Do or Die

by Len Levinson

  Stuffing his member into his pants, he walked out from behind the bush. Lieutenant Sono was standing there with Sergeant Kato.

  “Have somebody bury the American behind that bush,” Captain Kashiwagi said. “He's starting to stink. I want to address the company right now in front of my bunker. Have them assemble there without delay.”

  “Yes, sir!” Lieutenant Sono and Sergeant Kato said in unison.

  Captain Kashiwagi marched toward his bunker, bouncing along energetically. The killing he'd done that morning still envigorated him. How wonderful it was to be a winner again, like in the good old days at Nanking.

  He went inside his bunker and asked if any messages had arrived for him. There were none. He lit a cigarette and watched as Lieutenant Sono and Sergeant Kato lined up the men in six platoons consisting of five squads each. The men stood at attention while he continued smoking his cigarette leisurely. He thought it was good for the men to stand in the hot sun for a while. Suffering produced better soldiers, he believed.

  He smoked his cigarette down to the butt and went outside. He approached his men, stopped in front of them, and shouted: “At ease!”

  The men relaxed. Captain Kashiwagi raised his right fist in the air and shook it. “The Americans will attack us soon! They will not let us stay here if they can help it! They will try to dislodge us, but we will stay where we are and fight until we can't fight any more! There will be no retreat! There will be no surrender! There will be only victory or death! The time has come to show what we are made of! Good luck to all of you!” He reached down and pulled out his samurai sword. “Banzai!”

  “Banzai!” replied his men, waving their rifles and pistols in the air. “Banzai! Banzai!”

  As the sun sank on the horizon Butsko entered Colonel Hutchins's office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Have a seat, Butsko.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You can smoke if you want to.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Butsko sat in the chair and took out a cigarette. His helmet was off and the bandage around his head could be seen. No blood showed on the bandage, but it was already smudged with dirt.

  “Want a drink?”

  Butsko tapped his canteen. “Just had one.”

  Colonel Hutchins lit a fat black cigar, and his head disappeared in a vast cloud of smoke. The main light in the tent came from the kerosene lamp on his desk, which was strewn with maps, communiqués, and orders.

  “You saved my life today, Butsko.”

  Butsko shrugged and puffed his cigarette.

  “Don't think I don't appreciate it.”

  Butsko felt embarrassed. His face turned red.

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  “Like what?”

  “If you wanna transfer out of the recon platoon, I'll take care of it.”

  Butsko shook his head. “Things are settling down there. I think I'll stick around for a while. It's too much trouble getting used to a new bunch of nitwits.”

  “I can authorize a furlough. Have you got time coming?”

  “I got a whole month coming to me.”

  “I can see that you get it.”

  “I'll take it whenever you can get it for me.”

  “The clerk'll do the paperwork tomorrow, but it might take a few weeks to clear.”

  “I can wait.”

  “I got something else you might want to think about. How'd you like to become an officer?”

  “I don't want the responsibility.”

  “You've got a lot of responsibility already.”

  “I don't like paperwork.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I can't handle it. I fuck everything up.”

  “So do I.”

  “I think I'd rather keep the rank I got.”

  “Okay. Anything you say.” He glanced at a map showing Pat's Nose in detail. “You know that the Japs occupy part of this hill, don't you?”

  “Yep.”

  “We're going up there and taking it back. I'd like the recon platoon to lead the attack in trucks, carrying machine guns like today. I'm having .50-caliber machine guns mounted on the roofs of two trucks right now.”

  “Ground's too steep for trucks.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I already checked the approach with some of my men. No trucks will make it up there, and neither will tanks.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “On the map it looks like it can be done.”

  “It can't be done. The guy who made the map fucked it up.”

  “Okay, no trucks. We'll attack on foot first thing in the morning, then. After an artillery bombardment.”

  Butsko puffed his cigarette thoughtfully. “Why not go up there at night?”

  “At night?”

