A Quilt for Jenna

by Patrick E. Craig

  “I think the deer didn’t see me at first, or he didn’t recognize me. It was probably only five or ten seconds, but it seemed like an hour. Then he saw me, and with a big bound he was gone, just vanished. And I’m lying there feeling like an idiot, and my dad stands up and says, ‘It’s okay, son, just a little buck fever. It happens to all of us. Boy, we sure got close to that son of a gun before he saw us, didn’t we? He was a beauty.’

  “When we got home, my dad didn’t say anything about it to my mom, and the next week we bagged two deer without any trouble. So I don’t know, Reuben. It will all play itself out in the moment, so there’s no sense in worrying or wondering. I’m betting you’ll do the right thing.”

  Reuben offered a smile, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of his mind.

  It’s like a rat inside my head, gnawing away in the darkness. Lord, help me to be a good Marine.

  The spontaneous prayer surprised Reuben. He hadn’t thought about God in a long time.

  On Monday, August 3, Colonel Hunt, the commanding officer, put out a notice to his troops. Bobby read it aloud to his platoon.

  “The coming offensive in the Guadalcanal area marks the first offensive of the war against the enemy involving ground forces of the United States. The Marines have been selected to facilitate this action, which will prove to be the forerunner of successive offensive actions that will end in ultimate victory for our cause. Our country expects nothing but victory from us, and it shall have just that. The word ‘failure’ is no longer in our vocabulary.

  “We have worked hard and trained faithfully for this action, and I have every confidence in our ability and desire to force our will upon the enemy. We are meeting a tough and wily opponent, but he is not able to overcome us because we are United States Marines.

  “Our commanding general and staff are counting on us and will give us wholehearted support and assistance. Our contemporaries of the other task organizations are red-blooded Marines like ourselves, and they are ably led. They, too, will be there at the final downfall of the enemy.

  “Each of us has his assigned task. Let each vow to perform it to the utmost of his ability, with added effort for good measure.

  “Good luck and God bless you.”

  There You are again, thought Reuben as Bobby folded the paper and put it in his pocket. I haven’t even thought about You in a long time, and now I’m praying for Your blessing. I hope You’re real, I really do. And if You are, I want to ask You two things. Let me be a good Marine and do my duty, and let me get home to Jerusha in one piece. That’s all. Oh, and please keep Bobby safe too. He’s all I have out here.

  On Friday, August 7, 1942, at 0400 hours, the Marines watched from the deck of their transport as the convoy of ships moved close in to the shore of Guadalcanal. The sky was still dark with no predawn glow, but ahead of them the even darker mass of the mountains of Guadalcanal stood in relief against the sky. The men were silent. Only the sweeping of the water past the bow of their ship could be heard. They couldn’t see in the darkness, but they knew that all around them, other ships, battlewagons and cruisers, were creeping closer to the shore. No shots had been fired from the island, and one lieutenant was heard to mutter, “I can’t believe it. Either the Japanese are very dumb or it’s a trick.”

  The light began to grow in the east, and off to the left they could see the outline of Tulagi Island, where more Marines would be going ashore. Suddenly, the night was split by a brilliant green flash from the cruiser to their left, followed by the roar of artillery rounds headed for the beach. At that signal a huge barrage of fire from the gathered ships lit up the sky. Overhead the fighters and bombers streaked toward the shore. Bobby and Reuben were standing by the rail of the ship. They watched tracers stream from the fighters as they strafed the beach. In the growing light they heard the rumble of bomb clusters striking home as huge clouds of smoke billowed up from the shore and toward the mountains. Bobby looked at Reuben, and then the order was given to climb into their landing boats. Reuben grabbed Bobby’s hand.

  “This is it, Bobby,” he said. “Good luck and God be with you.” He noted the surprised look on Bobby’s face and then the smile.

  “Thanks, buddy. Stay close.”

