Go Down Fighting

by Len Levinson

  “Hey!” Butsko said. “Anybody working in this office here!”

  A WAC with tired eyes stood behind her desk and walked toward him. She was a brunette and her big tits reminded him of Dolly.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked.

  “I wanna look at my records.”

  “Name and rank?”

  Butsko told her, and she wrote the information on a piece of paper.

  “Be right back,” she said, walking away, her ass swaying from side to side.

  “Shake it but don’t break it,” Butsko said. “Wrap it up and I’ll take it.”

  The WAC didn’t acknowledge hearing what he said. She walked into the next room and Butsko turned to Lieutenant Norton.

  “I hope they’re in here,” he said.

  “You hope what’s in here?”

  “My fucking records.”

  “Where else would they be?”

  “How in the fuck am I supposed to know?”

  Lieutenant Norton looked into Butsko’s eyes. “Listen,” he said, “I keep telling you to cut out the filthy language when you’re in public. It looks bad.”

  “I know, I know,” Butsko replied. “I’m supposed to be a hero and I’m not supposed to act like a scumbag anymore.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well I can’t help myself. Once a scumbag, always a scumbag. You know how it is.”

  “No, I don’t know how it is. People can change, and you’d better shape up.”

  “Oh yeah,” replied Butsko, glaring at Lieutenant Norton.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass one of these days,” Butsko said.

  “The hell you will, and I just told you to watch your language, soldier.”

  “Yes sir,” Butsko said without conviction.

  “Lemme tell you something,” Lieutenant Norton said. “We’re getting tired of your baloney. If you keep it up we’re gonna ship you back to the front, and you can forget about that medal. You’re getting to be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “Yes sir,” Butsko said.

  Butsko and Lieutenant Norton glowered at each other, then looked in other directions. Butsko saw a butt can on the counter and took out a package of cigarettes, lighting one up. He and Lieutenant Norton hadn’t been getting along very well ever since Lieutenant Norton had been assigned to keep an eye on him. I'll probably have to punch this son of a bitch out before long, Butsko thought, but whenever he got ready to do it, he saw the ribbon on Lieutenant Norton’s shirt and couldn’t bring himself to follow through. Lieutenant Norton was a combat soldier just as Butsko was. They’d both done enough fighting.

  The WAC returned with a brown cardboard folder. “Here they are,” she said. “Are you gonna look at them here, or are you gonna take them someplace?”

  “I’m gonna look at them here,” Butsko said.

  She walked away. Butsko looked at her ass and it reminded him of Dolly because Dolly had a big wide ass like that. The only place where Butsko and Dolly ever got along was in the sack. She always told him he was the best lover she’d ever had, although that never stopped her from screwing other guys. One night he beat the shit out of her and they’d thrown him in the stockade. When he got out he put in for a transfer to the Philippines. The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor a few weeks after he arrived in Manila, and he hadn’t seen Dolly again until approximately a year ago, when he beat the piss out of her then-current boyfriend and put him in the hospital.

  Butsko opened his folder and searched for his pay records. He saw notations of his various courts-martial and demotions, plus his promotions. He saw the list of decorations he’d won already and the commendation he’d received after escaping from a Japanese POW camp in northern Luzon, following the Bataan Death March. He saw the date of his enlistment, the twentieth of May in 1935, and he saw the roster of posts on which he’d served.

  Finally he found his financial records. He glanced through them rapidly, with mounting excitement, and then, flicking a page, he saw his pay records, and the addresses where the allotment checks had been mailed.

  The address of the bungalow in Honolulu had been crossed out, and the new address was in Santa Monica, California. Butsko took out his notepad and wrote it down. What’s the bitch doing in Santa Monica? he wondered. She’s probably got a new boyfriend who lives there.

  “I got what I was looking for,” Butsko said.

  “Good deal,” replied Lieutenant Norton.

  Butsko held his records up. “Hey you!”

  The WAC looked up at him. “Are you calling me?”

  “Yeah. I’m finished with my records. I’m gonna leave ‘em right here. Take care of them.”

  “I’ll put them away right now,” she said, standing behind her desk.

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  The WAC took the records from his hand and walked away. Butsko looked at her ass again.

  “I shoulda got her name,” Butsko said.

  “What for?” Norton asked.

  “I’d like to take her out for a drink and maybe put it to her in some dark corner someplace.”

  “Forget about it. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

  “You mean I can’t even get laid without you?”

  “You can get laid without me after you get your decoration.”

  “How long’s that gonna be?”

  “A few more weeks.”

  “I gotta go a few more weeks without pussy?”

  “Unless you don’t mind me being there.”

  “Shit,” Butsko said. “To hell with that.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Norton said.

  The lieutenant and the sergeant walked out of the office and strolled down the corridor, rolling their massive shoulders, and everybody got out of their way.

  General Hall’s headquarters was a conglomeration of Quonset huts built by the Corps of Engineers near the Tadji airstrips. General Hawkins climbed the steps to the hut where General Hall’s office was located, and stepped inside.

