Operation Easy Street (Jock Miles WW2 Adventure Series Book 3)
Page 23
Tom Hadley’s words were cut off as he surrendered to his own nausea.
Grossman struggled to put the terrible visions out of his mind. There was a more immediate problem: huddled in distraught clusters, his men seemed anything but alert:
Do they need to be reminded we may be just yards from the enemy?
An eruption of heavy gunfire far off their left flank, where the rest of the battalion was, reinforced his thinking:
There are still Japs around here somewhere…and plenty of them.
Another problem: when the blaze on the beach died down, they’d all be night-blind for a while.
We’re not done here and we don’t have much time. I’ve got to get them moving, right now.
But he didn’t need to say a word to make that happen.
GIs who were disoriented and doubled over with nausea just a moment ago had—on the double—fallen into combat formations. At First Sergeant Hadley’s forceful direction, they were stalking deeper into the plantation.
A sense of rage hovered over the company now, subdued yet powerful enough to overcome the illness, exhaustion, and misfortune they had suffered.
It was powerful enough to channel the unspeakable horror they had just witnessed—a horror among horrors that would stay with them forever—into one purpose: retribution for the desecration inflicted on their buddies.
Every man—even the lowest private—felt the same:
Dying was one thing…shit, we’re all gonna die…but even a man you killed deserves respect after he’s gone.
We’ve had it just as bad as you, you little bastards…maybe worse.
But no matter how bad things got, we never ate the dead.
We’re better than you, you fucking cannibals…and now we’re going to show you just how much better.
Sergeant Major Patchett appeared out of the darkness just as the last platoon of Charlie Company was moving out. He smiled with satisfaction as he watched them go; an old soldier could tell a good unit from a worthless one at a glance.
“I’ve got to show you something,” Grossman told him.
Inside the bunker, Patchett retraced the steps Hadley had taken, reading each dog tag.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” the sergeant major said, and then spat on the ground. “Better get Major Miles over here.”
They stepped outside the bunker. Patchett said, “No wonder your boys were looking real sharp, Lieutenant. It’s a damn shame, too, but I reckon we got ourselves the cat-list for certain now.”
The light from the fires had dimmed to a faint glow far in the distance.
“I can’t see a fucking thing, Top,” a platoon sergeant said to Tom Hadley.
Hadley replied, “So what? It just means they can’t see us, either.”
Charlie Company had reached the second line of bunkers without even realizing it.
The first clue came from a trooper who had walked right into a bunker’s stout wall of logs and earthwork.
He heard voices from inside—excited voices—and they weren’t speaking English.
A few feet to his left a Nambu machine gun began firing, its muzzle sweeping wildly back and forth, spitting tracers into the darkness in an arc too narrow to touch him.
Surprising even himself, the trooper climbed on top of the bunker and—almost casually—dropped a grenade into one of its vent holes.
The grenade exploded. The Nambu stopped firing.
He slid down the backside of the bunker and walked in.
There were just two Japanese soldiers inside.
One was motionless on the ground.
The other was screaming his head off…
Probably calling for his mama.
Two rounds from an M1 silenced the screamer as First Sergeant Hadley rushed in.
“You okay?” Hadley asked.
“Yeah,” the trooper replied. “Just fine. Gotta ask you something, though, Top.”
“Go ahead.”
“You shot guys before, right?”
“Yeah…a couple I know about, anyway.”
“Did it bother you any?”
“A little bit,” Hadley replied. “Still does.”
“Funny, but it ain’t bothering me at all right now…not these fucking bastard cannibals.”
The trooper fired another round into each of the dead Japs.
“All right, that’s enough,” Hadley said. “You only have to kill them once. Save your ammo. You’re gonna need it.”
Farther south—to Charlie Company’s left—Able and Baker Companies were still stuck at the first line of bunkers. The automatic weapons fire they faced was murderous. They pulled back to regroup as Jock called his company commanders together.
