Operation Long Jump (Jock Miles WW2 Adventure Series Book 2)

by William Peter Grasso

  “Ain’t that fucking great,” Murdock said. Putting the naval liaison squarely in his sights, he added, “I don’t care if I have to call MacArthur himself. We need our stuff. We need those ships. We’re all going to die here without them…and Dugout Doug is going to look like the biggest asshole in history for throwing away this entire division.”

  No one could disagree with Colonel Murdock on that point.

  “Still,” the S3 said, “our biggest problem is to get this attack moving again. We’ve lost the initiative—”

  “I’m not sure we ever had it,” Murdock interrupted. “If this frontal assault bullshit is going to work, we’ve got to find a place we can break through the Jap line. Then, maybe, we can exploit that breakthrough.” He pulled Jock to the battle map. “We’ve got to find a place where the Japs are weakest, Jock. Where would that be?”

  “I’m not sure, sir, and I’m not going to find it standing here.”

  “What do you suggest, Jock?”

  “I’m going back up the mountain, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Day 8

  It was late afternoon by the time Jock Miles reached Charlie Company’s position at The Notch. Walking alone on the trail, he was confronted by a soldier he recognized immediately: PFC Travis Spill, a rifleman in Lieutenant Colletti’s Third Platoon. Spill’s rifle was aimed squarely at his ex-company commander’s chest.

  “Good afternoon, Private Spill,” Jock said. “How about pointing that weapon someplace else.”

  “I challenge Lipstick,” Spill drawled. His rifle’s aim didn’t budge.

  “I don’t think that’s the challenge word for today, Spill. I believe it’s—”

  Travis Spill tightened his grip on the rifle. “Makes no nevermind what you think, sir. I’m just waiting to hear you say that password.”

  Jock offered a nervous smile. “And if I don’t know it?”

  “Then I’ll have to shoot you, sir.”

  The smile vanished from Jock’s face. This crazy redneck just might be serious.

  “Okay, then,” Jock said, “I’ll give you a password. Licorice.”

  “Sorry, sir. That ain’t it. But I’ll be white about it and give you one more try.”

  “Spill, cut the crap. You know who I am.”

  Travis Spill sighed deeply and shook his head. The aim of his rifle never wavered. “I need to tell you a little story, sir,” he began. “I got took from my sweet home in Jackson, Tennessee, got put on a train to Georgia, so I could get put on a train to California, so I could get put on a boat to Australia, so I could get put on another boat to this stinking place…just to keep you out. Now, sir, if I was to let you pass, all that money Uncle Sugar spent shipping my rebel ass all over the world would be wasted, wouldn’t it?”

  The boy’s got a point, but—

  A voice boomed from within the perimeter: “SPILL, JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? AT EASE WITH THAT WEAPON BEFORE I SHOVE IT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU’LL BE ABLE TO WIPE YOURSELF AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH AT THE SAME TIME.”

  Travis Spill did exactly as First Sergeant Patchett instructed.

  “Don’t you know Captain Miles when you see him?” Patchett said, swatting Spill on the back of the helmet. “It’s only been two damn days he’s gone, for cryin’ out loud.”

  “He didn’t know the password, First Sergeant.”

  Eyes bulging, Patchett replied, “DID YOUR MAMA HAVE ANY CHILDREN THAT LIVED, BOY? YOU JUST BOUGHT YOURSELF EVERY SHIT DETAIL THERE IS FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL LIFE.”

  “No hard feelings, Spill,” Jock said, patting the private on the shoulder as he walked over to Patchett and shook his hand. “Good to see you, Top.”

  “Same here, sir. Can’t bear to stay away, can you?”

  “I guess not,” Jock replied, “but I’m hear to tell you we’ve got big problems down the mountain.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been noticing. Looks like everyone down there dipped their feet in a bucket of glue. But come on over here, sir. There’s something we’ve got to show you before it gets dark.”

  As they walked, Jock said, “By the way, Colonel Murdock wants you guys to know you’ve been doing a hell of a job up here. Last night, especially, scaring off those ships.”

