by Len Levinson
“You guys all set?” Butsko asked.
They grunted and nodded.
“Just a few more minutes.”
Butsko looked at the second hand of his watch ticking around the dial. He was tense, because the bullet with his name on it might be waiting for him at the top of the hill. He knew that the Japs up there had slaughtered Baker Company, and many of his friends were missing in action. He remembered the Bataan Death March and the big POW camp in northern Luzon, where the Japs had beaten and starved him before he had escaped. The only thing that had kept him going during those bitter days and nights was his craving for revenge, a craving that was still fresh and raw in his heart and probably always would be, because there are some things a man can't forget or forgive.
On his watch the second hand touched the twelve. “Let's move it out,” he said. “Keep your heads down and don't make any more noise than you have to.”
In a column of twos the recon platoon began its climb toward Pat's Nose. Colonel Hutchins, chewing his unlit cigar, watched them disappear into the black, wet night. Then Easy Company and Fox Company moved out, leaving Colonel Hutchins alone with Major Cobb, Lieutenant Harper, and a few other men from Headquarters Company. Nearby, Lieutenant Breckenridge slept under a tree, a smile on his face as he dreamed about his girl friend, Marge, back in New York City.
Captain Kashiwagi awoke suddenly, blinking his eyes in the darkness. It was dark and silent in the bunker, and the two machine-gun crews, plus the riflemen, slept nearby, some snoring, others wheezing. Captain Kashiwagi wondered what had awakened him.
“Is anything happening out there?” he asked the sentries.
“No, sir.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay alert.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Kashiwagi rolled over and closed his eyes. He lay on a bed of leaves whose fragrance was clean and pleasant. He tried to figure out what had disturbed his sleep and then remembered that he'd been dreaming about himself dressed as a geisha girl, performing the tea ceremony for a group of clients. The dream had disturbed him and he'd awakened. Now he was angry. What rubbish dreams are, he thought, squinching his eyes shut, trying to force the return of sleep.
The recon platoon reached the first row of concertina wire. It was American wire captured by the Japs and used by them to protect their position. The recon platoon could use their bangalore torpedoes to blow holes in the wire, but that would alert the Japs. It would be better to cut their way through.
Bannon and Jimmy O'Rourke had the wirecutters, and they went to work on the twined steel wire. It was difficult to see what they were doing in the darkness, and a wrong move could produce a nasty gash. The wires sprang apart every time they cut through a strand, sending tremors back and forth along the barbed-wire barrier. Concertina wire was tangled back and forth around itself, and a lot of cutting had to be done. It was slow, tedious work.
“Can't you go any faster?” Butsko asked.
“I'm going as fast as I can,” Bannon replied.
Jimmy O'Rourke turned around. “You think you can go faster, you take the cutters.”
“Don't get smart with me, fuck-up.”
Bannon and Jimmy O'Rourke snapped the wires apart and finally made two clear passageways. Gingerly they pushed the wires to the side, then motioned with their hands. The men from the recon platoon filed through silently, crouched over, holding their weapons on both their hands. Now they were inside the Japanese defense perimeter on Pat's Nose, halfway up the hill. The terrain was wide open, all the trees and bushes having been cleared away to make clear fields of fire. From then on there'd be no talking. They advanced stealthily up the hill as companies E and F approached the concertina wire.
The rain poured down upon them, and now they were glad it was falling hard, because its sound muffled the noise they made. They forgot their wet clothes and soaking feet. Ahead were the Japanese bunkers and pillboxes. Butsko raised his hand and they all stopped. He pointed to Longtree, then pointed up the hill toward the bunker that the Second Squad was supposed to attack. He did the same with Sergeant Gomez of the Third Squad. He indicated that Sergeant Cameron should stay put with the Fourth Squad. Then he motioned for the First Squad to advance with him toward the first bunker.
The recon platoon split apart and climbed the hill. Water dripped down Butsko's face and off the tip of his nose. He walked hunched over with his knees bent, trying to make a low silhouette. Visibility was poor; he could see only eight feet ahead of him. Ahead lay shell craters, tree stumps, rocks, and puddles of water. He couldn't even see the horizon.
