The 164th Regiment Series Boxset

by Chris Glatte

  He got back on his belly and crawled along the trench until he was out of harm’s way. Then he stood and ran in a low crouch the rest of the way to the second line of bunkers and trenches. He threw himself into the covered trench and sat against the wall gasping for air. No one noticed, they were too busy firing down the hill.

  He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Keep your shit together soldier. He remembered hearing those words a thousand times from his drill sergeant back in basic a million years ago.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. Private Gomez was there looking at him from beneath his dark eyebrows. “You okay, Sarge?” Carver nodded. “I’m gonna find Hansen.”

  Carver reached out to stop him. “Don’t bother. He’s gone. Saved my ass, but he took one in the chest.”

  Gomez ground his teeth for a moment then gave a quick nod and went back to his firing position. Carver stood and peered through a firing slot. The Japanese were still coming, but they were taking heavy losses.

  The Artillery opened up and fell on the base of the hill and around the first line of bunkers and trenches, now occupied by the Japanese. Enemy soldiers were flung into the air and ground into the dirt.

  Enemy mortar rounds landed around the bunkers. Carver was relatively safe with a thick layer of sandbags over his head, but he didn’t feel safe. Gomez punched his shoulder and pointed.

  Carver looked and saw a thin, grungy soldier coming his way. “I told you to stay put, Corporal.”

  Corporal O’Connor spat a thin line between his teeth and kneeled beside Carver. “I got bored. If you wanna put me on K.P. duty back at H.Q. it won’t bother me a bit.”

  Smoke rounds exploded in front, and soon a thick layer of white smoke hung in the air. Private Gomez cursed in Spanish and sighted over his barrel. “Last time they did this, they overran us.”

  The soldiers stopped firing as they could no longer pick out targets. The .30 calibers stopped their incessant chattering. The only sound was the constant pounding of artillery and 61mm mortars. The enemy mortar barrage had stopped.

  68

  Second Lieutenant Taro leaned against the back of the American trench breathing hard. His men had pushed the Americans out of their positions, but they’d lost a lot of good soldiers and had only conquered the first line of many. A soldier he didn’t recognize kneeled beside him. “Sir, Lieutenant Otani says to hold your position, and prepare to repel a counterattack. He’s bringing up reinforcements.” American Artillery shells still exploded around them but most of it was hitting the jungle beyond.

  Taro nodded his understanding, and the soldier shuffled back the way he’d come, stepping over American and Japanese bodies.

  Taro watched him go. All he wanted to do was rest, but there was no time. If the Americans threw them out of their positions, all the brave men who’d been ripped to shreds would be for nothing. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He owed them. He spotted a sergeant a few soldiers down the line. He didn’t know anyone’s name. He croaked through a parched mouth, “Sergeant.” He didn’t respond, “Sergeant,” louder this time. The soldier beside him nudged the soldier beside him and passed the message along.

  The sergeant ran hunched over and kneeled at Taro’s side. He snapped off a quick salute, “What are your orders, sir?”

  Lieutenant Taro was gratified to see he’d gained the men’s respect. “We need to prepare for a counterattack. I want the machine gun crews set up on either flank, with at least a squad of soldiers around them. The rest of the Nambus interspersed along the line.”

  He stood and peeked his head over the trench. The smoke still clung, obscuring his view of the second American line. He knew it was only fifty meters away.

  The ground was strewn with bomb craters and dead and dying Japanese soldiers. He kneeled down and addressed the sergeant. “Move men into the trench system that connects with the next line. I don’t want a surprise attack coming through there.” The sergeant nodded and was about to leave, but Taro continued, “Make sure the men drink water and resupply ammo. We’re holding here until Lieutenant Otani brings reinforcements.” The sergeant nodded and Lt. Taro watched him go, wondering if he forgot anything.

  The counterattack never came. Lt. Taro thought the Americans must be licking their wounds too. The situation reminded him of an equally matched dog fight.

  The artillery continued but seemed to be harassment fire. Taro could still hear fighting coming from the other two assaults to the west.

