by Chris Glatte
The stocky sergeant jumped and squirmed, “No one, Sir.”
“Then why did you do so?”
The sergeant looked confused. His eyes squinting even more than they naturally did, “He’s an enemy soldier, Sir, he surrendered without a fight; a coward, sir. Scum.”
“I was told he spoke fluent Japanese and knows our Colonel Araki, our regimental commander.”
The sergeant’s face went white, “He said those things, but I think he must be a spy.”
The lieutenant spun and looked down on the Sergeant’s terrified face. He yelled, “Let me do the thinking, Sergeant.” The sergeant cringed with each splatter of spittle upon his face. “Get out of my sight, back to your hole.” The sergeant did a perfect left face and marched from the tent, followed by the private.
The lieutenant kneeled in front of the bleeding Welch and lifted his chin. Welch groaned in pain. “Who are you?”
Welch’s head spun from the beating, but through blood and broken teeth he told the lieutenant everything. When his tale was told the lieutenant nodded and sent a man to summon Colonel Araki. He leaned down and whispered in Welch’s ear, “If you’re lying and I disturbed the Colonel for no reason, you’ll be begging to die, Gaijin.”
Through cracked and bleeding lips he mumbled, “Tell him Thomas Welch is here. Thomas Welch. He knows me.”
Ten minutes later Colonel Araki sauntered in and saw his old friend bound to the chair. Welch expected him to be angry at his treatment, expected to be released instantly, but instead the colonel crossed his arms across his chest and looked down on him. He told the lieutenant to leave and to put two guards outside the tent. The lieutenant left in a flourish of bows. “Well Thomas, it’s been awhile. You were supposed to deliver the Americans to me by now. I’m assuming you being here is a sign of your failure?”
Welch pulled against his restraints. “Can you release me? I’m not leaving. I came to you.” Colonel Araki only stared, awaiting an answer. For the first time, Welch was scared. He looked Araki in the eye, trying to see his old friend, but he wasn’t there. He was replaced by a hard, remorseless warrior. “It’s been a struggle. I couldn’t convince the Americans to attack towards the hills.They were already committed to their battle plan and weren’t going to change it.” He looked down and shook his head. Blood dripped from the side of his mouth and pooled on his torn pants. He shook his head and whispered, “Nothing has gone according to plan. Nothing.”
Araki paced, then slapped him hard across the face. The sudden violence caused Welch to cry out. Blood sprayed from his nose. “You have anything for me? Anything of use? Or have I been wasting my time all these years? Are you as useless as you appear?” Welch’s shoulders heaved as tears welled. Araki yelled, “You’ve always been weak. You’ve always disappointed. I was a fool to think you could be useful to the Empire.” He grabbed his chin and made him look into his eyes. “It’s time to end my mistake; something I should have done a long time ago.”
He went to his holster and started to unbutton his 9mm Nambu. Welch’s eyes went big as saucers. He had no doubt his old friend was about to murder him. “W-wait, I have information that will help you.”
Araki pulled the pistol from its holster and chambered a round. He placed the barrel against Welch’s temple. “Go on.”
“There’s a unit, a squad of soldiers on a ridge overlooking the battlefield. They’re calling in artillery and airstrikes on your positions. I, I know where they are. I can show you.”
Colonel Araki smiled. He’d been taking accurate American fire over the past week. He had his men scouring the highlands, but they’d come up empty on the spotters’ location. He assumed it was some high flying spotter plane’s doing. He pulled the gun from his temple and called to one of the guards outside, “Bring me a map and cut this scum loose.”
Welch looked at Araki and smiled. Blood soaked his shattered teeth, giving him the look of a bloodthirsty maniac. Colonel Araki scowled at him, “You look like shit, Thomas-san.”
The soldier brought the map and handed it to Colonel Araki who spread it on a table. Welch was cut loose and he fell forward, rubbing his bleeding wrists. Colonel Araki looked at him while drumming his fingers. Welch staggered to his feet and joined him at the table. Araki said, “Show me.”
