by Len Levinson
Nutsy was applying a fresh bandage to Frankie La Barbara's wound. “Whataya want?”
“See if Frankie's got his dice on him!”
An expression of bewilderment came over Nutsy's face. “Hey, Sarge, this ain't no time for a crap game!”
“Your fucking head is a crap game. Gimme the dice.”
Nutsy reached into the left pocket of Frankie's shirt and pulled out Frankie's white dice with black dots. Nutsy tossed them to Butsko. “Here ya go, Sarge.”
Butsko caught them in midair. Okay, dice, Butsko thought. If you come up even, we go right, and if you come up odd, we go left. He shook the dice in his big fist. Everybody watched him, wondering what he was up to. Drawing back his arm, Butsko threw the dice onto the jungle floor, and they rolled over the rotting leaves and sprouts of grass, finally coming to a stop. Butsko leaned over them and took a look.
They were snake eyes, and snake eyes meant you crapped out. Snake eyes also added up to two, an even number, and according to the deal he'd made with the dice, that meant he had to go to the right. Butsko was a tough guy, but he was also superstitious. He didn't like the idea of the snake eyes, but he'd made a deal, and a deal was a deal. He dropped Frankie's dice into his own shirt pocket.
“We're going that way,” he said, pointing to the right.
“But Sarge,” protested Bannon, pointing straight ahead, “our lines are that way.”
“I know where our lines are, and so do the Japs. I figger the Japs'll try to get between us and our lines, so we'll fake them out. Any objections?”
“How do you know that's not the way the Japs are coming from?”
“I don't know, but we've gotta go somewhere. You got a better idea?”
Bannon thought for a few moments. “No.”
“I didn't think so. Let's saddle up and move out.”
Captain Shimoyama led his company through the jungle, holding his samurai sword in his hands, swishing it menacingly through the air whenever he had room, to show his men that he was an aggressive combat commander. His company moved quickly, because he thought speed was more important than silence. He had to cut the Americans off and annihilate them so that he would have credibility with his men and win the attention of his superiors.
“Forward!” he said. “Hurry! Don't let the American swine get away!”
Behind Captain Shimoyama, Sergeant Kikusaki trudged through the jungle. He wanted to whip out his Nambu pistol and shoot Captain Shimoyama in the back, but he couldn't be that blatant about it. Maybe later, when no one was looking, he could do it and blame it on an American sniper.
Captain Shimoyama's company crashed through the jungle in a long column. His intention was to form his men into a vast circle and then tighten it like a noose around the Americans.
He wondered how many Americans were out there, and he hoped he had enough men to do the job easily. If not, he'd call for help. The main thing was to find out where the Americans were and stop them.
Longtree stopped suddenly and listened to the jungle. He'd heard something like the sound of wind rustling leaves and branches, but no wind was blowing. Concentrating on his ears, wrinkling his brow, he realized that the sound was far away. A substantial number of Japs were moving through the jungle. Listening a few moments more, he perceived that the Japs were headed toward his patrol.
Longtree turned around and ran back to Butsko, who saw him coming and could read trouble all over Longtree's face.
“Whatsa matter?” Butsko asked, Homer Gladley's body sprawled over his back and shoulders.
“Japs headed this way!”
“From where?”
“From there!” Longtree pointed.
Butsko realized that the dice had led him in the wrong direction. Snake eyes, he thought. I crapped out.
Longtree looked toward the Japs. “They're getting closer.”
Butsko heard them faintly and tried to determine their exact location. “Shit!” he said. “Fuck! Piss!”
A new, difficult decision had to be made, and Butsko was tired of carrying Homer Gladley. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he wouldn't be in the mess he was in if he'd left that Japanese gas dump alone last-night, but he'd been full of piss and vinegar, and blowing it up had seemed like the right thing to do. Now it didn't seem so right.
He decided to attempt to outflank the Japs once more. “We'll try to ease around them in the direction we're going,” he said. “Keep it quiet, because if we can hear them, they can hear us. Longtree, take the point.”
