The White Ghost

by James R Benn

  Finally, two marines burst from the bush, a tommy gun firing away behind them.

  “Is that Porter?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said a corporal. “He’s laying down covering fire. Get ready to run, mac.”

  “I am quite ready,” Kaz said as they darted into the trees. “Do we really want to wait for this man?”

  “Hell yeah,” I said, trying to sound like John Wayne in Flying Tigers.

  Porter came into view, backing into the open field, firing his Thompson until it was empty and tossing it to the ground. He pulled a pin on a grenade and flung it into the bush, turning and pushing off into a sprint. He spotted us, barely hesitating.

  “Run!” We didn’t need prompting. Hard on his heels, we were breaking speed records when the grenade went off. We had a few second’s grace but the Japs soon opened fire, bullets zinging overhead, slamming into tree trunks, and kicking up dust ahead of us.

  Porter’s arms were pumping, Kaz close behind him. My M1 felt like it weighed a ton, my legs were weak and wobbly, but a whole lot of Japanese guys trying to kill me was a great motivator. I followed the two of them as they zigged and zagged between trees, once turning around and thinking of squeezing off a few rounds to slow our pursuers down.

  I didn’t have enough bullets.

  They were pouring out of the jungle, forty or fifty of them, I guessed. With the rear guard gone and an open field ahead of them, all the pent-up energy of the slow night’s fighting had been unleashed. They were screaming, a couple of samurai swords held high, Arisakas with fixed bayonets an undulating sea of steel in the morning light.

  Good.

  The hill came into view. I waved and signaled the Japs were behind us as we raced around it, but Trent and his men needed no prompting. They waited a few seconds for the full mass of men to come into view. The attacking Japs slowed, someone obviously on his toes, noticing the fortified position ahead.

  The machine gun opened up. Lead ripped into the front line, dropping half a dozen of them. Then everyone else fired, M1 rounds dispatching even more. The machine gun chattered away as the Japs faltered and began to retreat, using the trees as cover, much as we had.

  Trent signaled the machine gunner to cease fire.

  “Think there’s more?” Trent asked Porter, who was lying on his back, gasping for air.

  “Plenty more,” Porter said. “They tried to encircle us. There’s at least a company moving through the bush on each flank. And I’d bet some heavy weapons aren’t far behind on the trail. They hit us with mortars a few times.”

  “LCs?” I asked Trent.

  “Should be approaching the river now. But it’s going to take some time to get everyone on board, especially the wounded. We’ve got two PT boats on the way as well.”

  “Listen,” Porter said, sitting up and accepting a canteen from Trent. “You should all head to the river. Leave me here with the machine gun.”

  “No,” I said.

  “What’s the matter with you, Boyle?” Porter said. “I’m sorry to cheat the hangman, but I’ll do more good dying here than in some bloody prison in a few months. Who will that help?”

  “It’ll take more than one man to hold them off,” Trent said. I didn’t like that he hadn’t put the kibosh on Porter’s suggestion entirely.

  “Position your men below, so they can hit the Japs as well. Then pull out fast after the next attack and get to the river. What have you got to lose?” Porter looked to each of us. I could see the idea had some appeal.

  “Can we trust you?” I asked.

  “Christ,” he said, “you must be crackers. I saved your life last night, giving you that whack on the head. You were making so much noise, a deaf Jap would have heard us in Tokyo. Sorry about that, but I didn’t think you’d agree with my suggestion. You must admit, it all worked out.”

  “He’s got a point,” Kaz said.

  “You too?” I knew when I was beat. “Okay. But I’m staying up here, until the last minute. Sarge, when you pull out, I’ll come down the rear slope and join you quick as I can.”

  “As will I,” Kaz said.

  No one had a chance to comment. Another wave of Japs had come out of the jungle, but this time they’d moved stealthily, and were well into the trees before we spotted them. We poured fire into them, but they returned it as well. We’d been lucky the first time, catching them unawares. That wasn’t going to happen twice. Bullets hit the coconut logs and split the air above us. Then a marine went down, hit by fire coming from our right flank.

