The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (18 page)

A moan off to his left was coming from the hut. The dust was almost settled now and with it came the heat of the day. He poked his head into the surprisingly intact hut. The western wall was gone, but other than that it was undamaged. Inside, however looked like a butchers’ shop. The grass walls ran thick with blood and the ceiling dripped. A native stared up at the ceiling one leg was gone and he had a deep gash in his neck which exposed the round pipes of his arteries and esophagus. Carver thought that must be where the majority of the blood came from. The dead native’s normally black skin was dull and gray; devoid of blood.

Another moan from underneath the dead man had Carver pulling the body over and to the side. The skin was dry and cold. Underneath he found the source of the moaning. Captain Morrisey’s eyes were closed; he looked as though he were having an afternoon nap. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him. Carver felt his pulse and checked for chest rise. “Morrisey, wake up, wake up. Are you hit?” When he got no response he slapped him across the face, “Wake up!”

He moaned in protest then shot up like he’d been electrified. His eyes were wide as he took in his surroundings. “Wh-what happened?”

He tried to stand, but Carver pushed him back, “Whoa there, take it easy. You were knocked out, give yourself a minute.” He held him in place until he could focus. “You’re okay, we were attacked by those Corsairs.”

Morrisey shook his head looking around the hut. His eyes rested on the native’s lifeless body. “Makala,” he said. His mouth downturned and a tear formed in the corner of his eye. “Makala, my friend.”

Carver didn’t recognize the name or the man. He surmised it must have been the native who’d reported the naval movements. He’d been stationed here to observe and report. “I’m sorry about your man. You’re the only survivor I’ve found so far.” He squeezed Morrisey’s shoulder and exited the hut. With his voice cracking he called out, “Anyone alive?”

When he got no response he sat down and put his hands over his eyes rubbing them.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

He heard a voice, “Sarge? Is that you?”

He stood up, “Yeah it’s me, where are you?” He saw a hand waving from down the slope. He took three steps and peered over the side of a short eight foot cliff. Private O'Connor and Corporal Hooper were huddled against the wall covered in a fine mist of white dust. Carver’s relief at finding some of his squad alive made his voice crack. He wiped dust out of his eye, “You, you guys okay?”

They nodded. Corporal Hooper said, “We were told this was the latrine; we were taking shits. What the fuck happened?”

“Never mind that, let’s get you up here.” He reached down to give them a hand. The rock cliff was an easy climb and soon they were standing beside Sgt. Carver, surveying the scene. O'Connor said, “Oh my God.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The rest of the day was spent sorting out the dead and assessing what supplies remained. The water barrel had been drained except for a half a gallon at the bottom. The barrel wasn’t repairable; they’d have to fill up their canteens as best they could with whatever rain fell.

Of the eight natives, five were killed. They were laid next to one another awaiting their final journey back to the village. One of the unharmed natives had already left to get help. The American’s had been hit the hardest. Most didn’t have time to take cover. The heavy caliber bullets simply ripped them apart. The original patrol of twelve was cut down to four, not including Welch. Carver, O'Connor, Hooper and the absent Dunphy were all that remained. They buried Crandall, Doc, Troutman, and what they could find of Lt. Caprielli, on the coast side of the ridge and marked the location on the map. They’d pass along the coordinates to graves registration when they were in contact with division again.

The somber day was made a little better by the clear view they had of both the American and the Japanese positions. They were specks from this distance, but with Captain Morrisey’s powerful binoculars they were able to see enemy fortifications despite the thick jungle and heavy camouflage. It took careful scanning, but Carver identified three low slung bunkers. He marked them on the map.

In a stroke of luck Crandall hadn’t been carrying the radio when he was riddled with fifty caliber fire. It had survived the onslaught. O'Connor cleaned the dust from its delicate parts, turned it on and was greeted with the happy sound of static. The frequency hadn’t been moved so when O'Connor spoke into it he got an immediate response from Lieutenant Smote back at division.

He handed the piece to Sgt. Carver. “Mother, this is Falcon 6. Over.”

