Satan's Cage

by Len Levinson

  “I hear something!” Pfc. Soma said, stopping beside a tree.

  “Where?” asked Private Nagao.

  “Over there,” said Pfc. Soma, aiming toward his left with the bayonet on the end of his Arisaka rifle.

  The two Japanese soldiers advanced in that direction, taking slow cautious steps. They looked to their left and right to make sure no one was sneaking up on them. They couldn’t hear anything except the ordinary sounds of the jungle.

  “Are you sure you heard something?” Private Nagao asked.

  “I think so.”

  That was good enough for Private Nagao. He took another step forward, peering into the bush in front of him. It was dark and tangled, an ideal place to hide. Private Nagao would have liked to throw a hand grenade in there, but he didn’t have any hand grenades left. Neither did Pfc. Soma. So they had to investigate the bush the hard way. Private Nagao stopped and bent forward, to take a better look at the bush.

  Blam!

  A bullet shot through Private Nagao’s forehead, and his lights went out. He collapsed onto the ground and Pfc. Soma froze for a split second instead of hitting the dirt instinctively.

  Blam!

  The bullet blew apart his chest and he was knocked onto his ass. The jungle was still for a moment, and then the bush trembled. It opened up like a great mouth and a gigantic hulk crawled out from underneath it. This hulk was none other than Private Joshua McGurk from Skunk Hollow, Maine.

  McGurk looked to his left and then to his right. He approached the Japanese soldiers and bent over them, stripping away all their ammunition, stuffing it into his pockets. He spit onto the ground, turned around, and snuck away like a thief into the night.

  Five hundred yards to the northeast of McGurk, a Japanese soldier crouched beside a stream whose surface glittered like diamonds in the moonlight. He looked around, listened, and couldn’t hear anything threatening nearby. His canteen was empty so he removed it from its cloth cover and dipped it into the stream.

  The canteen gurgled as water poured into it. The Japanese soldier looked forward to having a drink, because he was very thirsty. He’d eaten American C rations a short while ago and they’d been salty. His mouth stung, it was so dry.

  The night outlined his figure against the stream. He wondered if any live fish lived in the stream. He thought it’d be wonderful if he could eat some nice raw fish. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such a delicacy.

  Something jostled behind him. He spun around and saw the flash of a blade. An instant later the blade slashed his windpipe and jugular vein. Blood poured out and the Japanese soldier fell with a splash into the stream.

  “Gotcha,” said Sergeant Bannon, lowering his bayonet into the stream, letting the water wash the blood off it and his hand. Bannon pushed the bayonet into its scabbard and dived into the bushes. In seconds he was gone, leaving behind the Japanese soldier, his blood sending dark whorls into the rippling water.

  TWELVE . . .

  Fighting raged throughout the evening and into the night across the southern flank of the Persecution Task Force. Japanese soldiers managed to advance north of Afua, meeting increasingly heavy resistance as companies from Colonel Hutchins’s Second Battalion came up on the line. The Japanese attack stalled and finally was stopped cold approximately 250 yards north of Afua.

  At 2300 hours, Lieutenant Colonel Frank Lechler, the commanding officer of the Second Battalion, signaled to Colonel Hutchins that the lines finally had stabilized.

  “A lot of our people have been trapped south of the current line,” Colonel Lechler added.

  “How many?” asked Colonel Hutchins.

  “At this point I have no idea.”

  “You’d better notify your front lines that stragglers will be trying to return.”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  “Good. Now all you have to do is hold where you are. If you have any problems, you’d better call before they get out of hand. How are your supplies?”

  “We’re in good shape so far.”

  “You’d better not call me out of the clear blue sky and tell me that your lines are cracking, because I’ll crack you. If you get in trouble, don’t wait too long before you call for help. Get the picture?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  Colonel Hutchins handed the radio headset back to the radio operator. He puffed the cigarette in his hand and smiled. A catastrophe had been averted. The lines had held.

  He walked a few steps to the telephone operator and told him to put a call through to General Hawkins. An empty chair was nearby and Colonel Hutchins sat on it. He pulled out his canteen and took a sip of white lightning, believing that his men thought he was drinking only water, but they knew what he was drinking. They could smell it all over the interior of the tent.

  The operator handed the telephone to Colonel Hutchins, who held it against his face. “Colonel Hutchins speaking sir,” he said.

  There was no reply. General Hawkins hadn’t come to the phone yet. Colonel Hutchins puffed his cigarette. He wondered how many of his men were trapped behind enemy lines. He hoped there weren’t too many.

  “General Hawkins here,” said a voice on the other end of the telephone. “Is that you, Hutchins?”

  “You bet your ass it is.”

  “You sound pretty chipper. I guess you stopped the Japs.”

  “You bet your ass I did.”

  “You did!”

  “I just told you I did.”

  “Where did you stop them?”

  “About two hundred and fifty yards north of Afua.”

  “You can’t let them stay there, Hutch. That there’s American real estate.”

  “You’re damn straight they’re not going to stay there. I’m going to kick their asses out in the morning.”

