by Chris Glatte
Welch expected some polite chitchat, but these impetuous American’s liked to get straight to the point. “Yes, well as you know, I’m a part of the coast-watchers here on Guadalcanal. Until recently we’ve been feeding reports to Australia who I hope has been relaying them to you.” He paused hoping for some confirmation. When no one spoke he continued. “Our radios are old and the wet jungle climate wreaks havoc on them. My own stopped working two weeks ago, the last working unit stopped working only two days ago. As luck would have it, the timing couldn’t have been worse. My area of responsibility was the southern region of the island. I had to retreat far into the bush, as we all have, to avoid capture. We were effectively corralled to the center of the island. With you Americans here, they stopped actively looking for us and we ended up within a square mile area. Since we were so close we decided to team up. We’ve been essentially one unit since mid-September.”
Colonel Sinclair smiled and interrupted. “Get to the point, Son. We’ve got an attack to lead.”
Welch reddened, but continued, “Yes, quite. Well, we noticed something about the way the main Japanese force has set themselves up and we think they’ve put themselves in a pickle without knowing it.” He picked up a stick and started drawing in the sand.
Colonel Sinclair looked at the general who nodded. Welch continued,“We’re sitting here,” he poked the stick and made a hole in the sand, “my blokes are here,” another hole with a perimeter around it, “And your forces are here, generally.” He looked up to see if they were following. “The Japs used to be here to the west, but now they’ve shifted a large part of their force here. Basically they’ve leapfrogged their lines further southwest.” The American officers were looking with interest now. “So as you can see they’ve placed themselves right in front of our band of guerrillas.”
Thorny leaned in, “Are you suggesting you have a force that can attack them from the rear?”
He shook his head, “we’re not strong enough to cause them much damage, they’d sweep us aside in a jiffy. But right here,” he plunged his stick into the sand in front of the hole representing his men and drew a long line behind the Japanese force, “Is a peculiar land structure. It looks like normal jungle from the air and you wouldn’t know anything was peculiar about it until you tried to pass through. It looks a bit thicker than the jungle around it, but that’s because it’s hiding a deep canyon. The vines and grasses have grown together and connected the steep canyon walls. It looks like you’re walking on normal ground until you find yourself sinking through the vines. It’s impassable, the natives use ladders they’ve hacked from the jungle to cross it, but without them it’s impossible, particularly if being pursued by a strong enemy force.” He grinned, “We can sit on the other side and snipe them as they get stuck. They’ll be ducks on a pond.”
Colonel Sinclair looked up from the sand drawing, “What kind of weapons do your men have and how many are you?”
“We’ve got our rifles from before, Enfields, one Lewis machine gun left over from the first war and we’ve managed to sneak a few rifles and ammo from the Japs. Our boys love getting the best of the Japs. As far as numbers, we’re relatively small, one hundred fifty trained men.”
“Natives?”
He nodded, “Yes, but many were local police before the Japs arrived and have weapons training. The others are eager and quick to learn and are excellent in the jungle. Not up to your Marine standards, but stout fighters when the chips are down.”
Thorny looked at Sinclair then back to Welch, “We’re Army. The Marines are up that way a bit.”
“Ah, yes. Beg your pardon.” He spun his hat in his hands. “So what do you think? Will you consider my plan?”
Thorny cleared his throat, “Sounds interesting, but I can’t base an entire attack on some crazy land feature that may or may not be there.”
Welch spluttered, “I can assure you on my honor it is there. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, tried to walk across it even. Before the war. It’s a perfect trap and the best part is they don’t know it’s there.”
“Yeah, well neither do we. With all due respect, I don’t know you. I’ve got a call into my intelligence people and they’re checking on your story.” He held up his hands when Welch started to protest, “Now hold it, it’s standard procedure. It won’t take long, but until I get confirmation on you, I can’t let you wander around my lines.”
“You actually believe I’m working for the Japs? Have you lost your mind? I’m British, obviously. I’m an ally.”
“That’ll be all, Mr. Welch.” They stood up and Thorny gestured behind him to a waiting soldier. “Sergeant Frank will escort you to your temporary accommodations.”
