by Chris Glatte
Lieutenant Taro jumped to his feet when he heard his name. Despite half rations, his face was still plump. Araki wondered how he maintained his body fat under such harsh conditions. “Yes sir,” he stammered as he shifted from foot to foot.
“As you know, you’re in the Muda unit attacking Hill 260. I am bestowing you the honor of leading the attack.” He glanced at Lieutenant Colonel Muda who gave him a slight nod. For the other officers in the room, being told to lead the attack would be a distinct honor, but Colonel Araki knew his bumbling second lieutenant would see it not as an honor, but a death sentence. Colonel Araki saw the desired effect as all color drained from Lt. Taro’s face, and he nearly collapsed. I’ll soon rid myself of this coward.
The night was spent moving into position. Second Lieutenant Taro felt as though he was in a dream world. He had no doubt he was living his final hours on Earth. He tried to take in the world around him, to enjoy the air, the teeming life, but he couldn’t get over the nausea.
He moved with the troops without speaking. He was to lead the assault, but he wasn’t in command. This was Lieutenant Otani’s platoon. Second Lieutenant Taro was thrust into the unit with the sole purpose of dying. The soldiers around him ignored him. Lieutenant Otani barely acknowledged him. He was considered a coward, responsible for the Americans having their battle plans and many upcoming deaths.
They reached their jump off point at 0100 hours. The thick jungle canopy kept the starlight from the jungle floor. The darkness was complete. Taro sat on the ground, feeling himself sinking into the spongy ground. The scent of rotting foliage rose to his nostrils as he pulled out a carefully wrapped ball of rice. He’d kept it protected, knowing it would be his last meal. Back in Japan, such a portion would barely be considered an appetizer, but here, it was a bounty he intended to enjoy.
All too soon the rice ball was gone. He was near the front of the platoon, but no one sat near him. He wanted to talk, to hear a friendly voice, but he was on his own and hated.
He took a deep breath and hoped he’d be blown up, turned to mist in an instant with no pain. He visualized an American artillery shell landing directly on him, turning him to nothing. One second he’d be advancing, the next he’d be laughing with his ancestors; the transition instant and painless. He smiled to himself. The image gave him comfort.
At 0400 on the morning of March 8th Second Lieutenant Taro jolted as he heard the opening salvos of multiple artillery pieces firing at once. The canopy above his head flashed like a great lightning storm was in progress. The thundering booms rolled across him even miles away.
He looked to the west, towards Hill 260. He was still 700 meters from the base of the small hill. Far enough away to protect them from any short shells, but close enough to move up quickly once the attack order was given.
The artillery was firing up and down the line and would last two hours. Taro looked at his watch and strained to see the dials. They’d be attacking at 0700. He had three hours to live.
He pushed himself off the wet ground with a sucking sound. He stretched and put his rifle over his shoulder. He took a step into the jungle to his right, but before he could a hand gripped his shoulder. “Where are you going?” It was Sergeant Inaba.
Lieutenant Taro hadn’t noticed him, but he must have been there the whole time. He shook his hand off his shoulder. He was still an officer, “Mind your tone, Sergeant.” Sergeant Inaba allowed his hand to be shrugged, but stared unapologetically. Lieutenant Taro flushed with anger, realizing the sergeant was there to keep him from running away from his duty. The colonel thinks I’m a coward. Mustering as much contempt as he could, he said, “I’m going to take a shit. Care to hold my hand, Sergeant?” Inaba didn’t reply, and Taro ambled into the jungle to take his final runny shit.
The outgoing artillery was constant and intense. Taro crouched beside a tree with his long Arisaka rifle pointed towards Hill 260. The flashes from the impacts lit up his face and the surrounding jungle despite the heavy canopy. All around him soldiers with hard faces were staring towards the hill. He didn’t recognize any of the men. He knew every one of them despised him, but his duty was clear. The simplicity was comforting. He wasn’t in command of any soldiers; he was there to die.
