by Len Levinson
The trail rose, and Butsko paused next to an old jungle tree whose trunk was six feet thick and covered with vines. A big jungle rat dived into a hole near the roots of the tree, then raised his head and looked up at Butsko.
Butsko reached for his package of cigarettes and saw that he had only one left. He pulled it out and lit it with his new Zippo, his old Zippo having been lost somewhere in the jungles of Guadalcanal. He inhaled the cigarette and watched the molten red sun sinking lower on the horizon. What a beautiful sight, Butsko thought. It's so nice not to have them other assholes hanging around me all the time, bothering me, pissing me off. I never have any time to think when they're around. They all give me a big pain in the ass.
Butsko was so enchanted with his view of the setting sun that he didn't notice the figure inching toward him on the other side of the tree. He didn't see the butt of the Japanese Arisaka rifle rise into the air behind him, and he didn't hear it streak through the air toward his head. He felt it connect with his skull, but only for a moment. The sun exploded and made tiny flickering stars as he crumpled to the ground.
Sergeant Kikusaki sat in the deep hole, resting his back against one of the walls, as Captain Shimoyama approached, his right shoulder bandaged underneath his torn and bloody shirt. Captain Shimoyama was followed by a pack of soldiers, among them Corporal Wachi, the company medic.
Captain Shimoyama looked around at the devastated jungle. It appeared as if a huge struggle had taken place in the area. He peered into the hole and saw only Sergeant Kikusaki.
“Where are the Americans?” Captain Shimoyama asked.
“Gone, sir,”
“Where are they?”
“I don't know, sir.”
“How did they get away without you seeing where they went?”
“They threw hand grenades and fled in the ensuing confusion.”
Captain Shimoyama put on a stern face. “I thought you were a seasoned combat veteran, Sergeant Kikusaki. One does not expect seasoned combat veterans to become confused just because a few hand grenades went off.”
“It would have been interesting to see what you would have done,” Sergeant Kikusaki said with a sour smile.
Captain Shimoyama raised his eyebrows. “Don't you stand when you speak to officers?”
“I can't stand. Shrapnel in my foot. Remember?”
Captain Shimoyama turned to Corporal Wachi. “Take care of his foot.”
Corporal Wachi jumped into the hole and unlaced Sergeant Kikusaki's boot.
"Ouch!”
“That hurt?”
"Yes!”
Captain Shimoyama placed his hands on his hips and stood on the edge of the ditch. “Really, Sergeant, how can you expect the medical corporal to help you if you insist on shouting and squirming like a child?”
Corporal Kikusaki clenched his teeth as Corporal Wachi removed his boot and peeled off his stocking. A terrible odor filled the air.
Captain Shimoyama took a step backward. “You should bathe your feet more often,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
Corporal Wachi adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles and moved his face closer to the bottom of Sergeant Kikusaki's foot. “I do believe it's infected,” he said. “That's where the foul odor is coming from. I'll have to cut the infected flesh away, I'm afraid.”
“Oh, no,” said Sergeant Kikusaki.
Captain Shimoyama smirked. “Can't tolerate a little pain?”
Sergeant Kikusaki closed his eyes and tried to calm down, because he was tempted to yank out his Nambu pistol and shoot Captain Shimoyama, and that wouldn't do in front of so many witnesses.
Corporal Wachi took out a match and a small tin bottle filled with alcohol. He lit the wick at the top of the bottle and held his surgical knife over the flame to sterilize it. He had no painkilling drugs or antibiotic medicines, because the Japanese high command believed that that stuff was for sissies. The Japanese had contempt for the US Army because the Americans fussed so much over their wounded.
Captain Shimoyama gazed into the jungle. His shoulder wound hurt, but it wasn't as deep a wound as Sergeant Kiku-saki's, and it hadn't become infected yet. He felt tougher than Sergeant Kikusaki as he wondered where the Americans were. He figured the Americans would run into his men sooner or later, because his men had encircled that part of the jungle and were closing in on it at that very moment.
