This attack was different from the last. The Japanese were gaining the advantage.
“We’re gonna have to fall back!” Gunny shouted. “Jamison, cool that barrel!” Jamison grabbed a can of water and poured it over the barrel of the .50 cal. It hissed with steam as the water streamed over it.
“Look!” I shouted.
Some of the men in our battalion’s defensive emplacements had fixed bayonets to their rifles and were charging the Japanese on the beach. The two lines collided, and their screams were nearly louder than the gunfire. The fighting was hand to hand, fierce and ferocious.
Gunny looked down to see three boxes of ammo left for the .50 cal. If he shot the big gun now, he risked hitting our own troops. Instead, he picked up his rifle and snapped on the bayonet. “Let’s go,” he said. Jamison grabbed his rifle and did the same, firing on the run. I snapped the strap tight on my helmet, scrambled over the sandbags, and followed Gunny and Jamison, running in a zigzag pattern.
Planes were still strafing the beach, and bullets danced along the sand as I ran, some of them missing me by mere inches. As we reached the battle line, Gunny and Jamison disappeared in the crush of bodies.
But I couldn’t follow them. A Japanese soldier crouched in front of me. I raised my rifle, pointed it at his chest, and pulled the trigger, but the gun did not fire. I had forgotten to rack a round into the chamber.
The man lurched forward and grabbed the rifle barrel as I tried desperately to work the bolt. We struggled and the gun slipped from my grasp, falling to the sand. The soldier grabbed my shirt and tried to throw me across his hip, but I was far too tall and he couldn’t get the right leverage. We grappled and I tried to pull my knife, but it must have fallen out of the scabbard. He was shouting over and over, his mouth right next to my ear, but for some reason I could not hear him.
I felt something collide with my legs and landed hard on my back on the ground. I looked around for the rifle, but it was nowhere to be found. The soldier was suddenly on top of me, but I bucked and threw him off. We both scrambled to our feet and faced each other. I had no weapon, but the soldier wielded a small sword. With a scream he charged forward and I froze. But to my surprise the soldier spun away. A red flower of blood appeared in the middle of his chest as he tumbled to the ground.
I spun around to see Jamison holding his pistol, smoke coming from the barrel. He had no doubt just saved my life. “Look alive, Tree!” he shouted. “Gunny’ll kill me if I let you die on my watch! Find a weapon! Stay right on my back.”
I glanced about and spotted a rifle lying in the sand. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or not, but right now it was finders, keepers. I picked it up and didn’t even think to see if it was loaded or not. Just holding it made me feel better. Another Japanese soldier charged at me, and I pulled the trigger only to hear the rifle click. It was empty. What was it with me and rifles? I swung the rifle like a club, and the man went down. Then I pulled a clip from my ammo belt and snapped it home.
The noise of gunfire grew louder through the haze inside my brain and I gazed up to see Japanese fighter planes strafing the beach again. But this time two US warplanes—P-40 Warhawks—were engaging the enemy in the sky. I had no idea where they’d come from. The American pilots were outnumbered and outgunned, but they plunged into the fight. One of the Warhawks’ machine guns ripped apart a Japanese Zero. The plane caught fire and plunged into the ocean. This brought a rousing cheer from our troops on the beach.
The fighting continued, hand to hand, and seemed to go on forever. Sometimes I felt like Jams was doing the fighting for both of us. I did what he said, sticking close to his side. He kept urging me on. “Heads up, Tree! Get in the fight! We’re gonna make it!” But even though he was standing right next to me most of the time, it felt like he was miles away.
Two more Warhawks arrived, and slowly the Japanese assault was beaten back. New explosions hit the beach as the tanks in the tree line fired. They had been held in reserve to save ammunition, but now they exacted a deadly toll on the Japanese forces.
“Fall back!” someone shouted. “Fall back!”
Fall back where? I wondered. Who was giving the order? There were still Japanese soldiers on the beach. As a bullet whizzed by my head, I stood frozen with indecision. Someone grabbed me by the neck, and I swung the rifle around only to find I’d just given Jamison a good thunk in the ribs.
