The Long Patrol: World War II Novel

by Chris Glatte

  He rolled off the officer and looked around. All along the line there was fighting, mostly hand to hand. He looked for a weapon. He saw a Japanese rifle and picked it up. It felt odd and foreign, but good. To his right Crandall was in the fight of his life. He had two Japanese thrusting and jabbing. He was parrying and dodging, but those weren’t good odds. Dunphy aimed at the nearest man and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “Dammit,” he looked at the rifle and saw the bolt action. He pulled it back and felt the satisfying sound of a round being chambered. He aimed again as the soldier was thrusting. He fired and he was surprised at the kick. The bullet destroyed the soldier’s head, blowing it apart. He’d been aiming at his chest.

  He chambered another round and was aiming at the next enemy when he sensed movement to the side. He spun the rifle around and fired, hitting the charging soldier in the leg. The impact sent him spinning backwards. He screamed like a wounded animal. There was another right behind him and Dunphy knew he didn’t have enough time to chamber another round. As the soldier thrust, he parried, slapping the enemy’s gun away, but he recovered. This one was light on his feet and well balanced. They circled, the soldier thrust and Dunphy parried, testing each other. Dunphy was used to sparring, used to finding his opponent’s weak points and using them to his advantage.

  He went on the attack. He feinted high and when the soldier went to parry he stepped under and slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s balls. He felt them crush under the assault. The soldier was stunned, but held onto his weapon and tried to bring it down on Dunphy’s head. He moved to the side reaching for his K-bar. He cursed, realizing he’d left it in the officer’s gut. He spun away and came up on the balls of his feet. The Japanese soldier was slow, his crushed balls slowing him down. Dunphy was about to finish him, but he bumped into the back of another enemy fighting an American. They both jumped in surprise. The distraction was enough to allow the first soldier time to spin around. Now Dunphy was caught between two enemies.

  The second soldier thrust his bayonet into the chest of the G.I. and screamed as he looked into the dying soldier’s eyes. Dunphy had his hands full. He had to kill the first man quick or face two of them. He went to thrust, but his foot slipped on something slick and he fell onto his back. The first soldier loomed over him, his eyes crazy with kill lust and revenge. Dunphy couldn’t move. He tried to roll, but whatever had made him fall wasn’t allowing him to move well. He saw the point of the bayonet coming down fast. He waited for the pain of the impact and the cutting of his vital organs. This was it.

  He shut his eyes, but the pain never happened. He opened his eyes and the crazed soldier was replaced by blue sky. He scrambled off the gore he’d slipped on and stood up looking for the soldier. There was a smoking hulk off to the side. He guessed that was the Jap. He saw Troutman working the bolt of a captured Arisaka, smoke wafting from the barrel.

  He didn’t have time to thank him as the second soldier was on him. He’d dropped his weapon and reached for the first thing he saw, the dropped Samurai sword. It was heavier than it looked, but perfectly balanced. The handle was soaked in blood making the leather slippery. He was no swordsman, but it couldn’t be that much different than boxing. He’d tried fencing as a child, but didn’t like all the formality. He much preferred the raw power of the well-placed punch.

  He held the sword with two hands. The soldier was bigger than most, burly and menacing. His bloodied bayonet was coming straight for him. When the Japanese saw the sword his eyes turned hard. He recognized his officers’ weapon.

  He took a balanced lunge and Dunphy stepped to the side. He took a short thrust trying for the big man’s shoulder, but missed. The soldier feinted right then went low, Dunphy barely evaded the slice. He took a step back then attacked. He swung in a low arc, the sword clanged against the rifle. Dunphy was sure the sword would break, but its tempered steel took the shot without so much as a scratch. The soldier followed the attack with one of his own, thrusting then slicing upwards to catch his arm. Again Dunphy sprang away on light feet. As he did so he jabbed at the Jap’s hands and cut him. The soldier grit his teeth and used the pain to fuel his attack.