  He was glad for the respite. He used it to drink water, replenish ammo and check the line. Despite the horrific losses, the men were upbeat.

  Colonel Araki had put him in this frontline unit to be rid of him. He understood that, but by luck, he’d survived and now was part of this highly decorated unit. For the first time in his military career, he felt a kinship with his fellow soldiers. Each soldier he passed nodded, recognizing his rank and the fact that he’d survived the last few hours, just like they had. He was one of them, and his chest swelled with pride.

  An hour passed with only the occasional shot, as snipers began to square off. Lieutenant Taro sat in an abandoned bunker with a small group of enlisted men and enjoyed nibbling off the dried fish they were passing around. He was surprised to find he wasn’t as hungry as usual. He wondered why.

  The same runner from earlier burst into the group and threw a salute to Lt. Taro. He saluted back, “Report.”

  The Corporal handed him a note. Lt. Taro read through it and smiled. The men watched him, trying to glean any information. He held up the note and shook it. “Good news, good news indeed.” He sent a private out to find his sergeants. Soon they were gathered around him. “We are getting reinforcements. They will be here within the hour, three more companies and…” he paused for effect, “Tanks.” The men smiled and nodded. They wouldn’t have to charge into machine gun nests. This time they could follow the tanks up the hill.

  Mortar fire signaled the arrival of the reinforcements. Smoke covered their advance from the jungle. Men ran and Lt. Taro watched for the promised tanks but was distracted when he saw a streaking fighter diving towards the clearing. He pointed, and his men shifted their positions. The fighter was too far away, but it was getting closer and would be in range if it stayed on course.

  The soldiers in the clearing picked up their pace trying to reach the cover of the trenches. The fighter’s machine guns opened fire and sounded like a ripsaw. Great geysers of dirt tore up the ground obscuring the reinforcements in dust and debris. The fighter pulled up, but continued on course.

  Taro had his rifle at his shoulder aiming at the ever-growing silhouette of the gull-winged Corsair. He fired when he thought it was about to hit him. Rifle fire rippled along the line. Taro pulled the bolt action to reload. For an instant, he could see the pilot. He wore goggles and cloth headgear. Taro thought he saw bullet holes emerge along the cockpit. The sound of the engine changed and the fighter pulled almost straight up. It was out of range before he could chamber another round.

  The soldiers around him cheered and talked excitedly like children, each sure they’d hit the streaking American. Taro watched the blue devil disappear over the hill. His smile faded when he saw the devastation the strafing run had caused.

  Soldiers still ran across the clearing, but there were new bodies strewn amongst the bomb craters. He still didn’t seen any tanks.

  Lieutenant Otani came panting down the trench and sat beside Lt. Taro. Taro snapped off a salute and Otani returned it. Otani caught his breath and said, “Report.”

  “The Americans haven’t moved since we chased them out of here. Some sniper fire, but no casualties. The artillery hasn’t stopped, but it’s been sporadic, sir.”

  Otani nodded. “Excellent,” he studied his watch. “We attack in thirty minutes, inform the men.”

  Lieutenant Taro looked at the clearing. There was a trickle of soldiers still coming, but most had made it to the shelter of the trenches. “Sir, you mentioned tank support.”<
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  Lieutenant Otani squinted, “Yes, they are coming, but they’re too valuable to spearhead the attack. Our men will lead, and once the Americans are on their heels, the tanks will rout them.” He pointed to the clearing. “They sit just inside the jungle line, out of sight. When we attack, the Americans won’t notice them until it’s too late.”

  Lieutenant Taro was disappointed they wouldn’t have the tanks for cover, but he understood the decision. They were cut off from resupply. What they had on Bougainville Island was all they were going to get. Their losses couldn’t be replaced.

  First Lieutenant Otani continued. “You’ve done well so far, Lieutenant. You were supposed to die but instead have served honorably. I want you to lead the assault, not because I expect you to die, but because you’re the best man for the job. The men will follow you.”

