The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (35 page)

The onslaught from behind caught the Japanese soldiers off guard. They were dying, but how? When Ahio’s men were almost upon them they turned and met the threat. The natives were amongst them, using their rifles as clubs. Ahio brought his sword down and cleaved a corporal nearly in half. The finely tuned blade went all the way to the man’s pelvis. He pulled the sword and swung at another man who was squirming on the ground. The blade went through his neck like butter and hit a rock. It sparked as rock chunks disintegrated. Ahio’s blood lust was up. He lunged his big body into a group of soldiers who’d just shot one of his men. He swung the blade from the side like a baseball bat. It caught the first man in the side and went through him, severing his torso. Blood and gore spilled from him as he collapsed. The next man lunged his bayoneted rifle at him and before Ahio could react sank it into his belly.

Ahio grunted, feeling the pain of steel in his belly. It enraged him and his eyes seemed to shoot fire at the soldier on the end of the rifle. The soldier held the rifle firmly lodged. Ahio lifted the Samurai Sword and lunged forward. The blade sank into the soldier’s cheek, he screamed and dropped his rifle. He stumbled back holding his gushing face.

Ahio gripped the rifle hanging from his gut and yanked it straight out. A gush of dark blood followed and he staggered. He raised the sword to finish the job, but another Japanese soldier was charging from his left with his bayonet aimed at his chest. He tried to turn to the new threat, but he knew he wouldn’t make it in time. He braced himself, but the soldier was flung back as a bullet slammed into his chest. Ahio turned to find his men beside him, their dark torsos shimmering with sweat and blood.

Ignoring the bleeding gash in his belly, he gave a fearsome yell and led his men into the midst of the remaining Japanese soldiers.

The Japanese recovered from the initial surprise attack. They turned to meet the charging natives. Their bayonets shone in the morning light. A yell of “banzai” went up and they surged forward screaming.

Morrisey kept his men back at the guns. He’d already spiked two of them by putting grenades into the barrels. The thick barrels had bowed, but not bursted. He hoped it was enough to destroy them. His men were in crouched positions firing their bolt action Enfields into the line of Japanese soldiers with deadly accuracy.

Morrisey watched as the unmistakable form of Chief Ahio charged towards the Japanese line. He had a sword in his hand and his carbine slung on his back. He was yelling, exhorting his men to follow. Morrisey thought he looked like a crazed Viking. He watched as Ahio’s men ran to keep up, but the big chief got to the line quicker and engaged the soldiers who were turning to meet the threat. Morrisey watched as he cut through men like wheat to a scythe. Then he saw a soldier lunge and he could tell Ahio was wounded. It was time to leave the guns and help his old friend. In Pidgin he yelled, “Sasim, sasim!” His men didn’t hesitate. They rose as one and charged.

The Japanese line saw Ahio’s men and were turning to engulf them. The Japanese didn’t see Morrisey and his men until they were on top of them. Morrisey fired point blank into the backs of three soldiers. He stopped and picked off targets one by one. His men were too close to use their bolt actions so they used them as lethal clubs, beating the Japanese soldiers down.

Morrisey expended his magazine and kneeled to reload. A short Japanese soldier leaped up only feet away, screamed and charged, his bayonet leading. Morrisey dropped his carbine and unholstered his Webley pistol in a practiced movement. He rolled to his right, firing at the same time. The Japanese soldier’s bayonet buried in the soft jungle dirt beside Morrisey. The soldier fell to the side, half his face torn away by the large caliber bullet.

Morrisey went to his knee and leveled the Webley at another charging soldier. He missed with his first shot, but as he got closer he connected. Two bullets smashed into the soldier, opening his chest. Before the man hit the ground, Morrisey was aiming at another soldier who’d just bayoneted a shirtless native. Still crouched, he fired his last two shots, but missed. In disgust, he dropped the pistol and picked up the carbine. He slammed a magazine home and shot the man in the back as he was sparring with another native. He didn’t miss and the soldier fell away. The native, Taton, gave him a smile of thanks. His face changed suddenly as he looked beyond Morrisey. His eyes were big. Morrisey knew he was in trouble. He dropped to his left and rolled, bringing his weapon to his shoulder as he came to a crouch. The Japanese soldier was close and Morrisey pulled the trigger in quick succession.

