by Chris Glatte
He reluctantly turned his back on the advancing soldiers. If they saw him, the first he’d know about it would be a bullet slamming into his back. The thought sent another surge of adrenaline through him, and he had to force himself to slow down.
He stopped after twenty feet and glanced back. He was above the valley now and could clearly see six soldiers within sixty yards. They were searching the ground in front and to the sides, not willing to dash forward. He turned and took twenty more slow steps. He concentrated on each step. Slipping now would certainly give his position away.
He pulled himself around a corner and faced the valley. The enemy soldiers were close, but he’d be difficult to see tucked into the bend in the wall. He pulled back and resumed his slow, steady climb. He couldn’t see the others but knew they were up there with their weapons aimed toward the enemy.
He stepped around a boulder and his right foot hung up, and he tripped. At the same instant, the whining zing of a bullet ricocheting off the boulder was followed immediately by a rifle crack from the valley. He spun and saw the deep chip the bullet had taken from the rock. If he hadn’t fallen, he’d be dead.
He crab walked backwards until he was completely hidden behind the boulder. He glanced up the hill. The others hadn’t opened fire. Perhaps they’d left him. He shook the ridiculous thought out of his head. Since it was only one shot and was deadly accurate, he surmised he’d been in a sniper’s sights. The thought turned his guts to ice.
He took off his helmet and, holding the lip, extended it out the side. There was an immediate shot, and it ripped his helmet from his hand. It clattered and rolled past the boulder and out of sight.
This time there was answering fire from his team. The sound of small arm’s fire rolling down the little canyon made him smile despite the situation. He wasn’t alone out here. The rest of the Japanese—alerted to their location—opened fire. The bullets weren’t aimed at him, but he could still hear their deadly buzzing as they passed overhead. He wondered if the sniper had shifted his focus upward as well.
He went to the other side of the boulder which leaned against the soft canyon wall. He scraped the mud and dirt away until he could prop the rifle between it. He slowly pushed it forward and positioned himself behind the scope, wondering if he’d see the bullet that would end his life. He swallowed his fear and scanned the valley. Targets were everywhere, but they were ordinary infantry troops, firing uphill at his comrades. He needed to find the sniper before giving his position away.
He heard Hammond yelling down to him, “Mack, are you hit? Mack!”
He tore his eye from the scope. The last thing he wanted was a squad-mate braving the fire to come for him. He yelled back, “I’m okay. Keep ‘em busy. Sniper’s got me pinned.”
A bullet smacked the front of the boulder and ricocheted with a bizarre whining sound. He put his eye back to the scope and searched. He concentrated on the area to his right since the shooter didn’t seem to see him but could definitely see the other side of the boulder. Fire from above continued but tapered off. Hunter scanned, knowing his team didn’t have enough ammo to keep firing indefinitely.
He centered his sight on a clump of grass at the extreme right of his field of view. He cupped his hand and yelled, “Hey Tojo—fuck off!” This time he saw the puff of smoke and the muted muzzle flash. The bullet thumped the left side of the canyon wall. “I see you,” he whispered to himself.
He concentrated on the spot, but all he could see was the rifle barrel, not the shooter. He considered firing on the gun itself, but it would be like hitting a dime-sized target at 200 yards. He wasn’t a trained sniper. He’d only alert him, and he’d simply move and shoot him in the back as he tried to escape. He had to kill the sonofabitch.
He took his eyes from the scope and looked down the canyon. A soldier was taking the first few cautious steps up the canyon. He adjusted his aim and waited for the soldier to move a few more feet. His torso came into full view and Hunter squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked and he watched his bullet drill through the soldier’s neck. The soldier staggered and blood drenched his tunic. He finally dropped like a sack of rice.
Hunter worked the bolt and adjusted the crosshairs back to the sniper’s position. He saw the barrel move in his direction. His finger caressed the trigger, waiting patiently. He felt his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. The enemy sniper knew where he was but needed to adjust his body to line up the shot.
