The 164th Regiment Series Boxset

by Chris Glatte

  Like it was happening in slow motion, they watched the officer step back from the kneeling prisoner. He adjusted his bandy legs at shoulder width facing the side of the prisoner, who was looking at the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds.

  He brought the blade down so fast it blurred. The razor sharp blade barely slowed as it sliced through the prisoner’s thin neck. His head spun through the air and landed face down. It rolled to the side and spun to a stop. It settled, the cloudy eyes staring at the line of men. A moan went up from the prisoners, and a few bent over and threw up bile and rotten rice.

  Carver and O’Connor remained still, but it was all they could do not to rake the Japanese with gunfire. Corporal O’Connor looked at Carver whose eyes hardened. He could see hatred building in them like a stoked locomotive fire. O’Connor nodded. Carver had changed his mind.

  49

  Lieutenant Taro didn’t enjoy beating and humiliating the prisoners he was now in charge of, but he did enjoy the food. He’d seen the hut where they kept the food. He’d seen enough rice and meat to last a long time. For the first time since being on this forsaken island, he wasn’t hungry.

  The other men whispered out of earshot, poking fun at his weight. He let it happen and pretended not to notice. He was used to it; he’d been pudgy his whole life and teased about it for as long as he could remember. He always looked fat, even after being on half rations for months, he never seemed to lose the fat layer. With this new assignment he was putting on weight, and he couldn’t have been happier. Let them tease. They’d all die here anyway, but at least he’d die with a full belly.

  Lieutenant Shibata had left after a day of showing him how the camp worked and introduced him to the men. He’d motored off in the sidecar of one of the few motorcycles on this side of the mountain range. Lieutenant Taro didn’t know what Shibata’s new job would be, but he hoped it got the sadistic bastard killed.

  Major Kotani ran the camp with an iron grip. He was hard on the men and expected perfection in every aspect of their jobs. Lieutenant Taro was afraid of him like he was of most officers, but he was more afraid of Colonel Araki.

  When the captain tested him in front of the men that afternoon, he swallowed his disgust and did exactly what he was told. He avoided the young American Marine’s eyes as he thrust the knife blade into him over and over again, being sure not to hit vital organs. The screams the man produced grated on his nerves. It was surreal. He knew his dreams would be haunted for the rest of his short life. The feel of the blade slicing muscle and knicking bone was nauseating. He hid the revulsion by snarling and yelling at the Marine. He was as surprised as anyone when Major Kotani executed the prisoner. Lieutenant Taro realized he didn’t even know the Marine’s name.

  They made the Marines bury their comrade in two separate holes; one for the body the other for the head. A final insult heaped on top of their misery. Lieutenant Taro wondered if all the prisoners were to be executed, or would they be sent to the home islands to be used as slaves? He shrugged the thought away. The allies had cut them off from their main forces further north; there’d be no way to ship the Americans. The thought gave him pause, I wonder how long the food will last?

  He tried to push the gruesome events of the day out of his head. He looked at his watch, it was time for the evening meal, and he wasn’t going to be late.

  He entered the food hall and went to the officer’s low table. The enlisted men shared the canvas food tent, but there was a white silk curtain separating them from the officer section. He bowed to the table of officers. They were all sitting on their knees with pillows beneath.

  He was the most junior man of the four other officers. Major Kotani held the highest rank and was the camp commander. Under him was Captain Nagao. He was in charge of the guards and soldiers occupying the camp. The other was First Lieutenant Hara, assistant to Captain Nagoa. As a second Lieutenant, Taro was the low man and as the newest member, despised. His fat body didn’t help the other officer’s attitudes.

  He sat on his knees beside Lieutenant Hara, who scooted over to accommodate him. The pillow Lt. Taro kneeled on was old and tattered. He hadn’t sat at a proper table in months. It felt odd and foreign. He felt self-conscious about having his boots on at the dining table but this was war and they had to be ready at a moments notice. Some of the niceties of home got ignored at the front.

