by Len Levinson
Bannon looked around and saw men tussling everywhere. Frankie La Barbara was being rushed by three Japs, and Bannon charged to his rescue. The Japs saw him coming and one peeled off the group and turned toward Bannon, who lunged with his rifle and bayonet. The Jap parried the thrust and smacked Bannon on the helmet with his rifle butt. Bannon saw stars and fell on his back. The Jap tried to spear him, and Bannon rolled out of the way. The Jap tried again and suddenly realized a mountain was in front of him. It was Homer Gladley, swinging his rifle like a baseball bat. He hit the Jap alongside his head. Blood squirted out of the Jap's nose, mouth, and ears, and he was thrown to the ground by the force of the blow.
Frankie La Barbara was in a terrible, fearsome rage and was barely aware of the battle all around him. All he knew was he wanted to pay the japs back for ruining his beautiful nose. The two Japs in front of him lunged at the same moment, and he leaped like a rabbit to his right, then shot his rifle and bayonet forward into the ribs of the closest Jap. He pulled back, but his bayonet wouldn't come loose, so he let his rifle go and jumped on the other Jap, sticking out his thumbs. They sank deeply into each of the Jap's eyes, and the Jap screamed horribly. Frankie held the Jap's head tightly, his thumbs still in the Jap's eye sockets, and pounded the Jap's head against the trunk of the nearest tree. He heard a sickening crunching sound, and the Jap went limp. Frankie let him fall to the ground, kicked him in the face, and picked up the Jap's rifle.
He turned around. A Jap officer was in front of him, and the Jap swung his samurai sword from the side, knocking the rifle out of Frankie's hands. Frankie leaped at the Jap and punched him with all his strength, connecting with the Jap's nose, flattening it on his face. The Japanese officer was stunned and dropped his samurai sword. Frankie picked it up, raised it high in the air, and brought it down, connecting with the top of the Japanese officer's head and cutting it in two like a melon.
The sword was dripping blood and Frankie raised it over his head again, running toward a bunch of Japs surrounding the Reverend Billie Jones. He swung down, hitting a Jap on the shoulder and cutting off his arm. The other Japs turned toward Frankie, who swung the samurai sword from the side, hacking into a Jap's ribs. Billie Jones stabbed a third Jap in the back with his bayonet, and Frankie pulled his sword loose.
A fourth Jap lunged at Frankie, aiming his rifle and bayonet toward Frankie's heart, and Frankie batted the bayonet out of the way with his elbow, then brought the samurai sword down diagonally, catching the Jap on the neck and slicing down to his lungs.
“Yeah!” said Frankie. “Yeah!”
Another Jap ran at Frankie, and Frankie swung the sword from the side, but the Jap jumped backward and the sword sailed harmlessly through the air. Frankie was off balance, his arms nearly wrapped around his back, like Joe DiMaggio after hitting a home run. The Jap thrust his rifle and bayonet forward and Frankie dropped the samurai sword, catching the Jap's rifle in his hands and bringing up his knee, connecting with the Jap's testicles. The Jap lurched to the ground and Frankie pulled the rifle and bayonet out of the Jap's hands, pounding him in the head with the rifle butt.
The Jap went limp on the ground and Frankie stood over him, bashing his head with the rifle butt again and again, making it look like a plate of lasagne, because nobody was going to fuck up Frankie La Barbara's face and get away with it.
THIRTEEN . . .
The Twenty-third Infantry Regiment and the Japanese Sixty-sixth Regiment were locked in combat for the rest of the day, neither side giving ground, and as night fell the fighting became so confused that both sides disengaged to lick their wounds.
Colonel Shibata was dismayed that his regiment hadn't broken through, but consoled himself with the thought that at least they'd withstood the shock of the American attack and his lines hadn't broken seriously anywhere. Throughout the night he planned an attack for the morning, with a feint at the center of his line and the main effort coming on his left flank, where he thought the Americans were weakest.
Colonel Stockton, on the other hand, realized he'd just about exhausted his resources on the first day, and he'd even committed his reserves. Everything would depend on the arrival of the Eighteenth Regiment the next day. He called Henderson Field and spoke directly with General Patch, who told him that the Eighteenth was expected to reach the line around noon.
“I hope I can hold out that long,” Colonel Stockton told him.
“You'd damn well better!” General Patch replied.
Throughout the night there was patrolling and sporadic fighting as each side tried to get a better picture of what it was facing, but by morning neither side was wiser because of the darkness and entangled lines.
Colonel Shibata launched his attack in the morning. At first it appeared to be going well. He thought he could deliver a knockout punch if he sent his reserves to his left flank and barreled through the America positions there. He thought he could roll up the American flank, shift all his forces to the left, and make a wild charge toward Henderson Field.
“Lieutenant Isangi!” he said. “Give me the radio!”
“A message is coming in, sir,” Lieutenant Isangi replied excitedly.
Lieutenant Isangi listened to the headset and wrote the message down as Colonel Shibata waited impatiently. Writing the last words, Lieutenant Isangi stood and handed Colonel Shibata the message.