The artillery barrage ended as suddenly as it started. The jungle was silent for a full minute, but the sounds of life gradually returned to fill the void. The sky was light, dawn had broken sometime during the barrage, without him noticing.
The soldiers around him stood, and Lieutenant Taro got to his feet. He was near the front, where he’d been told to be. Under the jungle canopy, there was still a layer of darkness. There was enough light to see the facial features of the men around him. They were wide-eyed, ready for the coming battle, ready to die for the glory of Japan and the Emperor.
Taro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t have anyone special back home, but he had been to a whore house in Nanking that was a particularly good experience. He tried to picture the Chinese woman he’d laid with. She’d been ravenous, a good actress.
He was pulled from his fantasy by the harsh voice of command ordering them forward. He opened his eyes and took the first step towards the American line.
They’d walked half the distance when there was a great whooshing in the sky, followed by an explosion behind him. Suddenly the sky was filled with metal as the Americans fired their hidden Howitzers. Taro cringed and wished he had a helmet rather than a soft cap on his head. The shells weren’t aimed at him, though. They were sailing over their heads and slamming into the rear. He assumed the Americans were finally firing at their artillery emplacements.
The pace picked up. They’d started out cautiously, but the enemy artillery quickened their gait. Soon they were trotting. The dense jungle opened up as if the underbrush was trimmed back. Taro was in line with dozens of soldiers. As they entered the more open space, he looked to his left. An explosion erupted and ripped a soldier apart. He stared, not understanding what had just happened. Then another soldier went flying as the ground beneath him exploded. He heard someone yell, “Mines!”
The realization hit him, and he nearly lost his bowels. They’d walked into a minefield. He stopped and looked at the ground to his front. He was pushed from behind and nearly fell forward. He heard Sergeant Inaba curse him.
The jungle canopy he’d emerged from flashed and exploded. The American artillery was directed at them now. The blasts shattered the trees sending deadly shards of metal and wood splinters onto their heads. Men fell by the dozens.
A yell went up, and the soldiers surged forward. Sergeant Inaba pushed him harder, and he ran forward, thinking every step would be his last. Explosions erupted all around him as men stepped on mines.
The whistling of mortar shells added to the artillery and there were geysers of dark dirt spouting up on every side of him. Men were dying all around him, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving forward. His legs moved as if they weren’t his own. His mind screamed for his survival, to stop and find cover, but his body moved him into the fray relentlessly.
He kept his sights on the next step. He’d given up looking for mines. If he tripped one, he wouldn’t be alive long enough to notice. He was getting close to the first incline of Hill 260. The dirt and debris falling from the sky obscured his vision, but he could see he was nearing the base of the hill.
A shriek then a loud thump flattened him onto the ground. One second he was up, the next he was face down staring at the stinking jungle floor. His head pounded and every part of his body screamed in pain. This is it. This is my death.
He waited for the dark shroud of death to come, but instead more pain. He lifted his head and watched men streaming past him. There was no more sound. My ears are shattered. The soldiers seemed to falter against something a few meters ahead, like the ocean meeting a solid wall of rock.
Artillery continued to pound into the jungle behind him and the clearing. He panicked for an instant when he realized he didn’t have h
is rifle. He looked side to side, but it was gone. He looked behind and saw the smoking crater that must have flattened him. There was a mound of bloody flesh there too. Sergeant Inaba stared at him. He was moving, pulling something from his side. Both his legs and left arm were missing, but he still lived. Taro watched in horror as he saw the pistol emerge in Inaba’s hand. He centered the barrel on Taro. Taro accepted what was happening. The sergeant’s orders were to make sure Lieutenant Taro died, and he was completing those orders.
With his last ounce of energy, Sergeant Inaba leveled the gun and pulled the trigger. The hammer came down and ignited the bullet’s primer, but the pistol barrel had been mangled in the attack, and instead of the bullet traveling out smoothly, it exploded in place and shredded the pistol. Three of Sergeant Inaba’s fingers were sliced and dangled at odd angles. Inaba’s blazing, bloodshot eyes drilled into Lieutenant Taro for an instant, then the life force within him left, and he slumped to the smoking jungle floor.