  A steaming pot of rice sat in the center of the table. Taro’s stomach growled when he noticed the pieces of pink meat in the rice. He wondered what kind it was, but thought it best not to inquire.

  The pot got passed, and the officers served themselves. Lieutenant Taro wondered why prisoners didn’t do the serving. It seemed a fine way to shame them while getting useful work out of them.

  Major Kotani noticed his new second lieutenant craning his neck around the room. “Looking for something, Lieutenant?”

  Lieutenant Taro’s face went crimson. He bowed his head and said, “I was looking to see if prisoners were being used to serve us food.”

  The other officers scowled and looked to Major Kotani who had a tight smile. “The stench would drive us out of the room and ruin our appetites.”

  Lieutenant Taro nodded, “I understand, sir.”

  Major Kotani continued. “We’ve found the prisoners to be wholly unappreciative of our care. Like a feral dog, they try to bite the very hand that feeds them.”

  The image of the young Marine’s severed head rolling around in the mud passed through Taro’s mind. A piece of rice went down the wrong pipe, and Lieutenant Taro couldn’t suppress a cough.

  Major Kotani looked hard at him. “You find something startling about my words?”

  Taro shook his head and got control of his cough. He kept his head down and said, “No, sir. I merely choked…”

  Major Kotani cut him off. “You’re offended by the killing today? Is that it?”

  Lieutenant Taro’s appetite left him, the food in his mouth no longer tasted succulent but turned bitter. He knew to speak any more would be folly, so he shook his head.

  Major Kotani slammed his balled fists onto the table making his plate jump. “Answer me, damn you!”

  “N, No sir. I wasn’t offended, sir.”

  Major Kotani stared at his cowed second lieutenant. After nearly a minute, which Lieutenant Taro visibly shook through, Kotani smiled. “Good. Be careful, the rice has bones in it, yes?” he roared with laughter at his joke. The other officers, taken aback at first, soon joined their commander and the room was full of laughing. Lieutenant Taro looked from officer to officer and let the laughter roll over him. His chuckle soon broke into a laugh. He decided he’d do everything possible to stay out of Major Kotani’s way; the man was obviously out of his mind.

  50

  Sergeant Carver’s plan was simple. When darkness came, Private Willy and Private Gomez would sneak close and climb trees that would give them a line of sight to the tower guards. The rest of the squad would be broken up into two teams separated by fifty yards. At exactly 0430 hours, when it was just getting light, the guard tower soldiers would be taken out. That would be the signal for the teams to assault their assigned section of fence with grenades.

  Team one, led by Sergeant Carver, would cover team two, led by Corporal O’Connor. Team two would capture and occupy the nearest guard tower. They’d turn the Nambu machine gun inward and rake the responding troops. Then team one would break into the center building and free the prisoners and get the hell out of there.

  The men listened in silence to the whispered briefing. After hearing what happened to the hapless Marine they didn’t question the wisdom of assaulting a superior force of unknown size. They were as outraged as O’Connor and Carver. No one asked how they were going to escape with a bunch of malnourished Marines through miles of thick, muddy jungle, but they were all thinking about it.

  Once Carver was done briefing them, and the men knew their jobs, they went back to defending their perimeter. Carver could feel the tension in the air;
it was thick as jungle fog. The men stayed quiet as they made certain their gear was in order. Once it got dark, the job would be much harder.

  O’Connor took Private Gomez and Private Willy to the edge of the camp to scope out likely trees. It wasn’t as easy as he thought. There were plenty of trees, but few were easy to climb. Most were huge and towering with their branches starting high up the tree. They finally found two likely trees, but neither was perfect. The one Private Gomez would climb looked to be partially dead. Gomez would have to go slow, careful not to break branches and make noise. Private Willy’s tree was alive and thriving, but it was far away from the target guard tower. It would be a hard shot in the best of conditions, and he’d be shooting in low light. It was their best option though, so they tied a rope to the bases and slithered back to their lines trailing the rope. It was exposed, but they doubted it would be discovered by a Japanese patrol in the darkness, and it was the only way they’d be able to find their way back to the trees.