Longtree ran forward and then stopped when he was fifteen yards in front of the rest of the patrol. Then he bent into his old Apache crouch and slunk forward, holding his Thompson submachine gun in both hands. His captured Arisaka rifle was slung across his back.
His mind was concentrated on his eyes and ears. Relentlessly he searched the leaves and branches for the movement of Japs, and he listened to the sounds of the jungle, trying to differentiate natural sounds from the sounds of Japs on the march.
He couldn't hear much, because the patrol of his fellow GIs behind him overpowered the other sounds. Five minutes passed, and Longtree decided to stop them so he could hear clearly again. He raised his hand, and the patrol shuffled to a halt. Furrowing his brow, he turned his head from left to right, listening for the Japs, and he heard them.
He ran back to Butsko. “They're headed this way, and it sounds like they're spread out all over the jungle from there to there.”
Longtree pointed, and Butsko realized that the Japs were circling around his patrol. They hadn't closed the ring yet, but they would in another several minutes. He could get out the back way, but that led deeper into Japanese territory. The only thing to do was take cover and hope the Japs didn't see them. “Longtree,” he said, “find a good place around here for us to hide, and don't take too long. I don't think we have much time.”
“They're within two hundred yards of us,” Longtree replied. Then he turned and disappeared into the thickest part of the jungle.
Butsko looked at his men, and they looked back at him. The situation was grim, but they'd been in grimmer ones and come out okay. Butsko didn't tell them anything, because there was nothing to say. Bannon and Shaw were haggard from carrying Frankie La Barbara around, and Butsko figured he didn't make such a pretty picture himself. Nutsy Gafooley lit a cigarette. Butsko could hear the Japs in the distance. They weren't even attempting to be quiet, and they were drawing closer. In another five or ten minutes they'd be swarming all over the place.
Branches and leaves trembled, and Longtree stepped into sight, beckoning.
Butsko shifted the weight of Homer Gladley on his back. “Let's go,” he said softly.
They followed Longtree into the thick jungle. Long vines hung from the trees and the air was fetid. The GIs had to drop low to avoid the foliage, and it was dark because the clutter of treetops blocked the sun. If a Jap was ten feet away, he couldn't be seen.
They came to a boulder eight feet high, covered with moss. A green lizard six inches long jumped off it and ran away as the GIs approached. Beside the boulder was a depression in the ground, and Longtree pointed to it. Butsko stepped into the depression and sank into muck halfway to his knees.
“Fuck!” he whispered.
“Hey, Sarge,” said Bannon, looking at the hole, “do you think maybe we should spread out? If we all get into that hole, one grenade'll finish us off.”
“Who said anything about all of us getting into this hole? Don't anticipate orders. Just do as you're told. The rest of you guys dig in around here, and hurry. Longtree you camouflage the area after we're all set.”
“What about the wounded men?” Bannon asked.
“Throw ‘em in here with me.”
“If I throw Frankie in there with you, you're liable to kill him.”
“Then keep him with you. I don't give a fuck. Get moving. The Japs are almost on top of us, for Chrissakes, and you're worried about Frankie La Barbara?”
Bannon and Sh
aw got on their hands and knees and crawled underneath a thick bush, dragging Frankie La Barbara behind them. Nutsy Gafooley squeezed himself between a tree and a bush covered with red berries. Longtree roved over the ground on his hands and knees, covering everybody's tracks. He backed into the space occupied by Nutsy and pulled the branches closer. Nutsy snuffed out his cigarette and field stripped it. He and Longtree peered through the foliage and listened to the sounds of the Japanese soldiers maneuvering closer. They gripped their submachine guns and hoped the Japs would pass through without noticing them.
Beneath their bush, ten feet away, Bannon and Shaw lay on either side of Frankie La Barbara, their fingers on the triggers of their submachine guns. Bannon had laid his three hand grenades in front of him and loosened the pins in case he had to throw them quickly. They heard Japanese soldiers cursing and shouting orders as they cut their way through the thick jungle. Bannon felt strangely calm. He'd been in many horrible situations during his combat career, and it was difficult for him to become as afraid as he had at the beginning. Let the bastards come, he thought. Nobody lives forever.
