Operation Blind Spot (Jock Miles WW2 Adventure Series Book 4)

by William Peter Grasso

  “I guess they figured out we ain’t Japanese,” Patchett said over the sound of bullets pinging off the truck’s tailgate.

  Then a bullet went over the tailgate, hissed through the cab’s open rear, snatched the walkie-talkie from Botkin’s hands, and shattered the windshield in front of his face on the way out.

  With a violent spin of the steering wheel, Patchett skidded the truck through another tight curve. They were clear of the line of fire now.

  “You okay, son?”

  Trying to wring the stinging sensation from his hands, Botkin replied, “Yeah, I’m good. The radio’s had it, though.”

  “Check the boys in the back.”

  Allred and Ace were still clawing the bed of the truck as if trying to dig deeper into its metal cocoon.

  “They’re shitting their pants,” Botkin reported, “but they’re okay.”

  “Outstanding,” Patchett replied. “Now, this Rally Point Charlie…that’s right near the village of—”

  “WE’RE ON FIRE,” Allred shrieked, his panicked face thrust inside the cab. “WE GOTTA GET OFF BEFORE SHE BLOWS.”

  They all jumped before the truck even slowed down. It sped on, leaving a ribbon of burning gasoline floating on the muddy trail.

  “Musta got us in the gas tank,” Patchett said.

  The truck left the trail at the next curve, coming to a stop as it smashed into a tree.

  A second later, it blew up, spewing a column of thick black smoke high into the air—a perfect target marker.

  “Can everybody run?” Patchett asked.

  His three men nodded.

  “Then let’s get the hell away from here, on the double.”

  The Japanese captain was sure he’d be severely punished when he returned to Lorengau. He’d lost forty of his sixty men since leaving there this morning, all to an elusive enemy. Never before during the Japanese juggernaut had his unit suffered so badly. His men had found the body of only one of these attackers. The man’s face was so badly disfigured he could never be identified, but his uniform and weapon marked him as a soldier in the American Army.

  But not just any American soldier. An English-speaking sergeant had read the dead man’s identification tags, stamped with a Japanese surname.

  A traitor, no doubt, who deserved to die.

  But we still haven’t reached the top of Mount Dremsel. At least it’s finally stopped raining…and our radio is still working.

  Right now, that radio was equal parts curse and blessing. It had shamed him to send that radio message back to Lorengau, informing Headquarters of the great American force that had infiltrated Manus Island. In the hope of delaying his disgrace a bit longer, the message had conveniently omitted the catastrophic casualty figures.

  But if they send reinforcements quickly, maybe we can still prevail…and somehow reverse my fate.

  His lieutenant approached. “Captain, I have assembled a party to pursue the Americans. They can’t be far from—”

  The captain cut him off with a sharp slap to the face. “We have not completed our mission yet, idiot. We will secure the mountaintop without further delay. Get the men moving immediately.”

  Tom Hadley laid the walkie-talkie down. Patchett and his men weren’t answering anymore. There was no point wasting battery power.

  He joined Jock, who was huddled over the map. “You know, sir, the boats are less than three miles south of here right now. We can get there with plenty of sunlight left, too. If we keep walking toward the rally point…well, that’s damn near the opposite direction.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Tom,” Jock replied, “but we’ve got to try to link up with Patchett.”

  “Don’t you think he can find the boats on his own…?” Hadley didn’t finish the sentence, because the rest of it would’ve been, if they’re still alive. Instead, he added, “This mission’s done, sir. All we’ve got to do now is lay low until tomorrow night and then float our battered asses out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving Patchett and his guys behind, Tom.” It was Jock’s turn to leave words unsaid: We’ve already had to leave one man behind…and that’s one too many.

  “And Tom…I want you to keep transmitting regularly, even if they don’t reply. Botkin’s got the DF loop—maybe he can home in on us. They can’t be too far away.”

  “But sir, won’t that let the Japs home in on us, too?”

  “As long as we keep moving, I’ll take that risk.”

