by Chris Glatte
Daylight finally came. Hunter was astonished that he’d slept a little. There was a thick layer of fog below them. Tendrils swirled around the peak, and the sky was overcast, but it was the clearest he’d seen the island so far. He hoped the supply plane would find them. He didn’t relish spending another night out here without a sleeping bag and his K-rations were already depleted by half. The constant strain of keeping warm and struggling up mountains through deep snow gave them all quite an appetite. Without the supply drop, they’d be in deep trouble.
They carried two day’s worth of food. Their mission was to hit the enemy garrison in Holz Bay quickly, keeping them occupied and away from the main force landing further north on Red Beach. The planners figured taking Attu from the Japanese wouldn’t take more than three days, so keeping the 7th Scout Company light was paramount to their successful mission. They expected to meet up with the rest of the 32nd and 17th Regiments no later than tomorrow.
Captain Willoughby came from the hole he’d spent the night in and stretched his back. Hunter crouched nearby, watching the wispy fog to the east. Lieutenant Wilcox, his platoon leader, was talking. “We’re on the correct mountain top, sir.” He pointed east, “Holz Bay is four miles that way. Once we get resupplied, we can move out.”
Willoughby nodded and blew warm air into his hands and stomped his feet. “Could’ve used a sleeping bag last night.” The look on Wilcox’s face was, "No shit," but he only nodded. Willoughby continued. “Our 284s and 195 radios are giving us fits, but we’ve contacted the 11th flyboys. They’re on their way.” He looked up, “They shouldn’t have any trouble finding us today. Get ready to fire flares in case they need some help.” He pointed, “Send a squad forward. Find us the best route to the bay.”
“Yes, sir.”
Willoughby strolled off to take a piss, and Lieutenant Wilcox relayed the orders to Staff Sergeant Rizzo. “Get your men fed and find the best route to the valley. We’ll wait here for the drop. Send someone back to guide us and we’ll join you soon enough.”
Rizzo noticed Hunter and Private Gentry listening in and barked, “You get all that?” He shook his head. “Get some food before you go.” His hard eyes drilled into Hunter’s. “You’re on point again.”
Hunter got to his feet and nodded, “Yes, Sergeant.” Rizzo found his assistant squad leader and gave him the scoop.
Private Gentry crouched beside Hunter. He growled, “Hell-fire—we the only platoon on this mountaintop?”
Hunter slapped him on the back, “The Captain just knows who he can rely on, that’s all.”
“Shit. You’re blowing smoke up my ass, Mack.” He looked at the shifting cloud cover overhead, “I’m down to my last K-rat. Hope the flyboys find us soon.”
Hunter shook his head. “I don’t know how they can even find the island, let alone this peak. Hope they know what they’re doing or we’re in for a hard time.”
Gentry slurped in cold chunks of meat. “Just gotta get through today, then we’ll hook up with the 32nd and we won’t need the airdrops anymore.” He grinned, “Hell, Japs might’ve already left. I sure the hell wouldn’t wanna stick around this miserable place for long.”
Hunter stopped opening his can and looked out over the vastness. “Beautiful out here if you can get past the cold and wet.”
Gentry shook his head, “There’s a reason no one lives out here, you know. Hell, there aren't even any animals to hunt. You’d die of boredom if you didn’t freeze to death first.”
Hunter continued working the lid off the can. “People live here. Not many, but those Alaskan Scouts said there’s a tiny village up Chichagof Valley. Fifty people or so.”
“Miserable life,” Gentry mumbled.
Just before darkness fell on Massacre Bay, the roar of three 105mm Howitzers reverberated through the fog. Two more salvos, then silence. The low crumps from their impacts seemed to be absorbed by the fog and looming darkness.
Mankowitz and Harwick exchanged glances and Harwick wondered, “What was that all about?”
Mankowitz shrugged and shook his hands, trying to get blood flow back to them. Since landing a few hours before, he hadn’t been cold, but now that they weren’t pushing forward or digging in, it was getting to him. Besides the artillery, there had only been the occasional rifle shots, mostly from the ridges surrounding Massacre Bay.
Mankowitz answered, “G Company’s over there. They must’ve run into a worthy target, I guess.”