Corporal Wachi cut into Sergeant Kikusaki's skin, and Sergeant Kikusaki fainted from the sudden incredible pain.
This did not escape the eyes of Captain Shimoyama. “It appears that our brave sergeant cannot hold up under a little pain,” he said, derision in his voice.
“Somebody's coming,” said one of his soldiers.
Captain Shimoyama jumped into the hole and ducked his head, just in case. His men dropped to their stomachs and turned toward the direction of the sound. Four Japanese soldiers pushed their way through the jungle and became visible. In their midst was a gigantic American soldier, his hands tied behind his back and a big bloody lump on his head.
“What have we here?” asked Captain Shimoyama, climbing out of the ditch.
“We caught this American soldier, sir.”
“Where?”
The Japanese soldier pointed with the barrel of his Arisaka rifle. “That way.”
“He was alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How very interesting.” Captain Shimoyama approached the American soldier to get a closer look. He'd never seen a live American soldier close up before. This one had enormous proportions, and Captain Shimoyama had to look up to him. Dried blood was on the American soldier's cheek and defiance was in his eyes, but Captain Shimoyama had contempt for him, because the Japanese believed that to be captured alive was the greatest dishonor that could befall any man.
Captain Shimoyama wished he could speak English so he could interrogate the American soldier. He knew the American soldier had valuable information that Captain Shimoyama could use. He'd have to radio Colonel Akai and tell him that the American soldier had been caught; then Colonel Akai could send an interpreter for the interrogation.
“Corporal Teramoto!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Radio Colonel Akai's headquarters and notify him that we have this prisoner here!”
“Yes, sir!”
Captain Shimoyama stared at the American soldier, amazed at his size. The American soldier was twice as broad as Captain Shimoyama, and his bicepses were as thick as Captain Shimoyama's thighs. The American soldier glowered at Captain Shimoyama, not attempting to hide his hatred. Captain Shimoyama thought the American was being impertinent, because he had permitted himself to become a prisoner of war, and that was something to be ashamed of. The American obviously was too stupid to feel shame. He had none of the finer sensibilities of Japanese soldiers. Captain Shimoyama didn't like the haughty expression in the American soldier's eyes. He drew back his fist and punched the American soldier in the mouth.
It was like punching a brick wall. Captain Shimoyama's knuckles crackled and the American soldier's lower lip split open, but the American soldier didn't flinch. Captain Shimoyama shrieked with pain and danced up and down, waving his damaged hand in the air. Then he became aware that all of his men were looking at him. He stopped dancing, stiffened, and placed his aching hand at his side.
“Tie the prisoner to a tree!” he shouted. “See that he's watched at all times! My temporary headquarters will be right here!” He looked into the ditch and saw that Sergeant Kikusaki was still unconscious. “Who is the next ranking enlisted man after Sergeant Kikusaki?”
“Sergeant Atsugi, sir.”
“He is the new first sergeant of this company! Send for him at once!”
The soldiers were confused. They didn't know which one of them should go. Captain Shimoyama pointed to Private Sato.
“You, find Sergeant Atsugi!”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Shimoyama felt tired. His shoulder ached and so did his hand. He thought he mi
ght have broken a knuckle. Jumping into the big hole, he sat as far away from Sergeant Kikusaki as possible. Corporal Wachi applied a bandage to Sergeant Kikusaki's foot, and it became suffused with blood before it could be taped down.
“How is he?” asked Captain Shimoyama.
“He should be all right if the infection doesn't return.”
Corporal Teramoto jumped into the ditch, carrying his field radio. “I have Colonel Akai's headquarters, sir.”
“Give me the headset.”
Corporal Teramoto knelt beside Captain Shimoyama and handed him the headset, which Captain Shimoyama adjusted on his head. Captain Shimoyama identified himself, and then Colonel Akai's voice crackled through the airwaves.
“What is it, Shimoyama?”
“I have taken a prisoner, sir!”
“Is he well enough to be interrogated?”
“Yes, sir. He has no serious wounds and can even walk.”
“Excellent. Send him to my headquarters at once.”