  When O’Connor returned, he found Sergeant Carver and sat beside him. Carver was cleaning his Thompson in the fading evening light. “We’re doing the right thing. Those Marines deserve better than that.”

  Sergeant Carver nodded. “Sure as hell no way for a man to die.”

  “What happens when we get back to our lines? The LT’s gonna shit a brick when he finds out you went against orders, especially knowing we’re probably close to finding the road.”

  Carver finished putting the Thompson back together and checked the action. It was smooth, and the sound of greased parts moving in perfect sync was satisfying. He aimed down the barrel and said, “That’s a big assumption, us getting back to our lines with a bunch of prisoners.” O’Connor spit and grinned. Carver continued, “I’ll be happy to face whatever the little prick throws at me. Hell, Leavenworth would feel like a vacation after this place.”

  O’Connor laughed and started to move away, but Carver grabbed his sleeve. Carver said, “If this shit goes sour, take as many men as you can and get the hell outta here. We’re gonna wake up a whole lotta Japs when the fireworks go off. The quicker we leave, the better.”

  O’Connor smiled, “No shit, Sarge.” Carver’s face flared for an instant but it passed as he watched his insolent corporal disappear into the jungle. He pursed his lips, hoping he wasn’t seeing him for the last time. He’d lost a lot of men and each time it happened it hurt, but Corporal O’Connor had been with him through his darkest hours. Losing him would be hard to take.

  The night crept by as Sergeant Carver went over the plan in his head. It wasn’t great, there were a lot of loose ends, but it was the best he could come up with without detailed schematics of the POW camp’s layout and defenses. He tried for some sleep, but it was impossible with his mind going a mile a minute.

  At midnight he moved forward and found Private Willy. He was curled up, snoring softly. Carver nudged him, trying to pull him out of sleep gently. It was never a good idea to wake a veteran soldier any other way. As soon as he touched him, Willy’s eyes opened, and Carver could see him focusing. He whispered, “It’s time for you to climb your tree, Willy.” He nodded and went from sleep to combat ready in an instant. Carver said, “I’ll be right back. I’ll find Gomez, and we’ll move out together.”

  Willy nodded and rolled to his knees with his M1 pointed into the jungle. Minutes passed before Sergeant Carver was beside him again with Private Gomez and Corporal O’Connor. Private Willy had to borrow a watch, the one he’d taken off the wrist of a dead Japanese soldier no longer kept accurate time. Private First Class Daniels had two, so he let Willy borrow one.

  The four of them moved through the rest of the squad. No one was sleeping. They found the ropes and followed them to the first tree. They were ten yards from the POW camp’s fence line. The guard tower was twenty yards to the right. This was the most dangerous tree because of the proximity and all the dead branches. Gomez was the better climber, so this was his tree.

  Gomez flashed a toothy smile and without a word scampered up. The others watched him climb, ready to cover him if he drew the attention of the tower guard. Their fears were unfounded. He got into position in the crook of a large branch without making a sound.

  They went back the way they’d come, found the second rope and followed it to Willy’s tree. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He wasn’t nearly the climber Private Gomez was. He wasn’t looking forward to the climb.

  Sergeant Carver hadn’t picked him for his climbing prowess, but for his uncanny ability with the M1. He slung his rifle and O’Connor weaved his fingers together and leaned down to give him a step up. Willy put his muddy boot in O’Connor’s hands and whispered a one, two, three count, and lunged to the first branch. He pulled himself up and looked down. They could barely see him tip his helmet. They watched as he climbed. He was slower and less sure than Gomez, but he made progress and eventually was out of sight.

  When they didn’t hear him anymore, they followed the rope back to the squad. By the time they got back, it was time for the squad to break into teams and move into their assault positions.

