A Host of Shadows

by Harry Shannon

  All the boys stayed quiet and tossed grenades. We blew the shit out of the enemy; bright flames everywhere, body parts flying. Eventually the night was bright enough that a muzzle flash didn’t matter. We started shooting back. I still can remember this part like it was last night. A kid name of Joe Donnelly got up out of his hole to get away from a Jap grenade. He ended up firing from one knee. One of the enemies appeared, ran him through with a bayonet. I guess Joe was out of ammo. Couple other guys I knew got blown right out of their boots by mortar shells.

  The Nips overran our position in a few minutes. Way too many. Our flanks collapsed. Japs jumped over the foxholes and got into our middle, stabbing and discharging handguns. The guys on the other side turned and opened up to protect their backs, but now they were shooting right into us, so we fired back. The fields of fire just collapsed. We started killing each other. It was chaos. To be there was to die there. Rot there. Get eaten by the animals and shit out again as food for the flies. Fuck that. I started figuring on making a run for it.

  Eventually the gunfire died down. Jap officers carried swords. Blades flashed in the moonlight. They cut up our wounded. All the boys were bayoneted, one kept screaming for Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. He stopped all of a sudden just as I saw what looked like Sarge go down under a pile of smaller forms. I was out of ammo. I dropped the BAR. Boylan sobbed. He was empty too. All we had was our knives. The kid looked at me, panting and panicked. The Japs were distracted by Sarge and the wounded, but they’d spot us in a minute or two.

  I left Boylan, just decided to rabbit. I’m not proud of that, but there it is. I got my sorry ass up and made for the pitch black safety of that jungle. Boylan followed.

  We went maybe two hundred yards up the slope, away from the beach, back into the trees and far from the fight. When we stopped and looked back, the noise had died down. A few fires flickered here and there. Nips were helping each other, binding wounds, sharing water. I couldn’t see that clear, but it looked like they had stacked the American dead in a tall pile. I saw those swords go up and down. The horrible screams had stopped—although they kept on echoing in my head—yet the swords kept right on flashing…

  Boylan said, these savages don’t even respect the dead.

  I said, from what I hear, a Jap doesn’t respect the living much, either.

  We moved higher, found a small trail and put some mountain between us and the enemy. We stopped again to rest. Boylan was breathing too loud. I shook him. Calm down, don’t make so much noise, they’ll hear us. God damn it, he whispered, sounding a little surprised. I think I’m wounded. He held up his hands. The palms were black with blood.

  Where?

  Somewhere low, I think. It’s bleeding, starting to feel sore.

  Stay calm.

  His features writhed in shadow like melting wax. Oh, God damn it. What are we gonna do? We got no food, no water, no medicine, I’m hurt. We’re fucked.

  No, we’re going to live.

  How?

  We can spear some fish or a monkey. Something. Might be fruit out here in the jungle. There is fresh water running in that stream. First thing, we’ve got to avoid capture, okay? Watch where we walk, so we don’t leave tracks. Cup your hands, try not to leave a blood trail. They don’t know how many of us were down there, they may not come looking if we don’t give them reason. Stay calm.

  I’m so fucking scared.

  Scared don’t help a thing, I muttered.

  What?

  Scared don’t ever help a God damned thing. My uncle used to say that.

  Was he a nice guy?

  Denny was a prick. You got scared of a rattler or tarantula something he’d slap the shit out of you. Said nothing was worth getting scared about and scared don’t help a thing.

  Higher. Further. I figured we could stop for the night. Young Boylan was moaning now, and my heart was torn. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him or kill him for making so much noise.

  Take your mind off being wounded, think of something else.

  I’ll try. Where did you grow up?

  A little town in the desert. You?

  Alabama.

  You don’t sound it.

  I try not to. God, it hurts.

  Lay down, then. Put your knees up.

  He did, and reported it felt somewhat better. Get some sleep, Boylan. I’ll take first watch. Try to ease up, looks like we’re going to be here for a while.

