Shrouded Glory: A WWII NOVEL

by Chris Glatte

  Captain Wada didn’t need to review the document noting various units and engagements. “Our troops are holding fast and causing considerable damage to the Americans, sir. The only setback has occurred at the Pass overlooking the valley. Our men have successfully pulled back from that position as you ordered and have consolidated further west. Your plan to fortify the hilltops instead of the beach-head worked brilliantly, sir.”

  Colonel Yamasaki looked sideways at his second in command. “A plan you were against, Captain.”

  Wada lowered his head and nodded, then glared at Sergeant Ishida standing on the other side of Yamasaki, who was doing his best to pretend he hadn’t heard. “True, but I see the brilliance now. The fog hides us, yet we can see them in the valleys below and engage them from afar.”

  Yamasaki nodded, “Unorthodox—I know—but the terrain and weather work to our advantage.”

  Wada smiled grimly, “Once we whittle the Americans down enough, they’ll run back to their beach-head and we can crush them with our artillery.”

  Yamasaki scowled. He knew his small force of 2,600 veterans wouldn’t be able to keep the Americans from eventually taking Attu. Japan promised reinforcements but getting supplies to this far-off land through some of the most treacherous seas known to man, was a costly task. A few submarines had visited and offloaded supplies, but there was never enough.

  He wasn’t bitter about it, just realistic. He didn’t suffer from delusions—he was an old hand and understood his position. The Americans far outnumbered them. They were strong, and the Imperial Japanese Navy’s effort to disrupt their supplies and beachhead had failed. He would hold as long as possible and inflict as many casualties as possible, but without strong reinforcements, the Americans would take their island back.

  The mention of their artillery reminded him that most of his guns were stationed near the American’s northern landing zones. “How are things progressing at Holz Bay?”

  The landings at Massacre Bay had been expected, but the landings to the north surprised him, and put his artillery pieces, and a good portion of his ammunition, in danger.

  Wada nodded curtly. “It appears to be a two-pronged attack. The main force is attacking along the northern shore of the western arm of the bay. They are making headway, but our guns can shoot down on them with impunity and we’re inflicting heavy casualties. The second force is attacking down a side canyon. They are a smaller force and, we’ve kept them from breaking out and joining their comrades.”

  Yamasaki nodded sagely. “The smaller force is a feint to keep our troops occupied and facing west away from the real threat coming from Holz Bay.” Captain Wada nodded his agreement.

  Yamasaki squinted and looked up at the thick cloud cover. On and off snow showers plagued the day and would likely continue. Since landing on the island a year ago, he still wasn’t completely used to the terrible climate. During the winter months, the wind could knock a man off his feet. In the early days, dozens of soldiers had succumbed to the bitter cold while on guard duty, or simply got lost and froze to death only meters from salvation. Thankfully, his men were well acclimated, and their thick, well-made winter gear was more than adequate to keep them relatively warm and dry.

  “Order Captain Imai to leave a company in the canyon to contain the smaller force. I want the rest of his forces concentrating on the threat from the east. They are trying to squeeze us into the Chichagof Valley, but we must keep them from taking our artillery in Holz Bay. Without it, we will be in trouble.”

  Captain Wada clicked his heels and gave a slight bow, “Right away, sir.” He spun and hustled along the trench leading to a well-concealed bunker. Inside, there was an immaculately maintained radio set manned by an alert soldier. Over the past year, Yamasaki insisted on digging trenches and laying communication cable throughout the region, connecting strongpoints and far-off outposts. It allowed for instant, uninterrupted communications with his commanders. He received constant updates almost as soon as events occurred and could direct his men to new threats with ease and with a full understanding of the situation.

  Colonel Yamasaki watched the young officer disappear into the bunker. He sighed and shook his head, speaking low to his highest-ranking NCO. “He thinks we can win.”

  Sergeant Ishida, who’d been with Colonel Yamasaki since their first foray into China way back in ’20, nodded sagely. “He is young, naïve, and brave. A lot like a young Lieutenant I once knew.”

  Yamasaki grinned, then lifted his chin and turned serious. “I’m proud of all of them. I’ve never commanded better men. I only hope their lives aren’t being wasted.”

