According to his survey, a confluence of Myinkhon Creek and a brooklet from Yanthitgyi lay about four kilometers south of the starting point of the day before.
Tomita intended to guide them there. He said the bulging water formed a deep-enough cove there. It also seemed suitable for gunboats to lurk in, because the mangrove there grew densely, as well.
“Those Engli boats are junk, but they’re fairly big,” Tomita said. “They need some deep water, like a cove, to anchor. The boat came from the north yesterday.
Maybe good hideouts lay somewhere north. If there is no boat hiding itself inside the south cove I’m talking about, the possibility of getting caught by any ambush around the south bank is weak. It’ll be a good signal that the area is safe. We can take it. Let’s go there tonight and watch it!”
He told the men that they had better advance to the area around the cove under cover of night and feel out the enemy there. They must halt the operation at once if they detected any signs of ambushes. But if the cove was clear, they should carry out the crossing at once after scrutinizing the brightness of the moon and stars and the status of the tide.
The more southward they moved, the wider the water they must swim. And
Leikdaung Island, the transit point, would also recede into the distance. But it was nothing compared with being spotted and riddled on the way.
Tomita’s words were so confident and persuasive that neither Kasuga nor Tada nor any of the strays of Fifth Company raised the slightest objection.
At sunset, Kasuga headed for Myinkhon Creek as one of the group of twenty-odd members. Each member tottered in the mud with a bamboo pole on his shoulder again. Tomita Squad was downgraded to a three-man-party by then.
Led by Tomita, the column went through the mangrove. They could see the sky fairly clearly through the foliage overhead. Not a cloud was seen. Instead, the waxing, silvery half-moon shone. The moonlight filtered in so brightly that everyone could distinguish one soldier from another. Their march progressed, and they came to the edge of the creek.
A brooklet flowing from the west abruptly cut through their path when they went southward along the waterside for half an hour. They had just arrived at the
confluence Tomita had mentioned. The water surface widely encroached on the surrounding mangrove; it was the south cove. The stagnant, dark water reeked of a botanical, putrid smell. It was quite a dreary place. However, they saw no vessel.
Some men quick on the trigger began undressing among a succession of sighs of relief. But Tomita was wary and held them back. “Don’t do that! It’s too bright yet. If the enemy comes, they’ll get us in plain sight. Wait until the moon sets.”
Sergeant Steel Bar argued against him. “Let’s go before it gets too dark. We’ll get lost in the darkness even if we can get to the opposite bank. We can worry about the enemy later.”
Tomita said, “I know what you’re saying, but we’d better wait a bit longer.
We’re probably not the only guys going to swim across tonight. Some rash idiots may run out into the creek first and act as a decoy.”
Sergeant Steel Bar slyly smiled and nodded. “I see, you crafty old dog. You’re right. Haste makes waste, doesn’t it?”
Now in the wait-and-see mode, Kasuga held his bamboo pole in his arms and sat on the ground. Then he idled his time away silently.
He felt a chill, as if he had a fever. He couldn’t stop his whole body from quiv-ering, feeling like his spine was slowly freezing. But his clothes had long since been dry, and the air wasn’t cool. The chill could be the result of the malaria returning on a full scale, which he had been worrying about.
Sitting next to him, Tada was ardently cleaning his rifle with a rag. Kasuga didn’t know whether he was merely passing the time or focusing his concentra-tion before the operation. But such behavior—uselessly anticipating combat—kindled his anxiety. Unable to stand it any longer, Kasuga spoke to him in a low voice. “Maintenance is nice, indeed. But stop it. What are you going to do with it? You can’t shoot while you’re swimming.”
Tada stopped his hands and looked at Kasuga. Bathed in starlight, his eyeballs were glittering. “I know. But I can’t stop feeling uneasy,” answered Tada.
“Neither can I,” Kasuga said. “But it’s natural, as we’re forced to break through enemy lines twice. You can make it to the continent so long as you do what Sarge says. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah, but I have a feeling something bad is going to happen.”