  And then Bobby was gone over the side, and Reuben clambered down the net after him. The invasion of Guadalcanal had begun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Contact

  IT WAS LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, November 24, and still the Great Thanksgiving Storm had not let up. The freezing wind and blinding snow made it hard to see, but Jerusha’s eyes had not deceived her. A little girl was in this car, and the color of her skin indicated that she was likely hypothermic.

  The wind was tearing at Jerusha, and she clutched the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders. She knew that she had to get out of the storm, so she tried to open the car door, but it was jammed. She jerked at it a few times and then slowly made her way around to the driver’s side and pulled at the back door. It opened, and Jerusha crawled inside. She pulled the door shut and moved to the little girl’s side. She pushed some of the loose clothing aside and touched the face of the little girl. It was icy cold, but she was alive. The girl opened her eyes and looked at Jerusha.

  “Are you an angel?” she asked.

  Jerusha felt a sob catch in her throat. “No, dear, I’m not an angel,” she answered. “I’m lost in the storm, just like you.”

  Reuben and Bobby were bivouacked with their sniper platoon under the cover of a palm grove about a mile inland from the landing zone on Guadalcanal’s Red Beach. It was the afternoon of August 7, 1942, and the men had worked their way into the jungle ahead of the main force to scout out enemy positions. The landing on Guadalcanal had gone off without a hitch. The enemy had offered almost no resistance as the First Division came ashore, and the officers were puzzled. Their commander, Colonel Hunt, had immediately moved his assault troops off the beach into the surrounding jungle, wading the steep-banked Ilu River, headed for the enemy airfield that was the focus of the invasion.

  As the evening came on, the Marines set up a defensive perimeter and were waiting until morning to continue their attack. The Japanese had retaliated late in the afternoon with an air raid from neighboring islands but had done little damage and flown off. Now the silence was eerie, and the absence of opposition was worrisome to the riflemen. The men had come upon hastily abandoned tents and dormitories. The Japanese troops, most of whom were actually Korean laborers, had obviously fled to the west, leaving huge stores of their supplies and food. Bobby was smoking one of the Japanese cigarettes.

  “These things are terrible,” he said, spitting bits of tobacco from his mouth. “You have to put this dumb paper filter on the smoke to keep the tobacco from scorching your mouth, and then there’s no taste. What good is that?”

  “If the Japanese don’t kill you, their cigarettes probably will,” Reuben said with a smile. “During my rumspringa, I smoked a cigarette. I took two puffs, turned as white as a sheet, broke out in a sweat, and threw up. It became very clear to me in that moment that tobacco is a deadly poison.”

  “Well, I’ll die happy then,” Bobby said with a laugh.

  One of the men stood up to look around, and suddenly there was the sharp crack of a rifle. The Marine spun around and fell beside the tree where he had been standing.

  “Sniper!” Bobby yelled, and the rest of the patrol dove for cover.

  Reuben glanced over at the fallen soldier. It was clear he was dead.

  “Where is he?” whispered someone to Reuben’s left.

  Another sharp crack sounded, and a bullet glanced off a palm tree above Reuben’s head and went zipping into the jungle.

  “He’s up there in that clump of palms, about a hundred yards ahead,” Bobby whispered. “I saw the puff of smoke. Reuben, you should be able to get a shot at him.”

  Reuben wiggled forward on his belly and took a look where Bobby was pointing. Another crack came from the trees, and this time
Reuben saw the smoke from the rifle.

  “He’s about twenty feet up that tree on the left where the palm crowns,” Bobby said. “Take a shot, Reuben.”

  Reuben pulled the stock of his rifle into his shoulder and sighted through the Winchester scope. He slowly scanned the tree Bobby indicated but saw nothing. Then suddenly there was a tiny movement, and Reuben saw a face begin to take shape out of the foliage surrounding it. The Japanese soldier had opened his mouth and showed his teeth. It was probably an unconscious habit, but it sealed his doom. Reuben now had the man square in his sight. His finger started to tighten on the trigger.