  “The Japs won't be expecting us and they won't see us. We'll attack quick and hard, toss bangalore torpedoes into their bunkers, and use flamethrowers. We'll know where they are, but they won't know where we are. If we attack at daybreak behind an artillery barrage, they'll be ready for us. I don't think artillery will hurt them anyway, because they're really dug in up there.”

  “When you say we, I take it you mean the recon platoon.”

  “Yes, sir. And there should be two or three companies echeloned behind us to follow up.”

  Colonel Hutchins looked down at his map. “Sounds like it might work. You got it all figured out pretty good. I still think you oughtta become an officer. I could use one like you.”

  “You already got me. What do I have to be an officer for?”

  It was dark and the jeep stopped in front of the recon platoon area. Lieutenant Breckenridge climbed down from the jeep and limped toward his old foxhole. He found Craig Delane sleeping inside it.

  “Get up!” he said to Delane.

  Delane opened his eyes. “Is that you, sir?”

  “Yes. Pitch my tent, because it's going to rain.”

  Delane looked up at the sky; clouds blanketed the stars and moon. He climbed out of the foxhole, and Lieutenant Breckenridge dropped inside. Opening his pack, he took out pencil and paper, then his poncho. He covered his head with the poncho, turned on the flashlight, and scribbled on the paper. It was a letter to Marge. He'd been thinking about her all afternoon at the hospital.

  Dear Marge,

  Here I am with my men again, and everything's going fine. My only regret is that I didn't marry you before I left New York. I won't make that mistake again. Next time I see you, we're getting married—if you'll have me. I know I have a lot of bad qualities, but you're the only girl I've ever loved and I'll always love you. I want you to be my wife. If I survive the war, we'll raise a family. If I don't, I'd rather die as your husband, the big advantage of which is that you'll get my GI insurance.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked up. “Where's Sergeant Butsko?”

  “He's at Regiment, sir.”

  “What's he doing there?”

  “He's with Colonel Hutchins, sir.”

  “How long's he been there?”

  Delane looked at his watch. “About three hours, sir.”

  ‘Tell him I want to see him when he gets back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It was 2200 hours on Bougainville. A heavy downpour pounded the ground, filling foxholes with water, making rivers where none had existed before. Roads were seas of mud, shit flowed out of latrines and into the jungle, and everybody in tents got wet.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge's clothes were soaked but he slept soundly, thanks to the morphine that Gundy had shot him up with. He didn't hear the approach of Butsko's big combat boots, or the sound the tent flap made when Butsko opened it. Butsko grabbed Lieutenant Breckenridge's ankle and shook it.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge opened his eyes. “What is it?”

  “It's Butsko.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge took a deep breath and tried to wake himself up. He rubbed his eyes and groaned. His tent leaked in four plac
es and water dripped onto him. A stream fell on Butsko's helmet and trickled onto his shirt. Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at Butsko's silhouette in the darkness.

  “I wanted to talk with you,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.

  “That's why I'm here.”

  “I forget what I wanted to say.”

  “That's all right, sir. Just lie down and get your rest.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge ruffled his brow and tried to think. “Oh, yes, I remember. I wanted to know if anything important happened while I was in the hospital this afternoon.”

  “We're attacking the Japs on Pat's Nose at oh-one-hundred hours, sir.”

  “Who's we?”

  “The recon platoon, followed by Easy Company and Fox Company.”

  “In the middle of the night?’

  “The Japs won't be able to see us, but we know where they are because they're occupying our old pillboxes on Pat's Nose. They won't expect us at this time of night either.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Right now.”

  “Wait for me!”

  “You'd better stay here, sir.”

  “I'm not staying here.”

  “You've lost a lot of blood today, and—”

  “They gave me a blood transfusion. I'm coming.”

  “Can you walk on your leg?”

  “Sure.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge reached for his combat boots in the dark and put them on, lacing them up. “It makes me mad to think you'd leave without me.”

