by Chris Glatte
There was a thin layer of wispy fog on the ground. Nothing moved inside, and for an instant, he wondered if the Japs left during the night, but then a soldier with no shirt on burst around the corner of the prisoner barracks, his long Arisaka rifle leading the way. He looked disoriented and swung his rifle looking for a target.
Willy grinned as he put his sight on the man’s chest and pulled the trigger twice. The Japanese soldier’s chest exploded, and a plume of red mist exited his back. His rifle flew into the air; he was dead before it landed on top of him.
More targets came from the back of the camp. Private Willy moved from target to target putting soldiers down with each shot. He heard the machine gun from the tower to his right open up and for a second the sound of the dreaded Nambu struck fear in him. He relaxed when he saw the yellow tracers streaking not at him, but into the camp. He watched as Japanese soldiers spun and were flung back as the machine gun swept over them.
He laughed out loud, like shooting fish in a barrel. He looked for more targets, but the MG had taken care of most of them. Movement from the corner of his eye got his attention. He moved his rifle back towards the guard tower. Two soldiers were scrambling up the ladder. He took a breath, let it out and shot the top man through the neck. The soldier held on for a second then fell backward into the man behind him, who peeled off the ladder and went down with the dead man on top of him. Willy emptied his clip into the pile and thumbed in another.
He could see more soldiers at the corner of a thatched building getting ready to make a run for the tower. He was about to open fire when three soldiers went prone and started hosing his tree down. Bullets buzzed and smacked into the tree all around him. He put his head down but realized they’d make the tower and fire on the squad if he didn’t get the best of them.
He steeled himself and sighted down his rifle ignoring the bullets knocking leaves and debris onto his back. The three soldiers were prone, but exposed. He willed himself to take his time and fired off all eight rounds in quick succession. The clip pinged telling him he was dry.
He ducked down and inserted another and went back to firing position. He couldn’t tell if he’d killed the three, but he did see a soldier disappear into the tower. There was another halfway up. Willy shot him off the ladder with shots to his legs and gut.
The machine gun barrel move his way. He had a decision to make. He’d be filled full of holes if the gunner let loose at his tree. He leveled the M1 and fired off five rounds before he saw the muzzle flash aimed at him. He pushed back to the trunk of the tree and held the M1 to his chest. The tree seemed to come alive as it filled with 7.7mm rounds.
He held his breath as countless rounds whizzed by him. As suddenly as it started, it stopped. The Nambu had found another, more urgent target. Private Willy took a breath and felt his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He peeked around the trunk and saw the heavy MG sweeping towards the squad who were making their way to the prisoner barracks.
The squad was working the cover, bounding forward while others covered. Any second the MG would open up on them. He lunged to his firing position trying to find his shot. The branches and leaves had made a mess, and he couldn’t see clearly. He could make out the barrel swinging, but it passed over the squad and was aiming into the camp. Has it been captured? I didn’t see anyone get that close. Then he realized what was about to happen. The MG was going to open up on the prisoner barracks.
Private Willy struggled to clear the branches. The MG opened up, and he watched the bullets slam into the wooden sides of the barracks. The gunner swept back and forth. The stout wood stopped most of the bullets but great chunks were flying off, and he had no doubt men were dying inside.
He pulled the last branch out of his way and sighted down the barrel. The MG was blazing away, and he could see the gunner’s head just above the tower wall. He fired three shots, and the head dropped out of sight. The MG barrel aimed to the sky and stopped firing.
Private Willy’s hatred for the Japanese threatened to boil over. He searched for more targets wanting just one more kill, one more act of revenge, but there was no one alive. He covered his squad as they busted down the door of the barracks and ran inside. Soon they were coming out with men draped over their shoulders, bleeding men.
He saw a flash of someone in a white tank top near the back of the camp. The soldier was wearing an officer’s cap and was holding a pistol in one hand and a satchel in the other. He was bigger than most Japanese Willy had seen. Thought these bastards were starving? The angle wasn’t good, so he adjusted his body to bring the M1 to bear. He was about to shoot when the officer moved to the corner and disappeared. In frustration, Willy fired off two rounds where he’d been.