Finally, Hunter saw his head through the grass. He wore a cloth hat instead of a helmet. The Japanese put his eye to his scope and for an instant, Hunter imagined he could see the surprise and fear on his face. He pressured the trigger and the bullet drilled through the sniper’s shoulder. Hunter dropped at the same instant the enemy’s weapon fired. It was well off the mark.
He smoothly worked the bolt and silently cursed his shooting skills. Was the sniper out of commission? He’d certainly hit him, but how bad? These Japanese were tough sonsofbitches, despite what they thought of them back home. If he checked, he might get drilled between the eyes.
He yelled, “I’m coming up!”
Hammond bellowed, “Covering fire!”
Hunter didn’t try for stealth; he ran as fast as his aching legs would carry him. Bullets smacked all around him and he felt a tug on his trousers. He kept his legs churning as his teammates poured fire down-slope.
He finally saw them up ahead. They were tucked into a curve in the canyon, propped behind boulders and burning through precious ammo. He made one last push.
Hammond reached out for him with a broad grin on his face. Hunter felt a hot poker in his leg and he suddenly couldn’t make either of his legs work. Hammond’s face changed to horror as Hunter fell hard. He rolled onto his back and stared at the darkening sky. He wished he could look upon one more clear starry night in Montana instead of this foggy grayness. Darkness closed in and he felt cold and alone.
12
Private Mankowitz remembered little after tussling with the Japanese at Point Able. Four stretcher bearers had whisked him off the hill. He’d gone in and out of consciousness as the rough trip down the mountain took its toll. They hauled him into a dank canvas tent that smelled like death. The last thing he remembered was the blood-soaked white apron the surgeon wore and his tired, light blue eyes above his surgical mask staring down at him.
The next thing he knew, he opened his eyes and saw he was in a dark tent beside other wounded GIs. He turned his head, first one way, then the other. Most of the GIs were covered in seeping bandages and were unconscious. The soldier in the next bed had his entire head wrapped in gauze. Only his mouth and nose were open to the air.
He had no idea how long he’d been out. He stared up at the dark canvas ceiling. It was rippling and snapping as the relentless wind continued its assault. He couldn’t decide if it was day or night, but the wind told him he was still on Attu Island.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall how he’d gotten here. Images of screaming Japanese soldiers flashed through his mind. He cringed, remembering slicing the sword across a Japanese soldier’s back. He remembered how it felt as it sliced and tore flesh and bone. He remembered watching the soldier writhe in agony, arching his back unnaturally as he tried to reach the gaping wound. He wondered if he’d survived. Was he still out there, slowly bleeding out? He hoped not. No one deserved that.
His right side ached. He lifted the sheets and saw gauze bandages wrapped around his waist. He remembered the soldier’s bayonet slashing his side and awful ripping sensation. It hurt much worse now than it did when it happened.
An orderly walked by carrying a bucket overflowing with bloody bandages. Mankowitz tried to lift his head and nearly passed out from the pain. He couldn’t keep himself from crying out. The orderly pivoted toward him. “You’re awake. I’ll fetch Doctor Bakerman. He’s just finished surgery.”
Mankowitz let his head fall onto the pillow. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his breathing was labored. His si
de felt as though hot knives were cutting him. He closed his eyes.
Seemingly moments later, a hand touched his shoulder and he jolted awake. Did I fall asleep? The same watery blue eyes he remembered, stared down at him. The doctor’s off-white mask was pulled down, covering his chin. He had captain’s bars on his floppy hat. He looked tired, but his smile was kind, and his eyes were full of concern. “How you feeling, Private?”
Mankowitz tried to speak, but his throat and mouth didn’t seem to produce spit. He finally croaked, “Like I’ve been skewered.”
The doctor smiled and checked the I.V. sticking into the crook of his elbow. “I did your surgery. Seems like ages ago. You want some water?” Mankowitz nodded and tried to sit up again but winced in pain. The doctor implored, “Don’t sit up. I’ll do that for you.” He reached behind his head and lifted. He was surprisingly strong, firm, and careful.
