by Chris Glatte
Minutes passed. It felt good to be out of the water. He felt his eyes growing heavy as a thick wave of exhaustion swept over his body, threatening to send him to blissful oblivion. He shook his head trying to shake the fatigue. Here he was in a desperate situation and he was having trouble staying awake? Bugger that. He bit his lip, the pain keeping him in the here and now. He heard something coming down the trail. Boots pounding on the muddy path, the Japanese were double timing down the trail. O'Connor was right, they were trying to cut them off.
He looked back to O'Connor who heard it too and laid still beside the pack, his body half in the water. Welch realized he’d left his carbine on the pack. Their only chance was to lay low and hope the Japanese passed without seeing them. From the sounds it was a sizable force. Welch scooted himself deeper into cover. He hoped it would be enough, the trail was only feet from his prone body.
Welch kept his head down, but kept one eye open. He watched as the Japs’ cleft toe boots landed only feet from his head. He tried to keep count, but lost it after forty. The pounding boots sounded like thunder, but he was sure they’d hear his own beating heart. He tried to control his breathing. It took all his concentration to keep from hyperventilating. His mantra; breath in, breath out, slow it down. After an eternity the troops stopped coming. He laid there until he couldn’t hear the boots at all. He lurched when O'Connor touched his boot and pulled him towards him. It was time to get on with it.
He pushed his way back and when he hit the mud he slid into O'Connor who stopped him from splashing into the river. He put his mouth next to Welch’s ear, “Let’s stay here till daylight, sun should be coming up in an hour.” Welch didn’t like it. He wanted to get as far away from the spot as possible. “Too many Japs looking for us downstream. We’ll lay up in cover and wait. We need to rest.”
They slid into deeper cover along the bank and pulled branches and vines around them until they looked like part of the jungle. O'Connor whispered, “Try to get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.” Welch closed his eyes thinking it would be impossible to sleep.
He woke with a start when O'Connor poked him hard with a stick. The darkness was gone, replaced with early morning light. He thought it a lovely morning until he remembered his situation. A feeling of dread overtook him. He itched all over, the drying mud and the crawling bugs taking their toll. Instead of itching he moved his head and met O'Connor’s eyes which were gleaming from behind a thick layer of vines and mud. Something had him spooked. He followed O'Connor’s eyes as they scanned towards the river. His blood froze. The dead Jap soldier O'Connor had killed and pushed into the river the night before was hung up in the branches swaying back and forth in the current only yards away. From the river came the lazy form of a large crocodile. His snout and yellow eyes gleamed in the morning light, his eyes focused on the easy meal caught in the branches.
Welch started to move, but a high-pitched Japanese voice coming from the trail stopped him. He didn’t move a muscle. The soldier’s voice brought others until there were many. They were getting closer; they’d seen their comrade. Any second they’d be down by the river beside their hiding place.
Another voice, this one in charge. It was easy to discern an order even in a foreign language. O'Connor was on his stomach and could see two soldiers coming down the slick embankment. He hoped they would be too preoccupied with their dead buddy to notice the scuff marks on the bank pointing to their positions.
The soldiers came down the bank between Welch and O'Connor. They were pointing at the body and yelling. They didn’t notice the dark form in the water sink out of sight. One soldier took off his small pack and handed his rifle to the other man and waded in. O'Connor lost sight of them as they walked past him, but he heard one enter the water. He saw four more soldiers on the trail, their weapons at their waist watching the scene.
The first soldier got to the body and tried to pull it loose, but the branches held him tight. He pulled out his knife and started cutting and slashing at the vines, but the current, the depth and the awkward dead weight were too much. He called for his comrade to help. The second soldier put down his pack and his buddies’ and laid the rifles on top. He waded out to help.
They almost had the body free when the first soldier yelled and there was a great splash and a massive dark shape. He had time to look at the second soldier, terror and confusion on his face before he was pulled beneath the dark water. The second soldier screamed and half swam half ran for the shore. His eyes were wide, yelling at the top of his lungs. He was three feet from the bank when something big came from behind him and landed on his legs and back. The soldier reached out and his hand was the last thing anyone saw of him.
