Go for Broke

by Len Levinson

  Pfc. Morris Shilansky took a step forward. “The more men we got, the better,” he said.

  “You can carry him, Shilansky, if you want to.”

  “I’ll do that, sir.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge heard the resentment and rebellion in Shilansky’s reply. What’ve I got here, a mutiny? Lieutenant Breckenridge asked himself. He turned toward Frankie La Barbara and felt the anger return. That son of a bitch is screwing up my life. I hope the Japs shoot him.

  Then Lieutenant Breckenridge heard something and he froze. At first he thought it might be a normal jungle sound, such as branches rubbing against each other or leaves rustling in the breeze, but then he realized it wasn’t an ordinary jungle sound. It was a gasoline or diesel engine coming closer.

  “Uh-oh,” said Pfc. Jimmy O’Rourke.

  “What the hell’s that?” asked Pfc. Morris Shilansky.

  “Sounds like a motor boat,” replied Private Victor Yabalonka.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge turned his head. That was what it was—a motorboat. The Japs were patrolling the river, probably looking for them.

  “Take cover!” he said.

  The men scrambled through the jungle, finding depressions in the ground to lie in, or trees to hide behind. Pfc. Gotbaum dragged Frankie La Barbara behind a bush. The sound of the motor became louder. Lieutenant Breckenridge lay behind a log and cursed himself for getting into the big hassle with Frankie, because he’d neglected important business. He should have ordered somebody to hide their footprints in the mud on the riverbank after they’d come ashore, but instead he’d let the men rest awhile, and then the trouble had started with Frankie. He’d forgotten all about the footprints. He had never dreamed the Japs would send a motorboat to search for them.

  The motor went put-put-put, reverberating through the jungle. In the distance the jungle became lighter, then dimmed again. They’ve got a searchlight, Lieutenant Breckenridge realized. He wiped blood off the end of his nose and wondered what to do. If he and his men turned tail and ran, would the Japs come after them? How many Japs were on that motorboat?

  He looked down to the river, only twenty yards away, and figured out what to do. He’d go down close to the riverbank and take cover. If the Japs spotted the footprints on the riverbank and steered closer, he’d throw a grenade at the boat. Then they’d try to run for it. He wished Sergeant Cameron were alive to help out, but he wasn’t.

  “Pfc. O’Rourke!” he shouted.

  “Yo!”

  “C’mere, and the rest of you guys open fire at my command, but only at my command. Got it?”

  The men rose up and moved through the jungle, finding positions of safety from which they could fire at the boat. Lieutenant Breckenridge pushed through the leaves and branches, making his way toward the opening in the jungle where he and his men had come ashore. Behind him came Pfc. Jimmy O’Rourke, holding an Arisaka rifle in both his hands. O’Rourke couldn’t help thinking that the situation would be great in a war movie, with him starring as Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge lay on the top of the incline that led down to the river. A boulder was to his right and a tree to his left. Vines hung down from the foliage over his head, and a spider dropped onto his bare head; he smacked it with the palm of his hand and felt a sudden stinging sensation in his palm. He pointed to a spot a few feet away, and Jimmy O’Rourke got down. Lieutenant Breckenridge removed a US Army hand grenade from his lapel, and Jimmy O’Rourke did the same. They pinched the ends of the pins together so the pins could be pulled quickly.

  A shaft of bright light shone around the bend in the river, illuminating the mists and gasses arising from the water. A fish jumped in the beam of light that swung from side to side, scanning the riverbank. Lieutenant Breckenridge knew who the Japs were looking for.

  The sound of the boat’s engine became louder, and then the boat came into view, an old, decrepit wooden vessel that the Japanese evidently had commandeered. Its outline reminded Lieutenant Breckenridge of American fishing boats. It was thirty or forty feet long, and Japanese soldiers were gathered on the deck. Lieutenant Breckenridge counted ten of them in the darkness and figured the boat probably carried twice that many.

  The boat turned the bend and motored along with the current, its searchlight darting over the riverbank first on one side of the river, then the other side. Lieutenant Breckenridge wondered what the visibility would be like on the boat, and whether the Japanese would be able to see the footprints left by him and his men.

