by Len Levinson
Colonel Tsuji was in a furious state of mind. Everywhere he'd been since he'd left Guadalcanal he'd met officers who didn't understand the seriousness of the situation there. Everyone was confident that Japanese spirit would overcome the American material advantage, but he knew better. He'd been in the middle of the shooting war too long to have faith in slogans. He was resolved to tell General Owada the bitter truth when he met with him.
He entered General Owada's office and gave his name to the young orderly sitting at the desk. The orderly said General Owada was expecting him and that he should go right in. Colonel Tsuji opened the massive oak door and entered General Owada's spacious office. The general sat at his desk, the Imperial Palace visible in the distance through the window behind him. Colonel Tsuji marched stiffly to the desk and saluted.
“Please take a seat,” General Owada said.
Colonel Tsuji sat down, adjusting his sword. General Owada had a tiny nose and a gray mustache. A staunch militarist, he was one of the fanatics who had helped bring down the civilian government of Prince Konoye, establishing General Tojo as prime minister of Japan.
“How good to see you again,” General Owada said. “I believe you've lost weight, Colonel Tsuji.”
“Rations are short on Guadalcanal, sir,” Colonel Tsuji replied in his high-pitched voice.
“I have asked you here to give me, without any embellishments, the true picture of our situation on Guadalcanal, Colonel Tsuji.” General Owada folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “You may begin now.”
“We have about ten thousand troops left, and approximately one-third of them are fit for duty. One hundred men are dying each day as a result of starvation. We have little food and ammunition. The Americans outnumber us approximately three to one but have been unable to make use of their numerical superiority, because we have pulled back to new defensive positions and they haven't found us yet. Once they do, they will defeat us. Our men will fight valiantly, but they cannot win unless substantial reinforcements can be sent to Guadalcanal. I want you to understand, sir, that the situation is most grave, and I'm not embellishing anything. It must be seen to be believed.”
“How is General Hyakutake?”
“Starving to death like all the rest of them.”
“Has his ability to command been impaired?”
“No. He is an inspiration to all of us.”
“Hmmm,” said General Owada. “Have your many defeats on Guadalcanal influenced your bleak assessment, do you think, Colonel Tsuji?”
Colonel Tsuji raised his eyebrows. “You question my veracity, sir?”
General Owada didn't reply. He just waited patiently for his answer.
“I have told you the truth,” Colonel Tsuji said. “In fact, perhaps I've made everything sound too positive, if anything. Within two or three weeks the Seventeenth Army will be destroyed unless something is done.”
“So”—General Owada unfolded his hands and leaned back in his chair—“what do you propose?”
“We can defeat the Americans on Guadalcanal if we have the toops and equipment, sir.” Colonel Tsuji felt his rage getting the best of him. “Why have we not been resupplied?”
“The Navy has been unable to furnish transportation.”
“Why not?”
General Owada shrugged.
“But we have the most powerful navy in the world!” Colonel Tsuji shouted. “Why have they abandoned the Seventeenth Army on Guadalcanal!”
“Calm yourself.”
Colonel Tsuji gritted his teeth. “Sorry, sir.”
“We must always stay calm, no matter what.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The answer to your question is that we no longer have the most powerful Navy in the world. Our navy has suffered two enormous defeats: one near the island of Midway and the other in the Coral Sea.”
Colonel Tsuji turned pale. “No.”
“Yes. We do not even know the extent of the Navy's losses in those two battles because the Navy won't tell us.”
“Won't tell us?” Colonel Tsuji blinked. “Why won't they tell us?”
“Pride. Stupidity. Who knows? But if they won't tell us, it must have been pretty bad.”
“No wonder they can't resupply Guadalcanal. Can they evacuate the Seventeenth Army?”
“I don't know, but that decision hasn't been made yet. General Sumiyoshi would like to launch a major offensive against the Americans on Guadalcanal.”
“With what?”
“Calm yourself.”
Colonel Tsuji realized he'd raised his voice again. “Sorry, sir. But the Imperial General Staff must understand that it would be impossible to launch a major offensive against the Americans. We have nothing left. We don't even have rice.”
