The 164th Regiment Series Boxset

by Chris Glatte

  36

  By midday, the men of the fighting elements of the Americal Division were formed up and ready to take over the Marine positions. The narrow strip of beach they stood on was inadequate for their numbers. Carver squinted into the perfectly blue sky searching for the tell-tale engine noise of an approaching Japanese Zero. If they catch us on the beach, it’ll be a massacre.

  He knew the Japanese Air units had been thinned out over the past months, but they were still a threat. He would’ve felt better if there was some air cover. He wiped his brow then heard the deep rumble of an engine. He scanned the sky, but the noise was coming from behind him, from the sea. He turned to watch a pair of speeding PT boats weaving in and out of the transport ships they’d abandoned the day before. Nearly the entire Third Marine Division was on those ships now, heading off to another piece of shit island, no doubt.

  The PT boats were small in comparison, but they looked deadly with their black torpedo tubes and front and back mounted machine guns. The throaty engines propelled them along at a moderate clip amongst the larger ships, but once they were clear the engines opened up, and they surged to their top speed.

  Sergeant Carver whistled his admiration. Corporal O’Connor was beside him nodding. Carver said, “If I ever had to be a squid, I’d want to be on one of those sexy things.”

  O’Connor added, “They’re fast and quick striking, but heaven help you if one of them Jap destroyers gets you in her sights.” He watched Sergeant Carver staring as they went around the Torokina Airfield and out of sight. O’Connor thought he looked like a kid staring into the front window of a toy store. “Too bad were heading inland, there’s a whole fleet of ‘em sitting on Puruata Island.” He pointed at the small island off the coast a quarter mile. “They’re on the other side in a little bay. If we had more time, we could’ve borrowed one.”

  Sergeant Carver shook his head and came back from his daydream of captaining a PT boat. “Shaddup, Corporal.” O’Connor smiled and gave him a mock salute.

  There was a shout from the front of the column. Sergeant Carver heard Lieutenant Swan order them forward. Carver boomed, “all right, let’s get a move on. Single file, keep it tight, don’t want anyone getting lost.”

  Soon they were entering the jungle along a track they called a road. It was hardly wide enough for a side by side column, let alone a truck. The men had their rifles slung. A squad of Marines dressed in mottled camouflage led the way. Their rifles were at the ready, but they were relaxed. Carver decided the recent battle had chased off any enemy soldiers. He gritted his teeth, don’t assume anything with these bastards. He unslung his Thompson and checked his magazine was firmly locked in place.

  They’d only walked a hundred yards when the road turned muddy. The smell of decay stung his nose and forced him to breathe with an open mouth. So many feet pounding the already sloppy road made it worse, and by the time his platoon got through, they were muddy up to their knees. So much for new boots. Each step made a sucking sound as the mud clung to them like grasping hands from the grave.

  The trail started sloping upwards, and the mud turned to hard pack dirt. The jungle was oppressive and looked impenetrable to either side. Carver didn’t think any jungle could be as thick as Guadalcanal, but this place made it look like a parking lot.

  An hour passed before they halted and were told to break into individual platoons. Lieutenant Swan called up Sgt. Carver and Milo. In his squeaky voice, he said, “This is Corporal Phinney,” he gestured at a dirty marine holding an M1. “He’s going to guide us to the bunkers we’ll occupy on the top of Hill 260.” Sergeant Carver gave his Lieutenant a once over; the kid looked like he was sweating buckets. His greasy face was glistening like a glazed donut.

  Corporal Phinney waved them off the main path, onto a smaller one leading south. “It’s not far, but be ready there’s sometimes Jap snipers that creep around in here.” He pointed to the tree tops. “Sneaky bastards like to sit in the trees, keep your eye’s peeled.”

  Without being told, the platoon unslung their M1s and held them at the ready giving nervous glances to the trees. Carver waved them forward, shuffling Lieutenant Swan to the middle of the column. Carver raised an eyebrow, and Swan gave him an awkward grin and shrug. “So far so good.” Carver wondered if he was carrying extra toilet paper. Dysentery or the shitty K-rations would probably take care of the wiping issue.