The yelling from the soldiers on the bank intensified and they started shooting into the water at unseen targets. Maybe they’d get lucky and hit the crocs. Even if they accidentally hit their own men, it would be a mercy. The man in charge yelled an order and two grenades were thrown. The water geysered when they exploded, but only bubbles and dead fish surfaced. A few more shots, then another order.
Two more soldiers came to the shore looking at the deadly water, their guts roiling. The dead soldier in the branches had been shredded by the grenades and was nearly free. One soldier stood at the ready, his rifle pointing into the river covering the other man who went in fast. He yanked on the body and it came loose. He pulled him onto the bank. The other man grabbed him under the arm and they hauled him up to the trail dropping him at their sergeant’s feet.
They inspected the body. O'Connor wondered if the grenades had shredded him enough to hide the mortal knife wound in his neck.
The sergeant stood and looked out over the water searching for his lost men. He yelled an order and the remaining troops started to form up along the path. A sudden burst of gunfire erupted in the distance. The soldiers tensed and dropped to their knees pointing their weapons toward the sound.
O'Connor knew the sound of carbines meant his squad was engaged with the Japs again. The sergeant gave another order and the soldiers double timed it towards the sound of battle, dragging their dead comrade with them.
CHAPTER TEN
O'Connor waited a full ten minutes before he moved a muscle. The Japs had been close enough to touch, but they hadn’t seen them. It was a minor miracle. He moved his eyeballs first, then slowly turned his head. He couldn’t see anyone, but if they were on the trail he wouldn’t know until he was fully exposed. He looked to where Welch was hiding, but couldn’t see him. He was completely covered, just a mound.
He moved onto his stomach so he could see the trail. It was abandoned; the Japs were gone. He crawled higher up the bank until he was on the trail. He looked both ways, they were alone. He turned back to the water, remembering the beasts that had taken the Japanese to their watery grave. He saw movement; the mound was coming alive. He could see Welch’s head taking shape as the leaves, vines and dirt slid off. He made eye contact with O'Connor who gave him a thumbs up.
He returned the signal, but didn’t smile. He crawled up next to O'Connor and whispered in his ear. “Let’s get outta here.” O'Connor nodded and pointed into the jungle. Welch shook his head and pointed down the trail towards their lines.
Gunshots from the plantation continued. They were still in the fight. O'Connor pointed, “We’re going to help out the squad. They need us, we can come up behind the Japs and surprise ‘em.”
He started to crawl away, but Welch grabbed his belt. “That’s suicide. They can take care of themselves.”
O'Connor pushed his hand away and came up onto his knees. He inspected his rifle being sure to check the barrel for mud. He wiped it with his shirt, getting the mud off the moving parts as best he could. “We’ll take ‘em by surprise. Put down a steady field of fire and move around a lot; we’ll confuse ‘em, give our guys a chance.” Welch started to protest, but O'Connor’s eyes took on a red intensity, “I’m going to help my unit. You come with me or go it alone.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but moved acr
oss the trail into the jungle. The sounds of gunfire were sporadic, but he could still discern the pop of the carbines and the occasional burst from a Thompson. Ammo wasn’t a problem as long as they hadn’t lost their packs. He could hear the Brit behind him. He didn’t need him, but was glad he decided to come along.
With each step the sounds of fighting grew louder. A new sound, a machine gun started hammering away. The Japs had upped the ante; the squad wouldn’t last long with that pinning them down. O'Connor hunched lower, but increased his speed. Even though he was almost running he was still quiet. Welch, who’d been walking jungle trails for years was keeping up, but making more noise. With all the gunfire O'Connor didn’t think it would matter.
The machine gun stopped, probably reloading, but O'Connor steered them towards the area. He was about to pass around a jeep-sized rock when the machine gun opened up. He dropped to the ground, it was directly in front of the rock. He’d almost blundered into the crew. He looked behind him at Welch and signaled that he was going to toss a grenade over the rock and he should too.