  Again he cursed himself for not obliterating the footprints. Taking care of little details, or not taking care of them, could spell the difference between life and death. There was always something new to learn. His men were in trouble, and it was his own damn fault.

  The boat motored nearer, moving more slowly than the river. Lieutenant Breckenridge realized it must have its engine in reverse, to slow it down. The engine had no muffler and made a horrendous racket. The boat’s mast had been cut off, presumably to prevent it from being caught in the tops of the trees. The searchlight was mounted on the bow of the boat, and its halo illuminated the boat’s hull, which had long streaks of rust running down its side.

  The boat was so close, Lieutenant Breckenridge could see the faces of the Japanese soldiers standing near the searchlight, their faces glowing in the scattered light. The boat was being steered down the center of the river, and Lieutenant Breckenridge wished it would hit a submerged rock. The searchlight danced on the bank of the far side of the river, and Lieutenant Breckenridge hoped the Japanese soldiers were bored, losing interest in their mission. Sometimes on guard duty your eyes glazed over and you went into a trance. He hoped that was happening to the Japanese soldiers on the boat.

  Then the beam of light emanating from the searchlight swept across the river, moving to the side where Lieutenant Breckenridge hid with his men. The boat was thirty yards upriver, and Lieutenant Breckenridge saw the searchlight make the riverbank as bright as day, then plunge it into darkness as it moved along.

  The boat moved downriver quickly, and the searchlight flashed along the bank. It was approaching the spot where Lieutenant Breckenridge and his men had come ashore, and he gritted his teeth, hoping they wouldn’t notice the footprints. The circle of bright light came closer to the spot, and Lieutenant Breckenridge held his breath. Sweeping along quickly, the circle of light landed on the spot where Lieutenant Breckenridge and his men had come ashore; then the light passed on. Lieutenant Breckenridge exhaled with relief. He’d made a mistake, but it didn’t matter. The Japs hadn’t spotted the footprints anyway.

  But then suddenly the shaft of light jerked back to the spot, and Lieutenant Breckenridge’s heart sank. He heard shouting on the boat, and the boat slowed in the current. Its stern swung toward the middle of the river and the boat pointed to the footprints on the shore. Lieutenant Breckenridge knew the Japs had seen the footprints. Now the only thing to do was fight. He and his men would have the element of surprise, but the Japs had superiority of numbers and probably even a machine gun on the boat.

  Somebody on the boat shouted an order in Japanese. The searchlight rose up and the beam roved through the jungle. Lieutenant Breckenridge ducked his head and hoped his men had the good sense to do the same thing. He hoped the search-light wouldn’t reflect off a shiny bit of gunmetal or somebody’s eyeballs.

  The boat motored closer to the spot where Lieutenant Breckenridge and his men had come ashore. Lieutenant Breckenridge wondered whether to grenade the boat while it was still in the river or wait until it touched the riverbank. He’d have a better chance of hitting it if he waited, but there was such a thing as waiting too long.

  He decided to try to disable the boat while it was still in the grip of the river’s current. He raised his right hand, which held a grenade, and pulled the pin. Jimmy O’Rourke saw what he did and pulled the pin of his grenade too. Lieutenant Breckenridge swung his arm back and aimed for the searchlight on the bow of the boat. He took a d
eep breath and let the grenade fly. Jimmy O’Rourke threw his grenade a second later.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge’s grenade sailed into the shaft of light projected from the searchlight, and Japanese soldiers on the boat shouted hysterically. The grenade flew over the search-light and bounced off the head of a Japanese soldier, stunning him. He dropped to his knees as other Japanese soldiers tried to grab the hand grenade, but it was dark and round. It rolled over the deck and then exploded, shredding the Japanese soldiers nearby and blowing a hole in the deck.