  The Marine Corporal moved well along the path. The jungle was still thick, but the path widened slightly allowing the men to spread out.

  They’d been walking for ten minutes when the unmistakable signs of battle emerged. The jungle thinned, not from anything natural but countless artillery tree bursts. The blazing sun streamed through the thinned jungle canopy. If it weren’t for the smell of rotting flesh, it would have been a beautiful scene.

  Corporal Phinney held up a fist and went to his knee. Sergeant Carver slunk forward. Phinney pointed to the base of a hill thirty yards ahead. “That’s the bottom of Hill 260. Japs tried to flank us and come up this side, but our boys got wind of it and called in an artillery strike. Even with the thick canopy, it laid waste to the fuckers.”

  Carver nodded as his eyes started seeing Japanese corpses. Their tan and greenish uniforms blended in well, but once he saw one, he started picking out more until he realized it was a slaughterhouse. He guessed there were forty or fifty dead Japanese soldiers rotting in the sun. “Why haven’t these bodies been buried?” he asked as he pulled his t-shirt over his nose.

  The Corporal smiled, “We killed ‘em, you boys get to bury ‘em.”

  Carver and the men surrounding him scowled, but kept their mouths shut. Lieutenant Swan came up beside them and crouched. He scanned the carnage, realized what he was seeing and smelling and before he could get a word out, threw up his breakfast. More soldiers joined him as the smell and sights assaulted their senses. Corporal Phinney grinned, delighting in the officer’s discomfort. “Careful as we walk through, sometimes they like to play possum until they have a chance to pop up from the dead and kill you.”

  Sergeant Carver put his hand on Swan’s shoulder and said, “I’ll pass it along. Better get back to the middle, sir.” Swan wiped his mouth and nodded. His skin was the color of the maggots crawling amongst the bodies.

  They walked through the killing field. Most were torn apart. There were body parts littering the ground like confetti after a parade. Walking without stepping on pieces was difficult. Carver could hear more men adding their vomit to the lieutenant’s.

  Once they were through the killing zone, they climbed the hill. It was only 260 feet, but the heat and the smell of rot made it seem higher. As they neared the crest, the smell of cordite and charred wood mixed with the smell of decomposition. The hill looked empty but upon closer inspection, they could see the tops of Marine’s heads here and there dotting the area.

  As they approached one such hole, a jubilant Marine Captain sprang up and rushed to them. Carver and the men around him sprang to attention but knew better than to salute in a hostile area. The Captain extended his hand to the white faced Lieutenant Swan, who took the proffered hand. His grip was rough and strong. “Am I ever glad to see you dogfaces.”

  The Marine corporal introduced him, “This is Captain Hanson. Captain, this is…” he gestured to Swan.

  Lieutenant Swan stared into the Captain’s face, the silence getting uncomfortable. Carver jumped in. “Lieutenant Swan and I’m Sergeant Carver; this is Sergeant Milo and Corporal O’Connor.” He saw the Captain giving Lieutenant Swan the once over. “Lieutenant Swan’s not used to dead bodies. The Japs at the bottom of the hill shook him a little. He’ll be fine after some water, sir.”

  Captain Hanson smiled, “Don’t worry about them, Lieutenant. Those are the good kind of Nips…dead. You gotta worry about the other kind.” Lieutenant Swan nodded. “Don’t worry; you get used to the smell.” Lieutenant Swan looked around at the moonscape of his new home and thought, God, I hope not.

  C
aptain Hanson wanted to get off Hill 260 as quickly as he could, and it was evident by the way he showed Lieutenant Swan, and his sergeant’s the stronghold. The once lush hill had been bombed incessantly for the past weeks. The top of the hill by the Japanese and the rest by the Marines and Naval units. There were large craters down the hill which had to have come from the big 152mm naval guns. Closer to the top, the craters were smaller, mostly from mortars with a few bigger ones from some of the artillery the Imperial Japanese Army was able to get into range.

