by Chris Glatte
Lance tackled the big man and they both went into the snow. Numchenko tried to keep the picture out of reach, but Lance finally snatched it back. He rolled off Numchenko, who was spitting dirty snow. Lance seethed, “You guys are assholes. I don’t want anyone even thinking about her.”
They all started cooing her name, “Dolly, Dolly, Dolly.” Harwick was thrusting his hips suggestively.
Lance shook his head and pushed the photograph back into the folds of his clothes. “Keep dreaming, Harwick. You’re too much of a runt—you’ve got no chance with a gal like her.”
“Once she sees what matters,” he winked, “She’ll come running, just like your mom.”
Lance’s face darkened, but Sergeant Jakant shuffled out of the fog and grabbed his shoulder and held him fast. “What the hell’s going on over here?” Lance tried to explain, but Jakant barked, “Shaddup! I don’t give a shit. Listen up—we’ve got new orders.”
Charlie Company zigzagged their way up a long winding slope toward the top of yet another snowy ridge. The ugly dimple of rock, dubbed Point Able by some upper brass type, was still visible a half mile away. The ridge led directly to the nob of rock. Their mission was to make their way across the ridge and engage the defenders while I and K Company assaulted up the pass to the right.
Lieutenant Callow marched near the front where 1st Squad led the way. Mankowitz was breathing hard. The slope was steep and his legs and lungs burned with the exertion. A mix of rain and snow fell from the gray sky and the incessant fog clung to the ridges and peaks, despite the wind.
Mankowitz was impressed with their new officer’s stamina. Callow walked in front of him, encouraging the others all the way. Mankowitz could barely catch his breath—let alone talk—but Callow was hardly winded at all. Staff Sergeant Calder marched in front of Callow and struggled to keep the pace.
They finally reached the top of the ridge a little past midday. Callow called a ten-minute halt and between heaving breathes, Mankowitz drank deeply from his canteen.
Second Platoon was leading Charlie Company again, facing Point Able. Lieutenant Callow straddled the knife-edged ridge with his fists against his hips, facing their objective. Point Able went in and out of view as the fog shifted back and forth. Even from this distance, they could see ugly trench scars scattered throughout the rock outcroppings.
Callow raised his voice, “That’s our objective, men. The Japs are dug in and waiting for us, but that’s nothing new.” He gazed at the men watching him. Mankowitz thought they must look like a motley crew.
Now that he’d stopped climbing, his sweat turned to ice and he shivered. He hoped they wouldn’t have to spend the night up here—there was little cover from the elements.
As though reading his mind, Callow continued, “We’re exposed up here. Not only to the Nips, but the weather too. The rest of the company will be here soon, but in the meantime we’ll move along this ridgeline toward the enemy. It’s our job to keep them occupied so I and K Company can get past them and hit them from the flank.” He lifted his chin, “We’ll move along the left side of the ridge, so they won’t see us coming. We’ll try to get close enough to call in and adjust Third Platoon’s 60mm mortars and be able to hit ‘em with rifle grenades.” He eyed Private Lance and PFC Chambers, First Squad’s grenadiers. Lance gave him a curt nod and touched the attachment on his M1. “I want First Squad out front on this one.” He eyed his radioman, standing behind him. “We only need to get close enough to call in the mortars. Don’t take chances. If they see us first, we won’t have much cover.” There were nods all around. “Okay—move out.”
Sergeant Calder bellowed, “Mank and Harwick, you’re on point.”
Mankowitz couldn’t help seeing Lance’s broad smile and Harwick flipped him the bird before turning and descending a few feet off the left side of the ridge. Mankowitz followed close behind, careful of each footfall. One bad step and he’d find himself a thousand feet downslope. The fall wouldn’t kill him, but it wouldn’t be a picnic and climbing back up, just might.
Harwick moved relatively fast but slowed when he encountered particularly sketchy sections. Fog swirled below them, obscuring some of the more harrowing drops.
After a half hour, Harwick stopped and crouched. Mankowitz tucked in behind him and looked over Harwick’s shoulder. The slope went from a thirty-degree slope to vertical for thirty yards. The only way past it was along the top of the ridge.
Mankowitz put his hand on Harwick’s shoulder, “I’ll check it out.”