He cursed and decided it was time to get out of the tree and back with his squad. He went down the tree much faster than he went up. He nearly fell the last ten feet and was only saved by a lucky branch grab. He ran along the fence line until he found the breach from the grenades. It was a sizable hole, enough for the entire squad to fit through at the same time.
He ran with his rifle at the ready and crossed the open ground to the door of the barracks. He stepped aside as Private Grant moved past him carrying a wounded prisoner. He put his hand on his shoulder. “Anymore inside?”
Private Grant shook his head, “No one alive.”
Willy went in anyway. The stench of the place almost made him gag. The rot mixed with the cordite and blood was almost too much. He put his arm over his nose and walked to the center. There were bodies sprawled in grotesque death poses. Some were still in their filthy bunks their dead eyes staring. He thought about the gunner purposely gunning them down. That fat fucking officer, that’s who ordered it.
He stumbled outside feeling sick to his stomach. Sergeant Carver was getting the survivors ready to move. There were only four that hadn’t been wounded or killed by the MG. The wounded were in bad shape. Private Willy had seen enough combat to know when a man was past the point of no return and these gyrenes weren’t going to make it very far. That’s for Carver to figure out.
He put his hand on Carver’s shoulder. “The officer that ordered the MG to open up on them got away. I saw him moving that way. I’m going after him.”
Carver looked at Willy’s red eyes and nodded, “Take Gomez and Hans, but make it quick, were leaving in the next ten minutes.” Willy nodded, grabbed Gomez and Hans and went looking for the officer.
When the shooting started, Lt. Taro awakened from a fitful dream involving the headless Marine stalking him. He lay on his back listening to the noise, trying to figure out what he was hearing. It continued, and he sat up in the cot and swung his feet onto the dirt floor. There was a flash from the fence line, then he heard the distinct sound of bullets smacking into wood. His eyes went wide as he realized the camp was under attack. His first instinct was to hide. He looked around the sparse thatch hut, but there was no decent cover.
Colonel Araki’s voice exploded in his brain, ‘do not fail me again.’ He was scared to fight the enemy but terrified to fail Colonel Araki. He steeled his nerves and pulled on his boots. The gunfire got more intense as he heard a type 92 machine gun firing. He hoped it stopped whatever force was attacking.
He pulled the pistol from his belt. He didn’t have time to put his khaki shirt over the white tank top he’d been sleeping in, but put on his soft cap with the lieutenant’s bars, as he left the shack. It was just getting light, but he could still make out muzzle flashes near the front of camp. He was about to charge that way when he remembered the documents Colonel Araki had sent with him. The Americans are after the documents.
He stopped in the dimness and tried to orient himself. He’d only been in the camp a few days and wasn’t completely comfortable. The machine gun opened up again, and he realized it wasn’t shooting at the attackers. He watched as three soldiers spun and dropped, their bodies spouting blood and gore. He raised his pistol and fired a shot that had no chance of hitting anything but air. It g
ave him courage, and he ran to the headquarters tent.
He tripped on a line holding the canvas tight. He picked himself off the ground and ran through the front flap. No one was there. Have they fled? He heard yelling coming from the battle and recognized Major Kotani’s voice. He was waving his pistol exhorting his men to attack. He could see three soldiers run out and throw themselves on the ground shooting at something he couldn’t see. Then two more soldiers took off like Olympic track stars to the guard tower. He silently cheered them on as they went up the ladder. The first one made it but the second suddenly jolted and fell off the ladder screaming.
He watched, wondering if he should join the fray. No, I will stay here and guard the documents. He felt relief at his decision. He wasn’t a warrior; he’d only get in the way. He searched the room and found the satchel. He lifted it, but it felt empty. Is it my place to look inside? He heard the second machine gun fire. The soldier was giving the enemy a dose of their own medicine. He looked around then opened the top of the satchel. It was empty. He looked on the table and saw a map laid out with lines, dates, and units. He’d never been a good tactician, but he could recognize a battle plan when he saw one. This must be the document. I’ll keep it out unless the battle turns against us.
