Four-Four-Two

by Dean Hughes

  Yuki looked across the alley at the sidewall of another rock house. There was something wonderful about this safe place between two walls where no shells were likely to drop. He wished he could just stay right here until the war was over. He thought of Keiko, wondered whether he would ever see her again, and if he did, when that might be.

  But when he thought of her, he felt the discomfort he had been trying to deal with lately. It was something he had not talked to Shig about, and he hadn’t thought he would, but he found himself admitting, “Keiko is so innocent. I don’t think I’m worthy of her anymore.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t feel good about what we do every day.”

  “We’re just doing what has to be done.”

  “I know. I get that. We have to win this war, no matter what it takes. But I know who I was . . . and I think I know what I’ll be before this is all over. You ought to knock me over the head if I ever come near your sister. I’m not good enough for her.”

  “That’s not true. We can’t let it be true.” Neither spoke for a time, but then Shig added, “But I know what you mean. You can’t wade through this much muck and still feel like you can wash it all off afterward.”

  That was it. What he and Shig were doing—and the Germans, too—was brutal, disgusting. Killing was killing, no matter how hard people tried to redefine it. Yuki knew he would have to spend his life trying to remove all this ugliness from his head and hands.

  The two got up and walked out of the alley and then back up the street that a few minutes before had blown up in their faces. And from there, they walked back to the fight.

  • • •

  Yuki and Shig, with their unit, fought their way across the plains of Pisa and reached the Arno River. They stayed close to one another during every march, every attack, and they spent each night together in a foxhole.

  At the Arno, the 442nd entered into a standoff with the enemy. American soldiers did not expect the Germans to counterattack back across the river, and they didn’t know when their own officers would order them to make that crossing themselves. But the forward push didn’t happen, and the 442nd received word that they were being pulled off the line for a few days of rest. R&R was a welcome change, of course, but for the first couple of days, it was hard on the nerves. Yuki would fall asleep quickly, only to awaken at the slightest sound, and then he would not go back to sleep easily. He noticed that his fellow soldiers still laughed, and drank any alcohol they could get their hands on, but they were not talkative now, at least not about the war.

  They did write letters home, and now their mail caught up to them again. Yuki got a letter from Keiko, which was full of her teenage talk about things happening at the camp, and lots of praise for the bravery of the Japanese American troops. He also heard from his mother, who expressed her love for him, and her pride in his valor. He hardly knew how to think about that, but the words brought tears to his eyes; he hoped so much that he would see her again.

  Replacement soldiers were arriving now, and Yuki’s platoon was being rebuilt. But the new guys seemed loud and full of themselves. Yuki found himself avoiding them. He was well aware that a few months back he had been much like them, but battle experiences changed everything. The guys coming in hadn’t seen their friends killed yet, and they hadn’t killed. The war games they had been playing back in the States would be turning real soon, and they would lose their arrogance—if they lived that long.

  A young guy named Denny Saito was assigned to a tent with Yuki and Shig. He came in full of questions about what to expect and what the platoon had accomplished so far. Yuki didn’t want to act like a big shot, and he knew Shig felt the same way. They explained only briefly where they had fought so far, and they made a point of letting him understand that many of their friends had been killed or wounded.

  “Allied troops have broken out from the beaches in Normandy now,” Private Saito told them. “They’re moving fast. They’ll drive the Germans out of France this fall. I don’t think the war will last until Christmas.”

  Yuki was sitting on a cot in the six-man tent. He thought of getting up and walking out. He didn’t want to scare the kid, but he also knew that Saito couldn’t go into battle thinking the war was over. “The Germans are still fighting hard,” he said. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re well trained and they have effective weapons. They’re fighting to save their homeland now, and they won’t just lay down their rifles and let us walk on in.”

  “You sound like you’re scared of ’em. Us guys coming in are—”

  “Watch yourself, Private.”