  A few seconds later Jimmy O’Rourke’s grenade exploded. It, too, had landed on the deck, but it rolled off and detonated near the waterline, ripping a two-foot gash in the hull. Water poured into the engine compartment. The Japanese officer in charge of the boat screamed orders. The Japanese machine gun opened fire, spraying the jungle with death. One of the first bullets hit Pfc. Gotbaum in the head, killing him instantly. The GIs raised themselves up bravely and returned the fire. Morris Shilansky shot out the searchlight. Frankie La Barbara hit the officer who was screaming. Craig Delane shot another Japanese soldier. Victor Yabalonka, who had a BAR, blew down a bunch of Japanese soldiers. Lieutenant Breckenridge threw another hand grenade, which landed on deck, in the midst of the Japanese soldiers there, blowing them to smithereens. A second grenade from Jimmy O’Rourke also landed on deck, blasting Japanese soldiers over the side.

  The remaining Japanese soldiers on the boat didn’t know what to do. The attack had been sudden and their boat was sinking. There was no place to run and no place to hide. The only thing they could do was jump over the side, and the GIs shot them in midair. Some of the Japanese soldiers landed unscathed in the water, and the GIs fired at their bobbing heads, but visibility was poor and the Japanese soldiers were carried off by the swift current.

  The boat turned around in the water, listing to the left. It went aground, and Lieutenant Breckenridge threw another hand grenade, which landed on the afterdeck, exploding and sending the steering wheel into the air. The current pulled the boat away from the shore and carried it downstream. The boat sank more deeply into the water and went aground again. The burgeoning current pushed it over the bottom, and it bounced over submerged rocks and debris, its deck and cabin awash, bumping and grinding toward the river’s mouth and the sea beyond.

  The current was swift, and the Japanese soldiers who’d survived the fight were on their way to the sea. There were five of them, and two couldn’t swim. They drowned, but the other three made it ashore four hundred yards downstream of Lieutenant Breckenridge and his men.

  EIGHT . . .

  Lieutenant Breckenridge didn’t know three Japs were four hundred yards away. All he knew was that he and his men had better get away from where they were as quickly as possible.

  “All right, let’s go!” he said as he stood. “Get ready to move out!”

  Under ordinary circumstances he’d order Sergeant Cameron to tell the men what to do and Sergeant Cameron would follow up. But now there was no more Sergeant Cameron. Lieutenant Breckenridge would have to handle everything himself.

  The GIs gathered around, waiting to be told which way to go. Lieutenant Breckenridge counted heads and discovered that somebody was missing. “Who’s not here?” he asked.

  “Gotbaum,” Private Yabalonka replied. “He’s dead.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there.” Yabalonka pointed toward shore.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge moved in that direction and found Pfc. Gotbaum lying on his back, a neat hole between his eyes. Lieutenant Breckenridge didn’t bother taking Gotbaum’s pulse, because nobody could survive a shot in the head like that. He pulled Gotbaum’s dog tags off his neck and stuffed them into his back pocket, then lifted the medicine bag off the ground and returned to the others. He tossed the bag at Shilansky.

  “Carry that!”

  Shilansky slung the bag over his shoulder.

  “Everybody else all right?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.

  Sergeant Snider raised his hand, showing the bloody handkerchief wrapped around his wrist. “My hand hurts.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at the others. “Anybody here know anything about being a medic?”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Jesus Christ,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, “I gotta do everything around here. Gimme the medicine bag back.”

  Shilansky threw it to him.

  “Lay down,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said to Sergeant Snider.

  Sergeant Snider dropped to the ground and flattened himself out on his back. Lieutenant Breckenridge knelt beside him and untied the bloody bandage on Sergeant Snider’s wrist. Lieutenant Breckenridge looked closely and could see blood oozing out. He sprinkled sulfa powder on, and then coagulant powder. The blood caked and stopped oozing.

  “How’s that?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.

  “Still hurts,” replied Sergeant Snider.

  “I’ll give you a shot.”

  “You sure you know what you’re doing, sir?”

  “I think so.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge tied a fresh white bandage around the wrist and then took a morphine ampule out of the bag. He removed the covering and jabbed it into Sergeant Snider’s arm.

