by Len Levinson
Frankie La Barbara aimed hot lead into another Japanese soldier who tried to get up off the ground. Bannon shot a third Japanese soldier who moved. Victor Yabalonka kicked a Japanese soldier who he thought might be faking, and it was like kicking a sack of shit. Yabalonka fired a burst into the middle of the Japanese soldier’s back to make sure, and the Japanese soldier wobbled and bounced under the impact of the bullets.
Lieutenant Breckenridge counted the dead Japanese soldiers. There were twelve on the ground and he saw three get away. He cursed himself for not doing something so that none of the Japs would get away, because those three Japs out there would be something new to worry about. They might lay in ambush farther down the trail and just wait for the GIs to pass by.
The Reverend Billie Jones ran up to him. “Sir,” he said, “Bisbee is hit!”
“How bad?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.
“Pretty bad.”
“Worthington!”
“Yo!”
“Take a look at him!”
Worthington carried the haversack full of medicine back to where Bisbee lay on his back. Bisbee’s eyes were closed to slits as Worthington knelt beside him. Worthington wasn’t a full-fledged medic but he’d received basic first aid training. He looked at the blood oozing out of Bisbee’s stomach and figured it was more than he could handle.
He felt Bisbee’s pulse; it was weak and slow. Bisbee moaned softly.
“Can you hear me?” Worthington asked.
Bisbee didn’t react. He just kept moaning. Private Worthington peeled Bisbee’s shirt away from the wound. He opened the haversack and took out sulfa powder, coagulant powder, and a bandage. Tearing the covering off the bandage, he tried to sop up some of the blood, but more welled out.
Lieutenant Breckenridge came up behind him. “How is he?”
“Real bad.”
Worthington poured on the sulfa powder and the coagulant. The blood thickened on Bisbee’s stomach. The other men in the recon platoon crowded round.
Lieutenant Breckenridge looked down at Bisbee. “Patch him up as best you can. We’ll have to take him with us. Who wants to carry him?”
“I’ll carry him,” said the Reverend Billie Jones.
Frankie La Barbara looked down at Bisbee, and Bisbee’s face was pale. “I don’t think he’s gonna make it,” he said.
“None of us might make it,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “There are Japs all over the place out here. We’ll have to be more careful from now on.” He looked at McGurk. “Next time you hear something, come back and tell me. Don’t take any action on your own.”
“I do sumpin’ wrong, sir?”
“I didn’t say you did anything wrong.”
Private Worthington stood up. “He’s dead,” he said.
Lieutenant Breckenridge spun around. “He is?”
“Yes sir. See for yourself.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge knelt down and felt Private Bisbee’s pulse. There was nothing there. Bisbee’s jaw hung open and his eyes were half-open. Lieutenant Breckenridge closed Bisbee’s eyes with his fingers. He heard the Reverend Billie Jones’s voice above him.
“From dust thou came, and to dust thou has returned.”
“Gimme a break,” said Frankie La Barbara, who’d killed a few Japs and now was back into his bloodthirsty frame of mind.
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” the Reverend Billie Jones said. “Praise be the Lord.”
Frankie covered his face with his hand. “Oh fuck.”
“Can we still take him back with us?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.
“But he’s fucking dead!” Frankie replied.
“We’re not going to leave him here.”
“Why the fuck not?”
Lieutenant Breckenridge took three steps toward Frankie and brought his face close to his. “Because I said so.”
“But he don’t even have a family. He’s a fucking orphan. Nobody wants his fucking body.”
The Reverend Billie Jones cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it, Frankie. I’ll carry him. You don’t have to do nothing.”
Everybody looked at Frankie disapprovingly, and Frankie shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck as long as I don’t have to carry him.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at his watch. It was 1400 hours, time to eat, but he didn’t want to stop where they were.
“Let’s saddle up,” he said. “McGurk, take the point and remember what I told you. If you see any Japs, don’t start any shit with them unless you have to. And whatever you do, don’t let the Japs see you first.”
“Yes sir.”
“Move it out.”