  Then I sat there in the dark. Dirty clouds covered the moon. Denny was a prick, all right, but he did teach me a few things. One of them was living off the land. Life eats itself. Show no mercy, don’t pity the animals. Fuck, they’d eat you raw, they had the chance. Anyhow, nothing gets destroyed, not really. It’s all reused somehow, some way. Over and over. Mother Nature at work.

  I got very little sleep. Too tired.

  They came looking for us in the morning. Don’t know if they spotted our trail, or just wanted to be sure none of the Americans had got away, but they came looking. Soon we could hear them searching for a sign, talking that shrill nonsense. The tall grass moved where they passed down below. I waited for silence, and to be sure they didn’t leave somebody behind. Then real quick we moved further up, into some pointy rocks. Now we were thirsty as hell, hungry, and the sun fried anything that wasn’t tucked away in shade. I knew I’d have to get some water soon. I watched the Japs search, studied how they moved, to see if I could outsmart the pattern.

  In the daylight, Boylan stiffened until he seemed carved from ivory. His lips were blue and they trembled. That wound was already stinking something awful, and there was no way to clean it out. The sulfa bandages were in Jap hands, along with the rest of our gear.

  Hey.

  What, kid?

  You ever wonder why we’re here.

  On this island, or is this some kind of God talk?

  It has to mean something, the boy whispered. I’m gonna die, then it has to mean something.

  Life eats life, shits itself out again. I thought to myself, and that’s about all there is to it. Eating and shitting; molecules decaying and coming back together some other way again. Now, I didn’t say any of this aloud to the kid. I’m a sensitive man and he was clearly suffering. The end was coming on cloven hooves.

  The morning became afternoon. The day inched along. Figured to get to the stream for water, bring some back if I could. My stomach rumbled with hunger. Boylan slipped into a restless sleep. My sweat stopped tasting salty and my head went light. I started hearing things, insects that weren’t there humming right by my ears.

  The Japs rested for a bit and started for home. I got that they were making Z patterns in the high grass, half-heartedly sticking any large clumps of brush with their bayonets. I figured to take advantage of dusk. I’d slip on down behind the last row, get myself a drink, then hide in the grass until after they’d passed. They’d yet to double back so from there on it would likely be clear sailing back up to the cave. Boylan was out cold by then. Hopefully, he’d stay quiet.

  I put my knife between my teeth and snaked my way out of the cave and down through the weeds. The island ground was sharp and rocky. My elbows and knees got sore. I rolled over onto my back, tore some of my shirt and wrapped my elbows and knees better because I didn’t want to accidentally leave some kind of blood trail of my own.

  It was near dark when I got to the stream, right where it emptied out into the ocean. The tide was pretty high, but that would change overnight as the water went back to the bay.

  The cold water tasted like liquid heaven. I couldn’t drink too much, didn’t want to get cramps, so I just ran it around in my mouth. I got on my back again, looked at the stars that were beginning to peek out and considered my options. It seemed wise to find another place to hide, just leave Boylan behind. Hell, he wouldn’t be alive much longer anyway. Could I live with that? I searched my gut for a trace of guilt, but all I felt right then is that I was really, really hungry. Maybe I could.

  I heard something moving
just upstream. I crawled into the weeds, knife in my teeth. My whole body tried to shrivel up and hide. Tan leggings appeared, not five feet away. A fucking Jap sentry. I stopped breathing as he got down on one knee to fill his canteen. He was a skinny bastard, with big glasses on a baby face, only a kid maybe sixteen years old. I stumbled on the way over and he tried to turn to bring up his weapon. I covered his mouth with one hand and stuck him good. The boy squealed softly and farted when I moved the knife around in his guts. I spun him around, kicked his legs out and cut his throat from behind, just to be sure. First man I’d ever killed that way but, to be honest, it was no big deal; just like gutting a deer, more or less.

  A couple minutes later I had a canteen, a crappy medical kit, some white rice and what tasted like dried fish shit. I took his pistol. The Jap rifle was too much to carry crawling, and turns out the poor bastard didn’t have but a few rounds. Now I needed to get rid of the evidence. I tied the boy to a few pieces of wood, shoved him into the water, watched as he went floating out to sea on the night tide. Maybe I’d get lucky and be gone before the enemy figured anything out.

