Shrouded Glory: A WWII NOVEL

by Chris Glatte

  Hunter lay beside Minks. They’d tucked themselves into a small band of rocks and boulders. Minks had his rifle propped between two rocks and was scanning multiple targets through his scope.

  Hunter leaned in close to his ear and said, “They’ll hear the shot.”

  Without taking his eye from the scope, Minks answered, “You need to tell me when they’re about to fire.” He handed him a set of binoculars. “Take a look…see the officers and NCOs? They raise their hands, then drop them to signal fire. Their guns will drown mine out.”

  Hunter gulped and nodded. “Okay. How long you think before they know something’s up?”

  Minks shrugged, “I’m gonna take out as many officers as possible. If we’re careful, they won’t know where the shots are coming from, but eventually they’ll sweep this ridge…it’s an obvious vantage point. Leaving those spotters alive might give us more time. They won’t suspect anyone’s up here since their guys are still responding.”

  Hunter put the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the area. Neat stacks of ammunition leaned against the concrete walls. Japanese soldiers worked seamlessly bringing the shells to the loaders, while the trigger man held a lanyard of sorts. The officer held up a baton and watched the other batteries until they were all ready to fire, then the batons came down. A second later the guns boomed, and sound rolled over their position.

  Hunter was nervous. He asked, “What about shooting the ammo? That’d destroy all of them at once.”

  Minks kept his eye on the scope. “Doesn’t work like that. A Willy Pete grenade might do it, but my bullet won’t.” He took his eye from the scope and looked at Hunter. “Look, if we time this right, we’ll be okay. The rest of the team can watch for Japs. We’ll leave before they get too close.” Hammond was on the other side of Minks. He lifted his head and gave Hunter a reassuring nod. Minks put his eye back to the scope. He took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “I’ve got my target. You tell me when to fire.”

  Hunter nodded. “Okay.” He put the binoculars to his eyes and focused on the rear battery. The guns were loaded, and he watched the officer raise his baton, hesitate, then swing it down emphatically. Hunter waited an instant then said, “Fire.”

  Mink’s rifle crack was loud, but it mixed perfectly with the booming artillery. Minks smoothly worked the bolt and was ready to fire before his target was on the ground.

  It was the same officer Hunter had been watching. “He’s down…headshot.” There was no reaction from the soldiers. The officer’s slumped body was behind the loaders and gunners. They continued their process without a second glance.

  Hunter shifted his focus to the front batteries. The nearest officer raised his baton and slammed it down.

  “Fire.”

  Minks fired, and an officer in the back row toppled over as though he’d tripped. Hunter saw it from the corner of his view and adjusted slightly. The body convulsed and he could see a fountain of blood covering his head. “He’s down,” he murmured.

  The scene changed. The loading process continued, but the back row of officers noticed two of their comrades weren’t up and ready. There was a noticeable delay. Hunter had his sights on the next officer in line. He held up his baton but hesitated as he looked for his comrades. Finally, he looked forward again and dropped the baton. “Fire,” Hunter hissed.

  Minks fired in perfect unison with the other batteries and Hunter saw the officer’s head snap sideways and a red mist mixed with the thin layer of fog. The nearest two guns hadn’t fired, and the soldiers were scrambling toward their fallen officers. “He’s down, but they know something’s up.”

  Minks’s voice was thick and emotionless, “I see it. Keep it up.”

  Hunter focused on another officer in the front row. They were still oblivious. Long seconds passed and finally the officer raised his baton and thrust it down. “Fire.” Hunter scanned the line and finally found Minks’s target. He could just see the officer’s legs; the concrete wall hid the rest of his body.

  None of the rear batteries were reloading. Instead, they were scrambling to their officers and reaching for their rifles. He saw men’s mouths contort as they yelled, but their voices were lost on the wind. They aimed their rifles in every direction. The front-line battery caught on and reloading and firing halted as men sought cover.

  “What now?” Hunter asked.

  Minks reloaded and answered. “We sit tight and see what happens.” Hunter didn’t like that answer. He wanted to get the hell outta there. Minks sensed his angst and explained, “They’re on high alert. We try to leave cover, they’ll spot us for sure.”