Harwick nodded, “Be careful, Mank. I think we’re close to the Nips.”
Mankowitz glanced behind. The rest of the platoon was still advancing, closing the gap quickly. He turned to the ridge and climbed a few yards, being careful that his feet were well planted.
As he neared the top, the wind whipped into his face. He went to his belly and pulled himself onto the ridge top. Fog covered Point Able, but it was only two hundred yards away. The ridgeline angled down from here and offered no cover whatsoever for at least thirty yards. Beyond that, there was a depression and boulders, which would provide both excellent cover and observation. They’d also be able to continue their advance along the left edge from there. But getting past the exposed section was going to be tricky.
He carefully pushed himself off the icy ridgeline and the relief from the biting wind was instantaneous. He scurried back to the squad and was greeted by Lt. Callow and Sergeant Calder.
Callow asked, “What’d you see, soldier?”
He explained the situation and Callow motioned he should lead him back to the ridgeline. He did, and Callow quickly made a decision and relayed it to Staff Sergeant Calder who shivered beside him. “We’ve gotta cross that exposed section and set up in the cover beyond. It’s the perfect vantage point and the Nips can’t get to us.”
Calder nodded but added, “Unless they’ve got mortars or rockets.” He studied the thirty yard stretch they’d have to cross. It looked dangerous even without the prospect of nearby enemy soldiers. “We don’t need to cross, we can see ‘em from here, sir.”
Callow furrowed his brow and pointed at the cover. “That’s where we need to be, Sergeant.”
Calder’s jaw rippled, but he nodded. “Crossing this section’s gonna be a bitch if the fog dissipates. We’ll bring up the BAR crews in case we need to lay down some heat.”
Callow nodded, “Good idea—the grenadiers too.”
Mankowitz crouched on the left side of the ridge. He couldn’t see anything but gray sky and dirty snow. Biting wind curled and eddied from the front slope, and bits of snow and dirt tinkled off his frozen helmet. Harwick laid out on the top of the ridgeline a few feet in front of him. He was watching Point Able and would signal when the fog was thick enough to cross the exposed section.
The rest of the platoon spread out to Mankowitz’s right, staged just beneath the top of the ridge. They’d go over in squads, and 1st Squad had somehow drawn the short straw once again.
Time passed slowly and he could tell that Lt. Callow was getting anxious. Finally, Harwick’s face appeared. His eyebrows were frosted white, but his eyes burned with an intensity Mankowitz hadn’t seen before. He understood. If he got it wrong—if the fog lifted while they were crossing—they’d be cut to shreds. Harwick nodded and got to his feet.
Mankowitz pushed up to the ridge and was immediately assaulted by the freezing wind. Harwick was moving across the exposed, wind-ravaged ridge carefully. Mankowitz followed as fast as prudence allowed. Falling down either side would be certain death.
Mankowitz tried to keep his eyes from wandering but couldn’t help glancing down the dizzying vertical walls. The wind slapped at him and he lowered himself to keep from being blown into oblivion. He felt as though he’d swallowed a swarm of bees, but he kept moving. He glanced toward Point Able and wished he hadn’t. He felt unstable, and the fog was thinning.
Harwick was across, and he wedged himself into the boulders. Mankowitz hustled the last few step
s and ran to his side. He felt as though his heart would burst from his chest. They exchanged quick, grateful to be alive, glances.
Mankowitz propped his M1 and aimed toward the house-sized boulders of Point Able. The fog thinned more, and he could see trenches and bunkers tucked into the rock’s base. He thought he could see helmeted soldiers lined up too. He silently prayed they wouldn’t see the exposed soldiers inching their way across the ridgeline.
More soldiers piled into the cover, including Sergeant Calder. The fog continued to thin. Mankowitz glanced back at the men making slow progress across the ridge and silently wished they’d hurry.
Excited Japanese voices floated on the wind. Mankowitz could see enemy soldiers pointing and turning muzzles from the valley to the ridgeline. “They've spotted us,” he exclaimed with dread.
Sergeant Calder’s deep voice calmed them, “Steady, steady. Don’t fire until we’re sure.”
All of 1st Squad was across, but half of 2nd was still crossing and horribly exposed. Mankowitz watched over his rifle sights as the Japanese continued shifting. They hadn’t fired, perhaps they hadn’t seen them, after all. His hopes were crushed when rifle shots rang out and bullets snapped through the air.
