by Chris Glatte
He shut his eyes tight and tried to understand the pain. The battle in the jungle came back in a flood of bloody memories and he rose up on his elbows and looked around frantically. He was staring at the rippling, sinewy muscles of a dark-skinned Filipino’s back. He realized he was being carried on a stretcher. There was a concerned voice behind him. “Don’t try to move. Just rest, Sam.”
Sam arced his head back and saw the smiling face of Juan looking down at him. “What’s happened? Are we retreating? Did we lose?”
Juan shook his head. He spoke to the Filipino at the front. “Let’s take a break, Antonio.” Antonio nodded and together they lowered the stretcher to the ground. Sam realized it wasn’t a normal stretcher but one made from bamboo sticks and American GI ponchos. He tried to sit up further but the pain in his calf shot through him and took his breath away. He broke out in a cold sweat and immediately felt nauseous.
Juan spoke soothingly. “Don’t try to move. Just remain still.” Sam nodded and laid his head back. Juan called out. “Felipe. Sam’s awake.”
Sam wanted to see his old friend. He pushed himself up again and tried to ignore the pain. He gritted his teeth. “Help me sit up please.” Juan shook his head but reached under Sam’s shoulders and pulled him to an upright position. Sam bit his lip to stifle the cry threatening to burst from his throat. Juan propped a back-pack against his lower back and Sam leaned on it. “Thank you.”
He heard someone approaching from behind and soon Felipe was crouched beside the stretcher looking at him with concern. “You gave us quite a scare. Thought you might have died back there.”
Sam shrugged and looked at his calf. It was wrapped in a new bandage, borrowed from the GIs. “It’s a bad cut, but I don’t think it will kill me.”
Juan interjected. “Any kind of wound can kill you out here. The real enemy’s infection. That’s why we need to get you back to town.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll be alright. It burns like fire, but …” He shrugged again. “Nothing compared to some others.”
Felipe gripped his shoulder. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Sam saw the worried look and immediately wondered which one of his friends had died. “I can take it. What’s happened?”
Felipe kept gripping his shoulder and looked at Juan then back at Sam. “It’s about your brother. It’s about Berto.”
Sam’s face went dark. “What? What about him?”
Felipe continued. “He was with the Jap force we fought … “
Sam looked down, not sure how he should feel. “How did he die?”
Felipe shook his head. “He’s not dead. He’s alive. We captured him along with a few other Makapilis.”
Sam’s confusion turned to anger. “Did he fight? Did he kill any of us?”
Felipe shook his head. “No. He was near the rear, hunkered down in a hole. There were no weapons found nearby. He surrendered without a fight.”
Sam didn’t know how to feel. When he thought his brother was dead he had a feeling of loss sweep over him. Now that he knew he was alive, he felt his hatred return. He looked Felipe in the eye. “I’d like to see him.”
Felipe nodded and pulled out his sidearm. He handed the 1911 .45 caliber pistol handle first to Sam. “Know how to use that?” Sam nodded and pulled the action making sure it was loaded. Felipe held his gaze for a few seconds before speaking. “He’s your brother, but he betrayed your family and his own people. He’s responsible for killing many of us by helping the Japanese. They would never have found their way through these jungles without his guidance. He will stand trial and no doubt, hang for his crimes.” He indicated the pistol. “I’ll give you the option of killing him, since he’s done you the most harm.”
Sam swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. He felt the heft of the weapon. He returned Felipe’s stare and nodded. “Bring him to me.”
91
Corporal O’Connor didn’t have time to think much about his scuffle with Platoon Sergeant Carver. Soon after joining Hotel Company as a corporal, the unit was sent from Bohol through the Tanon straight which separated Cebu Island from Negros Island.
The GIs of Hotel Company didn’t know quite what to make of the new corporal in their midst.