Colonel Shibata read it and his hair stood on end. A quartermaster unit in his rear was being attacked by a huge American force! The paper trembled in Major Shibata's hand. For the first time since the battle began, he became afraid.
He didn't know that his rear echelon was being attacked only by Fox Company, which Colonel Smith had sent behind the Japanese line the day before to cut off its retreat. That was before Colonel Smith knew the size of the Japanese force in the jungle. After that everybody forgot about Fox Company, because it dropped out of radio contact.
Fox Company, under Captain Leach, had gotten itself lost, wandered around in the jungle all day and night, and finally blundered onto the Japanese quartermaster unit. The Japanese quartermasters weren't frontline soldiers and panicked immediately, thinking they were being attacked by at least a battalion. The quartermasters ran away and Fox Company set to work blowing up all the ammunition dumps and supplies.
Colonel Shibata thought his rear was in danger of collapse and ordered the immediate turnaround of his reserves to meet the new threat. Lieutenant Isangi transmitted the order to the reserves, and as soon as he finished, a new transmission came over the airwaves. Lieutenant Isangi nearly fainted on the spot.
“Sir,” he shouted, spit flying out of his mouth, “Americans in the center of our line have been reinforced and they're breaking through!”
“What!” Colonel Shibata grabbed the headset out of his hand. “Who's there?”
“Major Toriumi, sir!” said the voice on the other end.
“What's happened?”
“A massive counterattack by the Americans!”
“Stop them!”
“We can't! There are too many of them! My line is cracked apart!”
“Pull back your flanks to stop the counterattack!”
“My flanks are under attack too!”
It was the American Eighteenth Regiment hitting the line in full force, and Colonel Shibata tried to calm himself. His reserves were on the way to the rear and he could expect no help from General Hyakutake. “Very well,” he said. “Pull back all your men.”
‘To where?”
“I'll tell you later. Just pull back as quickly as you can and try to keep your men together.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Shibata wiped his face with his hand and handed the headset back. He looked down at the map and looked for a spot to make his last stand. His eyes fell on a mountain range to the southeast. “Lieutenant Isangi!”
“Yes, sir!”
Colonel Shibata pointed to the map. “Direct all units to retreat here. I'll give them precise locations as soon as I have t
hem worked out.”
“Yes, sir!”
Lieutenant Isangi put on the headset and made the first call to a frontline commander while Colonel Shibata bent over the map. The sound of fighting was furious at his front, and he heard the whistle of an incoming artillery shell.
“Get down!”
He dived underneath his map table, and the shell landed a few hundred yards away, blowing a hole in the jungle. Colonel Shibata got to his feet, brushed some mud off his pants, and looked at the map again, but heard the whistles of more shells and had to get down again.
“Captain Nakao!” he yelled.
“Yes, sir!”
“Break camp! Prepare to move out!”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers scurried around as shells dropped into the jungle around them. Colonel Shibata looked at the map, trying to figure out the direction of the mountain range.
“That way!” Colonel Shibata shouted, pointing toward the mountains.
Colonel Shibata gathered up his maps and folded them as neatly as he could as Lieutenant Isangi relayed his retreat order to the front and men picked up equipment, hoisting it onto their backs.
Colonel Shibata knew he'd lost his big gamble, and Guadalcanal now belonged to the US Army.
FOURTEEN . . .
The Twenty-third Infantry Regiment and the Eighteenth Regiment pursued Major Shibata's regiment across the jungle and into the mountains, where the Japanese soldiers took shelter in caves, and the last bloody act was played out in the battle for Guadalcanal.
While that grim struggle was taking place, the Japanese Seventeenth Army began its evacuation from Guadalcanal. Transport ships arrived from Rabaul and the loading began on the night of February 1, 1943, amid constant fear that the US Navy would attack from the sea and American soldiers would attack on land. The evacuation continued unhindered for five nights, and Genera Hyakutake couldn't understand why the US Army didn't attack Cape Esperance.
General Hyakutake and his staff departed on the last ship, leaving behind over 23,800 Japanese soldiers dead or missing in action, plus the remnants of Colonel Shibata's regiment fighting their desperate last stand in the mountains. Thirteen thousand Japanese soldiers made it to safety on the transport ships, to fight another day.
General Hyakutake stood on the deck of his transport ship and looked back at Guadalcanal, his eyes filled with tears. Rain continued to fall on the sad little island as it receded into the distance. He knew that Japanese dreams of an empire stretching across the southern seas had been shattered by the Americans on Guadalcanal, but there would be other islands and other battles. It was a long way from Guadalcanal to Tokyo, and the Imperial Army had many thousands of soldiers left. It still was strong and one day would rebound, pushing the Americans back and reoccupying Guadalcanal, or so he hoped.
General Hyakutake gripped the rail tightly as tears streamed down his face. Jagged lightning bolts tore apart the sky, followed by reverberations of thunder. He thought of his soldiers, so strong and brave when they'd first come to Guadalcanal. Now they were emaciated and ill belowdecks, their eyes glazed with sorrow, their spirits broken. “Oh, you island, “ General Hyakutake whispered, “What have you done to my army?”
