by Len Levinson
General Yokozowa swung sideways, and Billie Jones jumped back. The tip of the sword passed an inch in front of Billie Jones’s G.I. belt buckle. General Yokozowa leaned forward and swung from his other side. Again the Reverend Billie Jones had to retreat suddenly.
Billie Jones realized that his M 1 rifle and bayonet was no match for the Japanese officer and his samurai sword. The Japanese officer had too much reach, and there was no way to overcome it.
Then the Reverend Billie Jones thought of a way to overcome the reach advantage, and was surprised that he hadn’t thought of it before. He turned around and ran away from General Yokozowa, while ramming a round into the chamber of his M 1 rifle and clicking the safety off.
General Yokozowa leapt after him, but Billie had a lot of running room. The battlefield had thinned out considerably since the fight had begun, and Billie leapt over corpses littering the ground. General Yokozowa was right behind him, because General Yokozowa wanted to demolish the big American soldier.
Finally Billie stopped and spun around. General Yokozowa was only ten feet away. Billie aimed quickly and pulled the trigger of his M 1 rifle. Blam! The hot bullet twirled through the barrel and blasted out the end. It zapped through the air and slammed into General Yokozowa, knocking him onto his ass.
General Yokozowa sat on the ground and blinked. One moment he’d been charging the Reverend Billie Jones, and the next moment he was on his ass. At first he didn’t know what had hit him. His samurai sword still in his hand, he looked down and saw blood drenching his uniform shirt. Then his lights went out and he fell onto his back.
The Reverend Billie Jones stepped forward to put a bullet through General Yokozowa’s head, but several Japanese officers and men in the area had seen their commanding general get shot, and rushed to his aid. Some dropped down next to him, to see if they could help, and the others rushed toward the Reverend Billie Jones.
Billie fired his M 1 rifle from the waist, shooting a few of the Japanese soldiers, but the rest fired back. The air filled with bullets, and Billie Jones dived toward the ground.
Private Randolph Worthington was nearby, and he saw the Reverend Billie Jones hit the dirt. He stabbed the Japanese soldier in front of him with his rifle and bayonet, to get him out of the way, and then dropped down to one knee, bringing the butt of his rifle to his shoulder, aiming at the Japanese soldiers advancing toward Billie Jones.
The former big-game hunter lined up his sights and squeezed his trigger. Blam! One of the Japanese soldiers collapsed onto the ground. Worthington aimed and fired again. Blam! The legs of the next Japanese soldier gave out underneath him. Blam! The third Japanese soldier received the bullet in the chest, and the impact knocked him over onto his back.
More Japanese soldiers in the vicinity rallied to the aid of General Yokozowa. They dropped to their bellies and fired at Private Worthington, who got closer to the ground too. The Japanese soldiers pinned him down with steady volleys of fire, while other Japanese soldiers carried General Yokozowa away. The battlefield had thinned out to the point where other GIs could see Worthington taking fire, and Sergeant Bannon was one of the GIs. Bannon threw a hand grenade at the Japanese soldiers, and blew several of them into bits. Then he and the other GIs charged the Japanese soldiers who’d survived.
The Japanese soldiers rose to their feet, but they were badly demoralized. They wouldn’t run away or surrender, but the sight of their fallen commanding general had taken the starch out of them. Bannon, Worthington, and several other GIs tore into the Japs, kicking, bashing, and stabbing, until the Japanese soldiers were lying on the ground, bleeding and twitching.
Bannon looked around and saw GIs advancing through the jungle. The Japanese soldiers were retreating, and when Japanese soldiers were retreating the only thing to do was stay on their asses and make them retreat more.
“Let’s go!” Bannon hollered, waving his arm forward. “The fucking war isn’t over yet! Kill them fucking Japs! ”
He ran after the retreating Japanese soldiers, and the other GIs followed him. They plowed through the jungle, jumping over the bodies of dead Japanese and American soldiers. Ahead of them, through the green leaves and knotted branches, they saw Japanese soldiers withdrawing. The GIs fired their rifles as they advanced into no-man’s-land, and the Japanese soldiers continued to fall back.