Sergeant Jakant was moving from hole to hole and when he got to theirs, he asked, “You two got what you need?”
“Sure thing, Sergeant,” Answered Mankowitz.
“We’re moving out soon. The Nips are probably waiting for us up this here valley. G Company ran into some trouble on the east ridge, but nothing serious. I Company’s running up the other side, but they’ve only seen discarded Jap stuff. No resistance. We’ll move out in an hour, so get some food and make sure you’ve got plenty of ammo.”
Harwick gulped loudly and asked, “We’re attacking at night?”
Jakant scowled, “That a problem for you, Harwick? Need your beauty sleep or something?” Harwick shook his head and averted his eyes. Jakant added, “I’d rather get this shit over with quick. If it means moving at night, so be it.”
An hour later Charlie Company rose like apparitions and moved up the valley. The wind had died down a little, but the sky still spit icy rain into their faces. Even in the shifting fog, there was no chance of getting lost. Steep slopes surrounded the valley. If you nudged up against one, you couldn’t go any further.
Mankowitz was glad to be moving. Tents hadn’t made it ashore yet, and sleeping on the cold, wet ground wasn’t something he was looking forward to. He’d rather patrol than try to sleep in his miserably cold foxhole.
The valley gradually rose in elevation. Streams drained small lakes, which the company skirted on either side. More than a few soldiers stepped into holes and sank up to their armpits in black, oily mud. Cursing marked their locations like beacons.
The valley steepened, and soon they were trudging through snow. The spread-out formation created too much lag, so Captain Smith ordered a single-file line. Mankowitz was in the center of the line and the pathway through the snow became muddy. His leather boots sank into it and squelched as he trudged along. He could feel wetness seeping in. He wondered how the hell he’d ever dry them out.
The snow lit up the darkness somewhat, and despite the cloud cover and wispy fog, Mankowitz could see pretty well. The ridges rising to either side were impressive. He couldn’t see the tops, but he got a sense of how steep they were. He had no doubt the GIs up there were having to deal with much lower temperatures and probably bitingly cold winds. It wasn’t so bad down here.
The fog suddenly lifted, drifting with the wind. The company was spread out along a wide swath of snow, their black silhouettes stood out starkly against the white background. They approached the top of the pass and Mankowitz eyed it suspiciously. If there were Japs up there, they couldn’t help but see them. He noticed other soldiers looking around nervously. With the fog gone, he felt hopelessly exposed.
His fears were realized when gunfire shattered the stillness. Mankowitz froze for a moment, thinking it sounded like a crazed woodpecker. Snaps and pops around his ears made him flinch.
“Get down!” Someone yelled.
He snapped from his momentary trance and dropped onto the muddy path. Oily mud splashed onto his face and the odd smell of it filled his nostrils. He heard men screaming but couldn’t decide if they were screams of agony or fear.
More machine guns joined in and he couldn’t determine their locations. They sounded as though they were all around him. Was that possible? He lifted his head, trying to get a look. He saw dots of light to his front, but also to either side. The air overhead buzzed, as though alive with swarms of killer bees. Would the snowbank he cowered behind stop a bullet?
As though in answer, Private Guittierez laying down in front of him sud
denly lurched and grunted heavily. Mankowitz stared into the murky darkness. He could only see the soles of Guittierez’s size eleven boots. He crawled forward and tapped his leg, “Guty! Hey Guty! You okay?” There was no answer.
He crawled until he was beside him. He pushed him onto his back and even in the sooty darkness he could see his staring, lifeless eyes. He pulled back in alarm and his gloved hand came away wet and sticky. He stared at the gloves his mother had given him. Panic rose in his craw. He screamed, “M—Medic! Medic! Guty’s hit.”
Behind him, Harwick yelled, “We’ve gotta get out of here, Mank.” He rose onto his knees and fired his M1 in the direction of the muzzle flashes. His clip pinged and he dropped back into the mud. The bullets snapping overhead intensified and Mankowitz snugged up to Guittierez. He felt the sickening impact of bullets smacking into his dead body. He yelled, “Stop firing, you asshole! They see your muzzle flash.”