It took Welch a moment to orient himself to the map. He put his bloody finger on the spot where they were and followed it up until stopping on a ridge. Araki nodded, “I wondered about that. It was our next searching point, but the Americans attacked and I had more pressing matters.” He took out a pen from his inside pocket and circled the spot. He then brought his finger down the map to a spot in the hills far above his camp. He did some calculating in his head and nodded. “Our artillery can hit that ridge with a high arcing shot. You’re sure of this, Thomas?” Welch nodded.
Colonel Araki took out a pad of paper and wrote down the coordinates. He called to the guard who was standing against the wall at attention. “Take this to the radio room. I want the forward battery on this fire mission, priority.”
The private bowed, took the paper and ran outside. Ten minutes later the soft thumping of outgoing 175mm shells were heard. The barrage lasted five minutes. The ridge was hit with twenty shells.
Colonel Araki had been outside the tent with his old friend beside him. Welch had a bandage wrapped across his jaw and his other wounds had been treated. Araki tried to see the impacts of the barrage, but the ridge was over the horizon of a closer ridge, so it was useless. He called Lieutenant Kogi over. He ran up and stood at attention. “I want confirmation on those shots. Take half of C Company to the ridge and check to make sure of it’s complete destruction. Then I want the ridge occupied and used as a spotter position.” Lieutenant Kogi gave a crisp salute and was turning to leave. Colonel Araki asked, “Don’t we have another unit in that area, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Kogi stopped and nodded, “Yes, Sir. A squad from D Company is on the hill to the west, due South of our position. They’ve recently returned to exchange radios. They had battery power, but they are stringing communication wire up to the position as we speak. I expect them to be back in position by this evening.”
“Can they see the ridge from there?”
“It’s across the valley, but I don’t know if the jungle allows for a direct visual. When they check in I can have them scout the ridge.”
“I’ll send C Company anyway, but yes. Have them give me a damage report.” Lieutenant Kogi bowed and went to find C Company. “One more thing, Lieutenant,” he trotted back to stand in front of Colonel Araki at attention. “Mr. Welch will be accompanying you to the ridge. He knows the area and may be useful.” He slapped Welch on the back, “Perhaps after our victory you can lead the company to Captain Morrisey’s village.”
Welch grinned, relishing the thought. He started working out just what he’d say to the arrogant son-of-a-bitch as he snuffed out his last breath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Carver, Dunphy, Hooper and O'Connor were back on the other side of the ridge listening to the Japanese troops move back into their position. By the sound of it, there was probably a light platoon. They were far outnumbered. The evening sky was cloudy and the sun was shining through in shafts. The color infused the air with a beautiful lightness, adding a tint of pink to everything. If they weren’t in such close proximity to death it would’ve been a glorious evening. They stayed hunkered down in their hastily dug foxholes. It was surreal listening to the enemy going about their business, completely oblivious to their presence.
The sun was just touching the horizon and the Japanese chatter had died down. The squad hadn’t heard anything for a few minutes. Sergeant Carver wanted to find out what was happening. He signaled that he was going to take a look. O'Connor shook his head and pointed to himself. Carver grit his teeth, but knew it was a better choice. O'Connor was a better stalker. He nodded to O'Connor, who flashed him a thumbs up.
With his rifle cradled in the crooks of his elbows
, he slithered from his hole. Soon he was out of sight. Waiting was agony for the rest of them. They expected to hear shouting, then shooting and then they’d die, but it didn’t happen. twenty minutes passed before O'Connor slithered back to them. It was now completely dark. The clouds had cleared, unveiling a black sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars. Another gorgeous night on Guadalcanal.
O'Connor went straight to Carver’s hole and whispered in his ear. “The Japs are all racked out in a camouflaged hut just over the ridge. We missed it before; it’s well hidden. The foxholes are empty, but there’s one sentry on top of the hill. He’s got his back to us.”
“All the others are in the hut? Are you sure? What about weapons? You see any machine guns or mortars?”
“The sentry’s sitting behind a Nambu, but they must not be worried; it’s not set up in a very good spot. I didn’t see any mortars or any more sentries. They’re sitting ducks.”