Despite his still-healing wounds, Theo Papadakis was as feisty as ever. He was frustrated, too: “How come Grossman’s not hitting hardly any resistance at all, while we’re still fighting the whole damn Imperial Japanese Army?”
Tracing his fingers along the map spread on the ground, Jock Miles said, “It’s simple, Theo. The Japs facing Lee’s company pulled back to defend the beach when the fireships hit, just like we hoped they would. The ones facing you and Tony didn’t. But they’ve still given us an opening we can exploit.”
Tony Colletti, Baker Company’s commander, asked, “So how far has Charlie advanced?”
“Looks like they’re about a mile into the plantation,” Jock said. “Is that right, Lee?”
“Yes, sir,” Grossman replied. “Near as we can figure in the dark.”
“Shit,” Papadakis said, “that’s almost to Buna Mission. Another half mile and you’re in Buna Village. Are you guys finding any more bunkers?”
“Again, it’s hard to tell in the dark, Theo,” Grossman replied, “but we’re past the second line now, and we haven’t come up against anything else.”
Practically jumping up and down with eagerness, Papadakis said, “Let’s go, then! We can bypass all this shit in our sector and follow Lee and his boys right into Buna Village. We’ll be there by sunrise. Wouldn’t that surprise the shit out of the Japs when we join them for breakfast?”
Nobody laughed. No one wanted to hear jokes about eating right now. Not after what Charlie Company had found earlier.
“Anyway, I’ve told Lee to stop and dig in where they are,” Jock said.
Papadakis couldn’t believe what he was hearing: “Why? Why stop now, sir?”
“Because,” Jock replied, “all those Japs that pulled back, thinking we were going to hit Buna Village from the water? Well, we’ve got to be ready for them when they decide to return. A lone company could get cut off real easy.”
Papadakis wasn’t giving up. “But ain’t that what Third Battalion is for, sir? Protecting our flanks…and our asses?”
“Sorry, Theo,” Jock replied, “but I’ve seen enough of Colonel Vann’s people under fire. So have you. I’m not going to trust them to protect us.”
“Amen to that, sir,” Melvin Patchett said.
Jock continued, “Now, Theo…this is what I need you and Tony to do. We’ve had a lucky break. For the first time, we’ve broken their line of defense. Move your companies through the area Charlie has cleared and take out the bunkers in your sectors from behind…while it’s still dark and they can’t see you coming.” He sketched a line on the map. “Don’t go any farther into the plantation than this line. Link up with Charlie Company on your right. We need to stay close together so if a counterattack comes our companies don’t get cut up piecemeal. Do I make myself clear?”
Papadakis and Colletti nodded in unison.
Patchett added, “Shouldn’t be no big thing taking those bunkers in the dark. You know exactly where they are…damn fools have been firing tracers at you all night.”
Tony Colletti had one more question: “If we can pull that off, sir…have we gained enough to make that amphibious landing the general wants unnecessary?”
Jock replied, “That’s a real good question, Tony.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Beatrix decided to drown her frustrations in whiskey. She should have been at Oro Bay already—and on the tug, Mieke, with Jillian.
But the Americans at Milne Bay had ruined all that. After spending last night loading her ship with the usual complement of heavy construction vehicles, her manifest and sailing orders were cancelled at the last minute. Java Queen was to be unloaded. Her new cargo would be three of the Stuart tanks that had languished on the wharf for days.
When she asked the reason for the change, the pencil-pushing American lieutenant had pointed skyward and replied, “Orders from upstairs, ma’am. Some general must’ve changed his mind.”
The unloading and reloading would take until tomorrow morning. Java Queen would then be on her way. By this time tomorrow night, the tanks would be at Oro Bay.
Beatrix poured herself another glass and thought, It’s a shame I have to leave Jillian all alone with my cretin of a cousin and his barbarians. But no worries…she can handle herself anywhere.
