by Chris Glatte
He stepped back from Tarkington’s foul breath, “Carry on.”
Tarkington relaxed and watched Lt. Smoker catch up to Captain Glister. The encounter had briefly made him forget about his throbbing head, but now it came crashing back with a vengeance and he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I’ll never drink again for as long as I live,” he uttered. Henry slapped his shoulder, “Sure thing, Tark. Sure thing.”
After leaving town, they moved along the main road, skirting abandoned and burned out husks of vehicles of all shapes and sizes. They didn’t see bodies, but the smell of rotting corpses was ever-present. The heat, along with the smell and the bouncing of the trucks hitting countless potholes, made the journey south almost unbearable.
Sergeant Tarkington was in a surly mood. His hangover clung to him like a leech. Riding in the back of a troop truck along the dusty, bouncy road wasn’t good when he was at the peak of health; with a hangover it was far worse.
He pulled the canteen from his belt and tried to focus on unscrewing the lid. He’d downed four already, knowing it would only get worse if he didn’t rehydrate. He finally got the lid off and tilted the canteen to his lips. The tepid, Halazone-laced water tasted terrible and he had to concentrate to keep it from coming back up. He looked at the rest of the men. They all looked just as miserable. “Drink.” He growled. “Everyone take a drink, now.” The GIs scowled and grumbled but did as he ordered.
Sergeant Flynn rode in the front cab beside the Filipino driver, putting Tarkington in charge of the hungover troopers in back. Upon entering the truck he’d ordered the men not to throw up on the truck floor. If they needed to hurl, they were to push the canvas and throw up outside. Many took this option and the vomit immediately caked with dust and dried into a hard lacquer along the side of the truck. The vomit proved difficult to remove, earning the affected trucks the moniker ‘vomit comets.’
Many hours later, through stop-and-go traffic and many false alarm air raids, they arrived in the town of Mariveles on the southern tip of the Bataan Peninsula. The light was fading but Tarkington could make out the waters of the China Sea and the North Channel. He knew somewhere out there was the island fortress of Corregidor, but he couldn’t make it out in the fading light. Those bastards’ll never take that, he thought.
The weary GIs dismounted under Tarkington’s burning eyes and took in the sights of Mariveles. There wasn’t much to see. The single dirt airfield stretched to the edge of the bay, its point dotted like an elongated letter ‘t’, which was the empty seaplane mooring docks. In makeshift revetments, sat four P-40 Warhawks. He’d heard it was all that remained of twenty-four.
Besides the planes, there were a few tractors and dozers parked along the strip. It looked to Tarkington that they’d been working to widen the strip. Getting ready for reinforcements, he mused hopefully. He gazed at the bay. The colors of the evening were deepening to reds and yellows and the water appeared to be on fire. Despite his hangover, he appreciated the beauty.
Staff Sergeant Flynn barked, “Get your gear. Those huts over there.” He pointed to rows of small white buildings sitting on platforms a few feet off the ground. “Our new home for the next couple of days.” The GIs looked how Tarkington felt, like shit. They dragged themselves to the huts and disappeared inside. The normal banter was absent.
Tarkington was about to follow but Flynn got his attention. “I want those men rested. If they brought any hooch from town confiscate it. No drinking.”
The mere thought of drinking again almost made Tarkington lose what little he had left in his belly. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about there, sir.”
Flynn nodded, “Don’t let ‘em get too comfy. I’ll figure out the grub situation, get ‘em fed before they crash.” The thought of food almost made him lose it again, but he nodded and followed the squad to the huts.
5
As Hotel Company was settling in for the night, Lieutenant Robert Kelly was watching the sun dip beneath the western horizon from the bridge of the seventy-seven foot long PT-34 of MTB Squadron 3. It was his turn on patrol. The night before PT-32 had had an uneventful evening and Lt. Kelly was hoping for the same.
Since hostilities began, the squadron of four PT boats had been busy. The ever-present danger of Japanese aircraft forced the fast boats to mostly work at night. Despite the lack of enemy contact, each patrol was harrowing. With each passing day, the Japanese got stronger while the defenders lost men and material.