  Suddenly the face in his sniper scope seemed to change into his father’s face. “Thou shalt not kill, Reuben,” his father said to him.

  Reuben pulled back slightly and then put his eye to the sight again. Again he saw his father’s face in the crosshairs.

  His father’s voice spoke to him again. “Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and mind and strength, and love thy neighbor as thyself.”

  Reuben broke into a cold sweat. His mouth became dry, and he felt the muscles in his right leg start to twitch. As he peered through the scope at the figure in the tree, unable to move, he heard the report of a rifle hammering his left eardrum. The face of the enemy soldier in his sights suddenly erupted in a bright red fountain. The shock made him jerk, and he reflexively pulled the trigger. His bullet caught the man square in the chest as he jerked backward from the impact of the first bullet. There was a violent thrashing in the top of the tree, and then the sniper slowly toppled out and fell straight down through the branches, hitting the ground with a thud. Reuben looked to his left. Gunnery Sergeant Thompkins was grinning at him.

  “Buck fever, boy?” he asked. “He’s not going to wait for you to shoot him, you know.”

  Reuben quickly changed the subject. “Should we search him?”

  “Sure thing, Springer,” Thompkins said. “We’ll cover you. Keep low. There may be other snipers out there.”

  Reuben worked his way around through the low brush until he came to the tree where the sniper had been hidden. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled up to the body.

  There were no official documents, but in the breast pocket of his shirt there was a small wallet. Reuben pulled it out and looked through it. There were a few slips of paper with Japanese writing on them. A small picture slipped out and fell to the ground. Reuben picked it up. It was a family photo of the man with a woman and a baby. The man was not handsome but was clean cut and well groomed in his dress uniform. The young woman was quite lovely, with dark, almond eyes and delicate features. The baby in her arms was probably about six months old. Reuben stared at the picture. Then he looked at the body of the husband and father who would never return home.

  Reuben stuffed the picture into his pocket and made his way back to the patrol.

  “No papers,” he said to Thompkins. “Just a guy with a rifle trying to kill some Marines.”

  “Let’s move to a different position then,” Thompkins said. “But keep down and stay sharp. We may have drawn some attention with that little fracas.”

  “What about Raymond?” asked one of the men, pointing to the body of the Marine who had been killed.

  “We’ll mark his body and send the evac guys back to pick it up,” Thompkins said. “Now let’s move out. Spread out and keep down.”

  One of the men quickly snapped the fallen Marine’s bayonet onto his rifle and stuck it in the ground by the body. Sergeant Thompkins grabbed the Marine’s dogtag, pulled it off with a quick jerk and shoved it in his pocket. Then the patrol moved silently into the brush and headed toward the airfield. After marching half an hour under their heavy packs, they had seen no more sign of the enemy. They came out into a grove of coconut palms. Thompkins set sentries at either end of the grove, and the patrol settled in for the night. Bobby settled down next to Reuben and pulled a smoke out of his pocket.

  “The smoking lamp is not lit, Halverson,” the sergeant said. “Put that away. I want everyone quiet. If we are fired on in the night, do not, I repeat, do not use your tracer bullets. They will give away your position. Stay alert. This is not a picnic.”

  Bobby and Reuben settled behind a fallen palmetto log. As darkness fell, the two men stared out into the jungle.

  “What happened back there, Reuben?” Bobby asked quietly.

  “It was really strange,” Reuben said. “I had the sniper lined up in my sights and was ready to shoot, and then I saw my daed’s face in the crosshairs. He was telling me that to kill is wrong. I couldn’t pull the trigger. I thought I could, but I’m not certain anymore. I sure don’t want to let everybody down if we get into a real firefight.”

  Bobby was silent for a moment and then said, “Like I’ve said before, I’m believing that when push comes to shove, you’ll do what needs to be done. Let’s get some shut-eye.”