Corporal Bucholz approached O’Connor as he sat on the floor of the troop ship staring at the metal wall. He sat beside him. “Looks like you been in the ring and got the bad end.” O’Connor didn’t acknowledge him. Bucholz thrust out his hand. “I’m John Bucholz. Lead in third squad. You’re in my squad.” O’Connor looked at the offered hand but didn’t take it. Bucholz withdrew it and shook his head. “Hard case, huh?” Without looking at him, Bucholz lowered his voice. “I don’t give a shit what happened back on Bohol. You got some beef with a Platoon Sergeant I hear, but it’s none of my business. What is my business is this squad. We’ve been through a lot and were about to land on another hostile beach, with some sad sack hard case corporal. I hear they busted you from sergeant. I don’t give a shit about any of that. Lieutenant Hopkins says I gotta have you in my squad, that’s my tough shit. I don’t care as long as you do as you’re told when I tell you to do it. Despite your rank and your seniority, you’re just another grunt in this unit.” He let that sink in. “You got that, hard-case?”
O’Connor looked the corporal in the eye and nodded. “Yep.”
Bucholz stood and looked down at O’Connor. “Good. We’re two hours out. Captain Ludwig wants us to offload at night. Surprise any Japs that might be lingering. Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“You won’t have any trouble from me, Corporal.”
Two hours later O’Connor was on deck watching the sun sink into the shimmering sea. They were off the coast a mile and would be ferried to the beach when it got dark. Doing anything at night was tricky and it would give O’Connor a good idea how this Company worked. Even the most highly trained units had trouble pulling off night operations, particularly beach landings.
Three hours after the sun went down, the transport moved closer to the beach. The GIs were quiet, but O’Connor could sense their tension growing. He studied his own emotions. There was no fear, only a blackness that seemed to blanket him since learning of Celine’s death. He’d always had apprehension, not necessarily fear, before operations, but now he felt nothing. He’d do what was required of him, nothing more or less. If he took a bullet, at least the indomitable pain of loss would end.
It was a moonlit night which helped the LCPV drivers find the beach. It seemed to glow like a beacon. O’Connor knew Navy swimmers had swum in, probably the night before, and checked the beach for hidden obstacles. Since the disaster at Tarawa, when the Marines got hung up on an unknown reef and were mowed down, the Navy always checked.
The landing went off without a hitch. The LCPVs ground onto the beach, dumped the GIs, then backed back out to sea without firing a shot. It was the first time in a long time O’Connor didn’t have to be in control of anything or anyone but himself. He was still an NCO, but he had no teeth. The GIs treated him like he was just another GI. He blended in with his new squad. He liked the low stress of being a follower rather than a leader again.
The night maneuver took all his concentration. It was the first time in two weeks he hadn’t thought about Major Cruz. He tucked her away in a dark corner of his mind. He realized he didn’t much care what happened to himself, but he would do his best to keep the other GIs alive, despite their obvious dislike.
“Move to the tree-line.” It was Corporal Bucholz waving them forward. O’Connor waited for the others to move and followed along. He watched the tree-line for anything out of the ordinary. If the Japs were there, they’d have an easy time spotting them silhouetted against the white sand. The moon blazed above them like a flashlight. He briefly thought what a beautiful night for a walk, if not for the war.
He was relieved to see the GIs knew what they were doing. They were veterans. They didn’t bunch up and moved as quietly as they could. If he couldn’t be w
ith Able Company, at least he’d been put into an experienced group of soldiers.
They stopped when they got to the tree-line. O’Connor looked back the way they’d come. There was no sign of stragglers. They were stacked up along the edge of the jungle. He was impressed with their speed. He could just make out the dull, steady hum of the LCPVs returning to the troop ship. He thought he could make out their white wakes in the distance.
An order was given and the GIs stood and moved into the jungle. It was thick, but not impassible. They pushed in for ten minutes and penetrated one hundred yards. They didn’t see any signs of the enemy.
Bucholz gathered them close. “We’re spending the rest of the night here.” He searched the group and pointed at O’Connor. “Hard-case, I want you twenty-five yards further inland. Set up an OP with Hendrickson.” He held up two fingers. “Two-hour rotations.”