  PFC Hammond whispered, “They’ll sweep this entire area soon. We need to leave.”

  Corporal Minks’s voice was deep and full of menace, “This ain’t a fucking democracy. We don’t leave till I say so.” No one responded.

  Minks kept scanning through his scope and Hunter through the binoculars. Hunter stated, “Kicked a hornet’s nest.” The enemy soldiers were searching in every direction, but Hunter thought they were more focused on their hill than anywhere else.

  Gentry, behind them a few yards and facing the spotter and his radioman, whispered. “The spotter’s up and waving his arms.”

  Hunter couldn’t see past the line of rocks he lay behind. Minks asked, “They coming this way?”

  Gentry shook his head, “Nah. Looks like he’s wondering why they stopped firing.” A few seconds passed and he added, “He’s on the radio now.”

  The wind whipped through the rocks and boulders and made a ghostly, lonely sound. Hunter noticed soldiers being organized near the guns. They left their cover and fanned out in all directions. “They’re coming this way,” he seethed.

  Minks’s voice remained calm. “Steady. They’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  Minutes passed and the only sound was the wind and distant Japanese voices. Gentry’s low voice, “Spotter and four others are up and coming this way.”

  Minks nodded, “Four? Must be his security detail.”

  Gentry added, “They’re spreading out. Three going downhill toward the front slope. The officer and another soldier are staying on top, coming our way.”

  Hunter pulled his eyes from the binoculars and stared at Minks, still peering through his scope. Minks finally pulled his eye from the scope and returned his intense gaze. He looked at the rest of the team who were waiting anxiously for orders. He took another quick glance at the artillery battery in the valley below. Soldiers were moving cautiously, but the men who’d been moving their way were now diverted. He whispered, “The threat’s the spotter group. Looks like the others are sweeping behind and aren’t coming this way.” He looked at Gentry, “You’re sure there’s only five of ‘em? What about the radio man?”

  Gentry nodded, “He’s still at the radio. Six total, including him.”

  Minks closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them and Hunter noticed how piercingly hard they were. “We gotta take them out then get our asses back across the valley. It’ll take a while for the others to crest the hill and get a bead on us.” He adjusted his position, bringing his rifle barrel to bear toward the advancing artillery spotter. “I’ll take out the officer. When I shoot, you guys concentrate on the others. Just a few shots, then we leave together.”

  Hunter readjusted and tucked the binoculars into a coat pocket. He moved to the side of a rock and sighted down his carbine. Fear rose from his gut, but he concentrated on his breathing and swallowed the acidic bile climbing up his throat.

  The GIs were still as stone. The wind whipped over their backs, bending the dead tundra grass toward the advancing enemy. Hunter could see the officer and the member of his security detail advancing slow and steady. The officer held a pistol, aimed toward the sky, and the soldier swept an Arisaka rifle side to side. They were fifty yards away and closing fast. They’d walk right over their position. There was no way they wouldn’t see them.

  Hunter thought it would be better to kill them quietly wit
h knives, but shunned the idea, hoping Minks didn’t get the same notion. The last thing he wanted to do was kill a man with a knife. Besides—they weren’t trained assassins—it wouldn’t be quiet.

  The screeching sound of incoming friendly artillery interrupted his thoughts. The advancing Japanese hunkered and looked over their shoulders. Minks whispered, “Get ready.” The shells exploded in the valley, not far from the enemy artillery batteries. Minks fired at the same instant. Hunter barely registered that he’d fired. The officer’s head snapped back, and he fell backward.

  Gentry or Hammond, Hunter didn’t know which, fired an instant later and the soldier beside the officer spun away screaming and clutching his shoulder. Hunter tracked him and fired twice. He thought he must’ve hit him, but the soldier was out of sight.

  Minks hissed, “Go.”

  Hunter got his feet beneath him and took off, following Gentry. He glanced back and saw Hammond, Nunes, and Wilkerson high stepping after him. Minks crouched, peering over his sniper scope. He followed a second later, and they all ran headlong down the slope they’d crawled up so painstakingly slow a few hours before.

