by Len Levinson
"Follow me!” screamed Bannon.
Captain Orr had heard the grenade blast and the rifle shot too. The recon platoon was charging through the woods, and no machine guns were firing at them.
"On your feet!” he shouted. "Follow the recon platoon!”
The men who were left in George Company came up out of their holes and advanced up the hill. Ahead of them the recon platoon sped through the jungle, leaping over obstacles, a few of them tripping and falling, but they jumped up quickly and continued their rapid advance.
Bannon was in front, holding his M 1 high, and beside him was Nutsy Gafooley, carrying his rifle, walkie-talkie, bazooka, and bazooka ammunition. The ground that Longtree had crawled over slowly was covered by the recon platoon in a gallop, and the remnant of George Company followed them. Bannon batted branches out of his way with his M 1 and raced across the jungle on his long legs. Shots rang out in front of them as they were spotted by the lookouts, but the shots were few and Bannon realized there was little resistance up ahead.
"Keep going!” he shouted. "Don't stop!”
A Japanese lookout in front of him fired, and the bullet whistled past Bannon's shoulder. He saw the Jap and fired a wild shot, which missed the Jap, but it upset the Jap sufficiently to ruin his aim. The Jap saw the jungle full of Americans running at him and held his ground, raising his rifle for another shot, but all the Americans opened fire on him, and one bullet hit him in the leg. Bannon jumped on his stomach with both feet, ran him through with his bayonet, and kept going.
"Charge!” he screamed.
The recon platoon charged among the other Japanese lookouts, shooting them down or whacking them with their rifle butts. The GIs stampeded through the jungle and swept up the hill, looking for the bunker and its Jap defenders.
Pow—a shot from Captain Yatsu's rifle brought down Private Cheatham from the Fourth Squad. Pow—another of Captain Yatsu's bullets whizzed over the head of Homer Gladley. Sergeant Sagamaki arrived at that moment with the men from the other two bunkers, and the men from the recon platoon saw them through the jungle.
"Attack!” Bannon shouted. "Don't stop now!”
Bannon jumped over a shell crater, and when he landed he saw the front wall of the bunker. Captain Yatsu fired his rifle and hit Pfc. Holgate from the Second Squad in the head.
"There's the bunker dead ahead!” Bannon screamed. "Over the top!”
The recon platoon swarmed up and around the bunker, charging into the men Sergeant Sagamaki had brought. Captain Yatsu ran out of the bunker and raised his samurai sword in the air.
Bullets were fired on both sides and grenades were thrown. Everything became confused in the smoke and movement of soldiers as the two sides closed with each other. Bannon ran at a Japanese soldier in front of him, lunged with his bayonet, and buried it in the Japanese soldier's stomach. He pulled it out, spun around, parried the thrust of a Japanese bayonet, and smashed the Japanese soldier in the face with his rifle butt. No more Japs were close to him, and he looked around, seeing a Japanese officer climbing out of a trench, brandishing a samurai sword.
"Banzai!” screamed Captain Yatsu, charging Bannon.
Bannon raised his rifle to shoot Captain Yatsu, but Captain Yatsu was coming too fast. The Japanese officer raised his sword in the air to cut Bannon in two, and Bannon raised his rifle, blocking the blow with its stock, but the force of the stroke made Bannon's hands sting and nearly knocked the rifle out of his hands. He pushed his rifle stock forward and whacked Captain Yatsu in the face. Captain Yatsu's nose was flattened and blood, squirted out, but he raised his sword to make a sideswiping blow at Bannon. Before he could get set, Bannon hit him in the face again, knocking his jaw loose from its hinges. Captain Yatsu was stunned. He struggled to keep his footing, and Bannon slammed him again, cracking open his skull. Captain Yatsu fell to the ground, his brains spilling onto the leaves. Bannon jumped over his body and looked for somebody else to kill.
Farther down the hill. Captain Orr saw the recon platoon and his own company overrunning the Japanese position and knew he'd better get more soldiers up the hill right away. He took the headset from his runner's backpack radio and called Colonel Smith. He reached Lieutenant Newton, who was one of Colonel Smith's aides.