Butsko tried to make himself comfortable in his muddy hole, but nothing worked. The filthy water had seeped through his pants and was aggravating the case of crotch itch that he already had. To distract himself, he threw a handful of dead leaves over Homer Gladley. He checked his weapons and ammunition, then laid his grenades in front of him and loosened the pins.
The Japanese weren't more than thirty or forty yards away. The GIs were tense, hoping the Japs would pass them by. They didn't want to think too much of what might happen if the Japs didn't pass them by, but they couldn't help themselves. They all knew that Japs were vicious and sadistic with their prisoners, and none of the GIs wanted to be captured alive. Each swore to himself that he'd die fighting, if it came to that. Better to die a quick, clean death than have your fingernails torn out or a live rat stuffed down your throat.
Adrenaline pumped through the GIs’ arteries, and their hearts pounded in their chests. Their mouths were dry as they searched the jungle, hearing the Japanese soldiers crashing through the foliage. So intent were they on the advancing Japanese that they didn't pay any attention to Frankie La Barbara, who lay stretched out on his back and unconscious between Bannon and Shaw.
A deadly blue spider, large as a man's fist, walked silently over the leaves and grass, unmindful of the drama going on around him, headed toward Frankie La Barbara's face. Nothing was moving nearby, so the spider felt he had nothing to worry about. Frankie La Barbara exuded an odor that the spider thought interesting, and the spider thought Frankie La Barbara's face might be something good to eat.
The spider placed one of his long, crooked legs against Frankie La Barbara's cheek, and nothing happened, so he put another of his legs into Frankie La Barbara's ear. Again nothing happened, so the spider proceeded to crawl on top of Frankie La Barbara's face and find a soft spot to bite.
Frankie La Barbara was in the depths of a malaria coma, but the movement of the spider stimulated nerve endings on Frankie La Barbara's face, and the nerve endings transmitted the messages through Frankie's nervous system. Frankie La Barbara had always hated bugs, and although he was unconscious, a peculiar uneasiness ruffled his mind as the spider came to a stop atop his nose. In the depths of his coma, Frankie felt that something was amiss. It was a vague, indefinite disquiet in a remote convolution of his brain, but it was enough to rouse him slightly, and from that new level he became even more aware that something was wrong.
The spider moved around, prodding for a soft spot, and he placed one of his toothpick legs atop Frankie La Barbara's eyeball. An eyeball is one of the most sensitive parts of a person's body, and Frankie La Barbara stirred.
Meanwhile, next to Frankie La Barbara, Bannon saw the metallic flash of a Japanese machete as it slashed through the thick green wall of jungle. The machete sliced again, and Bannon saw the arm of the Japanese soldier appear. The Japanese soldier pushed forward, and now Bannon could see his whole body. The Japanese soldier was five feet six inches tall, built on the lean side, and had bow legs. He looked around and stepped forward. Behind him, through the newly hacked opening, sidled another Japanese soldier. Bannon looked at Shaw, and Shaw looked at Bannon. Their mouths were set in grim lines. They turned away from each other and watched the Japanese soldiers move past them, headed toward the hole where Butsko was. They walked by the hole and didn't even look into the bush where Longtree and Nutsy Gafooley were hiding.
The spider on Frankie La Barbara's face changed his position, prodding a leg into Frankie's other eye. Frankie opened his eyes and saw the big, hairy spider on his face. The movement of eyelids caused the spider to lose his balance, and he dug legs into each of Frankie La Barbara's eyes.
"Yyaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” screamed Frankie La Barbara.
Bannon's blood froze. The Japanese soldiers stopped suddenly and looked in the direction of the screaming.
"Yyyaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
The chatter of a submachine gun drowned out Frankie's voice, and the two Japanese soldiers were riddled with bullets. Blood spurted out of their wounds as the Japanese soldier's pirouetted and collapsed onto the ground.
Bannon turned around and saw Frankie sitting up as the gigantic spider leaped off his face.
“Yaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!”
Bannon drew back his submachine gun and slammed Frankie upside his head. Frankie's lights went out and he fell backward.
Butsko jumped out of his hole. “I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch!” He shook his submachine gun menacingly and advanced toward the bush where Shaw and Bannon were hiding.