FOUR . . .
Colonel Hutchins emerged out of the jungle like a bloody monstrous apparition. His uniform was torn and splotched with blood. He’d lost his helmet and run out of ammunition. Blood oozed from cuts and nicks all over his body.
“My God!” said Major Cobb when his eyes fell on Colonel Hutchins. “Medic!”
Colonel Hutchins staggered closer. He carried his Thompson submachine gun in his right hand and really dragged his ass. Major Cobb didn’t think Colonel Hutchins could walk another five paces, and he rushed forward to help him.
“Are you all right, sir?” asked Major Cobb.
“Is there any news?” Colonel Hutchins replied in a hoarse voice.
“All commanders are reporting that the Japs are falling back, sir.”
“Issue the order to pursue.”
“I’ve already done that, sir. I think you’d better lie down.”
“Have you notified General Hawkins yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Bombasino!”
“Yes sir.”
“Lemme use that radio.”
“Yes sir.”
Bombasino turned around so that Colonel Hutchins could make a transmission from the radio he carried on his back. Colonel Hutchins reached for the headset, when suddenly the jungle spun around him. He dropped to his knees and shook his head like the old wardog that he was.
“I think you’d better lie down, sir,” Major Cobb said.
“I’ll lay down in a minute.”
Colonel Hutchins managed to get to his feet. He wavered to the left and right, then put in a call to General Hawkins at division headquarters. He waited while the call went through, and felt as though he was on a merry-go-round. A few times he thought he’d pass out, but he was a stubborn man. He didn’t want to lie down in front of his men until he’d made his report. He didn’t want to sit down either. He refused to believe he was as tired and weak as he felt.
Finally General Hawkins’s voice came over the airwaves.
Colonel Hutchins took a deep breath. “We pushed them back,” he said weakly, and then fainted dead away. Lieutenant Harper tried to catch him, but Colonel Hutchins weighed too much, and it was dead weight. Colonel Hutchins collapsed onto the ground just as a medic arrived on the scene.
The voice of General Hawkins crackled in the radio headset. “What the hell’s going on over there!”
Major Cobb snatched the headset away from Colonel Hutchins and identified himself to General Hawkins.
“I said what the hell’s going on over there!” General Hawkins demanded.
“Colonel Hutchins just passed out, sir.”
“What the hell’s the matter with him?”
“He looks like he’s lost a lot of blood, sir.”
“What happened?”
“He led the charge himself, sir, and he—”
“He led the charge himself!” General Hawkins hollered.
“Yes sir.”
“He’s too old for that stuff. What the hell’s the matter with him?”
Major Cobb didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know sir.”
“Is he hurt badly?”
“I don’t know, sir. The medic is looking at him right now.”
“Have your troops reached Afua yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Let me know when you get there.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else?”
“No sir.”
“Tell Colonel Hutchins to call me when he’s able. Over and out.”
Major Cobb handed the headset to Pfc. Bombasino and knelt beside the medic, Pfc. Allan Tabor from Minneapolis, Minnesota.<
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“How is he?” Major Cobb asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Why the hell don’t you know?”
Pfc. Tabor bent over, examining Colonel Hutchins’ body. “His pulse rate is erratic, but other than that I can’t find anything wrong with him. He doesn’t have any major wounds that I can see.”
“He might’ve had a heart attack! You’d better take him to the hospital!”
“Me sir?”
“You and Bombasino. Bombasino!”
“Yes sir?” said Bombasino, standing nearby with the radio on his back.
“Drive Tabor and Colonel Hutchins to the hospital right away!”
“What’ll I do with the radio?”
“Leave it right here.”
“Yes sir.”
Pfc. Bombasino took off the radio and laid it on the ground. Major Cobb looked at him and Tabor, and decided that an officer ought to go with them.
