by Chris Glatte
He pulled his legs beneath him and sat cross-legged. He rested his elbows on his knees and brought the rifle to his shoulder. It wavered despite the solid position. His arms shook and he struggled to keep it steady. He looked over the sights searching for a target. He saw tanks, but no soldiers. He leveled the barrel and fired at the metal behemoth. He watched his round spark off the front. He pulled the bolt and snicked in another bullet. He fired until he ran out of ammo. The tank didn’t seem to notice him, despite hitting it with each shot. It rumbled forward, clanking and spouting smoke from the exhaust.
He was too tired to reload, so he dropped the rifle and pulled out his pistol. It was heavy, and his shaking hand could barely grip the handle. The tank was close now, looming large like some blocky monster.
He fired his pistol, and it bucked like a wild beast trying to free itself. The front machine gun moved in his direction, but before it made it to him, another machine gun opened fire. It was the unmistakable buzzsaw of a Nambu. He saw the back end of the tank spark as bullets found their mark. He heard screams from men behind the tank.
The Sherman stopped only a few meters from his position and the turret swung towards the Nambu. It adjusted and fired. The 75mm shell slammed into the machine gun nest, silencing it instantly. The boom nearly knocked Lt. Taro’s hat off.
The threat gone, the turret swiveled until the main gun centered on Lt. Taro. He stared into the dark maw of the muzzle, waiting for it to deliver him from this hellish world. Instead, soldiers came from behind the tank with their weapons centered on his chest. Fear heightened his senses as he contemplated capture for the first time. He drew the only weapon he had left, his fighting knife. It was rusted from infrequent use. He held it at his side, waiting for the first soldier to come close. He pictured himself thrusting the blade into the GIs gut.
The first man to him was a long lanky soldier holding an M1 rifle. He seemed strangely familiar. He looked young but hard. A combat veteran. He kept his distance. Taro thought his eyes looked predatory. Another soldier limped up beside him. He had sergeant’s stripes on his shoulders and held a submachine gun. He was shorter than the first soldier but looked like chiseled granite. He thought he knew the man somehow, but couldn’t remember how. He became Taro’s new target.
Other Americans streamed past, but these two remained. The tall one spit a long stream, never taking his eyes off him. He said something to the sergeant who shook his head. The sergeant kneeled and pointed at the knife and spoke. Lieutenant Taro was tired, so tired he could hardly keep his head up. He stared back at the sergeant. His vision blurred and tears he didn’t know he had, streamed down his face.
He felt the knife drop from his hands and the lanky soldier was on him in a flash lifting him from his seated position and facing him towards the sergeant. He expected to be shot or run through with a bayonet, but instead, the sergeant spoke, and the lanky soldier released him. The young soldier gave him a hard stare and walked away.
The wounded sergeant motioned for him to follow and without knowing how or why his feet moved down the hill towards the American lines. Lieutenant Taro’s war was over.
73
Epilogue
The battle described did not pan out the way I’ve depicted here. Hill 260 was real and was attacked by overwhelming Japanese forces on March 8th. The Japanese pushed the Americans off the hill and held onto it for many days. Each of the other Japanese objectives was also achieved, however they took such massive casualties (est. 8000 KIA) that they had little chance of holding the ground and no chance of achieving the ultimate goal of taking over the allied airfields. Despite their losses, the Japanese soldiers held the hills until every man was either killed or captured.
The 164th Regiment was one of many units involved in the battle. The 164th was integral in the defense and particularly in the re-taking of Hill 260.
The American presence on the island ended soon after the battle and Bougainville was occupied by the Australian Army until the end of the war. The Japanese on Bougainville Island were never defeated. They surrendered along with the rest of the Japanese Empire, on September 2nd 1945.