Kasuga lapsed into silence. Now he knew it was not a fever that caused his chill. Tada wasn’t the only one. He also had a bad premonition. Heartless words wouldn’t allay the instinctive fear.
Kasuga looked up at countless sparkling stars. He didn’t notice, but the moon had already set, and the darkness had deepened. Then Tomita’s command went up. “Everybody prepare for crossing!”
The hectic atmosphere returned. Kasuga heard the distant crack of a rifle on their left just as he was about to take off his shirt. It was from the direction of their starting point the night before. The stuttering of a machine gun immediately followed, as if it was responding to the rifle.
Kasuga jumped to his feet and ran to the edge to get a better view. He found a parachute flare floating in midair and emitting the bluish light. Crowns of trees, thick with foliage, were dyed in brilliant green. The gun reports continued. Shells sometimes howled and exploded just after the high-pitched discharging sounds of a mortar. The air trembled with the violent roar every time. There was no doubt about what was going on in the northwest a few kilometers away. Friends were getting mauled there. It was likely that an enemy had spotted and battered some unit trying to evacuate from the same point as the day before.
The enemy troop had even brought a mortar from the rear. It proved that a land force with considerable power had advanced. The enemy tenaciously sought to destroy Ramree Garrison, already thoroughly ruined. They had no time to lose now.
Their one and only good fortune was that they had not yet seen a gunboat, even under the brightness of the flare. The surface of Myinkhon Creek was deathly still, quite contrary to the din of fire. Another friendly unit had drawn the enemies’ attention. Now was the perfect time.
Slipping out of his clothes except for his fundoshi, Kasuga hung the haversack from his shoulder instead of tying it to the pole and couched the bamboo pole like a spear. The rubber pouch holding the precious grenades was tucked away in his sack. But he knew he could not ignite those on the water. Fleeing was the priority anyway.
“Now, listen! Once you get in the water, drain every ounce of your strength into swimming across to Leikdaung Island!” Tomita addressed everybody. He was standing at the edge. His expression was sincere and frank, as usual.
In spite of the darkness, Kasuga could see it well.
“May the god of war be with you all. Be sure to meet up at Taungup again. I’ll buy you all drinks then. All right. Let’s get going!” Tomita said to Kasuga and Tada. The three remaining members of Tomita Squad hugged each other.
“Sarge and Mister Kasuga, I appreciate everything you ever did for me,” Tada said, his voice was trembling.
“Don’t say it yet,” said Kasuga. “We’ve gotten down to business, so spare it for later, Tada! Sarge, I trust Hirono’s ashes to you in case I’m killed first.”
“You idiot! Don’t say anything that brings bad luck,” Tomita barked. “We three stay together now for the tough part. Bear in mind we all should get back to Taungup alive—no, to Japan—whatever happens!”
The three had survived together to this point by some means or another.
Many memories rushed forward, but they had no time to indulge in them. With Tomita at the top and Tada at the tail, they ran after the queue of the others.
The guy leading the unit had already gotten into the hip-deep water about thirty meters ahead. Judging from his wiry, firm body, he must be Sergeant Steel Bar. He steadily pushed through the water with the firm step suitable of a veteran
NCO. Kasuga was reminded of a flock of waterfowl by the procession of men tailing meekly, including the mentally broken-down probationary officer.
The incessant gunfire showed no signs of stopping. The battlefield was on the other side of the cove. They couldn’t get details because the mangrove jutted out into the creek and blocked their view. The only thing they could see was the treetop of the left mangrove glowing intermittently from a large number of flares and star shells. Sometimes the flares and shells swerved from their courses and came toward them, and the daylight-like brightness illuminated the area and made the scenery clear. All could be over in an instant if an enemy lurked nearby.
The cove was unexpectedly shallow for some distance. They had to walk a long way in the water before they could swim freely. When the water reached his belly, Kasuga bent forward and soaked himself in to his shoulders to minimize his exposure to any hostile eyes; other soldiers followed his lead.