  Lieutenant Swan noticed the difference and asked, “Are there roads into this area?” Captain Hanson shook his head, no. “How are the Japs able to get their artillery pieces close enough? Are they cutting their way through the jungle?”

  Captain Hanson stopped and pointed to a ridge to the north; it was denuded much like the top of the hill they stood on. “That’s Hill 700. The Army 37th has been holding off Jap attacks, but the Japs owned it for awhile. They had all sorts of artillery up there. Not just small mortars but big guns. They even managed to get an anti-aircraft gun up there, used it to knock the shit out of a couple of our tanks. Cut through them like butter.”

  He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “They’re resourceful make no mistake, and they’ll keep going until they’re dead.” He looked Lt. Swan in the eye. “There’s no roads, only dirt tracks through the thickest jungle I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how they get those guns an inch let alone miles upon miles.” He frowned and looked at the distant hill. “They’re like little fucking ants. Thousands of ‘em. You kill one there’s ten more right behind. It’s unnatural.”

  They continued touring the hill. They had an escort of five other Marines, Corporal Phinney included. They kept a sharp eye on the areas that still had trees.

  The hill’s defenses were a series of bunkers laid out on the top of the ridge supporting other bunkers further down the hill. They were hastily built fortifications started by the Marines, added to by the Japanese, then finished by the Marines. Each attack had left the bunkers scarred and some destroyed, but with the help of the Navy Seabees, they were able to rebuild and reinforce them with sandbags and downed trees.

  They’d held up well to the most recent attack, although the Japanese had managed to get close enough to one to lob in a satchel charge. The explosion completely destroyed it and the men inside. There was nothing left of the six Marines, not even their dogtags. Lieutenant Swan made replacing the bunker a priority once they got settled.

  The tour took an hour. Captain Hanson was eager to get he and his men off the mountain. “I think I’ve covered all the defenses you’ve got. If you don’t have any more questions, I’ll hand over the radio codes and leave you with a few men to show you around the patrol area.” Sergeant Carver noticed Corporal Phinney tense up and take a step back.

  Lieutenant Swan rubbed his chin and looked at his boots, “Seems like we’re exposed out here on this knob. We’re what, 800 yards from the northern knob, separated by the saddle?”

  Hanson nodded, “Yep, that’s correct, but there’s plenty of fire support from the main area.”

  Lieutenant Swan continued, “Those dead Japs at the bottom of the hill can attest to that, but it seems to me they were able to cut you off from the main line. Correct?”

  Captain Hanson nodded. “This position’s temporary, at least that’s what we were told. By being here, we deny the Japs another hill to fire from. If the Japs come in force, you’ll have to retreat or be cut off.”

  “You didn’t retreat when they came.” He grinned at the Captain.

  “We were told to hold, so we held, but if they’d dug in on the saddle, we would’ve been in a world of hurt.”

  Swan nodded, not liking the position, but not wanting to show his fear to the Marine captain. “I guess that’s all the questions I’ve got for you, sir.”

  Hanson looked around at the Marines guarding them. “I’ll leave you these men here. They’ve been here since the start and know this area better than anyone. They’ll show you around, but I want ‘em back by dark tomorrow.”

  “Yessir. That should be no problem.” Carver didn’t think it was enough time but understood the Captain’s desire to get his men to the transports in one piece.

  Hanson nodded. “The rest of us will be leaving within the hour.” Without waiting for a reply, he told the sulking Corporal Phinney to inform the men of their imminent departure. Phinney turned to give the news, mumbling under his breath.

  True to his word, ten minutes later the only Marines still on the hill were the six guards. They slinked off together and found a hole to bitch and complain about their bad luck.

  Lieutenant Swan, his two sergeants and a couple of Corporals were checking out the main command bunker. It was the largest and had the best view of the hill and the North Knob. It was a good vantage point and equidistant from the other bunkers.

