The Long Patrol: World War II Novel

by Chris Glatte

  “The Nambu’s fucked, Sarge. Took multiple hits.” He threw the useless weapon over the side of the ridge and found his dirt covered carbine at the bottom of his hole. He shook the weapon, knocking the dirt off. He checked the breach and crawled forward to the notch where the machine gun had rested. He sighted down the barrel and found the line of Japanese soldiers again. He pulled the trigger methodically, correcting his aim each time. It was a long shot, but he could tell he was close when the soldiers squirmed and moved from their position. One soldier stood and his back blossomed red. He pitched forward. O'Connor looked to Enop’s smoking barrel. “Nice shot,” he yelled.

  They continued to fire until the natives and Japanese were too intertwined. Even Enop stopped firing. As the sun rose, the battle below was easier to discern. The Japanese were doomed, their numbers down to a few men, but they fought with vigor. They charged and fought, surrender never an option. They wouldn’t have been spared if they had.

  After six minutes, the fighting was over. Sergeant Carver stood and looked down on the scene. Dead Japanese soldiers littered the ground. From this height they looked like toys haphazardly left on a green carpeted living room floor by a child.

  They stood and without a word moved off the ridge and slid down the steep slope. As they passed through the jungle they came across native women moving towards the battlefield. O'Connor asked, “What’re they doing here?”

  Sergeant Carver walked with his carbine and pointed at the ground. “Must be here to help out with the wounded.” As they came out of the jungle onto the battlefield, the smell of cordite, blood and shit filled their senses. The dead no longer looked like toys, but shredded men. Not all were Japanese. In amongst the soldiers were natives, their dark skin in stark relief against the green uniforms of the Japanese. There was a loud bang and Carver and O'Connor flinched as another 105mm gun’s barrel was spiked. Smoke wafted from the shattered barrel. Morrisey’s men had learned to use two grenades to destroy the barrels.

  Carver looked around the battlefield, searching for Morrisey. He saw a group of natives clustered around something. He walked to the men and went into the circle of silent men. In the center Captain Morrisey sat beside the hulking Chief Ahio. He was on his back, the wound in his belly seeping dark blood. Beside him was a blood soaked cloth. Morrisey tried to put it back on the wound, but Ahio looked him in the eye and shook his head. In his deep voice he said, “Let me go to my ancestors.”

  Morrisey nodded and merely sat beside him. Ahio’s men went to him one at a time and placed their hands on their dying leader’s head. Ahio looked each man in the eye, but said nothing. When they’d all gone through, Ahio looked at Morrisey and said, “My men have fought honorably today. Take them in the fold and forgive their treason.” Morrisey nodded and squeezed his shoulder. Ahio continued, his voice quiet, “And mine.”

  Morrisey stood and addressed the men in a loud voice. “Chief Ahio and his men have fought gloriously and all are forgiven their treason.”

  Sergeant Carver and Private O'Connor couldn’t understand the Pidgin, but they understood the gist.

  Morrisey bent down to Chief Ahio and watched as he took his last breath. His eyes went blank, staring at the sky through the jungle he loved. Morrisey closed his eyes, stood and stepped away. The women streamed between the men and started wailing the loss of their chief. Amongst them was his daughter, the girl Private Dunphy had laid with. She looked to Sgt. Carver and searched his face. Carver thought about Dunphy’s horrific death on the ridge. He gave a shake of his head, his eyes conveying sadness and Lela bowed her head and wailed in renewed grief.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  It was still pitch black when Foxtrot Company of the 164th Division moved from the safety of their foxholes and advanced towards the bunkers of the Japanese lines. It was impossible to expect complete silence with four companies moving along such a compressed line of advance, but Captain Frank hoped they’d surprise the Japanese before they were noticed.

  They’d gone forty yards without contact when the night erupted in tracer fire. In the darkness the tracers looked like glowing beach balls. All along the front, Japanese heavy machine guns opened up. They continued advancing, moving forward from cover to cover using the darkness to their advantage. The men were told not to shoot unless they had a sure target and he was proud of their fire control. Without muzzle flashes the Japanese had nothing to shoot at.