“OW!” Jams yelled. “Move, Tree! Move! Move! You’re standin’ around like you wanna get shot. Follow me. Double-time it back to the ridge! Let’s go.”
I followed Jamison, who was running through and around the bodies and wreckage on the beach at full tilt. We wove our way across the sand and somehow found the machine gun nest. Jamison grabbed a box of ammo and thrust it into my arms.
“You’re gonna load,” he said.
“Where’s Gunny?” I asked.
“He’ll get here when he gets here. Now let’s go, Private!”
In a strange way, having a task to complete helped calm my nerves. I flipped open the lid on the metal box and pulled out the belt of machine gun bullets. Jamison was waiting. He slapped the belt across the magazine, snapped it shut, and swiveled the gun, firing in bursts whenever he found a target.
In the tree line the tanks were moving and firing, and it became clear we would repel this attack. Jamison swung the .50 cal back and forth, taking shot after shot. The belt ran out with a loud clang, signaling the gun was empty.
“Load!” Jamison shouted.
I grabbed the next belt and fed it into the gun, and Jamison resumed shooting. A few minutes later the gunfire died down. The Japanese planes had disappeared, and their landing barges had gone. Shouts of cease-fire came up and down the line. Jamison let go of the machine gun and turned, slumping against the sandbags. He ran his hands through his red hair. His face was covered in grime, and his white T-shirt was bloody where a cut on his chest was leaking.
“Jams, you’re hurt,” I said.
Jamison looked down at his chest and shrugged. “Just a scratch,” he said.
“Where’s Gunny?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Tree. In case you didn’t notice, it got a little bit nuts down there on the beach. Besides, it wasn’t my turn to babysit him,” Jamison said.
My face reddened. I lifted myself up to look over the emplacement, scanning the now darkened beach for any sign of Gunny. Jamison sighed.
“Look, kid. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just … ”
“I know,” I interrupted. “It’s all right. I only—”
“You only what?” Gunny said as he flopped over the emplacement and slid in next to Jamison. In the pale moonlight, it looked like Gunny’d been wrestling a tornado and lost. His blouse was torn to shreds. There was a bloody cut above his right eye. Like Jamison, his face was nearly black with dirt and sweat.
“Gunny!” Jams and I shouted at the same time.
“What? Y’all think I was dead or somethin’? Uh-uh. Ain’t no Imperial Japanese Army puke gonna kill Gunnery Sergeant Jack McAdams. I’m gonna live forever, boys, ’cause I’m just too dang handsome to get killed. Don’t you worry, the good Lord ain’t puttin’ no early end to one of his finest creations. The worst thing happened out there was I lost my cigar. It was my last one, and no longer havin’ it ain’t improved my opinion of our Japanese friends any.”
“What happened, Gunny?” Jamison said, offering him a cigarette.
The big man shrugged. “I don’t reckon I know, Jamison. Not for sure. The enemy forces currently opposin’ us did not invite me to their mornin’ briefin’. I expect they’ll try another attack some other place, seein’ as how we’re so well dug in here. But I do know we gotta hold this ground, because it’s one of the best landing spots on this miserable hunk a rock.” He took a puff on the cigarette and closed his eyes.
“You all right, Gunny?” I asked.
Gunny opened his eyes. “I’m fine. I dished out a lot more hurtin’ than I took, I’l
l tell you that. But we got work to do. I got a feeling they’s moving their battleships over yonder to the south. We know them planes is gonna be back. So the two of y’all dig in here. Make this hole deeper and see if you can scrounge up some more sandbags.” He stood up, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Shouldn’t we keep moving?” I asked.
“Nah. This here spot has a natural depression and it’s a fine defensive position. We’ll keep it fer now. ’Sides they’s gonna be more worried about our tanks and howitzers than a machine gun. If we have to we’ll move it next time.” He stood up.
“What are you gonna do?” Jamison asked.
“I’m gonna go see if I can find somebody in charge. Right now ain’t nobody knows who’s in command. Then I’m gonna try’n rustle us up some more ammo and rations. See if them tanks got any supplies they can spare. Get yer entrenchin’ tools and make this emplacement at least three feet deeper. Once their ships start lobbin’ shells on this beach, it’ll make them bombers and fighter planes look like they was droppin’ marshmallows.”