  Ishida shook his head and his mouth turned down at the corners, accentuating his wrinkles. “They will die in battle for their homeland. A soldier cannot ask for more, sir.”

  “We’ve been through a lot, Sergeant Ishida. I’m glad you’ll be by my side when it all ends.”

  “Begging your pardon, but your pessimism doesn’t suit you, sir.”

  “It is not pessimism. Indeed, I’m hopeful that our sacrifice will teach the Americans a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

  Ishida nodded his approval and looked him in the eye. “I couldn’t ask for a better commander. We’ll make them pay for every bloody yard.”

  Hunter was colder than he ever remembered being. He’d been in countless cold weather situations in his life, but he’d always had plenty of warm clothes, food, water, and could warm up around a campfire. The clothing the Army issued was decent winter weather gear, but once it got wet, all bets were off. Without extra socks, they could never dry their feet and exposure cases mounted quickly.

  He’d been more fortunate than some. He’d helped a few GIs off the exposed ridgeline. They could barely walk. When they made it to the CP, he watched the overworked medics peel their boots and socks off. Their feet were battered with trench foot and frostbite. The GIs were in agony, and the smell was enough to make his strong stomach churn. Despite the CP being out of the wind and elements, he’d left as soon as possible.

  After the attack the night before, they’d retreated to their original positions. He hunkered in the same hole he’d hunkered in yesterday. Unlike yesterday, the air resupply plane couldn’t find them through the dense fog and clouds. After an hour of circling, the incessant engine noises finally faded. Soon after, they got the word to go to half rations.

  Hunter shivered and pulled himself into a tight ball beneath the dark green poncho. He’d been on alert for the past two hours and was glad to be relieved. He was exhausted, but the biting cold wouldn’t allow him the long streaks of sleep his body craved. He slipped in and out of consciousness in frustrating starts and stops.

  Someone tapped his leg and he startled. Hammond Whispered, “Hey Mack. Wake up. Come on, we’ve got new orders.”

  Hunter felt drugged. He unwound his body from the fetal position and his muscles ached. His right leg was asleep, and he pounded on it, trying to get the circulation back. It took a long time and he worried he had frostbite. Finally, he felt the pins and needles coursing down his leg and into his foot. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn’t help laughing with relief.

  Hammond shook his head, “What the hell’s so damned funny, Mack?”

  Hunter kept rubbing his leg and grimacing. “I thought I’d let it go too far. Thought I had frostbite.” Hammond raised an eyebrow and Hunter explained. “Know what happens if frostbite gets too far?” Hammond shrugged and Hunter continued, “You get gangrene and they cut your damned foot off.”

  “You done bellyaching?” Hunter scowled at him and Hammond said, “Wilcox wants a patrol to find the Jap lines. Captain Willoughby got reports of enemy troops moving back and he wants to get an idea of what we’re facing. Sergeant Mavis sent me to round up Team One. We leave in an hour, so get your shit together and don’t forget to eat something.”

  Hunter sighed, then blew into his gloved hands. “We’re on half rations. I could barely function on full rations.”

  “Y
ou’re breaking my heart, Mack. Thought you were some kind of mountain man. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  Hunter shut his eyes and pictured the raging fire his father would have going back home in Montana. It was mid-May, but Montana could hold onto winter for a long time. He shook his head, “Nothing’s wrong.” He raised his hands to the spitting wet snow that was putting down a fresh layer of misery. “What could be wrong?”

  Hammond slapped his shoulder, “That’s the spirit.”

  “Where’d you say you were from again, Ham? California?”

  He lifted his chin proudly, “Born and raised in L.A. and proud of it.”

  “How’re you so damned comfortable in this weather? I mean, isn’t it 72 degrees and sunny every day?” Hammond grinned and looked around as though noticing the conditions for the first time. Hunter looked at him sideways, “You sure you’re not from Montana—or maybe Wyoming?”

  Hammond looked offended, “Hell no! I’m not a damned red-neck-hick like you. I’m a city boy.” He adjusted his helmet and leaned in, “Now get off your ass and let’s go kill us some Japs.”