It was 0500 before Lee Grossman got back to Charlie Company. He didn’t have much trouble finding it in the dark; all he had to do was follow the sounds of one vicious skirmish after another being waged.
But the gunfire wasn’t coming from his company’s perimeter. Once safely within its bounds, Grossman asked the first platoon sergeant he could find, “Where’s First Sergeant Hadley?”
The platoon sergeant pointed toward the sound of the gunfire. “He’s over by the beach, sir, I guess. He heard boats coming—”
Worried and impatient, Grossman interrupted, “What boats? Not our decoy boats?”
“No, sir. Not ours…theirs. Lots of them. He took a thirty cal, one of the mortars, and all the ammo they could carry with him.”
“Damn it,” Grossman said. “I told him to stay put.”
“We got your message, sir,” the platoon sergeant said, tapping the walkie-talkie slung over his shoulder. “We are staying put…we’re dug in here real good. But the first sergeant was worried the whole battalion was about to get flanked, so…he did what he did.”
A few hundred yards away, nestled in a grove at the edge of the sea, were Tom Hadley and the detachment of men he’d dragged with him. He wasn’t sure how many GIs he took: Ten, I think…couldn’t really tell in the dark. One of them’s already dead. And I’m not even sure where we are…we might even be in Buna Mission. I guess we’ll find out when the sun comes up…if we’re still alive.
The Japanese barges were still coming—down to a trickle now, but the clatter of their engines still unmistakable. The machine gunner had become proficient at estimating their range from sound alone—he’d had a lot of practice in the past hour.
The mortar crew had the whole length of beach before them zeroed in. Whenever a landing barge scrunched to a stop on the sand, the men scrambling to get off were met by the blast of a high explosive or white phosphorous round. Here, the mortar had found a decent field of fire; back within the plantation, the thick overhead canopy all around yielded almost no good firing points for the high-angle weapons.
The other two riflemen on Hadley’s team were tasked with making sure no Japs snuck up behind them.
Hadley tapped a man each from the machine gun and mortar crews: “Go back and get more ammo, some batteries for the radio, and more water.”
“We ain’t had time to get thirsty yet, Top,” a GI replied.
“Not for you, zipperhead…for the thirty cal’s barrel. It’s gonna melt if we keep shooting her this much.”
Tom Hadley wasn’t sure how many Japs they’d killed, or if any had managed to slip away from the killing zone of the beach. It was still too dark to tell. The moon had finished its duty for this night; the sunrise was more than an hour away. The only light was from the scattered flames of burning wooden barges, set alight by the mortar’s white phosphorous shells.
In that dim light, Hadley’s detachment could see the surf slapping against what seemed a seawall of corpses.
Sunrise brought a number of surprises.
For Tom Hadley and his men by the beach, there were two big ones: by rough count, there were over 100 dead Japanese littering the shore, and they weren’t just near Buna Mission—they were on the edge of its grounds. A few hundred yards away, Japanese troops were scurrying in and out of the Mission’s houses.
They were practically out of ammunition—again—for their GI weapons. But just before sunrise, they had scooped up all the Japanese weapons littering the beach they could carry. They were better armed now than when they first took up this position: three Nambu machine guns, a host of Arisaka rifles, and boxes full of ammunition and grenades were ready for action.
Hadley assessed their chances: So long as an artillery or mortar round doesn’t land right on top of us, we can hold out for a long time.
Just how long this time would be was a big question mark; the sporadic fire of Japanese small arms—some of it to their rear, between them and the rest of Charlie Company—had broken out since first light. If there had ever been a chance to return to the company perimeter, it was long gone. The enemy was all around; Combat Team Hadley was an island in a dangerous sea.
The extra walkie-talkie batteries had come in handy: they still had communication with the rest of the company and could coordinate fire against the Japanese probes.
General Freidenburg didn’t like surprises. When he awoke, the trucks were waiting to shuttle 81st Regiment to Oro Bay in preparation for his amphibious assault. But the 81st was nowhere to be found. He flew into a rage.