  The welcome sound of friendly artillery fire arcing across the sky and smashing amongst the Japanese line pushed the men forward. Maybe this time they’d make it to the bunker line. Once past, the way would be clear to bust through to the Japanese rear and route the obstinate enemy.

  The flashes of exploding ordinance ruined Captain Frank’s night vision. He yelled for his men to keep moving forward. A machine gun’s muzzle flash to his front was only yards away. He dropped to his belly; the three men behind him weren’t as quick and were shredded and flung back. He pulled a grenade from his belt and flung it towards the muzzle flash. It exploded and the gun stopped. He ran in a crouch into the darkness, wishing he could see more than bright dots. He knew he must be close. He tripped and fell into the Japanese hole. He expected to be skewered any second. He felt bodies all around him. He thrashed and punched his Thompson submachine gun into the soft shapes, but nothing moved. His grenade had landed in the bottom of the hole and killed the three men in it. He took a deep breath.

  His men flooded past him and he got to his feet trying to get himself moving. Someone grabbed his arm and his first Sergeant was beside him, “You okay, Sir?”

  He got his bearings and moved beside his sergeant, “Fine. Keep the men spread out.” The allied artillery was moving forward, keeping pace with the American advance. It was exploding amongst the bunkers now a mere two hundred yards away. He nodded. The sergeant said, “Don’t do that shit again, Sir.”

  Foxtrot Company was moving amongst the forward Japanese foxholes, killing men as they passed. The first line of machine gun nests was dealt with. They’d gotten this far before, but were stopped by the Japanese artillery. Captain Frank prayed the enemy artillery would be silenced this time.

  They continued to advance, but now the bunkers started hammering away at them. Men dropped as they tried to leapfrog forward. Advances were made nonetheless, men using the cover and darkness to good effect. Japanese flares filled the air, but in amongst the shredded jungle it cast crazy shadows, making targeting tough. The Japanese bunkers kept hammering away on prepositioned choke points. Even though they couldn’t see the G.I.’s, they were taking their toll.

  Captain Frank dove behind a fallen tree and poked his head over. He could see the winking bunkers one hundred yards away. By God, we’re gonna make it this time. His hopes were shattered moments later when the freight train sound of incoming 105mm Japanese shells started raining down. They were coming in salvos of eight, walking along the advancing line, shredding everything in front of the bunkers not behind cover.

  He put his head down as a near miss shook the ground beneath him. Shit, not again. He had one chance. He had to get his men into the bunkers. This was the exact scenario of the last failed attack. His men had been decimated by the damned artillery, then sent into full retreat when the Japs counterattacked. That wasn’t happening this time; it couldn’t. They had to break this stalemate and push the Japs off this cursed island once and for all.

  His men were hunkered down, the big shells tearing apart jungle, dirt and flesh. He was about to order his men forward probably to their deaths when he noticed the volume of fire decreasing. Was he imagining it? No, the salvos of eight were now salvos of four. He yelled to his men, “Stay down, stay down.” He saw the form of his radio man lit up by an exploding shell. He was hunkered behind a rock. Captain Frank yelled, “Burk, get up here with that radio.”

  He yelled again and this time Burk heard him and ran forward, his big fifty pound radio pack barely slowing down his big body. He dove in beside him, the handset extended. “
Vulcan 1 this is Foxtrot Alpha. We’re pinned down one hundred yards from the bunker line. Can you confirm enemy artillery slackening? Over.”

  There was a pause, then an excited reply. “Foxtrot Alpha, Vulcan 1 affirmative, move to bunker line now. Over.”

  He didn’t bother confirming the order. He dropped the handset and yelled at his sergeant, cowering fifteen yards behind. “Move ‘em up. Move up, let’s go.” He stood and went around the tree in a crouch. The sky was lightening, the darkness no longer protecting them. Foxtrot Company came out of hiding and surged forward. The artillery fire dwindled as they advanced, but the machine guns in the bunker could see them and were wreaking havoc.

