The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (3 page)

O'Connor nudged Dunphy who marched beside him, “Love to get my hands on one of those.”

Dunphy guffawed, “You wouldn’t get off the ground, you’d kill yourself and anyone nearby. Besides, you have to be an officer to be a pilot.”

O'Connor shrugged, “Doesn’t look that hard.”

“You have no idea, there’s more to it than you think.”

O'Connor looked at him sideways, “You’ve flown before? You’re shitting me. If you were a pilot you’d be in one of those.”

Dunphy kept his eyes forward. “Forget about it, Red.”

Dunphy always called him Red, unoriginal, but probably inevitable. O'Connor watched the graceful planes landing and parking. He wasn’t going to let Dunphy ruin his fantasy. He’d only seen a handful of airplanes in his life and none as sexy as the Wildcats.

They finally got to the southern edge of the airfield. The company was ordered to dig in. They didn’t have to be told twice. The recent bombing and their move closer to its target was incentive enough to get busy. Soon every soldier had dug a deep hole. Some of the men had cut down large palm trees and were using the thick trunks to cover the tops.

O'Connor was pleased with his hole, but not to be sharing it with Private Dunphy. He looked up at the sturdy cover and wondered if it would be strong enough to withstand a direct hit. After seeing the size of the bomb craters he had no illusions. He only hoped for relative safety. He’d soon find out if his efforts were enough.

CHAPTER TWO

Once their positions were consolidated on the southern end of Henderson field with clear fields of fire and zeroed mortar crews there wasn’t much to do. O'Connor was exhausted. He slumped to the bottom of the hole. Beside him Private Dunphy napped fitfully, unable to get comfortable. “This fucking hole’s disgusting. How am I supposed to sleep in here?”

O'Connor closed his eyes and leaned back. “You can’t complain; you didn’t do shit. If you wanted it comfy you should’ve helped.”

“Fuck you Red, I helped plenty.” He held up his palms, “Look at my hand, those are blisters.”

O'Connor laughed, “First time?” Dunphy picked at his hands. “Look I don’t like it any more than you. Were in a hole.” He pointed to the overhead palm logs, “You think those’ll sustain a near miss?”

“How should I know?” he reached up and pulled on one, it was solid. “Pretty sturdy, doubt it’ll take a direct hit.”

“I’m gonna try to get some sleep, when’re we up for outpost duty?” When there was no answer, he looked over at Dunphy who shrugged. “You’re worthless, you know that?”

O'Connor sighed and stood up poking his head through the slot between the palm logs. He looked around and spotted Sgt. Carver talking with Lt. Caprielle. “I’m gonna go find out.”

Dunphy punched him in the leg, “Don’t make work for us, asshole, they’ll tell us when it’s time. Why you so damned jumpy?”

O'Connor ignored him and hopped out of the hole. It was evening, the day was winding down, but still hot and humid. It felt better out of the hole, there was a slight breeze. He stopped to relish it. The entire company was gone, hidden in their holes waiting for the next bombardment. O'Connor stretched his back and trotted over to Carver who was walking away from Lieutenant Caprielli. When he saw O'Connor he said, “What you doing out of your hole?”

“Sorry Sarge, have to take a leak real bad. Can’t hold it.”

“Well hurry up and get back in your hole.”

He nodded. As he veered towards a nearby bush he asked, “What’s the guard duty schedule tonight? Am I on?”

“Nope, the observation post’s already out there…don’t worry you’ll get your turn.”

“Yes, Sarge.” He took his leak and slithered back into his hole. It was getting dark quick. He was amazed how fast night came in the jungle. He looked towards the jungle. The thick green was now deep black. It looked nothing like his forests back in Oregon. The jungle was thick and daunting, he couldn’t see a path through. He figured there was though, there always was, animal trails probably snaked through everywhere.

He loved traveling through forests, loved finding their secrets. Every forest was different. He supposed even though this was jungle it was still a forest, still wild country. He stared into it, wishing he knew its secrets. He wished the enemy wasn’t lurking out there hunting him, he’d like to explore this place properly.