No one had gotten a haircut since the Battle of Ramree broke out. Covered with unkempt hair, the head of each man looked like a bird’s nest. The scene seemed like drifting trash, and some algae and seaweed hung in their hair, making it still filthier. Kasuga thought it was a first-rate camouflage, by good fortune.
It would be hard to see it as a human head at a glance, even if a flare should shine on it.
But the enemy aiming at them now was less dependent on eyesight than he thought. Of course, it wasn’t the British-Indian forces. Even worse, it wasn’t human.
Kasuga heard a sharp plop, like the sound of a fish leaping out of water behind him. Looking back to see what it was, he noticed Tada had disappeared. The water wasn’t so deep yet; the surface fell at his stomach when he straightened his back. He restlessly looked around to find Tada but couldn’t find anything except for a little swirl about a meter across on the surface. When he saw only the bamboo pole tied up with the now masterless model thirty-eight rifle drifting hollowly, he couldn’t help giving a call. “Hey, Tada! Where are you?”
Tomita looked back at once and asked, “Shit! What’s the matter?” His voice carried an irritation.
The baffled Kasuga answered, “Tada is missing.”
“Where could he have gone?”
“I don’t know. Did he drown?”
“What? I’ll kick your ass if you keep standing here like a dolt. It’s still too shallow to drown. Our feet are still touching the bottom. What’s all this about? Explain right now!”
“He was already missing when I looked back.”
Where on earth had Tada gone? He should have picked himself up quickly if he had toppled from losing his footing. No less than a minute had passed since he disappeared.
Kasuga was just about to call Tada again when a loud scream went up from the front. Kasuga and Tomita froze and looked at each other. After a very short period of time, another cry rose again from the same direction. They couldn’t figure out what all this commotion was. But something clearly had driven some of the men into a frenzy. Finally someone started firing.
Successive gunshots deafened Kasuga. Around the bust-like figures of soldiers on the surface, he happened to find many pairs of small red things dimly glowing in the muzzle flash.
Tomita showed open anger. “Bastards! What the hell are you doing in the middle of enemies?”
Tomita began paddling through the water when a crackle of parachute flare came down on them all. And the luminosity, almost like sunlight, enveloped the surroundings. It was so dazzlingly bright, it caused Kasuga to squint.
As far as he could see, mangroves, all as green and bright as new foliage, rimmed the basin. The scenery was probably unchanged since the beginning of time. It was the most remote place for human warfare in a sadly beautiful world.
Then Kasuga saw a strange spectacle—the soldiers kept firing into the breast-deep water. What on earth were they firing at? As if mad, each man was squeezing the trigger toward the surface where nothing could be seen. The next moment, Kasuga witnessed one of them disappearing from sight with a jerk.
Something seemed to have dragged him into the water. Some strong force was at work under water. Then another, and still a third man submerged. Each went off in a flash, without leaving anything but a small swirl on the surface. Hell had broken loose amid the uproar of shots and screams.
The water looked white and cloudy, as if milk had been poured into it. He could tell the reddish spots drifting in places were stains of human blood. Then his eyes caught something alive, looking like a rock, churning up the blood stains and surfacing without a sound. First its head appeared, covered with ugly, dark-green lumps. Then a trunk, looking like it was clad in armor, came up before Kasuga’s eyes. It was far longer and thicker than a Burmese sampan and was so huge it made him gasp. Two bony ridges resembling horns ran on its head.
And the small eyeballs embedded under the horns glittered to reflect the flare, emitting an unfathomably devilish light. Kasuga opened his eyes wide. His own fragility and transiency were the only things he could think of, by then semi-conscious of what was going on around him.
The terror was swimming majestically. There he saw the dragon, and it became clear what his dream had really meant.
The golden eye cast a glance at him and submerged again. Only a few ugly, swollen knobs and dorsal fins remained slightly above the surface now. Brushing past him, the ominous, edgy fins built up speed and rushed forward. And ahead, he saw Tomita’s back. Coming to his senses, Kasuga hollered at him, “Sarge! A crocodile is coming at you!”