Bannon stood up, holding his own submachine gun at the ready. “Calm down, you crazy fucking madman!”
Nutsy Gafooley swooped out of his hiding place and stripped the Japanese soldiers of their guns and ammunition. Longtree rushed forward and got in Butsko's way.
“Ssssshhhh,” Longtree said. “There's Japs all around here.”
Butsko opened his mouth to scream bloody blue murder, then shut his mouth because he knew Longtree was right. He could hear Japanese soldiers babbling all around him, and the sounds of foliage being cut with machetes. “We're in a real pickle now,” he said in a low voice. “Everybody into the hole with me!”
“But, Sarge,” Bannon protested, “one grenade will wipe us all out.”
Butsko looked up to the heavens and held out his arms in supplication. “Why do these morons argue with everything I say? Why can't they do as they're told?” He leveled his gaze at Bannon. “I don't have time to play games. Move your ass.”
“Hup, Sarge.”
Bannon and Shaw carried Frankie to Butsko's hole and laid him down beside Homer Gladley. Nutsy Gafooley jumped into the trench with his collection of weapons and ammunition. Longtree was the last one in; he turned around and looked at the bodies of the dead Japanese soldiers.
“Maybe I should go out and hide them.”
“It's too late for that,” Butsko replied. “Now we're really fucked.”
“But, Sarge,” Bannon said, “what if a hand grenade—”
Butsko interrupted him. “Shaddup.” He turned to Nutsy. “You're job is to throw back any Jap hand grenades that land in this hole, got it?”
“I got it, Sarge.”
“That's all you have to do. You don't have to fire any weapons or shoot off your mouth. Just throw back the hand grenades. You think you can handle it?”
“Sure thing, Sarge.”
“Good.” Butsko glanced at his other men. “Maybe we can hold ‘em off and maybe we can't. I doubt that we will but we've got to try. It'll take them awhile to figure out how many of us are here and where we are, and by then it might be dark, if we're lucky.”
Butsko wanted to say more, but he heard Japanese soldiers approaching. He placed his finger in front of his lips, signaling for his men to be quiet, and then motioned for them to get ready. They laid their submachine guns on the rim of the wet, smelly hole and aime
d at the sounds of the Japanese soldiers.
Two Japanese soldiers, side by side, pushed through the thick foliage and discovered their two dead comrades. They stared, not believing their eyes, and then babbled to each other. One turned and headed back in the direction from thich they'd come.
"Get them!” Butsko shouted.
All the GIs except Nutsy opened fire at the same time, and the two Japanese soldiers were dead before they knew what hit them. They toppled to the ground and lay still.
“Somebody get their weapons,” Butsko said.
Nutsy leaped out of the hole, but Butsko grabbed him by the leg and dragged him back. “Didn't I just tell you what your job was? Didn't I say that was all I wanted you to do?”
“I forgot, Sarge.”
‘Try to remember, okay?”
“Okay, Sarge.”
“Bunch of birdbrains I got here,” Butsko muttered.
Bannon sprang out of the hole and collected the Japanese rifles and ammunition. He searched through the dead men's knapsacks and found cans used for the storage of cooked rice. He carried everything back to the hole.
“I think I got some chow,” he said.
“Quiet.”
Butsko wrinkled his nose and listened to the jungle. It sounded as if the Japs were straight ahead and not to his back or sides. Japs jabbered excitedly, and Butsko knew they were trying to figure out where he and his men were. Butsko knew what was on their minds, because often he'd had to search for well-camouflaged Japanese bunkers.
“They're gonna start combing this area any minute now,” Butsko said. “Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut.”
Bannon shook one of the cans he'd taken from the dead Japanese soldiers. “Can I eat some of this?”
“I thought I just told you to keep quiet.”
Bannon shrugged and unscrewed the top of the can. Inside was white rice, cooked and sticky. He scooped some out with his finger and put it into his mouth. Butsko looked at Frankie La Barbara to make sure he was still unconscious. Butsko wanted to slit Frankie's throat to make sure he wouldn't wake up screaming again, but the others wouldn't let him get away with it.