  “That’s the other company!” Porter yelled. They were working their way through the tiger grass, creating waves of movement targeting their position. The machine gunner swiveled and fired bursts into the grass, forcing the survivors back.

  “There’s not much time,” Porter said, stating the obvious. “Once they get machine guns and mortars close enough, they’ll hit us from two sides and they won’t stop.”

  “Okay,” Trent said, ordering his men to fall back and block the path to the river. “Porter, whatever it is you’ve done, I appreciate what you’re doing for us.” He stuck out his hand and they shook.

  “You two,” Trent said, “watch our position. When we pull out you better be damn close behind us. You’ll need these.” He handed me the binoculars and followed his men down the back slope and into the grove, taking up positions behind the tall trees. I could see him sending a runner down to the river, probably to check on the landing craft.

  “You know how to operate that thing?” I asked Porter, as he took over at the machine gun.

  “Yes,” he said. “They trained us on Jap and Yank weapons. I guess I’ll be an expert in short order.” He pulled an ammo box closer, checking the belt, readying himself behind the gun, and settling in with a smile. He was a strange one, all right.

  “You seem to be in a cheerful mood,” Kaz said.

  “Why not? I’m outside, with the breeze on my face and the sea at my back, doing heroic things under an open sky. A lot better than being imprisoned in a dark hole for months before they hang me. You blokes are doing me a favor.”

  “Delighted,” Kaz said. “Look there.” The Japs to our front were making another push, moving man by man, taking cover behind the trees, in the three rows to our left. Then I spotted movement in the tiger grass and fired my M1, getting rifle fire in return.

  Porter squeezed off bursts at the figures behind the trees, but they had good cover. Trent and his men had a better angle and peppered them with shots, pushing them back. I fired another clip into the tiger grass, and heard a scream. It was the ones who didn’t scream that worried me.

  Kaz crawled over to check on Trent. “They’re pulling out,” he said. “Time to go.”

  I checked my ammo. Three more clips. I unloaded into the tiger grass again, just to be sure.

  “All set, Porter?” I said, eyes still on the tiger grass.

  “Boyle?” Porter said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Call me Peter, will you?” He smiled, the grime and sweat on his face glistening in the sun. He actually looked like he was enjoying himself, and I almost gave in. Then I thought of Deanna.

  “No. Count yourself lucky I don’t drag you back to a dark cell.” With that, I followed Kaz over the logs and down the slope. He might be the hero of the day here on Choiseul, but I knew him from Tulagi.

  We ran low, taking cover where Trent and his men had been. It was about two hundred yards to the river bank, and I could hear the landing-craft engines. I raised my M1, looking for Japs among the trees. I spotted one, his hands and feet visible as he shinnied up a tree. A sniper, looking for a good angle on the machine-gun nest. Worse still, he’d see there was only one man left on the hill. I aimed at his hand—a tough shot, not because of the distance, but because it was a small target. I fired. Once, twice, and then he fell, his scream signaling a hit.
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  “Billy, how long are we going to stay here?” Kaz asked. The landing-craft engines were louder now, as if they were straining under a heavy load. Porter opened fire, short bursts into the trees.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said. “Nothing else we can do here.”

  We edged back, and I felt a gnawing sense of worry as we left our fate in the hands of a murderer.

  At the river, it was chaos. One overloaded landing craft was hung up on the coral reef offshore. That was the revving engine we’d heard. A second LC was also crowded but pulling away, while the third was taking on the last of the men. The only good news was the two PT boats fast approaching. One of them was PT-59. Jack to the rescue.

  “What’s happening up there?” Trent asked.

  “They’re moving in again,” I said. “He can’t last long.”

  A shrill whistling sound came from overhead.

  “Take cover!” Trent shouted. An explosion shook the trees on the riverbank. Then two more mortar rounds hit the water, sending up harmless geysers. Harmless until they found their range. The machine gun was firing steadily now, and I wondered if Porter was making his last stand.

