by Len Levinson
Butsko charged the Japs in front of him. He fired his Thompson submachine gun in a wide sweeping arc, and the Japs in the path of his bullets jumped and pirouetted in the air, saying hello to their ancestors. He fired again and the second row of Japs hit the dust. A Jap to his right leveled his rifle at him, but Butsko gave him a full burst in the midsection, tearing his torso to shreds.
"Charge!” Butsko screamed.
The men in his platoon came out of their holes and followed him blindly, in the absence of any other alternative. Craig Delane lugged his BAR forward, firing short bursts from the hip. His mouth was dry and his knees shook as if he'd gone spastic, but he advanced toward what he thought would be certain death.
Bannon galloped forward to the left of Delane, firing his M 1 wildly. Some Japs fired back, and the air filled with sizzling pellets of destruction. Then the soldiers from both armies came together, and it was bayonet time again.
To Bannon it seemed like déjà vu. He'd been fighting Japs hand-to-hand so frequently during the past several hours that he felt like an old veteran, with all the movements coming naturally. He ran toward a Jap, watching his eyes and hands. The Jap was tentative, not sure of what to do first, so Bannon let out a wild Texas cattle call and propelled his bayonet forward. The Jap reacted too late, and the bayonet entered the Jap's stomach. Bannon ripped his bayonet out and tried to bash the Jap in the face with his rifle butt, but the Jap fell too quickly and Bannon's rifle butt whizzed horizontally over the Jap's head, clanging the bayonet of another Jap charging hard.
The second Jap's thrust was deflected, but he pulled his bayonet back into line and aimed for Bannon's chest. Bannon meanwhile was off balance, trying to find his footing in the slimy mud of the jungle. The Jap shoved his rifle and bayonet at Bannon, and all Bannon could do to save himself was fall quickly to the ground, roll over quickly, and jump to his feet again.
The Jap followed him like a cat about to pounce on a mouse, thrusting his rifle and bayonet again. Bannon raised his rifle quickly, knocking the Jap's weapon upward, and kicked with all his might. His boot buried itself up to the ankle in the Jap's groin, and the Jap let out a cry that could be heard for miles around. His eyes bulged and he took two wobbly steps before Bannon lashed out with his bayonet, tearing apart his throat. The Jap slobbered blood and pitched forward onto his face.
Bannon jumped over him and landed in front of two Japs, who were surprised to see him before them so suddenly. They both tried to stab him at the same time, but they got in each other's way, while Bannon drew backward and fired a shot from his waist. He hit the Jap on the left beneath his shoulder, then leaned forward and plunged his bayonet into the chest of the Jap on his right. Something told him his bayonet was stuck in there, and he was right. He let his rifle go and snatched the rifle from the Jap's hands. He aimed the rifle at the wounded Jap, who was trying to hold his shoulder together, and pulled the trigger. The rifle fired; there was a cloud of gunsmoke, and the Jap sank behind it, blood squirting like a geyser out of his heart.
Bannon felt himself becoming crazy again. Adrenaline gushed through his veins, making him feel powerful. He sidestepped in front of another Jap, feinted, and then delivered a vertical butt stroke, just like they'd taught him in basic training at Fort Benning. His rifle butt hit the Jap on the underside of his chin, shattering it beyond all hope and knocking the Jap cold. The Jap dropped onto his back and Bannon was positioning his rifle to finish him off for once and for all when he saw a new figure appear in front of him. Glancing up, he saw a young Japanese officer holding a samurai sword with both hands and raising it over his head.
"Banzai!” the officer shouted, bringing the sword down.
Bannon jumped backward, the airstream generated by the sword ruffling his eyelashes. The Jap managed to stop his swing when the blade was between his legs, and then watched in horror as Bannon thrust his rifle and bayonet forward. The Jap was wide open, and he had time for only the briefest prayer before Bannon's bayonet hit the Jap's breastbone, glanced to the side, and buried itself between the Jap's ribs.
Bannon pulled back on his rifle and bayonet, but it was stuck. He pulled the trigger and the rifle fired, sending a terrible shock wave through the Jap's body, but now the bayonet was stuck worse than ever. A new Jap appeared in a comer of Bannon's eyes, and all he could do was pick up the officer's sword and try to defend himself with it.
