Meat Grinder Hill

by Len Levinson

  It exploded, sending smoke and lightning out the opening of the bunker. Bannon was on his feet, running toward the bunker, holding his rifle at port arms, ready to fire at anything that moved. Longtree dashed around to the bunker's rear and saw a trench and a low entrance to the bunker. He took another grenade, pulled the pin, let the lever snap away, counted to two, and rolled it into the opening. It exploded, sending dust and smoke shooting through the cracks between the logs. Long-tree dived through the hole and entered the bunker. It was filled with smoke and his hand touched down on warm, mushy flesh, the intestines of a Japanese soldier. The smell of gunpowder and entrails was strong in the air. The machine guns had been knocked off their pedestals and lay on the floor. Mutilated bodies were sprawled everywhere, and splashes of blood were on the walls and ceiling of the bunker.

  Bannon crawled inside and joined Longtree. “Good work,” he said. “I'll tell Captain Orr we've got the bunker. You keep your eyes peeled, because the Japs might want to take this back.”

  Longtree checked the Japanese machine guns to see if they were still operable while Bannon called Captain Orr on the walkie-talkie.

  “Sir,” Bannon said, “we've blown up that bunker and I think you should send the men forward quickly before the Japs reoccupy it.”

  There was silence on the other end for a few moments. “Who told you to take that bunker!”

  “You'd better send the men up fast. Over and out.”

  "But...!”

  The walkie-talkie went dead in Captain Orr's ear. He wanted to hurl the walkie-talkie to the ground and smash it to bits. Once peple start disobeying orders, the whole concept of the Army started to break down. He handed the walkie-talkie to his runner and decided he'd worry about the Army later. The main thing now would be to occupy that machine-gun nest before the Japs tried to take it back.

  Meanwhile, Longtree was dragging one of the Japanese machine guns through the low opening at the rear of the bunker. It was a Type 96 light machine gun; it was chambered for the 6.5-millimeter cartridge and had a tendency to jam. Bannon carried out pouches filled with oiled cartridges. Longtree set up the machine gun in the opening and Bannon fed bullets into the clip.

  A Japanese head appeared around the bend in the trench ahead, and Longtree fired a burst that made the Jap pull his head back.

  A Japanese hand grenade came flying through the air and landed on the roof of the bunker, where it exploded harmlessly. A Japanese head appeared on the top of the trench, and Longtree fired a burst that made the head duck. Then a hand grenade came flying down the trench and landed a few feet in front of the Type 96 machine gun.

  "Get back!” Bannon yelled.

  Both GIs retreated into the bunker and pressed their bodies against a bloody inner wall. The grenade exploded, sending a blast of smoke and flame into the bunker and blowing the machine gun into the air. Bannon's ears rang as he picked up the torso of a Japanese soldier and threw it into the opening at the rear of the bunker. He picked up some wood that had been a table and stuffed it in the opening too. He wanted to make sure no Japanese hand grenades came flying into the bunker. He realized that he and Longtree should not have occupied the bunker, because they were like rats in a trap. They should have stayed outside and waited for Captain Orr's men to catch up. Bannon and Longtree got behind the torso and debris at the rear of the bunker and fired at everything that moved in the trench. Their visibility was poor and if the Japs had anything like a bazooka, they could shoot a rocket through the opening and finish off Bannon and Longtree easily.

  Bannon fired round after round from his M 1. “Where's that fucking Captain Orr?” he said between clenched teeth.

  Longtree didn't answer. He was too busy shooting at Japs swarming around behind the bunker. “I think we'd better get out of here,” he said.

  “Through the front hole?”

  “That's the only way there is. I'll go first.”

  Longtree moved toward the hole, tripped over a dead Japanese soldier, and fell on his ass. He got up, made his way to the hole, and looked out. The coast appeared clear. He stuck his head out the hole and pushed with his legs.

  Beeaaannnggggg—a bullet ricocheted off a log a few inches from his face, and he pulled his head back in quickly. “We're surrounded!”