He watched the edge of the jungle not ready for the utter darkness of the foxhole. He could hear Dunphy’s soft breathing. The jungle’s blackness seemed impenetrable, but the longer he focused on it the more features he could pick out. His hole was twenty yards from the edge, he knew the OP was just inside the jungle. He thought how terrifying it must be for that pair.
Wonder who drew the short straw?

The sounds alone were terrifying. They’d been on New Caledonia for a couple of months so they were used to the exotic locale, but this jungle was different, more alive and more deadly. Every sound was an animal, some new secret waiting to be discovered. He knew from the forests back home that animal sounds were a good thing. If the animals were going about their normal routine it meant there was nothing unnatural out there disturbing them, like Japs. Most of his hunting success was because he could move through the forest without disturbing the wildlife. He could sneak up on his unsuspecting prey and the first they knew about it was when the bullet or arrow sliced into them.
Wonder if Japs hunt?

He kicked where he knew Dunphy was sleeping, “Dunphy, wake up, hey Dunphy.” He kicked him again harder.

He felt him stiffen coming awake, “What is it? Japs?”

“Nah, just a question, you think the Japs have any hunters? I mean you think they have any stealthy hunter types that could be sneaking up on us right now?”

“What the fuck you talking about? You didn’t wake me to ask me that did you? Did you? I finally get to sleep and you wake me with that?”

O'Connor continued, “I don’t think they do, they live in cities. All they are is a bunch of city slickers…like you.” He grinned, “Bet they’re clumsy as hell, could hear ‘em coming a mile away.”

Dunphy started to respond, but was cut off by the wailing of the air raid Siren. “Shit, not again.” O'Connor looked towards the airfield, all the lights were out, he pictured the pilots running out to man their fighting machines. He listened for the tell-tale engine noises of the Wildcats or the bombers.
Would the fighters launch at night
?
They wouldn’t take off without lights would they? Wouldn’t the lights be perfect aiming points for the Japs
?

Five minutes passed, he heard nothing from the airfield, but he did hear the dull, distant rumble of approaching aircraft. Then he saw spotlights erupt from the jungle and slice into the night sky searching for the bombers. The anti-air started flashing from various points around the airfield. The light was chaotic, he could see tiny explosions in the dark night sky. He hoped they’d find their mark so he wouldn’t have to test his hole. He longed to see the flames of a dying Japanese bomber, but nothing. Then he heard the distinct whistle of approaching bombs. He hunkered back into the hole and held his M1 tight to his chest. He adjusted the chin strap of his helmet.
Looks like the Japs are throwing us a welcoming party
.

This time the bombs were much closer. The sides of the foxhole flexed and caved in with each terrifying impact. He thought he’d be buried. A flash of panic coursed through his body,
Should I get out? Save myself from suffocation?
He didn’t bolt, he knew it would be suicide. The ground above him was being shredded. He understood why there weren’t any plants alive around Henderson, the bombs were more effective than a scythe.

He tried to count the impacts, but lost count after twenty. The bombs seemed to be falling closer and closer together making it impossible to distinguish one from another.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. The only sound that of diminishing engine noise. O'Connor wondered if anyone was hit. He got his answer soon enough when he heard screaming coming from his right towards the airfield. The screaming sounded far away, but he realized his ears were ringing and he couldn’t judge distance. The wounded man or his nearby buddies were calling for a medic. He wondered if he knew the man.
Was he in his platoon, his company? Would he die? Lose a limb? Be paralyzed?
A minute passed and finally the screaming faded to a whimper.

O'Connor put his head above the foxhole and was amazed to see his world was still intact. How could anything survive after such a thrashing? He could see the silhouettes of the Marine F4 Wildcats in the distance, pushed up against the jungle for protection. The one building in the entire area was still standing. The hut, or ‘the pagoda’ as it came to be called was standing defiant and untouched by the bombing. The airfield had taken a number of direct hits. The Marines were already firing up tractors and men with shovels were dashing around filling the holes with surplus piles of dirt made for the occasion. He had no doubt the airfield would be ready to launch fighters in the morning.