  “Thank Commander Shaw for that, sir,” Patchett replied. “Speaking of ships, is our Navy thinking about coming back anytime soon?”

  Jock shrugged. “All I know is we’re going to be eating dirt and throwing rocks if they don’t. How’re you guys doing on ammo?”

  “We’re okay for now, sir…but you can never have too much ammo. If Miss Ginny and her natives ever change their minds about hauling it for us, we’re in deep shit.”

  “And how are you and Miss Ginny getting along, anyway?”

  “Fine, sir. Just fine.” He really meant it, too. His big grin gave him away.

  Lee Grossman was delighted to see his old boss. “The men will be thrilled you’re here, sir,” he said. “You’re going to stay for supper, right?”

  Jock would have liked to say, Sure, I’ll be glad to share some K rations with you guys, but he never got the chance—he was cut off by the whine of diving aircraft. These words tumbled from his mouth instead: “Oh, crap…we were wondering when the Jap Air Force was going to show up again.”

  Their scramble for cover lost its urgency as the four Japanese fighters screamed overhead and flew away down the ridge. Even though the planes passed from sight quickly—lost beyond the treetops—they still heard those engines for miles. After about two minutes—the time it would take to fly the seven miles from The Notch to the old OP—they heard the bombs explode.

  “See? They ain’t forgot about us,” Patchett said, “but they still think we’re way down there. We ain’t gonna change that opinion, neither, if we can help it…seeing we’re sitting in range of their artillery and all.”

  Their bombing mission over as quickly as it began, the Japanese planes dove down from the mountaintop and swooped low over the GIs on the lowlands. They fanned out for one quick strafing pass and then climbed, turning north to fly away over the Owen Stanleys.

  “So much for today’s visit by the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force, I guess,” Jock said. “So, what do you guys have to show me?”

  Lee Grossman pointed down the mountain toward the stalled battle line of the 32nd Division. “The Japs are dug in too well, sir,” he said. “It’s like that all along the line. We’ve been hitting those bunkers with artillery all day but don’t have a whole lot to show for it. If anything, they’re getting stronger.”

  Jock asked, “How do you figure that, Lee?”

  “I’m going to let you hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, sir.” He summoned Theo Papadakis to join them. “Lieutenant Pop can fill you in.”

  “Really good to see you, sir,” Papadakis began. “Here’s the deal…last night, while that artillery duel was going on, I took a squad down the mountain. We walked right in behind the Jap positions and had ourselves a little look-see.”

  At first, Jock thought The Mad Greek was kidding—but he realized Papadakis was completely sincere: Theo’s not the kind of guy who tries to pull your leg.

  “We covered a couple of miles,” Papadakis continued, “and everywhere we looked, there were more and more Japs coming up to join the line. We thought they might be massing for a counterattack…”

  Jock shook his head. “That’s not their style. You remember the briefings we got…they want to make you come to them and then grind you down.”

  “Yeah, we remembered, sir, and so do the Japs, apparently. All night, these guys would come and build more fortifications…digging, cutting timber, you name it. The only way we’re gonna take that wall is to go around it.”

  “Let me get this straight, Theo,” Jock said, still stunned by what he was hearing. “You just walked around behind the Jap lines?”

  “Yes, sir…so close you could hear them talking and playing grab-ass. One of my guys almost tripped over a
couple of Japs catching a nap. And we picked up this…” He called to Sergeant Hadley, who hoisted a Nambu machine gun, complete with magazine.

  Jock burst out laughing: “Holy shit, Theo…that was just laying around?”

  “Yes, sir…and I’ll bet they’re still looking for it.”

  “You guys never cease to amaze me,” Jock said, and then his expression turned deadly serious. “If you’d wanted to, though, do you think you could’ve done the Japs any damage?”

  Papadakis’s answer came with no hesitation at all: “For a minute, maybe. But considering we were outnumbered about a thousand to one, that would be our last minute on this earth.”

  Not surprised by the Greek’s answer, Jock asked, “So how the hell are we going to take these Nips?”

  Papadakis yielded the floor to Lee Grossman, who asked, “What does HQ think about enveloping them through The Notch?”