  Or maybe he’d wash back in come morning and they’d be looking for real and very pissed off. I’d just have to take my chances.

  Scared don’t help a thing.

  I ate some of the fish stuff and started back. It was nearly dark. The Japs were marching closer to their camp, moving through that tall grass. It sounded like a few of them had already hit the booze. I backed up and scrambled along the sea wall, passed the rotting parts of dead guys still scattered along the sand, and a couple of times bumped into something that could have been an arm or a leg. It was pretty dark by then. Whatever it was it stank and felt mushy. I kept on moving.

  I got bad stomach cramps. Emptied my bowels. When the pain passed I started to crawl again. Meanwhile, the Japs had themselves another party by a bonfire. They were talking real loud, some of them singing. I could see a few soldiers with sharpened sticks, cooking meat. My stomach moaned like a Gospel choir. The smell made my mouth water. Starving and eating bugs my ass. They had plenty of provisions. No wonder they taught us a lesson on that beach.

  I ate the rest of the dried fish, despite the cramps, because I needed the energy and Boylan was dying. I’d be bringing a bit of water to ease his misery. He didn’t have to know about the food.

  It was touch and go trying to figure out where they’d put their sentries, but the Japs were confident and had a smoke now and again. I got around them eventually. I made it up the hill a ways, into the rocks, but then got lost. It was way too dark. Had to give up on finding the cave before the sun came up.

  The damned Japs ate so much that I heard a bunch of them puking their guts out down in the reeds.

  After a couple of hours, the noise trailed off. Insects and a few, tiny nocturnal creatures felt brave enough to come out and look for food of their own. Not many. This island was remarkably silent.

  I got cramps again all of a sudden. I dug a hole with my hands, pulled my pants down. That dried fish just went right on through me. I covered my waste, moved a few yards away and tried to rest.

  I’d guess it was around three in the morning when I heard a man coming through the grass, singing in a low, rich baritone. I had a terrible taste in my mouth. A low wind was moving through the grass. The air stank of dead fires, scorched meat and vomit. I could even smell my own covered-up crap. Or maybe it was somebody else’s.

  I backed into some dirt and brush, gripped the knife. The man was singing an American song in decent English, that one about not sitting under an apple tree with anyone else but me. He started one way, then turned around and came back. I figured maybe he was lost, too—except he was marching along like a man in no hurry at all.

  The clouds parted. Bright moonlight revealed a long gulley that extended back to the beach. Way down below I could see orange embers, stacks of bodies and a lot of men lying around passed out. Reflected stars glittered like jewelry on the surface of the ocean. The singer stopped. He began panting, mumbling to himself. The grass rustled and twigs snapped nearby.

  A Jap officer came out of the grass to stand maybe five feet from where I’d dumped and covered it up. He wore no cap, was bald with a droopy moustache and had a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The tobacco smelled odd, and probably disguised a lot of other foul odors.

  Keep going,

  I thought, just go pass out somewhere else.

  The Jap walked my way. I held my breath. I thought he would go by, but he stopped again. Then the dumb bastard took his dick out and started to piss right on me. Before I knew it I was up and at him, just like the sentry, covering his mouth and ripping at his guts with my knife. But the Jap had some kind of thick belt on, and the blade got stuck. I yanked it free, but he turned sideways as he realized what was happening, and I lost my grip on the knife. It hit the dirt near my boot. I slugged him but he didn’t go down.

  The officer began to fight back in earnest. He tried to choke me. As we struggled silently, I wondered why he didn’t scream for help. Maybe he knew his buddies were passed out; maybe he was just too scared. Suddenly something hard struck the side of my head. It dazed me. The Jap hit me again, and I wound up on my knees. When I looked up, the Jap officer had a pistol pointed at my face.

  You stop now, he said. In a calm, low voice.

  Don’t.

  He hawked and spat. Cocked his head like a parrot and said: You drink.