He went back to the tent flap and realized he didn’t have his pistol. He ran back into the tent and saw it on the table. He cursed his stupidity and returned to watch the battle.
He heard Major Kotani yelling and trying to get the attention of the machine gunner in the tower. The gunner stopped, and he could hear Kotani ordering him to shoot the prisoners. Lieutenant Taro gulped against a dry throat. If the major was ordering them killed the battle must be going worse than he thought.
The chattering of the second machine gun stopped. Most of the firing was from M1s and the occasional hammering of a Thompson and the zipping of the first Nambu. Are the men dead? The thought made his bowels loosen. He could still hear Major Kotani exhorting soldiers into the fray.
Lieutenant Taro decided it was time to secure the documents particularly now that he knew their contents. It would be disastrous for the Americans to get their hands on the plans. He scooped up the documents and folded them into the satchel. He threw the long strap over his shoulder and ran away from the battle.
In his hurry, he went the wrong way. He came to the corner of the prisoner barracks and tried to stop. He skidded into the open. He could see American soldiers running towards the barracks. He stood transfixed then shook himself from the trance and sprang back behind the corner as bullets slammed past the spot he’d been standing. He leaned against the building and closed his eyes at the close call. He felt the weight of the bag. He had to get out of the compound.
He remembered the troop truck he’d seen parked under cover in the far corner. He’d inquired to Lieutenant Shibata about it, and he’d told him it was not to be used until the attack started. They didn’t want to tip the Americans off that they’d built roads on this side of the mountains. If he could get to it, he could drive through the front gate and be away from the enemy in minutes. This far behind their lines there was no way they’d pursue him. When he showed up on Colonel Araki’s doorstep with the saved plans, he was sure his use of the truck would be forgiven.
With the plan in his head, he took off running to the other side of the camp and the truck. Within a few feet he was breathing hard, and sweat was pouring off him in tiny streams.
Private Willy led Private Gomez and Hans to the back corner of the barracks where he’d last seen the Japanese officer. He went around the corner, his rifle leading, but the officer wasn’t there. He signaled the men to follow. He doubted he’d gone far.
They trotted down the back of the camp searching between each thatch hut before moving on. Private Willy had the feeling the officer wanted to get away, not make a last stand. He didn’t look like the suicidal kind, so he didn’t bother searching the huts. He was coming to the end of the camp though, and he’d seen no sign of the officer.
He went to the final hut and standing in the doorway was a Japanese soldier looking the other way. Willy instinctively dropped to his knee and fired two shots into the soldier’s back. Gomez and Hans had their weapons ready, but no more Japanese appeared. Willy thought maybe the guy was guarding something. He scooted to the front door and heard grunting. He made eye contact with Gomez and Hans and indicated he’d go in on the count of three. One, two, three, he went into the hut and fired at moving shapes. He fired from the hip, and moved left allowing the others to come through. They came in firing blindly in the dark room.
When their eyes adjusted they saw two officers on the ground the older one, a major had a short sword sticking from his gut. His chest was seeping bright blood from a bullet wound. His eyes were dead. The other officer clutched his own gut. His hands covered in blood and bits of flesh. His bowels, the color of maggots, were threatening to spill through his fingers. He chewed his lower lip as he watched the Americans approach.
Private Gomez raised his rifle to put the officer out of his misery, but Private Willy pushed his barrel to the ground. “You see what he did to the prisoners? Let him suffer.” He searched the rest of the building and said. “He’s not here.”
Private Hans asked, “Who?”
“The officer I saw at the barracks, the fat one, he’s not here.” An engine started nearby. Private Willy ran to the door pushing his way past Gomez and Hans. “That’s gotta be him.” He ran out of the hut and turned the corner to the back of the camp. He saw a big troop truck pulling out from a camouflage cover. He saw the fat officer at the wheel. He was concentrating and didn’t see Willy and his rifle.