  Sleeping was not as easy as Bobby thought. The jungle was not still. The night was full of the sound of creatures rustling in the leaves. Every few minutes there was a sound like two blocks of wood banging together and another sound like a dog barking. The sounds left the men jumpy and unable to sleep. From time to time they could hear rifle shots in the distance. At one point, a submachine gun started rattling away off to the left, followed by the sharp crack of a Japanese rifle and then a volley of shots from the heavier Marine rifles. The sentries were nervous and jittery.

  Finally the firing died away, and the men fell into restless sleep. All too soon the first light of dawn broke over the jungle. One of the sentries slipped silently back to the bivouac area and conferred with Sergeant Thompkins in a whisper. Thompkins woke the men up and called them in around him.

  “A patrol of about a hundred enemy troops passed near us over by that swampy area and then took off into the jungle toward the airfield. Johnson, get on the radio and call Edson. Be sure to use the code name Red Mike. Tell him what we saw and ask for orders.”

  Johnson got on the radio and talked quietly with headquarters for a minute. Then he turned to Thompkins.

  “The main force of Marines is moving toward the airfield. Red Mike wants us to reconnoiter the south side and report.”

  “Okay men, let’s grab some chow, break camp, and get going,” Thompkins said. “And when we’re moving through the jungle I want you men to remember your training and walk quiet, like an Indian in the woods. The man who can walk the quietest will live the longest. And when you come to a clearing, either move around it or, if you have to cross it, move quickly and quietly and stay low. Dump your mess kits except for the cup and the spoon. They make too much noise. Keep your eyes on the trees, move to an objective point a hundred yards at a time, and then wait for the rest of the men. That’s all. Now let’s move.”

  The men quickly ate some of their C rations, packed their gear, and moved out. As Reuben slipped through the jungle with his patrol, he thought about the picture of the Japanese family in his pocket. Once again he found himself offering up a silent prayer.

  Lord, let me get home to Jerusha. A wry grin crossed his face. I guess there really aren’t any atheists in foxholes, Lord.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Battle of the Ridge

  THE MONTH AFTER THE INVASION hadn’t gone well for the Americans. On the second day after they landed, the Japanese sent a fleet of cruisers and destroyers to attack the landing fleet off Guadalcanal. In the naval battle that followed, five American cruisers were sunk or disabled. The outcome of the sea battle wasn’t good news to the Marines. Rumors began to circulate that the troops were now cut off, that the whole invasion was going to turn into another Bataan. All the men were gloomy about the reports. And to top it all off, it began to rain. Soon the Marine scouts were slogging through mud and swamps, searching for the enemy. The Japanese had many trenches and foxholes where they hid until a patrol passed, and then the concealed enemy would open up on them. Casualties were not yet high among the Marines, but they were mounting.

/>   For Reuben and Bobby, August was a long nightmare of marching, scouting, hiding in the jungle, and staying away from any real fighting. The first episode with the sniper had been their only face-to-face confrontation with the enemy. During that time, however, they had scouted out several detachments of Japanese soldiers, called in artillery and air strikes on their positions, and then slipped back into the jungle without contact. The men were tired, hungry, wet, and miserable.

  But by September, much of Guadalcanal had fallen into American hands, though the Japanese continued to put up fierce resistance. On September 8, Bobby and Reuben’s platoon was ordered to accompany Colonel “Red Mike” Edson up the coast to attack the Japanese positions on the Taivu Point and capture the village of Tasimboko. They boarded some small transports equipped with landing craft for a quick trip up the coast.

  Fortunately, just before they arrived at their destination, a small convoy of American cargo ships escorted by destroyers passed by them. Their mission was a completely different one, but when the Japanese at Tasimboko saw all the ships together, they assumed a large invasion force was landing, so most of them ran away. The Marines landed with very little resistance, and once again Reuben and Bobby were out of the fighting. They mopped up a few stragglers and some snipers and then headed back for the main camp on the Tenaru River.