  It came like lightning, but Dunphy expected it. He feinted left, the soldier following then went right and brought the sword down hard. The blade went through the man’s arm like it was cutting through warm butter. The soldier screamed, but held onto the rifle with his other hand. The detached arm and hand still clutching the rifle.

  The wounded soldier kept coming, but the fight was over. He made a clumsy attack that Dunphy easily avoided and brought the samurai sword down on his head. It traveled down his body cleaving it in half to his sternum. He pulled the sword and watched the halves of the man fall to either side.

  He looked up for the next fight, but there were no more. Soldiers littered the ground all around him. He held the sword at the ready, breathing hard, ready to take on whatever they could throw at him, but there was no one left. To his right Troutman still had the Arisaka rifle. He was down in a crouch sighting down the barrel, swinging back and forth searching for targets. The chatter of the machine guns was absent, Dunphy wondered how long they’d been silent, had they been overrun?

  The sounds of wounded men assaulted his senses. He heard desperate pleas for medics and the gurgling sounds of men’s final breaths. He stayed tensed and ready until Crandall walked up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. Dunphy swung around with the sword and almost lopped his head off. He stopped in the nick of time when recognition came to his heightened senses.

  Crandall said, “Christ, it’s over, it’s over. They’re all dead or retreated. Put that damned thing away.” Dunphy stared and realized how close he’d come to killing the man he’d saved only minutes ago. He dropped the sword in the mud and blood and sank to his knees beside it.

  He looked out over the masses of dead. He felt as tired as he’d ever felt. If the Japanese decided to come again at that moment, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop them. They’d been on Guadalcanal for less than a week, but it felt like an eternity.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  O'Connor broke from his black sleep to the sound of thumping mortar rounds exploding. He thought for a moment he was dreaming until he felt the ground shudder slightly beneath his cot.

  His surroundings flooded back to his consciousness and he sat upright forgetting his injuries. He winced and yelled out when he felt the bandages on his legs stretch and pull against his singed skin. He was forced to lie back down.

  He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. The mortars were getting louder and soon they were falling so close together there was no distinguishing one explosion from another. He took a deep breath, he had to get up, get back in the fight. His unit was in the shit and he was laid up, useless in this damned infirmary.

  The men around him were also awake listening to the barrage. They looked at one another trying to find solace from their fear. If the Japanese attacked and broke through they’d be just as dead as the men on the line. The Japanese weren’t known for showing mercy even to the wounded.

  O'Connor saw the man to his right trying to sit up. He’d been gut shot. He could tell by the way the medics treated him he wasn’t expected to make it. It wasn’t stopping him from trying to join the fight though. O'Connor was much better off than him, only slightly wounded. He grit his teeth and came to a full sitting position. The move made him cry out involuntarily and he cursed himself for his weakness.

  He sat on the side of the cot and felt dizzy. He held his head and rubbed his temples until the world stopped spinning. When it did the nausea came and he threw up whatever food, mostly bile, that was left in his stomach. He ignored the others and stood up. He swayed and had to sit down to keep from falling over. The jarring caused more pain, but the pain focused his resolve. He used it to stand again and walk. Each step brought more pain and with it more focus. The nausea was gone, replaced by sheer purpose. He went through the medical tent fl
ap and was immediately greeted by a medic. “Whoa, soldier where you think you’re going?”

  O'Connor looked at him with daggers, “Where’s my weapon?” The medic backed up a step, seeing his dark glare. He glanced behind him at a stack of rifles against a fallen palm tree. O'Connor pushed his way by him and grabbed the first rifle. He pulled back the breech; it was loaded with a full eight round clip. He slammed the breech forward with a satisfying click. Beyond the weapons he saw ammo satchels. He slung the first one over his shoulder and started walking towards the sound of falling mortars.

  He took it slow since running was out of the question. He was barely able to walk a straight line, but the louder the explosions got the more sure-footed he became. He’d walked one hundred yards when he tripped on a root and sprawled. He hit hard, knocking the breath out of him. The pain was more than anything he’d ever felt and he thought he might pass out. If the Japanese came they’d bayonet him where he lay, but at least he’d have his rifle. If he was going to die he’d like to have a gun in his hand, not a wad of bandages.