  Hunter shook his head, “You make it sound like a carnival day or something.” Hammond stepped back and gave him a serious look. Hunter nodded, “I’ll be right there.”

  They left the relative safety of their holes and moved cautiously just below the ridgeline. An additional man, Corporal Minks from First Platoon tagged along. He replaced their sharpshooter, who’d contracted an extreme case of trench foot. Hunter admired Corporal Minks’s ’03 Springfield with the 2.75 power scope. Despite the harsh conditions, it looked to be in perfect condition and Minks cradled it like a newborn baby.

  Hunter was on point. Since the visibility wasn’t optimum, he was only a few yards in front of the next man, Sergeant Mavis. Mavis pushed him along, wanting to finish the mission before nightfall. Hunter didn’t like being pushed, especially since he’d be the one to run into the Japanese first, but understood not wanting to find their way back to their lines in the dark. Getting back without being shot by a friendly was tough enough during daylight. He repeated the call sign over and over in his head, Lilac and the countersign, Merry.

  Hunter had been dreading the mission, but now that his legs were moving and his blood was flowing, he was thankful. The fog was thick as ever, but there was no wind and the snow had stopped. The only sounds were their footfalls crunching through the inch-thick crust of ice covering the snow. He thought they must sound like a herd of elephants to anyone listening.

  After ten minutes, Sergeant Mavis got his attention with a low whistle. Mavis pointed downslope and Hunter veered that way. He made it twenty yards when his instincts kicked in and he stopped and crouched. He couldn’t see beyond the swirling fog, but he sensed something was close. Mavis scurried up beside him and gave him a questioning look. Hunter continued scanning, using all his senses.

  Mavis whispered in his ear, “What is it?”

  Hunter shook his head slow and whispered, “Dunno, but I think they’re close.”

  They hunched for a full minute before a human voice drifted from the mist. It was indistinct but left little doubt. It was difficult to gauge distance, but it sounded close—too close. Hunter got the feeling if the fog cleared, they’d be seen easily.

  Mavis kept his Thompson’s muzzle pointed toward the undulating voices and backed away slowly. Hunter waited a few seconds before following his assistant squad leader. As they backed away, they ran into the following GIs, and soon they were all backing away as silently as possible.

  The wind came up suddenly and the fog shifted and thinned. Hunter froze, seeing a dirty streak in the snow. The voices sounded clear as the wind carried them to his straining ears. Mavis saw him freeze and he did the same.

  Hunter pulled his carbine into his shoulder and made himself as small a target as possible. He desperately wanted to go prone, but the movement might draw unwanted attention.

  The scene opened up as though a thick veil was being pulled from his eyes. The dirty streak was a trench-line, and it was much closer than he originally thought. It was full of helmeted Japanese soldiers. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He settled his sights onto the nearest soldier’s face. His gloved finger barely touched the trigger. The fog continued to dissipate, and he knew the soldier would notice him any second. They were close enough to see and hear individual speakers. A soldier laughed and slapped his comrade’s back, as though congratulating him. What the hell were they so happy about? Didn’t they know they were hopelessly outnumbered and would die soon?

  The soldier filling his sights turned away from his comrades and faced directly at him. His eyes seemed to drill into him. Hunter willed himself to stay completely still. The soldier’s rifle was propped in front of him. If he made a move to bring it to bear, he’d shoot him between the eyes. The distance was twenty yards—he couldn’t miss. He wished he’d thought to free a grenade. He could pitch it directly into the trench and wreak havoc. But one false move and the soldier would know what he was facing. Hunter would kill him, but the others would shoot him in the back as he ran away.

  The Japanese soldier continued to stare at him, as though trying to decide what he was seeing. The wind shifted, sweeping down the slope, and the fog swirled between them. The Japanese soldier leaned forward, and his hand touched his rifle. Hunter put an ounce more pressure on the trigger. The fog thickened and rolled between them again. The brief, stark clarity ended. His finger moved to the trigger guard as the trench line and the Japanese soldier disappeared in a curtain of gray.

  He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and backed away slowly. Mavis’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. He nodded at Hunter and they moved back thirty yards.

