Suicide River

by Len Levinson

  General Hawkins wanted to leave his bunker and join the fight, but he couldn't do that. He had to stay at the nerve center of his division and furnish leadership, although there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do except be a cheerleader at long distance. All his reserves were in the trenches below. Even his truck drivers and cooks were down there. There was nothing else he could do now except watch.

  General Hawkins lowered his binoculars and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Where in the hell is the Hundred Fourteenth? he asked himself. My men can't hold out much longer.

  Private Victor Yabalonka opened his eyes and looked around. He felt disoriented and didn't know where he was. His chest hurt terribly; he touched his hand to it. He lay on his back next to a machine gun, hearing rifle shots and the clash of bayonet against bayonet.

  He wondered if he was dreaming. Glancing around, he realized he wasn't alone. Next to him a soldier was sleeping, but then he realized the soldier wasn't sleeping at all. He was too motionless to be sleeping. He was dead.

  Yabalonka felt weird, as if he was losing his mind. What the hell's going on here? he wondered. He squinted his eyes and tried to figure out what had happened to him. His chest felt as though somebody had kicked it, and then suddenly he remembered everything.

  He'd been retreating with his buddies when he'd stopped to fire his rifle, and then he got hit. Sitting up, he touched the palm of his right hand to his chest and that's where it hurt. Something hard was in there. It was the handy pocket Bible the Reverend Billie Jones had given him. He reached into the pocket and pulled it out, holding it up to the moonlight.

  The front of the Bible was smashed in. He touched his finger to the center of the cover, and felt a chunk of lead. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “It's a bullet.”

  He realized with a jolt of astonishment that the Bible had stopped the bullet! The Bible had saved his life! Yabalonka, the ardent atheist and former Communist sympathizer, had been saved by a Bible!

  Yabalonka was dumbfounded. It was so weird. He wasn't a superstitious person and tried to tell himself it was just a coincidence that the Bible was in the right place at the right time, but then he opened the Bible to the page where the Japanese bullet finally stopped, and his eyes fell on Jeremiah, 32:27:

  Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh:

  is there any thing too hard for me?

  Yabalonka's jaw dropped open. His heart thundered in his chest. What the hell's going on here? he wondered. He felt eerie and light-headed. Then he heard running footsteps coming closer. He looked up from his handy pocket Bible and saw a Japanese officer running toward him out of the bright moonlight.

  "Banzai!” the officer screamed, holding his samurai sword high over his head.

  Yabalonka realized the officer was headed straight for him with the intention of chopping off his head. Yabalonka dropped the handy pocket Bible that had just saved his life, and bounded to his feet. He jumped out of the foxhole and dived toward the Japanese officer just as the Japanese officer began his downswing.

  Yabalonka's big strong longshoreman's hands closed around the slim wrist of the Japanese officer, and Yabalonka yanked to the side, causing the Japanese officer to lose his balance. The Japanese officer fell to the ground, and Yabalonka landed on top of him, jabbing his elbow into the Japanese officer's eye. Yabalonka slammed his forearm against the Japanese officer's head, stunning the Japanese officer mildly, but the Japanese officer struggled to get out from underneath Yabalonka, so he could swing at him again with his samurai sword.

  Yabalonka took aim and punched the Japanese officer in the mouth, and that did it. The Japanese officer was stunned, and Yabalonka grabbed the samurai sword, jumping to his feet. Raising the sword over his head, he swung the blade down at the dazed officer, cracking his head open, blood and brains spattering in all directions.

  Yabalonka spun around. Three Japanese soldiers charged him, aiming their rifles and bayonets at his chest. Their commanding officer had just been killed by Yabalonka, and they wanted revenge. Yabalonka dodged to his right and swung sideways with the sword, chopping off the head of one Japanese soldier. The others danced around on their toes, trying to get into position for straight bayonet thrusts, and Yabalonka swung from the side again, striking one Japanese soldier on his left biceps muscle, busting through the bone, and the Japanese soldier's arm fell to the ground. The Japanese soldier suffered instant shock and his eyes closed as he dropped on top of his arm.