“The colonel's busy right now,” Newton said.
‘Tell him it's urgent.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Orr waited a few moments and then he heard the voice of Colonel Smith. “What the hell's your problem, Orr?”
“Sir, the recon platoon and part of my company has captured a Japanese bunker. You'd better send whatever you have up here so we can hold it.”
It took a few moments for Colonel Smith to digest the fact that Company G and the recon platoon were on Hill Twenty-seven. He chewed the stump of his cigar and looked around at his soldiers reorganizing after the retreat from the hill. “Hang on, Orr! We're on our way!”
He handed the headset to his runner and bellowed like a wild bull, ordering his men to charge up the hill. When they hesitated, he drew his Colt .45 and led the way. The men followed, first apprehensively, then with growing confidence when they realized the Japs weren't firing at them. The Second Battalion surged up Hill Twenty-seven, but some units soon came under fire from the other two machine-gun bunkers on the hill. They were stopped, but the rest kept driving and soon joined the recon platoon and Company G at the site of the bunker that had been taken.
Captain Smith was one of the first to reach the summit and immediately set to work organizing a defense, because he expected a counterattack. AH was chaos atop the hill, for there wasn't much room and men were bumping into each other, looking for spots to dig in. The trenches around the bunker were so full, the men could barely find elbow room.
Japanese observers in the other two bunkers on Hill Twenty-seven saw that the effort to retake the first bunker had failed and now were faced with the dilemma of where to direct their fire. Their strength had been reduced drastically, due to the men and machine guns they'd sent to reinforce the bunker that had been taken. They radioed Major Uchikoshi for further instructions.
Major Uchikoshi was thunderstruck by the loss of the bunker, because his left flank now faced a serious threat. Pacing the floor of his bunker and out of cigarettes, he tried to think of what to do. He would have to accept the fact that the three bunkers were lost and continue the fight as best he could. He'd known it would come to this eventually but not so soon.
He sat before his radio and transmitted his orders to the defenders of bunkers Forty-four and Forty-five. “There will be no surrender,” he said. “You will fight to the last man for the glory of the Emperor. Banzai!”
Bannon was wondering what had happened to Longtree. He told the recon platoon to dig in on the line facing the bunkers to the north and then went looking for him, crawling around the battle area on his belly. Something told him Longtree had been hurt, otherwise he would have shown up by now.
He crawled around, looking at the faces of dead and wounded American soldiers who were tall like Longtree. Medics worked feverishly on the wounded, and the dead were scattered everywhere. He saw many Japanese soldiers and GIs locked together in the final embrace of death, arms entwined, faces close together, blood intermingling, but no Longtree.
The Americans on Hill Twenty-seven set up their machine guns and mortars and fired at the Japs in adjacent bunkers. Visibility was clear atop the hill and they could see where the Japanese fire was coming from fairly clearly, while the Japs sent a light concentration of fire their way. Occasional bullets pinged around Bannon as he made his way across the top of the hill, and then at the edge of a clearing he saw a medic from Company G working on the prostrate body of a soldier. Bannon knew instantly that it was Long tree. Bannon ran the final distance, dropping down beside the medic. Longtree lay on his stomach, his eyes closed and a big bloody bandage on his back.
“How is he?” Bannon asked.
“Real bad, but we can save him if we can get hi
m down the hill.” The medic was injecting morphine into Longtree's arm.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Stretcher bearers.”
“I'll take him down.”
“No, he'll have to go down in a stretcher.”
“I'll make a stretcher.” Bannon cupped his hands around his mouth. “Gladley!”
“Yo!”
“Get the fuck over here!”
“Yo!”
The medic looked at Bannon. “You'll have to be careful with him. He's got internal injuries.”
“I'll be careful with him.”
The medic crouched and moved away to help another wounded GI. Bannon looked down at Longtree lying still on the ground. Bannon felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He'd always considered Longtree the best man in the recon platoon, even a better soldier than himself, and he'd admired Longtree for his courage and silent, reliable strength. He didn't think the recon platoon would be much without Longtree on the point, leading the way.