  “I didn't think you were well enough to travel.”

  “I can travel. Don't worry about me.”

  “You think that leg will take you up to Pat's Nose with us?”

  “If it can't, I'll wait at the bottom of the hill for you to come back.”

  Butsko looked at his watch; the hands glowed in the darkness. “We're forming up in front of my tent, sir. Can you be there in five minutes?”

  “I'll be there.”

  Butsko withdrew from the tent, turned around, and walked through the mud to his own tent. Rain pelted his helmet and shirt, and with every step his combat boots went into the mud up to his ankles. He saw the shape of his tent in the darkness, and the huddled forms of the men in the recon platoon behind it.

  “Squad leaders, over here!” Butsko said.

  Bannon, Longtree, Gomez, and Cameron detached themselves from the group and slogged toward Butsko. Each of them wore a poncho with the hood up and his rifle slung upside down underneath it. Rain dripped from their noses and covered their grim faces.

  “Hold up your ponchos so my map won't get wet.”

  The squad leaders raised their ponchos and held them up with both hands as Butsko unfolded his map.

  “Nutsy!”

  “Yes, Sergeant!”

  “Hold my flashlight underneath here!”

  “Yes, Sergeant!”

  Nutsy ducked under the ponchos and shone the flashlight on the map. Butsko pointed to a network of circles drawn with a pencil. “These are the locations of the pillboxes and foxholes on Pat's Nose. You can see that they're numbered one to twelve. The First Squad will knock out number one, the Second Squad will knock out number two, the Third Squad will knock out number three, and the Fourth Squad will be in reserve. I'll go in with the First Squad. Any questions so far?”

  Bannon spoke: “The Japs'll have guards posted. What'll we do if we run into any?”

  “Knife them before they sound the alarm, and if you can't knife them, shoot them. Just keep moving fast to your objectives. Don't fuck around. Easy Company and Fox Company will follow us, so it won't be as dangerous as it looks. Any questions?”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Explain this stuff to your men. Get ready to move out.”

  The men lowered their ponchos and returned to their squads. Butsko wanted a cigarette, but a light would travel in the dark. “Nutsy, you got any of that snuff with you?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Gimme some.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Nutsy Gafooley took out his tin of snuff and passed it to Butsko, who removed the lid, took a pinch, and dropped it behind his lower lip, Saliva formed and he spit it out. It wasn't as good as a cigarette, but it was tobacco. The squad leaders explained the plan to their men. Gundy prayed silently for the success of the operation. A big hulking form limped toward them.

  “Here I am,” said Lieutenant Breckenridge. “What's the latest?”

  “We're moving out in about five minutes. How's your leg feel?”

  “Not bad at all.”

  The men stood around as rain fell on their ponchos. Only Butsko didn't wear a poncho, because it'd hamper his movements. The rain didn't bother him. If he wore a poncho he'd be wet with sweat, so what was the difference?

  “Everybody ready?” he asked.

  The men nodded or said that they were. Lieutenant Breckenridge saw dots of color in the rain. He was feeling no pain.

  “Let's move it out!” Butsko said. “First Squad, take the point!”

  The men peeled off into a column of twos and trudged into the jungle. Butsko took his position behind the First Squad, and Lieutenant Breckenridge limped a few feet behind Butsko, looking around with his mouth hanging open.

  THIRTEEN . . .

  They arrived at the bottom of Pat's Nose at midnight and sat around beneath the trees, waiting for zero hour. Lightning flashed in jagged lines across the sky, followed by reverberations of thunder. The rain fell heavily, hissing against the leaves of trees, turning everything into mud. Visibility was poor. They'd have difficulty finding the bunkers, but at least the Japs wouldn't be able to see them until it was too late.

