Nightmare Alley

by Len Levinson

  Forgotten was his father sitting behind his wide desk in New York City. Forgotten was his mother sipping tea in the afternoon with her elegant lady friends. Gone were all those charity balls at the fancy New York hotels, where he had tried to screw debutantes in broom closets. Now everything had boiled down to stab or be stabbed, kill or be killed.

  “Follow me!” hollered Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  “Yyyaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” screamed Pfc. Delane, running in a hunch so that he wouldn’t present too large a target to Japanese gunners.

  Craig Delane saw movement in the corner of his eye. He turned toward it and saw a chubby figure of medium height, with a beer belly hanging over his belt and a cigar sticking out the corner of his mouth, carrying a submachine gun and running toward the Japs. It’s Colonel Hutchins! Craig Delane thought. Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch!

  Colonel Hutchins chewed his cigar as he charged the horde of Japanese soldiers coming at him. The Japanese soldiers jumped over shell craters and dodged around trees, shouting at the tops of their lungs, crazed with the thought of victory.

  Colonel Hutchins stopped, tucked the butt of the submachine gun underneath his arm, leveled the barrel at the advancing Japanese soldiers, and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in their front rank. Japanese soldiers dropped to their knees or fell backward, huge .45-caliber bullets in their bodies. One Japanese soldier was hit in his head, which burst apart, and he collapsed onto the ground with only shreds of meat, bone, and brains above his shoulders.

  Colonel Hutchins stepped forward, firing the submachine gun, and Japanese soldiers fell to pieces in front of him. In the confusion and tumult of the battle, the Japanese soldiers couldn’t see exactly where the automatic-weapons fire was coming from, but a keen-eyed young Japanese lieutenant spotted the muzzle blasts and ordered the men near him to shoot in that direction.

  The Japanese soldiers raised their rifles to their shoulders and prepared to fire, when suddenly a big black shadow passed in front of them. It was Pfc. Billie Jones, the former itinerant preacher from Georgia, with his rifle and bayonet, and he had murder and mayhem in his eyes.

  “Yaaarrrgggghhhhhh!” he shouted, thrusting his rifle and bayonet forward, impaling a Japanese soldier in his chest. Jones heaved the Japanese soldier over his shoulder as if he were a pitchfork full of hay, and batted the next Japanese soldier in the mouth with his rifle butt, making the Jap eat his teeth and gums busting his jaw. The Jap sagged to his knees, blood foaming out of his mouth, and Billy Jones stepped over him, parrying a Jap bayonet out of the way, dodging a Japanese rifle butt, and then kicking a Japanese soldier in the balls with all his strength.

  The Japanese soldier shrieked horribly and dropped to his knees, clutching his groin, but his balls were four inches into his stomach, and the pain was too much. He pitched forward onto his face and Billie Jones stepped on his head and pivoted. All he could see were Japanese soldiers rushing toward him. He raised his rifle and bayonet and parried a thrust from one Japanese soldier, slammed another Japanese soldier in the nose with his rifle butt, kicked another Japanese soldier in the balls, slashed wildly with his rifle and bayonet, and caught a charging Japanese soldier on the side of his neck, severing tendons and arteries, making blood gush forth all over the Japanese soldier’s and Billie Jones’s uniforms. Billie Jones turned his rifle and bayonet around and smacked another Japanese soldier sideways on the cheek with his rifle butt, splintering bones and caving in the side of the Japanese soldier’s head. The soldier grunted and went flying through the air, crashing into a young Japanese lieutenant who had been advancing toward Billie with his samurai sword in his hands.

  The Reverend Billie Jones was like a raging bull. He wanted to exact revenge for the death of his buddy, Private Homer Gladley, and kill the filthy pagan Antichrist Japanese who wanted to rape American girls and enslave all Americans everywhere. Snorting from both nostrils, he spotted the young Japanese lieutenant with the samurai sword in his hands.

  The Japanese lieutenant stepped cautiously toward Billie Jones, holding the samurai sword over his head. He was waiting for Billie to come at him so he could split his head open with his samurai sword. The young Japanese officer had done that in the past, and was confident he could do it again. He figured he was an expert swordsman, and indeed be was, but Billie Jones was over six feet tall, weighed 260 pounds, and was an extremely powerful human being. On top of all that, Billie Jones was angry enough to eat the young Japanese lieutenant alive.

