Hit the Beach

by Len Levinson

  Jones buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “Forgive me God, because I couldn't help myself.”

  “Hey, whatsa matter?” Gladley asked. “What've you done wrong, Jonesy?”

  Jones ignored him. All he could see were the Japanese soldiers he'd cut down with the bayonet. He was big and strong and the Japs had been no match for him. But the Lord said Thou shall not kill! and Jones's hands and clothes were covered with blood. He'd ripped the Japs apart and stabbed them with his bayonet. And all they'd managed to do to him was crack the left lens in his glasses, which gave him a weird perspective on everything around him.

  “Hey, Jonesy, why don'tcha calm down?” Gladley said. “You're making me nervous.”

  Jones thought he was going mad. Somehow he had to find justification for all the blood he'd spilled. The Japs weren't Christians, but they were people anyway. When the Lord said Thou shalt not kill! he didn't make a special exception for Japs.

  “If you don't say something,” Gladley told him, “I'm gonna call Corporal Bannon.”

  “I'm all right,” Jones said, because he definitely didn't want to deal with that crazy Texan right now.

  “No, you ain't. Something's eating you.”

  Jones looked Gladley in the eye. “ ’Thou shalt not kill!'”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the Lord said that we shouldn't!”

  “But he wasn't talking about Japs.”

  “He was talking about everybody, Homer.”

  “But Japs are different, Jonesy. They torture their prisoners. You've seen the pictures of them chopping off the legs and arms of their prisoners. And how they raped all them Chinese girls. The Japs are bad people, Jonesy. We gotta stop them, because if we don't, they're gonna torture and rape everybody in the world.”

  Jones chewed his thumbnail, recalling that Christ told his followers to turn the other cheek. Should he, the Reverend Billie Jones, refuse to attack when the order came and let them throw him in the stockade? He could tell them that he was a minister of God, although that hadn't done him any good when he'd tried to become a chaplain. You had to be a graduate of an accredited theological school to become a chaplain. The Army didn't understand that some people were appointed ministers by God himself, as he had been on that hot summer afternoon in Georgia when he'd been working in the fields.

  “Yep,” Gladley said, nodding his head sagely, “somebody's gotta punish the Japs for all the bad things they done, and the way I see it, it's us that's gotta do the punishing.”

  Jones stared at Gladley. “What was that?”

  “I said I guess it's us that's got to punish the Japs for what they did.”

  Jones covered his eyes with his fists. “Of course!”

  “You all right, Jonesy?”

  Suddenly everything became clear to Jones. How could he not have seen it before? God had rendered judgment on the Japanese, and he, the Reverend Billie Jones, was administering the punishment. He was doing the Lord's work. Removing his fists from his eyes, he stared at Gladley. “You're a good Godfearing man, Homer.”

  “You look kind of strange, Jonesy.”

  Jones's eyes were bulging and his teeth were set on edge. “Behold the scourge of God!” he said, his lips trembling. "Behold the scourge of God!”

  General Vandegrift stood in his conference room, surrounded by his staff and aides. The windows were covered with tarpaulin, so that no light could escape, and they looked down at the map of Guadalcanal.

  The report just had come in about the Japanese attack in the center of the line, and Vandegrift held the communiqué in his hand. The Japanese attacking force was about a regiment in strength, and Vandegrift was trying to figure out what General Hyakutake was up to. Was this his main effort or was it another feint?

  He gazed at the map. The Japs had attacked his right flank first and now the center of his line. His right flank was manned by green GIs, and that attack made sense, but why were the Japs attacking the center of his line, its strongest point? What kind of sneaky trick was this? He'd decided that if you didn't know what was going on, it was best to stand pat and not do anything.

  “Sir,” said Colonel McWhorter, his operations officer, “should I reinforce the center of the line?”

  “Not yet,” Vandegrift replied. “Notify all the units to hold fast where they are and report any changes in their circumstances immediately.”

  “What about the attack the Twenty-third is supposed to make?”

  “Tell them to stand fast too.”

  “You mean you're calling off their attack.”