  “I suggested that, Lee…and they shot it down so fast my head spun. Maybe they’ve got a point, though. Running major units through there could be real dangerous for us. We’d get channelized…and we’d be looking right down the throat of their artillery. They could cut us to pieces.”

  Grossman picked up his binoculars, gazed across Port Moresby, and said, “So how about this, sir? We think we know where all the Japs Theo saw are coming from. It looks like there’s nobody covering their backside on the far side of the town.”

  Jock asked, “You mean where the Aussies were supposed to land?”

  “Exactly, sir,” Grossman replied. “We think they’ve abandoned that whole area to stop our attack. If that’s true, and we could put some troops over there…GIs, Aussies, it wouldn’t matter who…this wall we’re facing would thin out in a hurry.”

  Jock asked, “Are you sure that’s where they’re coming from?”

  “Pretty sure, sir. There haven’t been any ships or planes coming in, and we would have spotted any troops coming overland across the swamps to the west. And we know for sure nobody’s come down The Notch.”

  Jock swept the far side of Port Moresby with his binoculars. “I think I see your point, Lee. Pretty hard to see troops at this distance, though, but I don’t see any vehicles at all.”

  “Maybe we could scare up some boats,” Grossman said, “and start shuttling guys over there at night?”

  The binoculars still pressed to his eyes, Jock replied, “Hmm. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Suddenly, the view through Jock’s binoculars went dark: Sergeant Hadley was walking toward him, blocking his line of sight. Directing Jock’s attention out to sea, Hadley said, “Take a look over there, sir.”

  Flying in over the water were two small spotter planes. Back in the States, they’d be called Piper Cubs. The big, white American stars on their olive drab fuselages were unmistakable. “They’re L4s,” Jock said, “nicknamed Grasshoppers. Where the hell did they come from, I wonder?”

  Theo Papadakis offered, “Australia, maybe?”

  “They don’t have that kind of range,” Jock replied.

  The planes made their way east along the coastline. Once they reached the village of Gaile—where the airstrip was being cleared—they circled back, descended, and dropped from sight behind the curtain of the rainforest as they landed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Day 8/Day 9

  Only one event shattered the peace and quiet of night on The Notch: a flight of Japanese high-level bombers—complete with the intentionally annoying throb of out-of-sync propellers—dropped their loads behind the American lines before flying away unmolested. They left nothing burning.

  “At least they didn’t hit any fuel or ammo dumps,” Lee Grossman said.

  “Let’s hope they hit nothing at all,” Jock added.

  “Amen to that, sir,” Melvin Patchett replied.

  “By the way,” Jock said, “I left my jeep down the mountain and I’m in need of a new driver. Got someone you can farm out to me?”

  Patchett rubbed his hands with glee as he replied, “Oh boy, sir, do I got a guy for you: Private Reynolds from Lieutenant Pop’s platoon. Ol’ Pisser ain’t worth a flip as a rifleman. Nothing but a regular…” He paused, realizing he was doing a poor job of selling his choice. “But I reckon he’d make a damn fine driver for you, sir.”

  “Come on, Top,” Jock said, “be nice. Give me somebody at least halfway dependable.”

  Patchett looked to Lieutenant Grossman. “Any suggestions, sir?”

  “Well, Lieutenants Colletti and Garcia have the most men in their platoons. Papadakis is already down one. Wharton’s down three.”

  Jock thought it over for a moment. “Tell you what,” he said, “Colletti’s fat, you say? And isn’t Private Spill one of his?”

  Patchett stifled the urge to burst out laughing. “Spill? You thinking about taking Spill? The numbnuts who almost shot you?”

  “Yeah, Top, why not? His particular brand of single-mindedness just might prove very dependable for my purposes.”

  Patchett sighed and said, “As you wish, sir. As you wish.” He walked off, adding, “I’ll give Lieutenant Colletti the good news while I’m checking the perimeter.”

  With the first sergeant out of earshot, Jock asked, “Lee, was the Greek’s little recon your idea?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you even know about it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So,” Jock said, “are you going to court-martial him…or decorate him?”