  A circular fan on the ceiling moved the humid air around, and Master Sergeant Seymour Bunberry, the Persecution Task Force’s sergeant major, sat behind the front desk. Sergeant Bunberry was built on the porky side, wore glasses, and puffed a curved Sherlock Holmes–styled pipe.

  “General Hall wants to see me,” General Hawkins said.

  “Have a seat, General.”

  General Hawkins sat on a folding wooden chair nearby, wondering what General Hall wanted to see him about. It had been a few days since they’d talked last, and there’d been little Japanese activity on the southern flank of the American lines. General Hawkins had been told previously by one of General Hall’s aides that a major offensive was being planned to clear out the remaining Japs on the east side of the Driniumor River. General Hawkins surmised that his division might have to play a part in the operation.

  He looked up and watched other officers come and go. He nodded to them and they nodded back at him. They all knew each other well, sometimes too well.

  General Hawkins glanced at his watch. It was 1500 hours on the button, the time of his appointment, and yet he had to wait. Officers had to wait to see him at his headquarters, and now he had to wait at General Hall’s headquarters. No matter how high up you were in the Army, there was always somebody higher. Sitting on top of them all was the President of the United States, and he had to go to Congress or directly to the people when he wanted to get something done. Even the President had to eat shit once in a while.

  Finally Sergeant Bunberry called his name. “You can go in now,” he said.

  General Hawkins stood and walked through the maze of canvas-lined corridors until he came to General Hall’s office. He went inside and reported, saluting and standing at attention.

  “Have a seat, Clyde,” General Hall said.

  “Thank you sir.”

  General Hall had been reading documents, and laid a handful on his desk. He had salt-and-pepper gray hair shorn short and a
salt-and-pepper mustache. His face was tanned and rugged, and he looked like a tough guy who didn’t take any shit from anybody.

  “Hear the news about Tojo?” General Hall asked.

  “No sir.”

  “He resigned two days ago. I just found out about it this morning.”

  General Hall was shocked. General Hideki Tojo had been prime minister of Japan since 1940, heading a government that was essentially a military dictatorship, with Emperor Hirohito as the figurehead. Tojo had always been The Enemy to General Hawkins. It was hard to believe that he would suddenly resign.

  “I wonder why he left office,” General Hawkins said.

  “He’s losing the war, why else? Results are all that matter in war, isn’t that so?”

  “Who’s in charge now?”

  “General Koiso and Admiral Yonai. They’re sharing power for the time being.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “Neither did I until this morning. Koiso was governor general of Korea, and he’s a past commander of the Kwangtung Army. Admiral Yonai was the Naval Minister and he served on the Jap Supreme War Council.”

  “Do you think the Japs are ready to give up?”

  “Not according to a speech Yonai made after accepting office. He said he was going to carry forward the policies of the Tojo administration.”

  “Damn,” said General Hawkins. “I wish something’d happen to ease our situation here.”

  “The only thing that’ll ease our situation here is if we beat the Nazis in Europe, and that’s a long way off. When we beat the Nazis we’ll get more men and equipment here, and that’s all we need. Anyway, let’s get down to the reason I asked you to come here. Patrols have reported Jap troop movements toward your area. The Japs might be massing for another attack, so stay on your toes. You might want to set ambushes on the main trails to discourage the bastards, understand?”

  “Yes sir. Could you tell me how many Japs are involved in the shift?”

  “Maybe a few hundred, possibly up to a thousand, but I don’t think the Japs can field more men than that in any concerted operation. They’ve taken a beating here during the past few weeks.”

  “So have we.”

  “Not as much as them. I’d like you to prepare for an attack as soon as you leave here, and formulate plans to interdict those Jap troop movements. The official order will come to you in writing later today, but I thought I’d tell you myself to get you started, and there’s something else I’d like to speak with you about too.” General Hall leaned back in his chair. “You may smoke if you like.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  General Hall took out a Pall Mall and stuck it between his lips. General Hawkins stuffed an Old Gold into his ivory cigarette holder. Both men lit up. The office filled with blue clouds of tobacco smoke.

  “I understand,” said General Hall, “that you’re going to relieve one of your regimental commanders.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” General Hawkins replied, although he knew very well what General Hall was talking about. Oh oh, here it comes, General Hawkins thought.

  General Hall shuffled some papers on his desk and raised one of them. “His name’s Hutchins,” General Hall said, “and he’s an alcoholic, according to the doctor’s report. Do you mean to say you haven’t received this report? It’s addressed to you with copies to me and various other headquarters.”

  “Oh that report,” General Hawkins said. “Yes, I received it of course.”

  “When are you going to relieve him of command?”

  “I’m not going to relieve him of command.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s the best regimental commander I’ve got.”

  “But he’s a drunk!”

  “Not anymore. He’s stopped drinking and smoking. The man has a will of steel, and he’s a great frontline commander who’s tested and proven, as far as I’m concerned. You don’t throw men like that away just because they have a little drinking problem.”

  “Little drinking problem?” General Hall asked. “The doctor says he’s an alcoholic.”

  “Officers like Colonel Hutchins will win this war, not doctors like the one who wrote that report.”

  General Hall looked at the piece of paper in front of him. “The doctor’s name is Epstein, Captain Epstein. Do you know him?”