The response was clear, they were within the radio’s six mile range and had a clear line of sight to the beach. “Falcon 6 this is mother. That you Lieutenant Caprielli? Over.”

“Mother, Falcon 6. Negative. Lieutenant Caprielli is KIA. This is Sergeant Carver, I’m in command. Over.”

“Falcon 6, Mother. Understand Lieutenant Caprielli is KIA. What is your position and situation? Over.”

Sergeant Carver told him about the past thirty six hours. When he got him up to speed Lieutenant Smote asked, “Falcon 6, Mother. Your coordinates put you on the ridge overlooking our area of operations, yes? Over.”

“Affirmative, Mother. I can see everything from up here. Over.”

“Outstanding. Can you see enemy installations, bunkers, artillery, that sort of thing? Over.”

“Affirmative. I have visual on three probable bunkers and can direct artillery fire. Over.”

“Shoot an azimuth on all and we’ll relay the coordinates to the Navy. Over.”

“Roger. On it. Over” Carver yelled for Hooper to take himself east along the ridge. Once there he shot an azimuth to the targets and brought the numbers back to Carver who shot his own azimuths. With the two separate points the rest was simple geometry. The targets would be at the points where the azimuths met. He called in those coordinates.

Smote relayed the first set of coordinates to the waiting big guns of the Navy. Carver used Captain Morrisey’s binoculars to look for the billowing smoke of the guns. The distance was far, but he could see the plume of smoke, “Shot out,” he called. He found the first bunker nestled against a hillside in the jungle. He’d almost missed it when he’d first scanned the area, it was well camouflaged, but he’d caught the movement of a soldier relieving himself and marked it as a target. He watched now, waiting to correct the naval fire. There was a black plume of an exploding 203mm shell in the jungle a hundred feet to the west of the target. He looked at his map and was in the process of a correction when Morrisey was next to him, “Add one hundred and drop seventy five.” Carver called it in and kept his eyes on the bunker this time as Morrisey called it out, “Shot out.”

Carver watched the explosion hit beside the bunker, “That’s it, fire for effect.” The rolling thunder of big guns finally reached them. The white plumes of smoke belching from the cruiser obscured its sleek hull, barely discernible on the horizon. Carver handed the binoculars to Morrisey who put them to his eyes and watched their handy work. The explosions hit in quick succession sending large plumes of black dirt and green jungle skyward. In amongst the dirt and debris there was a bright flash followed by a larger explosion.

Morrisey said, “That’s it, targets done. Secondary explosions; I’d say they found some ammo.”

Sergeant Carver relayed the battle damage assessment. The bunker was reduced to a pile of smoking rubble; no signs of the Japanese soldiers were visible.

The next target was another bunker, but this one was closer to the allied front line. Carver called in the coordinates, but the Navy was done for the day, they’d be taking up defensive positions away from the shallow strait in case the Japanese decided to show up during the night. Ever since the costly naval battles of late Summer, the US Navy held a healthy respect for the Japanese Navy’s ability to maneuver and shoot at night.

This target would be handled by the artillery section assigned to Sgt. Carver’s own regiment. He watched the bunker and Morrisey watched for the tell-tale smoke indicating a shot out. He didn’t see it, but Carver saw the impact. It was followed by the dull thump of the shot then the explosion. The shot was close and the correction was minimal. Carver beamed with pride, his boys were shooting well. The lighter guns scored direct hits on the bunker, but the thick Japanese concrete withstood the impacts. Carver wondered what it must be like inside that tomb with 105mm shells slamming into it.

He called in another round and the bunker disappeared in a flourish of exploding ordnance. When the dust cleared the bunker was still there, but the front had a gaping hole with smoke billowing out of it. It looked to be on fire. He could see the ant-like forms of Japanese soldiers disgorging from the dark hole like cockroaches from light. He spoke into the radio with urgency. “Give ‘em another volley, troops in the open.”