  He felt hands under his arms pulling him up. He came back to reality and got to his feet. He looked at the man who’d helped him; it was Corporal Hooper. He smiled at him, “Hooper. Where’d you come from?”

  He motioned behind them, “I was back at the damned infirmary too. When I saw you limp by I figured you could use some backup. That medic gave me some trouble, but I finally convinced him.” He rubbed his knuckles, they were scratched.

  From the front they heard their own mortars countering the Japanese then the chatter of thirty caliber machine gun fire. They looked at one another, “Sounds like an attack,” said Hooper. They held onto each other as they limped towards the fighting. They couldn’t see the front line yet, but they could see the entire Marine air squadron launching from Henderson field. O'Connor wondered if there were bombers coming or they were simply getting out of harm’s way.

  The gunfire from the front was one solid sound. There was no pause, no single shots, just the constant sound of concentrated fire coming in and going out.

  They were halfway to the front line when stray bullets started smacking trees and whizzing by like angry bees. They started using the downed trees and bomb craters for cover as they went forward. No use getting hit way back here without getting into the fight.

  They got to a large bomb crater at the eastern edge of the runways and poked their heads up. O'Connor was still a bit fuzzy from the pain, but he could see the Japanese were in amongst the company’s slit trenches and foxholes. As he watched soldiers started coming out of their holes and engaging hand to hand. He could see the gleaming steel of bayonets from here. His gut turned, thinking what his comrades were facing. Hand to hand combat was the most terrifying thing he could think of on the battlefield. The thought of having to do it in his condition almost made him sick again.

  A bullet snapped, O'Connor hunkered down, but Hooper thumped him on the shoulder, “See that hole? The one straight in front of us?” O'Connor lifted his head and nodded, “If we can get to that I think we’ll have a good line of sight on these suckers, be able to lend some firepower.”

  O'Connor nodded and launched himself out of the hole. Crouching was too painful so he stayed upright and shuffled as fast as he could to the hole, Hooper right on his tail. They threw themselves into cover. They doubted any Japs would be paying attention to two injured soldiers behind the line, but there were so many stray bullets around they could easily be hit.

  The exertion and their wounds took their breath away. When they were ready they crawled to the top of the crater and peered over the lip. They brought their rifles up. It was a good firing platform. The hole wasn’t deep. It provided cover, but didn’t force them to fight to keep from falling to the bottom. They searched for targets, but found the scene too confused. It was difficult to discern the enemy from friendlies. They couldn’t shoot without possibly hitting one of their own guys.

  Hooper nudged him, “If any bust through, we’ll pop ‘em.” O'Connor nodded and watched the scene over the sights of his M1. Every fiber of his being wanted to jump up and join the fight, but he knew he’d be a liability in his wounded state. He wouldn’t last ten seconds against an uninjured enemy.

  They watched the gruesome battle in frustration without firing a shot. O'Connor watched men die, Americans and Japanese alike. He felt guilty, but deep down he was also relieved not be involved in that hell. Hooper said, “To the right, see those guys, they’ve busted through.” O'Connor swung his rifle and found the targets. Five or six Japanese were past the line of foxholes and slit trenches and were running towards the rear. “Bastards are heading for the hospital, they’ll butcher those guys.”

  O'Connor found his target and tracked him as he ran. They were sixty yards away and running from left to right. He’d have to lead them like a sprinting deer. He pulled the trigger, but his man kept on running, albeit a bit faster. O'Connor adjusted and fired again. This time the man went down. He fired at the next man and brought him down with three shots. Hooper got to the end of his clip, the “ping” seeming to echo. He’d dropped a man too.

  There were three more, but they dropped and found cover searching for the unknown shooters. O'Connor saw a pith helmet pop out of a depression in the ground, probably another bomb crater. He shot, but missed sending the helmet back out of sight. He opened the breech and saw he only had one more shot. He popped out the remaining bullet and loaded another eight round clip being careful not to catch his thumb in the breech.