Part III
Bleeding The Sun
A WWII NOVEL
Prologue
Sam Santos woke to the sounds of his Grandmother, Lola stoking the cooking fire in the middle of the room. It was dark, the sunrise hours away. Sam flung the thin sheet off his body and swung his bare feet to the hard, dirt packed floor. He rubbed his eyes and stared into the gloom. He could hear the soft snores of his older brother, Berto. Sam reached across the short distance and slapped his brother’s shoulder. The snoring stopped but Berto rolled away and groaned.
Sam heard his younger sister, Yelina stirring. “Good morning, Yelina.”
A small voice spoke from the darkness. “Good morning, Sammy.”
The sound of their grandmother shutting the clay door of the stove reminded Sam of his morning chores. He smacked his brother again, pulled back the thin sheet that acted as a wall, and saw his grandmother’s face glowing in the firelight filtering through the stove slats. Her face was old and wrinkled, but when she saw her grandson she smiled and the wrinkles turned to deep smile lines. “Good morning my lazy grandson.”
It was the same greeting every morning. No matter how early he woke, his grandmother was always awake before him. “Good morning, Lola.” He stepped forward and held his hands out to the glowing stove. “It’s cold this morning.”
She waved as if it was nothing. “Work will warm you. We need more wood. I need it hot for the water.”
He nodded and extended his hands for one more warming. He pushed the rickety wooden door open and it creaked and moaned on rusty hinges. He’d found the hinges amongst the rubble of a burned down house a few months before. He’d only found a few screws, but it was enough to provide a working door.
The family that owned the burned house hadn’t been seen since the night of the fire. Everyone knew their probable fate. They’d been a part of the Filipino resistance and the Japanese weren’t known for their mercy.
Sam took in the night smells. Theirs wasn’t the only cooking fire. It was dark outside and he waited for his eyes to adjust. The Japanese had strict rules about light discipline. He wondered if he’d ever see Cebu City lit up again.
The Japanese occupation began three years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. He could barely remember how the city looked under the lights, but remembered it was beautiful.
An hour later the Santos family huddled around the stove eating dismal portions of rice and fish from steel bowls. It didn’t take long before the food was gone. Sam scraped the bowl and tilted it to his mouth, coaxing every last morsel.
“Don’t be crude,” Berto said. He scooped his remaining crumbs. “We’re lucky we have as much food as we do.” Sam rolled his eyes. Berto flushed. “You’re ungrateful. My job allows our family more food. You should be thanking me, not rolling your eyes.”
Sam looked at Grandmother Lola who was staring into the flickering flames, then back to Berto. Sam said, “You’re going to get us killed. People talk about our family as if we’re all collaborators.”
Berto put his bowl on the floor and stood. He pointed at his brother. “You watch your mouth. Who’s threatened us? I’ll make them pay. Give me a name. The Japanese will reward us for rooting out resistance fighters.”
Sam stood. He came to Berto’s chin. “That’s the kind of thing that’ll get us killed. Can’t you see the Japanese are losing? What happens when they’re gone? What happens to us, our family? They won’t only punish you, but all of us.”
Berto gritted his teeth and spoke through them. “You watch your mouth. The Japanese will win, and once they do, they’ll reward us with a good piece of land, just like they promised.”
Sam shook his head and was about to continue when Grandmother Lola’s soft voice pierced the tense air. “Stop this talk. Both of you.” The arguing stopped and the only sound was the crackle and popping of th
e fire. “This war will end.” She remained squatting in front of the fire. She opened the clay door and poked the fire with a metal poker. She nodded. “All wars end.”
Once the chores were done, Sam watched Berto getting ready to leave. He was putting on a fresh shirt. Everyone working with the Japanese were required to wear the beige button-down shirts.
When Berto first donned it, he’d been nervous about his decision to collaborate. Now, three years later he wore it like a shiny medal. He liked the fear his presence evoked when he entered a room. The shirt marked him as someone of power and influence.
He lifted his chin and saw Sam watching him. “It’s time you joined. You’re old enough. You can do what you want. You don’t need to be led by the nose by Grandmother.”
Sam shook his head. “I’ll never join the Makapili.” His face flushed as soon as he’d uttered the derogatory term.