Bannon held the sword in both his hands and raised it in the air. The Jap fired his rifle from his waist at the same moment, and Bannon felt the sword jerk in his hands, but he managed to hold on to it. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes he saw that he had only half a sword left and the Jap was getting ready to fire again.
Bannon dived on the Jap's rifle and pulled it out of his hands. He moved so quickly that the Jap didn't know what hit him. The Jap looked at his empty hands, and a split second later the rifle butt hit him in the nose, sending cartilage and slivers of bone into his brain. Bannon butted the Jap out of his way and found himself standing in front of four mean-looking Japs.
One pushed his rifle and bayonet at Bannon's chest, but Bannon parried it neatly and then jumped back to escape the thrust of a second Jap. The third Jap aimed his Nambu pistol at Bannon, and a shot rang out. Bannon was sure he was dead, but the Jap fell instead. Bannon didn't know who had shot him and didn't have time to say thank you. The fourth Jap was carrying a small pickax, slightly larger than the type mountain climbers use, and he brought it down swiftly toward Bannon's head. Bannon dodged out of the way, came back, and smashed the Jap in the mouth with his rifle butt. Another shot was fired, and another Jap fell, leaving Bannon with only one to deal with.
This Jap suddenly felt naked and alone, with his comrades gone from this earth, and Bannon stalked him sadistically, feinting with his rifle and bayonet. The Jap turned around and ran away, and Bannon hurled his rifle and bayonet like a spear, hitting him in the left kidney. The heavy rifle sagged to the ground, tearing open a huge gash in the Jap's side. The Jap sagged to his knees, shaking his head like a maniac and shrieking.
Bannon bent over and picked up the small pickax. Moving forward, he saw Private Shilansky to his right, a grin on his face, and Bannon realized that Shilansky had shot the other two Japs.
Shilansky was bent over like a hunchback, his broken nose twitching. His left sleeve was torn off and blood dripped down his arm. A Jap charged him and he charged back, slamming his rifle butt into the Jap's solar plexus. The Jap was paralyzed with pain, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, and Bannon came at him from the side, swinging down with his pickax. The point of the tool pierced the Jap's soft cap and buried itself two inches into the center of his brain. The Jap dropped to his knees and Bannon yanked the pickax loose. He spun around and smacked a Jap in the face with the pickax, its point finding its mark an inch back from the Jap's eye. The force of the blow popped the Jap's eye out, and Bannon pulled the gory pickax out.
The Japanese and Americans were locked in a fierce gruesome battle, while a light rain fell on them. The Japanese could not move forward and neither could the GIs, while the ground became covered with bodies and gouts of blood. The soldiers were soaked to their skins by water and flying sprays of blood. A lightning bolt zagged across the sky, followed by a peal of thunder. Another flare went up, casting grotesque shadows on the ground. A Japanese soldier reared his rifle and bayonet back, then sent it flying forward at Bannon's chest, but Bannon swung down with the pickax, slamming the rifle and causing its bayonet to eat the mud. Bannon came back quickly with a backhand shot, burying the pickax in the Jap's shoulder, then yanking it out quickly and backhanding the Jap in the head. The point of the pickax entered the Jap's cheek and ripped away much of his face. The Jap roared in pain and tried to hold his face together with his hands, but Bannon gave him an upward swing and punctured his abdomen, pulling loose with all his strength and dragging out a few feet of bloody gut.
The Jap went into shock and dropped to the ground. Bannon heard a Jap in the d
istance holler something authoritative; Bannon knew an order when he heard one, although he had no idea of what the order was. Japs in front of him pulled back and began running parallel to the American lines.
Bannon thought the Japs had been beaten and were retreating. He raised his pickax in the air and shouted "Hooray!” The other GIs, coming to the same conclusion, cheered also. But the Japs weren't running back to their own lines, and Bannon figured out quickly what was really going on.
They're bypassing us, he thought. They're on their way to our rear. Mystified, he looked around for someone to tell him what to do. This had never happened to him before, and he was at a total loss.