  “That’s the way I like to hear my officers talk. When do you jump off?”

  “The crack of dawn.”

  “Need anything?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Let me know how you do, so I can keep General Hall informed.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  Frankie La Barbara looked at his watch. It was two o’clock in the morning. He and Lieutenant Breckenridge were lying underneath a bush, and Frankie was trying to get his breath.

  “You weigh a ton,” Frankie said. “You eat too fucking much.”

  “You talk too fucking much,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied, his voice weak and his face pale from loss of blood.

  “I ought to leave you here,” Frankie said.

  “Go ahead. Save your worthless ass. I’m getting sick of you anyway.”

  “Maybe I should shoot you before I leave.”

  “Maybe you should. It’s the kind of thing a sleazy son of a bitch like you would do.”

  Frankie raised his eyebrows. “Who’re you calling a sleazy son of a bitch!”

  “You.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Frankie bent closer to Lieutenant Breckenridge. “You fucking tinhorn officer,” he said. “You wear them bars on your collar and you think you’re the cat’s ass, but you ain’t nothing but a big tub of shit.”

  “Frankie,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, “if we ever get out of this mess alive I’m going to tear you in half.”

  “That’s what you think. If we ever get out of this mess alive I’m gonna slam your head down so far you’ll be able to use it for an overshoe next time it rains.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge jerked his head around. “I hear something.”

  Frankie La Barbara wrinkled his forehead. “I do too.”

  “Get down.”

  “You don’t have to tell me to get down. You think I don’t know enough to get down?”

  “Quiet.”

  “You always have to give orders, don’t you? Well shove your fucking orders up your ass, okay?�
�

  Lieutenant Breckenridge decided he’d better keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t say anything then Frankie La Barbara wouldn’t say anything. The goddamned idiot always has to have the last word, Lieutenant Breckenridge thought. He lay underneath the bush and Frankie La Barbara lay next to him. They were ten yards from a trail, and someone was moving from south to north upon it. The sounds came closer and indicated the presence of a substantial number of soldiers. I hope they’re Americans, Lieutenant Breckenridge thought, but they’re probably Japs.

  Next to him Frankie chewed his gum frantically. He ran his tongue over his teeth and twitched his nose. Like Lieutenant Breckenridge he hoped the soldiers were Americans but doubted that they were. They’d almost certainly be more Japs. Frankie hoped they wouldn’t notice any suspicious tracks on the trail, and search the jungle to see where they led. I should’ve cleared those tracks off the road, Frankie thought, but how was I supposed to know a bunch of Japs’d come walking by?

  The soldiers marched closer. Their boots sounded like thunder as they advanced over the trail. They came abreast of Lieutenant Breckenridge and Pfc. Frankie La Barbara.

  “Hey Sarge,” somebody said, “I gotta take a piss.”

  Frankie La Barbara felt a surge of adrenaline in his veins. He jumped up and shouted: “We’re Americans in here!”

  “Keep your voice down!” Lieutenant Breckenridge hissed.

  “Fuck you!”

  Frankie charged through the jungle, holding his rifle and bayonet at port arms. He leapt onto the trail and saw a column of American soldiers.

  “Hi!” he said. “How’re ya doin’!”

  A soldier stepped toward him. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Pfc. Frankie La Barbara, recon platoon, Fifty-third Infantry.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “The same thing you’re doing here.”

  “We’re headed back to our lines. Arc you all right?”

  “I am now.”

  “Fall in at the rear of the column. Move it out, men.”

  A voice came to them from the woods. “What about me?”

  The soldier looked at Frankie. “Who’s that?”

  “Just some fucking officer,” Frankie said.

  “What do you think I am?”

  Frankie realized that probably he’d just spoken too fast. “I don’t think I recognize you, sir.”

  “I’m Captain Swette, Easy Company.”

  “Hello sir,” Frankie said weakly.

  Captain Swette looked at his men. “Take somebody with you and get that officer out of there.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The soldier picked another one to go with him, and together they entered the jungle.

  “Where are you?” one of the soldiers asked.

  “Over here!” replied Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  The soldiers raised their arms and pushed through the thick foliage. They found Lieutenant Breckenridge, picked him up by his armpits, and carried him back to the road.

  “Hello Dale,” said Captain Swette, a half smile on his face. “You look like you’ve just about had the green weenie.”

  “I believe I have.”

  “Looks like a pretty ugly wound you’ve got there. Has a medic looked at it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Cole!” said Captain Swette.

  “Yes sir.” A soldier rushed forward, carrying a big haversack with a red cross painted on the side.

  “Look after Lieutenant Breckenridge.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge was laid upon the ground. Pfc. Cole leaned over him and opened his shirt, but the fabric stuck to the dried blood that covered the bandage.

  “Is this a bullet wound, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “The bullet’s still in there, I suppose.”

  “I suppose.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Is it fairly severe?”

  “Fairly.”

  “Maybe I’d better give you another shot.”

  “You won’t get any arguments from me if you do.”

