by Chris Glatte
“Shoulda kicked you in the damned head. You woke up the entire Company with your chickenshit.”
Private Bennett looked down and shook his head, “Sorry, Sarge. I fucked up.”
Sergeant Carver slapped O’Connor on the shoulder. He removed his boot from Bennett’s chest. Carver said, “The next time he does that you’ve got my permission to kill him.”
Even in the darkness, Bennett could see the evil grin spreading across O’Connor’s freckled face. He pulled out his K-bar knife. “Haven’t had a chance to use this in awhile.”
Carver nodded. “Now get some sleep, we’re patrolling in the morning.”
The jungle lightened with the morning in a slow, colorful dance. The dark jungle which had seemed so forbidding and close only an hour before was green and distant, almost welcoming. Beyond the barren shelled area it thickened and looked forbidding but the morning light even made that look inviting.
O’Connor kicked the sleeping giant beside him. Bennett had finally fallen asleep sometime in the early morning, and now he was snoring. O’Connor shook his head, looks like a big fucking teddy bear. He kicked him again, and the big man’s eyes shot open, remembering where he was. “Japs?”
O’Connor shook his head and dropped a can of K-rations on his chest, “Nope, breakfast.” O’Connor hopped out of the hole. “We muster at 0530, don’t be late.”
Private Bennett nodded and sat up to open his K-rat. “I won’t be late.” He looked up, “Wait. Late for what?” O’Connor kept walking, shaking his head, guy’s dumber’n a stump.
All of second platoon was milling around the command bunker talking about what little sleep they’d gotten. When they found out who’d fired the rounds, they cussed and threw dirt clods at Private Bennett who took his lumps with a sheepish grin.
Lieutenant Swan came out of the bunker with Sergeant Carver and Sergeant Milo on either side of him. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep either. He tried to make his voice sound deep and authoritarian, but instead it came out high and squeaking. “Men we’re patrolling today. The Marines will be leading squads around the perimeter. We don’t expect any trouble, but you never know. Stay sharp and pay attention.” The six Marines stood behind the platoon with their arms crossed. “Break up into squads. I want third and fourth squads out first. We’ll swap the whole thing around midday when they return.” He thought he should say more, maybe something to ease any nerves, but instead he put his arms behind his back and nodded, “Good luck, stay sharp.”
Sergeant Milo and Carver stood in front of their squads. The men had their weapons slung. Carver and Milo gripped they’re Thompson’s the stubby barrels pointing at the sky. The Marines sauntered over and stood in front.
Corporal Phinney went to Sergeant Carver. “I’ll take you guys out along with Private Flynn,” he indicated a tall skinny Marine with one of the longest necks Sergeant Carver had ever seen. “And Private Skinner, PFC Stanton, and Private Watkins,” The Marines looked bored, not happy with their assignment. With the three Marines, the squad would have thirteen men.
Sergeant Carver nodded and turned to face the men. “The Marines have been on this hill awhile and know the surrounding area. This is not a combat patrol, we’re only getting the lay of the land, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t Japs out there. The battle was only a couple of days ago; there could be wounded or even snipers. Stay alert and keep your interval just like training.”
He turned back to Phinney, “lead on, Corporal.”
Phinney unslung his M1 and moved off the top of the hill and past the command bunker. The squad made their way around the bomb craters and foxholes. The slope was gentle all the way to the bottom. The ground was littered with splintered wood and jungle debris. As they neared the bottom, they came across more rotting Japanese. They’d been there a long time and were now more a part of the jungle floor than the human race.
As the jungle closed around them, they slowed and spread out. Corporal Phinney went into a crouch keeping his weapon at the ready. The other five Marines watched the trees for movement. Sergeant Carver noticed and did the same. He was the ranking man; Lieutenant Swan would be heading out on the evening patrol.
The jungle pressed closer and closer the deeper they went. After twenty minutes they were slowed to a shuffle. Corporal Phinney stopped and motioned Sergeant Carver forward. He stood beside him, and Phinney said, “The east-west trail’s just in front of us. It’s the most used trail, by them and us. We’ll patrol along it a quarter mile to give you a feel for it.”