  More rounds hit closer to us, and a couple of men went down, wounded by shrapnel.

  “Lieutenant, can you go back up there and see what’s happening?” Trent asked. “I need to know if they’re closing in. I’ll send men up if we need to fight.”

  “Sure,” I said, scrambling up the bank, Kaz next to me. We ran to a stack of coconut trees that had been cut down years ago, about a dozen of them rotting into the earth. It made for a good hiding place and gave us some elevation. The machine gun was still chattering, a constant stream of lead flying through the coconut grove.

  The machine gun stopped abruptly, the silence strange and disconcerting.

  “Did they get him?” Kaz asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I couldn’t see the top of the hill from here, but I didn’t hear any rifle fire from the Japs, only the mortar rounds heading to the river. Maybe the gun was jammed. Or maybe the Japs had rushed him from the side. I scanned the ground ahead with the binoculars, looking for an immediate threat. I leaned forward to get a better view of the rear of the hill.

  Nothing.

  Then I saw him. Shirtless.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said. “Porter.”

  “What?” Kaz said. “Where?”

  “Hightailing it upriver, near the tiger grass,” I said. “I bet he used his shirt to tie down the trigger. Shot off all the ammo to cover his escape. Goddammit!” I raised my rifle in his direction, but he was too far gone into cover to get a bead on him. “Kaz, go tell Trent there’s nothing between the Japs and the river but yours truly. If you hear me fire, send help. I’ll stay five minutes and then head your way.”

  “No more,” Kaz said.

  “No wariwari.”

  I kept watch through the binoculars, looking up every few seconds to avoid tunnel vision. Then I spotted a couple of Jap soldiers running toward the hill. I didn’t fire, figuring that would draw them to the landing area once they realized it was just one guy. Pretty soon they were standing in the open, certain that they’d won the ground. Which they had. An officer appeared, his boots gleaming and his sword reflecting sunlight. He was barking orders, loud enough for me to hear, gesturing with his sword. I swung the binoculars in that direction.

  Porter was being brought forward at bayonet point, his hands held above his head.

  He hadn’t escaped after all.

  A crowd gathered, and I could see the officer laughing as one of his men smashed his rifle butt into Porter’s ribs. They tied him to a tree, ropes around the wide trunk holding him secure. They screamed at him, the kind of curses you probably give to any machine gunner who’s just mowed down a bunch of your pals. Good thing for us they were taking their time with him. Bad for Porter.

  More mortar rounds sailed through the air and exploded behind me. Kaz ran back, crouched low. “The last LC is stuck on the riverbed. The tide is going out, and it was overloaded. One of the PT boats is rigging a line to pull it off. We need to go now.”

  I handed him the binoculars. I didn’t need them to make out what was about to happen. They were about two hundred yards away, maximum. I could see the officer waving his sword in front of Porter, taunting him with what he was about to do.

  I heard Kaz gasp.

  I stood, cupping my hands around my mouth, and shouted.

  “PETER FRASER!”

  I dropped, and could make out faces turning in my direction. I had a few seconds, no more.

  I filled the sight with Peter Fraser’s torso. I let my breathing steady, put a slight pressure on the trigger, and exhaled.

  I pulled the trigger. A good hit. A second shot, to be sure. His body slumped, held by the ropes.

  We sprinted to the river, leapt off the bank, and ran onto the ramp of the last landing craft, Trent signaling us to hurry. The PT boat surged ahead, the steel cable connecting it to the LC going taut as we scraped bottom, engines revved high. Kaz leaned close, whispering.

  “It was a clean shot, Billy.”

  We came off the bottom with a jolt, and men grinned and laughed as we made our way out of the river mouth. I joined in, not wanting to think about what I had done. Being judge, jury, and executioner didn’t sit well with me. The cable was cast off, and the PT boat moved away, on watch for any enemy movement on shore. The second boat was Jack’s PT-59, and he edged closer to us, putting his boat between us and the riverbed. He spotted me and waved, and I did my best to respond. I should have been happy; everyone around me was delirious with joy. But I was empty, gutted.

