Shrouded Glory: A WWII NOVEL

by Chris Glatte

  The sounds of battle coming from Holz Bay grew louder and closer by the hour. After a robust exchange of fire from the valley, Hunter said, “Those boys down there sound close. Just a matter of time before they sweep the Nips out of the valley.”

  Hammond scowled, “I sure the hell hope so. Sick of being cooped up in this damned valley.”

  “Bet they got truckloads of food and ammo too.”

  “I could go for a solid sleeping bag,” muttered Hammond.

  Hunter looked at him sideways, “First I’ve heard you complain about being cold.”

  Hammond looked offended, “I wasn’t complaining…just be nice on some of the colder nights.”

  Gentry was in the next hole over. He chimed in, “Think Willoughby’ll have us push or wait it out?”

  Corporal Minks poked his head up. He’d stayed with the squad after the mission to find the Japanese lines, hoping to use his sharpshooter skills, but the fog foiled his efforts so far. “We should push. Whole point of being out here’s to distract the Nips from the main thrust down there. Sitting on our hands just keeps us cold and weak.”

  Hunter exchanged annoyed glances with Hammond and Gentry. PFC Nunes, who shared his hole with Minks, piped up, “Shaddup, Minks. Nobody asked you. What the hell you still doing out here anyhow?”

  Minks’s voice was even and unperturbed. “Your squad’s the furthest forward. Gives me the best chance for shooting.”

  Nunes kept his voice raised so the others could hear, “You’ll just draw their fire.” Minks didn’t respond but climbed out of the hole and stretched as though he were back home at a local gym. “Dammit, Minks. Get down. Fog clears and the Japs’ll punch your ticket.”

  Minks leaned down and grabbed his rifle. Without a word, he trotted down the hill toward the CP. Nunes stood in his hole and watched him until the fog swallowed him up. “He’s one crazy son of a bitch. He stroked that rifle all night. Think he’s got a sexual relationship going on with it.”

  The GIs guffawed and gave low hoots and whistles. Hammond jibed Lance. “I think he named it Dolly.” Everyone laughed and Lance shook his head slowly and patted his front pocket.

  Hunter said, “That guy makes me nervous.”

  Hammond shook his head, “Who? Minks?” Hunter nodded and Hammond continued, “He’s alright. I’ve known him awhile. He’s a damned fine shot with that Springfield. Put up record scores on the range.”

  “Where you think he’s off to?”

  “Probably asking Willoughby to release him to go hunting.”

  Hunter adjusted his helmet and pulled his scarf tighter. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Captain Willoughby read the note from Lieutenant Ramsey dug in on the north ridge. Ramsey had been in radio contact with elements of the 32nd Infantry driving along the shores of Holz Bay.

  Their radios had been hit and miss since leaving the Narwahl days before, but usually worked if they had a line of sight. The 32nd was close enough now that they could finally communicate. Willoughby’s radios were useless in the confines of the canyon, so he relied on messengers to pass radio traffic.

  His situation was desperate. They hadn’t been resupplied in two days and their rations were down to dangerous levels despite the men being on half rations. More and more men were succumbing to trench foot and frostbite and his makeshift field hospital was getting crowded. The medics weren’t able to do much with their limited supplies, except provide warmth and encouraging words.

  After a thorough ammo and food count, he’d come to the uncomfortable conclusion that if he wasn’t resupplied soon, he’d have to move his men overland to the landing beaches at Holz Bay. It would require a monumental effort which his men could have easily achieved a week ago, but in their current weakened state, might kill half of them.

  The message was encouraging. The 32nd was making good headway toward their position. They estimated they’d be at the mouth of the canyon by the next morning. The last part of the message was concerning; they were asking if they could put pressure on the enemy artillery, which was holding up their progress.

  Willoughby didn’t know if that was possible. Two days ago—absolutely, but now…? They were supposed to have linked up days before, but even before the operation, he’d had his doubts about the optimistic timeline. The resupply was crucial and, so far, had been wholly ineffectual. He looked at the dripping wet ceiling of the carved-out cave. Could he ask his men for one more effort?