O’Connor nodded and when he moved past, Bucholz glared at him, “Don’t fuck this up.” He ignored him and kept moving. He could hear Private Hendrickson following a couple yards behind.
He moved carefully, barely making a sound. When he thought he was the correct distance, he scanned the area for a good place to set up. The jungle was much darker than the beach, but slivers of moonlight penetrated here and there and he noticed a slight rise to his right. He waited until Private Hendrickson noticed him and signaled. Hendrickson nodded and covered him. O’Connor crouched on the hillock. He made sure it wasn’t an anthill, or some other beasts lair and pulled out his entrenching tool. He scraped the top layer of rotting jungle detritus, then scraped the dirt away until he’d made a slight depression. It wasn’t much and wouldn’t protect them from incoming fire, but he didn’t want to dig and make a bunch of noise.
Private Hendrickson slid in beside him and sat with his legs crossed. He propped his M1 Garand on his knee and scanned the area. O’Connor was on his belly but got to a sitting position beside Hendrickson. He whispered into his ear. “I’ll watch the right, you take the left.”
Hendrickson guffawed. “I’m not taking orders from you, Corporal.”
O’Connor gritted his teeth and swallowed his anger. It went down like a jagged pill. “Fine, I’ll cover right, you cover whatever the fuck you want.” Hendrickson didn’t respond. O’Connor couldn’t help himself. “If you fall asleep out here, I’ll cut your fucking throat myself.” Hendrickson seethed but he knew he’d make too much noise if he responded the way he wanted to. O’Connor grinned. This is gonna be a fun mission.
In the morning O’Connor lifted his head from the mounded sand. He felt like shit. His body ached. Feel like an old man. There was no enemy activity during the night. There was the occasional distant rumble of artillery coming from the other side of the island, but it also could have been thunder. He looked toward the tall, lush mountains that formed the spine of the mountain. In the semi-darkness it looked dark green, almost black. He was glad they didn’t have to haul their asses up there.
He and Hendrickson had been relieved from their OP sometime in the deep night. O’Connor did his best to find a comfortable piece of real estate to sleep on but settled for the mound of sand. At least it was dry.
He opened a can of K-Rats and had breakfast. He stood and stretched, feeling his muscles snap, pop and creak. The GIs around him were up. Some darted into the surrounding jungle to take shits. Dysentery, also known as raging diarrhea was always a concern out here, but he hadn’t seen many cases during this operation. On Guadalcanal and again on Bougainville, Dysentery had swept through their ranks, putting more soldiers out of the fight than the Japanese did.
When it was full daylight the company moved back to the edge of the beach and got into a long, snaking single-file line. O’Connor slung his rifle and looked out to the shimmering strait. He could see the imposing outline of Cebu. The image made him think of Celine. Wonder if they’ve buried her yet? He decided if he lived through this war, he’d find her gravesite. He had some things he still wanted to tell her.
They made good progress through the morning. They crossed a few small creeks that flowed with clear water. They stopped at one and dipped their heads, cleaning off layers of dirt and sweat. O’Connor relished the coolness as it dripped down his back. He rubbed the grit from his neck and filled his steel helmet with water and dumped it over his head. Gawd, that feels good.
By midday they’d traveled about four miles. They could’ve gone faster, but they were given a week and a half to make the trek along the beach, so there was no reason to hurry. It seemed like a lot of time for an easy stroll. O’Connor wondered if the brass knew something he didn’t.
They stopped when they came upon a more substantial river. Its briny water flowed deep and fast into the strait. O’Connor was immediately on edge. It looked like a perfect place for the japs to put up a defense and also natural habitat for crocodiles.
The company spread out along the banks, some moving into the jungle. Lieutenant Hopkins brought the NCOs together. O’Connor was effectively a private in everyone’s eyes, but he joined them anyway. He ignored the hostile glances.