“You may tell them yourself. A meeting has been scheduled for next Wednesday to deal with the problem of Guadalcanal. You, of course, are to attend.”
Colonel Tsuji groaned. “Next Wednesday may be too late. Can't they hold the meeting sooner?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“But the situation is desperate on Guadalcanal. No, it's worse than desperate; it's catastrophic. I told you that a hundred men are starving to death every day.”
“I'm afraid the decision has already been made, Colonel Tsuji. The meeting will take place next Wednesday at nine o'clock in the morning. Be there.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the meeting Colonel Tsjui walked like a man in a trance through the long wood-paneled corridors of the headquarters building. It was incredible to him that the leaders of the Imperial Army were unable to respond to the plight of the Seventeenth Army on Guadalcanal. Colonel Tsjui wanted to draw his sword and attack the complacent, self-satisfied officers he passed in the corridor, but instead he headed for the door and his staff car so he could go home and have lunch with his wife, who would feed him raw fish and sake and make him relax.
NINE . . .
Before dawn the Twenty-third Infantry Regiment moved in a skirmish line toward the Japanese positions. The jungle smelled of gunpowder and burned trees, and the moon was obscured by a thick cloud layer. Holding their rifles at port arms and carrying full field packs, they made their way up the hill to get into position to attack as soon as it got light.
The recon platoon was still with Captain Orr's Company G, and Captain Orr limped behind the skirmish line, his thigh bulging with bandages, but he still had a lot of fight left in him and wouldn't let anybody else lead his company.
Bannon was in the middle of the recon platoon, and he swore that he was going to cut out all the bullshit and not let his personal feelings get the best of him anymore. His men were depending on him and he couldn't let them down. Butsko had never worried about anything except the next battle, and that's the way Bannon was going to be from then on.
When they were halfway up the hill, they came under observation by the lookouts posted by Major Uchikoshi. The lookouts returned to the forward bunkers and reported the presence of the GIs. Minutes later the machine guns opened fire on the Americans, who hit the dirt.
"Keep moving on your bellies!” Captain Orr shouted.
The GIs crawled up the hill, hearing the chatter of the machine guns. The veterans among them could sense that the Japanese bullets weren't even coming close. The GIs crawled through shell craters and underneath trees knocked over by the previous day's barrage. The floor of the jungle was alive with rats and mice whose homes were destroyed, and they squeaked with fear as they ran away from the Americans.
Bannon looked ahead, trying to see the muzzle blasts of the machine guns, but the jungle was too thick and the machine guns too far away. In the darkness the skirmish lines became confused, as companies lost touch with each other and some companies moved more quickly than the others.
In his bunker Major Uchikoshi dressed in the darkness, his stomach cramped with hunger, as the machine guns fired in the distance. He hadn't expected the Americans to attack at night and knew they would be searching for the m
uzzle blasts of his machine guns, which would be easier to spot in the darkness. He made the quick decision to send riflemen out to stall the American advance so the machine guns could stop firing. He figured the machine guns probably weren't doing much good anyway.
He issued the order to Captain Yatsu, who transmitted it to the appropriate bunkers. Several minutes later the machine guns stopped firing, and the riflemen crept out of their bunkers and moved forward to engage the Americans. They were to take no risks and steadily give ground until daylight, when they would return to their bunkers for the real battle.
Bannon and the recon platoon were crawling up Hill Thirty-one when the Japanese machine guns stopped firing. The men in the recon platoon looked at each other and wondered why the Japs had stopped shooting at them. Bannon thought they should just keep moving and see what happened.
“Hey,” said Private Ruslip from the recon platoon's Third Squad. “What the hell are we crawling for? The Japs aren't shooting anymore.”
He stood and walked up the hill in a crouch.
"Get down!” Bannon shouted.
“What the fuck for?” Ruslip asked.
Beaaannngggg—one of the Japanese rifleman shot him, and Ruslip spun in the air, dropping his rifle, and crashed into a tree, sliding down its trunk.
"Medic!” somebody shouted.