  Lieutenant Taro gave him a curt nod of gratitude. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  During the thirty minutes, the American lines were hit with mortar fire. Lieutenant Otani told him their heavy artillery pieces had taken a beating from counter-battery fire. The remaining pieces were pulled back and were only used for the more important assaults on Cannon Hill and Hill 700.

  With five minutes before the attack, the mortars blanketed the area with more smoke. Lieutenant Taro was in charge of the same platoon he’d attacked with before. They’d been reinforced with men from the other companies. It was easy to distinguish the replacements. They were wide-eyed and shell-shocked from their dash across the clearing. They gawked at the devastation around them.

  First Lieutenant Otani was further down the line, leading one of the fresh companies. Taro wondered if he still thought he’d survive the day.

  He watched the time wind down on his watch. With ten seconds left he took a deep breath and readied himself. He heard a whistle, the signal to advance. The men he’d sent into the connector trenches stood and started peppering the American line with covering fire. They couldn’t see the Americans through the smoke, but they had a good idea where to shoot.

  Lieutenant Taro jumped out of the trench. He had his rifle slung across his back. His pistol was out, and he waved the men forward, but they were already advancing, picking up speed. He was relieved to see the smoke still blocking the Americans. If they could get close enough, they’d overrun them quickly.

  Every step was uphill, and the shredded underbrush, mud, and rocks made each step difficult. Taro tried to keep pace with his men, but he wasn’t in good shape, and he slowed to a labored walk. He wondered what happened to the flow of adrenalin he’d experienced before. He needed it now, but all he felt was a searing pain in his chest as he struggled to get enough air to his screaming muscles.

  The Americans woke up all at once and the air filled with bullets. He felt them whiz past his ears like angry bees, but he didn’t seek shelter. Getting hit now would be a blessing, removing him from this misery.

  Soldiers started falling around him. The smoke was dissipating and the American .30 caliber machine guns were tearing through them. He kept advancing, putting one foot in front of the other.

  Through dripping sweat, he saw the American line. He realized with surprise; he’d made it halfway. He raised his pistol and fired three quick shots. He had no idea where his bullets went.

  He stopped walking and looked around. His men were advancing against withering fire. They were being cut down, but they were making progress. He wondered how it was possible that he could stand here and not die. He wasn’t trying to take cover, yet he was unscathed. Maybe I’m already dead. I’m a spirit. My body is somewhere behind me. He searched for it, but couldn’t make out anything specific. There were too many bodies.

  He trudged forward firing his spirit pistol. He was twenty meters from the line, and in front. His slow walk had outpaced all the others. He emptied his pistol. When it clicked on an empty chamber, he carefully re-holstered it and pulled his rifle off his shoulder, continuing to shuffle forward. He was sure he was a spirit now. Bullets must be passing through me. His men continued to follow him despite the heavy fire. More died, but others lived and kept coming.

  He stopped and raised his rifle to his shoulder. He aimed at the muzzle of an American rifle barrel sticking from a firing port. He fired, and the muzzle dropped as if the soldier holding it had dropped it. He smiled, my spirit rifle is still in their world.

  He saw the muzzle of a thirty caliber machine gun spitting fire from a bunker. The barrel was sweeping towards him like a scythe. It’ll fire right through me. Bullets whizzed closer as the barrel lined up on him. He took a step forward and was falling. He hit the bottom of the connector trench and lost his breath. He gasped, watching the white puffy clouds crossing the blue sky.

  69

  The smoke was clearing, and the scene out Carver’s firing port made his heart race. The Japanese were charging up the hill. Every gun opened fire at the same time chopping through them. Bullets continued to thump into the sandbags.

  Carver leaned into his Thompson and fired at a soldier making progress up the hill. He went down and out of sight in the battle debris. He moved his barrel to the right and fired another burst, dropping his target. There was another soldier directly behind that one, and he put .45 caliber bullets into his chest. Despite the massive casualties the Japanese were taking they kept coming, chewing up feet and yards towards the bunker line.