Lieutenant Hopkins looked like he probably played football before the war. He was average height, but his shoulders were wide and his legs stretched the seams of his pants. O’Connor guessed he was probably a fullback. He tilted his helmet back. “Captain Ludwig wants us to stop here for the day, maybe longer. We’re gonna dig in and send patrols out.” He pointed at the river. “There’s word there’s a village upstream with a bridge crossing. If nothing else the natives might know where the Japs are. Our platoon’s taking the low position here on the beach. I want holes dug in an L shape, some facing the bay and the majority toward the river. We’ll have to move into the jungle and link up with 2nd platoon. We don’t want any gaps.” He looked from man to man. “Any questions?”
Corporal Bucholz raised his hand. “We expecting trouble, sir?”
Hopkins shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing concrete. The captain’s being careful and thorough.” When there were no more questions, Hopkins nodded and said, “Get it done.”
Digging in didn’t take more than a few hours. The ground was soft and easy to dig decent foxholes. O’Connor made his big enough for two, but no one joined him. He was okay with that. He didn’t need some pain in the ass to babysit. He’d be able to spread out and look at the stars all night. He’d sloped the hole and dug a trench in case it decided to rain, which he knew it probably would.
He’d just put the finishing touches on his hole and was about to test out it’s comfort level and have a nap when Bucholz strode up to the edge of his hole. He had a shoulder width stance and looked down on O’Connor like he was looking into the bottom of a latrine. “The lieutenant wants a patrol. We’re moving through our lines upstream. We’re gonna find that village and see about crossing this river.”
O’Connor squinted up at him, “So?”
Bucholz spit. “So, you’re on that patrol, hard-case. Get your lazy ass out of that hole and snap to it.”
O’Connor shook his head. I should kill this son-of-a-bitch. He got to his feet and hopped out of the hole. He stood to his full height and faced Bucholz. They stared into each other’s eyes. Bucholz looked away first, seeing the eyes of a stone-cold killer. He pointed. “You’re on point.”
O’Connor spit and narrowly missed the corporal’s boots. “Suits me fine.”
It felt good to be on point again, leading a group of determined GIs. He knew they’d rather not have him in their unit, but when they were out here they relied on one another no matter who it was. It felt good to belong.
The jungle was thick but manageable. O’Connor led them along the river bank. The steady flow of the river helped center him and keep him focused. The old feeling of confidence returned. He was a woodsman at heart - a hunter.
He slowed when he started noticing signs of human activity. He moved cautiously until he saw a hut through the trees. He’d come to the expected village.
He crouched and parted the jungle t
o get a better look. It looked abandoned. He didn’t see any local Filipinos, and the thatch structures looked run-down, as if they hadn’t been cared for in a while. He heard the soldier behind him and he looked back to get his attention. He held up his fist and the GI passed the signal back and crouched with his rifle at the ready.
Corporal Bucholz moved forward and crouched beside O’Connor. Without a word O’Connor pointed at the village. Bucholz bobbed his head trying to get a better view. He signaled O’Connor forward for a better look.
O’Connor parted the bushes and moved through without making a sound. He had his carbine ready. He moved to the edge of the village and went prone. He was as still as a stone as he listened and took in everything he could. Something in the back of his head niggled at him. His intuition, his sixth sense was telling him something wasn’t right. He’d learned not to ignore that niggling.
Slight movement off to the left caught his eye. He adjusted his head slightly, using his peripheral vision. There it was a again, in the far corner of the village. He focused on the spot and noticed something sticking out from a dark window. It looked like a tree branch, but something was different. Another movement behind the ‘branch,’ someone moving, adjusting themselves. There you are, you son-of-a-bitch.
He studied the rest of the village. They were well hidden, but he could pick out the telltale signs of an enemy presence. He carefully pushed himself back to Corporal Bucholz and whispered in his ear. “Japs in the far buildings. At least one Nambu in the far left hut.”
Bucholz looked at him skeptically. “You sure?”
O’Connor struggled not to strangle him. “Course I’m sure.”