by Chris Glatte
As the daylight was fading, a storm cloud opened up and hit them with a deluge of rain. It happened suddenly and unexpectedly. They were soaked to the skin by the time they pulled out their tattered ponchos. Carver made the decision to stop for the night. O’Connor found a tiny rise that was slightly less muddy and they set up for the night.
The rain lasted an hour and a half. They filled their canteens, then sat hunched under ponchos waiting for it to end. Finally, it stopped.
It wasn’t like the rainstorms O’Connor was used to in Oregon where the rain started slowly, gained momentum then slackened and stopped. This rain stopped like someone had shut off a spigot. It was raining hard one second, the next it wasn’t raining at all. The trees dripped, and the rain water hissed as the warm air turned it to mist.
The men opened cans of K-rations and ate until they were gone, scraping the bottoms. The hard patrolling took everything out of them and the foul tasting meals were full of life-sustaining calories.
Sergeant Carver had two men on guard duty pulling hour long shifts. O’Connor’s turn came at 0100. He was nudged, and he was awake and alert instantly. His body needed sleep, but he didn’t allow himself a deep sleep. He teetered between the dream world and the real world, always ready for a fight. There’d be plenty of time for real sleep when they got back to their lines.
He grabbed his rifle and followed Private Denn back to the spot he’d been on watch. He pointed, and O’Connor nodded and slid into the shallow foxhole. It wasn’t deep enough to cover his body, and he could see why they hadn’t dug it deeper, they’d hit rock. The bottom of the hole was covered in six inches of water. He cursed and decided he’d be better off out of the hole. He sat on the edge of it trying to get comfortable. There was thick brush he leaned against. He did so slowly, making no noise.
He scanned the dark canopy over his head. It was sparser here, and he thought he could actually see stars. The cloud burst had moved on leaving clear skies. The blackness around him was complete. The air was warm and muggy, but tolerable. He sighed. The jungle can be a beautiful place.
He stared into the nothingness. He was watching the trail they’d come in on. The rain had done a number on their trail. The sticky mud had turned to liquid and their tracks simply washed away.
He thought about the last time they’d been out here. They’d been followed and the Japs attacked. The superior cover was the only reason they weren’t all killed. If something similar happened here, they wouldn’t have a chance. The only cover was the jungle itself which didn’t stop bullets as well as rocks.
His hour passed quickly and without incident. He was about to move back the ten yards to wake Private Willy, when he heard something out of place. He froze and tried to see through the darkness. He felt the weight of his M1 in his hand. He aimed the muzzle toward the sound. His heart rate increased making him feel warm all over. He could hear it pounding in his ears. Something was out there, something big, like a soldier.
He tried to control his breathing. The sound was not a normal jungle sound, something was coming and would be on him in a second. He was about to pull the trigger, but he wasn’t confident he was aiming in the correct spot. As soon as he shot he’d be lit up like times square on New Year’s Eve, and targeted. He had to make the shot count.
The noise stopped. O’Connor doubted whatever it was could see him, he was a part of the bushes he leaned against, but he had the distinct feeling something was watching him. He strained to see into the gloom for some shape, something that didn’t fit. A minuscule movement caught his eye. It was low to the ground, lower than he’d been looking. He adjusted his aim and focused every fiber of his being at the spot. Another movement, only feet away. Sweat poured off his forehead and threatened to blind him.
Then he saw eyes, glowing eyes nearly on the ground. He realized he wasn’t dealing with a soldier but a jungle animal. The thought didn’t make him feel better. The eyes stared straight at him. The beast looked ready to spring. O’Connor had his finger on the trigger and was applying gentle pressure.
The eyes blinked and were suddenly gone. The shape in the dark disappeared as if it had never been there. He strained to see where it had gone. A hand pushed on his shoulder, and it was all O’Connor could do not fire. With a conscious effort, he released the trigger, and let out a long breath.
Private Willy tensed and whispered, “What’s wrong? Japs?” he pulled his M1 to his shoulder and scanned the jungle, kneeling at the same time. His eyes were wide as he swept the area.
O’Connor wiped his brow. “Shit, you scared the hell out of me, almost made me fire.” He shook his head and reached out to lower Willy’s muzzle. “There was something out there, something wild, not a Jap, but something more deadly.” Private Willy gave him a confused look and continued to stare into the jungle. “I think it must have been a Jaguar or maybe a panther.” He leaned back into the bush and let out another long breath. He tilted his head side to side, loosening his taut neck muscles. “Maybe a tiger. They have that kind of shit out here?”
Private Willy shook his head, “I don’t know. Whatever it was is gone now. I’m here to relieve you. It’s my turn.”
O’Connor shook his head, “I’ll stay here with you.” Willy looked at him like he was crazy. “If that thing comes back it’s better if there’s two of us.” He hugged his rifle and went prone onto his back. “Wake me if it shows up again, I’m gonna get some sleep.”
48
The night passed without further incident. O’Connor slept but was never deep. The guard changed and now Corporal Dawkins, the unit medic tapped his foot. “Starting to get light. Reckon we’ll be leaving soon, O’Connor?”