Lt. Kelly had no illusions about the situation. If he got in trouble, he could call on his squadron for help, but once he was on the open ocean there was little chance help would arrive in time. Before hostilities Lt. Kelly was supremely confident in his boat’s abilities, however each mission degraded the boat’s performance slightly and, without resupply, there was no way to get their crafts back to tip-top condition. The mechanics performed miracles to keep the boats engine’s working, but Kelly noticed the slight drops in speed and performance.
Once PT-34 was away from the moorings, he opened the throttles and listened to the engine’s hum. It was always thrilling to feel the power of the 1500hp Packard engines propelling them through the glassy waters. To the untrained ear the engine sounded perfect, but Kelly could hear the slight imperfections of an engine in need of an overhaul.
They moved north, slowing and keeping close to shore. They followed the shoreline and entered bays and inlets, ready to engage any enemy they came across, but careful not to attract unwanted attention.
By midnight, they’d gone as far north as they dared. Lt. Kelly ordered the engines cut and the gentle swell of a calm China Sea lapped the sides. They were two hundred yards off the coast, in a small inlet. Even from this distance they could hear the sounds of night animals and the constant racket of insects. The night was warm and the stars seemed close enough to touch. If there wasn’t a war on, Lt. Kelly thought, it would be a great place to vacation.
He was about to order them to turn for home when he heard a faint noise. He leaned forward and Ensign Hayes spoke, “Sir?”
Kelly held up his hand for quiet and closed his eyes, concentrating. He strained and finally heard it again, a dull far-away thrumming of an engine. “Someone’s out there,” he whispered. “Hear it?”
Hayes hadn’t heard anything but had learned to trust his skipper. He concentrated and then he did hear something. His breath caught in his chest and he felt his heart rate increase. He whispered, “I hear it now. Engine or engines.”
Kelly didn’t wait. “Battle stations, something’s out there.” In the darkness the men dropped what they were doing and scampered to their assigned battle stations. The engine started and Lt. Kelly cringed at its throaty sound. “Take us to the edge of this point and hold.”
PT-34 edged forward until the bow was abreast of the point of land facing out to open ocean. Now the engine noise was louder and all the men could hear it. Kelly felt their tension as they gripped their weapons and readied themselves for action. “Steady,” he whispered.
PT-34 idled in place as Kelly tried to pinpoint the sound. He whispered to Hayes, “Sounds like a barge, or something small like that.”
Hayes nodded, “Local fishing boat?”
Kelly shook his head, “Not this far north. Gotta be Japs.” The idling PT’s engine made it difficult to hear the other engine. Suddenly the sound got louder and closer. Each man turned toward a point north and saw the sparkling white wakes of four boats in echelon. Seaman Gordon swung the barrels of his twin .50 caliber machine gun muzzles to the targets and made sure the weapon was primed and ready. Gunner’s mates Hodges and Perkins did the same with their .303 mounted Lewis guns.
Lt. Kelly spoke to Ensign Hayes. “We’ll attack with surface guns only. Forget the torpedoes.”
Hayes nodded and passed the word. Kelly squinted trying to gauge how far away the barges were. “Radio in the contact. Let ‘em know we’re attacking a force of four Japanese barges near Longo Point. Looks like a landing pa
rty.”
Hayes nodded and answered with a curt, “Aye.”
Kelly glanced behind him and nodded in satisfaction. “They won’t see us against the dark backdrop. I want half a knot, let’s close the distance.” The throbbing idle changed and the PT boat moved from the point like a deadly shark sneaking up on unsuspecting prey.
The barges were still motoring parallel to shore. At their current speed and direction they’d pass the PT boat in a minute or two. PT-34’s bow was pointed directly at them. “Turn to starboard ninety-degrees. Maintain this speed.” The boat eased into the turn, not making a visible wake and moved north, the opposite direction to the barges. “We’ll get behind them, then come up alongside and give ‘em all our guns.”
Kelly watched the barges closely. If the Japanese saw them, they’d increase speed and break formation, but they maintained course and speed, oblivious to the danger.