  Pfc. Cole removed a small bottle of alcohol and a swab of cotton from his haversack. He poured alcohol on the cotton and cleaned a small area of Lieutenant Breckenridge’s bicep muscle. Then he pulled a morphine Syrette out of the haversack and broke the seal. Jabbing the needle into Lieutenant Breckenridge’s arm, he squeezed out the contents. Pfc. Cole yanked out the Syrette and slapped the skin where he’d inserted the needle, so the morphine would begin moving into Lieutenant Breckenridge’s bloodstream.

  “The pain’ll go away real fast,” Pfc. Cole said, fastening the straps on his haversack.

  “Thanks,” replied Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  To Lieutenant Breckenridge’s ears, the medic’s voice sounded as if it was coming out of a cave. Captain Swette ordered two soldiers to pick up Lieutenant Breckenridge and carry him. The two soldiers lifted Lieutenant Breckenridge and spread his considerable weight over their shoulders.

  “Got him?” Captain Swette asked.

  The soldiers nodded.

  “Let’s move it out,” Captain Swette said, “and keep your eyes open for Japs.”

  General Yokozowa’s radio finally was working, thanks to an aerial on top of the mountain where his cave was located. Sporadic signals were received from the front, and then, at two-thirty in the morning, a call came in from Colonel Tamakuma, who commanded the spearhead of the attack on Afua.

  Actually Colonel Tamakuma didn’t make the call. One of his aides made the call, because top-ranking officers don’t place calls if there’s somebody else around who can do it for them. Finally, after numerous exchanges by aides on both ends of the transmission, Colonel Tamakuma and General Yokozowa were able to speak with each other via shortwave.

  “Sir,” said Colonel Tamakuma, “I’m afraid I have bad news. The momentum of our attack has been stopped by the Americans a short distance north of the village of Afua.”

  “Why?” asked General Yokozowa.

  “Because the Americans have brought many reinforcing units up on the line.”

  “So it’s merely a matter of numbers.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Your units are intact?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then your news is not really bad. You have not been defeated and you are still able to wage war, is that not correct?”

  “That is correct sir.”

  “This development presents opportunities that may not be apparent to you at this moment,” General Yokozowa said. “You have pushed the Americans back and inflicted heavy casualties upon them. Their lines have been obliterated and we can assume that their soldiers have been numbed by the ferocity of your attack. They don’t know what to expect now. They probably are frightened, because you know as well as I that Americans are not the bravest people in the world. They’re all right when they outnumber us and are moving forward, but they never do well when they’re backing up. We shall attack again first thing in the morning, with more troops, and catch the American right flank in a double envelopment. Then we will see the American right flank collapse, and if their right flank collapses, their entire defense system will collapse. So take heart, Colonel Tamakuma. You have won a victory and you should be happy. Maintain pressure on the Americans. Those are your orders for the time being. Do you have any questions?”

  “Where will the new troops come from for the attack at dawn, sir?”

  “Where they come from is not your concern. That is my concern. You are to maintain pressure on the Americans in front of you. Any more questions?”

  “No sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  General Yokozowa handed the headset back to his radio operator and walked to his map table. He looked down at the American flank and moved the wooden symbols to indicate the advance into American territory. His aides watched him carefully and he made his peculiar smile, raising his upper lip and
showing his tobacco-stained front teeth. Instantly he saw how the American south flank could be crushed for all time. His attack at dawn would consist of three elements: (1) an all-out frontal attack by Colonel Tamakuma at the center of the American southern line extension; (2) an attack on the American east flank from across the Driniumor River; and (3) an attack on the American west flank from the foothills of the Torricelli Mountains.

  General Yokozowa stepped back from the map and continued to smile. He lit a cigarette and walked to his telephone switchboard.

  “I want to speak with General Adachi,” he said.

  “Yes sir,” said the telephone operator.

  General Yokozowa puffed his cigarette as he waited beside the telephone operator. All eyes were on him and he loved the attention. He felt like a great warlord, a king of samurais, the man of the hour. In his imagination he saw the defeat of the Americans on New Guinea, and all the glory would go to him. He saw the parade in Tokyo and the Emperor pinning a medal on the breast of his tunic. The band would play and the women in the audience would admire his every move.

  Finally the call went through. General Adachi came on the phone.

  “Sir,” said General Yokozowa, “victory is within our grasp!”

  “It is?” asked General Adachi. “What are you talking about?”

  “We have thrown the Americans back!” General Yokozowa declared jubilantly. “They’ve managed to consolidate their lines to the north of the village of Afua, but they’re at the breaking point. If you give me two more battalions, I can give you the Tadji airstrips and the port of Aitape by sundown tomorrow.”

  There was a pause on the other end. Then the cold clipped words of General Adachi came to General Yokozowa’s ear. “When you said the Americans managed to consolidate their lines, did you mean that the Americans have stopped your attack?”

  “Yes sir, but—”

  “Then where is this victory you just told me you won?”

  “We have pushed the Americans back, sir. That is the victory against the American south flank. If you give me two more battalions, I will smash the Americans here in the south. I’ve got them reeling right now and they’re ready to give way. Give me those two battalions and I will give you the Tadji airstrips and Aitape!”