Welch nodded and pried a grenade from his belt. It was mud covered, he hoped it worked. They got to their knees and faced each other. O'Connor looked into Welch’s eyes and bobbed his head as if in cadence. He mouthed, ‘One, two, three,’ then pulled the pin, released the lever and tossed it over the boulder.
Welch’s was right behind, but wasn’t thrown as hard. It bounced precariously on the top then toppled down the other side. There were two closely spaced explosions. The machine gun stopped and there was screaming. O'Connor sprang around the rock and emptied his carbine into the three men sprawled in a low depression. The grenades had done their work, the men had smoking holes in their bodies.
O'Connor kicked over the machine gun, the barrel was bent and smoking. He came back around the rock and crouched looking at Welch, “We’ve gotta keep moving.” He heard more firing and saw the muzzle flashes and smoke from the main Japanese position. In the commotion of the fire fight the Japanese hadn’t noticed their machine gun’s silence, but that wouldn’t last and someone would investigate. A bullet whizzed off the rock next to his head and he pulled back squinting from the rock dust. He’d almost been killed by his own men.
He signaled Welch to follow him and he went back the way they’d come, then moved laterally to get behind the enemy line. He found a thick patch of bush and went to his knee. He pulled two more grenades and placed them within easy reach. “How many you got?” he asked Welch. Welch reached down and pulled his last grenade and held it out for inspection. O'Connor nodded, “Throw yours to the right, I’ll put one in the center and left. When they go off we’ll unload with our M1s and skedaddle over there.” He pointed back to the dead machine gunners’ rock. “That’s where we’ll meet. Got it?” Welch’s eyes were wide, but he nodded.
O'Connor put his carbine down and hefted the first grenade. He pulled the pin, then carefully put it back on the ground careful to secure the lever. He picked up the second grenade and pulled the pin. He looked back at Welch who was looking at him funny. He hadn’t armed his grenade and O'Connor looked at him wondering. Finally, Welch shook his head and nodded. He pulled the pin.
O'Connor threw his grenade, then reached for the second before the first landed. Welch thought how easy it would be to drop his grenade at this cowboys’ feet and surrender to the Japs. This soldier was going to get him killed, but instead he hurled his grenade towards the firing right flank of the Japanese line intentionally short and picked up his carbine.
The grenades went off seconds apart and the shooting stopped. Two Japs were hit and screaming and the others looked around in panic wondering what happened. O'Connor picked up his carbine and shot into the Japanese lines, sweeping his weapon back and forth where he thought they’d be.
Welch took off towards the rock without firing. He slid in beside the boulder and panted. O'Connor had expended his magazine and was running back to the rock. Welch watched him bob and weave in a crouching run. It would be so easy to lift his carbine and end this right here, but now he was committed. The Japs would never take his surrender, they’d string him up and fillet him for days. Instead, Welch raised his M1 and fired a few shots back toward the Japanese line.
O'Connor slid in beside him and pulled another magazine from his pocket and pushed it into place. It made a satisfying ‘click.’ He looked back the way they’d come, there was firing coming their way, but nothing concentrated. They’re worried about hitting their own men.
The fire coming from the plantation intensified. Bullets cracked and whizzed through the branches, but not directed their way. A Japanese soldier rose from the ground fifteen yards away and saw them crouched there. He rose up and charged. His gun with the glinting bayonet was leveled at them. The soldier yelled and pulled the trigger, but he shot from the hip on the run and the single shot went between them. Welch instinctively pulled his carbine to his shoulder and quickly shot four rounds into the advancing man, but he kept coming. The tiny holes in his tunic shone bright red in the morning sun. He re-aimed and pulled the trigger again, this time the man’s head snapped back and he fell to the side only feet away, his eyes staring.
Welch looked at the gun then at O'Connor, who said, “That’s why I prefer my Garand.” Welch nodded and reloaded. “We gotta move. Let’s make a run for the plantation.” The rock behind them started taking hits and the ricochets were coming dangerously close. “Let’s get away from this death trap.” He pulled on Welch’s sleeve and ran to the other side of the boulder. “When I say go, I want you to take off to that cover,” he pointed at a stack of downed palm trees at the edge of the plantation. “I’ll cover you then, you do the same for me. I’ll be coming as soon as you find cover, so make it quick.”