He tossed the cigarette butt aside. “I’ll be back soon as I can. When you finish, try’n get some shut-eye. I reckon y’all are gonna need it.”
Gunny stood and removed a flashlight from his pack. He looked out over the beach and the ocean beyond. The hot breeze was back again, but the night was eerily quiet.
“It ain’t over yet, boys. Not by a long shot.”
He flipped on the flashlight and disappeared into the night. Jamison and I set to work.
“Well,” Jamison said. “The next few days oughta be mighty interestin’.”
The Japanese never came back to attack our beach. For months, their planes flew sorties over our positions and dropped bomb after bomb. They never seemed to run out. They never came at us on the beach, they never tried coming overland from Manila. It had now been almost four months since the Japanese first attacked the Philippines. After they took Manila, and the US forces retreated to Bataan and Corregidor, everyone figured we could hold out till help arrived. However, we soon realized Gunny’d been right. The Navy and General MacArthur—the commanding general of the Pacific forces who had hightailed it to Australia when the shooting started—weren’t coming back anytime soon. They weren’t even sending in planes or submarines to resupply the American positions.
We were on our own.
We stopped talking about reinforcements ever arriving. And we were almost out of food. Our remaining planes had been destroyed or were no longer flyable. Gunny stopped looking at the map every night. The Japanese were content to wait for the Allied forces on Bataan and Corregidor to starve.
We spent a lot of time making sure our weapons were clean and in working order and trying to scrounge up grub. At night, Jamison and I would sit with our backs against the sandbags, our rifles across our laps, and talk. Gunny would be off somewhere talking to other units, trying to find a working radio to get news, or trade for extra rations.
One night the stars were especially bright. And with the waves crashing in on the beach it was almost peaceful.
“You got a girlfriend back home, Tree?” he asked me.
“Huh … what … uh, no,” I stammered.
Jamison chuckled. “Really? No special gal? Somebody at home pining for the day you come home?”
“No, Jams. I stopped going to school a few years ago, and girls just haven’t been on my mind … ”
“Oh, come on, Tree,” he interrupted. “Not on your mind? I don’t believe that.”
“Well, I mean, yeah, I’d see girls in town … And there’s a neighbor … Sandra … She’s cute and all, but … I … ”
“You’re a smooth one, Tree,” Jamison chuckled. “You ever kissed a girl?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Liar.”
“Well, what about you? If you’re such a ladies’ man. You have a girl back home?”
“In fact I do,” he said, pulling a photograph from his blouse pocket. He handed it to me. I flipped on my flashlight and saw a pretty blond girl smiling out at me. She was dressed in a sweater and string of pearls.
“She’s pretty,” I said.
“Beautiful is what she is,” he said. “When my hitch is up and I get back to Detroit, I’ll get my job back at Dodge Main and we’re gonna get married.”
“Have you asked her yet?”
“Not yet.” I handed him the photo, and he put it back in his pocket.
“How do you know she’ll say yes?”
“Something wrong with your eyes, Tree? Haven’t you seen the handsomeness and suavity that is me? No way she’s gonna say no. I’m quite the catch.”
I had to laugh. Jams was a cutup sometimes. He may have been a nervous and jerky kind of guy, which could be irritating, but you couldn’t help but like him. When things got boring he’d always find a way to keep us laughing.
“Jams?”
“Yeah?”
“When the attack came and we were fighting on the beach … You saved my life. I never thanked you for it.”
“Shoot, kid. That was nothin’. You’da done the same for me.”
“I … I don’t know about that, Jams. I was scared. Fired my gun probably two hundred times and I’m not sure I ever hit anything. It bothers me, being afraid all the time. How can I fight—be a Marine—if I’m always scared?”
“Everybody on this rock is afraid. Old Man Forsythe is probably so scared he can’t remember none of his borin’ stories. If he’s still alive.”
“You aren’t, and neither is Gunny.”
“Well, Gunny don’t count, seein’ as how he came down to earth from Olympus where they don’t allow us mere mortals. But me? I’m scared. Anybody on this beach ain’t scared, they’re crazy.”