  The confines of the trench were filling with smoke. Carver’s eyes burned and watered, but he kept firing. Each soldier he shot blended with the previous. There were too many targets, but he concentrated on each shot, making them count. He wondered if they had enough bullets to kill them all.

  He used his Thompson like a rifle, expending one bullet per target. He may not kill them, but a .45 caliber slug does considerable damage to bare flesh. He moved his barrel side to side, firing and moving to the next man.

  The bodies were stacking up providing cover for the soldiers beyond. It became harder to find targets, but plenty more leaped over the bodies.

  The machine guns were blowing huge holes in the Japanese lines. He knew they’d have to swap out barrels soon or risk destroying the precious guns. He hoped it didn’t happen all at once.

  The Japanese were only yards from the line. Sergeant Carver wondered if they’d be overrun again. He thought about the trench works leading to the rear. He knew there was one ten yards to his left. He looked down the line at the men firing frantically. Some were on the ground, wounded or dead. Despite the cover they were taking casualties they couldn’t afford.

  He slapped the soldier beside him. O’Connor looked at him over the stock of his M1. “Grab Gomez and follow me.” He didn’t wait but stepped away from the firing port and moved to his right. The men along the line continued firing, not noticing them passing behind.

  As he passed the connector leading up the hill, he glanced down it. It was intact. If they got overrun, it would be the safest way to the next defensive line. Beyond that, there was the top of the hill and the command bunker. If they overran that, they’d have to retreat to the north knob.

  O’Connor yelled, “Where we going, Sarge?”

  He glanced back but kept moving, “To the downhill connector trench. I’m worried the Japs might push through and get into the trenches. Be nice to find a damned officer too.”

  Another fifteen yards brought them to the turn downhill. The junction had been closed off with sandbags, and there was a machine gun crew firing. Carver slid in next to a rifleman reloading his M1. “How you guys doing?” O’Connor and Gomez stood and added their fire down the hill. There were still a lot of Japanese coming, but the steady tide seemed to be slowing.

  The soldier slid the clip into his rifle, careful not to pinch his thumb. “They’re pushing hard, but we’ve stopped ‘em so far. They used the trench to get close and hurled grenades at us.” He glanced behind him at two shredded GIs. “We stopped ‘em though.”

  Carver slapped his shoulder and moved to the machine gunner.
He yelled over the chattering gun. “You need anything? Got enough ammo?”

  The gunner stopped firing and looked at him with dark, gunpowder encrusted eyes. He looked to the loader who’s face was also black with gunpowder. The loader looked behind him at stacks of metal ammo cans full of .30 caliber belts, and gave a thumbs up. “We’re good, Sarge.”

  Carver nodded and found a spot beside O’Connor and Gomez. He aimed down his barrel, found a target and fired. The two round burst caught a soldier across the legs, and he dropped out of sight screaming.

  O’Connor slapped Carver’s arm and pointed down the hill. “Shit, they’ve got tanks.”

  Carver stopped firing and looked. At the base of the hill, he saw at least ten tanks rolling up the hill. They weren’t firing, too many friendly troops to their front, but that would change.

  Carver dropped from his firing position and alerted the machine gunner of the new danger. He knew the .30 caliber bullets wouldn’t have much effect against armor.

  He hoped Lieutenant Swan saw the tanks from the command bunker. He needed to direct artillery fire onto them, or they’d be overrun. There were a couple of anti-tank teams, but the bazookas were notoriously inaccurate, and they didn’t have enough of them. The brass hadn’t expected Jap armor.

  The tanks rolled up the hill crunching over obstacles. When they had clear shots, they opened fire with their 47mm main guns and front-mounted machine guns. The effects were devastating. The first volley exploded along the trench line. A direct hit into a .30 caliber machine gun nest, silenced the gun and killed the crew.

  Sergeant Carver yelled down the line. “Bazooka teams, we need bazooka teams!” soldiers looked back at him with fear in their eyes. Carver slapped Gomez. “Go find a bazooka. We can use this trench,” he pointed at the connector trench leading downhill, “to get beside them and hit ‘em from the side where their armor’s thin.”