  “But the batteries, sir—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more crap about the batteries running down, either, First Sergeant. Right now, the only thing that juice is good for is finding the rest of our guys.”

  It was nearly 1400 hours when the Japanese captain and his men reached the OP atop Mount Dremsel. The skies had cleared, but they could see little of the horizon through the trees. Without the tower, this peak was practically useless as an observation post. It was, at the moment, little more than a lofty cemetery, with seven fresh graves and the still-exposed bodies of two Korean privates.

  “Lieutenant,” the captain said, “climb that tree and search for enemy vessels.” The tree to which he pointed—the tallest on the peak—was a spindly specimen whose crown swayed wildly in the sweet, post-storm breeze.

  The lieutenant replied, “But sir, I don’t think it will hold my weight.”

  The Captain slapped his face. “I have given you an order. Climb.”

  As ordered, the lieutenant shimmied up the narrow trunk to the top, until his head poked above the canopy. The limb to which he clung for dear life swung like a pendulum with his weight. But he could clearly take in a wide expanse of the Bismarck Sea to the south of the island.

  The captain called to him, “What can you see?”

  “Nothing, sir…just lots of water.”

  “Use your binoculars, idiot.”

  That was the last thing the lieutenant wanted to do, because it would mean releasing one hand from its death grip on the limb to snatch the binoculars from their pouch. The range of the pendulum’s oscillation was increasing with each swing.

  Yet, he managed to get the binoculars to his eyes. He gave the horizon one broad sweep, hesitating for a moment as he looked southwest:

  Was it a low cloud, far in the distance? Or was it smoke from a ship…or many ships? I can’t tell…this damned swaying!

  No…like those storms that just passed, it must be a cloud.

  It must be.

  The captain called to him again. “What do you see, Lieutenant?”

  “I see…I see nothing, sir.”

  With a loud snap, the limb suddenly swung down, flicking the lieutenant out of the tree like some irritating insect.

  He crashed through several branches as he fell, failing to grab any of them for more than an instant…

  And then plummeted straight down.

  The impact with the ground broke his neck.

  The captain stood over his lifeless body, kicked it, and muttered, “Idiot.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The low, slanting rays of the late afternoon sun brightened the usual gloom of the rainforest, casting between the trees vivid channels of orange light that seemed like pathways to heaven. Bathed in this warm and inviting glow, Jock’s party caught their first view of Rally Point Charlie—a piece of high ground in the rainforest overlooking the Lorengau trail and the collection of grass shacks known as the village of Buyang. It was one of four points Jock had designated as places to reorganize should The Squad ever become separated…

  Like it was right now.

  Hadley, in his usual place at the rear of the column, told himself, I guess I’ll try calling them one last time. He keyed the walkie-talkie: “Lost Boy Eight, this is Lost Boy Six, over.”

  At first, he thought the voice answering was coming from the radio’s earpiece. But it sounds so undistorted…so natural.

  He turned and saw Melvin Patchett standing not ten feet behind him.

  “Where the hell
did you come from, Sergeant Major?” Hadley asked.

  “Same place as you, son…out of this damn forest.”

  “Did you hear me calling you?”

  “Naw, our radio’s all shot up. Didn’t hear you until we was in earshot. By the way, you gotta talk a little more quieter into that thing. Heard you a long ways off.”

  Hadley’s relief at seeing Patchett multiplied as Ace, Allred, and Botkin emerged from the woods. “We’ve got one hell of a surprise for you guys,” he told them.

  Patchett could see Jock’s entire party stretched out in column before him. With one glance, Patchett got a pretty good idea what the surprise was. “As I live and breathe,” he said, “ain’t that Miss Forbes up there?”

  “Sure is, Sergeant Major.”

  “Well, don’t that beat all.”

  Those first moments with everyone on the rally point were a frenzy of greetings and joyous reunions. Patchett was nearly toppled by the crush of Jillian’s bear hug. “I’d squeeze you even tighter, you old bastard,” she said, “but my shoulders are killing me at the moment.”