Welch looked behind at the smiling soldier. He looked like he’d been cut from granite, “Right this way, Sir.”
Welch looked back to the officers, “This is daft. We’re wasting time. If you attacked you could cut the Jap force in half. You’d have them on the run.”
Thorny nodded, “Oh we’re attacking, but we’re attacking our way based on solid intelligence.”
Welch raised his voice, “Intelligence you got from your higher-ups who no doubt got it from our radio reports.” The General raised his eyes to Sergeant Frank, who nodded and put a large hand on Welch’s shoulder. He guided him from the area and directed him to a nearby tent. Sergeant Frank nudged him in and stood guard outside, his weapon slung over his shoulder.
Colonel Sinclair stood next to Thorny, only coming to his shoulder, “Interesting fellow. What do you think of his plan?”
“Probably has some merit, but it’s thin. Have some of our intelligence guys talk with him. I want to know more about his men. Might be nice to have some local talent guiding us through this god-awful place. Thinking it may be a good idea to send a small squad out to make contact. Organize them into a fighting force we could use.
Sinclair nodded, “I’ll get on it, take them some weapons and ammo. Keep the Japs on their toes.”
Thorny nodded, “Yes, having an active guerrilla squad behind them would definitely keep them on their toes. We’d need a unit that could be on their own for a while. They’d be on their own if they get into trouble. Any come to mind?”
He thought about it a moment then nodded, “Yes, Sir. A platoon in Baker Company, Captain Blade’s company. They were hit the hardest during the Henderson attack the other night, yet they had the fewest casualties. Real hard fighters I was told. They’d be up to the task.”
“Good, but you can’t send a whole platoon, needs to be smaller to slip through the Jap lines. Send a squad.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thomas Welch sat on the bunk and watched the sweat dripping from his nose pool onto the dirt floor. It was a balmy day and with the tent flaps closed there was no air-flow. Hours passed and he could hear the constant din of an army in motion. There were countless trucks hauling equipment and men. He even heard a few Stuart tanks clanking by. The officers weren’t pulling his leg, there was a big operation in process. He told himself that was why his plan had been snubbed. Once something’s set in motion it’s almost impossible to stop. He should have come a day or two earlier.
He heard talking from outside the flap and then it was flung aside allowing the bright afternoon sun to stream through. Two men came in and the second one rolled up the flap and tied it in the open position. “Hot as hell in here. Mind if I keep this open?”
Welch didn’t respond only stared, then said. “You here to interrogate me?”
The first man spoke, “I’m Lieutenant Smote and this is 1st Lieutenant Tormac. We’re with intelligence G2, but we’re not here to interrogate you. That sounds bad. We’re here to ask you questions about you and your men. That alright with you?”
Welch smiled not seeing the distinction, “Whatever you Yanks call it. Get on with it.”
Smote sat on the bunk across from him and looked at a clipboard he held on his lap. “We confirmed your identity. Thomas Welch III. Born in London on August 10t
h 1917 to Madelaine and Geoffery Welch. Joined the foreign service after attending college. You were originally sent to Tulagi, but just before the Japs started this, you were sent here to be an assistant to a Captain Morrisey. You were here two years before the Japs invaded. You report to Captain Morrisey.” He looked at Welch with stony blue eyes, “That sound right to you?” He nodded. Smote continued. “Now that we know who we’re dealing with…welcome to the 164th.”
Welch took a long pull from his canteen. He’d been conserving the luke warm water wondering if he was a prisoner or not. Now that he knew he wasn’t he quenched his thirst. “Can’t say I feel welcome, Lieutenant.”
Smote handed the clipboard to Tormac who held his pencil poised, ready to take notes. “Did Captain Morrisey send you to us? Was the attack plan his idea?”
Welch smiled, how to play this? “Morrisey knew I was coming here, but he didn’t think you Yanks would go for the plan…guess he was right.”
“Do you think Morrisey would welcome our help in the form of guns, ammunition and men?”