Berto’s jaw clenched and he reared back and hit Sam. “Don’t you dare use that term. We’re patriots.”
Sam deflected the blow, but pretended the punch hurt him. He whimpered and cowered. “Sorry, it slipped out.”
Berto leaned close. “I’m going to recommend you to the Kempei Tei. They’re always looking for new recruits. They’ll come by today for your indoctrination.” Without a glance back, Berto strode from the shack. The door slammed and nearly broke from the hinges.
Sam stood and saw his sister watching from the corner. In her soft, song-like voice she asked, “Why did you let him hit you?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s easier. He’s stronger and won’t stop until he thinks he’s hurt me.”
“Do you think he’ll be coming back with the Kempei Tei?” She had trouble pronouncing the words.
Sam thought about it for a second then shook his head. “I think he was trying to scare me. He wouldn’t do that.”
“What if he does?”
Sam laughed. “They’ll have to deal with Grandmother first. I fear for the Japanese if they tried to do anything against her will.” Yelina smiled and laughed. Sam put his arm around his sister’s small shoulders. “Don’t worry, little one.”
The Japanese came just before lunch. Sam had returned from the jungle near the sea with a bag of snails. The Japanese didn’t allow Filipinos to fish for themselves, so he’d taken to foraging through the jungle in search of edibles. He’d found a good stash of snails that day and was looking forward to showing them to Grandmother Lola.
He’d just plopped the bag in front of his grandmother when there was a loud knock, and in broken Tagalog, “Open the door.”
Sam’s knees felt weak as he realized his brother hadn’t been trying to scare him. He’d sent the Japanese.
Grandmother Lola stared at the door. There was another loud knock and Sam moved to open it, but she held out her hand. “Stay put. I’ll deal with them.”
She shuffled to the door and mumbled, “Coming.” She opened the door and stood facing a squat Japanese soldier. He was young and his scowl made him look cruel. He stepped away from the door and took up position beside it, like a guard. The Japanese behind him was dressed in the black of the hated Kempei Tei secret police. He was taller and older.
He stepped forward and gave a slight bow. Grandmother Lola returned the courtesy but didn’t move from the doorway. In near perfect Tagalog he said, “Good afternoon. I’m here to speak with your youngest son, Sam.”
Grandmother Lola shook her head. “I know why you’re here and I won’t allow you to take him. You already have one grandson. You don’t need both. I am old and need his help.”
Sam held his breath wondering where his grandmother got the courage to deny a Kempei Tei officer. There was a long pause. Grandmother Lola kept her gaze slightly down, but her strong stance didn’t falter.
The officer chuckled. The sound made Sam nauseous. The officer continued. “I have heard good things about your son. I’m in need of his skills. We’ll increase your rations and give you an even larger piece of land once this war’s over. Your family will be considered heroes.” He smiled and gestured into the shack. “And you still have your lovely daughter to help around the house.”
The mention of Yelina made Sam pull her behind his back. He’d heard what the Japanese did to young Filipino girls, turning them into comfort women for their troops. Everyone knew it meant a life of rape and an early death.
Keeping her gaze lowered, Grandmother Lola gave a slight shake of her head. “You’ve already taken their parents. We have heard nothing of them these long years. I was put in charge of the children; my grandchildren. You won’t have more from us.”
The smile disappeared from the officer’s face. His hard eyes turned to black, stony orbs; bottomless and full of hatred. “You dare say no to me?” His gaze drilled into her. “You’re wasting my time. There will be no more discussion. Either he comes willingly or we drag him. Either way, he’s coming with us.”
Sam looked to his grandmother. She hadn’t wavered, her feet still firmly planted as if she’d grown roots. Sam had no choice, he stepped forward and put his hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll go.” He felt her shoulder tremble, but she didn’t move. She shook her head.