McGurk ran forward on the trail. He jumped over the dead bodies of the Japanese soldiers, then continued for ten more yards. Stopping, he waited for the others to get ready.
The Reverend Billie Jones picked up Bisbee and threw him over his shoulder as if Bisbee were light as a feather. The other men adjusted their packs and made sure their submachine guns had full clips.
“Anybody not ready?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked. Nobody said anything.
“Hit it,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.
The recon platoon moved out again down the leafy jungle trail. The sun was at its apex in the sky and the jungle was even hotter than it’d been in the morning. The men drew their canteens and sipped water as they moved along. They felt depleted by their fight with the Japs and shuffled their feet over the dead leaves that covered the trail. They stepped over the bodies of the dead Japs, scattering the flies who’d already settled upon them. The sun blazed down from the sky. The patrol from the recon platoon was a long way from home. Lieutenant Breckenridge was getting hungry. He wanted to stop for chow, but first he had to get away from the dead Japs.
The soldiers made their way through the thick jungle. The trail was overgrown with bushes and branches, slowing them down. Branches and thorns cut the men’s arms and tore their uniforms. They looked like a raggedy bunch of sons of bitches, covered with sweat and smeared with blood. The heat made them dizzy. They conserved their water, which caused them to become mildly dehydrated. Every one of them was disgusted with the war. Those who’d enlisted wished they hadn’t been so foolish, and those who’d been drafted wished they’d hidden in somebody’s cellar until the war was over.
Ahead on the trail, Private McGurk raised his hand, signaling everybody to stop. McGurk walked to Lieutenant Breckenridge on his tiptoes, trying to be quiet.
“Somebody’s coming,” he said. “Sounds like a whole lot of people.”
“Take cover on this side of the road,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, pointing to his right. “Keep six feet between you and don’t make any noise.”
The men ducked their heads and entered the jungle. The foliage was so thick they had to get down on their bellies and crawl through it. They slithered through the muck until they were fifteen yards from the trail, and then Lieutenant Breckenridge motioned for them to stop.
They turned around and faced the trail. Visibility was so poor they could barely see it. At first they heard nothing except the usual sounds of the jungle, but a few minutes later they heard the crashing sounds of a large number of soldiers moving along the trail.
Lieutenant Breckenridge hoped they were American soldiers. All his troubles would be over if they were. His troubles would begin all over again if they were Japanese soldiers. He only had five men left, and they weren’t in very good shape. He didn’t think he could put up much of a fight.
He heard a voice, and the voice spoke Japanese. Lieutenant Breckenridge’s heart sank. He peered through the vegetation and saw the movement of pale green uniforms. A Japanese column was moving across the trail, evidently trying to get back to their own lines via the southern route.
The Japanese soldiers passed by, and Lieutenant Breckenridge counted fifty-two. In another two-hundred yards the Japs would find their fallen comrades. Lieutenant Breckenridge cursed himself for not hiding the bodies of the dead Japanese sol
diers. My mind must be going soft in this heat, he said to himself. I’d better wake up before it’s too late.
The sounds of the Japanese column receded into the distance. Lieutenant Breckenridge waited until he couldn’t hear the Japs anymore. He wondered whether he should let the men eat where they were, but decided it might be better to put some distance between him and that large Japanese column.
“Let’s go,” he said. “McGurk—are you getting tired on the point?”
“I’m okay sir.”
“Move it out!”
McGurk headed toward the trail, and the rest of the men followed him. The men were spooked because they knew substantial numbers of Japanese soldiers were in the area. Lieutenant Breckenridge motioned with his hand and the men advanced over the trail again.
It was midday and the jungle baked and steamed in the bright sunlight, but it was dark and gloomy on ground level where the rays of the sun couldn’t penetrate. Leaves blocked the sunlight, but the heat got through. The men felt like they were walking through the inside of an oven.
Lieutenant Breckenridge saw spots in front of his eyes. His mouth was dry and he reached for his canteen, pulling it out of its case, drinking a few swallows down. He hoped he wouldn’t have to take his men and look for water, because that would waste valuable time, but he couldn’t let them run out of water either. He always had decisions to make. His men only had to put one foot in front of the other, but he needed to think all the time.