He tilted a canteen onto Mankowitz’s lips. It was the best tasting water he’d ever experienced, and he closed his eyes as he gulped. The doctor stopped the flow far too early. “Easy does it. Just a little bit at a time. I’ve got fluids going into your veins that’ll keep you hydrated. Don’t wanna flood you.” He gently laid him back onto the pillow. “Your wound was relatively clean. The Jap that got you kept his blade sharp. It was deep and caused a lot of tissue damage, but you got off easy.” He pulled back the sheet to check his handiwork. “They changed the dressing an hour ago, so I won’t check it. It’s gonna hurt like hell for a while. I can’t give you morphine, we need it for more critical patients.”
Mankowitz shook his head, “That’s okay. Save it for the others, sir.” He looked past the doctor at the rows of casualties. “How—how long have I been here?”
The doctor checked the clipboard and scowled. “They brought you in a week ago today.”
It stunned Mankowitz. “A week? Wh—what’s happening with the war…the battle I mean, sir?”
He looked bemused, “As good as can be expected I suppose. We’ve pushed the Japs back into the Chichagof Valley. We’re closing on them from all sides. They’re cut off and won’t last long.” He glanced at the room full of patients, “But as you can see, we’re still taking a lot of casualties.” He rubbed his hands together, then crossed them over his chest. “Nips don’t know when to give up, I guess.”
Mankowitz shook his head. “Do you know anything about my unit? Charlie Company, Second Platoon?”
He shook his head. “Nah. But you’ve had visitors. I suspect they were from your unit. Now that you’re awake, we'll move you to more appropriate accommodations. This ward’s for post-surgical and critical patients. You’re gonna be fine, Private.”
Mankowitz nodded and brought his hand up, intending to salute, but the captain took it, and they shook. Mankowitz looked him in the eye, “Thank you Captain…”
“Bakerman. Captain Bakerman. You’re welcome. Don’t do too much too soon. You’ll need a few months to heal.”
Mankowitz nodded, “Yes sir.”
“Once we kill the rest of the Japs, we’ll get you off this island.” Hearing a doctor speak so wantonly of killing didn’t sound right, but this was war, and he supposed the captain was as much a soldier as the rest of them.
They moved Mankowitz to a larger tent the next day. His I.V. was taken out and he took his meals sitting up even though his side still burned like fire. He wasn’t fit enough to walk around, but they encouraged him to do whatever exercises he could do laying on his back. He felt as weak as a newborn puppy, but he did what he could, determined to get outta there sooner than expected.
The other patients were victims of various battles he hadn’t been a part of. Some had been wounded on the first day. They were the ones limping around helping the more serious cases.
After he’d been there a day, he was sitting up on propped pillows reading the tattered remains of a Life Magazine printed months before. A filthy, short GI, and an equally filthy, lanky soldier approached the foot of his bed. “Stop pretending you can read, Mank.”
Mankowitz dropped the magazine and his smile reached ear to ear. “Harwick, Lance! Holy shit, you guys look like death warmed over.”
Harwick shook his head and Lance scowled, “Fuck you too, Mank. You don’t look too hot yourself.”
Harwick jibed, “Went to the surgical ward and when we didn’t find you thought maybe you died…but no such luck.”
Mankowitz laughed and his side sent needles of pain. “Don’t—don’t make me laugh.”
“How you feeling?” asked Lance.
He shrugged, “Fine, I guess. Doc says he expects a full recovery.” They both nodded and Mankowitz asked, “So tell me what’s been going on. I don’t know what the hell’s happening out there.”
Harwick’s face darkened. “Well, we took Point Able the day you got wounded. There were a few more bunkers and trenches up the hill. Us and K company closed on ‘em from two sides. They didn’t last long.” He shook his head and stared at his hands. “We lost Monty. Jap was playing possum and when he turned him over, he touched off a grenade. Killed ‘em both.”
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” Mankowitz sighed.
Lance added, “They pulled us off the line for a few days after that. We visited you, but you were out cold.” His face darkened too, “We just got done helping out with The Nose.”
“The Nose? What the hell’s that?”
“Piece of land sticking out into the valley. Japs were thick as thieves in there. Bombed the crap outta them, but the only way to get ‘em out was one by one. The Seventeenth got the brunt of things—lost a lot of men. They called us in to help clean up the pockets.”