  They made it to the bottom and Hunter thought they had it made when a bullet sizzled over their heads and smacked into the tundra. They kept running and another shot and another near miss made them hunker and spread out. Minks yelled, “Keep going!”

  Hunter glanced back. Minks was kneeling and sighting through his scope. He fired, worked the bolt smoothly and fired again. Hunter couldn’t see his target, but doubted the skilled sniper missed much.

  Hunter stopped and aimed back up the slope. Minks was up and running, waving him forward. Hunter saw movement on top of the hill and fired five quick shots before Minks reached him and clutched his arm. “Move out, dammit!” he bellowed. Hunter turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

  They were halfway across the valley when the incoming fire from the hill increased from an occasional shot to sustained rifle fire. Bullets smacked around them and whizzed past their ears. Hunter knew he was about to die. He saw a depression in the tundra and threw himself into it. He rolled and stopped in the muddy bottom of a hole. He scrambled his way out of the muck enough to see over the lip. The others had taken cover in whatever they could find. Hunter saw soldiers streaming down the hill. Some were already in the valley giving chase, but the deadly fire was coming from the hill.

  He fired until his magazine was empty, then quickly reloaded. He saw Minks tucked into the same depression. He was on his back, his sniper rifle clutched to his chest. “Minks!” he yelled. “Shoot ‘em.” Minks looked his way and Hunter saw pain in his contorted face. “Are you hit?” Minks didn’t answer but nodded quickly. Even from ten yards Hunter could see the color draining from his face.

  Hunter made a move his way, but Minks yelled at him, “Stay put. Here.” He hurled the Springfield at him. It rattled and rolled within a few feet, and Hunter grasped it and checked the action. Minks’ voice was strained. “I—I can’t move. Something’s wrong with my legs. Just put the crosshairs on ‘em and…”

  Hunter interrupted, “I know what to do, Minks. We’ll get you outta here.” He looked behind. The nearest man was Hammond. He was reloading his carbine. “Hammond!” Hammond looked up, his eyes wide. “Minks is hit. We gotta get him outta here.” Hammond glanced at Minks who was staring straight up and chewing on his helmet strap.

  Hunter rolled back to his belly and tucked the long rifle into his shoulder. He peered through the scope. He was momentarily confused before he realized the end of the scope was full of mud. He wiped it as best he could, then sighted through the scope.

  He opened both eyes and found a soldier hunched and firing his rifle. He adjusted, closed an eye and the soldier’s body filled the reticle. He’d shot many deer with a hunting rifle similar to this one, but he’d never put the crosshairs onto a human being before. It was a sobering experience. The wind was brisk from left to right, but he surmised it wouldn’t have too much of an effect from this range. He moved the crosshairs slightly to adjust and pulled the trigger. The recoil took his target from view, but he quickly reacquired and saw the soldier sprawled.

  He worked the bolt and found the next hunkered soldier. He touched the trigger and this time he had the stock tucked more tightly and he saw his bullet enter the soldier’s chest. The Japanese fell onto his face and didn’t move. Bullets ripped into the tundra in front of his face and he pushed himself backwards.

  Hammond and Wilkerson were at Minks’s side and were getting ready to move him. Hammond went into a crouch, offering his backside toward Minks. Wilkerson lifted Minks and he yelled but bit it off abruptly. Wilkerson draped him over Hammond’s broad back. Gentry, a few yards behind Hunter, fired off a few rounds, then ducked down to reload. Bullets zipped and whacked into the tundra.

  Hunter checked the breach. He was out of ammo. He yelled, “Get Minks’s ammo.” Minks heard him and pointed at his belt. Wilkerson flung it to Hunter. He quickly reloaded the five-round stripper clip, then hollered, “When I fire, get Minks to the next bit of cover.”

  Hammond glanced back but couldn’t fully face him. Wilkerson called out, “Will do.”