  After a while Easy Company showed up, commanded by Captain Rutledge, and then Fox Company came through the mud, led by Captain Ferrara. Butsko conferred with the two officers while Lieutenant Breckenridge listened. It annoyed him that Butsko was running the recon platoon instead of him. Butsko didn't even consult with him. Captain Rutledge and Captain Ferrara kept glancing at him curiously, wondering why he was letting Butsko take charge.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge limped toward Butsko after the meeting was over. “You're embarrassing me,” he said.

  “I am?”

  “You make it look as if I'm your aide or something.”

  “I didn't think you were well enough to run this show.”

  “I'm not.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Maybe I should have stayed behind.”

  “I told you you should.”

  “It's too late now.”

  “Them other officers can see you're in bad shape.”

  “I'm going up that hill.”

  “I don't think you can make it.”

  “Sure I can.”

  “Excuse me. I gotta take care of something. I'll be back in a while.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge watched Butsko walk away and disappear into the darkness and rain. He sat down at the base of a tree, watching the little colored lights dance around. His leg didn't hurt at all. I'm gonna lead my platoon up that hill, he thought. I'll show ‘em how it's done.

  He angled his face upward and let the rain wash it. He felt pretty good.

  Butsko walked up to Private Gundy. “Go give Lieutenant Breckenridge a shot.”

  “I just gave him a shot a little while ago.”

  “Give him another one.”

  “Okay.”

  Gundy lugged his haversack through the darkness and found Lieutenant Breckenridge lying beside a tree, his hands folded on his belly, looking up at the big, wide leaves on the branches of the trees. A raindrop fell on his cheek and he winced.

  “How're you doing, sir?” Gundy asked, kneeling beside him.

  “Not so bad. How're you doing, Gundy.”

  “Okay.” Gundy opened his haversack. ‘Time for another shot, sir.”

  “Another shot? Didn't you just give me one?”

  “That was quite a while ago, sir.”<
br />
  “You're sure about that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don't feel like I need another shot.”

  “You do, sir. Take my word for it.”

  Gundy rolled up Lieutenant Breckenridge's sleeve, exposing the full contour of his biceps muscle. He daubed the muscle with alcohol, then jabbed the needle in it. It wasn't a full shot—just enough to knock Lieutenant Breckenridge out.

  Warm black waves rolled over Lieutenant Breckenridge and he went slack on the ground. He closed his eyes and moaned. Gundy closed his haversack as Lieutenant Breckenridge sank into dreamland. He felt Lieutenant Breckenridge's pulse; it was okay.

  Colonel Hutchins, accompanied by Major Cobb and Lieutenant Harper, strolled toward the gathering of men. The colonel wore a poncho with the hood up, covering his steel helmet, and an extinguished black cigar hung out the corner of his mouth like a turd.

  “Where's Butsko?” he asked the first soldier he saw.

  “Over there,” replied Private Horace Dobson from Tupelo, Mississippi.

  Colonel Hutchins made his way through the soldiers and saw Butsko conferring with some soldiers beside a tree. Butsko pointed up the hill with his left hand and made a fist with his right. Colonel Hutchins walked up to him. “Everything all set, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir. We're just waiting to jump off.”

  “Good luck up there.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Colonel Hutchins shook Butsko's hand and slapped his shoulder. Then he shook the hand of Corporal Bannon who was standing next to Butsko.

  “Good luck, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I want Pat's Nose back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colonel Hutchins walked among the men, shaking hands and wishing them well. They knew this was no ordinary assault, because colonels didn't come out in the rain to shake your hand before ordinary assaults. This was a big one. Butsko looked at his watch; it was fifteen minutes to jump-off time.

  “Okay, let's get ready.”

  The recon platoon got into formation, and behind them companies E and F coalesced into their positions. Butsko checked each of his squads personally and ordered the men to lock and load. They tapped clips into their Thompson submachine guns and slid the bolts forward easily so that they wouldn't make noise. In the First Squad, Shaw and Shilansky carried bangalore torpedoes, and Homer Gladley had the flamethrower strapped to his back.