“Um... I don't think I can spare the men, sir. I have over thirty casualties—including myself, I might add—and there are still Americans in the vicinity.”
“You've made contact with the Americans?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what happened?”
“We're still searching for them. They're around here some-place. But we have the prisoner, sir!”
“Do you mean to say you have over thirty casualties and all you have to show for them is one American prisoner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You evidently are not a very skilled combat commander. I ought to relieve you of command, but I have a shortage of company commanders as it is. If you've made contact with the Americans, why haven't you wiped them out?”
“They've been very elusive, sir. Evidently there aren't very many of them, and the jungle is vast. It's been difficult to locate them.”
“Can't be that difficult. You merely surround them and kill them. It's getting dark now. Don't let them slip through your lines tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you do, I shall relieve you of command. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Over and out.”
EIGHT . . .
The molten copper sun hung low on the horizon, and the trees made long shadows in the jungle. Longtree crawled forward, trying to find the path to safety for himself and the men with him. He knew the area was full of Japs, but he and the others hadn't encountered any yet.
Silently he glided over the ground, making no noise, peering through ferns and leaves, trying to see Japs. He could hear Japs in the vicinity but couldn't see them yet. Behind him were Shaw and Bannon carrying Homer and Frankie La Barbara, with Nutsy bringing up the rear.
If they didn't have Homer and Frankie, they could probably break through. They all knew that, but they couldn't bring themselves to desert their buddies, although they knew a time might come when they'd have to. That time might be approaching right now. It sounded as if a lot of Japs were headed their way.
Longtree stopped and peeked at the sun. He could see streaks of it through leaves and knew it would set soon, perhaps in another helf hour. If they could hold out that long, they'd have a chance. Otherwise all the fighting and sacrifices would have been for nothing.
He heard Japanese soldiers moving closer and then caught glimpses of their uniforms. He crawled underneath a bush and watched their progress. They advanced slowly, prodding into bushes with their bayonets, searching behind trees, examining every nook and cranny.
Uh-oh, Longtree thought. Here they come. He could see that they were being very thorough, making certain that no Americans would slip past them. Longtree saw a Japanese soldier headed straight for him. The Japanese soldier had round shoulders and the loose, hanging features of a bloodhound. He carried an Arisaka rifle with a bayonet attached, and he parted bushes with his bayonet, peering inside to see if Americans were lurking there. To his left and right were more soldiers, looking behind every leaf, sticking their bayonets into every possible hiding place.
Longtree knew that he and the others were in deep trouble this time. If they had a hole they could fight it out as they had before, but they were out in the open, burdened with two wounded men. He couldn't get away because the Japs would hear him. He'd let them get too close, but he hadn't known there'd be so many of them combing the jungle with such seriousness.
The Japanese soldier continued his slow progress toward Longtree, who wondered whether to shoot him or wait until he was close and knife him to death. The easiest thing would be to shoot him, but that would alert the other Japanese soldiers, who would probably gun down Longtree before he could get away.
He'd have to wait until the Japanese soldier was right on top of him and then kill him quickly so that the others wouldn't suspect anything. Then Longtree would dash back and warn the others. But could he get away? He analyzed the situation and realized he was in trouble no matter what he did. There were simply too many Japs out there.
Longtree was confused. He wished Butsko were there to take charge and tell everybody what to do. What would Butsko do right now? Longtree wondered. The answer came to him in a second: Butsko would throw a hand grenade and run like hell.
Longtree didn't have any more American hand grenades, but he had three that had been scrounged from dead Japs. He pulled one out of his pants pocket, yanked the ring on the bottom, took a deep breath, and threw it at the Jap with the face like a bloodhound's.
The Jap was bending over a bush, his face buried in its leaves as he searched for American soldiers. The grenade hit his hip and he spun around, astonishment on his face. He looked about, saw nothing, and then glanced down. Three feet in front of him was the grenade. His jaw dropped open.