  He wrote his response on the back of the piece of paper and handed it back to the runner, a lanky kid from some town he’d never heard of in Northern California. “Take this back to Lieutenant Ramsey.” The young private took it, snapped off a quick salute and took off. “Hank,” Willoughby hollered.

  A dirty lieutenant poked his head past the torn poncho which served as a door, “Yes, sir?”

  “Get the Platoon leaders that aren’t on the ridges gathered.” The Lieutenant nodded but hesitated. Willoughby’s voice softened, “We’re gonna push this evening.”

  Hunter wasn’t happy to see Corporal Minks returning to their squad, and he especially didn’t like what he had to say. “I overheard Willoughby briefing the platoon leaders. We’re pushing this evening.” He grinned like it was the best news he’d ever heard. Hunter was shocked even more when he’d pointed directly at him, and said, “They have assigned you and Team One to me. We’re going hunting.”

  Hunter didn’t believe him at first, but Sergeant Mavis confirmed it. “I’m staying with the squad. Corporal Minks is in command of Team One for this push. Your mission is to get Minks and his rifle close enough to their artillery to wreak some havoc. The Nips’s artillery is wreaking havoc of their own on the thirty-second. You’ll leave as soon as possible. Our push down the canyon will help cover your advance behind their lines.” He looked each of them in the eye, “This little shindig is gonna come to an end one way or another over the next twenty-four hours. Once you’re in position, do your job, then hold and wait for the calvary to show up.”

  Mavis and Team Two left them on the wind-scoured ridge. They looked at them as though they were already dead. When the six GIs were alone with their pseudo-team leader, all eyes turned his way.

  Corporal Minks grinned, “I know this isn’t what any of you wanted, but you can trust me. I’m not interested in dying any more than the next man.” He adjusted his slung sniper rifle and continued, “I want Hunter on point.” He pointed southwest. “Take us over those hills and down the other side. We’ll avoid their lines that way and get behind ‘em. Once we’re past ‘em, we’ll know more.”

  Hunter gulped against a dry throat. “We’ll be exposed once we’re on the slope.”

  Minks reached down to a duffel bag at his feet. “Almost forgot. Put these on.” He pulled out white smocks, painted with splotches of black and gray. “These’ll help. I’ve gotten damned close to them using these.” The GIs slipped them over their heads and pulled their filthy, wet sleeves through them. “We’ll use the fog and whatever else Mother Nature provides us.”

  Hunter slipped the winter camouflage smock on and admired the rest of the team. They blended perfectly with their surroundings and he wondered why they hadn’t handed them out to everyone. He let it go and asked instead, “How we gonna find their artillery? I mean, they don’t just put that stuff out in the open.”

  Minks touched his ear, “Just have to let our ears guide us.” Hunter didn’t like that answer, but it was as much as he was going to get. “Let’s move out.”

  Hunter cinched up his pack. He’d filled it with the remains of his food and wrapped it in his poncho. His ammunition was spread out on his belt and various pockets. The smock covered his belt and ammo, but it was loose enough that it wouldn’t hinder his access too much. He had ten magazines for his carbine and two grenades on his harness. That was the last of it, and he hoped he wouldn’t need any of it, but doubted he’d get that lucky.

  Hunter moved quickly at first, taking advantage of the fog lingering a
long the top of the ridge. He stayed along the ridge as long as possible. Every step took them further away from the canyon and the known Japanese lines, but toward the unknown. The 7th Recon was somewhere out here, but they had heard nothing from them in days.

  Hunter finally ran out of ridgeline and was forced to move downslope. With each step, the fog thinned. He hunched and looked back toward Corporal Minks, hanging in the middle of the team. Minks motioned him forward with a slight nod.

  Hunter continued down the snowy slope, making sure of each step. Soon he was out of the fog completely. The valley spread out below him and it surprised him how far from Holz Bay they’d come. The distant booms and rumbles rose from the east. More booms from the west reminded him of their goal. The Japanese artillery was somewhere up that valley, firing onto the 32nd Infantry troops.

  A creek wound its way through the bottom of the valley. There were no trees to speak of, but it reminded him of countless creeks he’d fished in Montana. He wondered if there were fat trout for the taking. The thought made his stomach growl. He’d eat a hundred of them right now.