  “Well, sir…I’m not going to court-martial him. I told him he did a real good job…and then I told him to never fucking do it again.”

  “A wise move, Lieutenant.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments until Grossman asked, “Sir, what the hell do I do if the Japs decide to run The Notch?”

  Jock replied, “Whatever happens, Lee, don’t give up this high ground. You’re all that’s keeping the whole damned division from getting flanked.”

  The sun rose over the mountain to reveal a wonderful and unexpected sight: the US Navy had returned to the shores of Papua. Once again, unloading operations were under way but still at the same slow pace. Nobody on shore was complaining, though: they needed every man, every pallet of supplies, and every piece of equipment these ships had to offer. Planes of the Fifth Air Force seemed to own the sky, protecting the fleet while it bombed and strafed the well-entrenched Japanese to little apparent effect.

  Jock Miles, with PFC Travis Spill in tow, started his trek down Astrolabe at first light. In the foothills at the mountain’s base, they came across a somber sight: a busy American cemetery. Looking at row after row of the simple, tiny crosses that served as grave markers, Spill said, “It just ain’t right.”

  Jock replied, “What’s not right, Spill?”

  “That they’re burying these boys here.”

  “This is a war, Spill. People die.”

  “I know that, sir,” Travis Spill replied, “but I mean it ain’t right to bury them here…in this ground we ain’t won and maybe won’t.”

  Jock smiled as he told himself, The boy’s deeper than I thought.

  They were at Regiment by late morning. Colonel Murdock was positively giddy when Jock entered the HQ tent.

  “The Navy’s back, Jock my boy,” Murdock said. “They’re offloading the rest of the division’s heavy artillery. Two more batteries’ worth! Twelve more one-five-five tubes! Not to mention boatloads of supplies, fuel, vehicles—”

  “And some spotter planes showed up, too,” Jock interrupted, unable to contain his own enthusiasm. “I’m headed over to the airstrip. I’m going to try to latch on to one.”

  Murdock was curious: “I thought you could see everything you needed from that mountain, Jock.”

  “Not quite everything, sir.”

  The ground beneath their feet gave a faint shudder, joined by the thud of heavy naval shells landing in the distance. “The Air Force must be done for now,” Murdock said. He cast a frigid glance at the naval liaison officer and adde
d, “It’s time for the Navy to make amends for its absence.”

  “We have new intelligence, sir,” the naval liaison said, as if that excused everything. “That visit from the Japanese Navy was a fluke…just a battleship and its escorts on their way to the Solomons. The Japs are apparently far more interested in hanging on to those islands than this little outpost. If they can hold on to those islands, they can interdict our sea lanes from the States to Australia by sea and air.”

  Bristling with annoyance, Murdock spit fire at the Navy man: “This little outpost, as you call it, Lieutenant, just happens to be where twelve thousand men of this division are fighting and dying right now. In future, I’d show their sacrifices a little more respect, if I were you.”

  “Sorry, sir,” the liaison sputtered, “no offense meant.” He hurried off to find some urgent business to hide behind.

  Preparing to leave, Jock gathered his gear. Murdock had one final thought for him: “Find me a way out of this damned siege we’re stuck in, Jock…and find it quick. I saw enough of this trench warfare in The Great War to last a lifetime.”

  The new airstrip at Gaile was little more than a cleared and smoothed patch of dirt near the water’s edge, almost 12 miles behind the front lines. Leaving Travis Spill to extricate the jeep from the gulley in which its new driver had gotten it stuck, Jock walked the last hundred yards to the airstrip alone. What he saw there was less than inspiring.

  The two spotter planes he had watched from the mountain yesterday were the airfield’s only residents. Only one of them stood proud and airworthy in the afternoon sun. The other was a crumpled mass of metal tubing and fabric nestled clear of the landing zone among a stand of trees. Looking more like a pile of refuse, it no longer bore much resemblance to a flying machine. The only person visible was a strapping young lieutenant working diligently on the engine of the airplane that still seemed flyable. His silver pilot’s wings glistened against the grimy coveralls to which they were pinned.