The recon platoon advanced up the hill. The men lowered their feet gingerly to the ground so they'd make little noise. Butsko eased toward the left, where the first bunker was. He knew it wasn't far away.
The ground was a murky, muddy mess that blended into the rainy night. Butsko strained his eyes, trying to locate the bunker. Something moved in front of him and he held his hand up, stopping himself and the First Squad. Then he tiptoed forward. A hole was ahead, and inside it was a Japanese sentry leaning forward to get a clearer look. Butsko and the Japanese soldier figured out who each other was at the same moment. The Japanese soldier opened his mouth and screamed and Butsko dived on top of him, bashing him in the mouth with the butt of his Thompson submachine gun.
“Shit!” Butsko said, slitting the Japanese soldier's throat. The Japanese soldier was unconscious and lay supine under Butsko's knife. Butsko wiped it off on his pants and stuffed it back into its scabbard. “The Japs know we're here. Let's move it out.”
He jumped out of the hole and ran up the hill toward the first bunker, and the First Squad followed him, expecting hell to break loose at any moment. In the distance they heard a rifle shot and then a machine-gun burst. Japanese soldiers babbled to each other on the top of the hill, as US Army combat boots rumbled up the side of Pat's Nose.
Captain Kashiwagi jumped to a sitting position. He'd just heard the shout of the sentry who'd seen Butsko.
“What's that?”
“I don't know, sir!”
“Go outside and find out!”
“Yes, sir!”
The sentry ran out of the bunker, clutching his rifle. Shots and a machine-gun burst were heard.
“Everybody up!” yelled Captain Kashiwagi. “Battle stations!”
The soldiers already were awake, lurching toward their machine guns. Captain Kashiwagi strapped on his samurai sword and rushed toward the opening in the front of the bunker, peering outside, but he couldn't see anything. More shots and machine-gun bursts reverberated over the hill.
Captain Kashiwagi licked his lips nervously. He hadn't expected an attack at night, and realized the Americans knew where his bunkers were. He wished he'd built new bunkers in different places, but it was too late for that now.
“Sergeant Kato!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Send two men out back to make sure the Americans don't sneak up on us.”
“Yes, sir!”
Sergeant Kato shouted the orders, and two men opened the door at the rear of the bunker and went outside. Captain Kashiwagi turned to Private Hashimoto, who sat with the field telephone. “Notify all commands that we're under attack!”
“Yes, sir!”
Captain Kashiwagi stepped back from the opening and lit a cigarette where his flame couldn't be seen from outside. Actually he didn't know for sure that he was under attack. It might just be a little harassing nighttime raid, like the ones he used to launch. But he didn't think it was minor. If he were an American, he'd try to get that part of Hill 700 back before it was fortified too strongly.
“Keep your eyes open, men,” he said. “If you see anything move out there, shoot it.”
Butsko and the First Squad charged up the southwest side of Pat's Nose, heading toward the bunker they were to knock out. Butsko couldn't see it, but he knew the Japs inside would hear him sooner or later and open fire. That would give
the bunker's position away, but he hoped it wouldn't kill him or any of his men in the process. Wind and rain whipped him as he ran up the hill. He slipped on a patch of mud, fell on his ass, scrambled to his feet, and resumed his charge.
A machine gun opened fire in front of him, seventy-five yards away. Butsko and his men dropped down to the muck as the machine-gun bullets flew wide of their mark. Butsko grinned. Now he could see where the bunker was. “Stay down and follow me,” he said softly.
He crawled toward the bunker, keeping his chin close to the ground. His men followed him, lugging their weapons.
Lieutenant Sono was in that first bunker, and his ears rang with the bursts of the machine gun.
“Did you hit anything?”
“I don't know, sir!”
“Did you see anything?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Where?”
“Over there!”