***
Lieutenant Katayama was exhausted. His men had left this morning to replace their handheld radio with a wired unit. On their way down the sky had opened up and soaked them in an unnatural deluge of water. They had to hunker under the jungle canopy to keep from slipping down the face of the muddy hillside. It had delayed him an hour that he didn’t have to spare. They double timed it the rest of the way, resupplied food, a new radio and a huge spool of communication cable. They’d used a rebellious donkey to haul the cable, but the animal proved to be more trouble than it was worth. When they got to the steep last kilometer, the donkey had stopped and wouldn’t move. Finally, they unburdened the beast and hauled it up the final bit themselves. It was unwieldy to say the least. The final push had taken them two hours. They’d barely had enough time to settle in before it was dark.
Katayama laid in his hammock amongst his already snoring men and wondered if he should send a patrol to walk the perimeter. He’d put the hapless Corporal Rinko on the ridge overlooking their position with one of the machine guns. He was about to position the other one when he’d gotten the call on the new radio, asking him to report in about the ridge to the east. By the time he moved to a position where he could get a glimpse of it, the sky was darkening. He reported that it was too dark and that he’d check first thing in the morning. He’d never gotten around to placing his defenses for the night. As he slipped into sleep he felt confident in the fact that they hadn’t seen any activity in their area for the past two weeks. The sound of his exhausted men’s satisfied snores caressed him into a deep sleep from which he’d never awaken.
***
Sergeant Carver went to each man and pulled them into a circle. He let O'Connor tell them what he’d seen. They were relieved how vulnerable the usually hyper-vigilant enemy soldiers seemed to be. Carver said, “I’ll sneak up on the sentry and take him out. O'Connor will lead us to the hut and we’ll attack it with grenades. Everyone roll in two. Once it’s done hose them down with at least a clip, then we’ll finish whatever’s left. Understand?”
O'Connor raised his hand, “I can take the sentry, Sarge. I know where he is. I know I can get close without being heard.”
Carver looked him straight in the eye. “You ever do any wet work?”
O'Connor licked his suddenly dry lips. “I’ve killed lots of game with my knife. I know how to kill a man. It’s easier than a wild animal.” Carver nodded and O'Connor nodded back. He wondered why he’d volunteered for the grisly chore. He’d killed plenty of Japs, but this would be different. His victim would probably be sleeping and he’d have to end his life with a quick thrust of his blade into the man’s brain. He’d feel the blood, the breath, the shit. He gulped, suddenly wishing he hadn’t volunteered. It was too late now, he’d have to go through with it or forever be untrustworthy.
He slid forward the same way he’d scouted; he could barely hear the soft scrapes of the other men behind him. He moved without a sound. When he crested the hill, he could make out the dim outline of the sentry sitting behind the machine gun. The gun was aiming straight out into the darkness on the swivel tripod.
O'Connor stopped and realized he didn’t have his knife out. He stopped crawling and moved his carbine from the crook of his arm to the dirt beside him. One of the others would pick it up for him. He reached back and pulled the knife out of the sheath at his belt without a sound. The familiar weight of the K-bar knife felt good in his hand, like an old friend. He silently prayed his old friend wouldn’t let him down.
Keeping the knife in his right hand, he moved across the soft ground until he was ten yards from his target. This was the tricky part. He had to get off his belly and onto his rubber soled feet. He moved at glacial speed and after a minute he had his feet beneath him. He was in a low crouch and the slow movement had his muscles aching and sweat was pouring off his face and down the back of his neck to his ass crack. He took a few careful steps, each time searching the ground for any loose rock or twig that could give him away.
He was directly behind the man. Close enough to hear him breathing. It was now or never. He extended his arms into attack position. The knife had never felt so heavy. The man’s head moved to the right slightly and he let out a long sigh. He was awake. The thought sent his heart racing. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, envisioning his next move, then he struck. His left hand reached in front of the man’s face and clamped over his mouth while at the same time his knife plunged into the base of the neck just behind the ear. He pushed hard angling the blade up towards the brain. The sickening feel of the blade deep in the man’s brain would haunt O'Connor for the rest of his young life. The Japanese soldier’s body went rigid and he kicked out both legs, pushing him upwards. O'Connor kept the pressure on and rotated the blade back and forth, scrambling the brains. The soldiers’ powerful backwards push almost sent O'Connor onto his back. He held on long enough for the man’s last breath to escape him. He held him until he was sure he was beyond movement, then pushed him away. His right hand was covered in blood and brain matter.