"Back to your foxholes!” Butsko shouted from somewhere in the jungle. "Load up and get ready for more!”
Flares fizzled in the sky overhead, and Bannon looked at all the dead bodies of Japanese sprawled over the ground. A few GIs lay among them, but Bannon couldn't see any men from his platoon. He looked around and got his bearings, then trudged back to the hole he'd shared with Craig Delane. Delane was nowhere to be seen, and Bannon dropped into the hole. The adrenaline was still coursing through his system, and he felt like a dynamo. His chest heaved and his legs wanted to run a hundred miles. He laid the pickax across his legs and stared at the blood and flesh that adhered to it. More than anything he wanted to smoke a cigarette.
Craig Delane shuffled toward him, carrying an M 1 rifle. He flopped into the foxhole, his eyes wide open, bloodshot, and staring into space.
Colonel Stockton was on the field telephone to General Vandegrift, and he tried to keep his voice calm although his Hellhounds were getting the shit knocked out of them.
“Sir,” he said, “I need those marine battalions right away. My men are hard-pressed and my forward elements have been cut off completely.”
“Hold on,” Vandegrift said in a steely tone. "Don't worry if Japs get through; we'll catch them farther back. The main thing is to maintain your line. How many of your people are cut off?”
“Part of one company.”
“That's not so bad. The Japs will pay heavily for it when we're finished with them. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Over and out.”
Colonel Stockton hung up his telephone. He looked at his map and could see Fox Company sticking out like a sore thumb in his line. Lieutenant Scofield had called already to report he was cut off, and Stockton wondered if any of them would survive the battle. He knew that the platoon commanded by Sergeant Butsko was the lead element of Fox Company and figured that they'd probably taken the brunt of the attack. They must have been wiped out. I guess I'll have to stick with the recon platoon I've got, he thought.
Count Yaksuko followed his men across the free-fire zone, sensing victory within his grasp. His men surged across the first line of trenches, which were empty, and into the American defense perimeter. The American airfield was only a half-mile away. He'd lost a lot of men in the fight so far, but he still had enough to make a credible attack on the field itself, and the Shunsake Regiment, right behind him, would deliver the knockout blow.
"Banzai!” he shouted, waving his sword in the air.
"Banzai!” replied his men, flushed with the prospect of victory. "Banzai!”
They passed burned-out jeeps and the smoking skeletons of buildings. Huge craters were in the earth, evidence of the fierce bombardment earlier in the night. The American forces on Guadalcanal had been a thorn in the side of the Japanese since August, but now that was coming to an end. Yaksuko was convinced that a great victory would be won by the Emperor's soldiers that night, a victory comparable perhaps to Pearl Harbor, and he had led it himself. How pleased the Emperor would be when he heard about it.
Then, all at once, a withering fusillade of fire cut into the advancing Japanese soldiers. It was nothing like the sporadic pockets of resistance the Yaksuko Regiment had faced in the jungle; this was a full-scale counterattack. Mortar rounds dropped down on the Japanese, and their leading attack waves were ripped apart. The suddenness of the counterattack surprised the Japanese soldiers and stopped them in their tracks. They couldn't go forward, but they also knew they couldn't retreat.
Count Yaksuko sized up the situation in an instant and knew his only hope was to advance quickly and overwhelm the defenders in front of him. He raised his sword in the air and ran toward the Americans, pushing and dragging his men with him.
"Forward for the Emperor!” he screamed. "Banzai!”
The Japanese soldiers heard their commander and obeyed instinctively. They gritted their teeth and ran into the bullets and mortar fire, and huge numbers of them were annihilated. Count Yaksuko saw men falling all around him, but he was of the Japanese nobility and believed that the Japanese spirit could overcome anything.
"Charge!” he hollered.
Beeaaannngg—a bullet cut through the fleshy part of his thigh, spinning him around. He lost his balance and fell to the ground.
Captain Reiko bent over him. “Are you all right, sir?”
Count Yaksuko raised his head and saw that he had less than half the men standing than he'd had only a few minutes ago. His thigh felt like it was on fire, and he saw his royal blood staining his trouser leg. He realized that he and his men would be destroyed if they stayed where they were and the only sensible military decision he could make would be to get the hell out of there.