Sergeant Carver nodded and signaled the men to move forward. They pushed through the impenetrable green and came out onto a relatively open space. There was a trail running through the center of the greenery. Carver immediately felt exposed. He searched the area for anything out of the ordinary. He swept the area with his Thompson. Corporal Phinney said, “We’ll move up either side. We’re definitely in Indian country, but they took a beating the other day and are probably off licking their wounds.”
Carver nodded and waved them forward. The men moved slowly getting the feel of the jungle they’d be living and fighting in for the foreseeable future.
They’d gone an eighth of a mile when there was a sharp crack, and Private Bennett yelled out and fell to the ground. The men dove to the ground. Corporal Phinney yelled, “Sniper!” Another crack and a bullet slammed into the ground beside Phinney. He low crawled to his right finding cover behind a downed palm tree.
The green troops fired. The din of fire was deafening and despite Sergeant Carver yelling “Cease fire,” it continued, unabated. The jungle shredded in front of them as bullets tore into the greenery.
Sergeant Carver scanned, but with all the bullets flying he couldn’t tell where the sniper was hiding. When he started hearing the distinctive “ping’s” of M1 clips running out, he yelled again, “Cease fire, goddamit! Cease fire!” The shooting stopped and Private Bennett’s agonized screams filled the void.
Another crack and someone near the back of the two squads yelled out in panic, “I, I’m hit, I’m hit!”
Corporal Phinney and Sergeant Carver made eye contact. Carver said, “See him?” Phinney shook his head. “I’m coming to you, watch for the shot.” Phinney nodded and leaned out from behind his cover, bringing his rifle to his shoulder. Carver took a deep breath what the hell am I doing? He jumped up and ran the ten steps and leaped for cover. He felt the bullet graze past his head the same time he heard the shot. He crashed into the jungle behind Corporal Phinney.
He heard Phinney’s rifle bark three times. “Got you, you sneaky slant-eyed shit.”
Carver rolled up and pulled his helmet off. There was a crease across the side. He put it back on and felt goosebumps spread across his body. The sound of Bennett and the other wounded soldier brought him back to the present. “Stay down, watch for more. Get a medic to the wounded.” He saw the medic, Corporal Dawkins jump up and weave back and forth like a football running back. He dove next to the BAR man and went to work. There were no more shots.
The men spread out in a perimeter protecting the medic as he worked. Private Bennett was hit in the upper right chest. His chest bubbled red from his punctured lung. He gasped for breath his eyes darting side to side looking for relief from the pain. Corporal Dawkins pulled his bandages out and pressed them against the wound. The sucking sound stopped, and he secured the bandage, wrapping it tightly around the big man’s chest. The bullet hadn’t passed through his body, so there wasn’t an exit wound.
Dawkins laid him on his back and called to a nearby soldier. “Come here and keep pressure on the wound. I need to check the other man.”
The soldier, Private Denn kneeled over Bennett. Denn’s face was white as a sheet as he took in the scene. He’d never seen so much blood. He froze in place. Dawkins grabbed his hands and forced them onto the bloody bandages. “Hold pressure. Don’t release it for anything. He’s got a collapsed lung, gotta keep pressure so he can breathe…got it?” When there was
no response, Dawkins yelled, “Got it!”
Private Denn snapped out of it and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. Go help the other guy.”
Corporal Dawkins ran off and slid next to Private First Class Henry. Henry laid on his back, his belly was open, and his guts were visible. “Jesus Christ.” There was a ring of crouched soldiers around him, guns pointing outward but they couldn’t help looking at PFC Henry’s still body. Dawkins felt for a pulse and listened for breathing, but there was nothing. Private First Class Henry from Wilmington North Dakota was gone. “Shit,” he said. He ran back to Private Bennett. A group of men watched the struggling soldier.
Sergeant Carver yelled, “Corporal Phinney, lead two men back and get two stretchers.” Phinney nodded and grabbed two Marines. Carver said, “The rest of you watch for more Japs. We’ll move out soon.”
Sergeant Carver pointed at Private Willy, then the remains of Private Henry. “Wrap him in your poncho. Use your rope to tie him in tight. You and Denn take him back.”