  Hunter crawled his way to a position a few feet from his last spot and extended the rifle through the grasses until he could see through the scope. He scanned, searching for a good target. A Japanese soldier was on his feet and exhorting his men. He wasn’t dressed as an officer but was clearly in charge. Hunter adjusted his aim to compensate for the rising wind.

  The NCO was screaming orders and waving his rifle. Hunter squeezed the trigger. The soldier flinched for a second, then dropped to his belly. He’d missed. He worked the bolt quickly, noticing Hammond moving out of the corner of his eye.

  The NCO was out of sight, but he fired into the area anyway, hoping to keep his head down. He worked the bolt and traversed his barrel, finding a soldier getting to his feet and aiming carefully. He had little doubt who his target was.

  He didn’t micro-adjust his aim, but simply pulled the trigger. The improperly seated rifle butt smacked his shoulder painfully, but he ignored it and quickly reacquired his sight picture. The soldier was down and writhing. Gentry opened fire and Hunter pushed back from the lip, leaving the rifle perched there. Hammond was staggering along with Wilkerson by his side, encouraging him to hurry.

  Gentry burned through a magazine and dropped back into cover. Hunter crawled back to the rifle and peered through the scope. He saw the NCO’s head poking up. He was yelling and waving his arms again. Hunter took a breath and let it out slow. He squeezed the trigger and saw the NCO’s head snap back, then flop forward.

  The volume of incoming enemy fire didn’t abate, but Hunter got his legs beneath him and took off running. Gentry rose, fired a few shots, then ran after him. Bullets followed them.

  Hammond passed Minks off to Wilkerson. Hammond was gasping for breath, but he kneeled and fired his carbine, giving Wilkerson and Minks covering fire. They descended into a slight depression. They hadn’t noticed it on their journey through, but now it was like a godsend. They were out of sight from the Japanese and if they followed the natural contours, would remain so until the enemy made it to the beginning of the depression.

  They ran another hundred yards. Minks was passed off to Gentry and they ran as fast as their coursing adrenaline would allow. The canyon they’d used to get down from the mountain hours before was visible, and they veered toward it.

  Hunter stopped every few yards to scan their backtrack. So far, he hadn’t seen more targets, but he doubted that would last. If they could get to the canyon and don their camouflage smocks before the Japanese reacquired them, they’d be difficult to spot.

  They transferred Minks one last time. He was mercifully unconscious. His blood soaked the backs of the men who’d carried him. Gentry said, “We’ve gotta stop and get the bleeding stopped or he’ll bleed out.”

  Hammond, now the de facto team leader, shook his head, “We’ll do
it at the canyon. If the Nips see us before we get there, we won’t be able to shake ‘em.”

  They finally made it to the canyon and tucked themselves into the ten-foot muddy walls. They pulled out the smocks and slipped them over their filthy uniforms. Hunter peered through the scope, traversing the valley floor slowly. He saw movement, stopped his traverse, and steadied the rifle. The Japanese were at the precipice of the slight depression. More and more appeared along the edge and hunkered, obviously searching for their prey.

  Hunter hissed, “Move up the canyon. Once we’re in the fog layer, we’ll be invisible.”

  Hammond nodded and pulled on Hunter’s arm, “Let’s go.”

  Hunter shook his head, “I’ll keep an eye on ‘em and keep their heads down if they spot you.”

  Hammond considered it for a moment. He could just make out the shapes of Japanese soldiers dropping into the little depression. The Tundra didn’t leave boot prints, but when they got close enough, they’d see the canyon and likely assume they were using it for their escape. “Minks will slow us down…follow us up in fifteen minutes. We’ll cover you. This isn’t a suicide mission.”

  Hunter nodded, “Okay. Fifteen minutes, I’ll be right behind you.”

  The Japanese spread out and searched the valley. A handful advanced along the depression and Hunter kept the lead man in his sights. The fifteen minutes passed slowly. He glanced up the canyon. The team was making slow but steady progress. Their camouflage was nearly perfect. He could spot them only because they were moving and only because he knew they were there. They were nearly to the base of the persistent fog layer. It was time to go.