  “Of course I know him. He’s in charge of my division medical headquarters.”

  “Is he a qualified physician?”

  “I assume he is.”

  “Then he must know what he’s talking about.”

  “But he doesn’t know anything about war. That’s my department, and I’ve decided to leave Colonel Hutchins in charge of the regiment that he’s led successfully for so long. The only reason he wound up in the hospital was because he directed the spearhead of my dawn attack a few days ago in person on foot, and he’s a little too old for that. If he led his attacks the way you lead yours, he would’ve never gone to the hospital and everything’d be all right.”

  “But he’s a drunk.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The man gave me his word, and that’s enough for me.”

  General Hall snorted. “How can you accept the word of an alcoholic?”

  “I trust this man. He’s a fine frontline commander, and besides, who am I supposed to replace him with?”

  “That’s what I wanted to speak with you about,” General Hall said calmly. “I was going to recommend Colonel MacKenzie, my intelligence officer. He’s a brilliant officer and he needs some time commanding troops if he wants to get his star.”

  General Hawkins puffed his cigarette. He was starting to get the picture. Colonel MacKenzie was one of General Hall’s protégés, and General Hall wanted to help him get ahead.

  “My division isn’t a training ground for staff officers who want to get stars,” General Hawkins said. “We’re face-to-face with the enemy out there and I need every experienced frontline commander that I can get.”

  “Even if they’re drunks?”

  “I told you he doesn’t drink anymore, but even when he did he was better in tough situations than most officers who don’t drink.”

  General Hall wrinkled his forehead. “Do you drink?” he asked.

  “What kind of question is that, sir?”

  “Answer it.”

  “I drink socially, and that’s all.”

  “Ever been drunk?”

  “Who hasn’t ever been drunk?”

  “Ever get drunk with Colonel Hutchins?”

  “Once.”

  “You don’t have a drinking problem, do you Clyde?”

  “No sir.”

  “That’s good, because I wouldn’t want any of my frontline commanders to have drinking problems. Frankly, I’m surprised that you’d tolerate such a situation yourself. Don’t you think the men deserve sober leaders?”

  “Colonel Hutchins leads a crack regiment,” General Hawkins said. “His men love him and would follow him anywhere. Colonel Hutchins is the one who should be getting a star.”

  “Even though he’s a drunk?”

  “Results are what counts in war. You just said so yourself.”

  “I could relieve him of command over your head, you know.”

  “If you do, I’ll resign.”

  General Hall leaned back in his chair. He knew General Hawkins had friends in high places. General Hawkins was the son of a general and grandson of a general. If General Hawkins resigned, there’d be a big stink. The time had come to back off.

  “Very well, Clyde,” General Hall said. “I’ll rely on your judgment in this matter, but if I ever find out that Colonel Hutchins is fucking up, his ass will be grass and I’ll have the lawnmower.”

  “That’ll never happen,” General Hawkins said.

  “You certainly have a lot of faith in this alcoholic colonel.”

  “Yes sir
, I do,” General Hawkins replied.

  Major General Shunsake Yokozowa rocked from side to side on the stretcher as he was carried along the trail. He raised his head feebly and saw the jungle dancing below. Two of his aides carried him up the side of one of the mountains in the Torricelli chain. His intention was to commit ritual hara-kiri on a plateau near the summit.

  General Yokozowa was weak from fever and loss of blood. He suffered intense pain in his stomach where he’d been shot. Medics had removed the bullet and sewn him up, without the benefit of morphine. General Yokozowa was nearly insane from the terrible throbbing pain. He couldn’t wait to kill himself and get it over with once and for all.

  His aides carried him higher up the mountain. The trail wasn’t too steep, and that’s why General Yokozowa had selected this particular area. He didn’t want to kill himself in a smelly tent in a gloomy section of the jungle. He wanted to die in the sunshine and fresh air, with a decent view of the heavens before him.

  The sun was bright, and sweat plastered General Yokozowa’s clothes to his body. The pain in his gut was almost unbearable. Sometimes it increased and caused him to pass out for a few moments. His aides grunted as they carried him along, aware that they were participating in a solemn ceremony. It was their duty to make sure General Yokozowa’s suicide went smoothly.

  Finally they came to the small plateau not far from a cave where General Yokozowa had once maintained a headquarters. They lay the stretcher on the ground and took off their packs. Lieutenant Higashi bent over General Yokozowa.

  “Are you all right sir?”

  “A bit of water, please?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Lieutenant Higashi took out his canteen and held it to General Yokozowa’s trembling lips. General Yokozowa sucked the mouth of the canteen as if he were a baby sucking a bottle. Nearby, Lieutenant Gedo spread out the tatami mat upon which General Yokozowa would sit. He laid down a length of red silk in front of the mat, and on the silk he placed the ritual hara-kiri knife in its sheath.

  Lieutenant Higashi gazed compassionately at his commander. General Yokozowa was pale and gaunt, appearing to be ninety years old. Deep lines of suffering were etched into his face. His lips were pressed together resolutely, so that he wouldn’t cry out in pain.