  The young man was sitting on another cot, his knees almost touching Yuki’s. He had the look of a bulldog, his cheeks a bit droopy and his bottom teeth biting over the top ones. But his eyes were wide open, and he was clearly shocked at Yuki’s sudden change of tone. Yuki had heard the anger in his own voice, and he let himself calm for a few seconds before he said, “Replacements who think they know everything are the ones most likely to get themselves killed. So watch the rest of us and keep your head down. Don’t—”

  “How am I supposed to shoot Krauts with my head down?”

  Yuki took a long breath. He didn’t want to be too hard on the guy. “Look,” he said, “we haven’t been here all that long either, but we’ve been through a lot of battles, and we’ve learned some things. There’s a difference between being brave and being a fool. Just watch the guys who know what they’re doing and don’t try to be a hotshot.”

  “I didn’t come over here to duck my head, Corporal Nakahara.”

  Yuki lowered his eyes, couldn’t think what to say.

  But Shig said, “Let me tell you something, Private. A while back a friend of ours named Billy Yamada got hit by an artillery shell. He only lived a few minutes, but the whole time he was conscious he was crying and calling for his mother. He was a tough guy. Nothing scared him. He attacked a machine-gun nest all by himself in one of our first battles. But at the end, he wanted his mama, like a little kid does when he’s sick.”

  Yuki had never heard this before. Shig hadn’t told him.

  Saito looked solemn.

  “You don’t know what it’s like yet,” Shig said. “You just don’t know how you’ll react until you’re in the thick of things. It’s best not to say too much until you do know.”

  A glow of light was shining through the canvas of the tent. The air was close, filled with the smell of boots that had been wet over and over, and uniforms that had been full of sweat and dirt too many times. Saito was silent, clearly taking in the things Shig had said.

  Yuki suddenly felt sorry for him. “Well, anyway,” he said, “we’ll help you along, but you have to be willing to learn from the rest of us.”

  “I’m not saying I won’t be scared. I’m just—”

  But right then someone lifted a flap of the tent and stuck his head in. Just as Yuki realized who it was, Shig said, “Mat! What are you doing back here?”

  “I missed you guys,” Sergeant Matsumoto said, and he laughed. Then he bent and stepped into the tent. But his motion seemed out of balance, his shoulder stiff.

  “I thought they were sending you home,” Yuki said.

  “They wanted me to ship out, but I wouldn’t do it. I went AWOL from the hospital. But I figure if they find me up here, the worst they can do is shoot me. It’s the same thing the Germans keep trying to do. What’s the difference?” He hesitated and took a longer look at Shig and Yuki. “Hey, what happened to you guys?”

  “We got in a fight and scratched each other’s faces,” Yuki said. He laughed. “Like a couple of cats.”

  But Shig was asking, “Why come back? You didn’t have to.”

  “I didn’t want to go home while the rest of the platoon was still fighting. I just felt guilty about doing that.”

  Yuki looked over at Saito. He was glad to see the look of admiration on the boy’s face.

  Mat looked at Private Saito too
. “Yuki here carried me off a hill. He ran through the middle of an artillery barrage that should have killed both of us—and I’m about twice his size. I’d be dead now if he hadn’t gotten me to an aid station.” Then he looked at Yuki. “I figure I owe you one. I came back to do the same for you if the need ever comes up.” He smiled, nodded. “But I hope it doesn’t.”

  Yuki looked back at Saito one more time. “Like I said, learn from the guys who’ve been around for a little while. We take care of each other.”

  “You told me not to take chances.”

  “Well, sometimes we do—for each other.”

  Saito nodded, and he didn’t say another word.

  CHAPTER 12

  October 1944

  Yuki was in France. After the troops had rested a few days in August, they had been trucked back to the Arno River. Soon after, however, the Four-Four-Two, along with the 100th Battalion, was transported to the port of Piombino, where they were conveyed by ship to Naples. There, they boarded another ship and sailed to Marseilles, in the south of France.