The world around Taro was still silent. Soldiers continued to stream past him. Artillery and mortar shells still erupted and shredded them at random. He pushed himself to his feet and took a step forward. The soldiers to his front were stacking up on an obstacle he couldn’t understand. He watched as soldiers struggled then lurched and erupted with holes. He realized they were being shot down. They were within range of the American front lines.
He staggered forward without a weapon, and lined up behind the growing queue of soldiers. He saw an intricate web of barbed wire, mangled by the artillery barrage. There were shredded soldiers hanging from the wire. It reminded Taro of a spider’s web full of house-flies. Men struggled to pass through, but the Americans had interlacing arcs of machine gun fire that cut them down by the dozens.
Lieutenant Taro slumped against a tree facing back the way he’d come. His hearing was coming back as a loud ringing. The sound of battle was more felt than heard. The clearing was still full of soldiers running across. The artillery continued to drop amongst them, but they ran into the fire anyway. Lieutenant Taro’s chest filled with pride. These men were fearless.
He remembered his pistol and pulled it from the holster and stood. He moved in behind the line of men firing into the American lines. They were held up by the barbed wire, they had to push their way through or they’d die where they stood.
He looked for an officer, but only saw enlisted men. He gritted his teeth and tried to bellow an order, but his throat was dry as sand and nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. “Knee mortars, knee mortars.” The men around him looked at him. All they saw was an officer taking command. “I want ten men with knee mortars here.” Soldiers pulled off their packs and pulled out their 37mm knee mortars. They moved to where he’d pointed and laid on their stomachs. “Target the machine guns,” he said, pointing at the winking flashes. “Put the grenades in front, ruin their vision.” The men quickly dialed in the range and loaded and cocked. He directed the other men, “Grab a body and use it to span the wire.” The soldiers looked at him in surprise. “Do it. It’s the only way to get over the wire.”
Soldiers slung their rifles and grabbed dead comrades. They were littered all around and easy to find. Taro watched as the men struggled to lift them, but their dead weight was too much. “Two men per body,” he yelled.
When they were ready, he yelled, “Covering fire, Go!” Every soldier not carrying a body rose up and fired their rifles at the machine gunners. Soldiers died as they were cut down, but most kept up the fire. The knee mortars thumped and arced grenades up the hill that exploded all around the well entrenched machine gun pits. “Go, go, go!” he yelled.
The men with the bodies ran forward and hurled their loads over the wire, then stepped onto their backs and advanced to the next layer.
“Next wave,” he yelled, and another group of body-carrying men moved forward. The first wave fired up the hill covering the next wave, and the knee mortars continued to land grenades around the machine gunners. The machine guns never stopped firing, but they were firing blindly. Soldiers died by the dozens, but they were making progress.
The men had the flow, and they moved across layer after layer of wire. The Americans had placed mines between them and Lieutenant Taro watched as a duo of soldiers holding a dead comrade in front, erupted in a red mass of tangled limbs and body parts.
The scene enraged him, and he stepped forward and fired his 9mm pistol up the hill. He screamed and ran forward. He felt like a man possessed. He was watching his movements from above as though detached. The soldiers around him picked up the yell and followed their officer over the backs of mangled comrades. The knee mortars continued to cover them, and soon they were at the final layer of barbed wire. The machine guns buzzed, hacking men down all around him.
There was a large bomb crater on the other side of the final barrier. He ran forward with every intention of throwing himself over the wire. He’d be the bridge for his men, but before he could hurl himself, another soldier stepped in front and threw himself down. Bullets shredded his body as he landed. Lieutenant Taro didn’t hesitate and stepped on the man’s back and leaped across the remaining wire and front somersaulted into the bomb crater.