  He startled when Hammond touched his shoulder and asked, “See something?”

  Hunter had been so engrossed; he didn’t realize he’d stopped. He shook his head, “Just trying to get the lay of the land.” He looked up-slope, seeing the rest of the team watching in every direction. If he didn’t know they were there, he would’ve been hard-pressed to see them. Their camouflage smocks fit in perfectly with the dirty-snow background.

  The booming of artillery up the valley was more distinct now that they were out of the fog. He watched for the telltale puffs of smoke and muzzle flashes, but there was nothing. The sounds of battle from the direction they’d come rose in intensity. Hammond whispered, “Scout Company’s pushing.”

  Hunter glanced back that way, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see anything. A hollow pit opened up in his belly, unrelated to his hunger. “I hate that we’re not with ‘em.”

  Minks slithered his way forward, hearing the tail-end of their conversation. “What’s the holdup?”

  Hunter looked out over the valley, “just trying to pinpoint the artillery. Sounds like it might be beyond that hill. Maybe on the other side of it near the creek-bed.”

  Minks listened and watched. Another salvo from the southwest. He nodded. “I agree. We’ll have to get down this slope then cross that valley to the low hills beyond.” He sat and propped his rifle on his knee and glassed the area slowly through his scope. “I don’t see any Japs, but you know how they are. Could be hiding anywhere.”

  Hunter nodded and continued his slow move downslope. He found a cut in the hill caused from spring runoff and stepped off the snow and into the small depression. It deepened every few feet and the volume of water increased as it shuttled more and more water from the high ground toward the sea. Soon the sheer canyon walls were ten feet on either side. They were well hidden and could move much quicker.

  The little canyon widened as the terrain flattened and the water coursed crazily from the center, following the paths of least resistance. He’d stopped trying to keep his feet dry. It was impossible not to step into the flowing water or the many pools surrounded by mud and loamy sand.

  The last time he’d had his boots off, he saw the early signs of trench foot. They looked withered and had a grayish tint. If he’d been back on Adak Island, he would’ve reported the finding and had it treated before it got worse, but out here—he knew he was better off than most.

  He stopped at the end of the canyon and looked out over the valley. The snowline was above them about 200 yards. The valley looked like a garden of Eden compared to the ridgeline they’d been guarding for the past three days. The meandering creek coursing through the valley was more difficult to see from this low angle, but he thought he saw the far edge of it in the distance.

  The rest of the team piled in around him. Minks touched his shoulder. “Good job finding that cut. Now we gotta figure a way across this valley.” The tall peaks beyond the valley looked identical to the mountain they’d just come from; fog enshrouded and snowcapped. They knew the Japanese were up there somewhere, they’d seen them firing on 2nd Platoon plenty of times. “We should take these off. Our uniforms blend in better down here.”

  They took off the smocks and stowed them in their packs. It was only a thin layer of fabric, but Hunter loathed taking it off. The long, arduous walk had kept him warm but once he stopped, the cold would set in again. He was off the ridge and out of the snow, but even down here, the wind still had an icy bite.

  Minks pointed to the low hill a half mile away. “Take us there. I’d like to get there before dark, so…”

  Hunter wanted to tell him to stow it, but he nodded and moved from the protection of the little canyon and into the open. The tundra grasses were mostly knocked flat from the wind. He found thicker sections which rose to his knees and used them to his advantage. The booming of the artillery got louder the closer they got to the hill.

  Return fire came ripping from Holz Bay and slammed into the mountainside across the valley. Huge chunks of tundra and snow lifted into the sky and the sound of the explosions reverberated off the mountain walls as though they were inside an echo chamber. He hadn’t considered the prospect of counter-battery fire from friendly troops. He hunkered and looked worriedly at Hammond. Beyond him, he could see other teammates glancing nervously side to side. Minks scowled and motioned him to keep going. Hunter shook his head, took a deep breath, and moved toward the carnage.

  The enemy artillery and the friendly artillery were dueling. Some friendly fire exploded beyond the hillock they were moving toward, well out of sight, but most splashed halfway up the mountain. It was an impressive display, but from what he could see, they were wasting ammo. The mountainside looked deserted.

