The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (27 page)

O'Connor went straight to Carver’s hole and whispered in his ear. “The Japs are all racked out in a camouflaged hut just over the ridge. We missed it before; it’s well hidden. The foxholes are empty, but there’s one sentry on top of the hill. He’s got his back to us.”

“All the others are in the hut? Are you sure? What about weapons? You see any machine guns or mortars?”

“The sentry’s sitting behind a Nambu, but they must not be worried; it’s not set up in a very good spot. I didn’t see any mortars or any more sentries. They’re sitting ducks.”

***

Lieutenant Katayama was exhausted. His men had left this morning to replace their handheld radio with a wired unit. On their way down the sky had opened up and soaked them in an unnatural deluge of water. They had to hunker under the jungle canopy to keep from slipping down the face of the muddy hillside. It had delayed him an hour that he didn’t have to spare. They double timed it the rest of the way, resupplied food, a new radio and a huge spool of communication cable. They’d used a rebellious donkey to haul the cable, but the animal proved to be more trouble than it was worth. When they got to the steep last kilometer, the donkey had stopped and wouldn’t move. Finally, they unburdened the beast and hauled it up the final bit themselves. It was unwieldy to say the least. The final push had taken them two hours. They’d barely had enough time to settle in before it was dark.

Katayama laid in his hammock amongst his already snoring men and wondered if he should send a patrol to walk the perimeter. He’d put the hapless Corporal Rinko on the ridge overlooking their position with one of the machine guns. He was about to position the other one when he’d gotten the call on the new radio, asking him to report in about the ridge to the east. By the time he moved to a position where he could get a glimpse of it, the sky was darkening. He reported that it was too dark and that he’d check first thing in the morning. He’d never gotten around to placing his defenses for the night. As he slipped into sleep he felt confident in the fact that they hadn’t seen any activity in their area for the past two weeks. The sound of his exhausted men’s satisfied snores caressed him into a deep sleep from which he’d never awaken.

***

Sergeant Carver went to each man and pulled them into a circle. He let O'Connor tell them what he’d seen. They were relieved how vulnerable the usually hyper-vigilant enemy soldiers seemed to be. Carver said, “I’ll sneak up on the sentry and take him out. O'Connor will lead us to the hut and we’ll attack it with grenades. Everyone roll in two. Once it’s done hose them down with at least a clip, then we’ll finish whatever’s left. Understand?”

O'Connor raised his hand, “I can take the sentry, Sarge. I know where he is. I know I can get close without being heard.”

Carver looked him straight in the eye. “You ever do any wet work?”

O'Connor licked his suddenly dry lips. “I’ve killed lots of game with my knife. I know how to kill a man. It’s easier than a wild animal.” Carver nodded and O'Connor nodded back. He wondered why he’d volunteered for the grisly chore. He’d killed plenty of Japs, but this would be different. His victim would probably be sleeping and he’d have to end his life with a quick thrust of his blade into the man’s brain. He’d feel the blood, the breath, the shit. He gulped, suddenly wishing he hadn’t volunteered. It was too late now, he’d have to go through with it or forever be untrustworthy.

He slid forward the same way he’d scouted; he could barely hear the soft scrapes of the other men behind him. He moved without a sound. When he crested the hill, he could make out the dim outline of the sentry sitting behind the machine gun. The gun was aiming straight out into the darkness on the swivel tripod.

O'Connor stopped and realized he didn’t have his knife out. He stopped crawling and moved his carbine from the crook of his arm to the dirt beside him. One of the others would pick it up for him. He reached back and pulled the knife out of the sheath at his belt without a sound. The familiar weight of the K-bar knife felt good in his hand, like an old friend. He silently prayed his old friend wouldn’t let him down.

Keeping the knife in his right hand, he moved across the soft ground until he was ten yards from his target. This was the tricky part. He had to get off his belly and onto his rubber soled feet. He moved at glacial speed and after a minute he had his feet beneath him. He was in a low crouch and the slow movement had his muscles aching and sweat was pouring off his face and down the back of his neck to his ass crack. He took a few careful steps, each time searching the ground for any loose rock or twig that could give him away.