The machine gunner pointed and Lieutenant Sono looked out into the darkness. He couldn't see anything except night and rain. A chill passed over him as he realized that the Americans knew where he was but he didn't know where they were. He drew the same conclusion that Captain Kashiwagi did: The Americans might try to take him from behind.
“Corporal Nishi!”
“Yes, sir!”
‘Take your machine gun out back and bring three riflemen with you!”
“Yes, sir!”
Corporal Nishi gathered his men together. The telephone rang. Lieutenant Sono picked it up. Captain Kashiwagi's voice came over the wire.
“What's going on over there?”
“One of my machine gunners fired at Americans!”
“Did he hit any?”
“I don't know, sir!”
“Why don't you know?”
“He couldn't see.”
“If he can't see, what the hell was he firing at?”
“My machine gunner heard something and opened fire without consulting me.”
“Are you aware that the Americans know where you are now?”
“Yes, sir, and I've posted half of my men and one of my machine guns outside, in case they try to take us from the rear.”
“Notify me of any new developments. Over and out.”
Lieutenant Sono hung up the phone, feeling dread drop over him like a wet, cold blanket. The Americans knew where he was and were sneaking up on him. It gave him an eerie feeling to think about it. Somehow he'd have to stop them. Somehow he'd have to spot them first.
He put on his helmet and stepped outside into the pouring rain. His machine gunner set up his weapon and the riflemen were in position. He crouched inside the trench and looked over the parapet, but couldn't see anything.
“Stay alert!” he said. “We have to see them before they see us!”
Lieutenant Sono was too late; Butsko and the First Squad already saw him. The GIs were crawling silently in the mud and were only ten feet from the side of the bunker. The pouring, roaring rain muffled whatever sounds they'd made, and they were close to the ground, difficult to see.
“Okay,” Butsko muttered as the men huddled around him, “this is how it's gonna be: I'm gonna count to three and then we're gonna charge that goddamned bunker. Bannon, Jones, and Frankie will grenade that rear trench and then mop it up while the rest of us take the front. Shaw and Shilansky, get ready with them bangalore torpedoes. This is it. Everybody ready?”
They all nodded. Bannon, Jones, and Frankie pulled hand grenades from their lapels and yanked the pins.
“One . . . two . . . three . . . go!”
Bannon, Jones, and Frankie hurled the hand grenades, which sailed through the rain, dropping into the trench with Lieutenant Sono, his machine-gun section, and his three rifle soldiers. Lieutenant Sono and his men heard the grenades plop down all around them. One of the grenades landed on the helmet of one of the rifle soldiers.
“Get those grenades!” Lieutenant Sono screamed.
The soldiers clawed at the mud, trying to find the grenades, but it was dark and they bumped shoulders and heads. The grenades exploded nearly simultaneously, and Lieutenant Sono saw a blinding white flash. He was racked with pain for a split second as the grenade blew his body apart, and then he was dead.
Bannon, Jones, and Frankie La Barbara charged the trench, firing their submachine guns. A few of the Japanese soldiers were maimed and bloody but still alive, and the GIs stood on the edge of the trench, firing down at them, making sure all the Japanese soldiers were dead. Butsko led the rest of the GIs toward the front of the bunker.
They approached from an oblique angle, so that the machine gun inside the bunker couldn't swing far enough to hit them. Butsko threw his back against the wall of the bunker and looked at Shaw. “Go get ‘em.”
Shaw armed the bangalore torpedo. He cradled it like a baby as he inched sideways toward the front opening of the bunker. Meanwhile, at the rear of the bunker, Bannon, Jones, and Frankie fired their submachine guns at the log door, trying to rip the latching mechanism away. The Japanese soldiers inside the bunker turned around, wondering what to do about that threat, when Shaw chucked the bangalore torpedo through the opening in the front.
The bangalore torpedo was long and heavy, and the Japs could barely see it in the darkness. They reached down to pick it up as hand grenades came flying through the opening. The Japanese soldiers panicked, shrieking at the tops of their lungs, and ran toward the rear door, which was being splintered by submachine-gun bullets. Some of the bullets pierced the door and struck the Japanese soldiers. Then the bangalore torpedo exploded, followed by bursts from the hand grenades.