The men on the ridge stopped and went prone. Calder cupped his hand over his mouth and yelled at them, “Keep moving! Don’t stop!” He turned back to 1st squad, “Pour it on! Covering fire!”
Mankowitz steadied his sights on a soldier firing and working the bolt of his Arisaka rifle. Mankowitz fired three rounds and saw his target drop out of sight. A machine gun opened fire and the woodpecker staccato made his stomach turn. The smoke marked the muzzle, and Mankowitz adjusted his aim and fired the rest of his clip. He dropped behind cover and pulled another eight-round clip from his belt, glancing at the ridge before inserting it. Geysers of dirt and snow erupted from the ridge where men continued crossing. He watched in horror as a man lurched as though electrocuted and fell into the abyss. He didn’t scream. Mankowitz hoped the bullets killed him before the fall.
The soldier directly behind him dropped and hugged the ground, forcing the men behind him to do the same. They’d be torn to shreds up there. Mankowitz rose and fired at the distant shapes, now obscured by the smoke from their weapons. The heavy sound of the BARs joined the fray, and the boulders at Point Able chipped and sparked. Explosions rocked the slope in front of the trench as rifle grenades hit their marks.
The volume of fire from the trenches and bunkers diminished and Calder yelled, “Come on! Move across!”
Mankowitz burned through another clip. It was impossible to know if he was hitting anything, but the object was to keep their heads down. He looked at the ridge. The lead GI got to his feet and shuffled his way along. Men stacked behind him and Mankowitz thought they looked like prime targets. He quickly thumbed in another clip and rose, firing. Bullets smacked the rock he hunkered behind and zinged into the air. Rock chips and dust obscured his vision. A bullet snapped past his ear and he instinctively ducked.
The tight group of GIs finally made it across and dove toward the cover. A soldier slithered into Mankowitz’s feet and their eyes met. His eyes were full of fear and Mankowitz recognized Private Burke from 2nd Squad. “You alright? Are you hit?” Burke shook his head quickly and the fear subsided, as he gained control. “Get up here and help us keep their heads down.”
Burke got his feet beneath him and pushed his back against the boulder. Mankowitz rose and fired into the mist and smoke. Explosions from mortars were smashing into the hillside in front of and behind the bunkers and trenches. Mankowitz couldn’t see any Japanese but fired methodically until his clip pinged. The BARs continued hammering the trench-line.
Burke was still pressed against the rock when Mankowitz ducked and inserted a new clip. “Get your shit together, Burke,” he yelled. Burke nodded and hyperventilated as though readying himself for a footrace. The volume of fire from Point Able increased. Burke stood, fired three shots, then crumpled. Mankowitz finished reloading and smacked Burke’s shoulder. “Dammit—get in the war!” Burke’s body toppled sideways, and his neck gurgled and flowed with thick steaming blood.
Mankowitz couldn’t look away from his dead, staring eyes. Revulsion and self-loathing threatened to overwhelm him. Beside him, Harwick hunkered down to reload. He noticed his friend fidgeting and shaking, then saw Burke’s body. “It’s not your fault. Kill the fucking Japs!” Anger overwhelmed the fear and Mankowitz gritted his teeth until they ached. He stood and fired.
Enemy bullets ricocheted off rocks and sent dirty snow flying in all directions. The wind-swept Point Able and momentarily cleared out the mist and smoke. Mankowitz ignored the incoming fire and put his sights on a helmeted head. He fired twice and saw the head snap back and fall out of sight. Bullets ripped past his head and he heard screaming. His clip pinged empty, but he continued reflexively pulling the trigger.
Harwick punched his leg and pulled on his pant leg. “Reload, Mank! And quit screaming for crying out loud.” Mankowitz ducked. He couldn’t catch his breath and his hands shook as he fumbled for another clip. Harwick said, “Calm down. Get your shit together, Mank.”
The enemy fire subsided. Harwick stood and aimed his rifle but didn’t shoot. Mankowitz finally reloaded and stood on shaky legs. Even propped on the boulder, he could barely keep his muzzle steady. Thick fog again, enshrouded Point Able. Two more mortar shells exploded, the only evidence, a dull thumping.