  Gunfire rippled from the shore. Jack’s boat answered, machine guns and cannon fire chopping up the ground and jungle, taking down small trees and sending the few Japs who weren’t hit scurrying away. A ragged cheer went up from the marines. Then a more immediate concern demanded our attention.

  We were sinking. Water was rising in the LC, probably from damage on the rocky river bottom.

  I waved to Jack, not fifty yards away. He waved back, smiling, as did his crew. For a minute, they thought we were congratulating them. But it didn’t take long for the list to become noticeable, and Jack drew PT-59 alongside the landing craft.

  The navy crewman on the LC kept her steady while the men packed in the landing craft clambered up the side and were pulled on board the PT. The crewman came last, and Jack throttled forward, heading slowly out to sea.

  “Chappy, put a few rounds in at the waterline and sink her,” Jack commanded. Chappy, in the gunner’s seat on the forward forty-millimeter, complied. Four shells blew her side in, and the LC was gone in seconds.

  “We’ll get you all back,” Jack said to the marines crowding his deck. “But we’ve got to take it slow. We’re low on fuel.”

  “Sir, we have one badly wounded man,” Trent said. “Do you have a bunk we could get him in?”

  “Put him below in my cabin,” Jack said. “Mauer, show them where, and break out whatever medical supplies they need. Kowal, get those cans of peaches and pass them around.”

  The peaches were a hit. Trent opened a can with his Ka-Bar and offered it to me. I wasn’t hungry. Kaz took it and tried to get me to eat, but I told him later. I slung my rifle and went below deck to look for Jack. I found him standing outside his captain’s quarters, which contained one bunk and a tiny desk. Luxurious for a PT boat. In it, a corpsman was removing the wounded man’s field bandage, dirty and caked with blood. It looked like shrapnel wounds to the chest, probably in that last barrage. He was a kid. Not even twenty years old, by my best guess. They all looked younger stripped of their helmet, web belt, and gear. A kid with freckles and a dirty face.

  His breathing was ragged, a small pink bubble forming on his lips with each breath. His eyes opened, and he tried to speak. His mouth would form a word,
but nothing came out. Then a sudden gasp, a gurgle, and he was gone, his lips holding that last word hostage forever.

  Jack smacked the bulkhead with his palm and went up on deck, cursing under his breath. He checked in with his executive officer on the bridge and walked among the marines lying everywhere, accepting their thanks, asking how they were doing. He clapped Kaz on the shoulder, gracing him with that grand smile. Even though that kid’s death got to him, it wasn’t something he could show the world. It wasn’t so much that his smile was a lie. It was a mask.

  I wandered along, not wanting to talk. Finally, we both ended up on the bow, wind snapping at our faces. Jack was silent. I knew the death of the boy in his bunk would haunt him much as the death of his crewmen had. There was nothing more he could have done, but it seemed to add to the burden of responsibility he felt so keenly.

  “I thought you were done for when you didn’t come back to the boat,” he finally said. “Glad to see you’re both okay.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “What happened? With Porter, I mean.”

  What happened? How to explain it? That he’d been a hero, a fraud, a cold-blooded killer, a liar, a con man, and that I shot him?

  “The Japs got him,” I finally said. True enough.

  “Killed him, or got ahold of him? I heard some of the marines talking about men being tortured. Trent said you found his lieutenant.”

  “Yeah,” I managed. “The Japs got hold of him, Jack. But the end was quick, that’s all I can say. All I want to say.”

  “Christ,” Jack said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It’s a hell of a goddamn war we have out here. I never imagined it would be anything like this.”

  “Me neither,” I said, our eyes meeting. Whatever beef I’d had with Jack and his family, this war had put it all in perspective, burned away the pettiness, eliminating any need for forgiveness or recriminations. Nothing mattered but what we’d shared out here; nothing in our past could compare with what the Solomon Islands had done to us. Death, terror, beauty, joy, and sorrow were daily offerings from the gods of the South Pacific. It was a new beginning, or the perfect ending. Either way was fine with me.