  “That's what I mean. Notify Colonel Stockton immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colonel McWhorter moved quickly toward the radio operator, and General Vandegrift looked down at the map again. The attack by the Twenty-third would have unbalanced his defense perimeter at a time when battle conditions were uncertain. It was best to keep them where they were. In fact, it might not be a bad idea to move a few more companies of Marines behind them, to back them up in case of trouble.

  General Vandegrift took off his helmet and wiped his bald head with his hand. It was hot and stuffy in the conference room with all the windows covered. The kerosene lamps stank. But he knew his men out on the defense perimeter were facing greater hardships than he. At least he wasn't on the front lines.

  Colonel McWhorter walked quickly toward General Vandegrift, his face pale. “Sir,” he said, “maybe we're too late. The officer I spoke with didn't know where Colonel Stockton is.”

  General Vandegrift took a deep breath. “I see.” He frowned, realizing that he should have kept a tighter rein on Stockton, who had a reputation as a hothead. “Reinforce Colonel Stockton's positions with the Second Marine Battalion, and for God's sake see if you can get Stockton to stay put.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colonel Stockton was in a front line trench with Major Cobb and Pfc. Dooley, who had a large field radio strapped to his back. A dirty crumpled map of the sector was on his knee, and he was thinking that if he could gain a foothold in the jungle in front of him, he'd be in position to make a flank attack on the Japs behind the Mananikau River. Then, if he could get some air support, he'd be able to take that mountain range in the distance.

  He heard running footsteps and looked up. It was Lieutenant Harper, whom he'd left in his headquarters. Harper jumped into the trench, his face flushed with excitement.

  “Sir,” Harper said, “we've just been ordered to call off the attack!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The order just came in from Headquarters, sir. General Vandegrift said to call off the attack. I told him I didn't know where you were.”

  Colonel Stockton looked at his watch. The artillery barrage would end in slightly less than three minutes. The Twenty-third was ready to attack, and he didn't want to put the leash on them.

  He looked at Lieutenant Harper. “Tell them you still can't find me and that as far as you know the attack is proceeding as planned.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lieutenant Harper bounded out of the trench and ran back to regimental headquarters. Colonel Stockton folded his map and tucked it into his shirt. “What're you looking at?” he said to Major Cobb.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  He stared at Major Cobb and Pfc. Dooley. “You two haven't seen Lieutenant Harper around, have you?”

  They glanced at each other nervously. “No, sir.”

  “That's what I thought,” Colonel Stockton said.

  He checked his watch again. The barrage would stop soon, and when it did, he wanted the Twenty-third to move out right away before the Japs could get set. He pulled out his service .45, ejected the clip from the butt, examined the clip, and then reinserted it. Snapping a round in the chamber, he flicked off the safety and crawled out of the trench.

  “Where are you going, sir?” said Major Cobb.

  “When I say charge, I want you to follow me. Is that clear, Major Cobb?”


  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay put until I give the order.”

  Colonel Stockton crawled out of the trench and into the mud of no-man's-land. The Japs would be too busy with the bombardment to see him, and he was certain he'd be safe from flying shrapnel and short rounds. A good commander had to take chances sometimes anyway. The main thing was that the Twenty-third see him sharing the same danger they faced. He was going to lead them in this charge from in front instead of in a hut behind the lines.

  Colonel Stockton crawled around the dead bodies of Japanese soldiers cut down when they'd first charged the American lines forty-five minutes ago. To Colonel Stockton, that had happened in another eon. His men were green then, but now they were experienced killers and they'd pushed the Japs back. Now he was going to give the Twenty-third a victory to crown their efforts, and he would lead it personally. It would be like in the Argonne Forest when he had led B Company in the good old Second Division. God, what great days those had been. Days of victory and glory. And then had come all those dead years of barracks duty, so boring and suffocating. But now he was on the attack again. Since he had been a young cadet at West Point, he had molded his life for moments like this.

  Suddenly the shelling stopped, right on time. Colonel Stockton jumped to his feet and held his Colt .45 high in the air. "Charge!” he screamed. "Follow me!”

  Without looking back to see whether in fact the regiment was following him, he pointed his service pistol straight ahead and ran as fast as he could toward the smoking mangled jungle before him.

  Butsko looked over the top of the trench he was in. “Is that Colonel Stockton out there?” he asked incredulously.