“Lieutenant Harper!”
“Yes sir.”
“You’d better go to the hospital too to make sure the colonel gets the help he needs.”
“Yes sir.”
Pfc. Tabor and Pfc. Bombasino carried Colonel Hutchins to the jeep. Colonel Hutchins’s eyes were closed and his face was pale. He looked like he was dead.
“Private Cruikshank!” shouted Major Cobb.
“Yes sir!”
“Get over here!”
“Yes sir.”
Private Cruikshank, one of Major Cobb’s clerks in G-3 (Operations), ran toward him. He was a wispy blond youth with big frightened blue eyes, from Sioux City Falls, South Dakota.
“Put that radio on your back, Cruikshank, and stay close.”
“Yes sir.”
Private Cruikshank picked up the radio and thrust his arms through the straps. He put on the headset, and his blue eyes widened.
“Call for you, sir,” he said.
Major Cobb lifted the receiver and held it against his face. “What is it?” he growled.
“This is Lieutenant Jameson,” said the voice on the other end. “I’m calling to report that Easy Company has just taken Afua.”
“Good work,” Major Cobb said. “How are your casualties?”
“Twenty percent, approximately.”
“Continue to move south.”
“How far should I go?”
“Until you can’t go any farther. When that happens, gimme a call.”
“Yes sir.”
“Over and out.”
Major Cobb handed the receiver back to Pfc. Cruikshank. “Get me General Hawkins!”
“Yes sir.”
Pfc. Cruikshank spoke into his mouthpiece, while Major Cobb looked down at the map table that had been set up in the jungle. A rock lay on each of the four corners of the map, to prevent the wind from ruffling it. The attack was going well. Evidently the Japs had fewer troops than the Americans. Major Cobb looked at his watch. It was 0600 hours and the sun already was coming on strong.
Pfc. Cruikshank handed Major Cobb the receiver, and Major Cobb held it to his ear.
“Major Cobb speaking sir.”
There was no response. Evidently General Hawkins hadn’t come on yet. Major Cobb took out a cigarette and lit it up. The cigarette tasted wonderful. It was good to be a winner in war. Victory made everything taste better.
“This is General Hawkins,” said the voice on the other end.
“This is Major Cobb. I’ve just received a report that my Easy Company has taken Afua.”
“Excellent,” said General Hawkins. “Superior. Who commands Easy Company?”
“Lieutenant Jameson.”
“Please convey my personal congratulations to him next time you talk with him.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else?”
“No sir.”
“Over and out.”
General Adachi’s ulcers were acting up again. He sat at his desk in his tent deep in the jungle to the east of the Driniumor River, and burped. His guts felt as if he’d just eaten a handful of red-hot coals. He was in constant pain twenty-four hours a day, but sometimes the pain was extremely intense, while at other times it was only very terrible.
Now it was extremely intense. He lit a cigarette and took a puff, not realizing that cigarettes make ulcers worse by promoting the secretion of corrosive acids in the stomach. He puffed the cigarette and looked down at the map on his desk.
He was the commander of the Eighteenth Army and was General Yokozowa’s boss. He’d just received word that the big flank attack had failed, and General Yokozowa was unconscious from his wounds. His southern flank troops were retreating in disarray. The gamble had failed.
General Adachi was so upset his hands were shaking. He was fifty-four years old and wore a Clark Gable–styled mustache. Standing behind his desk, he clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth.
He didn’t know what to do. His major assault of July 9 had failed, and this morning his bold strategic maneuver had failed also. He no longer could mount large-scale operations against the Americans. Basically, all he could do now was be a pain in the ass to them.
He wanted to weep for his great Eighteenth Army. It had taken a shellacking ever since forming in November of 1942. Initial battles against the Americans on the Huon Peninsula had taken a heavy toll, and the mortal blow fell on the night of July 9. Now the flank attack had failed after a promising beginning last night. What was left for the Eighteenth Army now?