  Yuki never understood the thinking of the generals who moved troops around. But he did know from reading Stars and Stripes, the army newspaper, that shortly after D-Day, when the Allies had landed in Normandy on the west coast of France, a second front had been opened in southern France. Those who had landed in the west had now taken Paris and were pushing on across France. The southern attack had driven Germans northward, but now, as forces converged on Germany, the fight had become intense, and Yuki assumed that the 442nd had been brought in to help smash the German defense. What most of Yuki’s friends believed was that military leaders now considered their unit one of the best, able to break through when others couldn’t. And it was not just the 100th Battalion that was considered elite, but the entire Four-Four-Two.

  Yuki knew that the south coast of France was a place to vacation, but he also guessed, correctly, that he would not be there long. What he hadn’t expected was almost constant rain. Even worse, as trucks carried the men northward, the rain and cold continued. The long hours in the back of a jolting, jostling truck were tedious, but by October 11, the men had set up camp near the Vosges Forest in eastern France, not far from the Rhine River, which formed the border with Germany.

  The terrain in this part of France was different from the land the 442nd had occupied in Italy. The forests were filled with spreading French oaks and long-needled pines some seventy feet high; the dense growth created a full canopy overhead. The men camped one night under these dark trees. They dug foxholes and then covered them with shelter halves—small tents, two halves of which snapped together at the top. But there was no staying dry. The rain dribbled through the trees’ canopy, and water ran everywhere, working its way into the foxholes and turning the ground, in and out of the holes, into heavy mud. The men were still wearing summer uniforms, the army not having supplied them yet with winter coats and boots, so they suffered just getting through the night.

  The 442nd had been away from battle for over a month, but what Lieutenant Freeman now announced was that Second Battalion would make a thrust toward Bruyères in the morning. He told the men that Bruyères was a crossroads town, with several roads and a railroad line all converging there, and it was held by the Germans. It was the key town that needed to be cleared before pushing on to the Rhine. “We can’t just charge into Bruyères,” the lieutenant told the men. “We have to take the high ground on the hills around the place. Our battalion, along with Third Battalion, will have to push the enemy off Hill B on the north side of town.”

  Fox Company soldiers had managed to scrounge more firepower. Some of them had Browning automatic rifles and others had Thompson submachine guns. By now, the troops also knew how to work together, how to cover for one another, how to lay down a fierce field of fire that could overwhelm the enemy.

  After Lieutenant Freeman explained the strategy of the attack, Sergeant Koba had some things to add. “The battalion officers are telling us this is going to be a cakewalk. But I think the Germans are lying low. When we attack, if we don’t meet much resistance, don’t get overconfident. Bruyères is too important for the Germans to give up easy. I think these hills are full of Krauts.”

  But at 0800 that morning, everything began the way the battalion leaders had predicted. The march started in the dark forest, and all was quiet. The rain had stopped, but the trees continued to drip, keeping the men’s uniforms soaked. The men advanced toward Hill B and then began a gradual ascent. Yuki hoped there would be no resistance after all. But just when he had begun to relax, everything changed—suddenly and violently.

  A line of German soldiers sprang up out of the ground. They cast off limbs and greenery that they had used to cover their slit trench, and they opened fire. Machine pistols started first, and in only a few seconds, machine gunners began to fill the forest with their racket, the bullets striking trees, ripping through the underbrush.

  The Nisei troops dropped down, found cover behind trees. But Sergeant Koba was shouting, “Don’t fall back! Go after them!”

  Yuki didn’t charge directly into the fire, but he followed Sergeant Oshira’s example: He broke to the cover of a nearby tree, fired his rifle in a quick burst, hid until he’d stopped drawing fire, and then made another quick run forward. Yuki’s fire team followed and used the same method of advance. By then the enemy fire was not just from the line of soldiers in the slit trench; German mortars and heavy artillery had begun to pound the forest. Yuki hunkered down as shells hit high in the trees and sent shrapnel and broken tree limbs, like spears, crashing around him.