The GIs staggered down the trail, hoping they wouldn’t run into any more Japs. The GIs didn’t have much fight left in them, and he knew it. Insufficient sleep, greasy rations, not enough water, and the climate were taking their toll. They climbed hills laboriously and nearly fell on their faces when the time came to descend the hills. They passed through swampy areas where the water and muck came up to their knees. Birds shrieked in the trees above them and insects sucked their blood. Every minute was like ten minutes. The patrol was turning into a nightmare.
Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at his watch. It was 1515 hours. He decided enough distance had been put between his men and the Japs column. He figured he must be getting close to his lines. He raised his right hand in the air.
“Lunch break,” he said. “Move into the jungle over there and take cover.”
The men went limp. They dragged their asses into the jungle and collapsed onto the ground. They lay still for a while, their chests heaving, and when they got their strength back they took off their packs and pulled out cans of C rations.
“I’m out of water,” said Frankie.
“Somebody give him some water,” replied Lieutenant Breckenridge.
Bannon handed Frankie his canteen, and Frankie poured some of Bannon’s water into his own canteen. Then he handed Bannon’s canteen back.
“Thanks,” Frankie said.
Bannon didn’t say anything. He was angry because Frankie evidently hadn’t bothered to conserve his water, knowing he could get some from somebody else.
“We’ll have to find water pretty soon,” Bannon said.
“I’m aware of that,” replied Lieutenant Breckenridge, prying the lid off a can of spaghetti and meat balls.
He spooned some into his mouth, and it was lukewarm and putrid. The meatballs were full of gristle. The pasta was mushy and the tomato sauce smelled like battery acid. I can’t take this war anymore, Lieutenant Breckenridge thought. It’s too much for me.
He looked around at his men, eating with clumsy fatigued motions. He knew they were ready to give up too, but he had to provide the leadership and inspiration to make them want to go on. He didn’t feel up to it. He wished he could resign his commission on the spot and let Bannon take over, but that was impossible. He was stuck and so were they.
McGurk ate hot dogs and beans and thought of Maine winters where the wind flew over the mountains and hit you in the face so hard it made your cheeks sting. He thought of snow on the ground and ice in ponds. Cold weather invigorated him, and if you dressed properly it wouldn’t bother you at all, but there was no way to dress for the New Guinea jungle. There was nothing you could put on or take off. You just had to suffer through it, hovering in that twilight zone between death and life, with your energy gone and your body stinking like a carload of dead fish.
“Banzai!”
McGurk dropped his C-ration can and his eyes became saucers. Japanese soldiers burst out of the jungle in front of him, carrying rifles and bayonets. They were skinny and scraggly, their uniforms torn and their boots worn out.
“Banzai!”
McGurk jumped to his feet. He didn’t have time to pick up his submachine gun, and all he had in his hand was his fork.
“Banzai!”
A Japanese soldier ran toward him, thrusting his rifle and bayonet toward his chest. McGurk batted the rifle to the side with a swing of his mighty forearm, then stepped inside the Japanese soldier’s guard and jabbed his fork into the Japanese soldier’s stomach.
“Yaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” screamed the Japanese soldier.
McGurk twisted the fork, then pulled it out and jabbed it into the Japanese soldier’s jugular vein. Blood squirted out and McGurk pulled his fork loose, spinning around and seeing another Japanese soldier attacking him from behind.
The Japanese soldier lunged forward and McGurk dropped his fork, diving on the Japanese soldier’s rifle and bayonet. His big hands clamped down on it and the Japanese soldier’s forward movement came to a sudden stop. The Japanese soldier tugged on his rifle and bayonet, trying to break them loose from McGurk’s grip, but the Japanese soldier was a small man and McGurk was a giant. McGurk pulled the Japanese soldier toward him and butted him with his head. The Japanese soldier was knocked cold. He let go of his rifle and sagged to the ground.