General Adachi didn’t know. He couldn’t surrender, because surrender was unthinkable for a Japanese commander. He would have to fight on to the death.
But fight on how, and with what? General Adachi’s principal supplies were captured from the Americans during the initial successes of the night of July 9. Those supplies were dwindling. Disease was rampant among his frontline troops. Morale should be nonexistent, but still it was reasonably strong. There had been no mass defections, no faltering of will.
If their will hasn’t faltered, neither must mine, General Adachi thought. He reflected upon his men, who’d suffered so much, and he loved them all. They’d fought hard against all the odds, and continued to fight hard now. What could he do for them?
He realized the only thing he could do was give them the opportunity to die honorably, for the Emperor. There could be no surrender. The Eighteenth Army would continue to attack until it could attack no more.
But where will I attack, and how? General Adachi thought. What can I do?
A bird sang a song on a branch above his tent, as he returned to his desk and stood behind it, looking down at the map. He felt as if his hands were tied, because there was so little he could do. He simply didn’t have sufficient men for a major operation. All he could try were little things to kill and maim as many American soldiers as possible, to irritate them and make them suffer, to make them realize that the Eighteenth Army was dangerous even in defeat.
The only option remaining, General Adachi thought, is to hit them at their weakest spot. But what is their weakest spot? He gazed at the map and lit a fresh cigarette. His stomach was on fire, but he tried not to pay attention. He knew the Americans were strongest along the Driniumor River. They were deployed in depth against the river from the Pacific Ocean on the north to the foot of the Torricelli Mountains in the south. General Adachi couldn’t hope to breach that line. All he could do was conduct raids against selected portions of it, preferably at night, with suicide units.
He sighed. It disheartened him to think that the Eighteenth Army was reduced to little night raids conducted by suicide units. His only consolation was that he’d been able to provide honorable deaths for most of his men.
He turned his focus to the American left flank near the foothills of the Torricelli Mountains, the scene of that morning’s catastrophe. Could something still be accomplished there?
It was difficult to know for sure. Last night General Yokozowa had pushed the Americans back. This morning he tried to achieve a breakthrough, bu
t he’d failed. Would he have succeeded if he’d had more troops at his command?
General Adachi pressed his lips together. Is this defeat my fault? he wondered. Was I too niggardly with my allotment of troops for the operation? If I’d provided more troops, could the breakthrough have been made? If I sent more troops there now, could a breakthrough yet be achieved?
General Adachi’s mind became enlivened by the possibility of a breakthrough that still might be accomplished. It was much more appealing to him than little raiding parties. What if I transferred substantial numbers of my soldiers to that southern flank? Is it possible that one more strong attack from that direction will crack the American lines?
He looked at the map and shook his head slowly. It’s no use kidding myself, he thought. I can’t win anything of significance here now. All I can do is inflict damage and terror. But that would be better than nothing at all.
General Adachi admitted to himself that he had no hope whatever of capturing the Tadji airfields and the port of Aitape. There was no point in pipe-dreaming over that. But he could conceivably crack the American lines and inflict heavy casualties. He could wreak havoc and give the Eighteenth Army a victory of sorts before the Americans regrouped and wiped them out for good. But wouldn’t it be better to die like a warrior in the aftermath of victory, than be hunted down and killed like a dog in the aftermath of defeat?
General Adachi thought it’d be better to die like a warrior. There was no question about it at all in his mind, and he knew every one of his men would agree. He decided then and there to divert as many of his troops to the south as possible for his last bold suicide attack. He couldn’t divert them all, because he needed to maintain a substantial presence on the east side of the Driniumor, so the Americans wouldn’t suspect anything.
The troop movements would have to take place in the dead of night. The troops would have to travel in a roundabout manner so that the Americans wouldn’t expect anything. Total surprise would be worth five thousand troops, and the attack probably should take place at night to further confuse the Americans. Besides, everybody knows that the Americans hate to fight at night.