Private Willy cursed under his breath as he pulled out his poncho, “Gonna get guts and blood all over my new poncho.” He shook his head as kneeled beside the gray face of Private Henry.
38
The evening patrol went better than the first. There were no enemy encounters. Lieutenant Swan and Sergeant Milo got a good idea about the terrain surrounding Hill 260.
Upon their return, Lieutenant Swan thanked the Marines for their help. Corporal Phinney found Sergeant Carver before leaving. “Wanted to wish you dogfaces luck. I don’t usually give a rat’s ass for grunts and yesterdays cluster fuck didn’t help my attitude, but you guys’ll do alright out here. You’re not Marines, but your men move well and besides some fire discipline issues. Well, they’ll come around.”
Sergeant Carver wasn’t sure if he should ring the cocky Marine’s neck or thank him, so he scowled. “Don’t recall asking for your opinion, Corporal.” He emphasized his rank.
Corporal Phinney held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t mean nothing by it. I’m glad to be leaving this hill. It’s too exposed and too easily cut off. I don’t envy your job, but I think you and your men are up to it.”
Carver shoved a half chewed cigar into the side of his mouth. “Course we’re up to the job. Now get the hell outta here before I ring your scrawny neck.”
He leaned into the Corporal who smiled and turned to leave. “Sorry about your man. How’s that big fella, Bennett?”
“He’s stable. You’ll be escorting him and the medics back to the beach. You can ask him yourself.” Corporal Phinney nodded and waved goodbye.
Corporal O’Connor came up beside Sergeant Carver. “Why didn’t you kick that cocky son-of-a-bitches ass?”
Carver spit a piece of tobacco onto the ground. “He killed the sniper that nearly punched my ticket this morning.” He took off his helmet and showed the crease where the bullet had nearly killed him. O’Connor let out a whistle and went back to cleaning his M1.
Just before nightfall, Lieutenant Swan called the sergeants and corporals into the bunker. The air inside felt like an oven, and the smell of rot and men in need of showers could make a man gag. Lieutenant Swan stood over a table with the same map he’d had out before. He had a red x marking the spot where they’d encountered the sniper.
“Good job today men. I know we lost two good men.” His voice cracked, “But I’m proud of the way you handled it. Getting Bennett and Henry out of there without more casualties is a testament to your skill.” He looked up from the map. His eyes went from sad to hard like a light switch had been turned on. “Those men didn’t die in vain, and we’ll avenge them.” Lieutenant Swan’s eyes went to each of them. Sergeant Carver had never seen his lieutenant look so angry. The timid soldier had disappeared, replaced by a man who wanted vengeance. It made him nervous.
Lieutenant Swan smashed his finger on the red x. “This is where the sniper was that got our guys. At 2300 I’m sending out a squad to set up an ambush in that spot. You’ll stay until noon then return here.” The men looked at one another; this wasn’t a tactic they’d ever done in real life. They’d trained for it, but even on Guadalcanal setting and springing ambushes wasn’t something they’d done. Swan, sensing their apprehension asked, “Questions?”
Sergeant Carver asked. “Sir, we just got here, the men barely know where they’re sleeping. Do you think tonight is a good time?”
Swan paced, “The men are fine. We need to make our presence known. The Japs need to know were not standing by letting them make all the moves. I want to make them pay for sneaking in snipers.”
Carver nodded, not agreeing but knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind. “What about support if the shit hits the fan?”
“I’ve already plotted the coordinates for our mortar team, and I’ve alerted base of my intentions and have set up artillery coordinates.” He leaned forward and with his pencil, marked spots in front of the red x. “This is fire-mission Albert, this one’s fire-mission Zulu. I’ll only bring in the heavy stuff if you encounter a sizable force. A squad or two, we’ll deal with ourselves.”
Carver crossed his arms. “Who’s going, sir?”
“I want you and third squad out there. Take Corporal O’Connor too.” He looked at the two men whose faces were masks of stony silence. “Chances are you won’t encounter anything, but if the Japs come to pick up their dead sniper or insert another one, we’ll be ready and take them out. Understood?”