  The sudden silence was deafening. Everybody looked at Colonel Stockton speeding all alone toward the jungle. Then, as if driven by the same will, the men of the Twenty-third Regiment came up out of their holes.

  "Let's go!” Butsko hollered. "Charge!”

  The men raised their rifles high and ran across the free-fire zone. They leaped over shellholes and stepped on the dead bodies of Japanese soldiers.

  "Forward!” cried Captain Gwynne.

  "Charge!” screamed Lieutenant Scofield.

  The Twenty-third made rebel yells and Bronx cheers. The ground trembled as their feet stomped into the mud and they ran toward the jungle in a long wave of khaki. Colonel Stockton heard them behind him, and his heart soared with pride. Inside the jungle the Japanese soldiers raised themselves and readied their rifles and bayonets. They were shaken and dazed by the bombardment, but they were ready to fight to the death.

  Colonel Hodaka drew his samurai sword and brandished it over his head.

  "Attack!” he screamed.

  The Japanese soldiers jumped up and ran toward the American soldiers charging into the jungle. Colonel Stockton was the first enemy soldier they saw, and they swarmed around him. He dropped to one knee, held his Colt .45 with both hands, and fired at the nearest Jap.

  Balooommm! His pistol kicked in his hand, and a Japanese soldier dropped to the ground. Baloooommm! Another Japanese soldier tripped and fell. A Japanese officer fired his Nambu at the kneeling figure of Colonel Stockton, and Colonel Stockton's left epaulette exploded into the air. Unshaken, Colonel Stockton leveled his pistol calmly at the Japanese officer, fired, and brought him down.

  The regiment swarmed into the woods and surrounded their commander. The Japanese soldiers stood their ground and the Americans charged them, swinging their rifles and bayonets. The jungle filled with the sounds of bayonets clashing and rifle butts banging against helmets. The soldiers grunted and shouted, pushing and stabbing. Colonel Stockton stood and blew smoke from the end of his pistol. He'd led the charge, and now the rest was up to his men.

  "Cut them down!” shouted Colonel Stockton. "Kill the bastards!”

  Butsko and his Second Platoon swept into the jungle to the left of Colonel Stockton. Butsko carried an M 1 rifle and bayonet and ran toward a Japanese NCO, a burly old soldier like himself, who also was charging, holding his rifle and bayonet parallel to the ground.

  The two NCOs lunged at each other at the same time, and their rifles smashed against each other. Butsko received the stock of the Japanese rifle against his knuckles, and he thought for sure that his hand was broken, but he held on and brought his rifle butt around, trying to slam the Japanese NCO in the head. The Jap ducked and punched his own rifle butt at Butsko's gut, and Butsko was stopped cold, the wind knocked out of him. The Jap wound up and tried to run Butsko through with his bayonet, but Butsko pulled himself together and managed to parry the Jap's rifle out of the way. Again Butsko brought his rifle butt around, and this time the Jap couldn't get out of the way. Butsko's rifle butt crashed against the Japanese sergeant's cheek, knocking him cold. The Jap dropped to the ground, but before he hit, Butsko pushed his rifle and bayonet forward. The bayonet sliced through the Jap's shirt and into his chest, found an opening between his ribs, and tore into his left lung.

  "Yaaaahhhhh!” the Jap screamed, blood burbling from his mouth.

  Butsko drew his rifle and bayonet back, and blood gushed out after it. Butsko kicked the Jap in the teeth and attacked the next Japanese soldier he saw. This Jap was a little man with a pinched face and skinny legs. Butsko shot his rifle and bayonet forward, and the Jap tried to block it, but he didn't have the strength. He watched with horror as Butsko's bayonet was swallowed up by his stomach. Butsko yanked his bayonet loose, smacked the Jap in the face with his butt plate, and jumped over him, looking for someone else to kill.

  “I am the scourge of God!” cried a voice nearby.

  Butsko looked and saw Private Billie Jones swinging his rifle like a baseball bat and crowning a Japanese soldier in the head. The Jap's helmet flew off and blood squirted from his nose and ears. He teetered on his feet and Jones clobbered him again, then stepped to the side and found himself in front of a Japanese officer aiming a Nambu pistol at him.