Galdley came rumbling across the hill. “What's up?” Then he saw Longtree. “Holy shit, is he dead?”
“He will be if we don't get him to the battalion aid station.”
“Gee...” Gladley said, his voice weak. He too was an admirer of Longtree.
“Take your shirt off and we'll make a stretcher.”
Gladley and Bannon peeled off their torn, sweaty shirts and tied them together in a makeshift stretcher. They rolled Long-tree onto it and then picked up the ends, carrying him into the jungle, crouching low to the ground. Gladley went first. Bannon looked down at Longtree's head rolling from side to side. “Hang on, Chief,” Bannon whispered. “You'll be all right.”
FOURTEEN . . .
Colonel Smith set up a temporary headquarters in the trench outside the captured bunker, and as soon as his position around the bunker was consolidated, he called Colonel Stockton.
“Sir,” he said, “we've got one of the bunkers on Hill Twenty-seven. There are two more bunkers up here and we can see them pretty well. I think I can take them with some help from your end.”
The news made Colonel Stockton feel as if he'd been drenched with cool water. “Good work, Smith. What do you need?”
“I need an artillery strike on those two bunkers, and I'll want you to put pressure on Hill Twenty-five, to draw the fire from the bunkers there.”
“Give me the coordinates on the two bunkers on your hill.”
Colonel Smith told him the coordinates. Colonel Stockton told him he'd get right back to him. Both commanders broke off their radio connection, and Colonel Smith ducked as the top of his trench was raked by Japanese machine-gun fire. He looked to his right and left and saw his men raise their heads after the machine-gun fire passed. They placed their rifles and BARs on top of the trench and shot back at the Japs. Machine-gun and mortar squads were also firing at the Japs. Colonel Smith expected a counterattack at any moment, because he had no idea of how many Japanese soldiers were in that sector of the front. He hoped he could hold out until help came, not realizing how strong his position was.
Finally Colonel Stockton called back. “The artillery barrage will commence in ten minutes and will last for about fifteen minutes. Then send all your men forward and take those two bunkers. Don't worry about Hill Twenty-five. We'll keep them busy.”
“Only fifteen minutes?” Colonel Smith asked. “Is that the all you can give us?”
“We're running low on ammo. You'll have to do the best you can. How did you manage to get that bunker?”
“One man did it, sir. A corporal from the recon platoon. From what I understand, he snuck up here all by himself and lobbed grenades into the bunker.”
“You know his name?”
“Longtree.”
“Anybody see him do it?”
“No, he was out here all alone.”
“We'll have to work something out so he can get a medal.”
“You may have to give it to his mother, sir. He probably won't live very long.”
The artillery barrage began a few minutes later, covering the rest of Hill Twenty-seven with smoke and flames. Mean-while the First Battalion of the Twenty-third Infantry Regiment pressed their attack on Hill Twenty-five. Colonel Smith passed along the word that the rest of Hill Twenty-seven would be assaulted as soon as the barrage stopped. The GIs checked their weapons and ammunition, making sure their bayonets were secure on the ends of their rifles. The machine-gun crews moved their positions so that they could support the attack once it got under way. Colonel Smith called his companies on the other side of the hill and coordinated the attack with them. The Second Battalion waited anxiously for the barrage to end so they could finish off the job Longtree had begun.
When the barrage stopped, the GIs came up out of their holes and raced across the ridge line toward the Japanese bunkers. The few remaining Japs put up a valiant defense, but they didn't have enough firepower and were dazed by the bombardment. The Second Battalion hit the bunkers on the run from all sides, throwing hand grenades, firing bazookas, and peppering the Japs with machine-gun fire. The GIs knew they had victory within their grasp, and that gave them renewed vigor. Their bazooka rockets and hand grenades entered the front and rear openings of the bunker, and the Japs didn't have a chance. They died for their Emperor and the GIs took Hill Twenty-seven at last.
They cleaned out the bunkers and dug in. Colonel Smith called Colonel Stockton and told him the hill was taken, and Colonel Stockton was overjoyed.
“Your men did a great job!” he said. “I'm coming up there to tell them so personally!”