Harwick looked back at the ridge. The flow of GIs had stopped. There was a body sprawled in the center and one GI in front, low crawling slowly toward their cover. Harwick yelled, “Get up! Nips can’t see you.” More GIs yelled, encouraging the hapless soldier to get off his belly and run. The GI finally got to his feet and moved the rest of the way across. He waddled to them and slammed into the rocks, breathing hard and holding his right arm.
It was Private Ramirez from 2nd Squad. Between rasping breaths, he uttered, “Rat’s gone. Rat’s gone.”
Mankowitz gazed at the sprawled body midway across the ridge and put a name to it; Corporal Rattinger. Despite the obvious name reference, he also had a reputation for cheating at poker, cementing the nickname.
Harwick stated, “You’re hit.” Ramirez nodded and continued clutching his motionless arm.
Mankowitz couldn’t take his eyes off Corporal Rattinger. He thought he saw him move. “You sure about Rat? You sure he’s dead?” Ramirez’s eyes were turning glassy and his normally dark complexion was a pasty gray as Harwick pulled his sleeve up, exposing his blood-soaked forearm. Ramirez muttered something unintelligible.
Mankowitz didn’t wait for an answer. He looked at Burke’s body crumpled beside him, then glanced toward Point Able. It was still in the fog. He propped his M1 against the boulder and took off back toward the ridge.
Harwick yelled, “Where the hell are you going, Mank?”
“He’s alive,” he yelled. He sprinted the few yards, then slowed when he came to the narrow ridgeline. He stayed low, feeling the wind tugging at his clothes, trying to push him over the edge. Rattinger sprawled halfway across, fifteen yards away. Beyond him he could see helmeted GIs watching him from the cover of the opposite ridge.
Someone called out to him, “What’s up, Mankowitz?” He thought it was Lt. Callow, but he couldn’t be sure. He ignored him and kept moving steadily toward the motionless corporal. As he neared, he heard a low moan. He soothed, “I’m coming, Rattinger. I’m coming. Just hang in there.”
He got to his body and got as low as possible. The ridge here was at its thinnest and most exposed. He glanced into the abyss to his right and saw shapeless blobs massed five hundred feet below—victims from his platoon. Fear momentarily gripped him. How was he going to get Rat out of there without both of them falling to their deaths?
The same voice from across the way, “I’m coming to help. Wait for me.”
Two GIs were coming across and he could see the faded stripe of a lieutenant’s rank on the lead soldier’s he
lmet. “I’ll be damned,” he uttered. He chanced a look back at Point Able and was relieved to see it was still in the fog. One machine gun burst would kill them all.
Callow and PFC Oslo finally made it to him, and Mankowitz felt the need to salute, but suppressed the irrational thought. Callow’s eyes were wide and bright. “Turn around and hunch. We’ll drape him over your back.”
Mankowitz nodded and carefully turned his body. Rat groaned as Callow and Oslo peeled him from the ground. “Easy does it. Easy does it,” murmured Callow.
Mankowitz couldn’t see their progress, but he could see the fog swirling and thinning. He could see Harwick’s worried face turning from Point Able and back to the ridge over and over. He motioned them to hurry.
Finally, Mankowitz felt Rattinger’s body being carefully draped over his back. He gripped the corporal’s arms, securing them over his shoulders like straps on an overlarge backpack. Callow whispered, “Okay. You’re good to go. Get a move on.”
Mankowitz stood carefully. Rat wasn’t a big man, but he was heavier than he expected. He wobbled and felt his equilibrium shifting toward the abyss. For an instant he thought they’d fall, but he got control and steadied himself. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then took a shaky step.
He forced himself not to look at anything except the next footfall. He felt the fog thinning, he could imagine himself being riddled with machine gun fire and falling. His breath came in quick gasps and his legs burned with the extra weight.
It surprised him when Rattinger’s dead weight was suddenly pulled from his back. Relief flooded him. He was across the ridge and Rattinger was being hauled to the safety of the rocks by three GIs. Lieutenant Callow slapped his back and pushed him toward the cover, “Good job, Mankowitz. Good job.”
8
Colonel Yamasaki pulled his binoculars from his eyes and nodded to Captain Wada, standing by his side. “What are the reports?”