“But you and Gunny just charged into the fight like you were going to the movies. I hesitated. I was … I was terrified.”
“And what? You think that makes you a coward?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Tree, let me tell you somethin’. You ain’t no coward. It was your first action. Think you’re the only Marine ever froze up a little the first time bullets started flyin’? You got in there and fought, Tree. Like a man. You didn’t cower in a foxhole. You followed me and Gunny right into the breach. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I guess … It’s just, I’m afraid of letting you both down.”
“Well, I ain’t worried about it. You answered the call. You’ll do it again. It’s time to give yourself a break. I don’t know what makes you think you’re some kind of coward or somethin’, because you’re the furthest thing from it.” Jams stretched out and put his hands behind his head.
“I sure hope you’re right.”
“Tree, one thing you need to learn about me? I’m always right. We should try and get some shut-eye. Who knows when our friends are goin’ to decide they wanna spend another day at the beach.” Jams closed his eyes and was soon snoring softly. I was still too worried and nervous to sleep.
Jams and I spent a lot of nights like that. Talking about all sorts of things. It helped pass the time. But I soon found myself wishing the Japanese would attack. At least then something would happen. The boredom was unbearable. Everyone’s nerves were as frayed as an old piece of rope. Gunny did his best to keep our spirits up, but passing the hours in the machine gun nest was growing intolerable. Especially for Jamison, who started getting more and more jumpy as the days went by. One afternoon he finally cracked.
“I can’t take this no more,” he said. “I’m done.” He stood and climbed out of the hole and up onto the ground.
“Where ya think yer goin,’ Jams?” Gunny asked.
“I’m gettin’ outta here. I’m gonna find me a boat and get off this rock,” he said. He shrugged his pack onto his scrawny shoulders and grabbed his rifle.
“Good luck, then,” Gunny said. “If you find one, come back and get me and Tree. We’ll go with you.”
Jamison muttered as he adjust
ed the straps on his pack. He cursed the Marines, the Army, the Navy, General MacArthur, President Roosevelt, Mrs. Roosevelt, the Japanese, and a bunch of other things I couldn’t quite make out. Once he was ready, he set out toward the tree line.
“You think I should go get him, Gunny?” I asked.
“Nah,” he answered. “He’ll be back. Just goin’ a little stir-crazy and burnin’ off steam is all.”
“What are we going to do, Gunny? I hate to keep asking, but isn’t there somebody in charge with a plan?”
“There’s only one man in charge when the shootin’ starts. And his name is Jack Squat. Ain’t nobody got a plan then, and if they do it’s usually a poor excuse for one. We got caught with our pants down. Pearl. Guam. Wake. Here. The Japanese invaded China and Korea almost four years ago, and ain’t nobody in the entire so-called US of A military intelligence stopped to think they might come here next? They been buildin’ planes, tanks, subs, and ships for years, and it never occurred to one of yer so-called experts they might eventually take a poke at Uncle Sam? We wasn’t ready. Not by a darn sight. No, Tree, there is no plan. Except survivin’.”
“I heard a guy from the 104th Tank Battalion in the chow line this morning say we was getting evacuated to Corregidor.”
“Evacuated in what?” Gunny said, pointing to the beachfront and the ocean beyond. “You see a fleet a troop transports out there ready to carry us away? We’re sewed up tight. Boxed in. We ain’t gettin’ to Corregidor, and General Wainwright fer sure ain’t comin’ here.”
Gunny leaned back against the sandbags and tipped his helmet over his eyes to block out the sun. General Wainwright had been left in charge of all Philippines defense forces when General MacArthur had left for Australia. Wainwright was commanding from Corregidor. Working radios were in short supply, but from what we knew he and his forces were in no better shape than we were on Bataan.
“Sorry, Gunny. I didn’t mean to get you riled up,” I said.
“Ah, don’t worry about it, kid. Yer a good Marine, Tree. And a good man. I just get the feelin’ ya ain’t figured that out yet, or more likely, as young as you are, ain’t nobody ever told ya. But you’ve done good, kid. Course, you had the benefit of my trainin’, which is a huge advantage fer even the below-average Marine.”
Prisoner of War Page 3
