Hit the Beach

by Len Levinson

  Bannon felt a firestorm in his left thigh, and it spun him around. The Jap aide-de-camp fired again, missing Bannon, but when Bannon fired, he didn't miss. His first bullet hit the Jap in the left lung, and the Jap slumped to the ground. Enraged by the pain in his leg, Bannon limped toward the Jap and emptied both of his Nambus into his jerking, twitching body.

  "Banzai!”

  A Japanese soldier charged Bannon, his rifle and bayonet aiming toward Bannon's heart, and now Bannon realized the error of his ways. He should not have wasted all of his bullets on a Jap who was out of the ballgame anyway, and all he could do was hurl both Nambus at the charging Jap. The Jap lowered his head to catch one of the pistols on his helmet, and that was all Bannon needed. He leaped forward and grabbed the Jap's rifle and bayonet.

  But the Jap wouldn't let go. Both men heaved and pushed each other, trying to gain possession of the rifle, and Bannon could see the Jap's slanted eyes and smell his fishy breath. The Jap grunted and spat in Bannon's face, and Bannon tried to kick him in the balls, but the Jap pivoted neatly and caught the blow on his thigh. Then the Jap succeeded in kicking Bannon in the shins, and it hurt so much that Bannon got a new burst of maniacal energy. He pushed hard and then pulled, upsetting the Jap's balance, then elbowed the Jap in the eye.

  The Jap screeched as he let go his rifle, and Bannon thrust it forward like a harpoon, burying it to the hilt in the Jap's chest. He pulled it out, spun around, and saw another Jap coming at him. The Jap was tall and husky, a giant among the other Japs; he towered over Bannon.

  "Banzai!” the Jap shrieked.

  He lunged at Bannon with his rifle and bayonet, and Bannon parried his thrust out of the way. He slammed the big Jap upside his head with his rifle butt, and the dazed Jap back-pedaled. Bannon positioned his rifle and bayonet in the air and slashed down, the blade of his bayonet catching the Jap on the side of his neck and busting through his collarbone. Arteries feeding the Jap's brain were severed, and the Jap lost consciousness, sagging to the ground.

  A rifle butt came out of nowhere and slammed Bannon on his arm. Bannon lost his balance and saw a bayonet streaking toward his gut. He twisted out of the way and fell to the ground, which exploded next to him as the Jap fired his rifle from the hip. Bannon saw a Japanese helmet lying on the ground and threw it at the Jap, who ducked, giving Bannon the split second he needed.

  Bannon sprang up and grabbed the Jap's rifle, but the Jap let it go and took a step backward, pulling out a Colt .45 that he'd taken from a dead American officer. The Jap aimed at Bannon and squeezed the trigger, and Bannon stood frozen to the ground, thinking that his number had come up at last.

  An ax came down from the sky and hit the Jap on the top of his head. The blade of the ax smashed through the Jap's helmet and split open his head like a block of wood, continuing its downward thrust into the Jap's chest.

  "Yeah!” screamed Sergeant Butsko, yanking the ax out of the Jap's butchered torso. "Yeah.!”

  Butsko charged forward with his bloody ax, elbowed Bannon out of the way, and swung the ax like a baseball bat, burying the ax in the stomach of a Japanese soldier who'd been preparing to thrust his rifle and bayonet into Bannon's back.

  "Yeah!” bellowed Butsko, as he lopped off another Jap's arm. "Yeah!”

  He whacked a Jap above his hip bone, nearly chopping him in half. "Yeah!”

  He sliced through another Jap's chest as a butcher hacks apart a chicken. Feinting with the ax, he aimed low and lopped off a Jap's leg.

  A Jap hopped in front of Butsko and tried to run him through; Butsko brought the big ax down, smashing the rifle out of the Jap's hand. Defenseless, the Jap would not run away. He stood with his hands at his sides, gritting his teeth and waiting for the blow to fall. He didn't have to wait long. The ax came down and bashed through his left shoulder, laying open his heart.

  Butsko snorted through his nose as he tugged the ax loose. All the restraints of ordinary existence were removed from him now, and he was free to do the one thing in the world that he loved to do best; kill Japs. The Bataan Death March and his months in a Japanese POW camp had filled him with a deep black hatred of Japs, a hatred that overruled everything in his life and exploded out of him like a bomb at opportunities like this.