  Swan called them together and laid out a map of their surrounding area. It was an old German map from before the turn of the century, but it got most of the bigger features correct including their hill. Using a short pencil he pulled from behind his ear, he pointed. “We’re here with bunkers here, here, here and here.” He circled their locations. “Downslope bunkers are marked with the Xs.” He drew circles dotting the hillside. “These are the foxholes the Marines were using, there are others, but these are the best. They’re linked by this trench system.”

  He looked from man to man. Carver was impressed with the Lieutenant’s grasp of his surroundings. “The mortar pit is here with another here.” He drew slits near the bunker they sat in. “I want the 61mm mortar pit moved to here. They can cover further down the slope. I don’t think we need to worry about our flanks, seems the naval guns and beach artillery are enough to stop any attacks.” Everyone thought about the carnage they’d walked through. “I want two more mortar pits dug here and here. They’ll be protected by the slight defilade, but won’t lose any range.” He paused, “The thirty caliber machine guns will obviously be best suited for the bunkers, but I want a few more placed here, here and here. That’ll cover any withdrawals from the bunkers if anything goes wrong.”

  Sergeant Carver looked at the map trying to envision the defenses. He nodded, pleased with the changes. It would make the hill more defensible without too much extra work. This rookie might just work out after all.

  Lieutenant Swan looked at Sergeant Milo. “Take six men to the base of the hill and bury those stinking bodies. Four working, two watching for Japs, got it?” Sergeant Milo nodded. He’d be sending Corporal Dunlop on that particular duty. “I don’t like being out here on a limb like this. It’s too easy to be cut off. I’ll need to think about that and maybe…” Lieutenant Swan suddenly stood up, stiffened and put his pencil behind his ear. He turned for the back door, made from bamboo thatch and said, “that’ll be all, men. Dismissed.”

  The others were surprised at the abrupt end to the briefing, everyone except Sergeant Carver. He yelled at the retreating officer, “Shitter’s to the right, sir.” He didn’t get a reply.

  37

  The 164th Regiment’s first night on Hill 260 was uneventful but terrifying. The new men weren’t able to sleep, kept awake by the constant sounds of the jungle. Every shape looked like an enemy soldier, every sound impending death. The blackness surrounding them was complete. There was no moon and clouds skittered across the stars. Even without the thick jungle canopy above, it was dark as ink.

  O’Connor was at the bottom of his hole sleeping soundly when Private Bennett, the big BAR man called out, “Who’s there? I’ll shoot, I swear I’ll shoot.”

  O’Connor opened his eyes and saw the big man’s silhouette against the dark sky. His huge head looked like something from outer space. He kicked the back of Bennett’s calf. “Shut the fuck up, Bennett. I’m trying to sleep, goddammit.”

  The kick surprised Bennett, and he fired off a long stream of thirty caliber rounds into the night. O’Connor sprang up with his rifle ready and
leveled it towards the jungle, but knew Bennett didn’t have a target. He pulled the weapon away from Bennett’s iron grip with a hard yank that pulled the skin from Bennett’s trigger finger. He was breathing hard, reaching for his weapon. “Give it back; they’re out there, they’re everywhere.”

  Corporal O’Connor kept the weapon from him. “Shut the fuck up, Private, there’s nothing out there but jungle. Knock it off!”

  Private Bennett lunged again, but O’Connor dropped the BAR into the bottom of the hole and landed a hard right cross to Bennett’s chin. The blow knocked him back. He hit the side of the hole, stumbled and fell to the bottom, cussing and holding his chin. Rage filled his eyes, and he tried to lunge at O’Connor’s legs, but before he could, O’Connor kicked him in the chest and stepped on him, pinning him to the ground. “Pull yourself together Bennett, or I’ll bury you out here.”

  Bennett struggled against O’Connor’s foot but before he could break free Sergeant Carver slithered into the hole and stood beside Corporal O’Connor. He looked down at his BAR man. “What the hell’s all the racket, Private?”

  Bennett spluttered, “there’s, there’s a shitload…” he realized there was no return fire, no screaming Japanese soldiers on a banzai attack. “I, I thought I saw something, saw a Jap coming at me then O’Connor kicked me and…”