He was directly behind the man. Close enough to hear him breathing. It was now or never. He extended his arms into attack position. The knife had never felt so heavy. The man’s head moved to the right slightly and he let out a long sigh. He was awake. The thought sent his heart racing. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, envisioning his next move, then he struck. His left hand reached in front of the man’s face and clamped over his mouth while at the same time his knife plunged into the base of the neck just behind the ear. He pushed hard angling the blade up towards the brain. The sickening feel of the blade deep in the man’s brain would haunt O'Connor for the rest of his young life. The Japanese soldier’s body went rigid and he kicked out both legs, pushing him upwards. O'Connor kept the pressure on and rotated the blade back and forth, scrambling the brains. The soldiers’ powerful backwards push almost sent O'Connor onto his back. He held on long enough for the man’s last breath to escape him. He held him until he was sure he was beyond movement, then pushed him away. His right hand was covered in blood and brain matter.

Sergeant Carver was beside him, “Nice job, here’s your rifle. Lead us to the hut.” O'Connor took a deep breath and wiped his hand on the ground. He caught a whiff of the dead man’s bowels and had to swallow the vomit rising in his throat. “Take it easy,” Carver hissed.

O'Connor wiped the gore from the knife onto the Japanese soldiers’ pants and sheathed it. He grabbed the carbine, took another breath and moved out in a low crouch.

They moved across the plateau. The night was dark, the stars the only light. He took them to the edge and stopped. He pointed and Carver strained to see. He leaned into Carver’s ear, “it’s forty yards, against the ledge.”

Carver nodded and pushed him forward. He couldn’t see the hut. He followed O'Connor until he stopped again. This time when he pointed he could see the well camouflaged structure silhouetted against the dark sky. He made a show of slinging his carbine and pulling two grenades off his belt. The others took the cue and did the same. With a grenade in each hand the men moved forward until they were just outside the small open doorway. They could hear the soft purr of men sleeping.

Carver held up his first grenade and pulled the pin. He didn’t wait for the others; he let the spoon fly and rolled it into the open door. It was loud as it thunked the wooden floor and rolled around like a mini-bowling ball. He was pulling the pin on the second when he heard more thunks and rolling. He threw his second one in farther and turned to run. The others were beside him trying to find cover. They got ten yards away when the first grenade went off, followed in quick succession by the rest. The thatch siding of the hut muffled the sound, but it got louder as it shredded.

When the last grenade cooked off, they started firing into the dark hut as quickly as they could pull their triggers. Carver, holding his pistol, held his fire. After they’d gone through a magazine and were reloading, Carver yelled, “Cease fire, cease fire!” He crouched and the others followed suit. Their muzzle flashes had ruined their night vision. They stared into the spotty night listening for any sound of life. They heard moaning. Carver couldn’t believe anyone could survive such an onslaught. They waited another five minutes until the spots dancing in their eyes settled. Carver rose, “Dunphy, get in there and check it out. We’ll cover you.”

Dunphy hesitated for an instant, but rose and followed orders. He stepped across the threshold and his feet slipped out from beneath him. He crashed to the wooden floor with a shout. Hooper ran forward, “You okay?”

The moaning got louder, responding to a human voice. Dunphy got to his feet and almost fell again, “Yeah, fine. The floor’s slippery. I’m okay.” He took another step further in. Hooper looked back at Carver who nodded for him to follow.

Inside the hut the darkness was complete. Dunphy took a step closer to the moaning. It was coming from the far corner. He kept his carbine trained on the sound. The moaning got louder, becoming a pained half scream. The floor was slippery, the copper smell of copious amounts of spilled blood filled his nostrils. Dunphy was on the edge of vomiting, but held it in by force of will. He took a step, but stumbled into something. He could barely see the outline of what was left of a man’s torso. The roof had been blown away in parts and the starlight shimmered on the black blood covering the soldier’s shredded uniform.

Hooper said, “Careful, he might be holding a grenade.”

Dunphy looked back at him, “This guy? He’s half gone.”