  He swung the ax from the side and cracked through a Jap's ribs. He swung again and lopped off the top of a Jap's head. His forearms and biceps bled from bayonet cuts, but he didn't feel them as he charged into the thickest groupings of Japs he could find, cutting them down. He swung the ax around like a madman and soon found himself standing in the midst of incredible carnage. A Jap officer fired a Nambu at him, and the bullet whistled past his ear. The officer was getting ready to fire again, and Butsko threw the ax at him, then leaped at the officer like an angry roaring lion.

  The handle of the ax had hit the officer in the arms, upsetting his aim, and the next thing he knew, his pistol arm was in the grip of two viselike hands. Butsko twisted the officer's arm up and around, hearing the satisfying snap as the arm broke at the elbow joint, and then pushed his two thumbs forward gouging out the Jap's eyes. The Jap shrieked and writhed, trying to hold off Butsko with one hand, and then Butsko punched him in the mouth, knocking him cold. Butsko grasped the Jap around the neck and squeezed with all his strength, grinning savagely as the Jap's windpipe and neckbones crumpled in his powerful hands.

  With a satisfied smile Butsko let the Jap go. He picked up the Nambu and his ax, just as a flare went off in the sky. The battleground became illuminated with a ghostly glow, and Butsko saw sweating grimy faces and heaving shoulders as men tried to kill each other hand-to-hand.

  "Yaaaaahhhhhh!” screamed Butsko, charging a Jap and pulling the trigger of the Nambu. The pistol kicked violently in his hand, and the power of the big bullet knocked the Jap backward, his insides demolished beyond repair. Butsko saw a Japanese soldier jabbing his bayonet into an American GI's stomach and ran toward the Jap, firing the Nambu at pointblank range. The bullet shattered the Jap's right arm and knocked him over, his rifle and bayonet sticking from the stomach of the GI. Butsko aimed down at the Jap on the ground, pulling the trigger of the Nambu. Click. It was empty. Butsko raised his ax and chopped off the Jap's head.

  Nearby, Craig Delane and a Japanese sergeant circled each other, feinting with their rifles and bayonets. Delane was scared to death and had reached the point when fear becomes blind courage, and he was in superb physical condition; he used to run the mile for the New York Athletic Club in track meets all over the East Coast.

  The Japanese sergeant was shorter than Delane, with bandy legs and bucked teeth. He feinted again with his rifle and bayonet, and Delane thought, What the hell, I'd better make my move before he makes his. Delane put all of his 165 pounds into a fast thrust, and the Jap saw it coming too late. The Jap moved to parry, but the bayonet went into his stomach to the hilt. Delane watched the Jap wriggle on the end of his bayonet, kicking his bandy legs and gripping Delane's bayonet with his two hands, trying to pull it out. Blood dripped through the Jap's fingers and poured out of his stomach. He said something in Japanese, and Delane pulled down hard with his rifle and bayonet, disengaging from the Jap, who went crashing to the ground. Delane stood over him, feeling powerful and victorious, like a brave warrior who had conquered his enemy. He wanted to savor the moment longer, but feet rushed toward him, and he looked up to see two Japanese soldiers charging.

  Delane's sense of victory transformed suddenly to the certainty that he was going to die. He thought, Fuck it, and charged the both of them, emitting a high-pitched scream. The Japs got in each other's way, and in the confusion Delane managed to run one of them through. Then, as he was pulling out his rifle and bayonet, he saw the other Jap lunging toward him.

  Delane let go his rifle and bayonet and jumped backward like a jackrabbit, the Jap's bayonet passing inches from his stomach. The Jap was off balance and Delane dived toward his rifle and bayonet, yanking it out of the Jap's hands and bringing the butt plate around, crashi
ng it against the Jap's head. The Jap collapsed onto the ground and Delane stabbed him in the side, then heard footsteps behind him and turned around.