When Kelly figured he was five-hundred yards behind, he ordered the 180-degree turn. Once they were heading in the same direction as the barges he ordered, “We attack in one minute. Wait for my order to open fire.” He’d raised his voice but figured the Japanese were too far away to hear him. “Give me three knots.” The thrust of the boat increased and Kelly could feel the slight vibration beneath his boots change. They were still losing ground to the barges. “Okay, let’s open ‘em up easy.” He held on as the boat surged smoothly onto a plane and the wakes of the barges quickly turned into the shapes of boats.
Seaman Gordon gripped the trigger of the twin fifties. He shifted the muzzles slightly as the PT boat powered toward the targets. He licked his dry lips, suddenly feeling nauseous as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. Finally, Lt. Kelly ordered the spotlight on and yelled, “Open fire! Fire at will!”
Gordon could clearly see the barges now. He concentrated on the rear boat and squeezed the trigger. The sudden muzzle flash from his weapon dazzled his eyes. His first burst slammed into the barge, sending sparks and wood-chunks flying. He squeezed off another burst and saw his tracers lancing into the barge, like something right out of a Buck Rogers comic book. He kept the muzzle steady, letting the movement of the PT boat work the .50 caliber bullets through the length of the target. He kept the trigger depressed. The power at his fingertips was intoxicating.
He stopped firing when the barge dropped from his round reticle, but depressed the trigger again when the second barge filled the space. He adjusted the twin muzzles down slightly and saw his bullets kicking up water spray as they skipped into the hull.
Gunner’s mates Hodges and Perkins fired their .303 caliber Lewis machine guns, but their bullets seemed inconsequential alongside the destruction spewing from the twin fifty.
PT-34 continued powering alongside the barges and the guns continued to shred them. Lt. Kelly watched the yellow tracers, knowing each one represented the fifth shot from the twin fifties, but the effect looked like one constant stream of yellow fire. It looked thick enough to walk across. The devastation it wrought on the Japanese barges was obvious. The rear boat was listing heavily, well on its way to sinking. He doubted there could be anyone left alive. The second was taking a brutal beating and looked like it would be joining its twin on the bottom soon.
In the confusion, the two lead barges turned toward shore bringing them closer to the PT boat. There was no danger of a collision, so Kelly maintained course and speed allowing his gunners to concentrate on firing. The smaller caliber Lewis guns were spraying the lead barge while the twin fifty finished sweeping the doomed third barge.
Flickering lights came from the lead barges and for a moment Kelly didn’t know what they were, but soon he heard and felt bullets slamming into the hull and he realized his prey still had teeth of their own. For a moment the Lewis guns and the Japanese machine guns dueled, but soon Seaman Gordon’s muzzles centered on them and the heavy onslaught swung the advantage to PT-34.
Kelly steered toward shore slightly to put more space between them. The Lewis guns ran out of ammunition at almost the exact same time and the gunners quickly reloaded. The twin fifty continued firing and Kelly leaned over and yelled to Ensign Hayes to remind Seaman Gordon to shorten his bursts. Both barrels glowed red behind the massive muzzle flashes and he worried he’d burn them out. Hayes nodded and moved forward to relay the message.
The second-in-line barge’s engine blossomed into flame and the bow lunged deep as it lost power. It was taking on water and slewed to starboard, disappearing out of the spotlight’s view. The lead barge suddenly erupted with small-arms fire. Bullets thumped into the wooden sides of the PT boat and ricocheted off the metal bridge and deck. Kelly instinctively ducked but kept the throttle steady.
Seaman Gordon stopped firing and yelled something, but he was faced away and Kelly didn’t catch what he said. The lead barge was lit by the spotlight and the Lewis guns opened up, firing short, controlled bursts. The enemy fire slackened as they lost the upper hand and Lieutenant Kelly flashed by them at forty yards. The spotlight stayed on them despite Japanese bullets whizzing close. Kelly yelled, “Light off. Cease fire! Cease fire!”
The light extinguished before the gunners got the word, but once the target was lost in the dark the firing stopped. The steady hum of the engine replaced the sounds of battle. Kelly glanced behind and saw the barges burning in the blackness. He kept his course and speed, heading south and home.
Ensign Hayes was beside him again. “Gordon fried both barrels. They’re fused like they’ve been soldered. Damned fool just couldn’t let up.”