McGurk turned the Japanese rifle and bayonet around as two more Japanese soldiers charged toward him. He placed his right foot behind him for leverage and waited until they got closer.
Both Japanese soldiers screamed bloody-blue murder and thrust their rifles and bayonets toward McGurk’s heart. McGurk dodged to his right and parried one Japanese bayonet to the side. He brought his rifle butt around and smashed a Japanese soldier upside his head, caving in his skull, and blood dripped out of the Japanese soldier’s nose and ears. The Japanese soldier dropped to the ground and McGurk stepped over his dead body, charging the next Japanese soldier.
The Japanese soldier tried to parry McGurk’s thrust out of the way, but he simply didn’t have the strength. McGurk’s rifle and bayonet crashed through the Japanese soldier’s defense, and the bayonet went in the Japanese soldier’s stomach to the hilt.
The Japanese soldier sagged to his knees. McGurk pulled back on his rifle and bayonet, and blood spurted out of the Japanese soldier’s stomach. The Japanese soldier fell onto his face and McGurk looked around.
His buddies were locked in hand-to-hand combat with Japanese soldiers, and there were more Japanese soldiers than GIs. Where the hell did they come from? McGurk wondered. He didn’t have time to think it over. The Reverend Billie Jones tripped over a dead Japanese soldier and fell on the ground, and a live Japanese soldier prepared to run him through.
“No!” screamed McGurk.
He charged the Japanese soldier and threw his rifle and bayonet at him. The rifle and bayonet landed broadside against the Japanese soldier’s shoulder, distracting him momentarily. The Japanese soldier turned toward McGurk, and raised his rifle and bayonet, while McGurk flew through the air at him. McGurk crashed against the Japanese soldier, grabbed him by the neck, and both of them fell to the ground.
The Japanese soldier tried to knee McGurk in the balls, but McGurk’s full weight was on him and the Japanese soldier couldn’t move much. The Japanese soldier delivered a left hook to McGurk’s kidney, but McGurk barely felt it.
McGurk squeezed the Japanese soldier’s throat. The Japanese soldier’s tongue stuck out and his eyes goggled. He raised his hands and tried to pull McGurk’s wrists away, but McGurk had a
grip like a steel vise. The Japanese soldier coughed. He had difficulty breathing and realized he was suffocating. He scratched McGurk’s face in a mad panic but McGurk didn’t let him go. The Japanese soldier’s neck made a snap sound, and then he went limp on the ground.
The butt of a Japanese rifle came out of nowhere and hit McGurk on the back of his head. McGurk saw stars and fell to the ground. The jungle spun around him and he was aware of a Japanese soldier standing over him. McGurk tried to get up but his balance was off. He saw the Japanese soldier rear back with his rifle and bayonet. McGurk couldn’t get himself together. He thought he’d come to the end of his road.
Bannon saw McGurk go down and ran to his rescue. The Japanese soldier heard Bannon coming and turned to face him. Bannon carried an Arisaka rifle he’d taken from a Japanese soldier, and he thrust it forward with all his strength.
The Japanese soldier parried it to the side, delivering a vertical buttstroke to the tip of Bannon’s jaw, but Bannon leaned back and the Japanese rifle butt zoomed up past his nose. Bannon kicked the Japanese soldier in the balls, and the Japanese soldier’s eyes rolled up into his head. The Japanese soldier dropped his rifle and bayonet and held his shattered balls in his trembling hands as he fell to his knees. Bannon kicked him in the face and stepped over him, lunging forward again, burying the bayonet on the end of his Arisaka rifle to the hilt in the left kidney of a Japanese soldier.
The Japanese soldier screamed horribly as blood spouted out of his left kidney. He fell onto his back and Bannon leapt over him, bashing the next Japanese soldier in the teeth with the butt of his rifle. Bannon stepped forward and plunged his bayonet into the chest of the next Japanese soldier, but when he pulled back his rifle and bayonet they wouldn’t come loose.
The Japanese soldier was like a puppet without strings, his arms and legs flopping around loosely. Bannon let him fall on his back, then placed his foot on the Japanese soldier’s chest and pulled hard.