His men followed and streamed to either side, seeking cover. The machine gun fire cut more down, but now they were in a better position to engage the machine guns from cover.
Lieutenant Taro rose and emptied his clip. He could see more foxholes and bunkers and realized they had a long way to go and a lot of defenses to break through before they took the hill.
He sat and reloaded his pistol. A soldier slammed into the crater beside him. His face was blackened with dirt and gunpowder, and he’d lost his helmet somewhere. His eyes were wild as he looked side to side like a cornered animal. Lieutenant Taro spoke, “Pull yourself together. We must continue the attack.”
The soldier looked at him and focused on his face. “Taro?” He squinted at him. “Lieutenant Taro? You led the men through the wire?”
Lieutenant Taro looked him up and down. He realized with a shock, it was First Lieutenant Otani. He didn’t salute but nodded, “Yes, it was me.” He purposely didn’t end with the obligatory ‘sir.’
Lieutenant Otani didn’t seem to notice, but took a deep breath and got control of himself. He didn’t have a weapon, and his clothes were shredded and burnt. “What’s the situation?”
Second Lieutenant Taro reached across to a discarded rifle and handed it to the officer. He explained the situation, pointing out defensive strong points. Lieutenant Otani nodded and slapped his shoulder. “Excellent work Lieutenant. I’ll be sure to relay your actions to Colonel Araki.”
Taro nodded and grinned through his fat cheeks. Does he think we’ll live through the day?
67
The artillery barrage was heavy and seemed to cover every inch of Hill 260. Sergeant Carver hunkered in his hole with Corporal O’Connor and three other soldiers. He held onto his helmet as dirt and dust filtered down over him. He watched the debris collect on his shirtsleeves then bounce off with a near miss. With eyes closed, he concentrated on his breathing. The barrage seemed to move across the hill in waves, starting low and sweeping to the top and over the other side, then back down.
His hole was halfway down the hill and connected to five other holes through a network of slit trenches. He was in the third line of foxholes from the bottom. He was flanked on either side with .30 caliber machine guns. Behind him, there was a bunker full of ammunition and a radio. Trenches snaked away from it leading to fighting positions. Behind that, there was a well dug-in trench with four, 61mm mortars, surrounded by more troops and more machine guns. Beyond that was the top of the hill where the command bunker was barely discernible behind mounds of sandbags.
Carver knew the layout of the defenses like he knew his mother. He wondered what it would look like when the barrage finished.
He thought his hole had enough cover above to sustain a direct hit, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to test the
theory. Their defenses were strong, made to withstand the thrashing they were receiving, but he couldn’t help thinking what it would be like if one of those big 105mm shells landed directly on top of him.
Some of the men hunkered nearby moaned and even screamed, but Carver continued to breathe and silently pray. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. He hadn’t actively prayed in years, but he found himself comforted by the calming phrases he’d learned as a kid in church.
After an eternity the shelling stopped. He held his helmet and kept his eyes closed until he was sure it was over. He shook himself, dirt and dust cascaded off his helmet and body. He pulled the wooden block that opened the viewport and looked down the hill. The ground was torn and shredded. The few trees left on the hill before the barrage were gone. There were smoking craters everywhere. He listened for moans or screams from wounded, but his ears were ringing too badly.
“Shelling’s stopped. Move to your firing ports. The Japs’ll be coming soon.” The men shook their dazed heads and pulled the blocks from the firing ports and pointed their M1’s down the hill. The shelling had started when it was still dark, but it was light now with clear skies. The jungle seemed to shimmer in the morning light.
It wasn’t long before outgoing friendly artillery arced over his head and slammed into unseen targets to the Japanese rear. They were finally getting around to silencing the Japanese artillery.
There was a slight breeze coming from the west, blowing the smoke away in wisps. Carver put binoculars to his eyes. Through a gap in the smoke, he glimpsed movement in a small clearing a couple of hundred yards from the first line of trenches. There was an explosion, then another.