by Len Levinson
“Two battalions?” General Adachi asked. “Where am I going to get two battalions? Do you think I have unlimited resources?”
“Sir,” said General Yokozowa, “take them from wherever you can. I believe the time has come to gamble. Victory is within our grasp. If we do not pluck it down, we may never have this opportunity again.”
There was another long pause. Then General Adachi spoke again. “I will have to think about this. I shall call you back within an hour. Over and out.”
The connection went dead in General Yokozowa’s ear. He handed the receiver back to the telephone operator and inhaled his cigarette. Why is he being so cautious now of all times? General Yokozowa thought. Can’t he see that if we don’t take advantage of this opportunity, we may never have one like it again?
General Adachi sat behind his desk and leaned forward, placing both hands on his stomach and pushing inward. The pain was so severe he felt dizzy. The ache covered a circle four inches in diameter and General Adachi was certain something very serious was wrong inside of his stomach. Dr. Nojima had advised him to relax, because the ulcer might perforate. General Adachi could the from internal bleeding within an hour if that occurred.
How can I relax at a time like this? he asked himself. Important decisions must be made, and I am the only one who can make them.
He arose and walked bent over to the map table, one arm wrapped around his midsection. The pain was so intense he thought his ulcer would perforate at any moment. He even thought it was perforating just then. The room spun around him and he dropped to his knees.
Everything went white before his eyes. Cold sweat covered his body. He always hoped that when his time came he’d the in battle, his sword in hand, but now he was afraid he’d be killed by his ulcer. How humiliating for a Japanese general to the that way.
He took a deep breath. He knew he should lie down and relax, but the voice of duty told him he must continue to direct the activities of the Eighteenth Army, and now he had to make a decision concerning General Yokozowa’s request.
I’ll lie down after I decide what to do, he said to himself. Raising his hand, he gripped the edge of the map table and pulled himself up. He stood unsteadily and leaned against the map table, hoping it would brace him.
It did. He blinked and looked down at the map. His eyes found the American south flank. General Yokozowa needed two battalions. Where could they come from? General Adachi’s eyes roved over the rest of his line abutting the Driniumor River and extending to the ocean in the north. His troops were spread thin. If the Americans knew how bad his situation was, they doubtlessly would attack. The Americans didn’t know how bad off the Eighteenth Army was yet. They could be expected to find out soon because they always were patrolling, testing and measuring the strength of the Eighteenth Army.
General Adachi realized that whatever he did now probably would be his last hurrah. The Eighteenth Army was in bad shape. There were weaknesses and shortages everywhere. His flank attack against the Americans hadn’t succeeded to the degree that he wanted, but perhaps it could still carry forward. General Adachi realized that the flank attack was all he had going for him. General Yokozowa is right, General Adachi admitted. This is an opportunity that cannot be permitted to slip away.
But where would those two battalions come from? This was the big question that he pondered as his stomach writhed and twisted, causing him great pain and concern. He gritted his teeth and sucked in air while examining his line on the Driniumor. He weighed all the factors and then mulled them over in his mind. Finally he decided on two units: the Third Battalion from the Seventy-eighth Infantry Regiment and the Second Battalion from the Eightieth Infantry Regiment.
He realized he’d weaken his line drastically if he pulled those two units back, but he couldn’t see any alternative. His back was to the wall and he had to take his best shot.
Still bent over with pain, he hobbled back to his desk and collapsed into the chair. He took a sip of water and lit another cigarette. Dr. Nojima had told him to stop smoking, because smoking was bad for his ulcer, but General Adachi couldn’t stop smoking. His desperation had been building for the past several months and his nerves were shot. There was always something important for him to do, and his most immediate task was to call General Yokozowa and inform him of his decision.
He reached for his telephone and picked up the receiver. “Connect me with General Yokozowa,” he said into the mouthpiece.
THIRTEEN . . .
Lieutenant Breckenridge opened his eyes. Blackness was all around him. He stirred and realized to his surprise that he was lying on a cot.
A hand touched his shoulder. “Are you all right, Dale?” a woman asked.