  “I knew them Nips weren’t no match for the likes of you, young lady,” Patchett told her, his voice coming closer than anyone could remember to choking with emotion.

  “Only the good die young, Sergeant Major,” she replied, “so you and I have nothing to worry about.”

  Jock let them have their fun for a few moments more. Then it was back to business. He asked Patchett, “Any Japs following you, Top?”

  “Don’t think so, sir. I’m guessing they went up the mountain to reclaim the OP.”

  Jock said, “I don’t expect they’re going to forget about us for long, though.”

  “That’s for damn sure, sir.”

  “Do you think they saw anything of the fleet when they got up there, Top?”

  “Don’t rightly know. When we left, it was still like looking into a pot of pea soup. We did give the Navy a couple extra hours to get out of sight, though…”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope to hell that was enough…”

  “Amen to that, sir.”

  Patchett looked around, taking in the wound dressings on every one of Jock’s men except Joe Youngblood, and said, “Been pretty slow going for y’all, I reckon?”

  “Yeah. We’re not exactly in tip-top shape at the moment. If it wasn’t for Miss Smits nursing us, we’d be hurting a whole lot worse.”

  “So I’m supposing we ain’t gonna try to make the boats before nightfall, sir?”

  “You suppose right, Top. If the Japs ain’t on our heels by now, I don’t think we’ll be seeing them before morning. Oscar, our guide, is down in the village now, negotiating for us to spend the night there. It’d be our last chance to sleep dry before we get the hell out of here tomorrow night.”

  “Oscar? You picked yourself up a native guide along the way, sir?”

  “Real long story, Top. But he’s in the worst shape of all of us, I think. Nasty gash on his head. Concussed pretty bad…gets pretty disoriented sometimes. Leg wound, too. I wanted to evacuate him with us when we go—get him some good medical help—but he’s refusing. Says his place is here.”

  “Sounds like y’all had some tough breaks, sir…but you slowed ’em down best you could, I reckon. Nothing y’all could do for that poor feller Deuce, though?”

  “Not a damn thing, Top. Hadley tells me he put up one hell of a fight. Saved his ass and McMillen’s, too.”

  Just then, it dawned on Jock their two captives were nowhere to be seen. In all that had happened, he’d forgotten about them. “Wait a minute. What happened to the Koreans?”

  “Ace caught ’em going for some weapons. Cancelled their tickets on the spot. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

  Down in the village, Oscar was waving his arms at them, signaling, Come on in! Welcome!

  As they settled into the village for the night, Patchett asked Jock, “How much security you want to set out, sir?”

  Before Jock could answer, Oscar proposed, “No need for security. Buyang village looks out for Japs every day and night. They warn us if soldia come.”

  “Just the same,” Jock replied, “we’ll lend them a helping hand. Put two of our guys covering the trail approaches and one on the back door.”

  Patchett nodded and asked, “Three-hour rotation okay with you, sir?”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  Just then, Bogater Boudreau walked up, lugging the captured knee mortar. “I think I found a good place to set this thing up, sir,” he said. “Should be able to fire in any direction without bouncing ’em off the trees.”

  Patchett said, “Where in blue blazes did you pick up that thing?”

  “Took it off the Japs at that fight back on the trail,” Boudreau replied.

  “Yeah,” Jock added, “and that’s how you and Oscar almost bought the farm, too, Bogater.”

  Boudreau’s face twisted into a sly grin. “You want me to give it back, sir?”

  “No, it’s come in real handy once already. Let’s keep it.”

  Patchett asked, “How many rounds we got for it?”

  Bogater held up three fingers.

  “Better than nothing,” Patchett said. “Kinda makes me feel bad about spiking that bunch of Arisakas we found up on the OP instead of carrying ’em out.”

  “Nah, you made the right call, Sergeant Major,” Jock replied. “You didn’t need some big, heavy rifles slowing you down.”