The men snapped to attention and saluted, “Yes sir.”
“Inform your men and get some chow and some shuteye. There’s no guard duty for third squad tonight. I’ll be there to see you off.”
Sergeant Carver couldn’t sleep. After the men had eaten, he gathered them and made sure their weapons were clean, and they had plenty of ammo. He went over their gear making sure there was nothing shiny and nothing that would make noise as they moved through the jungle. The men acted subdued getting used to the fact that they’d soon be beyond the immediate safety of their comrades.
“I know this is a sudden and unexpected mission, but we trained for it. When we get to the trail, we’ll set up the ambush, with the thirty caliber as the crux.
“The LT isn’t expecting trouble, but you never know. If Japs come into the area we’ll wait until the majority are in the kill box. No one shoots until I give the command. No one shoots until I do…understand?” The men responded, “yessir,” in unison. “I don’t want the fire discipline breakdown like we had last night. We’re better than that. Let’s be professional out there.”
He dismissed them. Everyone went off to their holes or bunkers to try to sleep through jitters. O’Connor stayed back and when the men were gone said, “Do you think this is a good idea, Sarge?”
Carver watched the squad leave and shook his head. “We’re gonna have to be on our toes. This isn’t our mission. The men know how to set up and execute it, but these are front line troops. We’re not guerrillas.” O’Connor raised a red eyebrow. “Well, not really. You and I have been out there, but most of these men are green as grass. I don’t trust ‘em not to open fire if they hear so much as a monkey howl.”
O’Connor nodded. “Well if someone does open up, we’ll have to end the mission. Can’t risk staying out there once we’re compromised.”
Sergeant Carver grinned, “then we’d have to come back here hours before our guys will be expecting us and probably get shot up by our troops.” He shook his head, “I don’t like it one bit. What’s gotten into the LT?”
Sergeant Milo had been standing in the back of the group. He heard Carver’s question. He stepped forward. “I was here when Lieutenant Swan saw Bennett and Henry come out of the jungle. His face went white like he’d seen a ghost or something. He looked physically ill. Thought for sure he’d lose his lunch any second. Then something happened. I don’t know what, but suddenly he changed.” Milo looked down at his boots remembering. “It was like he aged twenty years in two seconds. He went from white to
red, and his eyes went from teary to hard as stone.”
He looked from Carver to O’Connor. He’d been through the hell of Guadalcanal with them. He’d seen men die and killed plenty himself. He’d seen both these men kill, sometimes with their bare hands. He’d also seen them mourn many fallen friends and comrades. “I’ve seen it before. The lieutenant wants revenge. He took those two casualties personally, and he wants payback.”
Sergeant Carver nodded. “That’s what it seems like to me, but this is no place for personal vendettas.”
The top of Hill 260 was pitch dark. There was cloud cover, and it looked like it might rain. True to his word Lieutenant Swan was there to see them off. He spoke quietly to Sergeant Carver and Corporal O’Connor. His attitude seemed to have mellowed with the darkness. “I want you to be careful out there. If you see anything that seems out of place, don’t push. Use your judgment and good sense.”
Carver gritted his teeth. Now that this shit is real he’s losing his nerve. “Yes, sir. As careful as we can be considering were patrolling in enemy territory.”
Lieutenant Swan nodded, “Good luck, Sergeant.” He stepped aside, and Carver led the fourteen man squad down the slope. As they passed the other platoon members in their holes, they nodded, wishing them luck. They were happy they weren’t going with them.
When they entered the jungle line, it seemed like the blackness swallowed them. To Corporal O’Connor it seemed they’d entered a nightmare of vines, snakes, and insects. Sweat wet his shirt making him sticky. He wanted to scratch every inch of his body. Even though he’d been in the tropics almost two years, his fair skin never adjusted. His skin had burned countless times, but instead of becoming dark tan like Sergeant Carver, he only turned deeper shades of red.
They moved at a snail’s pace. O’Connor was on point, as usual, his upbringing in the Oregon woods had groomed him perfectly for the job. He took careful steps in the unfamiliar jungle, trying to come to terms with the wildness all around him.