Corporal O’Connor nodded and sat up and stretched. His back cracked as he moved it side to side. He rubbed his neck; he felt like he’d slept on a boulder garden. He stood and looked to where he’d seen the animal. He leveled his rifle and walked to the bushes that were beginning to glow a vibrant green with the morning light. He hunkered into a squat and slung his rifle. He pushed back the bushes looking for tracks. There was nothing there. He pushed his way further into the brush, but he could see nothing that would suggest a large animal.
“Hey, what you looking for?” Dawkins whispered.
O’Connor shook his head, “Nothing,” and moved back to the half dug foxhole. He looked back at the spot. Am I losing my mind? Was it some kind of jungle ghost? He decided he wouldn’t bring the incident up to anyone. He hoped Private Willy wouldn’t either.
Over a K-ration breakfast of rice and beans, Carver and O’Connor pored over the map. It was old and suspect, but they both decided they had another mile and a half before they butted up against the Crown Prince Range. “Don’t forget about that smoke, Gomez saw. Should come across that area this morning.” O’Connor nodded. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet. “Something bothering you?”
O’Connor looked up and shook his head. “Nope.” He unslung his rifle, “I’ll head out when you’re ready.”
Sergeant Carver nodded. “We’re right behind you.”
O’Connor went to the front of the line. They fidgeted and finished eating, and buried their K-rat garbage. O’Connor doubted the Japanese would be able to miss the fact that a force of American soldiers was in the area if they happened upon the spot; there were boot prints everywhere in the soft ground.
O’Connor got to the front man, Private Willy, who grabbed his arm as he passed. “You find any tracks from that animal?”
O’Connor sneered and shook his hand off. “Forget about it, my mind playing tricks.”
Willy watched him pass and muttered just loud enough for him to hear, “Who shit in your soup?” O’Connor ignored him and pressed into the jungle.
When he’d gotten twenty yards in front of the squad, he looked back. Nothing but jungle. He took a deep breath and thought about the yellow eyes he’d seen. He felt goose bumps on his neck and scalp. He shook his head, get your damned head in the game, slick.
He
tried to push the image from his mind, but it kept coming back to him every couple minutes. He thought he could feel the eyes piercing into his back, and he turned to catch it looking, but there was nothing there. He licked his lips, and swallowed against a dry throat. He crouched and wiped his brow. He’d come about a half mile and seen no sign of the enemy or the beast.
He felt parched; he needed water. He looked back, he had time for a quick sip from his canteen. He pulled it out of his combat belt. He unscrewed the lid quickly and dropped it. The string holding the lid to the canteen kept it from falling to the ground but the metal lid smacked against the metal of the canteen. The chirps and clicks of the ever-present insects stopped for an instant. In the lull, O’Connor heard the distinct sound of humanity.
He froze, the canteen halfway to his cracked lips. Moving only his eyes, he scanned the area. All he could see was jungle, but he could still hear the sound. Not voices, but activity, like a work crew, or an incautious foot patrol.
He felt the presence of Private Willy coming through the jungle. Without looking back, O’Connor signaled him to stop and take cover. Willy sent the signal back and went prone with his M1 sticking out from his shoulder.
O’Connor was still crouched trying to pinpoint the sound. Moving like a sloth, he put the canteen on the ground and eased himself onto his stomach. Every muscle ached with his slow movement, but he ignored the pain.
When he was down, he stayed that way for over a minute. He looked back at Willy and signaled that he was moving forward to get a better look. Willy relayed the message and looked down the sights of the rifle.
O’Connor pushed his way forward inch by inch until he was ten yards further into the bush. He could tell there was something ahead. He almost yelled out when there was a voice only yards from where he lay. It spoke Japanese. His bowels threatened to loose, and all color drained from his face. The enemy was right on top of him, but he still couldn’t see anyone.
The voice came again, and this time he was able to pinpoint the source better. It was above him. There was a small cluster of tree trunks to his front. There must be a sniper in the tree.
He waited for the bullet that would sever his spine. When it didn’t come, he moved his head until he was looking up. There was something different about the trees. He pushed a vine out of the way and realized what he was seeing. The trees weren’t trees at all, but part of a fence. The sniper in the tree was actually a soldier in a tower. He could just make out the barrel of a mounted machine gun barrel sticking out.
He was far enough forward that the guard would only be able to see him if he happened to lean out and look down. The sight before him was so unexpected he had trouble comprehending what he was seeing. There was a stout fence, a manned guard tower and now Japanese soldiers with long rifles slung over their backs, walking the perimeter of the fence line. Beyond them, there were buildings, mostly thatch huts, but he thought the biggest one in the middle was lumber. What the hell is this place?
He watched the camp, acutely aware that his squad would be wondering what the hell had happened to him. He was about to back his way out when he heard another voice that wasn’t in Japanese.
From around the corner of the big building a man dressed in rags and thin as a rail was pleading with a Japanese soldier. O’Connor couldn’t tell what he was saying, but there was no doubt it was English.