"Fall back!” he yelled. "Retreat!”
His men backed off immediately. A soldier helped Count Yaksuko up, and the count limped away. The American fire was still intense, and he could hear the Americans shouting victoriously. Bullets whistled through the air all around Yaksuko, and he was sure he would be cut down at any moment.
The Japanese retreated back to the first American trench and then across it into the free-fire zone. The Marines came after them, firing rifles and submachine guns from the waist. By now the Yaksuko Regiment had become mixed in with the Shunsake Regiment, and there was total chaos among the Japanese.
"Retreat!” shouted Count Yaksuko. "Go back!”
The Americans fired recoilless rifles and bazookas at the Japanese, blowing bunches of them into the air. The attack had become a nightmare for Count Yaksuko, who was growing weak from lack of blood. He felt that he had failed his Emperor, and when you failed your Emperor, there was only one thing to do. You had to commit hara-kiri, but he couldn't do it there; he'd have to do it in a secluded part of the jungle, where he could perform the ritual properly.
Captain Reiko came up beside Count Yaksuko and wrapped the count's arm around his shoulder. “I'll help you, sir,” he said.
A second later Captain Reiko was shot in the back, and he fell to the ground, dragging Count Yaksuko down with him. Count Yaksuko cursed, threw Captain Reiko's arm off him, and got to his feet. A sergeant saw him and ran over, hugging him by the waist.
“This way, sir,” the sergeant said. “Just hang on to me.”
The Japanese soldiers retreated to the jungle, where they turned around and tried to conduct a fighting retreat, but the Marines were fresh and numerous. They advanced steadily, maintaining a furious base of fire, blowing up Japs with shells from bazookas and rifles.
Slowly the Japs moved backward in the jungle as the Marines moved in on their flanks and tried to envelop them.
“Sir,” said Colonel Galt, the Marine chief of operations, “we've pushed the Japs back to the jungle on our right flank.”
General Vandegrift smiled for the first time in hours. “Are they attacking us anywhere else?”
“No, sir.”
“Then this was their main effort, and we've got the bastards now. Send two more battalions of Marines to that sector and really finish them off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, yes, one more thing. There are doggies cut off in that jungle, so tell the commanders to keep their eyes peeled for them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bannon crawled out onto the battlefield, found an M 1 rifle, and carried it back to
the foxhole where Delane was lying with his eyes closed.
“Wake up,” Bannon said.
“I'm awake.”
Bannon checked out the M 1 to make sure it still was working properly. He snapped off the trigger assembly, cocked it, pulled the trigger, and inserted it back into the rifle. There was half a clip in the chamber, and he ejected it, putting a new clip in.
“You got any ammo for the Jap rifle you got there?” he asked Delane.
“I don't think so.”
“You don't think so!”
“Okay okay,” Delane said.
He crawled out onto the open ground, exchanged the Japanese rifle for an M 1, and crawled back to the foxhole. He was depressed and felt certain that he was going to die. The Japs would come back and polish them off before long. The Japs wouldn't have to fight; they'd just lob in mortar rounds until Delane and the other GIs were mashed to a pulp. He swallowed hard at the vision of himself being blown apart, and slid back into the foxhole.
“Bannon, we don't have a chance,” he said.
“I believe you're right,” Bannon replied.
“It doesn't seem to be bothering you very much.”
“What can I do about it?”
Butsko came toward them in a crouch, a new cut on his chin leaking blood onto his raggedy shirt. “You all right in here?”
“Yep,” Bannon said. “We lose any men in the platoon?”
“About half, I guess.”
“What about my squad?”
“You're asking me about your squad?”
“Okay,” Bannon said wearily. “I'll check on them myself.”
Bannon climbed out of the hole and began looking around for the members of his squad, while Butsko made his way to the company command post. In the distance fierce fighting could be heard, and Butsko assumed the Japs were on their way to Henderson Field. He had every reason to believe he would not live to see the dawn.
He found Lieutenant Scofield sitting with Pfc. Caldwell in a shell crater. Scofield was on the radio to Colonel Stockton.