  Bannon cursed himself for getting stuck inside the bunker. Butsko would never have fallen into such a trap. Bannon thought he'd better call Captain Orr and tell him to hurry up. Machine-gun bullets and rifle shots zipped through the opening at the rear of the bunker as he raised the walkie-talkie to his face and called Captain Orr. It took a few horrifying minutes to get through.

  “Sir,” he said, “the Japs have got us surrounded in this bunker and you'd better get your men up here pretty fast!”

  “Hold on, Bannon! We're almost there!”

  Bannon let the walkie-talkie drop.

  “What he say?” Longtree asked.

  “He said to hold on!”

  “To what!”

  Smack—something hit the barricade at the rear of the bunker, and Bannon and Longtree knew what it was. They dived to the floor of the bunker and pressed their bodies against the walls, squinching their eyes shut, hoping and praying. Blam—the grenade exploded, and Bannon felt the heat wave against his face; his ears ached from the concussion. Dizzy and disoriented, he looked toward the back entrance and saw that the torso and junk had been blown away. A grenade came flying through the opening. He pounced on it and threw it back. It exploded as another grenade floated through the front window. Longtree caught it in midair and tossed it out the window again. It rolled down the slope and detonated.

  Bannon and Longtree heard Japs jabbering all around them. There was no place to run and no place to hide. If they showed their faces in either of the openings, they'd get them shot off. All they could do was throw back hand grenades. Bannon and Longtree looked at each other, their faces pale.

  “Well,” said Longtree, “it's a good day to die.”

  “Like fuck it is!”

  Two grenades flew through the backdoor opening, and Bannon and Longtree dived on them, hurling them out the front window, where another Jap was getting set to lob in a hand grenade of his own. The two grenades went off in his face, tearing his head off and ripping up his torso, and then his own grenade went off, blowing off his legs.

  When the last sounds of the explosions died away, Bannon and Longtree heard a volley of rifle shots farther down the hill. They looked at each other and their faces creased into smiles. Company G was coming.

  Hey, we're over here!” Bannon shouted. He took off his helmet and waved it in front of opening that faced east. "Here we are!”

  Beeaannnngggg—a bullet hit his helmet and knocked it out of his hand.

  "Stupid son of a bitch!” Bannon pulled his hand back into the bunker and shook it, because it stung.

  Longtree heard footsteps in the trench and dropped to his stomach, looking out. He saw Japs charging the rear door. He raised his rifle and fired shots into the trench as quickly as he could pull the trigger. Japs dropped to the bottom of the trench, holes in their legs and abdomens, twisting and whining in pain. The other Japs turned and ran away. Gunfire sounded all around the bunker. Bannon and Longtree looked from window to door frantically, wondering what was going on.

  "Watch your right flank!” somebody yelled, and Bannon realized G Company was there.

  "Hey, we're in here!”

  "Who's in there?”

  "Bannon and Longtree from the recon platoon!”

  "Stay put!”

  Bannon and Longtree crouched down and listened to G Company overrun the bunker and trench. Volleys of shots were fired, orders were shouted, and grenades were thrown. Bannon took out a cigarette and offered one to Longtree. He lit them with his trusty old Zippo.

  “I told you it wasn't such a good day to die,” Bannon said.

  The sound of fighting diminished. Bannon got on his hands and knees and looked out the rear door of the trench and saw GI comba
t boots.

  "Come on out of there!” somebody shouted.

  Bannon picked up his rifle and crawled out of the bunker, his cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth. Longtree came behind him. They stood up and saw the men from George Company standing around, looking at them curiously. Then the recon platoon came crashing through.

  “Hey, what the fuck happened!” said Private Morris Shilansky. “Where'd you guys go?”

  “Anything to drink in there?” asked Shaw, whose canteen was nearly empty.

  “Lookit all the dead Japs!” said Nutsy Gafooley, looking around.

  Captain Orr pushed his way through the crowd of men. “Break it up! What the fuck you think this is? Dig in around here! Let's move!” Finally he came face to face with Bannon and pointed his bony finger at Bannon's nose. “You disobeyed an order!”

