the island, out of view of the grounded ship.

  Tim grabbed his rucksack and put it on. “Okay, we fall back to the next line of defense, and let them come closer. They want this island? We make them pay for every fucking inch.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Jerry said. “We just hold them off and wait for the cavalry?”

  “That’s our plan now.”

  “We just hold out, for now,” Jerry replied, “like the Philippines in ‘41?”

  “Well, we don’t have a Corregidor to run to, and if my memory serves me correctly, that didn’t end too well for the Army, did it?”

  “No, you’re right there,” he said, and went to leave.

  “Wait a second. You got a frag?” Tim asked. Jerry stopped and reached into a pocket, pulling out a grenade, and tossing it to him. “Thanks. We’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  He tapped Jimenez on the shoulder, and they both ran hunched over to the Hum-Vee again. Tim sat on the ground next to it with his head by the fuel fill cap.

  “Sar’ Major, this infantry shit is for the birds!”

  “We’ll make an infantryman out of you yet, Taco,” Tim said.

  “Or get me killed!”

  “Taco, I’ve lived a long life, and have seen and done some pretty fucked up shit. But one thing is for certain. I came into this world kicking and screaming, covered in someone else’s blood, I’m not afraid to go out that way either!”

  “But I didn’t sign up for this shit!”

  “Nobody here did. Just one thing you have to remember; if you’ve got to go, take as many of the bastards with you as you can. The jarheads taught you how to use that rifle, now use it and don’t let me down.”

  “What are you doing?” Jimenez asked when he saw Tim pull a roll of electrical tape from his rucksack and wrap some a few times around the safety lever of the grenade
, then uncap the fuel cap.

  “Taco, did you ever wonder why on all military vehicles and equipment, the fill caps on the fuel tanks are really wide like this one?”

  “Yeah, it did always strike me as odd.”

  “It’s so someone like me can do this,” he said, pulling the pin on the grenade, and dropping it into the tank, calmly putting the cap back on. “Petroleum doesn’t act that great with plastics or glue. If you’ve ever got to leave vehicles and equipment behind, you do this. At some point, hopefully when the enemy thinks they’ve got a great new ride, the fuel eats through the glue on the tape, the spoon flies, arms the grenade and boom!”

  “That’s pretty slick!” Jimenez said, clutching his rifle.

  “Yeah, now let’s beat feet,” Tim said. He ran down the road between the bunkers, heading towards where Williams had the next line of defense set up. They reached the line where Williams was set up and took cover behind one of the bunkers. Williams met them, and gave him a brief.

  “I’ve got two men on the roofs of the bunkers on either side, one with the M60. I got a daisy chain of claymores set up about thirty yards back that way in a perfect kill sack. We let them come into the zone, I trigger the ambush.”

  “What about the rest of the men?”

  “They’re over there and there,” he said, pointing back down the road. “Nothing is going to get past this point without getting a bloody nose and a hard kick in the nutsack.”

  “Where are Holly and Robyn?”

  “They’re behind the next bunker down. That kid of yours is a pistol! She’s been itching for a fight all morning. She keeps coming forward with her rifle, ready to drill anything that moves.”

  Tim smiled. “That’s my kid!” He left Jimenez with Williams, heading around to the other bunker, where he found the two women with one of Williams’ men. Tim sat down with his back resting on a palm tree. They both ran over to him, and hugged him tightly.

  “Tim, the Hercules?” Holly said.

  “It’s gone.”

  “What will we do?” Robyn asked.