  The company got into a rhythm, covering fire as sections advanced then covering fire for them. The bunker slits were exploding with accurate rifle and machine gun fire. The heavy weapons squad was raining 81mm mortars all around the bunkers, ruining their aim. Foxtrot Company advanced within yards. A thirty caliber machine gun set up to the left of Captain Frank, started pouring fire into the bunker to his front. He called for a flamethrower and saw a soldier stand up with the big tanks strapped to his back. The thirty caliber kept hammering away, keeping the occupants pinned down. The flamethrower soldier ran forward and sent a large stream of fire into the horizontal gun slit. He poured it on, sweeping back and forth until soldiers started coming through the shooting ports, engulfed in flame. They screamed and died in a withering storm of bullets.

  Captain Frank waved his men forward, “Let’s go, let’s go.” The men surged forward sensing the battle turning in their favor. They surrounded the smoking bunker, shooting Japanese soldiers as they streamed out the back door trying to escape the raging fire. It was over quickly.

  Frank watched as his men jumped into the hard dirt packed trenches leading to the back door of the bunker. A private opened the door and two others flung in grenades. The first soldier closed the metal door and the muffled explosions inside killed more screaming soldiers.

  Bullets started snapping over his head. He dove down and looked west to the Japanese line. They were in the open. He grabbed his radioman and pulled the handset, quickly identifying himself then calling in the grid coordinates. He ended with, “Japs in the open. fire at will.”

  He yelled to his men, “Take cover. Friendly arty on the way.” The men hunkered and fired into the exposed Japanese soldiers.

  The Japanese had been massing for a counter attack, coming out of their holes to push back the American G.I’s just like last time. The sudden appearance of G.I’s past the bunker line shocked them. Their only option was to attack. The officers raised their pistols and yelled for the advance. Men were falling all around as more and more American soldiers came over the top and started pouring fire into their ranks. The American artillery started exploding amongst them tearing and vaporizing the exposed troops. In less than two minutes, two companies of Japanese combat veterans were reduced to smoking cinders. The soldiers that escaped were dazed; most, wounded. They were in full retreat, the Americans right on their tails.

  After weeks of punishing artillery, bombings and attacks, the American G.I.’s were taking their vengeance. They poured fire into the backs of the fleeing enemy. They died by the hundreds.

  Soon the Japanese stopped running and dropped into any cover they could find. They cowered in holes, under debris, anything they could find. They let the Americans pass over them, then they’d pop up and take as many to the grave with them as possible. The headlong advance slowed as the G.I.’s were forced to deal with each individual last stand.

  ***

  Colonel Araki was not a happy man. The word from every battalion was the same; full retreat. He wondered for the hundredth time what happened to his hill artillery. They should have stopped this advance before it started, but they’d fallen silent early into the attack. He wanted to send a squad of men in trucks to check it out, but his situation was suddenly dire and he couldn’t spare a single man.

  He grabbed his ashen faced Captain Hoshi by the lapel and pulled him close. Spittle flying, he said, “Stop this retreat. Go to the line and force them to stand and fight. Shoot any retreating soldiers. We need time to evacuate back to Cape Esperance.” He pushed the startled Captain towards the front, “Do it now.” His gaunt frame moved to the door, “And Captain,” the Captain turned to his commander. “I don’t expect to see you again.” Hoshi gave a quick bow and went to perform his duty and meet his fate.

  To the remaining officers, Colonel Araki’s orders were succinct and to the point. Burn anything of value, kill anyone not Japanese and fall back along the coast road to the mountains of Cape Esperance for a final stand. He took one last look to the mountain, his eight 105mm guns should have been firing. He clenched his teeth. That weakling Welch has failed me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  With full daylight came the sounds of heavy fighting along the front line. Sergeant Carver listened to the din of battle. Even from this far away he could tell the fighting was getting closer and closer. That could mean only one thing; the Americans were advancing, pushing the Japanese forces out of their strong defensive bunkers.