  Bannon grinned and winked and clicked his teeth. “We knocked out the bunker, sir,” he said, pointing at it.

  “But you disobeyed a goddamn order!”

  “But we got the goddamn bunker.”

  They heard a jeep engine and turned around. A jeep was climbing up the slope, bouncing over logs and dipping into holes. Colonel Smith sat in the passenger seat, holding his helmet down with one hand, gripping the handle on the dash with the other, and chewing an unlit cigar. The jeep came to a stop beside the trench and Colonel Smith jumped out.

  “Well, I'll be a son of a bitch!” Colonel Smith roared. “We've finally cracked the Jap line. Good work, Orr!”

  Colonel Smith jumped down into the trench, kicked a dead Jap out of his way, and shook Captain Orr's hand. “How'd you do it?”

  “Well, sir, um, actually these two soldiers from the recon platoon took the bunker, and the rest of us followed them up the hill.”

  Colonel Smith blinked as he turned to Bannon and Longtree. “How the hell'd you do it?”

  “Waal,” Bannon drawled, “we just sort of snuck up on ‘em, sir.”

  Longtree nodded. “Yeah, we followed their tracks back here and tossed a few hand grenades at them.”

  “Very good work.” Colonel Smith shook both their hands. “You can be sure I'll tell Colonel Stockton. All right, everybody, dig in and stay put until I find out where we go from here!”

  Colonel Smith climbed out of the trench with the help of one of his aides. Captain Orr looked at Bannon and Longtree. “You heard him—dig in. And don't disobey any more orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Bannon, get yourself a helmet from someplace.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bannon and Longtree walked away with the recon platoon, joining the other GIs deploying around the bunker. Captain Orr watched them and wondered what to do about the insubordination, but nothing sensible came to mind. Fuck it, he thought. The main thing is that we've got that damned bunker.

  Major Uchikoshi flew into a rage when he learned that Bunker Twenty-eight had been taken by the Americans, but he calmed down sat on the floor, wondering what possibly could have gone wrong. The strange part of it was that the bunker hadn't reported itself in danger or under attack. Another bunker had reported seeing Bunker Twenty-eight get blown up, and then efforts to reoccupy it had ended when Americans swarmed over the position. Somehow the Americans had taken the bunker by surprise. That must not be permitted to happen again.

  “Captain Yatsu!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Captain Yatsu, a short officer with a thick black handlebar mustache, approached Major Uchikoshi.

  “Captain Yatsu, I want lookouts posted around all our bunkers twenty-four hours a day, and they will withdraw to the bunkers only when forced to do so by American fire.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Yatsu saluted and marched to the radio to pass along the order. Major Uchikoshi looked down at his map and made an X over Bunker Twenty-eight. He tried to figure out what the Americans would do next. Probably they'd try to use Bunker Twenty-eight as a staging area for assaults on nearby bunkers. If Major Uchikoshi had more troops, he could counterattack and drive the Americans away, but he had no other troops, little ammunition, and little food. In the distance he could hear machine guns, rifles, and mortars. The Americans were probing for more bunkers. Major Uchikoshi wondered how long it would take for the Americans to locate all the bunkers on the Gifu Line.

  TEN . . .

  George Company and the recon platoon dug in around the captured bunker as fighting raged in the hills all around them. Despite the shelling and bombing, the regiment made no more progress than the Second Battalion had made the day before. American soldiers were pinned down by machine-gun fire whenever they tried to advance. The shelling and bombing had wrecked the jungle but had little effect on the Japanese soldiers in their bunkers. By late afternoon Colonel Stockton broke off the attack and reported to General Patch that only one bunker had been knocked out.

  “Well,” said General Patch, “I don't think you need any more air or artillery support at this point, and I don't even think more troops would do any good. What you've got to do is find out what the hell you've got in front of you there, and I suggest that's what you devote your main effort to tomorrow. It should be obvious that you're not going to take that Jap position by assault.”

  “Yes, sir. I'll find out what's there. It may take a few days, but I'll find out what I need to know.”