Kelly grit his teeth at the news. “Dammit. We only have one more set unless we’re resupplied soon.” Ensign Hayes looked back at the dots of light marking the battle. Kelly nodded, “I think we sank at least two and heavily damaged the others. We don’t have enough ammo to finish them off. Report the results to HQ. They’ll want to know what the hell they’re up to.”
Sergeant Tarkington was nudged awake two hours before there was a hint of light in the eastern sky. He instinctively reached under the pillow for his sidearm. “Easy, Sarge. Lieutenant Smoker sent me to wake the NCOs.” Tarkington relaxed and sat up. He tried to focus on the luminescent dials of his watch but couldn’t make them out. “It’s 0345. You’re to meet in the mess hall at 0400.”
The PFC stood to leave, but Tarkington gripped his arm and croaked, “What’s the scoop?” The GI shrugged and went in search of the next NCO. Tarkington rubbed his eyes and yawned. He’d actually been sleeping better than he had in weeks. He slid on his boots, buckled them, then stood and slung his Thompson over his shoulder. It was pitch dark and he fumbled and tripped his way to the front entrance kicking cots and getting curses from the jostled GIs.
He stepped from the building and stopped and listened. The sounds of the nearby jungle filled his senses. He’d gotten good at distinguishing normal night sounds from abnormal and he decided there was no immediate danger.
He entered the mess hall; an abandoned hangar on the far side of the airfield. There was a kerosene lamp burning on a table in the middle of the large space. Around it, he saw all the officers of Hotel Company, looking groggy and half-asleep. Tarkington thought he sensed something else: worry. He’d been one of the last NCOs to be awakened since he chose to sleep with the men rather than the other NCOs. He still wasn’t used to not being one of the boys.
He pushed his way into the circle surrounding the table. Beside him Staff Sergeant Flynn grunted and moved over. Tarkington looked around the gathered officers, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Captain Glister walked into the room and everyone snapped to attention, but he held up his hand, “At ease, at ease.” He laid a yellowed map on the table and Lt. Smoker lifted the kerosene lamp so he could slide it forward. It was a map of the southern tip of Luzon Island, the region of the Bataan Peninsula.
Glister put his finger on a point of land due-west of Mariveles, far behind the Orion-Bagac line of defense I and II Corps held. It wasn’t far from their current location. �
��Last night one of our PT boats encountered a sizable force of Japs on barges trying to land men in this area. The PT boat engaged and sank two of them and badly damaged the other two. It’s worrisome and the brass thinks they might be trying an end-around assault on our flanks.” He let that sink in. “We’re the only line unit back here at the moment. We’ve been ordered to move and assess if there are any more of these landings. If the Japs get a foot-hold and move inland it could be bad. Roust the men, get ‘em fed and resupplied. We leave for Longoskawayan Point in two hours.”
The 1st platoon reached the point of land by mid-morning. It was only a few miles west of Mariveles and the half-paved, half-dirt road was well used in this section, making for an easy march. Along the way they picked up men from rear echelon units moving along the road. Every available man, regardless of their position, was ordered to move to the west coast. There was no time to pull more front-line troops from the Orion-Bagac line, and they were already stretched too thin. It was up to Hotel Company - and whoever else they could get their hands on - to contain the suspected landings.
Sergeant Tarkington peered over the edge of a precipitous cliff down to a small strip of beach, shimmering in the morning sun. The green water lapped lazily against the white beach. It looked idyllic, except for a barge, which looked damaged and half-filled with water.
Lieutenant Smoker came up beside Tarkington and took a sharp breath when he noticed the barge. “See any Japs?”
Tarkington shook his head, “No sir.”
Smoker saw Staff Sergeant Flynn crouching nearby. He waved him over and, when he got there, put his hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Lets move north. There’s only one way up from that beach. We need to get there before the Japs do.” Flynn nodded and went to pass the order to the other NCOs.
The GIs attitudes changed as they realized there were enemy troops nearby. The march from Mariveles had been lighthearted. They thought it would be a false alarm and they’d simply spend the day marching in circles, searching for an enemy that wasn’t there. Now they braced for imminent combat.