  A huge soldier was charging him, and Delane anchored himself to the ground for the parry. Than another flare went off in the sky, and Delane found himself looking at Frankie La Barbara, but it was a Frankie La Barbara like he'd never seen before. Frankie was bleeding from both arms and his left cheek. He had a Nambu pistol in his left hand and an entrenching tool in his right. He chewed gum violently, and when he recognized Delane he froze for a moment, pivoted, and moved in another direction.

  Frankie La Barbara was more scared than he'd ever been in his life, and his fear had not transformed to courage. Instead it had pushed him to the limits of his physical and mental abilities, because more than anything else he wanted to stay alive, and in order to stay alive he had to kill Japs before they killed him.

  In a mad frenzy he shot and hacked down Japs, knowing that the more he killed, the better chance he'd have to stay alive. Every muscle of his body was in motion all the time, because he was afraid that if he stood in one spot for more than a second, a Jap might nail him. He ran toward the back of a Jap fighting an American soldier and shot the Jap in the back. Spinning around, he saw a Jap charging toward him and drilled him through the stomach. Behind that Jap was another Jap, and Frankie crowned him on the helmet with his entrenching tool, making a loud clang and then firing at the Jap twice before he hit the ground. The first bullet hit the Jap on the cheek, tearing away his jaw, and the second bullet missed, hitting the ground and ricocheting into the air.

  Frankie looked up and in the flickering light of the flare saw Butsko ten feet in front of him, decapitating a Jap with his ax. Frankie didn't like Butsko and thought this was his big chance. He could shoot Butsko and get away with it. Feeling light-headed and weird, Frankie raised his Nambu and drew a bead on Butsko.

  Butsko suddenly turned around and saw Frankie pointing a pistol at him. Rage and fury streamed out of Butsko's eyes, and Frankie couldn't go through with it. A Japanese soldier charged Butsko from behind, and Frankie moved his Nambu a few inches to the right and fired. He hit the Jap in the chest and the Jap crashed into Butsko, who spun around and buried his ax into the Jap's back.

  "Banzai!” screamed a Jap who ran toward Frankie.

  Frankie fired the Nambu at him, but the Nambu went click. It was empty. Frankie jammed the Nambu into his belt and spun his entrenching tool through the air. When the Jap drew close, Frankie whipped the entrenching tool up and knocked the rifle and bayonet out of the Jap's hands, then whacked the Jap on the head. The Jap was dazed and staggered a few steps. Frankie reared back and swung his entrenching tool from the side, burying its blade in the Jap's kidney. The Jap fell to the ground, shrieking in terrible pain, and Frankie jumped with both feet on the Jap's face, stomping and kicking it into sausage meat.

  Frankie bent over and picked up the Jap's rifle and bayonet, then charged forward, driving it into the stomach of the first Jap he saw. He bashed the next Jap in the face with his butt-stock, kicked a third Jap in the balls, and fired from the hip at the fourth Jap, shattering his chest.

  All around Frankie there were grunts and the clash of steel against steel as the American GIs and the soldiers of the Emperor tried to overwhelm each other. The mud was covered with bloodied, hacked bodies, and the screams of the wounded filled the air. No one could move without stepping on the body of a dead or wounded soldier, but the grisly battle continued anyway, with neither side giving way.

  In a damaged but still serviceable bunker a few hundred yards behind the fighting, Colonel Stockton paced nervously beside his radio operator, who was trying to raise General Vandegrift back at Henderson Field. The bunker was ringed with Headquarters Company troops, and parked behind it was the colonel's jeep, so he could make a quick getaway if the Japanese overran his regiment.

  Colonel Stockton puffed his pipe nervously, and there was an uncharacteristic stoop in his shoulders. This was his first battle engagement of the war, and if he lost it, he could be relieved of command. His career would be over, and his Twenty-third Regiment whom he'd honed into a sharp-edged fighting unit, would be wiped out.

  “I've got General Vandegrift, sir,” said the radio operator, handing Stockton a headset.

  “Can you read me, General?” Stockton said.

  “Loud and clear,” replied General Vandegrift. “Heard you've got a little trouble over there.”

  “I don't know if we can hold. I've already committed my reserves. Can you send me anything?”

  “It's that bad?”

  “As I said, I don't know if we can hold them.”