The bullets were much more concentrated now. The rock was chipping and soon a dust cloud of rock surrounded them. “Now!” O'Connor yelled and leaned out and fired towards the Japanese line. He walked his fire from right to left until his magazine was empty. He turned just in time to see Welch dive behind the pile of wood with bullets sending dirt geysers on his heels.
He swapped magazines and saw Welch pop up and start laying down fire. O'Connor took off in a low crouch. Bullets were buzzing by him like angry bees. He gritted his teeth and kept running, concentrating on the wood pile. Welch was sending a steady stream of fire downrange, but the Jap fire was intensifying. He made the log pile and laid on his back as rounds flew over and into the pile. He felt like he was on the inside of a drum head.
Welch came down and lay beside him. “Getting kinda hot. Anymore bright ideas, Private?”
O'Connor shook his head, “Don’t think we’ll find better cover than what we’ve got right here. We can hold them off if they don’t bring anything heavier.” As if in answer they heard the distinctive sound of a mortar shell arcing their way. “Shit, mortars. We gotta leave.” O'Connor went to run directly away keeping the wood pile between himself and the Japs, but the ground in front of him erupted with the impact of a 37mm mortar shell and he was thrown back into the pile. He slammed hard and lost his breath. He lay there gasping.
Welch leaned over to shield him, “Are you hit?” he yelled. O'Connor was only able to gasp and grunt for air. Welch assumed the worst and came off him to look for wounds, but another shell landed and sent dirt and jungle onto them. He leaned over the struggling Private. He lay on O'Connor, his ears ringing knowing the next shell would be right on top of them. Any second now his world would end. It made him angry to think how ridiculous it had become.
But the next shell never landed. Instead the shooting seemed to slacken from the Japanese lines and intensify from the plantation. Welch heard the Japanese yelling. He risked raising his head and saw the back of a Japanese soldier running the way they’d come. Another soldier entered his vision, this one much closer. He went to raise his rifle, but the uniform was different. This was an American soldier.
The soldier went to one knee and aimed at the fleeing soldier’s bac
k. He shot three times and as Welch watched, the man’s back erupted in two new holes and he pitched forward his rifle flying through the air. The American stood and turned to the wood pile. Welch recognized him from the squad. He thought his name was Crandall.
Welch stood up holding his carbine over his head, “Hey, it’s us. Welch and Private O'Connor. He’s hit, needs help, mortars.”
Crandall’s smile at seeing them alive faded when he heard his friend was hit. He ran and leaped over the wood pile with ease. He landed next to O'Connor and gave him a once over. O'Connor got his breath back, “Get off me Crandall, I’m fine, just had the wind knocked out of me.” He pushed him away.
Crandall grinned, “You’re a sight for sore eyes and make no mistake. We got the Japs on the run, but when they regroup they’ll come at us like a freight train. Your attack from the rear got ‘em flustered, allowed us to advance without being noticed. Got close enough to nail their mortar crew. Thank Christ they didn’t have that thing up and running earlier.” He looked over the wood pile and waved at someone. “You able to run? We gotta go. Sarge’s signaling us, we gotta go now.”
O'Connor hopped to his feet and nodded, “Lead on.” As they cleared the wood pile they saw more guys crouched next to trees and rocks covering their withdrawal. They ran past them and they followed in turn. When they got close to the plantation it was pockmarked with bullet holes, it looked like a deranged flock of woodpeckers had been unleashed.
Sergeant Carver was standing in the doorway his Thompson smoking. He tilted his helmet back, “Well, I’ll be, thought you fuckers were long dead.”
Lieutenant Caprielli was aiming his carbine out a window, his eyes like saucers. He gave a curt not to the men.
O'Connor only smiled, but Welch reached out and shook the sergeant’s hand. “Jolly good to see you, thought our goose was cooked back at the wood pile.”