“I've noticed something very interesting, sir,” Colonel Smith said. “We're taking fire from the south but not from the north. I think this is the flank of the Jap fortifications in this area.”
Colonel Stockton was silenced by the good news, because if Hill Twenty-seven was indeed the flank, they could start hitting the Japs from the side and the rear. It was the kind of bonanza that occurs occasionally in battles and changes the whole picture.
“You just hang on up there,” Colonel Smith said. “I'll see you in a little while.”
The battalion aid station consisted of a network of large walled tents that were covered by camouflage netting and situated in a jungle clearing. Soldiers lay on the ground, bleeding and unconscious or smoking cigarettes, their hollow eyes staring at the tops of the trees.
Bannon and Homer Gladley entered the aid-station area, carrying the unconscious Longtree, who was turning green. “This man needs attention right away!” Bannon shouted.
A medic wearing glasses looked up from the side of a soldier whose wound he was treating. “Set him down over there and we'll get to him when we can.”
Bannon wanted to unsling his rifle and force the medic to treat Longtree at gunpoint, but there were so many other wounded men around that it wouldn't have been fair. Bannon and Gladley knelt beside Longtree, and their first thought was that they'd carried a dead man down the hill. Bannon pressed his ear against Longtree's chest and heard a faint beat.
“He's alive,” said Bannon.
Bannon saw a doctor wearing a bloody white apron enter the clearing; he was returning from the latrine. Bannon jumped up and collared him. “Sir, could you look at my buddy? I think he's gonna die.”
The doctor was a surgeon and he had wounded men inside on the operating tables to work on, but he saw the passionate concern on Bannon's face. “Where is he?”
“Over there, sir.”
The doctor was a short, dumpy man who wore blood-flecked glasses, and Bannon led him to Longtree. The doctor knelt beside Longtree and took his pulse, which was weak.
“I don't see any wound,” the doctor said. “What's wrong with him?”
“He's been shot in the back, sir.”
“Roll him over easy.”
Bannon and Gladley rolled Longtree over and the doctor saw the bloody bandage on Longtree's back. The bandage was sopping wet, which meant the medic on the hill hadn't stopped the bleedin
g effectively. The doctor knew that Longtree needed plasma immediately and that whatever was in him would have to come out.
“Take him in that tent there.”
Bannon and Gladley rolled Longtree back onto their make-shift stretcher and carried him into the operating tent. They saw two doctors bending over soldiers, slicing into wounds. In the corners medics were sewing up incisions.
“Give this man some plasma immediately!” the doctor said. “Prepare him for surgery on his back!”
Medics took Longtree from Bannon and Gladley and laid him down on the ground. They set up a stalk with a bottle on it beside him and peeled the bandage off his back. The doctor washed his hands and put on rubber gloves.
“You men wait outside,” the doctor said.
The doctor called for his scalpels. Bannon and Gladley watched him prepare to operate, and medics herded them out of the tent. They sat outside among the wounded, smoking cigarettes. Under normal circumstances Gladley would have tried to find a chow truck or mess tent to raid, but Longtree's condition had caused Homer to lose his appetite.
Bannon looked around at the wounded everywhere, bleeding and moaning. Some were knocked out by morphine, others hallucinated, and still others called for their mothers. Bannon hadn't been wounded seriously yet and knew his number would have to come up someday. He hoped he'd be able to handle the pain. It was better to be killed cleanly and quickly than suffer like some of the poor bastards around him.
“I hope he pulls through okay,” Gladley said.
“He's strong—he'll be okay.”
Bannon wasn't sure he believed that. Nobody was stronger than a bullet, not even Longtree. Who would be the point man from now on? He sifted through the faces of the men in his platoon, but not one of them could touch Longtree for sniffing out danger. The recon platoon wouldn't be the same without Longtree. He narrowed the field down to Shaw, Shilansky, and Corporal Gomez, and finally decided on Gomez, who was the trickiest of the bunch. Gomez would replace Longtree.
“I wonder what's taking them so long,” Gladley said a half hour later. “That bullet must be in a bad place.”