  Sergeant Carver was in the center of the men. He could barely see them. He whispered, “It’s crucial we get in and out quickly. When you hear those rifles, blow the fence and get inside. Hopefully we’ll catch the Japs with their pants down. Any questions?” The men were silent. “Okay then, let’s move out.”

  O’Connor took point as usual. He moved with caution. The last thing they needed was to tip off the sentries and lose the element of surprise.

  They were in position at 0345, forty-five minutes before the snipers would take their shots. Sergeant Carver sent O’Connor, Daniels, and Grant forward with three grenades and a small spool of wire.

  The three soldiers left their rifles with the squad. They belly crawled up to the fence. The nearest guard tower was thirty yards to their left. They were under the sentry’s line of sight. They were invisible unless the guard decided to look down the length of the fence beneath him. They hoped the late hour would put the guard off his vigilance.

  There was nothing but the sound of the jungle. O’Connor strained to hear the guard priming his Nambu machine gun, but it didn’t happen. He reached down and pulled the single grenade and worked the pin out, careful not to release the lever. He could hear the other two doing the same, but ignored them. If anyone messed up, they’d all pay the price.

  He placed the end of the wire, which he’d bent into a lasso shape, around the lever and placed it next to the fence. The lever faced away from him; he had the wire running beneath the grenade. The wire was four feet long. At the end, he’d shaped another loop and tied thread they’d borrowed from the medical kit to it.

  He looked for the others and could barely see them in the gloom. The night was changing to morning, but full light was still a half hour away. He backed away, careful not to snag the line and accidentally pull the wire. He moved into the jungle until he could hide behind the base of a tree. He was mere yards from the grenade, but the jungle was thick, and the tree stout. He hoped it was enough to protect him from shrapnel.

  The entire plan depended on the grenades opening a hole in the fence. They only needed a small hole to dash through, but if it failed, they’d have to cut through with knives while the Japanese woke up. There was no use worrying, it would either work or it wouldn’t.

  He watched the other two men slink into cover. They played out their lines like they were hand fishing for trout. TNT trout, he grinned. He checked his watch, twenty more minutes until show time.

  Private Willy was worried. He sighted down his rifle trying to pick out shapes in the distant guard tower, but the darkness made it impossible. Willy looked at his watch for the hundredth time, twenty more minutes. If it didn’t get significantly lighter, he wouldn’t be able to see his target. He patted his ammo belt. If I can’t see it, I’ll lay so much fire on him, he’ll be too scared to open up with the MG.

  He was happy with his spot. It was
a little far from the tower, but he was in a good firing position. He was laid out on a thick branch with the barrel of his M1 resting in a perfect natural notch. The thick leaves would make it almost impossible to be seen. It was a perfect sniping tree.

  As the minutes ticked by, the jungle turned from dark to semi-light. Willy barely noticed the change until he sighted down his weapon and lo and behold, he could see the Japanese sentry. Had he always been there, or was he up and moving around now? He decided it didn’t matter, he could see his target, and was confident he could take him down.

  He took the watch off and put it in front of him. He could barely see the luminescent dials ticking towards 0430. With only five minutes to go the watch moved slightly. He wondered if he’d imagined it, then it moved again and was threatening to fall off the tree. He lunged, but it was too late, the watch slid off and ticked its way through the branches to it’s resting place in the mud. Willy cursed under his breath. He noticed a large centipede moving along the branch where the watch used to be. He flicked the damned thing off the branch. He thought about the time and convinced himself it had been five minutes until showtime. He started counting to three hundred.

  He pulled the stock tight into his cheek and regulated his breathing with his counting. When he got to two hundred fifty, he let his finger feel the trigger a fraction more. The sentry was as still as a statue. Five seconds, he applied pressure, and the M1 jumped in his hand. He fired off three more shots in quick succession. He was confident his first shot had put the soldier out of commission.

  To his right he heard Gomez firing, damned spic better not miss at that range. There was a quick series of dull thuds, the grenades blowing the fence. He kept his sights on the guard tower. Satisfied that he’d taken out his man he pivoted the barrel towards the camp.