Just as quickly as it started, the firing stopped. Mankowitz could hardly catch his breath and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He slowly lifted his head and looked behind him. He could see Harwick’s outline, but he wasn’t moving. He called out, “Harwick! You okay?”
Harwick looked up and gave him a thumbs up. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why’d they stop?”
Mankowitz risked lifting his head again and saw the reason. “The fog’s come back. I can’t see the ridge anymore.”
Lieutenant Hubert ordered, “Fall back! Spread out and find some cover.”
Mankowitz got to his knees and leaned down to check on Guittierez again. He wasn’t moving and his chest glistened with wetness. He took a glove off his shaking hand and felt for a pulse. There was nothing there, and he quickly put the glove back on. “Guty’s dead,” he stated.
GIs were up and moving back, pushing their way past Mankowitz. “Give me a hand with Guty, will ya?” Harwick slung his smoking M1 and helped lift Guittierez’s dead weight. They struggled a few yards as soldiers streamed past them. A slow sizzling sound overhead made Mankowitz pause and look up. An explosion thirty yards away flashed in the fog. More followed and Sergeant Calder yelled, “Mortars! Take cover.”
They dropped Guittierez’s body and dove into the beaten down path. Mankowitz held his helmet tightly to his head. The muffled explosions shook the mucky ground beneath him, and he imagined it must shimmy like chocolate pudding. The barrage continued but the rounds never got closer. The fog kept the spotters from correcting the fire, and it soon stopped.
Harwick pulled his dripping face out of the mud. Mankowitz could see the whites of his eyes, which looked like dinner plates. Harwick said, “Time’s a-wasting. Let's get the hell outta here.” Mankowitz glanced at Guittierez and Harwick smacked his arm, “He’s dead. He won’t mind spending the night out here. If that fog lifts again, we’ll be cut to shreds.”
Mankowitz nodded. The retreating column had bypassed them, and they were now the furthest forward and totally exposed. Below and to the right, there was a rock feature, and he could see GIs digging in around it. He pointed, “Let’s get over there.”
Harwick didn’t need coaxing, and soon they were both high kneeing through the dirty snow. A GI saw them coming and raised his rifle. Harwick raised his rifle over his head and yelled, “Harwick and Mank coming in. Don’t shoot for chrissakes.” The GI averted his muzzle and they slid into the relative safety of the boulder pile.
When they got their breath back, Mankowitz found Sergeant Jakant. “Guty’s dead. We had to leave him up the trail.”
Jakant shook his head. “He ain’t the only one. Patterson and Burrill bought it too.” He pointed into the gloom at a soldier propped against a boulder. The medic, Private Hayward crouched in front of him, placing a bandage over a messy leg wound. “Peters got hit too. Not sure about the other squads.”
A firefight broke out somewhere behind them, high on the ridge. The flashes in the fog were surreal. It was nearly impossible to tell how far away the distant pops and flashes were. From the valley floor, it looked as though the fight was taking place in mid-air.
Harwick took a long pull off his canteen, then sealed the lid. “This fog is something else.”
Mankowitz agreed, “Sure saved our asses back there. They had us pinned, and those mortars would’ve wreaked havoc if they coulda seen anything.”
3
Private Hunter was straddling the knife-edged ridge line overlooking the west arm of Holz Bay. The rest of 3rd Squad was spread out behind him. Private Wilkes had been sent back to lead the rest of the company to them. The fog obscured the bay water, but that wasn’t Hunter’s focus. The canyon directly below the ridge led straight to their objective, Holz Bay. But there was a problem.
He handed the binoculars back to Staff Sergeant Rizzo. “I see what you see, Sergeant. The Nips are dug in about halfway up that ridge across the valley. From what I can see, they’ll have clear fields of fire on us until we’re in the bottom of the canyon.”
Rizzo put the binoculars back to his eyes and adjusted them slightly. “Hoped I was just seeing things. There’s no way to get into that canyon without them spotting us…at least in daylight. Captain Willoughby isn’t gonna let us wait for dark. We’re right on schedule and he won’t do anything to put us behind if he can help it.”
Rizzo’s assistant squad leader, Sergeant Mavis added, “Now that we need the fog, it’s gone.”