The small caliber bullets ripped into the soldier, but he continued his charge like a crazed bull. The bayonet was inches from his chest when a dark flash from the right knocked the soldier away.

Captain Morrisey opened his eyes, relieved to be in one piece. The Japanese was on the ground next to him struggling to get Taton off him. Taton wasn’t moving. Morrisey pulled his knife and drove it into the only part of the soldiers’ body he could see, his head. The blade glanced off his forehead, but continued downward until it found the soft eye socket and sank deep into his brain. The soldier shuddered then stopped moving. Morrisey pulled Taton’s shoulder to get him back on his feet, but his staring eyes were lifeless. The bayonet stuck from his side, a large pool of dark blood soaked his loin cloth. Morrisey paused, but the fight was raging all around him. He drew a bead on another soldier and fired.

***

Sergeant Carver burned through his remaining mortar rounds. He’d walked them back to front with devastating effect. The Japanese soldiers were dark shapes running for cover in the predawn light. O'Connor’s Nambu rounds were slicing into the Japanese lines. The tracer rounds left no doubt about their position. The Japanese were firing towards the muzzle flashes, their fire getting more accurate as they crouched and aimed.

O'Connor ducked away as rounds hit the rocks he was using for cover. Dust from the front of the rock filled his nostrils. The fire was heavy. He looked to the prone form of Enop still firing methodically. He was better protected, the only thing exposed, the barrel of his rifle. O'Connor tried to come back to the gun, but the fire was too intense. The ricochets were zinging around his head like an angry swarm of hornets. He gave up and hunkered into the bottom of his hole. He covered his head, listening to the bullets and Enop’s firing. He felt useless. He thought about grabbing his rifle and crawling next to the native, but he didn’t think he’d make it out of the hole without getting hit.

He heard Sgt. Carver yelling, “You okay, O'Connor?”

He hunkered lower and yelled as loud as he could, “I’m fine, but I can’t move.”

“Stay down, don’t move. I can see Morrisey making his move he’s in amongst the guns.” Carver stopped firing watching the action below. The Japanese were moving towards the cover of the jungle, getting out of the exposed clearing, moving towards their position. They were oblivious to Morrisey’s men.

Now that O'Connor stopped firing, the Japanese didn’t have a target and started spraying the entire ridge. Carver went to his belly as rounds narrowly missed him and thudded into the trees behind him. He grabbed his carbine and crawled forward. There was a large palm to his front and he crawled to the base and peered around the edge. He could see Morrisey’s men overrunning the big guns. The men attacking the front guns weren’t satisfied and continued forward into the backs of the Japanese. In the growing light he could see the biggest of the natives charging forward with what looked like a sword.
That big bastards gotta be Chief Ahio
.

Carver leveled his carbine and shot towards the Japanese lines. At this range he couldn’t tell if he was hitting anything, but he figured he would help any way he could. The mortar was out of ammo. Even if it wasn’t, with the natives mixed with the Japanese, he’d do more harm than good.

As the attack continued, the incoming fire on his position went down to a trickle. He yelled, “O'Connor, get on that gun. Be careful, our guys are mixed with the Japs.”

O'Connor pulled his hands from around his head and noticed the incoming fire had stopped. He said a silent prayer of thanks and felt his body for any holes. Miraculously he was unscathed. He sat up and dirt cascaded off his body. He poked his head up and looked down on the clearing. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it was light enough to see the entire scene. He grabbed the handle of the Nambu and checked his ammo, which was covered in dirt and dust. The gun looked operational. He traversed the barrel to the Japanese line. It was easy to discern friend from foe; the natives were shirtless and black. He lined up on a line of soldiers firing their Arisakas. He depressed the trigger, but nothing happened. He squeezed it again, nothing. He pulled on the belt of ammo sticking from the side of the Nambu, but it wouldn’t budge. He stood up and pulled back on the breech, trying to clear the jam. He couldn’t move it. He pulled the weapon into the hole and immediately saw it had been hit. The left side had a gaping hole.