Willy drew a bead on the officer’s head and was about to pull the trigger when he heard Sergeant Carver yelling, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”
Willy looked over his shoulder and saw Carver running full speed at the truck. Willy pulled his gun down and watched Carver flash by him and close the distance to the truck in seconds. Carver jumped onto the side step next to the driver. The Japanese officer’s eyes went wide and he tried to bring his pistol to bear, but Carver punched him with a brutal right cross. Carver grabbed the pistol and threw it out, then opened the door and kicked the reeling officer to the passenger side. He slammed the brakes, and the officer’s head slammed into the dashboard, knocking him out.
Carver kept the engine running and yelled at the gaping Private Willy. “Get the rest of the squad and the prisoners; I just secured our way out of here.”
51
Sergeant Carver sat in the window seat of the Japanese troop transport with his Thompson between his knees. Beside him, Private Willy was grinning like a crazy man. Corporal O’Connor was at the wheel studying the clutch and gears. It looked to be like any other truck he’d ever driven, only bigger. The rest of the squad along with five freed Marine prisoners and one unconscious Japanese officer trussed up like a hog, sat on the bench seats under the canvas top in the back.
Sergeant Carver couldn’t believe their luck. He hadn’t lost a single man during the attack. The only casualties were the prisoners. There weren’t many left. Four emaciated Marines killed along with the lone native. Two of the others were mortally wounded, and Carver doubted they’d make it far.
O’Connor looked across the cab at Sergeant Carver. “Where to?”
Carver pointed straight ahead. “I don’t think we’ve got much choice. There’s only one road, and I’m sure it runs straight into Japs. We’ll get ourselves away from this area then head out on foot.”
O’Connor nodded and gunned the engine. The big diesel revved like it was eager to go. O’Connor pushed the clutch in and put it into what he hoped was first gear. It groaned and shrieked but finally notched into place. O’Connor let his foot off the clutch, and the big rig lurched forward. He steered straight ahead toward the front gate area. O’Connor motored towards it and looked over at Carver wondering if he should stop or bust through. The answer came when a Japanese soldier sprang out from
behind a hut and fired his snub nosed machine pistol. A few rounds found the truck and thumped into the metal siding, sounding like a ball peen hammer.
O’Connor yelled, “Hold on!” and mashed the gas pedal to the floor, shifting into second gear. A second later the truck smashed into the stout front gate. The impact yanked the truck to the left as the gate swung open. O’Connor corrected, trying to keep the truck on the road. He thought they’d careen into the jungle, but the gate ripped off the hinge point and shattered, releasing its grip. He got control and could hear the men in back firing at the lone soldier. There were no mirrors to see if they’d hit him.
The road was narrow, barely able to accommodate them. There were few straight sections, and each corner O’Connor expected to plow into a Jap vehicle. “How far you want me to go?”
Carver considered, “We’ll go a mile or so.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll stop in three or four minutes, that’ll be about right.”
Two minutes later the truck maneuvered around a corner and before O’Connor could react, slammed into a Japanese soldier on a motorcycle. The soldier was as surprised as they were. He only had a half a second to react, but it was too late.
O’Connor didn’t slow, and the motorcycle slammed into the metal bumper, launching the Japanese soldier into the grille. The truck lurched and bounced as it rode over the carnage.
Carver yelled to the men in the back. “Brace yourselves we’ve got Japs coming down the road.”
O’Connor looked at him. “We do?”
Carver pointed, and sure enough, there was a jeep with a mounted machine gun coming straight for them. O’Connor had no place to go. There were no turnouts, so he did the only thing he could do, he pushed the pedal to the floor and shifted into third. The jeep skidded to a stop, and the soldier in the back stood behind the machine gun and primed it. The driver’s eyes went wide when he realized he was about to be rammed. He dove out the side into the jungle. The gunner was bringing the muzzle to bear. O’Connor knew he would get a few shots off before he rammed him. “Get down!” he yelled.