The general sprayed spittle all over his staff as he fumed, “How dare that son of a bitch colonel fuck up my simple plan so totally?”
By the time Dick Molloy’s jeep slogged the six miles to the division CP, General Freidenburg was ready to pluck that eagle right off his collar.
Then Colonel Molloy stepped to the map and explained exactly where his troops were—and the deception that had enabled them to get there.
“Let me get this straight, Colonel,” Freidenburg said. “You took it upon yourself to fake a night amphibious assault…and the Japs fell for it?”
“Yes, sir,” Molloy replied. “We’ve broken their defensive ring. Most of the Japs have been squeezed into the village itself. Major Miles’s First Battalion has done an amazing job. Now, since I still don’t have the tanks or artillery I’ve asked for, I need the Air Force to rain holy hell on Buna Mission and Buna Village right now.”
General Freidenburg turned to his staff officers, his eyebrows raised as if asking, Can we make that happen?
The G3 poured cold water on the idea: “Storms are coming in less than an hour, sir. The Air Force won’t be able to do any precision bombing, at least not today.”
Molloy said, “Then give me back the Aussie artillery…before my men collapse in their tracks from exhaustion. Finding that evidence of cannibalism gave them the will to fight like demons all night…but they’re only human. They’re burned out now.”
“Cannibalism?” Freidenburg asked. “What are you talking about, Colonel?”
Molloy told the general and his staff the sordid tale.
The general seemed unconcerned. “War is hell, Colonel Molloy,” he announced. “Simple as that.”
“Some people’s definition of hell is apparently a little different than mine, sir,” Molloy replied.
Freidenburg shrugged. “Request for the artillery is denied, Colonel. The Aussies have just taken Gona. They’re going to turn east and press toward Sanananda immediately. If I take their guns, they won’t advance another inch, just for spite.”
Molloy checked the map again. Gona had been a small Japanese outpost on the coast some eight miles west of Buna. No doubt, they defended it fiercely, but the Australians had the numbers, despite the to
ll exhaustion and jungle diseases had taken on them; and they still had those artillery pieces. It was just a matter of time before Gona fell. Sanananda lay between Buna and Gona; the fortifications there looked every bit as formidable as what his regiment was encountering around Buna.
The Aussies will need those guns, Dick Molloy told himself, and a hell of a lot more.
He was surprised to find the general now smiling at him. “Actually,” Freidenburg said, “I’m very pleased I was finally able to light a fire under you and your men, Colonel. It’s been a long time coming.”
Dick Molloy stifled the rage that comment ignited. He asked, “So, General, I suppose there’s no need now for your amphibious assault?”
A sardonic grin spread across Freidenburg’s face as he replied, “Not unless your little freelancing stunt turns to shit and you fail to take Buna.”
The general strolled over to the map and, without bothering to look Dick Molloy in the eye, added, “Don’t ever fucking do something like this again, Molloy. Dismissed.”
With Molloy gone, the G3 asked, “But sir, weren’t you going to tell him about the tanks?”
“No,” Freidenburg replied, “If I did that, they’d all just sit on their lazy asses until the damn things showed up.”
The rain came as promised. Jock, with a squad from Able Company, trudged through the plantation to Charlie Company’s position. Bogater Boudreau, the squad’s leader, had been willing to wager they wouldn’t run into any Japanese along the way. No one was willing to take him up on that bet.
“From what I hear,” Boudreau said, “ol’ Tom Hadley killed all the Japs fixing to flank us. We won’t be seeing none of them until we meet up with Charlie Company.”
Jock tried not to chuckle as he said, “That sounds like one hell of a war story, Corporal Boudreau. I can’t wait to hear the version Hadley tells. I heard he doesn’t see it quite that way.”
“I don’t know about that, sir…I don’t see no Japs. Do you?”