The Kempei Tei officer reached out and pushed her aside. She fell to the floor and Sam reached out, exposing his sister. The Kempei Tei stepped over them and reached for Yelina. He grasped her thin arm and shook. She screamed and tried to break away, but his grip was too strong. He leered and leaned close. Yelina’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Aren’t you a pretty thing? Your brother, Berto didn’t mention you.”
Sam stood, turned to the officer and without thinking pushed him away from Yelina. “Take your hands off her,” he yelled.
Sam was immediately grabbed from behind by the accompanying soldiers. He was dragged toward the door, but he pulled away and went back for the officer. He threw himself at the officer. He heard his grandmother yell, ‘no,’ but he was committed. The thought of this disgusting man touching his sweet Yelina, sent him into a rage. He smashed into the officer and they both went to the ground. Sam was no stranger to violence; the city streets were filled with it. He punched the officer and blood spurted from his lip where his fist mashed it into his teeth.
He only got one punch in before the soldier recovered and yanked him off the officer by his hair. He reached back for the new threat, but the soldier was strong and lifted his light frame off the ground. Sam kicked and grunted but was soon thrown outside in the dirt.
He heard his grandmother yelling. He glimpsed her through the dim light. She was hitting the officer with ineffective fists. As if in slow motion, he watched as the officer pushed her away, unholstered his sidearm and aimed. Sam sprang up but fell back with the blast of the pistol.
All sound ceased as he watched his grandmother sway, then fall as if her puppet strings were cut. The world focused down to her face. Her staring eyes, normally full of laughter and depth were suddenly masked with a thin film of milky-white. She was gone.
Yelina’s scream jolted him back. She lunged onto Grandmother Lola’s body and prodded her as if trying to wake her from a deep sleep. The sight broke his heart. He felt all joy and light leave his world as if the entire cast of a play suddenly walked out in the middle of a masterful performance. He was numb and confused.
Yelina was lifted off the body by her hair. The grinning officer held her as she kicked and screamed. The officer’s teeth were stained with his own blood, making his visage even more sinister. He threw Yelina out the door and Sam reached out and caught her. He held her tight, trying to squeeze the ugly memories from her soul. She sobbed into his shoulder. He whispered into her ear, “Be strong, little one. Be strong.”
The words calmed her, she relaxed slightly in his embrace, but the moment passed when she was ripped from his arms by the officer. Sam reached for her but she was thrust toward the soldiers. She struggled but they held her tight.
The officer crouched in front of Sam and pulled out a white handkerchief. He wipe
d his pistol and the kerchief came away red. He folded it and used the clean side to dab his lip. He looked at the blood then back to Sam. “Your Lola will rot and your sister will please many soldiers.” He leered, “I will break her in myself. Teach her how to be a good whore.”
Sam lunged for his throat, but the nearest soldier restrained him with an iron grip. The officer smiled, but it didn’t travel to his eyes. “You are strong willed. We can use your strength on the work crews. You can follow in your parents’ footsteps.” He paused as Sam focused. It was the first he’d heard anything about his parents.
“Hopefully you’ll last longer than they did.”
74
May 20, 1944
Platoon Sergeant Carver shook himself awake. He looked around the dark room trying to figure out where he was. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and felt for his Thompson submachine gun, but it wasn’t there. He searched everywhere in the darkness, his panic rising in his gut like a cancer.
He heard the wind racing through palm boughs. He smelled the rot of nearby jungle, mixed with the antiseptic stench of a hospital. It raced back to him. He took a deep breath, feeling the ache in his left leg. He remembered. He was in a rear area hospital far away from the front lines. He was safe, but he yearned for his weapon, like a drunk yearns for his wine. But like a recovering drunk, he knew it wasn’t allowed. Against hospital rules.
He leaned back on his sweat soaked pillow and stared up at the thatch roof. He couldn’t see it, but he knew there was a lazily spinning fan above him, shifting the fetid air. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the dream. It was combat, shooting, screaming, dying, but what seemed so real was now a faded memory he couldn’t bring into focus.