  The third Japanese soldier thrust his rifle and bayonet toward Yabalonka's chest, and Yabalonka jumped backwards, swinging down with the samurai sword, connecting with the top of the rifle, driving it toward the ground, then backswinging quickly, slicing off the Japanese soldier's head. The head flew into the air, and Yabalonka paused to catch his breath.

  He looked around and saw GIs and Japanese soldiers fighting hand to hand all around him. The Japanese soldiers obviously outnumbered GIs, but the GIs fought back gallantly in a mad frenzy, trying to save their skins, but every GI knew he could go at any moment.

  Yabalonka knew the same thing. He also knew he could turn tail and run away, but Yabalonka was an American soldier and wouldn't retreat unless ordered to do so.

  The only thing to do was fight, and the best form of defense was offense. Yabalonka raised the bloody gory samurai sword over his head and charged into the midst of the melee. Swinging the sword down, he slammed it between the shoulder and neck of a Japanese soldier, busting the Japanese soldier's collarbone and several of his ribs. Pulling the sword loose, Yabalonka grit his teeth and swung sideways, chopping off the head of a Japanese soldier. On the backswing he lopped off the arm of another Japanese soldier. Swinging low, he took off the leg of the next Japanese soldier. He charged into Japanese soldiers, wielding the heavy samurai sword as if it were made of balsa wood, chopping, slicing, severing limbs from bodies, cutting a wide swath through the middle of the battlefield, leaving a trail of mutilated Japanese soldiers behind him.

  In the Eighty-first Division command post bunker on top of the hill, General Hawkins had just made a telephone connection with the headquarters of the Persecution Task Force, and found himself speaking with Colonel MacKenzie.

  “I demand the right to speak with General Hall!” General Hawkins said.

  “He can't come to the phone right now,” Colonel MacKenzie replied calmly. “Can I take a message?”

  General Hawkins was so angry he thought the top of his head would blow off. ‘Tell him if the Hundred Fourteenth doesn't get here within the next ten minutes, the Japs will break through! That means all you people back there near the airfields had better arm youselves and prepare for the worst!”

  “Hang on a moment,” Colonel MacKenzie replied.

  General Hawkins stood next to his telephone switchboard, hearing shots and shouts outside the bunker. He also could hear an artillery bombardment in the distance, as American cannons plastered Japanese staging areas, trying to prevent more Japanese soldiers from reinforcing their front line.

  General Hall's voice came over the wire. “What's the problem, Hawkins?” he asked in no-nonsense clipped words.

  “We can't hold the Japs off much longer,” General Hawkins replied. “If the Hundred Fourteenth doesn't arrive soon, and I mean soon, we'll be wiped out and you'd better start running for the hills.”

  “Don't tell me you'll be wiped out!” General Hall said with a hard edge to his voice. “You'd better not get wiped out! You'd better contain those Japs or else I'll hold you personally responsible!”

  “Is that so!” General Hawkins shouted angrily. “Well who's responsible for the lack of preparedness of your command prior to this attack, when your command knew it was going to take place!”

  “I don't answer your questions,” General Hall replied. “You answer my questions, and you follow my orders. I'm ordering you to contain those goddamn Japs until help arrives—is that clear?”

  General Hawkins swallowed his rage and pride, and it went down like
a big lump of shit. “Yes sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  General Hawkins hung up the telephone. All his staff officers and aides were looking at him.

  “Our orders are to contain the Japs until help arrives,” he told them.

  They didn't reply, because what could they say? Not one of them thought they could stop the Japs, but they had to try.

  The wooden plank door of the bunker was flung open, and a sergeant covered with dust and filth burst inside. He looked around and saw General Hawkins.

  “Sir,” he said, “the Japs are on their way up this hill!”

  “Everybody out!” General Hawkins shouted.

  The officers in the bunker adjusted their helmets on their heads and drew their Colt .45 service pistols. General Hawkins inserted a cigarette into his ivory holder, lit it up, and yanked out his Colt .45. His long legs carried him to the door of the bunker, and everybody got out of his way. He stepped outside and saw the trench network cut into the hill just below the bunker.

  “Here they come!” somebody shouted, and General Hawkins heard commotion and consternation on the other side of the hill, the side that faced the front line of fighting.