  The ridge top was littered with dead Japanese. The natives were busy stacking them to one side, clearing the area of their festering corpses. There was a growing stack of weapons and ammunition, an entire company’s worth. Six of the eight 105mm guns had been destroyed, but the other two were fully functional. The big artillery shells were aching for a new target. Unfortunately, Sergeant Carver and Private O'Connor had no training in firing an artillery gun, especially not a Japanese piece.

  They found the road leading to the ridge from the Japanese rear. The Japanese had hacked it out of the raw jungle. It must have taken months of back breaking work. Morrisey had no doubt a native labor force had been used for the task. Before the American invasion, many natives were forced to work for the Japanese. Most had not been heard of since. He wondered how many had died building this road. It was just wide enough for heavy trucks and signs of tire tracks were evident. With the recent rains the road was a muddy mess. It wouldn’t be possible for truck travel, but it would be no problem for Japanese troops to move up the road out of the path of the advancing Americans.

  Sergeant Carver conferred with Captain Morrisey and both agreed it would be prudent to set an ambush along the road until the battle below moved past. They moved down the road and dug in along the edge of a likely corner. Three Nambu machine guns were placed with interlacing fields of fire. If the Japs came, they’d be trapped on the road and mowed down.

  Hours went by and the battle moved past them. Carver was about to suggest they move down and meet up with the allies, when there was movement along the road. He hunkered behind the Nambu sight and waited. Silence permeated the jungle and every man had a finger on a trigger.

  The first dark shape came around the corner, full of caution. The soldier kneeled and looked at the bend in the road, seeing it as a likely ambush spot. Another soldier came up beside the first and conferred with the point man. Carver strained to see if it was friend or foe. When the second man stood he was backlit by a shaft of sunlight streaking through the jungle canopy. He could see the familiar helmet shape of an American soldier. He took his finger off the trigger and called down the road, “FRIENDLY UNIT TO YOUR FRONT GIs.”

  The point man dropped and brought his M1 up. The second man called out, “COME OUT ON THE ROAD WHERE WE CAN SEE YOU.”

  Sergeant Carver looked across the road at Private O'Connor who returned his worried look. It would be a hell of a thing getting killed by friendlies after what we’ve been through.

  Carver stepped out on the road with his hands raised above his head. The point man came forward, his weapon never leaving the Sergeant’s chest. Carver could see the rest of the American patrol spread out along the sides of the road, weapons covering him. Carver waited until the man was in front of him and said, “I’m Sergeamt Carver with Baker Company, 2nd platoon.”

  The soldier, who loo
ked no more than seventeen grinned and called down the road. “It’s clear Lieutenant, he’s one of us.” The soldier was surprised when the jungle around him came alive with movement as the natives and O'Connor seemed to materialize from nothing. His eyes were wide as he took in the ragtag men.

  When Carver met Lieutenant Jankowski, he threw a quick salute and realized he hadn’t done so in what seemed an eternity. Jankowski saluted back and said, “Sergeant Carver?” Carver nodded. “You must be the boys who took out the Jap artillery?”

  Carver looked around at the natives and the approaching Captain Morrisey. “I had some help, Lieutenant. Without these men it wouldn’t have happened; no way in hell.”

  Morrisey stepped forward and Carver introduced him. Jankowski stiffened at his rank. He wasn’t sure if he was required to salute a provincial Captain, but gave him a crisp salute just in case. Morrisey laughed and saluted him back. “Good to see you. I’ve got wounded up there; could use some help getting them to your medics.”

  The Lieutenant nodded and sent his men forward. They hustled and followed the natives towards the ridgeline. Sergeant Carver said, “There’s two 105mm guns up there that are operational. You have anyone that could man them? I’d think they’re in perfect position to rain hell onto the retreating Japs.”

  The Lieutenant nodded. He called his radio man forward. While he was hustling forward with his heavy radio pack, Lt. Jankowski said, “Our arty’s bogged down on the coast road. We can’t bring it forward fast enough to keep up with the Jap retreat. I’ll get some men up here in a hurry. Division will be ecstatic.”