by Len Levinson
Frankie nodded sullenly.
“We’re going to move up to the edge of the village now,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “I want total silence and no fiddle-fucking around—is that clear?”
Nobody said anything. Lieutenant Breckenridge turned around and waved his hand. He got down on his belly and crawled toward the village. The rest of the patrol slithered through the jungle after him.
The Japanese soldiers who’d been searching the huts returned to the center of the village where Lieutenant Akiyama was. Sergeant Okamoto marched up to him and saluted.
“We’ve searched all the huts and found no radios, sir.”
“Very good. Form up the men and move out.”
“May I make a suggestion, sir?”
“What is it?”
“While we were searching through the huts, I thought it might be a good idea for us to hide in this village for the rest of the night. It will be morning in a few hours, and I think it might be better for the men to sleep here than in the wide open jungle.”
Lieutenant Akiyama thought Sergeant Okamoto had made a good point. The men would have to sleep soon anyway, but the natives couldn’t be trusted and someone would have to keep an eye on them. The natives outnumbered the Japanese soldiers three or four to one. They also might have weapons or even a radio hidden in the jungle.
“I don’t want to hide behind the natives,” Lieutenant Akiyama said, “and I don’t trust them anyway. Form up the men and move them out.”
“Yes sir.”
Sergeant Okamoto turned around and barked orders at the men. They formed a column of twos and Sergeant Okamoto told them to move out. The soldiers marched toward the southern end of the village, and Lieutenant Akiyama turned to the chief, bowing slightly.
“I’m very sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused you. Thank you very much for the water.”
Lieutenant Akiyama knew the chief couldn’t understand him, but courtesy was extremely important to the Japanese nobility. The young count bowed again and turned around, following his men out of the village.
Buck Sergeant Charles Bannon watched the Japanese soldiers march out of the village. He knew they were the ones who’d ambushed the deuce-and-a-half truck and slaughtered all the GIs in it. Bannon’s eyes narrowed to slits and he set his teeth on edge. Bannon was from Texas and had been a cowboy before the war. He had sandy hair, green eyes, and was tall and rangy. Like most Texans, he had a strong sense of justice. He wanted to get those Japs and pay them back for what they’d done to the GIs on the truck.
The sentiments among the other men in the recon platoon weren’t much different from Bannon’s. To them, the Japanese soldiers were murderers.
The Japanese soldiers moved out of sight on a jungle trail. A few natives ran toward the trail and peered ahead, to make sure the Japanese soldiers really were gone. The natives waited awhile, then returned to their chief. The natives were angry about what the Japanese soldiers had done. The women and children came out of the huts and joined them. The women wore skirts but no tops, and the GIs stared at their breasts. The GIs forgot about their anger as they thought about caressing those breasts.
“Let’s go,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Keep quiet and for chrissakes don’t grab any of the women.”
“What if one of them grabs us?” Frankie La Barbara asked, because he still considered himself irresistible to women even though his once handsome nose was broken and twisted all over his face.
“Shut up,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied, “and if you give me any trouble in there, La Barbara, I swear I’ll shoot you dead.”
Frankie grinned. “You wouldn’t do that—wouldya Lieutenant?”
“Wouldn’t I?” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied.
Lieutenant Breckenridge stood up and pushed through the bushes, holding his submachine gun high. He stepped into the perimeter of the village, and his men followed him.
The natives noticed them immediately. The women chattered and giggled and the men quieted them down. The natives, led by their chief, walked toward the Americans, and the Americans advanced toward them. Frankie should have been watching out for the return of the Japs, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the pert round breasts of a young native girl. They bobbled in the moonlight and Frankie got a hard-on. He thought about placing a boob in his mouth and sucking it all night long.
The GIs and natives drew closer and stopped a few feet in front of each other.
“Do you speak English?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked the chief.
The chief nodded and said, “Yes.”