  “Maybe so, sir. Maybe so. Sun’s nearly down…I’m gonna get the night watches set up.”

  As everyone scattered to go about their business, Jock stood alone in the middle of the village. Tom Hadley saw him and thought, This is my chance.

  There was a pained look on Hadley’s face as he approached and asked, “A word, sir?”

  “Sure, First Sergeant. What’s up?”

  “I just want…no, I need to apologize for the way I was acting before, sir…making it sound like we should cut and run and not try to find Patchett. I feel like the biggest asshole in the world for even thinking it now…especially after…after…you know…”

  Jock knew what he was trying to say but couldn’t: Especially after leaving Deuce behind.

  “There’s no need to apologize, Tom...because the thing is, you might have been right.”

  “The Squad’s all squared away, sir,” Patchett reported. “Everyone’s chowed down on some of that roast pig and there’s plenty of water. The high mucketymuck in this village moved some folks around, so Boudreau’s team’s bedding down in that shack over yonder. McMillen’s team’ll be in this one right here.” He pointed to a third grass shack—little more than a thatched roof on poles—and added, “That one there, we’ll use it for the CP. Hadley and me’ll bunk there.”

  “We’re putting people out of their homes, Top?”

  “They’re glad to do it, sir. They heard about the thrashing we gave them Japs. The local chatter is all about them slant-eyed bastards still hauling bodies off the trail. Us GIs are like gods to them at the moment.”

  “All right…but what about the women, Top?”

  “Miss Smits is staying with the elder’s family, sir. They got wind she was a nurse and put a claim on her right away. Now, you and Miss Forbes…well, I’ll let Mister Solo explain that one.” He snapped his fingers and Oscar limped out of the night shadows.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” Patchett said, and then vanished into the shadows.

  “Major Jock,” Oscar began, “you and Miss Forbes—you are married, no?”

  “We’re not married, Oscar.”

  “But you stay together, yes?”

  “Well, sure…when we can, but—”

  “Then you are married in this place.” Oscar pointed to a shack at the edge of the village. “You two stay there tonight, okay?”

  Jock found Jillian sitting outside their hut. “Pretty clever sleeping arrangements, Yank,” she said with a big smile. “How’d you pull it off?”

  He dropped his gear and
sat down next to her. “I had nothing to do with it, Jill.”

  “I’ll bet, you wanker.”

  “No, really. Consider it a gift from the village, I guess.”

  Snuggling up against him, she said, “Bloody wonderful gift, if you ask me.”

  They sat quietly, enjoying the serenity of nightfall, pushing aside for a brief moment the memories of terrors past and the apprehension over those yet to come. Jillian finally broke the silence.

  “Thank you for finding me, Jock.”

  “I wish I could say it was planned, Jill, but it was just dumb luck.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, and kissed him. “I’ll take dumb luck like that any day.”

  She stirred in his arms, suddenly unsettled as if seeking some comfort just out of reach.

  “Something on your mind, Jill?”

  He immediately wished he hadn’t said it. It sounded incongruous. Even stupid. Of course there’s something on her mind, you idiot. She’s been a POW for a year. Will I ever fully know or understand the hell she’s been through? And we’re not out of the woods yet, that’s for damn sure. She knows as well as I do this could all turn to shit in a heartbeat.

  But when she spoke again, her words startled him. “Jock, that sniper of yours—Joe Youngblood. He doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

  “It’s not that he doesn’t like you, Jill. It’s just…well…he’s afraid of you.”

  “Afraid? Why?”

  Jock proceeded to tell her the story of The Woman in White—and the nightmare on the submarine that brought Joe Youngblood to believe she was the spirit sent to claim his life.

  When Jock was finished, she said, “That poor lad—as if being in your Army isn’t enough trouble for him right now.” She stood, grabbed the skirt of her shift with both hands and flared it like some high fashion model. “But how he could see this filthy Australian girl dressed in rice sacks as some soul-taking spirit? That’s just beyond me.”