  That officer surprised the hell out of me. He handed me the wine bottle, and sat down heavily a few feet away. I took a drink. Foul stuff, lighter fluid, but the alcohol set a friendly blaze. We stared, swallowed and caught our breath. Finally he spoke again.

  You brave man. Last one? Alone?

  He confused l’s and r’s but only just a little and was pretty easy to understand. I shrugged.

  Far as I know.

  Welcome to hell, Marine. He toasted me, chuckled in that low voice. Me, I am the boss of hell. What is your name?

  I just looked at him. I could feel my own pistol at my belt, around the back and out of sight. The longer he talked the better my chances, although the sound of a gunshot meant company and running like mad up the slope in the dark. Very risky indeed.

  The Jap belched. He raised the weapon, and his aim was steady. Name. You can tell me your name. Geneva say.

  Boylan, I said. My name is Boylan.

  And you lie to me just now. Not alone.

  Yes and no. I have a friend still hiding up in the hills. He’s badly wounded and may be dead.

  You take him water.

  Yes.

  Want food, too?

  I blinked. Excuse me?

  The Jap laughed. Several teeth were missing. No enemy in hell, Marine. Everything is karma, neh?

  What?

  I mean that in hell we are all the same. Karma. We do not be hungry. Have plenty food in camp. The Jap reached for his belt, opened a leather pocket. He held out a small piece of something. I could smell slightly burned meat. My dignity deserted me. I grabbed the food with both hands and savored every crunchy bite.

  He got to his feet. Come. Get some and we go together, find your friend.

  They told us you Japanese did not respect prisoners. I don’t understand this.

  The officer smiled again. You are no prisoner. You are guest in my kingdom. Hell. Here, war is fool’s game.

  He looked away for a long moment. I slid one hand behind my back, but he faced me again before I could grab the pistol. He eyeballed me, and then holstered his own gun. The Jap’s big eyes went bright and clear, and in them I saw those fading fires from the distant beach.

  His English wasn’t this good, but here’s what he said; I am sincere, American. This is hell. You are as welcome to it as any man alive. He flipped my knife around and offered me the handle. I took it, tucked it back in my belt, bewildered.

  The sun will rise soon. We should go.

  I got to my feet. My knees popped. Gas suddenly expanded i
n my stomach and my bowels rumbled.

  The Jap yawned. You are one of us, now. He drank deeply, finished the wine and tossed the empty bottle off into the grass. You pass first test. Your friend will be the second.

  I still don’t understand.

  He put his hands on his hips. American, this island is a useless hunk of volcanic rock, as empty as the surface of the moon. Some small animals, a few birds and insects, but the ones we have not killed are dying off. This is truly hell on earth. Even the fish know to stay away. And it has no real, strategic value. So we kill each other over sand. You understand?

  Yes. I do.

  Yet this place, it has taught me something very important. That there are those who survive and those who do not, and all the rest is nonsense. Patriotism, nationalism, heroism, racial purity, age, education, friendship; they all fade when confronted with the basic need to survive and the endless cycle.

  He extended his arm. And now you will show me where your friend is hiding.

  You said I passed the first test. What was it, fighting back?

  That toothless grin. He winked at me, the expression so exaggerated and clownish in the moonlight. Then he roared with laughter. Karma, neh? Ha!

  Rage blossomed. The fuck’s so funny, Jap?

  He kept his hands at his sides, away from his gun, palms forward as if to say go ahead, I won’t do anything to stop you.

  Damn you, I said what’s so funny?

  My anger pleased him. I was pissed, but also feeling a creeping sense of dread. Why was he laughing? My stomach clenched and growled. So I asked him again. What was the first test?

  The officer told me.

  I grabbed my gun and shot him between the eyes. His forehead shattered and dark chunks of matter splattered the brush behind him. The Jap dropped to his knees and fell over sideways.

  I bent over at the waist and puked. I heard a couple of men shout from somewhere far off, in response to the gunshot, but they weren’t showing much enthusiasm. No one answered. I ran. I ran harder than I’d ever run in my life; didn’t care about noise, leaving a trail, about anything but putting him as far behind me as possible. Meanwhile, the cruel sun rose slowly in a pool of crimson and blue.