“We’re following those Japs,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “We were waiting for them to leave the village so we could attack them.”
“We knew you were there,” the chief said. “You made very much noise.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at his men, then turned back to the chief. “At least the Japs didn’t hear us. Are there any more villages in the direction where the Japs have gone?”
“There are some,” said the chief, “but not close by.”
“Have you seen any other Japs in this area?”
“No,” said the chief.
Lieutenant Breckenridge tipped his helmet to the chief. “Thanks for the information. We’d better get moving before the Japs get away.”
“There is a way to get ahead of them,” the chief said. “My men can show you.”
“You mean there’s a shortcut?”
The chief was confused. He’d never heard the slang word shortcut before. “There is a way to get ahead of them on another trail,” he repeated.
“Sounds good,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Let’s go.”
The chief said something to his men, who turned around and ran into the woods on one of the trails. The GIs heard logs being thrown around, and then the metallic sounds of rifle bolts being opened and closed.
“We got weapons buried in the woods,” the chief said to Lieutenant Breckenridge. “If we not hide them, the Japanese soldiers would take them away from us. There were many Japanese soldiers in this jungle before you Americans came in your big boats and your machines that fly through the air like birds.”
The natives returned to the center of the village, carrying British .303-caliber Lee Enfield rifles with fixed bayonets. They jumped up and down, brandishing their rifles, happy to have an opportunity to kill some Japs.
“Joseph will show you the way,” the chief said, indicating a husky native with a beard.
“Do you speak English?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked Joseph.
“Yes sir.”
“Lead the way.”
Joseph said something to the chief in their own language, and the chief said something back. Joseph turned and spoke to his men. Together they walked through the village, heading toward a jungle path. The GIs followed them, while native women, children, and old men gazed curiously at the GIs. The GIs checked out the young women and got excited. The GIs became energized and inspired, looking back over their shoulders at the young women at the edge of the village, as they followed the native men into the woods.
On another trail in the same jungle area, Lieutenant Akiyama raised his hand and stopped. His soldiers stopped behind him, and Private Kitajima, on the point, ran back to find out what was going on.
“You may drink your water now,” Lieutenant Akiyama said, “but don’t drink too fast or too much because I don’t want any more delays due to sickness.”
Lieutenant Akiyama glanced meaningfully at Private Yotsuda, the soldier who’d vomited before, and then Lieutenant Akiyama reached for his canteen. He unscrewed the lid and raised the canteen to his parched lips, drinking down some of the cool sweet spring water. His men swallowed their water carefully, because they didn’t want to get sick and be left behind by Lieutenant Akiyama.
Private Kitajima jerked his head around suddenly, and water spilled down his cheek. “I hear something,” he said.
Ahead on the trail the recon platoon and the natives
crawled underneath bushes and over fallen trees, getting into position. Lieutenant Breckenridge deployed them on one side of the trail, and when the Japs came by they’d be blown to shit by bullets and hand grenades.
The GIs and natives lay down beside the trail and readied their weapons. Moonlight shone on the narrow winding trail, and the jungle became silent.
Private McGurk lay next to Lieutenant Breckenridge. “They stopped,” McGurk said. “I don’t hear them anymore.”
“I wonder why they stopped?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.
“Maybe they heard us.”
“Your soldiers made too much noise,” Joseph said.
Lieutenant Breckenridge’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to figure out what to do. “If the Japs hear us, they might head back to the village. Joseph, you take your people with you and defend your village. The rest of us will stay here. If we hear fighting at your end, we’ll come to help you. If you hear fighting over here, don’t worry about us. We’ll get along all right on our own.”
Joseph whispered to his men. They pulled out of the line beside the road and melted silently into the jungle. In seconds they were gone. The recon platoon was alone again.
“Open fire on my command,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.
“What are they doing now?” Lieutenant Akiyama said to Private Kitajima.
“They’re still, sir. They must be waiting for us.”