  “That ought to fix you right up,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.

  “I hope it don’t kill me.”

  “You’re not that lucky. Lay there for a while.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked up at the sky; clouds still covered the moon and stars. There was nothing he could get a fix on. All he could do was take out his map and make a rough estimate of where he thought he was. He put his finger on the spot and knew that if he moved in a general westerly direction, he should reach the American lines sooner or later.

  He still had his compass and opened it up. The luminous dial glowed ethereally. Those tiny phosphorescent dots would keep him moving in the right direction when the river was out of sight, he hoped. The next decision to make was who would be the point man for the tiny unit.

  It didn’t take long to figure out. Pfc. Jimmy O’Rourke was the best woodsman of the lot. The ex-movie stuntman had been raised in the forests of northern California and had worked on ranches in Montana before going to Hollywood. O’Rourke wasn’t sharp enough to be acting platoon sergeant, but he probably could be relied upon to do a good job as point man.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked down at Sergeant Snider. “How’s your hand?”

  “Feels better.”

  “Think you can stand up?”

  “Sure.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge helped Sergeant Snider get to his feet. Sergeant Snider was a little woozy, and pinpoints of light appeared before his eyes. His wrist still hurt but the pain didn’t bother him.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge tossed the medicine bag to Shilansky, then put his map and compass away. Looking around, he saw a narrow trail leading away from the clearing. It began at the open spot on the riverbank and headed inland. It had probably been used by natives in the years before war came to New Guinea.

  “Everybody set to move out?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.

  The men grunted or nodded. They were still wet and fatigued, and their morale was piss-poor. They knew they were in Jap-infested territory and couldn’t be sure they’d get out alive.

  “Okay,” said Lieutenant Breckenridge, “move it out. O’Rourke, take the point.”

  “Me?” asked O’Rourke, surprised to have been chosen for the job.

  “There aren’t any other O’Rourkes around here, are they?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Get the fuck going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  O’Rourke ran forward, elated to be given such a responsible, crucial job. He felt as though he’d won something and that somebody should applaud. He imagined a camera crane swooping down at him from the treetops, taking his picture, recording his every move as he trotted along the narrow winding jungle trail. Stopp
ing when he was twenty yards ahead of the other men, he wishing his M 1 rifle and held it in both his hands, slowing down to a walk, hunkering down and examining the jungle ahead of him, looking for Japs.

  He wore a black mustache like Clark Gable and narrowed his eyes like Clark Gable, feeling heroic and handsome as he moved along the jungle trail. If he survived the war he knew he’d return to Hollywood and become a big star, because he had so much talent.

  The cameras followed him as he crept along in the darkness. His makeup was perfect and the hair on his head was mussed; the hair on his chest was visible because his shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. Jimmy O’Rourke was always intensely aware of how he looked. It was very important for him to look right for his roles. You could never be sure when somebody might come along and discover you.

  Farther back, Lieutenant Breckenridge led the nine men left in his command. He tried to keep Jimmy O’Rourke in sight, but sometimes the trail would twist and cause Jimmy to pass from his line of vision. The night was hot and humid, with insects chirping everywhere. Lieutenant Breckenridge’s mind churned with speculation about where he was, where the American lines were, and whether there were Japs in the vicinity. He hoped Jimmy O’Rourke would see Japs before Japs saw him.

  Behind Lieutenant Breckenridge, the rest of his platoon trudged through the jungle. Pfc. Frankie La Barbara looked at Lieutenant Breckenridge’s back, feeling the strong temptation to shoot Lieutenant Breckenridge down.

  Frankie La Barbara wasn’t a good loser. Never in his life had he been graceful in defeat. He hated the people who’d beaten him, and often he’d exacted revenge in a multitude of sneaky shitty ways. Frankie La Barbara wasn’t a nice guy. His nose was smeared all over his face and throbbed painfully. Every throb made him hate Lieutenant Breckenridge more.

  But Frankie couldn’t shoot him then and there. The other men would see what he was up to and stop him before he could pull the trigger. He’d have to bide his time and wait.