On the ninth of February, General Patch transmitted the following message to Admiral Bull Halsey:
TOTAL AND COMPLETE DEFEAT OF JAPANESE FORCES
ON GUADALCANAL EFFECTED 1625 TODAY. AM
HAPPY TO REPORT COMPLIANCE WITH YOUR
ORDERS. THE TOKYO EXPRESS NO LONGER HAS A
TERMINUS ON GUADALCANAL.
Within the hour Bull Halsey's reply was received and decoded at Henderson Field:
WHEN I SENT A PATCH TO ACT AS TAILOR FOR
GUADALCANAL, 1 DID NOT EXPECT HIM TO REMOVE
THE ENEMY'S PANTS AND SEW IT ON SO QUICKLY.
MY THANKS AND CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU AND YOUR
MEN FOR WINNING THIS FINE VICTORY.
The news spread like wildfire across Guadalcanal. The recon platoon was bivouacked in the mountains, and the caves around them were littered with dead soldiers from Colonel Shibata's Sixty-sixth Regiment, and even Colonel Shibata himself was rotting behind a pile of rocks. Butsko heard screaming and shouting from the direction of Captain Orr's headquarters and poked his head out of his pup tent to see what was going on.
Nutsy Gafooley ran toward him, both his hands high in the air. “It's over!” he hollered. “We won!”
Butsko crawled out of the tent and put on his helmet. Nutsy leaped into the air and hugged Butsko with his arms and legs.
“It's over!”
Butsko pried Nutsy loose. “What's over?”
Nutsy was about to say “The war” but knew the war wasn't over. Butsko pushed Nutsy away, and Nutsy tried to get it together in his mind.
“There ain't no more Japs on Guadalcanal, Sarge! We won!”
“Who told you that?”
“The message just came down from regiment! We beat the Nips!”
“No shit?”
“No shit!”
Butsko took off his helmet and flung it into the air. “We won!”
The men from the recon platoon surged out of their tents, knocking over tent poles, ripping up tent pegs, tearing canvas.
“We won!” shouted Butsko, jumping up and down.
“It's all over!” yelled Nutsy Gafooley.
The GIs went totally out of their minds. They hugged and kissed each other and danced around. The Reverend Billie Jones dropped to his knees and gave thanks to the Lord. Homer Gladley was thrilled because he thought they might start getting more chow.
Morris Shilansky ran off to buy some jungle juice for the celebration. He obtained two jugs from the mess sergeant in Fox Company and returned on the run, a jug in each hand. Everybody proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk. As night fell on Guadalcanal, the men were carousing, singing around camp-fires, shooting their rifles into the air. Frankie La Barbara looked into a mirror and hoped the Army nurses would still fuck him despite his broken nose. Jimmy O'Rourke wondered if the regiment would be sent to Hawaii for R&R.
All quarrels and former fistfights were forgotten. Craig Delane sat down with Corporal Gomez, whom he'd never liked, and they got wrecked together. Nutsy Gafooley and Hotshot Stevenson wondered if Betty Grable would come to Guadalcanal with a USO show and display her famous gorgeous legs. Shaw shadowboxed in the bushes, hoping Special Services would set up a program of fights so he could get back in shape. Shilansky bought more jungle juice from a group of Louisiana moonshiners in Company M.
As the night grew older, the men became subdued. They lay around in drunken stupors, thinking of the battles they'd been through on Guadalcanal, their scrapes with death, their buddies who'd been shipped back to the States in boxes.
Bannon wanted a pass so he could go to the interior of the island and see his wife. Staggering around rocks and bushes, he looked for Butsko. Gunshots resounded across the island, and for the first time since he'd hit the Guadalcanal Beach, Bannon felt no apprehension.
He saw Butsko sitting with his back against a tree, staring off into the distance. Butsko had a jug in his hand; the features of his face were slack from so much drinking.
“How ya doing, Sarge?” Bannon asked, kneeling beside Butsko.
Butsko turned and looked at him, appearing not to recognize him for a few moments. “Not bad, kid. How're you doing?”
“Okay.” Bannon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Listen, I was wondering if I could get a pass to see my wife.” Butsko's answer was slurred. “I'll talk to Colonel Stockton about it tomorrow.”
“Think it'll be okay?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
Bannon dropped into a sitting position on the ground and played with the dirt. It was still moist from the rain, which stopped three days earlier, and clouds in the sky obscured the moon and stars.
“Gee,” said Bannon. “I can't believe it's over.”
“It ain't over yet,” Butsko said. �
��Won't be over for a long time.”
“I meant here on Guadalcanal. It's over here at least.”
“This is only the first round,” Butsko said, and then he burped. “There's gonna be a lot more rounds.”
“Where do you think we'll go now?”
Butsko tightened his grip on the jug and raised it to his lips. “How the fuck should I know?”
Butsko gulped some jungle juice, then passed the jug to Bannon, who took a swig. It was awful, like fermented garbage juice, but it burned all the way down and made Bannon feel cozy.
“Nice night, huh, Sarge?” Bannon asked, looking at the treetops.
“Real nice, kid,” Butsko replied, reaching for the jug. “The very best.”