The Japanese soldiers huddled around Lieutenant Akiyama at the side of the road. Lieutenant Akiyama wondered what to do. Somebody was on the trail ahead and he assumed they were American soldiers. He didn’t think they were natives because he doubted that natives would want to take on his armed Japanese soldiers.
“Sir,” said Sergeant Okamoto, “may I make a suggestion?”
“What is it?”
“I think we should go back to the village and make our defense there.”
Lieutenant Akiyama raised his eyebrows in derision. “You want to hide behind women and children, Sergeant Okamoto?”
“I think it would be the best place to fight, sir.”
“Best from what point of view?”
Sergeant Okamoto was surprised by the question. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Why do you prefer to fight in the village?”
“We would have more protection there, sir.”
“What protection would your honor have?”
“Honor?” Sergeant Okamoto asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what kind of protection that would be, sir.”
Lieutenant Akiyama looked around at his men. “Japanese soldiers do not hide behind women and children. It is better to die with honor than live in shame. I do not want to live in shame, and I don’t think any of you do either, am I right?”
Some of his men would have preferred to fight in the village, but didn’t dare say so. Most were so brainwashed by Japanese propaganda that they were perfectly willing to die for their Emperor then and there.
Lieutenant Akiyama looked at Sergeant Okamoto. “What do you think?”
“It is better to die with honor than live in shame,” Sergeant Okamoto said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“Excellent,” Lieutenant Akiyama said. “I’m so glad you agree. We have come a long way together and now we shall die together in the full flower of our manhood, for the Emperor. American soldiers are ahead of us. I doubt that natives are there because natives wouldn’t dare attack us on their own. All we can do is advance and draw their fire. Once we know where they are, we can attack them. It is possible that we can defeat them, but if not, we will die for the Emperor who has sacrificed so much for us, and whose eyes are on us now.”
Sergeant Okamoto didn’t believe the Emperor had suffered so much for him, and doubted that the Emperor could see him then. He raised the index finger of his right hand.
“You have another suggestion, Sergeant Okamoto?”
“Yes sir.”
“What is it?”
“I was wondering, with all due respect to you, sir, if there might not be a better way out of this?”
“Such as?”
Sergeant Okamoto looked around at the thick dark jungle. “Perhaps it isn’t necessary for us to return to the village or fight the Americans. Perhaps we can split up into small groups and disappear into the jungle. The Americans won’t be able to follow all of us. Each group can try to make it back on its own.”
Lieutenant Akiyama narrowed his eyes and turned down the corners of his mouth. “You have a curious reluctance to fight, Sergeant.”
“It is not necessary to fight, sir.”
“From what point of view isn’t it necessary to fight, Sergeant?”
“From the point of view of survival, sir.”
Lieutenant Akiyama raised his fist and clenched it until his knuckles were white. “There are some things more important than survival! I’m surprised and even shocked that you don’t understand that!”
“I do understand it, sir.”
“You do not appear to.”
“I was only thinking in military terms, sir.”
“So am I.”
Sergeant Okamoto was aware that all the men were looking at him. He realized some of them probably thought he was a coward. Sergeant Okamoto bowed his head to Lieutenant Akiyama. “I was only offering an alternative point of view, sir. I of course can see the validity of what you have said, and I am prepared to follow your orders in whatever decision you make.”
Lieutenant Akiyama turned to Private Kitajima. “Do you hear anything?”
“No sir.”
“There have been no changes on the trail up ahead?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“Then let us proceed. This time I will take the point.”
Sergeant Okamoto looked into Lieutenant Akiyama’s eyes. “You will be the first one killed, sir.”
“So what!” Lieutenant Akiyama snapped.