The roof of the bunker blew into the air, followed by a reddish-orange flash. The Japanese soldiers were blown to bits, and smoke swooshed out the rear door and front opening of the bunker. Butsko and his men hugged the ground as sand and chunks of logs blasted over their heads. The walls of the bunker imploded, covering the mangled bodies of the Japanese soldiers, and rain hissed against hot rocks and burning wooden embers.
Butsko waited a few moments, then stood and approached the bunker, followed by his men. The bunker was utterly destroyed; no Japanese soldiers were alive. Lieutenant Sono, dismembered, lay beneath a film of dirt and sand that was soaked by his blood.
“Let's go,” Butsko said. “We're not finished yet.”
Holding his Thompson submachine gun in his right hand, Butsko headed toward the bunkers to the east of the one he and his men had just knocked out. In the distance he heard explosions and weapons fire. His men followed, checking their weapons, taking deep breaths of the damp night air. They'd taken their first objective, but there were many more to go.
“Lieutenant Sono doesn't answer, sir,” said Private Ugo, holding the telephone against his face.
“Try again,” replied Captain Kashiwagi.
“Yes, sir.”
Private Ugo turned the crank on the telephone box and spoke into the mouthpiece while Captain Kashiwagi paced back and forth, puffing a cigarette. He'd heard the explosion and machine-gun fire; several bunkers had reported being under attack and then hadn't been heard from again. Evidently the Americans were knocking them out one by one in the night.
Captain Kashiwagi realized he'd made a serious mistake, one that could cost his life and the lives of his men. He should have established a skirmish line farther down the hill to stop Americans before they got to the bunker system. He hadn't because he didn't think the Americans would attack at night. Japanese soldiers believed Americans were afraid of fighting at night. Captain Kashiwagi now realized that that wasn't necessarily so.
He wondered what to do. Under ordinary circumstances bunkers were the safest places to be, especially when they had mutually supporting fields of fire, as did the bunkers he and his company occupied. But at night it was a different story: He couldn't see anything, and a bunker could be assaulted from the two sides that had no windows or doors. Captain Kashiwagi knew that if he stayed where he was, he'd be knocked out by Americans he couldn't see. The only thing to
do was order all his men into the open and form a defensive perimeter. No Americans would be able to sneak up on his troops that way and he'd have the advantage of interior lines, so that he could shift forces to wherever the Americans attacked.
There was one other alternative: He could retreat; but he'd never retreated in his life, and never would. A Japanese officer led his men to victory or death, but never in retreat. His men looked at him, aware that he was making significant decisions.
“Sergeant Kato!” he said.
“Yes, sir!”
“Order all the men to pull back to this bunker and form a defensive perimeter.”
“You want to abandon all the bunkers, sir?”
“That is correct. Hurry. We don't have much time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Butsko and the First Squad of the recon platoon were crawling toward another Japanese bunker, when suddenly the rear door was flung open and Japanese soldiers poured into the trench behind the bunker. They climbed out of the trench and ran west.
Butsko jumped up and ran after them, firing his submachine gun from the waist, swinging its barrel from side to side, mowing down the retreating Japs. His men followed him, shooting at the Japs, who turned around and tried to fight back. They fired wildly at the American soldiers, but the Americans had the element of surprise on their side. The Americans charged the Japanese soldiers and peppered them with lead. Many of the Japanese carried heavy machine guns and equipment on their shoulders and couldn't return American fire. The GIs caught up with them and killed them all except for two who managed to disappear into the night.
Butsko looked down at the Japanese soldiers lying on the ground, his submachine gun smoking. One of the Japs moved and Butsko pulled the trigger of his gun, blasting the Jap's back apart. When Butsko released his finger, the Jap stopped moving.
“I wonder where these slant-eyed bastards were going,” Butsko said.
Shaw answered him. “Looks like they were retreating.”