Welch flared, “I know we would. Look, I’m the man standing before you, I’m the man that risked his life coming through the Jap lines.”
“Okay,” Smote paced, “Would you be willing to risk your life again and take a squad of our men through to your camp?”
Welch brightened, “Yes, yes of course.” He looked Smote in the eye, “For what purpose?”
Tormac’s hand was writing in a blur, but stopped with the question. Smote answered, “To link our men to yours. To help you out, to re-supply and set you up to become an effective fighting force. We’d also want some of your natives to join our main lines, they’d be invaluable guides. Could save countless lives with their knowledge of the island.”
Welch smiled, “When do we leave?”
***
There was two hours of daylight left when Lieutenant Caprielli gave Sgt. Carver the news. Carver stared as he listened to the details. When he told him everything he knew, Carver nodded, what kind of cluster-fuck is this? “Okay. We better get our shit together if we’re leaving at dark. I’ll have Corporal Hooper get the men packed, they’ll bitch about the extra weight, but sounds like we’ll be gone for a while. You’ll be down a squad, they gonna reinforce you?”
“They’re rolling 1st squad and the rest of 2nd squad into 2nd platoon. I’ll be leading this expedition.” Sergeant Carver looked at the Lieutenant with a flash of anger before he gained control. “They’re taking your platoon?”
Caprielli shrugged, “I’ll get it back when we return.” Carver nodded, but in his head he groaned. Going into the jungle with only twelve men was bad enough, but being led by the Lieutenant made the situation ten times worse. How would he keep the men alive if he had to watch every move Caprielli made? He hid his feelings. “I’ll get started on the packing.”
The Lieutenant said, “Make sure the men have the carbines for this one. I don’t want anyone weighted down with a rifle.” Carver looked at his Thompson sub-machine gun. “I don’t care what you bring Sergant, but bring plenty of ammo. You’ll be the only one carrying the forty five caliber.”
Sergeant Carver nodded. At least that made sense, maybe he was coming around. “Yes, Sir.”
Two hours later they were watching the sun set. They sat beside their stuffed packs. O'Connor wondered how he’d be able to move through the jungle with such a heavy pack. It was going to be slow going and murder on his sore legs. He’d taken the bandages off. He wouldn’t be able to tend to them in the bush and besides, he was mostly healed.
The Lieutenant brought the Brit around to meet them. He seemed like an okay guy, if not a bit too chipper. He’d exchanged his tropical whites for olive drab army pants and top. He kept his floppy jungle hat, though. Instead of his captured Japanese Arisaka rifle he carried one of the new M1-Carbines. They packed a smaller punch, only thirty caliber, but they held more rounds in the magazine and were feather light compared with the 30.06 M1 Garand. He’d been given a crash course shooting at floating coconuts as they bobbed in the ocean waves. He thought the weapon a marvel of ingenuity and fell in love with it.
O'Connor liked the carbine too, but he missed the power of his Garand. To compensate he’d brought along his sidearm .45. He’d won it in a poker game on the ship ride over from New Caledonia. The heavy caliber round would put an enemy down even if he hit him in the arm.
He looked the squad over. They’d only been on the island a little more than a week, but each man looked like a combat veteran of many years. They’d been bombed, strafed, shot at and they’d killed men with bayonets and knives. Despite this, O'Connor was worried, these men weren’t jungle fighters. His years of hunting had taught him to move like a ghost through the woods, but these men were mostly from the farms and cities of South Dakota. If the Japs heard them tonight they wouldn’t have enough firepower to fend them off.
O'Connor convinced Sgt. Carver to let him be point man. Carver had wanted Hooper, but he’d convinced him that his injury would make it hard for him. Carver agreed and gave the job to O'Connor. Now as he sat at the edge of the darkening jungle he wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. I could get these guys killed.
Sergeant Carver put the men in the order he wanted for the patrol. He wanted them to stick close together. The dark jungle would be even darker at night and he didn’t want anyone getting lost. Welch had tried to get them to go during the daylight. He was convinced he could get them to the village without being spotted, but the higher-ups wanted them traveling at night so that’s what they’d do.