  Mavis pulled them all together in a tight circle. They leaned their heads together and their breath mingled. “Holy shit, that was close,” he hissed. He looked Hunter in the eye, “You two were in a damned staring contest or something. I thought you were going to shoot him for sure.”

  Hunter’s voice felt raspy in his throat, “I—I almost did. He was reaching for his rifle. I think he thought I was a rock.” The relief of still being alive overwhelmed him and he squeezed his hand into a fist, trying to keep it from shaking. The adrenaline coursing through his body needed an outlet. He suddenly felt nauseous and light-headed. He took deep breaths and blew them out slow and steady.

  Corporal Minks grinned and nodded, “We should set up here. If the fog lifts again,” he stroked his scoped rifle lovingly, “I could ruin their day.”

  Hunter looked at him as though he’d grown an ear from his forehead. The last thing he wanted to do was hang around the place. He looked at Mavis and was shocked to see he was actually considering it. Hunter exchanged nervous glances with Harwick and Hammond. They seemed as shaken as Hunter and the rest of them.

  Finally, Mavis shook his head. “Our mission was to find their lines and report back.” He pulled his wet sleeve from his wrist and read the time. “Let’s get back to our lines. We can make it before dark.”

  The relief on the rest of the squad’s faces was clear as they spread out in a single-file line and retraced their steps.

  Minks caught up to Hunter, who was in the middle of the pack, relinquishing his point-man role to Harwick. “We could’ve really messed ‘em up, ya know. Popped a few of their skulls and gotten back in time for supper.”

  Hunter shook his head. He knew Minks by sight since he was in the same Company, but he’d never had more than a passing conversation with him. “Maybe next time.”

  Minks nodded sagely and looked as though they had cancelled Christmas, “Yeah—next time.”

  9

  Mankowitz counted his remaining ammunition. He had five clips for his M1 and four grenades. It was enough for now, but if 2nd Platoon was on this ridge longer than a day, they’d need a resupply or have to retreat across the ridgeline. The prospect of having to recross the exposed ridge terrified him.

  The thick f
og had allowed the rest of the platoon to cross with no more casualties. The rest of the company was still back there, covering Point Able from the protected ridge. There wasn’t enough room for more men on this side.

  There’d been a smattering of fire from the Japanese position, but nothing too intense. Lieutenant Callow ordered them to conserve ammunition and fire only if there was a high probability of a hit. There’d been a few opportunities, but the Japanese were as hunkered as the GIs.

  The day was waning toward evening and Mankowitz wasn’t looking forward to spending the night on this ridge. The wind was icy cold, and he had nothing except the inadequate clothes on his back. Their food and water supply was low, and sleep would be impossible.

  He huddled against Harwick and Lance. Lance’s voice was strained as he shivered. “We should attack tonight and get this shit over with, one way or another.”

  Harwick nodded his agreement. “We’ll freeze to death if we stay here and if we’re gonna die, I’d rather take a few Nips with me.”

  Mankowitz said, “We could rejoin the company once it’s dark.”

  Harwick looked offended, “I didn’t cross that damned ridge for nothing. We’re here now, I think we should roll those sons of bitches up.”

  Lance nodded, “I ain’t going back across that…especially at night.”

  There was silence as they shivered against each other. Mankowitz stared at the stiffening body of Private Rattinger. “I should’ve taken him the other way. Could’ve gotten him to an aid station. Why the hell did I bring him over here?”

  Harwick shook his head, “You didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t get him turned around and onto Callow’s back. You both would have fallen. Besides, he would have died anyway. He was gut shot.”

  Lance added, “Yeah. He didn’t have a chance. You cleared the way for the others to come across.”

  An M1 fired nearby and Private Montgomery cursed, “Take that, you slant-eyed little shit!” There was a flurry of return fire and the rocks chipped and the air was momentarily alive with snapping bullets. Montgomery hunkered a few yards away, laughing. He saw Mankowitz looking and called, “I got one. I’d been watching the son of a bitch and just knew he was gonna get out of his hole soon. Don’t know how, just knew he would. He paid for it.”