  General Hawkins ran down the hill ten yards and jumped into the trench with his Headquarters Company soldiers and the officers from his staff. Everyone moved toward the side of the trench that faced the front line, and General Hawkins pushed his way through the crowd, the cigarette and ivory holder sticking out the side of his mouth.

  “They're coming!” somebody shouted.

  “Out of my way!” General Hawkins said.

  Machine guns opened fire, and soldiers stepped aside so General Hawkins could see what was going on. He looked down the hill and saw waves of Japanese soldiers charging up its side, having broken through the trench system below. Soldiers and officers fired their rifles and pistols at the Japanese soldiers, and many of the Japanese soldiers bit the dust, but the rest kept coming. Machine gun nests mowed them down, but for every Jap who fell, two more took his place and raced up the hill toward its crest.

  "Fix bayonets!” General Hawkins screamed. "Prepare to repel the bastards!”

  Japanese soldiers rushed toward the top of the hill, and the American soldiers and officers got ready behind their sandbags, firing their weapons as quickly as they could. They shot volley after volley at the advancing Japanese soldiers. General Hawkins held his Colt .45 automatic pistol in both hands and aimed at a Japanese only six feet away. He pulled the trigger, and the pistol kicked violently in his hands. The big fat bullet hit the Japanese soldier in the chest and knocked him backwards onto his ass. The Japanese soldier went flat on the ground. A tiny hole was in the front of his shirt, and a gigantic crater in the center of his back where the bullet had blasted out.

  General Hawkins and his men maintained their vicious hail of fire, and Japanese bodies piled up high in front of the trench.

  SEVENTEEN . . .

  Butsko knelt behind the sandbags and peered through the jungle. He knew the Japs were coming; he could smell them in the humid night air. He also could hear them. A huge number of Japanese soldiers roamed through the jungle, looking for American supplies. They'd broken through sections of the Eighty-first Division line and were on their way to the Tadji airfields and the port of Aitape.

  The medical headquarters had been protected by the main fortifications of the Eighty-first Division, but now there were breeches in that defense. An hour ago General Hawkins sent soldiers back to protect the hospital, but the equivalent of a company wouldn't be much against the hordes of Japanese soldiers behind the Eighty-first Division main line of defense.

  Butsko thought the situation extremely serious. The soldiers General Hawkins sent were truck drivers and clerks who didn't know much about fighting, but they manned the barricades anyway, their mouths set in grim lines, waiting for the inevitable shoot-out.

  Butsko glanced to his left and right and thought, These are the guys I'm gonna die with. He wished some men from his recon platoon were there to help him out. The ones he was stuck with were unfit for the infantry, which meant they were in pretty bad shape. Most wore thick glasses, so they weren't exactly crack shots. Others suffered from trick knees, over-weight, underweight, asthma, nerve conditions, the shakes and shudders, and numerous other physical and psychological ailments.

  And then there were the wounded soldiers with bandages on their arms and legs, some barely able to stand, others barely able to hold rifles, but they were prepared to fight it out with the Japs heading toward them and coming closer with every passing second.

  Butsko wasn't in such great shape himself. His leg still wasn't completely healed and he couldn't walk well; he limped everywhere and running was out of the question.

  A truck arrived with more wounded soldiers. Inside the tents, doctors and nurses continued to operate on the injured. An atmosphere of doom pervaded the area. Everyone knew the score and figured they'd be lucky if they lived another hour.

  The first faint glimmer of dawn was on the horizon. Butsko wondered why the Eighty-first hadn't been reinforced yet. He knew there were thousands of troops in the Persecution Task Force. Where the fuck are they?

  Sounds of Japanese soldiers in the jungle came closer. Butsko crouched lower behind the sandbags and gazed straight ahead. He saw figures moving behind the leaves and trees on the other side of the road, and knew they had to be Japs.

  “There they are,” Butsko said to the men near him.

  He heard Japanese soldiers chattering in the jungle, making plans. Butsko saw more figures in the jungle as additional Japanese soldiers arrived on the scene. Butsko wanted to smoke his last cigarette, but the lit end of a cigarette could be seen a long way at night, and he didn't want to get shot so early in the game.