He handed the binoculars to Morrisey who’d given up on seeing the artillery position. He watched as the rounds fell amongst the Japanese troops, tearing them limb from limb and in some cases, vaporizing them. “My God,” he whispered.

Carver said into the radio, “Nice shooting; spot on. That ruined their day.” He signed off in the fading light.

The sun was setting on the horizon and Morrisey and Carver watched it sizzle into the sea. Captain Morrisey rubbed his face and scratched his beard. Sergeant Carver knew he was thinking about the men he’d lost. “Real sorry about your men, Captain.”

Morrisey watched the sun, “Yours too.” He ground his teeth, “What a fool of a man, your Lieutenant Caprielli.”

Sergeant Carver didn’t want to kick the man while he was down. He’d already paid the ultimate price. “Damndest things happen in war.” He shook his head. “What’re you planning on doing?”

He sighed, “When my men return for the bodies, I’ll return with them to the village. There’ll be a lot of sadness. The men were well-loved and will be sent off in high fashion. Feasting and dancing will help them along their way. Your men should come too; we’ll honor your fallen, along with your Lieutenant, who is blameless in death.”

“My orders are to stay here and keep calling in these strikes as our guys slug it out down there. I can’t leave this post.” A cool breeze came up from below, carrying with it the smell of the sea. “The higher-ups didn’t mention it, but I’m sure they will. Are you still planning on waging your own private war up here, or will you join us?”

Morrisey stood up and crossed his arms. The sun’s final sliver slipped beneath the sea. “You can see what joining up with you has done. I’ve lost more men in the last two days than the previous six months. I’ll harass the enemy as I see fit. I won’t become a pawn for your generals down there.” He motioned towards the beach with his head. The word ‘generals’ came out like a curse word.

Carver stood beside him and extended his hand, “I don’t blame you, Sir, not one bit. I’d like to ask you one more favor though.” Morrisey cocked his head waiting. “When you take your dead out tomorrow will you take Corporal Hooper back with you? I need him to fetch my soldier, Private Dunphy. It hasn’t been a week, but with my KIA I’ll need every man I can get up here.”

Morrisey nodded, “I’d forgotten about that bloke. He can come along and we’ll escort him to Chief Ahio’s village, but I can’t guarantee your Dunphy will be released.”

“There’s nothing you can say? Don’t you hold sway over his village? I can’t just abandon him. He’s an asshole, but he’s my soldier. I’m responsible for him.”

Morrisey nodded, “I quite understand. I do have some influence and I’ll see what I can do, but once a decree has been laid down it’s not easily overturned, even by myself.”

Carver nodded. “By the time Hooper gets there, Dunphy will have served five days. That’s a working week back in the U.S.”

Morrisey smiled, “I doubt Chief Ahio will see the distinction, but like I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Private Dunphy watched his squad leave the village without him. He couldn’t believe this was happening,
they’re really abandoning me to these people?
Not a single man gave him a parting glance. Not even O’Connor, with whom he thought he’d formed a bond. They’d been through a lot of shit together yet he didn’t so much as flinch when his sentence of slavery was passed down.
This is total horseshit. I’m a member of the U.S. Army for God’s sake, and a Dunphy.

The thought of his parents flashed through his mind. They’d never believe the predicament they’d put him into.
Why’d they let me join? Why hadn’t they apologized and pulled him out of that recruiting line?
He tried to remember what caused the rift, but couldn’t. He shook his head,
all this and I can’t even remember what I was mad about.
If he had the chance he’d undo whatever he’d done to get himself here.

With his squad gone he looked at the villagers. They were milling around giving him quick glances. When he tried to make eye contact they’d look away like scared children.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. I’ll use my Dunphy confidence and make them work for me for the next week.

He lifted his chin and pointed at the Chief who was standing outside his hut chewing on a shoot of grass. He walked up to him and said, “Now see here, I’m no one’s slave. The way I see it this will be a week’s vacation away from the Army.” The chief stared at him only catching a few words. Dunphy pointed to an unused hut, “I’ll stay over there out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”