O'Connor hefted his pack and kneeled beneath its weight. He watched Sgt. Carver in the dying light. Carver nodded at him and he took his first step into the jungle. Dunphy followed staying close and so it went until the squad disappeared into the darkness.
O'Connor’s senses were on full alert. He concentrated on every step being as silent as he could. He’d schooled Dunphy on walking silently and he was happy to see that the lesson had some effect. He could hear him, but he didn’t sound like an elephant, more like a clumsy dog.
The first couple hundred yards were the toughest. The jungle was thick, but it soon opened up into more open palms. O'Connor thought it was probably part of a deserted plantation. Dunphy touched his arm and he crouched, waiting. He scanned his front. The palms swayed in a warm, light breeze. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so deadly. Soon he heard footsteps coming from behind. He kept scanning forward until someone came up beside him. It was the Brit and Sgt. Carver.
Welch whispered into his ear, “This is the Witherspoon place. Looted long before the Japs got here. There weren’t any Japs here when I passed through the other day.”
O'Connor nodded, thinking, today ain’t yesterday, asshole. Carver slapped his arm and motioned him forward. O'Connor nodded and moved like a cat on a prowl. The entire column was up and moving again. O'Connor could see a building looming out of the murky darkness. The Witherspoon place looked like it must have been quite the spread in its day. Now it looked dark and foreboding. He led the squad around the back. When he was beyond it, the wide open plantation terrain gave way to more jungle. It wasn’t thick, in fact it reminded him of what he’d see in Oregon; tall trees with thin underbrush. Perfect spot to find a deer. He hoped Japs didn’t think like deer.
To his front he heard something that didn’t sound right. He crouched and each man in line did the same. He pictured Dunphy crouching and trying to figure out why he stopped. O'Connor could hear the men as they bumped into each other, stopped and crouched, too loud. He strained his ears searching for what had spooked him. Had he imagined it? He’d heard something, but didn’t know what, something out of place. His hunting senses were buzzing, but there was nothing.
He was about to move when he heard it again, the low murmur of someone whispering. He couldn’t be sure how far away, but there was someone ahead and there were only Japs out there.
As he strained, Sgt. Carver appeared beside him. O'Connor was impressed he
hadn’t heard him coming. Is Sarge a hunter? A Jap hunter, no doubt. Carver touched his shoulder and O'Connor pointed forward and signaled he’d heard talking. Carver was still beside him, straining to hear. There it was again. Carver squeezed his shoulder and signaled for him to fall back. O'Connor nodded and started backing up. He almost yelled when the world lit up with the light from a flare, but he bit his tongue and froze. The Japs must’ve heard us; they’re searching for us. I knew these sons-of-bitches would get me killed.
He moved his eyes and saw Carver lying on the ground motionless. Having the big man near him was calming, kind of like his father’s presence on a hunt.
The flare sputtered and sizzled as it descended, making the jungle dance with crazy shadows. When it extinguished and darkness and silence returned, Carver and O'Connor crept back down the line until they were gathered around the Lieutenant and Welch.
Carver whispered, “We found their line, not where they’re supposed to be.” You couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but everyone knew he was glaring at Welch.
Lt. Caprielli mulled things over, he needed to make a decision. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll head ninety degrees from our current direction and get around the edge of them.”
Carver shook his head, “Sir, it’s too risky. Why don’t we fade back to the plantation and see things in the light of day? We’re liable to run into them out here in the dark and we’ve got no support, totally on our own.”
Lt. Caprielli scooched closer and whispered in Carver’s ear, “I’m in charge, sergeant. Don’t question my orders, follow them.” It was whispered, but everyone caught the gist.
Sergeant Carver’s face turned red, but no one could see it in the darkness. Without responding he grabbed O'Connor’s shoulder and said, “Take us due east for a quarter mile. We’ll reassess our position.”
O'Connor nodded and was about to head out when he heard the Brit, “Going east isn’t a good idea. We’ll hit the river soon enough. With the recent rains it’s high and impassable.”