  He finally made it to the base of the hill and stopped. Hammond sidled up beside him and whispered, “Good job.” Hunter nodded back. Another salvo of friendly fire rocked the distant mountainside. “Navy’s doing a bang-up job killing grass.”

  “Navy?”

  Hammond nodded, “Those are 5-inchers from a destroyer or more likely a cruiser. That’s why they’re missing so bad.” Hunter looked confused and Hammond explained, “Cause they’re not Army…” He lifted his hand as though to smack the side of his head, “Stupid.”

  Hunter grinned and nodded. Minks and the rest of the team joined them. The fading booms from the navy guns wafted on the wind. Much closer booms of outgoing enemy artillery filled the air. Minks shifted and licked his lips as though he couldn’t wait to get into the action. “There might be an outpost or even artillery spotters up there, so go slow and easy.”

  Hunter stared at him, “What if there are?”

  Minks shrugged, “We’ll avoid them if at all possible. We don’t wanna tip off our position or we’re cooked. Move out.”

  Hunter gave Hammond a quick glance and he shrugged back. Hunter turned up the hill. It wasn’t as steep as the mountainsides they’d been going up and down all week, nor was it snow-covered, but he felt his breath coming in labored gasps.

  He pulled the wool glove off his right hand and stuffed it into his pocket. If he had to fire quickly, he wanted his trigger finger ready. When he was halfway up, he crouched and listened. If there were spotters up there, perhaps he’d hear them talking on a radio, calling in adjustments. He only heard the wind. He rose and moved forward a few yards.

  It was difficult to be certain, but he thought the top of the hill was only twenty feet in front of him. He lowered himself onto his belly and looked behind him. He got Hammond’s attention and signaled that he should stay put while he reconnoitered the top.

  Hammond nodded, passed the signal back, and Hunter crawled forward inch by agonizing inch. It seemed to take forever, but he finally crested the hill, stopped, and listened. A salvo of enemy fire erupted. It was much louder than he expected now that the barrier of the hill was gone, and he felt a tingle of fear.

&n
bsp; He was about to move forward to get a better view when he heard the one thing he hoped he wouldn’t hear—voices. The wind was blowing from right to left and the voices came from the left. They were very close. He moved his head at a glacial pace until he could rest his right cheek on the wet grass.

  Through the whipping, bending blades of tundra grass, he saw movement. He thought his heart would burst out of his mouth. A Japanese officer was yards away, his back to him, standing tall with binoculars pointed toward the sea. If he turned, he couldn’t help but see him. He was talking to another soldier to his right, hunched over a radio set. He could see the headphones over his ears.

  Hunter stayed frozen in place. The wind would carry any noise he made directly to them. He prayed the others didn’t blunder their way forward. He cradled his carbine in his arms in front of his face. If they heard him, he thought he’d have time to shoot at least one of them.

  The artillery boomed and he took advantage of the noise. He scooted backwards as fast as he could. As the booms faded, he slowed and stopped. The wind shifted and he could hear the officer speaking and the radio operator sending the corrections.

  He pushed himself further backwards. If they were talking, they wouldn’t hear him. When there was only the wind whistling through the grass, he froze again.

  It took ten minutes and two more salvos to get himself off the hillside. Hammond was as relieved to see him as Hunter was to be off the hill. Hammond’s face lit up and he was about to speak, but clammed up, seeing the fear in Hunter’s eyes and his finger placed emphatically over his lips.

  Hunter pointed and mouthed the word, ‘Japs.’

  11

  Hunter maneuvered Team One around the officer and his radioman. It took another hour before they were finally in a satisfactory position. They were 75 yards back from the spotters and within 150 yards of the Japanese artillery battery. Just as they’d suspected, the big guns were tucked along the edge of the hill. There were two lines of five guns. Low concrete walls protected them from the front and sides, but their backs were exposed. The front line would fire simultaneously and a few minutes later the back line would fire. Harassing friendly counter-battery fire continued, but their shots continued to be off the mark. Hunter hoped it stayed that way or their own troops might pulverize them.