“The Nambu’s fucked, Sarge. Took multiple hits.” He threw the useless weapon over the side of the ridge and found his dirt covered carbine at the bottom of his hole. He shook the weapon, knocking the dirt off. He checked the breach and crawled forward to the notch where the machine gun had rested. He sighted down the barrel and found the line of Japanese soldiers again. He pulled the trigger methodically, correcting his aim each time. It was a long shot, but he could tell he was close when the soldiers squirmed and moved from their position. One soldier stood and his back blossomed red. He pitched forward. O'Connor looked to Enop’s smoking barrel. “Nice shot,” he yelled.

They continued to fire until the natives and Japanese were too intertwined. Even Enop stopped firing. As the sun rose, the battle below was easier to discern. The Japanese were doomed, their numbers down to a few men, but they fought with vigor. They charged and fought, surrender never an option. They wouldn’t have been spared if they had.

After six minutes, the fighting was over. Sergeant Carver stood and looked down on the scene. Dead Japanese soldiers littered the ground. From this height they looked like toys haphazardly left on a green carpeted living room floor by a child.

They stood and without a word moved off the ridge and slid down the steep slope. As they passed through the jungle they came across native women moving towards the battlefield. O'Connor asked, “What’re they doing here?”

Sergeant Carver walked with his carbine and pointed at the ground. “Must be here to help out with the wounded.” As they came out of the jungle onto the battlefield, the smell of cordite, blood and shit filled their senses. The dead no longer looked like toys, but shredded men. Not all were Japanese. In amongst the soldiers were natives, their dark skin in stark relief against the green uniforms of the Japanese. There was a loud bang and Carver and O'Connor flinched as another 105mm gun’s barrel was spiked. Smoke wafted from the shattered barrel. Morrisey’s men had learned to use two grenades to destroy the barrels.

Carver looked around the battlefield, searching for Morrisey. He saw a group of natives clustered around something. He walked to the men and went into the circle of silent men. In the center Captain Morrisey sat beside the hulking Chief Ahio. He was on his back, the wound in his belly seeping dark blood. Beside him was a blood soaked cloth. Morrisey tried to put it back on the wound, but Ahio looked him in the eye and shook his head. In his deep voice he said, “Let me go to my ancestors.”

Morrisey nodded and merely sat beside him. Ahio’s men went to him one at a time and placed their hands on their dying leader’s head. Ahio looked each man in the eye, but said nothing. When they’d all gone through, Ahio looked at Morrisey and said, “My men have fought honorably today. Take them in the fold and forgive their treason.” Morrisey nodded and squeezed his shoulder. Ahio continued, his voice quiet, “And mine.”

Morrisey stood and addressed the men in a loud voice. “Chief Ahio and his men have fought gloriously and all are forgiven their treason.”

Sergeant Carver and Private O'Connor couldn’t understand the Pidgin, but they understood the gist.

Morrisey bent down to Chief Ahio and watched as he took his last breath. His eyes went blank, staring at the sky through the jungle he loved. Morrisey closed his eyes, stood and stepped away. The women streamed between the men and started wailing the loss of their chief. Amongst them was his daughter, the girl Private Dunphy had laid with. She looked to Sgt. Carver and searched his face. Carver thought about Dunphy’s horrific death on the ridge. He gave a shake of his head, his eyes conveying sadness and Lela bowed her head and wailed in renewed grief.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was still pitch black when Foxtrot Company of the 164th Division moved from the safety of their foxholes and advanced towards the bunkers of the Japanese lines. It was impossible to expect complete silence with four companies moving along such a compressed line of advance, but Captain Frank hoped they’d surprise the Japanese before they were noticed.

They’d gone forty yards without contact when the night erupted in tracer fire. In the darkness the tracers looked like glowing beach balls. All along the front, Japanese heavy machine guns opened up. They continued advancing, moving forward from cover to cover using the darkness to their advantage. The men were told not to shoot unless they had a sure target and he was proud of their fire control. Without muzzle flashes the Japanese had nothing to shoot at.

The welcome sound of friendly artillery fire arcing across the sky and smashing amongst the Japanese line pushed the men forward. Maybe this time they’d make it to the bunker line. Once past, the way would be clear to bust through to the Japanese rear and route the obstinate enemy.