  The Japanese lieutenant watched Billie Jones aim his rifle and bayonet forward and charge. Coolheaded, poised on the balls of his feet, the Japanese lieutenant waited for Billie Jones to come within head-chopping range.

  Billie Jones knew what the Japanese lieutenant was up to, because this wasn’t the first Japanese officer he’d ever faced in close combat. Billie maintained his forward momentum and thrust his rifle and bayonet forward in a feint, then pulled it back quickly.

  The Japanese lieutenant was faked out of position before he realized what Billie Jones was doing. Darting to the side like a matador, the Japanese lieutenant expected Billie Jones to rush past him, his side undefended; then the Japanese lieutenant could hack his skull open.

  Instead, to his amazement and horror, he saw Billie Jones lunging directly at him, Billie Jones’s rifle and bayonet aimed at the Japanese lieutenant’s chest. The Japanese lieutenant jumped backward, swinging his samurai sword down and to the side. The blade of the sword struck Billie Jones’s rifle, deflecting the bayonet away, and its point swished past the Japanese officer’s right biceps.

  Billie Jones’s forward movement caused his chest and shoulders to collide with the Japanese lieutenant, who lost his footing and fell onto his ass. Billie Jones thrust his rifle and bayonet down to the ground, and the Japanese lieutenant twisted out of the way, rolling over, and getting to his feet.

  Billie Jones jabbed again with his rifle and bayonet, and caught the Japanese lieutenant off balance. His bayonet stuck halfway into the Japanese lieutenant’s stomach, and the Japanese lieutenant’s eyes bugged open at the sudden, unexpected pain. The Japanese lieutenant was a fine swordsman, but he wasn’t fine enough. Billie Jones pulled back on his rifle and bayonet, and blood poured out of the Japanese lieutenant’s stomach, covering his pants, running down his leg. Dizziness, confusion, and pain overcame the young Japanese lieutenant. He knew he was going to the and became frightened. His knees sagged, and then Billie Jones slammed him in the face with his rifle butt. The Japanese officer was thrown to the ground by the force of the blow.

  Billie Jones bent over and picked up the long, curved samurai sword gleaming in the moonlight. He knew from experience that samurai swords, machetes, and axes were excellent weapons in hand-to-hand combat, even better than rifles and bayonets. Billie Jones laid his rifle and bayonet on the ground and held the samurai sword in both his hands. It felt heavy enough to do damage and was perfectly balanced.

  “Banzai!” screamed a Japanese soldier nearby.

  Billie Jones turned and saw three Japanese soldiers rushing toward him, their rifles and bayonets aimed at his heart.

  “You fucking bastards!” Billie Jones bellowed.

  Billie Jones raised the samurai sword over his head and charged, his face a mask of ferocity and hatred. The Japanese soldiers lunged at the same time with their rifles and bayonets, and Billie Jones swung down, the blade of the samurai sword striking against the rifles and bayonets, knocking them toward the ground. The Japanese soldiers raised their rifles and bayonets for another try, but Billie Jones beat them to the punch.

  He swung the samurai sword from the side and chopped off the head of the Japanese soldier on the left. The Japanese soldier’s head went flying into the air, and blood gushed like a red geyser out of his neck. Billie Jones drew back the samurai sword and swung mightily again. He hit the next Japanese soldier on his right biceps, cracking through the bone, lopping off the Japanese soldier’s arm. The arm fell to the ground, and blood poured out of
the stump beneath the Japanese soldier’s shoulder, while Billie Jones’s samurai blade continued its forward movement, smashing into the Japanese soldier’s rib cage, lodging between two bones.

  Billie Jones tugged the handle of the samurai sword, but it wouldn’t come loose. He pulled again, but the samurai sword was stuck inside those bones.

  “Banzai!” shrieked the third Japanese soldier, thrusting his rifle and bayonet toward Billie Jones’s gut.

  Billie Jones let go of the samurai sword and pounced on the rifle, clamping his big hands around it and pulling hard, trying to yank it out of the Japanese soldier’s grasp. But the Japanese soldier wouldn’t let go. He gritted his teeth and held on tightly, trying to wrest it out of Billie’s hands.

  But Billie wouldn’t let go, either. He snarled and tried to twist the rifle and bayonet loose, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a fourth Japanese soldier sneaking up on him from the side, hoping to stick him while he was preoccupied with the third Japanese soldier.