“Yyyaaaaaaaa—”
His scream was terminated by the detonation of the grenade. The Japanese soldier's legs were blown off and his torso was lifted ten feet in the air. Longtree jumped up and sped through the jungle, hearing Japanese soldiers shouting behind him. He heard rifle shots, and bullets whizzed over his head. Turning around, he dropped to one knee and fired three bursts from his Thompson submachine gun, emptying the clip.
He exchanged clips, fired two more bursts, then leaped to his feet and ran in the direction of his comrades. After a brief pause the Japanese soldiers returned the fire, their bullets spreading death throughout the jungle. Longtree kept his head down and dived to the ground, landing beside Bannon and the others.
“What happened?” Bannon said.
“Japs! We've got to get out of here!” He pointed in the direction from which they'd come. “That way! Look for some good cover! Let's go!”
They got to their feet. Shaw lifted Homer Gladley to his shoulder, and his knees nearly buckled under the weight. Bannon carried Frankie La Barbara. They made their way back toward the big hole, Longtree hanging back and firing submachine-gun bursts to slow down the Japs.
Bannon and Shaw staggered through the jungle, their progress slow because of the tremendous weight they were carrying. Bullets zinged around them, whacking into tree trunks and making leaves tremble. Nutsy lagged back with Longtree, to help slow down the Japs. Bannon and Shaw knew they could move faster if they got rid of Homer and Frankie La Barbara, but neither could bring himself to toss his burden aside.
The Japanese soldiers advanced cautiously, not knowing what was in front of them, fearful of running into a trap. Gradually the GIs put more distance between themselves and the Japanese soldiers, while the jungle resounded with gunfire and the sun sank lower on the horizon.
“Now what!” screamed Captain Shimoyama, jumping to his feet. He heard the gunfire and leaned in its direction, listening and trying to analyze what he was hearing. Suddenly it occurred to him that the gunfire was headed his way, and for all he knew there might be a hundred Americans out there.
He glanced around nervously and tried to figure out what to do. He had only ten soldiers with him, and that might not be eno
ugh to hold off the Americans.
“Retreat!” he said, pointing in the direction opposite the gunfire. “That way!”
Pulling his samurai sword out of its sheath, he ran into the jungle, and his sudden disappearance panicked the men who'd been with him. They fled into the jungle behind him, leaving Butsko tied to the tree, and Sergeant Kikusaki in the big hole.
Painfully and laboriously Sergeant Kikusaki raised himself from where he'd been lying. It didn't surprise him that he'd been left behind, because Japanese soldiers never let themselves be slowed down by their wounded. Sergeant Kikusaki climbed out of the hole and turned in the direction of the gunfire. It sounded quite close, and he spat at the ground when he thought of how Captain Shimoyama had run away like a frightened dog with his tail between his legs. He should have stood his ground and fought, but Captain Shimoyama was a rear-echelon staff officer and didn't have the courage of a front-line soldier. His poor leadership had a bad effect on the men, because they'd run away too.
Sergeant Kikusaki limped in the direction in which Captain Shimoyama and the other men had gone. He spotted a sturdy stick about four feet long lying on the ground, and he bent over to pick it up so he could use it as a cane, but he lost his balance and fell down.
Cursing, he picked up the stick and raised himself. His eyes fell on the American soldier, still tied to the tree. The American soldier looked at him with hatred in his eyes, and Sergeant Kikusaki pulled out his Nambu pistol to shoot the American.
Leaning on his makeshift cane, Sergeant Kikusaki limped toward the American soldier, whose eyes were ablaze with rage, watching his every move. Sergeant Kikusaki stopped when he was three feet in front of the American soldier, checked the clip of his Nambu pistol to make sure bullets were in it, clicked off the safety, pulled back the cocking mechanism, and aimed at the American soldier's face.
Sergeant Kikusaki was surprised, because the American showed no fear. The American knew he was going to die, but instead of shrinking back and closing his eyes, he stared defiantly at Sergeant Kikusaki as if daring him to do it. The American soldier snarled and bared his teeth, straining at the ropes that bound him to the tree, reminding Sergeant Kikusaki of a wild jungle animal.