Rizzo nodded and handed the binocs to Mavis. “She’s a fickle mistress, no doubt. I heard the transport plane a while ago so I’m not complaining about the lack of fog, though.”
Mavis pointed back the way they’d come. “We could backtrack and slip into the canyon from the saddle back there. They’d still see us, but we’d be at the edge of their range.” Rizzo nodded, evaluating the distance.
Hunter shrugged, “Or we could slide down from here.”
Rizzo peaked over the side. The slope was at least thirty-five degrees and snow covered. “You mean like sled down it?”
Hunter nodded. “Sure. Our ponchos would work. The first few guys might be slow, but once there’s a good track down, we’ll fly. The Japs would have to get damned lucky to hit us, and they’d wouldn’t have much time to adjust before we’d be in the canyon's cover.”
Mavis peered over then pulled back. “It’s damned steep. Japs wouldn’t have to shoot us, the rocks at the bottom of the snow field would do the job for ‘em.”
Hunter hesitated. He wasn’t in the habit of arguing with NCOs. Rizzo nudged him, “Speak freely, Private.”
Hunter pointed down the slope. “The snow’s icy up here, but halfway down it turns to slush. It’s the same stuff we trudged through last night. If you get going too fast, just roll off the track and the soft snow will stop you soon enough.”
Rizzo smiled, “I like it. I’ll pass it by Willoughby.”
The rest of the company filtered onto the ridge. They dispersed gear from the successful airdrop to the squad. Only one of the two scheduled planes showed up. It dropped food, ammunition, and a few sleeping bags. The pilot explained through a static-filled transmission that the other plane had engine trouble and had to return to Adak Island. Another flight with the rest of the supplies, including most of the sleeping bags, would come in the evening.
Staff Sergeant Rizzo explained the situation to Captain Willoughby and the other officers, along with Private Hunter’s suggestion. They decided they’d send two squads at a time, each creating their own sledding lane. The rest of the company would follow squad by squad until only one squad remained. Then they’d follow the canyon to the beach at Holz Bay.
They scouted out a likely descent route. The snow coverage was good and there weren’t any obvious breaks or obstructions for them to careen off or into. Hunter crouched behind Gentry and Private First Class Hammond. Hammond would go first. He’d insisted on it, saying he had more sledding experience than anyone else in the squad since he’d grown up sledding in Denver.
Hunter didn’t think sledding required any special talent, but he d
idn’t mind not leading. After all, the faster ride would come once they laid a good track down. He also didn’t relish being the first to smash into an unseen fissure in the snowfield.
Captain Willoughby lowered the binoculars after gazing at the enemy positions across the valley. He barked, “A thin layer of fog’s coming in. Go now.”
PFC Hammond looked back at the others; excitement tinged with fear in his eyes. He laid his poncho out in front of him. His pack was snug on his back, along with his carbine. He leaned forward and pulled the front lip of the poncho up, so it would slide easier. He licked his lips, then threw himself over the edge. His body weight crushed through the layer of ice and his body stuck there. It would’ve been comical, had it not been for the enemy soldiers across the valley.
Hunter peaked over the edge, seeing Hammond’s wide eyes staring back. “Give me a push,” he pleaded.
Hunter nodded and leaned over, grabbing Hammond’s boots. “Lift the lip above the ice and I’ll push you.” Hammond arched his back, lifting the front of the poncho. Hunter pushed and Hammond’s poncho went past the crushed lip of ice holding him in place. He slid away. Hunter watched as he picked up speed. Snow wafted over Hammond’s helmeted head. Hunter pulled himself out of the way and Gentry leaped onto the track and was soon gaining on Hammond.
More and more squad members flung themselves over the side. The far-off sound of a woodpecker caught his attention and he looked across the valley. The thin fog had lifted, and he could see the winking flashes of enemy machine guns and rifles. Geysers of snow leapt up, trying to catch up with the sliding GIs.
He ducked beneath the ridge and got in line. When it was his turn, he flung himself onto the well-worn track and followed his comrades headfirst down the slope. The speed was exhilarating, and the zipping of bullets and exploding geysers of snow made it even more exciting. He couldn’t stop himself from whooping. He wasn’t the only one.