  He brought the M1 to his shoulder again and searched where he’d seen the man. “Where are they?” asked Hooper.

  “About seventy yards out.” He pointed, “They’re in a some kind of depression, I saw his helmet, but missed.”

  Hooper went up on a knee to get a better look. The air beside his ear ripped with a near miss. He dropped down, “Shit, that was close.” He lay on his back and took a deep breath, “They’re maneuvering on us, trying to flank us.” He rolled onto his stomach, “You stay here, I’ll go to the other side of the hole in case they come up that side. If you see something, sing out.”

  O'Connor didn’t like the fact they were being hunted like the wounded animals they were. He thought he saw movement where the helmet had been. He gripped his rifle and waited. Suddenly a Japanese soldier was up and running off to his right. He swung on the man, but by the time he was pulling the trigger he was already in another closer hole. The original spot he’d been looking at was now empty. He’d fallen for the bait and now he had no idea where the other soldiers were.

  “You saw that guy, right?” he said to Hooper.

  “Yeah, but he got cover before I could shoot. You get him?”

  “Nah, too quick, I think he was bait for the other guys to move. I don’t know where they are.”

  “You got any grenades?”

  “Nope, wish I did, but left the hospital in a hurry.”

  “If those nips get much closer they’ll be able to lob grenades at us, we gotta get the upper hand.”

  O'Connor looked around the hole there wasn’t much to it, but off to his left the ground rose up slightly. He wondered if he’d have a better view from there. “I’m moving over to that mound, see what I can see.” Hooper didn’t answer. O'Connor slipped backwards ignoring the pain of his burnt legs scraping over the dirt. He rolled to his left until he was abreast of the high ground then crawled up until his head was just beneath the horizon. He reached up and pulled a dirt clod down, then another until he’d created a V shaped slot to look through. He slid his rifle through the slot, moving it almost imperceptibly forward.

  When he was in position he pulled himself up to the rifle and looked down the sights. He almost cried out. Two hulking Japanese soldiers were twenty yards away hunched over making their way down a slight depression caused by monsoon rains. They were almost upon them. O'Connor had a perfect shot. He pulled the stock into his shoulder and shot through his eight rounds in seconds. The Japanese didn’t
have a chance and never knew what hit them. The thirty caliber bullets tore into the front man and continued through the second man finally stopping in the stinking mud of Guadalcanal.

  O'Connor didn’t have time to celebrate. He felt the thunk of a bullet beside his head. He was sprayed with dirt and rocks. He knew the next shot would kill him, but he couldn’t make himself move. The welcome sound of Hoopers’ rifle sang out. Then Hooper yelled, “I got him, I got that Jap son-of-a-bitch.”

  O'Connor rolled to the bottom of the hole and tried to control his breathing. It was coming in short spurts, he was hyperventilating. The near miss had him shaken. If he hadn’t changed positions they would’ve killed them with grenades or just come over the top and riddled them with bullets. He closed his eyes and got control of himself.

  Hooper hobbled over and went up to the lip O'Connor had just abandoned. “Holy shit, you laid those suckers out.” He got onto his knees, “Looks like the battle’s over. Looks like a scene out of Dante or something.” He dropped his rifle to the ground, “Bodies everywhere. We better go help.”

  O'Connor didn’t hear his last words as he’d passed out. His body and mind had done what were asked, but now the stress and his injuries took control and he slipped into a black dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  O'Connor regained consciousness back at the aid station. His head felt like it was being crushed between two vises. He stared at the green tent ceiling illuminated by low light. It was dark out. He heard movement beside him, someone was sitting next to him. He tried to look, but even the slight movement made him cringe. “Who’s there?”

  A face came into view, looming over him. “Hey, it’s me, your foxhole mate.”

  O'Connor was surprised. He wouldn’t have believed Dunphy could survive the attack. “What are you doing here? Where am I? What’s happening?”