O’Connor squinted, trying to see better. The man in rags dropped to his knees with his hands together like he was praying, or begging. The Japanese soldier yelled and spat in his face then thumped him with the butt of his rifle. O’Connor heard the dull thunk of the wooden stock smashing into the man’s nose. The man yelled out and fell to the ground. The Japanese soldier kicked him in the ribs and yelled. The man struggled to get up, but he kept getting kicked.
The front door of the building swung open, and two ghost-like wraiths scurried to the down man, and lifted him by the armpits. They dragged him through the door. The Japanese soldier yelled at them the entire time. When the door shut, another Japanese soldier yelled something from where he was walking the fence line, and both men laughed.
O’Connor informed Sergeant Carver what he’d found, and the squad retreated into the jungle to decide how to proceed. O’Connor thought they’d stumbled across a prisoner of war camp.
While the men were spread out in a defensive circle, weapons facing the jungle, Carver and O’Connor discussed their options. Sergeant Carver said, “Our mission is to find the road, and my guess is it isn’t far from this POW camp. The Japs wouldn’t build this place in the middle of nowhere. They must have road access nearby. I bet the Japs have a slick little escape plan in case this place is discovered, and it would be easier to build the place if they could haul supplies in rather than hoofing it over the mountains.”
O’Connor nodded. “So we go around it and find the road?”
Carver shrugged and looked around at the men who were trying to listen in. “Yeah, I think that’s our best option.” O’Connor stared at the ground. “What’s the matter? You wanna bust ‘em out of there, don’t you?”
O’Connor looked him in the eye. “Those men are walking skeletons. The fucking Japs are starving them. I doubt they’ll live much longer.”
Carver punched the ground and seethed. “Goddammit, don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I wanna go in there guns blazing and blow the holy hell out of ‘em? Make the mother-fuckers pay? Of course I do, but dammit that’s not the mission. They probably wouldn’t make it back to the hill anyway. We’d be hauling them along and probably end up KIA or captured and what good would that do?”
O’Connor nodded, knowing he was right, but not liking it one bit. It never crossed O’Connor’s mind that Sergeant Carver was opting out because of cowardice. He respected him as a warrior and a leader, and while he didn’t like leaving fellow soldiers in the hands of the Japs, he also would never doubt Carver’s orders. “How you wanna proceed?”
Carver bit his lower lip. “Take me there. I wanna check it out for myself.”
O’Connor nodded and whispered to the radio-man, Private Palmer to pass the word. He motioned Carver to follow, and moved to the edge of the ring of soldiers. They crouch walked for thirty yards, then went to their stomachs and pulled themselves along the stinking jungle floor until they heard voices. Carver went up beside O’Connor who pointed.
Like O’Connor, it took Carver a second to realize what he was seeing wasn’t more jungle, but an enemy camp. It was as though the Japanese had hacked it directly out of the jungle. He noticed the thick canopy protecting them from aerial spotters. They also hadn’t cut the jungle back from the fence line, which allowed them to get close, but also served to keep the camp hidden. They’d only found it because they almost tripped over it.
Carver took the scene in quickly. He thought it would be easiest to get around by moving across the front side. The back was nudged up against a substantial hill which ended at the start of the Crown Prince Range. He studied the camp for five minutes and was about to turn back to the squad when he heard yelling. It was coming from the center of the compound. It was an agonizing scream full of hatred and pain, and it transfixed Carver as he searched for the source. The scream ended after what seemed an eternity. He glanced at O’Connor who was gnashing his teeth. He pointed.
Carver couldn’t see what he was pointing at, until he leaned over. He could see the center of the camp. There was a row of men, most barely able to stand, dressed in rags which were falling off them. They looked to be trying to stand at attention. Every time one of them slouched or stumbled, a Japanese guard would whack them with a bamboo pole.
The real spectacle, however, was in front of the prisoners and was the source of the scream. A Marine was on his knees facing an overweight officer who was yelling in his face. Another older officer stood behind the first with his hands clasped behind his back. The fat officer looked back occasionally, like looking for approval from an especially strict school teacher.
Carver felt Corporal O’Connor tense beside him and he put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy does it, Corporal.”
O’Connor spit, “That fat little fuck is going to kill him.”
Sergeant Carver shook his head and seethed, “Savages.”
The officer pulled the blade out of the prisoner’s shoulder and looked back at the officer again. The senior officer turned towards the line of swaying men and addressed them. They were too far to hear the word’s meanings, but they could tell he was speaking in broken English.
The officer paced with his hands clasped. When he was halfway down the line, he lunged out with a clenched fist and smashed one of the prisoners in the face. The man dropped like a rag doll, and two guards were immediately beside him pulling him back to his feet. He swayed uneasily, and the guards retreated. When he started to drop again, another prisoner took his arm and tried to hold him up, but he was too weak and was losing his grip. Another prisoner went to his aid, and together they held the man upright.
The officer turned and walked back to the bound prisoner. He grabbed him by the hair with his left hand and yelled something. With his right hand, he reached across his body and in a smooth practiced motion drew a curved Samurai sword from a scabbard. He held the blade over his head. It glimmered in the diffused jungle light.
O’Connor and Carver tensed. O’Connor put his rifle to his shoulder, but Carver whispered, “No.”