"There's Japs straight ahead!” Longtree yelled.
"Keep going!” replied Captain Orr.
The men continued their upward crawl, and the Japanese riflemen leveled fire at them. The Japanese soldiers were so close that their muzzle blasts could be seen easily, and the GIs returned the fire. Those with Browning automatic rifles raked the jungle, and the Japanese riflemen began their fighting retreat, moving slowly toward their bunkers.
Bannon had keen, battle-tuned ears, and he realized there was only a screen of Japs in front of Company G. He believed that if the men charged, they'd overwhelm the Japs. He turned to Nutsy Gafooley. “Get me Captain Orr on the radio.”
Nutsy called the captain, finally got through, and gave Bannon the walkie-talkie.
“Sir,” said Bannon, “there's only a handful of Japs ahead. I think the company should rush them.”
“We'll try it.”
Bannon got set, and a few moments later he heard Captain Orr's roaring voice. "Up and at ‘em! Charge!”
Company G and the recon platoon jumped up and ran as fast as they could at the Japs, who fired a few shots and then pulled back. The GIs tripped over branches and fell into shell craters, because it was too dark to see. Some got tangled up in hanging vines, and Homer Gladley ran directly into the trunk of a tree, nearly knocking himself out cold.
The attack stalled and the Japs found new positions, from which they fired at the GIs. Then it was the same thing all over again. Bannon realized his bright idea wasn't so bright, but Captain Orr didn't call to tell him so. On top of everything else, the G Company skirmish line had become disjointed. Captain Orr had to take time to straighten it out. Then the slow advance got under way again. The GIs inched their way up the hill and the Japs gradually retreated. The sun rose on the horizon behind the clouds, and the day became lighter. The Japs fired at the GIs, and the GIs fired back. Visibility improved and the jungle became a weird nightmare landscape of broken trees and uprooted bushes. The Japanese riflemen ran back to their bunkers and soon thereafter the machine guns opened fire. The advance stalled as it had two days ago, although many more GIs were involved. Despite their numbers, the GIs were still facing an impenetrable hail of fire.
Mortar squads set up their tubes, and soon they were lobbing rounds into the jungle ahead. They couldn't see the Japanese machine-gun nests, but their purpose was to obscure the vision of the Japanese machine gunners. The regiment moved forward again, the units on the flanks trying to work their way around the Japanese position, but they, too, came under machine-gun fire.
The air sizzled with bullets as the regiment moved slowly up the hill. Longtree crawled toward Bannon.
“I've found some tracks,” he said. “If I follow them, they should lead us to bunkers.”
Bannon realized that the tracks must have been left by the retreating Japanese soldiers and that the Japs might have made a serious mistake. He got on the radio to Captain Orr and told him that Longtree could follow the tracks and that the mortars should stop firing in that sector.
“Okay,” said Captain Orr. “We'll give it a try. Send Long-tree and one other man. I'll stop the company until he gets back.”
Bannon looked at Longtree. “He said you can do it. Who do you want to go with you.”
“You,” Longtree said.
Bannon opened his mouth to say that he was the platoon sergeant and he couldn't go, but then he thought, Fuck it, I want to see what's going on up there myself.
“Nutsy, I'm going with Longtree. Watch the store until I get back.”
Longtree and Bannon crawled forward. The rest of the platoon watched them disappear into the twisted, devastated jungle. Longtree kept his nose close to the ground, following the tracks left by the Japanese riflemen, and Bannon stayed close beside him looking ahead for movement in the jungle. They heard firing and shell bursts farther down the line, interspersed with the shouts of officers and noncoms. Slowly, quietly, Bannon and Longtree crawled over fallen trees and through shell craters. Their part of the jungle was unusually quiet; all the birds and animals had fled. Only the bugs remained, flying around Bannon and Longtree, biting them, raising welts on their skin.
They crossed a brook and made their way around some huge boulders. Longtree lost the trail on a stretch of ridge but picked it up again on the other side. They stayed close to the ground and moved slowly so they would be hard to spot. They passed through fields of fire covered by Japanese bunkers, but the Japs didn't see them.