  Colonel Stockton was embarrassed when he hung up the phone. He hated to call superior officers to report he'd failed to take an objective. It made him look bad. Do that too many times and they started to see you as a loser. When it came time to award general's stars, they passed you over.

  Colonel Stockton went to work with his maps, puffing his pipe, trying to figure out the most efficient method of reconnoitering the Japanese fortifications. He continued working through chowtime, and as night came to Guadalcanal, Lieutenant Harper brought him a cup of coffee and plate of fried Spam and dehydrated potatoes. By eight o'clock in the evening Colonel Stockton had his plan pretty well worked out. The next morning the Third Battalion would relieve the Second Battalion, which would be placed in reserve. The Third Battalion would make a frontal attack on the fortifications, just like the one that day, but only to attract the Japs’ fire and attention, while the First Battalion sent out company-size patrols to probe for the flanks of the Japanese position. The companies would be sent out in wide arcs until they worked around the fortifications. Sooner or later they'd have to find the flanks. The Japs had something big up there, but it had to end someplace.

  The recon platoon was dug in near the captured Japanese bunker. It was pitch black on that little hill. Guards had been posted and the recon platoon was sacked out for the night.

  Bannon smoked a cigarette with his head covered by his poncho so the burning end of his cigarette couldn't be seen. He was running the day's events over in his mind, trying to pick out his mistakes and analyze them so they wouldn't happen again. He wanted to be as good as Butsko, and Butsko seldom made mistakes. Butsko usually knew what he was doing, and it wasn't because he was unusually intelligent but because Butsko had a lot of experience and learned from it. Some people never learn anything from their experience. They're as dumb today as they were ten years ago. Men like that who came to the recon platoon never lasted very long, but all the old-timers were pretty sharp. Even Homer Gladley knew what to do when the shit hit the fan. But Bannon had made a mistake that day, and it had almost been fatal for him and Longtree. He should never had tried to hold that bunker against all the Japs in the area. It was poor judgment. If Butsko were around, he'd kick Bannon right in the ass and Bannon would be limping around for a few days.

  Bannon couldn't remember any more serious mistakes. He finished his cigarette, put it out, and pulled the poncho off his head, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Nearby, Nutsy Gafooley was on his back, snoring, his mouth open so wide that Bannon could drop a baseball inside.

  Bannon was exhausted. He rolled onto his side and drifted off to sleep.

  A few fo
xholes away Private DelFranco sat with his legs crossed, looking up at the sky. He wasn't too tired because he hadn't done much that day. He'd wanted to prove he was a good soldier, but when they had attacked the bunker the Japs ran away without putting up much of a fight.

  Tomorrow I'll show them, DelFranco thought. I may not be as big as the others, but I can shoot as well as any of them. Bannon'll realize I'm not the fuck-up he thinks I am.

  DelFranco was mad at himself. Living with other men in the middle of a war had made him more aware of his shortcomings. He realized he'd been too wishy-washy all his life, never committing himself to anything, always fooling around on the fringes of things. No wonder nobody liked him. No wonder he didn't have the courage to become a priest. He had never even had the courage to ask girls to go out on dates with him. He was disgusting.

  But now he was resolved to take a stand on something. He was in the Army on Guadalcanal and he was going to be a good soldier or die in the attempt. Better to be dead than be a Caspar Milquetoast for the rest of your life. Saint Thomas Aquinas had said there were such things as just wars, and this war surely was just. Cardinal Spellman and all the other Church bigwigs had sanctioned it. There was nothing to hold him back. He'd just go all out and win himself a medal, and if he died, well, he was a Catholic in good standing and he believed in eternal life.

  I'll show them all, he thought. When this war's over, I'll become a priest for sure. Maybe I'll come back in the Army and become a chaplain. Bannon and all the others can see me and get their tickets punched. What a laugh that'll be.

  He lay on his back and looked at the stars glittering in the heavens, thinking of how wonderful it would be to be an officer and a chaplain in the US Army, with a few medals on his jacket to show he was as tough and resolute as the next man.