  The headset was silent as General Vandegrift thought for a few moments. “I can send you a company of Marines,” he said.

  “I think I'll need more than that.”

  “I can't give you more, because my lines are thin enough as it is. If I weaken one sector to help you, that sector might be hit next. This may be a feint. The Japs might throw a big wallop someplace and I've got to stay ready for them. I told you, this is a shoestring war. You'll have to hold them with what you've got.”

  “But...”

  Colonel Stockton was interrupted by the arrival of a young bedraggled lieutenant. His shirt was streaked with blood and his left pantleg was torn completely away. He saluted and said, “Sir, they're falling back.”

  Stockton stared at him. "Who's falling back?”

  “The Japs, sir.”

  "They are?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stockton breathed a sigh of relief. “General Vandegrift, I've just received word that the Japs have fallen back.”

  “Well, it appears that your problem wasn't as bad as you thought.”

  “It could have gone either way, sir.”

  “New commanders often exaggerate setbacks. You'll learn soon enough what's going on. Notify artillery where the Japs have fallen back to, and we'll give them a plastering.”

  “Am I still getting that company of Marines, sir?”

  “Yes. And when the artillery stops, attack those Japs in the jungle and wipe them out. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Carry on.”

  There was a click, and then the airwaves filled with static.

  Bannon stood bleeding and dazed, watching the Japanese soldiers retreat back to the jungle. One moment he'd been fighting for his life, and the next moment the Japs were pulling back. It had happened so suddenly. Someone must have ordered the Japs back, but in all the screaming and shouting, he hadn't been aware of it. He was too tired to raise the M 1 in his hands and fire off rounds. Let them go, he thought.

  He looked around, and the battlefield was covered with Japanese and American bodies. The surviving GIs walked around as if punch-drunk. The main trench was half filled with bodies in front of him, and the machine gun he'd manned with Frankie La Barbara was fifty yards away, a dead Jap slumped over the sandbags.

  Bannon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took out a cigarette. He lit it, then bent over and put an American helmet on his head. He leg ached and he saw his pant leg drenched with blood. He could barely stand on the leg, but the blood was coagulating. It didn't look too dangerous.

  Sergeant Butsko emerged from the night, an awesome bloody sight, his ax in his right hand. “They'll probably come back!” he yelled. “Take your positions and get ready! This ain't no time to lay back, you dumb cocksuckers!”

  Bannon limped back to the machine-gun nest. He didn't think he could handle another Japanese attack. He didn't even think he could raise his arms anymore. But the Twenty-third had thrown the Japs back. Bannon was dimly aware that the Twenty-third had won a victory of some kind.

  He climbed into the machine-gun nest, expecting to find Frankie La Barbara lying dead beside the gun. There were some Japanese and American soldiers huddled together in death, and Frankie wasn't among them. Apparently soldiers from both armies had tried to fire the gun, but it was
empty and they'd been killed before it could be loaded up. Puffing his cigarette, Bannon lifted the bodies and threw them out of the nest. The blood and gore didn't bother him: His mind was too numb.

  “Bannon?”

  Bannon looked over the sandbags and saw Frankie La Barbara, his uniform torn to shreds and a big cut on his left cheek.

  “Gimme a hand, willya?”

  Bannon reached down and pulled Frankie into the machine-gun nest. They collapsed side by side at the bottom and struggled to get up. Bannon lowered the barrel and readjusted the sights while Frankie opened a box of ammo and fed in the belt. Bannon worked the bolt and pulled the trigger. The machine gun roared; it was ready to go again.

  Bannon lay back against the sandbags and sucked the end of his cigarette. Frankie slouched next to the boxes of ammunition, lighting one of his own. There was nothing to say; they groaned and sighed in fatigue.

  The head of Sergeant Butsko appeared over the sandbag. “What the fuck is this, a circle jerk?” He jumped into the machine-gun nest and looked at the both of them. “I guess it don't take much to lay you two fuck-ups out.”

  Butsko pushed Bannon out of the way and checked the machine gun, noting that it was set up for action. Their equipment was ready to fight even if they weren't.

  “You know where your squad is?” Butsko asked Bannon.

  “No.”

  “Don'tcha think it'd be a good idea to find out?”