Finally, near the crest of the hill, Longtree raised his hand. “There it is,” he said.
Bannon looked ahead but couldn't see anything except more jungle. “Where?”
Longtree pointed. Bannon raised his binoculars to his eyes and barely made it out: It was the opening of the bunker, about twenty-five yards away. He could see the ugly snouts of two machine guns.
Bannon wished he had the whole platoon with him. They could rush the bunker in waves and take it without much trouble. But two men couldn't take it. Or could they? Bannon thought he'd better mark the position on his map. He took it out and made an X on the approximate position of the machine-gun nest.
“Longtree,” he said, “do you think we could sneak up on them and drop grenades into the opening?”
“It would take a lot of time.”
“We got nothing but time. I'll ask Captain Orr.” Bannon held his walkie-talkie to his ear and called Captain Orr. There was no answer, so he called again. The airwaves screeched and crackled, and finally Captain Orr's voice came through.
“Sir,” said Bannon. “We've found one of their nests.”
“You have! Where is it?”
Bannon told him the coordinates of the machine-gun nest. “Sir, Longtree and I think we can sneak up on it and drop a hand grenade in. Can we try it?”
“Sounds like suicide to me.”
“No, I think we can do it. They don't even suspect that we're here.”
“It's too risky. Pull back about a hundred yards and wait for the rest of us to catch up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Over and out.”
Bannon let the walkie-talkie hang from the strap on his shoulder. “He said no.”
“Why not?” Longtree asked.
“He said it's too risky.”
“It'll be much more risky to take it head-on. These officers don't know shit from Shinola. They'd rather lose a hundred men trying to rush the nest than take it like we're going to. If we take that nest, nobody'll complain. Stay here and cover me. I'll drop the grenade in myself.”
Bannon peered through the bushes at the opening of the machine-gun nest. It wasn't that far away, and Longtree knew how
to move silently in the woods. “Okay, what the hell,” Bannon said. “Give it a try.”
Longtree took off his field pack and laid it down on the ground, because he wanted to travel light. Then he slipped silently into the jungle, and all Bannon could hear was the rustle of wind in the leaves and the sounds of gunfire not too far away.
Bannon made himself comfortable, lying on the jungle floor. Insects buzzed around his head, and he held his rifle ready to fire in case Longtree got into trouble. He watched Longtree move far to the right so he could sneak up on the machine-gun nest from the side. Then Longtree darted behind a tree, and Bannon couldn't see him any longer.
Longtree crawled through the thickest part of the jungle, stopping every few seconds to look and listen. This was the kind of fighting he liked: He and his wits against the Japs, instead of a lot of GIs charging through the jungle like a herd of elephants. He moved slowly and deliberately as the sun rose in the sky behind the thick ominous cloud layer. He passed a dead monkey torn apart by an artillery shell, and the splinters of trees were everywhere.
Longtree drew closer to the bunker. He could hear the chatter of Japs, and one of them knocked over a can, drawing verbal abuse from his sergeant. Longtree stopped and pulled a hand grenade from his lapel. He was only ten yards from the opening in front of the bunker. Leaving the pin in the grenade, he continued to crawl closer. He was quiet, close to the ground, and so stealthy that Bannon couldn't see him, even though Bannon pretty much knew where he was.
Longtree worked his way to within five yards of the bunker's front opening. He could see the two machine-gun barrels and hear Japanese conversations from within. He was beside the bunker, concealed in thick foliage, and the Japs would have to stick their heads out of the bunker to see him. Crouching low, he pulled the pin of the grenade and held it in his right hand, grasping his rifle with his left hand. Leaping up, he dashed through the jungle toward the bunker, leaves slapping him in the face, branches scratching his uniform.
"Nani sono!” shouted one of the Japs.
Longtree turned loose the arming lever of the grenade as he charged through the jungle. He dived to the ground beside the bunker, drew back his arm, and tossed the grenade inside, then rolled away quickly. Japs screamed in a mad panic as the grenade fell in their midst; then they crashed heads as they bent over to pick it up.