  Butsko spat a lunger onto the ground and looked into the jungle again. It appeared to be filling up with Japs. Evidently they were massing for a big banzai attack.

  “Get ready,” he told the men near him.

  Their bayonets were fixed and their M 1 rifles were loaded. Some of them gasped for breath. Others’ hands trembled. They knew they'd be in some deep shit very soon, and didn't look forward to being stabbed by a Japanese bayonet.

  Butsko continued to look at the jungle. It was filling up with more Japs. He figured they were drawn to the area by the lights inside the tents where the doctors and nurses were operating. The Japanese soldiers knew they were behind American lines and wanted to find the tents full of food that they'd heard so much about.

  "Banzai!” screamed a Japanese officer in the woods.

  A mass of Japanese soldiers debouched from the jungle and crossed the road, charging toward the sandbag barricades, their officers waving their samurai swords over their heads, the men shaking their rifles and bayonets and screaming.

  The GIs opened fire, and the first fusillade cut down many of the Japanese soldiers. The rest ran forward, crossing the clearing in front of the tents, the same clearing where wounded GIs sat around and sang songs on nights past.

  Volleys of fire tore through the Japs, and they dropped like flies, but the others maintained the charge, and they only had a short distance to go. They closed it rapidly, bullets whistling all around them, many bullets striking down their comrades, and then they were only ten yards from the sandbag barricade.

  Butsko jumped to his feet and pulled the trigger of his submachine gun. It bucked and kicked in his hands, and its bullets shredded the head of a Japanese soldier directly in front of him. Another Japanese soldier leapt into the air, soaring over the sandbags, and Butsko leveled a stream of bullets at his chest, mangling the Japanese soldier's lungs, heart, and major arteries.

  Butsko dodged to the side so the Japanese soldier wouldn't land on top of him. He fired at another Japanese soldier jumping through the air and tore up his intestines. Pivoting to the right, he pulled the trigger of his submachine gun and shot a Japanese soldier in the shoulder. Pivoting to the left, he mangled the neck and shoulde
rs of another Japanese soldier.

  The Japanese infantry companies were too much for American truck drivers, clerks, and medical orderlies. Japanese soldiers poured over the barricades and forced the GIs back. A wounded Japanese soldier lying on the ground tried to grab Butsko's ankle, and Butsko kicked him in the face. Butsko swung his submachine gun from side to side, mowing down Japanese soldiers, and they fell at his feet, blood pouring from holes in their bodies. A whole slew of Japanese soldiers ran toward him and he aimed his submachine at them, pulling the trigger.

  Click!

  The submachine gun was empty. Butsko reached into his bandolier for another clip, but didn't have time to get it out. The Japanese soldiers were already on top of him, and he couldn't run away because of his bum leg.

  Butsko threw the submachine gun at them, then picked up an M 1 rifle and bayonet lying in the arms of a dead American soldier on the ground. Butsko pointed the rifle and bayonet at the Japanese soldiers in front of him and thrust forward. The bayonet plunged into the chest of a Japanese soldier, and Butsko turned the M 1 loose, diving at the next Japanese soldier, grabbing his rifle and bayonet and kneeing him in the balls. He pulled the rifle and bayonet out of his hands, spun around, and bashed the third Japanese soldier in the mouth with the rifle butt. The Japanese soldier dropped to the ground, but another was behind him, and he lunged at Butsko with his rifle and bayonet.

  Butsko parried the blow expertly and delivered a vertical buttstroke to the Japanese soldier's jaw, snapping his head back. Butsko raised his rifle and bayonet in the air and slashed downward, the blade glancing off the helmet of a Japanese soldier and slicing open his shoulder. The Japanese soldier bellowed in pain and Butsko kicked him in the balls. The Japanese soldier fell to the ground, blood oozing from the massive gash on his shoulder, clutching his shattered balls, and Butsko stepped over his writhing body, getting low and shoving his rifle and bayonet into the stomach of another Japanese soldier, then pulling back and smashing the next Japanese soldier in the chops with his rifle butt.