  The Japanese officer pulled the trigger, and the Nambu went click. His Nambu was empty. The officer didn't know whether to shit or go blind, but he didn't have much chance to think about it. Jones drew his rifle back and swung at his head like Joe DiMaggio in Yankee Stadium. The edge of his butt plate hit the Japanese officer on the side of his skull, caving it in. Blood and bones spattered everywhere, and Jones shrieked with delight, his glasses crooked on his nose, and looked around for another Jap to kill.

  "Heathens!” he yelled. "Infidels!”

  Four Japanese soldiers came at him from the front and sides, but Jones felt that God was with him and his life was charmed. He raised his rifle high in the air and brought it down on one of the Japs in front of him, mashing the Jap's head level with his shoulder, but another Jap stabbed Jones in the side, and another cut open his arm.

  Homer Gladley was fighting nearby, and he saw his buddy go down. Gladley disengaged himself from the Jap he was fighting by kicking him in the balls, then turned and sped toward Jones, who was lying on the ground, one of the Japs preparing to stick him for good. Jones fired wildly from the waist; although multitudes of men from the Twenty-third were fighting in the area, his shot was a lucky one. It hit the Jap in . the shoulder and knocked him over.

  “You son of a bitch!” Gladley shouted, as he threw his rifle and bayonet like a harpoon at the next Jap. The rifle and bayonet rammed into the Jap's left kidney, and the Jap spun around, the rifle and bayonet sticking out of him. Agile as a chimpanzee, Gladley snatched the Jap's rifle and bayonet out of his hands and hit the next Jap in the face with the rifle butt. The astonished Jap saw the rifle butt loom as big as the moon, and then his jaw was knocked loose from its hinges. Gladley brought the bayonet down in a slashing motion as the Jap was reeling from the blow, cracking open the Jap's spine. The Jap doubled over and dropped to the ground.

  Gladley knelt beside Billie Jones, who was out cold on the ground, blood streaming from his side. “You okay, buddy?” Gladley asked.

  A hand came down and grabbed Gladley by the collar, pulling him to
his feet.

  "Fight!” screamed Bannon. "Let's fucking go!”

  Five Japs swarmed around them, and Bannon took the nearest one out with an expertly aimed bayonet lunge. Bannon yanked his bayonet loose, and smashed the second Jap in the face with his rifle butt. Gladley came to his senses and was so enraged by the wounding of Billie Jones that he dropped the rifle and bayonet he was carrying and grabbed a third Jap by the neck. He squeezed with all his strength, pushing the Jap's Adam's apple into his head, and the Jap went limp in his hands. He let the Jap fall to the ground and whang, the fourth Jap hit him in the head with his rifle butt. Gladley had seen the blow coming at the last moment and had turtled his head into his neck, receiving the blow on his helmet. It knocked him cold and he slumped to the ground.

  Bannon was standing alone with the last Japanese soldier. He feinted and the Jap moved to parry the thrust that never came. Instead Bannon lashed out with his foot and tried to hit the Jap in the balls, but the Jap danced backward and Bannon lost his balance, falling onto his two outstretched hands. The Jap tried to stab him in the back, but he rolled over quickly and the Jap bayonet buried itself in the root of a tree. The Jap tugged to loosen it, and Bannon sprang to his feet, punching the Jap in the mouth. Stunned, the Jap took two steps backward, and Bannon slugged him again. The Jap fell down, and Bannon looked around for something to fight with.

  He saw a shovel lying in a half-dug foxhole and picked it up.

  "Banzai!” screamed a fresh Jap, running toward him.

  Bannon took aim with the shovel and let it fly. The blade of the shovel caught the Jap in the neck and nearly severed his head from his body. Bannon picked up the Jap's rifle and bayonet, and meanwhile the Jap he'd punched out regained consciousness and scrambled to his feet. Bannon saw him out of the corner of his eye and spun around to face him. The Jap had no weapon, but that didn't stop him.

  "Banzai!” he screamed, diving at Bannon.

  Bannon held out his rifle and bayonet and caught the Jap in midair, sticking him through the chest. The Jap kicked his feet and tried to push the bayonet out of him, but his blood gushed out and he went limp. Bannon flung him over his shoulder like a pitchfork full of hay and looked for another Jap to kill.