Harwick nodded somberly. “Now we got ‘em pinned into the Chichicoo, or whatever the hell they call it.”
“Chichagof,” corrected Lance.
“Yeah, that’s it. The troops they landed near Holz Bay hooked up with the Provisional Scout Company and took the rest of the Jap artillery, then pushed ‘em over the hill and met up with the rest of us. Japs got the sea to their backs and they’re surrounded on every side.” He blew out a long breath, “Won’t be long now.”
Lance nodded, “Of course the stupid sons of bitches won’t surrender. We’ll have to kill every last one of ‘em.”
“I’ve got a buddy in that Scout Company. Heard anything else about them?”
Harwick shrugged, “Heard they had a hard time of it, but that’s nothing new.”
Lance chimed in, “I saw some of ‘em. Lot of walking wounded. I heard they ran out of food and didn’t eat for three days.”
A soldier limping past heard the tail-end of the exchange and stopped. “You heard right. Damned fog kept the resupply planes from finding us. But we got through it alright—for the most part.”
Lance puffed out his chest, “Mind your own business, why don’t you.”
The soldier puffed his chest but before either of them could escalate things, Mankowitz asked, “You know a guy named Mack Hunter?”
The soldier’s glare faded, and he smiled, “Sure I do. Mack’s in my unit.” He pointed, “In fact, he’s right over there.”
Mankowitz turned too quickly and winced in pain but swallowed his yelp. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. “He’s here? Is—is he alright?”
The soldier looked alarmed, seeing Mankowitz’s face turn white. “A hell of a lot better than you look.” He grinned, “I’ll bring him over, you rest easy.”
They watched him go to the other side of the sprawling tent, weaving his way through rows upon rows of cots. Harwick shook his head. “What’re the chances of that?” he wondered.
“I knew he was on the island…least I figured he was. Their troop ship split off from us, but…” he shrugged, “Well, I just had a feeling he was here too.”
The soldier led a solid-looking man sporting crutches along the lanes of wounded. Mankowitz’s smile broadened as he recognized his old buddy. “Mack!” he hollered.
The soldier on crutches pulled up short and he smiled and s
hook his head in wonder. “Mank? Is that you?”
Mankowitz spouted, “In the flesh!”
Lance and Harwick parted and Hunter nearly fell over himself getting to the bedside. He leaned down and hugged Mankowitz, who grimaced in pain, but didn’t want to let go. Hunter pulled back, “Oh sorry. You’re wounded.”
Mankowitz nodded, “Yeah, my right side.” He looked his old friend up and down. “You too? They shoot you in your big ass?”
“No, you son of a bitch. They got my leg. Sniper.” He looked Mankowitz up and down, “How'd you get it?”
The thought made him cringe. “Bayonet. Son of a bitch skewered me.”
Harwick nodded and added, “That was right before Mank gave him the samurai sword treatment.” He chopped his hand, mimicking the move.
Hunter looked from Harwick, then back to Mankowitz in disbelief. “That true?” Mankowitz’s face reddened and he shrugged. Hunter shook his head slow, “I wanna hear all about that.”
Lance stepped forward, “By the way—I stowed that thing with your stuff. I told the orderlies if it wasn’t there when you got outta here, there’d be hell to pay.”
Mankowitz wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The sword was war booty, but it would also remind him of that fateful day every time he looked at it. “Thanks, Gary.”
Introductions were made all around and they jawed and joked until the orderlies had to escort the visitors out and force the patients back into their beds.
Hunter woke in a cold sweat and for an instant, thought he was back in the canyon being hunted by the Japanese sniper. In this rendition, he couldn’t move, and the sniper’s shots got closer and closer.
He shook himself the rest of the way awake. He took deep breaths, in and out slowly, until the harrowing nightmare slowly faded. He was tired but feared falling back into the dream. The single light gave the inside of the tent a soft glow. He wondered what time it was and figured it had to be near dawn. No sense trying to sleep, it’s all he’d been doing since he arrived a week and a half ago.