He recognized the voice of Lieutenant Beverly McCaffrey, a nurse at the Eighty-first Division Medical Headquarters. He looked up and perceived the outline of her head in the darkness. He realized he was in a tent in the medical headquarters.
“How long have I been here?” he asked.
“Around three hours.”
“What time is it now?”
“Nearly oh-one-hundred hours. How do you feel?”
“My shoulder hurts.”
“They took the bullet out. There were no complications. You’ll be all right.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge took a deep breath. He heard a truck or a tank roll by the road near the tent.
“Got a cigarette?” he asked.
“Sure.”
She took one out of the pocket of her fatigue shirt, lit it up, and placed it between his lips. Then she bent over and kissed his forehead, because they were much more than casual acquaintances.
“I think this is your million-dollar wound,” she said. “I don’t think they’ll send you back to the front.”
“I thought you said the wound wasn’t that bad.”
“It isn’t, but it’s your fourth one. They probably won’t send you back now that you’ve been shot up four times. You’ll probably go back to the States for the rest of the war.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge realized that she probably was right. A Purple Heart with three Oak Leaf Clusters was enough to get an officer transferred to peacetime duty. Lieutenant Breckenridge didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it. He hated the war with a passion, but he didn’t think it’d be proper for him to take it easy while others were doing the fighting.
Another truck rumbled past on the road.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked.
“They’re moving troops and equipment to the front. There’s going to be a big attack in the morning.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge puffed his cigarette. He wondered who’d be in charge of his recon platoon now that he was in the hospital and Butsko was back in the States. The platoon couldn’t be turned over to Sergeant Bannon, because Sergeant Bannon didn’t have enough rank. An officer or a topkick would have to be brought in from someplace else. Lieutenant Breckenridge shook his head. The recon platoon wasn’t easy to handle and the new man would have his hands full.
She noticed his movement. “Something bothering you?”
“No.”
“You should relax and get some sleep. That’s the best medicine in the world.”
“Why don’t you lie down next to me?”
“Dale!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t do that and you know it!”
“Why not?”
“You know very well why not!”
“It’s dark in here. No one will see.”
“I don’t want to take the chance,” she said.
“It’d make me feel so much better.”
“I’ll give you another shot of morphine.”
“You’d be better for me than morphine.”
She looked around and it was pitch black inside the tent. The other men in the vicinity snored and she was sure they were asleep, because all of them were under heavy medication. She gazed at Lieutenant Breckenridge’s tall muscular figure lying on the cot a
nd felt a rise of desire, because she’d always had a soft spot in her heart for him.
“If I do it, you’d better not try anything.”
“What could I try? This morphine’s got me all doped up.”
“I can only stay for a little while.”
“Leave whenever you have to.”
The cot was narrow but he moved over a bit and tried to make some room for her. She lay down on her side, half on him and half on the edge of the cot, placing her face next to him and resting her arm across his chest.
“That better?” she asked.
“Much better.”
He touched the palm of his hand to her fanny.
“Cut it out,” she said.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’d better not.”
“I’m too tired. I’m all doped up.”
“In other words, if you weren’t tired or all doped up, you’d try something.”
“Right.”
He wished there was some way he could push her pants down and put it to her, but he was dazed by the morphine and exhausted by the events of the night. He closed his eyes and squeezed her rear end, and she snuggled against him.
His mind went blank and he felt as though he was falling through space. He heard a roar in his ears but it was only another truck passing on the way to the front. In the darkness he saw the faces of Butsko and Frankie La Barbara, the Reverend Billie Jones and Private Joshua McGurk, sitting in a big foxhole, getting ready for a big attack.
Lieutenant Breckenridge’s mouth fell open and he snored softly. Lieutenant McCaffrey realized he’d fallen asleep at last. Gingerly she arose from the cot and tiptoed away.
They’ll send him back to the States for sure, she thought. The Japs’ll never get him, thank God.
She stepped outside and pulled her blond hair out of her eyes. She saw a convoy of tracks passing by on the road. Taking out her pack of cigarettes, she lit one up and headed toward the area where the nurses’ tents had been set up.
I’d better get some sleep, she thought. I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a busy day here tomorrow.