  The fourth Japanese soldier tiptoed closer, thinking Billie Jones hadn’t noticed him, but Billie was waiting for him to come within ball-kicking range. Meanwhile the third Japanese soldier, who was trying to twist his rifle and bayonet out of Billie Jones’s big hands, had to admit to himself that Billie Jones was stronger than he and decided to try a bold dramatic move. Letting go his rifle and bayonet, he jabbed his fingers toward Billie Jones’s eyes, intending to gouge them out and then take his rifle and bayonet back.

  But Billie Jones had chosen that moment to attack the fourth Japanese soldier. Letting go of the third Japanese soldier’s rifle and bayonet, Billie Jones leaped to the side and lashed out with his size eleven and one-half combat boot. It rose swiftly in the air as the third Japanese soldier’s fingers scraped past his ear, and the toe of Billie’s combat boot smacked into the groin of the fourth Japanese soldier, crushing his balls into two tiny pancakes and mangling his dick beyond all recognition.

  The fourth Japanese soldier screamed horribly, dropping his rifle and clutching his scrotum with both hands. Billie Jones plucked the rifle out of the air, turned it around, and pivoted in time to see the third Japanese soldier thrusting his rifle and bayonet, which he’d just picked up, toward him. Billie darted to the side, and the third Japanese soldier’s rifle and bayonet streaked past.

  The third Japanese soldier quickly caught his balance as the fourth Japanese soldier clutched his battered balls and jumped up and down, screaming and shouting, in terrible pain, while in the immediately vicinity American GIs and Japanese soldiers were locked in close combat, trying to stab each other, bash each other with their rifle butts, kick each other in the shins, or do anything possible to kill their opponents so that they could stay alive themselves.

  The third Japanese soldier aimed his rifle and bayonet at Billie Jones’s chest and narrowed his eyes. Meanwhile, Billie Jones glowered back, seeing in this Japanese soldier all that was wicked in the world. For all Billie knew, that was the Japanese soldier who’d shot Private Homer Gladley in the back. Both men knew that one of them would be dead within the next minute or two. The Japanese soldier could see that Billie was stronger, but thought his superior speed would enable him to kill the huge American soldier. Billie Jones was enraged and wasn’t thinking much. The smell of blood was in his nostrils, and all he knew was charge and kill.

  The Japanese soldier feinted with his rifle and bayonet; at the same moment Billie Jones threw all of his 260 pounds behind his rifle and bayonet, propelling them forward. It was no feint. The Japanese soldier saw his mistake too late. He couldn’t run and couldn’t hide. He didn’t have time to get out of the way, either. His speed was not the great advantage that he’d thought. Billie Jones’s bayonet sliced easily into the Japanese soldier’s soft belly, and the sudden onslaught of fiery pain caused the Japanese soldier to have one last brilliant insight into war It’s all a matter of luck, the Japanese soldier realized, as chaos and darkness overwhelmed his mind.

  Billie Jones pulled back his rifle and bayonet, and blood oozed out of the Japanese soldier’s stomach. The Japanese soldier dropped to his knees before Billie Jones, and Billie Jones looked down at him. It was as if the Japanese soldier were praying to Billie Jones, who felt triumphant and powerful.

  Billie Jones kicked the Japanese soldier in the face and jumped over him, charging the Japanese soldiers attacking in waves from the direction of the river, wanting to massacre them all.

  A horde of Japanese soldiers charged toward the machine-gun nest manned by Pfc. Frankie La Barbara, Pfc. Morris Shilansky, and Sergeant Luke Cameron. The Japanese soldiers were only twenty yards away, and Frankie La Barbara wasn’t worried about the barrel melting down anymore, because it was too late for that. His forefinger held the trigger in its firing position, and the machine gun sputtered and wiggled, sending a nonstop spray of hot lead into the ranks of the Japanese soldiers, who maintained their headlong rush, although many were cut down like wheat before a scythe.

  Sweat poured from Frankie’s swarthy features, and his teeth were clenched so hard, his gums hurt. Japanese bullets were kicked up around the edge of the trench, but he didn’t flinch. He knew that his only hope was to kill as many Japanese soldiers as he could and maybe then they’d stop their charge; but it didn’t look as if they were stopping yet, and they were awfully close.

  Next to Frankie, Morris Shilansky fed the belt of ammo into the chamber of the machine gun. The air was foggy with bullet smoke, which furled inside Shilansky’s throat and made him cough. He knew that the Japs would be all over him in just about another minute, but his rifle and bayonet were lying nearby and he’d be able to defend himself.