  Sergeant Koba was shouting again. “Don’t stop! Keep going!” And Yuki understood. To stop was to wait for the artillery to fill the forest with flying steel. He rushed ahead, took aim, and fired at a machine gun. Then he dropped again, waited a few seconds, and made another quick dash. He spotted Shig, Higa, and Tanna—all working their way closer to the Germans like he was. And young Private Saito was staying with Shig, making the same moves.

  Yuki was about to break forward again when he heard something new. A German land mine—a “Bouncing Betty”—clanked as it released. Yuki glanced over just as the mine jumped a few feet into the air and detonated. The explosion tore into a man’s groin and torso. The soldier—one of the replacements—folded in on himself, slumped to the ground, and then let out a deep groan.

  Yuki knew that medics would move in as soon as they could to help the guy. For now, the platoon had to keep driving ahead. But every step was dangerous. Yuki had no idea how many land mines might be out there in the woods. Somewhere in the midst of all the noise and smoke, he heard another clank, another mine explode. At the same time, shells were still dropping into the trees. It was like walking through hell, with fire from the earth and sky, the noise deafening, the smoke and flying debris blurring everything.

  But the Nisei soldiers were also taking a toll on the line of defense in front of them. From the cover of the trees, the Americans were firing their rifles and automatic weapons, and many of the Germans had gone down. The intense return fire was gradually diminishing, and then, suddenly, the defensive line broke. The Germans began leaping from their trench and running into the forest, some of them dropping as the Americans continued to fire at them.

  The AJA soldiers ran to the trench and Sergeant Koba yelled for his platoon to hold up. Yuki jumped into the trench, then looked around to watch for his men. All of the soldiers in his fire team were all right, and Yuki spotted Mat. But he thought that five or six from the platoon had gone down, maybe more. He could see a number of soldiers on the ground, under the trees; medics were moving up to help them.

  Yuki worked his way through the trench, past some other men and over to Shig. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Shig nodded. “I’m thinking they might send us forward again, once we rest a little.”

  Yuki knew that, but the two sat down in the trench, leaned back, let themselves catch their breath.

  After a few
minutes Shig said, “We lost Kikuchi, from Mat’s squad. Shrapnel ripped up his face and neck—really bad.”

  Yuki didn’t say anything. Shig knew the man better than Yuki did.

  “He was one of the smartest guys I’ve ever—”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he is.”

  “Then there’s no use talking about him.”

  “I just—”

  “I know. But don’t tell me anything else. I don’t want to know.” Yuki realized that he sounded angry, and he didn’t want to talk that way to Shig. He softened his voice and said, “I just don’t want to have him on my mind. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  But Yuki knew the truth. He would be thinking about these guys the rest of his life, even the ones he hadn’t known too well.

  After a time, Sergeant Koba spread the word that the platoon would stop where it was for the rest of the day. Yuki thought that was a bad decision. He was relieved not to push ahead, but it seemed to him they should keep the Germans on the run.

  The men rested, ate, waited. The rain had started again, and the trench soon began collecting water. Yuki and Shig, like most of the men, sat on their helmets to stay out of the mud, and after a time they all began gathering the brush the Germans had used to cover the trench. They even cut down saplings to stiffen the “roof” they were creating. Most of the men had shelter halves with them, and they wrapped up in those and tried, as dark settled in, to stay dry and warm, but the cold was miserable, and Yuki’s feet were freezing. He knew his socks were wet. The medics always told the men they had to change stockings every day and put the wet ones inside their uniforms, under their arms, where the wool could dry. But it wasn’t easy to change socks in a muddy hole or to dry them inside a wet uniform. Yuki sensed that trench foot—the decaying of tissue caused by dampness and cold—would now be as much an enemy as German bullets. He knew he needed to change his stockings soon, but he didn’t want to unwrap himself in the cold. He vowed to do it in the morning.