Sergeant Okamoto finally lost his temper. He was an obedient noncommissioned officer under normal circumstances, but the events of the past few days pushed him over the edge. He took a step toward Lieutenant Akiyama and raised his arms in the air. “The duty of a Japanese soldier is to fight!” Sergeant Okamoto said angrily. “It is not his duty to die for the sake of dying! We should be trying to kill those Americans, not trying to let them kill us! Death is honorable when it is unavoidable, but death for the sake of death has no honor!”
Sergeant Okamoto swallowed hard. He’d never spoken to an officer like that in his life, and Lieutenant Akiyama was no ordinary officer. He was a distant cousin of the Emperor.
Lieutenant Akiyama was stunned by what Sergeant Okamoto had said. It was unthinkable that an enlisted man and a commoner would talk to him that way. He didn’t know whether to draw his samurai sword and chop off Sergeant Okamoto’s head, which he had every right to do, or stop and consider what he’d said. Lieutenant Akiyama was confused. This was a completely new situation for him. “We cannot go back to the village,” he sputtered. “I will not hide behind women and children.”
“We can move into the jungle, sir.” Sergeant Okamoto pointed to the dense vegetation beside him. “We will be able to kill many more Americans in there than if we just charge into them on this trail.”
Lieutenant Akiyama felt foolish. He’d been so engrossed with notions of dying for the Emperor that he’d eliminated a viable alternative. He gazed at Sergeant Okamoto, a squat man with a thick mustache set in a round face. Sergeant Okamoto had been with the Eighteenth Army since its earliest battles in the Huon peninsula. He was an old experienced combat veteran who thought in terms of war, while Lieutenant Akiyama had been dwelling on an honorable death. I must be getting tired, Lieutenant Akiyama thought. Evidently I’m not thinking clearly.
“But the Americans will hear us moving through the woods,” Lieutenant Akiyama said.
“They’ll hear us no matter what we do, but at least in the woods we’ll have more protection.”
Lieutenant Akiyama took out his compass. He opened the lid and tried to read the dial in the moonlight.
“I hear something,” said Private Kitajima.
“What do you hear?” asked Lieutenant Akiyama.
Suddenly Lieutenant Akiyama’s ears filled with a terrible roar. A .45-caliber bullet from a Thompson submachine gun blew apart his hand and the compass in it. Another bullet shot through his throat, killing him instantly. He dropped to his knees, blood spurting out of the hole in his neck, and then pitched forward onto his face.
The GIs charged down the trail, firing their submachine guns. The Japanese soldiers were taken by surprise. They raised their rifles instinctively as .45-caliber bullets ripped them apart. The Japanese soldiers closest to the village tried to run back in that direction, but the GIs shot them down.
The GIs advanced on the narrow trail, their submachine guns smoking, and the Japanese soldiers withered in front of them. The hail of submachine-gun fire blew the Japanese soldiers backward. The Japanese soldiers tripped and wobbled, great wads of flesh exploding off their bodies. They pirouetted and dropped to their knees, blood spiraling in the air, and then they fell onto their faces or landed on their backs. Some twitched and others lay still. The GIs rushed forward and surrounded them, holding their submachine guns ready, examining the Japanese soldiers cautiously because they thought some of them might be playing possum.
A Japanese soldier lying on the ground twitched, and Bannon shot a burst of bullets into his head to make sure he was dead. The Reverend Billie Jones kicked Sergeant Okamoto over onto his back.
“Ugly son of a bitch, ain’t he?” Jones asked.
Private Bisbee, the pathological thief, knelt down and unhooked the samurai sword from the belt of Lieutenant Akiyama. He drew the sword from its scabbard and held it up to the moonlight. It looked as though there was gold worked into the design on the handle. Bisbee attached the scabbard to his own belt and then searched through Lieutenant Akiyama’s pockets.
“I wonder what they were arguing about?” Bannon said.
“This should be a lesson to all of us,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied. “We shouldn’t argue among ourselves while we’re on patrol, because the Japs might sneak up on us and do to us what we did to this bunch.” He looked at Frankie La Barbara. “You hear that, Frankie?”