  Shilansky hated to fight hand to hand. The mere thought of it made his hair stand on end. But he would do it if he had to. He’d fight with every ounce of strength in his body, if that’s what it would take to stay alive. More than anything else, Morris Shilansky wanted to stay alive. He wanted to stay alive so that he could go back to Boston someday and rob more banks.

  Next to Shilansky, Sergeant Cameron rested his M 1 rifle on the edge of the trench and slowly squeezed off the rounds. Sergeant Cameron was a southerner with a cool head and a deliberate manner. He never got shook up about anything. Aiming at a Japanese soldier carrying an Arisaka rifle and bayonet, Sergeant Cameron squeezed off a round, and the Japanese soldier went tumbling asshole over teakettle, a bullet lodged in the center of his chest.

  Sergeant Cameron moved his M 1 rifle an inch to the right and squeezed off another round. The Japanese soldier in his sights lost his footing and tripped over his feet, dropping to the ground and clutching his stomach, which had been torn apart by the bullet from Sergeant Cameron’s M 1 rifle.

  Sergeant Cameron moved the rifle two inches to the left and found a Japanese officer in his sights, waving his samurai sword over his head and screaming “Banzai!” Sergeant Cameron grinned as he squeezed his trigger. The Japanese officer stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes, dropping his samurai sword. His knees gave out underneath him and he collapsed onto the ground as his soldiers ran over him, closing in on the machine-gun nest.

  Frankie La Barbara ground his teeth together and grimaced as he swung the machine gun from side to side on its transverse mechanism and mowed down howling Japanese soldiers, who now were only five yards away. But every Japanese soldier who fell was replaced by another Japanese soldier behind him, and there was another Japanese soldier behind that one. They just kept on coming. Colonel Katsumata had concentrated his strength on that section of the American line, intending to make it the focal point of his breakthrough.

  The Japanese soldiers were nearly in the trench, and the three GIs knew the time had come to fight it out at close range. Frankie La Barbara and Morris Shilansky scrambled for their M 1 rifles and raised them in the air, getting to their feet. Sergeant Cameron already had his M 1 rifle in his hand, and he jumped up suddenly, lunging forward with his rifle and bayonet at the same time, impaling a Japanese soldier who was lea
ping into the trench. Sergeant Cameron’s bayonet sank up to its hilt in the Japanese soldier’s stomach, and the Japanese soldier’s velocity knocked Sergeant Cameron off balance. Sergeant Cameron fell onto his back, and the dead, bleeding Japanese soldier landed on top of him. A Japanese combat boot lowered itself toward Sergeant Cameron’s face, and Sergeant Cameron twisted out of the way, shouldering the dead Japanese soldier off him and getting to his feet, carrying his M 1 rifle and bayonet with him.

  Japanese soldiers were everywhere, surrounding him, but most were intent on moving onward, to strike deeply into the American rear. Some, however, knew that they had to finish off the American GIs in that trench. Sergeant Cameron, normally placid and somewhat slow-going, realized that his life was on the line and that a little extra effort was called for.

  He pulled his rifle butt backward and slammed a Japanese soldier in the mouth, busting all his teeth, and thrust his rifle and bayonet forward, impaling a Japanese soldier in the neck, severing his windpipe and jugular. Blood spurted everywhere. Sergeant Cameron pulled his rifle and bayonet loose just as a Japanese bayonet sliced open his right arm and another Japanese bayonet nicked his side. The pain enlivened Sergeant Cameron, and he slashed to the side with his rifle and bayonet, cutting open a Japanese shoulder to the bone. He whacked another Japanese soldier on the nose with his rifle butt, kicked another Japanese soldier in the balls, and leaped out of the trench, landing in the midst of a swarm of other Japanese soldiers charging forward. Their momentum pushed him back into the trench again, where he landed on his ass.

  He tried to get up, but a Japanese soldier, screaming victoriously, jumped with both feet onto Sergeant Cameron’s belly, knocking the wind out of him. The Japanese soldier raised his right foot and brought it down with all his strength on Sergeant Cameron’s nose, smashing it flat and knocking him unconscious. The Japanese soldier raised his foot again, to stomp Sergeant Cameron into oblivion, when suddenly an M 1 rifle butt appeared out of nowhere and slammed the Japanese soldier upside his head. The Japanese soldier was thrown into the air by the power of the blow, and Frankie La Barbara emerged from the press of battle, holding his M 1 rifle by its barrel and swinging the rifle like a baseball bat.