“No, the moaner. We should shoot him just in case.”

Dunphy stopped and aimed at the sound. He couldn’t see the soldier, but he was only feet away from the sound. He aimed where he thought he’d be and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The sound within the hut seemed louder than the grenade blasts. Hooper yelled, “Goddammit, you coulda warned me. Now I can’t see shit.”

From outside Carver yelled, “Everything okay in there?”

Hooper stumbled out the way he’d come. When he tripped over the doorway, Carver reached out and caught him. Hooper shook him off, “I’m fine, Dunphy finished off the moaner. Fucked up my vision and hearing though.” He walked past Carver and took a seat, rubbing his eyes.

Carver looked into the dark doorway, “Dunphy, you okay?”

Carver jumped back when Dunphy peered from the side of the doorway only inches from his face. “Yeah, I’m fine, Sarge.” Carver stepped back as Dunphy came out and walked past all of them back to the ridge.

O'Connor watched him walk by, but didn’t say a word. Dunphy looked like he’d seen a ghost. He watched him stumble back the way they’d come and disappear onto the plateau. O'Connor looked back at Carver. “We’ll leave it for tomorrow. It’s too damned dark. Let’s get back to our original positions and wait for the sun to rise.” No one thought that was a bad idea.

In the predawn darkness, Carver woke the men and they returned to the hut. O'Connor and Dunphy dragged the dead sentry to the edge of the plateau and flung him as far out as they could. He sailed off the ledge and landed with a dull thump in the rocks. His head slapped onto a boulder and crunched. They’d have to dig a mass grave and bury the Japanese soldiers or the stink would become too much. Carver yelled to them, “Bring that Nambu down here and the ammo.”

The four soldiers stood outside the still dark doorway of the hut. The smell of blood and cordite was strong. They stared into the darkness, no one wanting to enter until they could see better. Gradually, minute by minute, the sky lightened and brought color and depth to the world. The full devastation of the hut itself was evident. The walls were torn, with large pieces of thatch hanging to the ground. The roof was shredded; it wouldn’t provide cover unless they repaired it.

When it was light enough, Sergeant Carver took a step to the doorway. He looked at the others, then back to the doorway and stepped through. Everyone except Dunphy followed. It was apparent what Dunphy had slipped on in the night. The floor was covered with congealed blood and unidentifiable body parts. His boot print was clearly visible on a dull white piece of what must have been intestine.

The hut was a room of gore. The bodies were strewn around, none having all their limbs. Hooper heaved over and added his vomit to the scene. O'Connor quickly followed. Carver stood there looking side to side, taking it all in. He stepped over body parts to the mostly intact man in the corner, the moaner. He noticed the shoulder boards, an officer. He kneeled down, looking into the dead eyes. The man had a large belly wound; Dunphy had saved him from a long painful death. He stood and scowled at the smoking radio still sitting on the table. He wondered how often they were supposed to check in. At least daily, he assumed.
How long before they send a squad up here to check out the radio silence?

“All right, ladies. Let’s get this shit cleaned up. We need to bury them or we’ll be smelling them soon enough.” He looked out the back doorway, “There’s soft ground over there. O'Connor, go through their bags and see if you can find some ponchos to roll them in. I’ll help you.” He looked at Hooper, “See about any weapons and ammo you can salvage. We may need ‘em when they come snooping.” He yelled, “Dunphy, start digging a hole over beyond the hut. We’ll join you soon enough.” He could hear Dunphy walking around the hut. He hadn’t said much since last night’s attack. Every man dealt with his emotions differently.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As Colonel Araki watched C Company disappear into the jungle towards the suspected American observation post, he wondered about his old friend, Thomas Welch. Could he trust him? Probably, but how far? It was one thing to betray your countrymen, particularly when he considered Japan his home, but would he betray his race?

With his arms clasped behind him he called for his aide. “Send word to Lieutenant Katayama. Tell him to expect C Company to pass in front of his position sometime this evening.” The aide bowed and quickly left. He nodded in satisfaction.
Whatever happens, the whiny rat is out of my hair for a while.