A soldier was running past. Dunphy, who was up watching too, reached out for him, “Hey, what’s going on? Who got hit?” the soldier kicked off his hand and kept running without answering. “I need to figure out what the hell’s happening?” said Dunphy.

O'Connor felt a deep fatigue rush over his body. He slumped into the hole and pulled his rifle close. He’d never felt anything like it, he had to sleep now. He shut his eyes, but the flashes of exploding bombs wouldn’t leave his vision. Finally sleep overtook him. He slipped into fitful sleep full of starts and stops.

CHAPTER THREE

O'Connor woke when he felt Dunphy’s boot in his ribs. He nearly jumped out of his skin; whatever dream he was having playing out in terrifying form. “Get up. Something’s happening.”

O'Connor sat up and peeked over the edge. Men were shuffling about stretching. He hopped out of the hole and felt his back spasm. He was nineteen, but felt like eighty. He wondered how the older Dunphy felt. Dunphy sprang from the hole without so much as a grunt. He looked around taking in the scene. Men were gathering around a tattered tent. A Sergeant was trotting from hole to hole giving instructions. When he got to them he said, “Eat K-rats and form up at the tent in fifteen minutes for a patrol.”

O'Connor looked to the jungle. It looked green and almost inviting, completely opposite from the night before. They were finally going out on a combat patrol. He felt his bowels loosen at the thought. He remembered the latrine area from the day before. He trotted toward it, loosening his belt on the way.

By the time he got back Dunphy had eaten a K-rat and was gearing up. “Hurry up chump, you’re gonna miss the show.”

“Had to take a shit.”

Dunphy nodded, grabbed his M1 and watched his foxhole mate open a K-ration. “Enjoy your breakfast, mine was spaghetti, or something resembling it.”

O'Connor ignored him and slurped a can of peaches. They were a delicacy in the jungle, he hadn’t planned on opening them, but the upcoming patrol was occupying his mind and he hadn’t realized what he was doing until it was done. He couldn’t very well reseal them, once opened they had to be eaten. They tasted amazing. Maybe it would be his last meal; not a bad one.

They joined the gathering group of soldiers and waited for the briefing. Lieutenant Caprielli was standing at a table and yelled “Ten-hut.” The room snapped to attention as Captain Simmons walked in. He was a short balding man. He looked to be in his early thirties. “At ease, men.” He stood beside the lieutenant and gathered some papers. He looked over the men, “Last night was a typical night on Guadalcanal. The Japs bomb us every day without exception.” He looked around, “That was actually a light night, usually they do it more than once. Sometimes their ships will run by the coast and hit us with naval guns…not ideal.”

A sergeant raised his hand when he sensed a pause. The Captain pointed at him, “Sir, I thought our navy was handling the Jap navy.”

The Captain looked at the floor and shook his head, “Not true Sergeant. The situation’s confused. Sometimes the ships we see are ours, sometimes theirs. From what I hear it’s an even fight. The Japs are spread thin though, they’ll run out of ships before we do, but don’t count on support from our squids. In fact, the Japs continue to land more troops on the other side of the island almost nightly. We’re trying to interdict, but it’s a big ocean and we haven’t had much luck so far.” He took a sip of warm water. “We’re not facing worn out troops, we’re facing fresh, seasoned soldiers. We can expect to be hit any day. They know we’re here, they know we’re untested. There’s little doubt they’ll hit the 164th. They think we’re green and weak. We’re gonna prove ‘em wrong.”

He paced up and down the table. Lieutenant Caprielli had to back out of the way. The Captain pointed to the jungle, “We’re gonna make our presence felt today. The NCOs will brief individual squads, but were sending out patrols. We need to find the enemy line. It’s essential for us to know how close these troops are to mounting an attack.”

Another sergeant spoke up, “Are we attacking, Sir?”

“We’re waiting to assess the situation. We just landed yesterday, we need time to figure out how things work here. Get our bearings. We’ll stick it to ‘em soon enough.”