But his voice was half drowned out by the sudden roar of gunfire. A machine cannon boomed. Columns of water rose fifty meters to the left. A jet-black silhouette loomed up in the corner of the mangrove when Kasuga looked around.
A gunboat was coming. Upon hearing the din, it must have come around to this cove. As its engine roared, a searchlight went on at the broadside, where muzzle fires were flashing furiously and a frantic whistle echoed across the water.
Again the columns of water rose a hundred meters forward this time. The enemy hadn’t spotted them yet. But it was only a matter of time in this brightness. And during this chaos, the huge carnivore was closing on Tomita.
Nevertheless, Tomita remained unruffled. Things had gone this far to encounter the gunboat, the most dreadful of all. He had heard Kasuga’s warning, in spite of this desperate situation. And in an instant, he had also chosen what he must do first.
Kasuga didn’t know when he had drawn it, but Tomita already had his semiautomatic pistol in his hand. He was agile and thorough, as if he expected things to develop this way.
He turned back as efficiently and accurately as a machine and found the crocodile rushing toward him. Having cocked the slide without a moment’s delay, Tomita held the gun aloft and aimed at the space between two ridges on its head rising up to the surface—likely, it was where a brain fit into a cranium. It was the weakest point, no matter what creature it might be. All his action was fluid and worthy of his reputation as a hardened veteran. He spent only three seconds from turning back to laying his gun.
But three seconds was a long time. At least on the edge between life and death, it was hopelessly too long. Enormous triangular white jaws came up from the water with startling speed and leaped at Tomita. His pistol discharged and made an arc in the air, and the two figures disappeared in Myinkhon Creek with a splash at the same moment.
“Sarge!” Kasuga cried out.
Tomita’s pistol fell right in front of him. Immediately he tried to pick it up, but it slipped through his fingers and sank into the water helplessly. So he drew his bayonet, attached to the belt of his fundoshi—there was no other choice.
Having witnessed those armor-like scales, he guessed the bayonet might have no more effect than a toy, but it was still better than bare knuckles.
Darkness began wrapping up the surroundings again. The flare was burning itself out. Under its last flame, the upper half of Tomita’s body suddenly burst out of the surface about ten meters to the r
ight of Kasuga.
Tomita was still alive. His face was puzzled rather than pained. He seemed unable to understand the preposterous calamity having just befallen him.
The crocodile had possibly changed the way it held Tomita in its mouth, momentarily permitting Tomita’s return to the surface; suddenly, he submerged and never came up again.
The beam of the searchlight stroked the pitch-dark surface. Apart from the light, sheer darkness covered everything. Kasuga frantically paddled through it.
Flight was his only option.
He had imagined his own death many times as a way to accept it. Death had nearly come with the aerial bombs at the bunker in Hill 353, or with the mortar shelling in Mountain Maeda. But if death knocked for admittance with a scaly reptile, he would never open the door.
His home arose in his mind—gentle waves washing the white beach rimmed with pine trees. The thin trail of kitchen smoke rising over the house where he had been born. Over the threshold, he could even see the clean white bedding laid out on the newly made tatami mat. And beside the room, he saw the
long-missing faces of his parents, smiling.
This was not a human world. If he wanted to survive, he couldn’t be in such a place any longer.
Kasuga shielded himself behind entangled prop roots and studied Myinkhon Creek. The roar of machine cannons had ceased; the enemy might have lost sight of them. There were no whistles; only the shaft of the searchlight came through the mangrove. However, it also went away, keeping pace with the dwindling exhaust hum.
It was the third time he had landed on Ramree Island. He peeped at the creek through the loathsome mangrove and thought it was infinitely wide. Having failed to cross twice, he had no energy to try it anymore. In the first place, he had lost his precious bamboo pole during his desperate flight. Even if the enemy completely withdrew, he couldn’t swim across it as long as a herd of crocodiles prowled there.
A deep sense of fatigue swept over his body. He was too tired to even sit on the ground. Kasuga lay on the mud spread-eagled.
Dragon of the Mangrooves Page 16