Sergeant Carver was beside him, “Nice job, here’s your rifle. Lead us to the hut.” O'Connor took a deep breath and wiped his hand on the ground. He caught a whiff of the dead man’s bowels and had to swallow the vomit rising in his throat. “Take it easy,” Carver hissed.
O'Connor wiped the gore from the knife onto the Japanese soldiers’ pants and sheathed it. He grabbed the carbine, took another breath and moved out in a low crouch.
They moved across the plateau. The night was dark, the stars the only light. He took them to the edge and stopped. He pointed and Carver strained to see. He leaned into Carver’s ear, “it’s forty yards, against the ledge.”
Carver nodded and pushed him forward. He couldn’t see the hut. He followed O'Connor until he stopped again. This time when he pointed he could see the well camouflaged structure silhouetted against the dark sky. He made a show of slinging his carbine and pulling two grenades off his belt. The others took the cue and did the same. With a grenade in each hand the men moved forward until they were just outside the small open doorway. They could hear the soft purr of men sleeping.
Carver held up his first grenade and pulled the pin. He didn’t wait for the others; he let the spoon fly and rolled it into the open door. It was loud as it thunked the wooden floor and rolled around like a mini-bowling ball. He was pulling the pin on the second when he heard more thunks and rolling. He threw his second one in farther and turned to run. The others were beside him trying to find cover. They got ten yards away when the first grenade went off, followed in quick succession by the rest. The thatch siding of the hut muffled the sound, but it got louder as it shredded.
When the last grenade cooked off, they started firing into the dark hut as quickly as they could pull their triggers. Carver, holding his pistol, held his fire. After they’d gone through a magazine and were reloading, Carver yelled, “Cease fire, cease fire!” He crouched and the others followed suit. Their muzzle flashes had ruined their night vision. They stared into the spotty night liste
ning for any sound of life. They heard moaning. Carver couldn’t believe anyone could survive such an onslaught. They waited another five minutes until the spots dancing in their eyes settled. Carver rose, “Dunphy, get in there and check it out. We’ll cover you.”
Dunphy hesitated for an instant, but rose and followed orders. He stepped across the threshold and his feet slipped out from beneath him. He crashed to the wooden floor with a shout. Hooper ran forward, “You okay?”
The moaning got louder, responding to a human voice. Dunphy got to his feet and almost fell again, “Yeah, fine. The floor’s slippery. I’m okay.” He took another step further in. Hooper looked back at Carver who nodded for him to follow.
Inside the hut the darkness was complete. Dunphy took a step closer to the moaning. It was coming from the far corner. He kept his carbine trained on the sound. The moaning got louder, becoming a pained half scream. The floor was slippery, the copper smell of copious amounts of spilled blood filled his nostrils. Dunphy was on the edge of vomiting, but held it in by force of will. He took a step, but stumbled into something. He could barely see the outline of what was left of a man’s torso. The roof had been blown away in parts and the starlight shimmered on the black blood covering the soldier’s shredded uniform.
Hooper said, “Careful, he might be holding a grenade.”
Dunphy looked back at him, “This guy? He’s half gone.”
“No, the moaner. We should shoot him just in case.”
Dunphy stopped and aimed at the sound. He couldn’t see the soldier, but he was only feet away from the sound. He aimed where he thought he’d be and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The sound within the hut seemed louder than the grenade blasts. Hooper yelled, “Goddammit, you coulda warned me. Now I can’t see shit.”
From outside Carver yelled, “Everything okay in there?”
Hooper stumbled out the way he’d come. When he tripped over the doorway, Carver reached out and caught him. Hooper shook him off, “I’m fine, Dunphy finished off the moaner. Fucked up my vision and hearing though.” He walked past Carver and took a seat, rubbing his eyes.