Battle Cry (41 page)

Seabags gripped the pain-wracked boy and pinned him flat. “Dammit, lay still or I’ll have to lay you out.”

“Sorry…I’m O.K…. now.”

“MARINE…YOU DIE!”

Marion gripped his rifle tightly and gritted his teeth to fight back the tears. He could not hear the voices from the stream, but there were other voices calling up to the ridge, “Buddy…help me…I’m a Marine…I’m a Marine…help me…the Japs got me…Yow…
Yowwwe.
” Marion bit his lip and trembled.

“Halt, who goes there?”

“Marine.”

“Password?”

“Lonely,” Spanish Joe said as he slipped in next to Marion.

“What are you doing here, Joe?”

“Them Japs are getting my goat with that screaming.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“Do you think that is really Seabags and Cassidy yelling?”

“Get back to your post, Joe.”

“I’m going to plug the lousy bastards.”

“That’s just what they want you to try…”

“Buddy…help me…Sarge…help me….”

“Get back to your post, Joe.”

“I want…company.”

“Back to your post, dammit,” Marion snarled. Joe crept away. Marion edged through the grass. He made out a dim form lying along the ridge back of him and to the left and moved up to it. “Joe, I told you to get back to your…”

At this instant the Jap sprang. A knife blade flashed through the darkness. Marion went down, the Jap on top of him. Marion reached up desperately, blocked a thrust, and rolled away. The Jap was on him like a cat. Marion brought his knee up between the Jap’s legs. The man grunted and fell back for a split second. Marion tore forward, following up his advantage. They scuffed savagely on the rock. The Jap quivered, pressing his weight behind the knife. Slowly it edged towards Marion’s throat. Marion’s hand reached out into the enemy’s face, pushing his neck back. The Jap sunk his teeth into Marion’s hand and he had to open it, bleeding…his fingers reached to the Jap’s eyes and clawed wildly at them. The knife fell, and the Jap sank to his knees clutching his eyes. Marion pounced on him from the rear, his arm tight around the Jap’s neck. The man kicked and twisted in desperation. Marion closed his grip, grunting and straining every fiber of his being. He jerked again and again until the Jap’s body finally grew limp and he released a dead man. Then he reeled into the command post switchboard.

“Give me a relief…Jap…jumped me.” He sagged to his knees.

“Your shoulder’s bleeding.”

“Nick…just a nick….”

“Lighttower, take him back to the aid tent on the double!”

Doc Kyser washed away the blood and offered Marion a shot of brandy. “You’re lucky, Mary. He just grazed you.” Marion managed a feeble grin. The doctor looked at his closed and bloody hand. “Let’s take a look at that hand, son.”

“What….”

“Open your fist.”

It took two corpsmen to pry Marion’s bloody hand open. He stared at it unbelievingly. There were shreds of flesh and muscle there. “Wash my hand,” Marion cried, “wash it quick.”

CHAPTER 9

January 25, 1943

SERGEANT BARRY
was standing over me. I opened my eyes and jumped to my feet with a start. They were all gathered around the switchboard.

“I must have dozed,” I said. “Any word?”

“They haven’t answered the last four times.”

“Maybe they had to keep quiet on account of the Japs.”

“It will be light in a few more minutes,” I said, checking my watch. “The bombardment is due to start in five minutes.”

A Navy gunfire observer and the Tenth Marines’ observer went to the top of the ridge. Danny trudged over to me.

“See anything down there yet, Danny?”

“Nothing, at least no Japs in the stream.”

“Is the line still open to How Company?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe they’re just laying low. I wonder how Cassidy is?”

Huxley, followed by Ziltch, raced to us. “What’s the scoop?” he asked.

“The line is still open to How but we can’t get Seabags.”

“As soon as the bombardment opens, ring them again. Is the How observer at the observation post?”

“Yes, so are the other two.”

“Do you have a phone in up there?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going up there. About two minutes before we jump off I’ll phone you. Order the Tenth and the destroyer to hold fire. If you contact Seabags, have him shag-ass at zero five fifty-eight.” Huxley and Ziltch made their way to the rim of the ridge.

BLAM! BLAM! SWISH, WHOM! BLAM! BLAM! WHOM!

“This is the observation post. The Tenth Marines are on target. Have the destroyer lower her fire two hundred yards, they’re in the middle of the stream now.”

“Roger,” I said. “Crank up the generator, L.Q.”

BLAM! BLAM! Smoke began rising over the ridge. The generator whined. I put my fist to the key, then switched the dials. The clicks came through the earphones:
TOW V DFS
1 0532
K
.

BLAM! BLAM! SWHOOSH BLOM!

“Crank ’er up.”
DFS V TOW
2 0533
LOWER
200
SALVO
…. And the destroyer lowered and came in on the woods.

“Topeka White calling Brown. Are you there, Seabags?”

“Howdy, cousin,” a weak voice came through the phone.

“He’s there, he’s there!”

“Stop yelling and tell them bastards to stop firing at me, they’re two hundred yards out of the woods.”

“They’re lowering now. Are you all right?”

“Why, sure.”

“How’s Cassidy?”

“Not so hot…we got us four Japs and you should see the souvenirs.”

“Hang on a minute…hello observation post…this is Topeka White…tell Sam that Cassidy and Brown are still alive.”

“Hello Topeka White, this is Sam at the observation post. Call Henderson Field and tell them to call off the air cover. We can’t take a chance losing those boys now. All guns are on target. Contact How and tell them we want a machine gun spray before we jump…switch me to Seabags.”

“Hello…Seabags?”

“Howdy, Sam.”

“Good to hear your voice, son.”

“Good to be talking, Sam.”

“How’s it look down there?”

“Looks like they’re ripping the woods apart, noisy as hell.”

“Can you make it up the ridge?”

“Don’t think so. I’ll have to pack Cassidy…never do it in two minutes.”

“All right then, hit the stream and run for the beach when the artillery stops…take off like a ruptured duck. Topeka Blue has been alerted to look for you. Good luck.”

“Ta ta.”

“Hello Sam, this is Topeka White. We have Henderson Field on the phone.”

“Operations speaking.”

“This is Huxley, Topeka White…hold off the air cover. We’ve got some men trapped right in the target area.”

“Roger.”

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Shells careened into the woods and burst, blasting apart trees and earth. The roar became more deafening with each salvo. We raced to the ridge top near the observation post and stood by. The jungle was ablaze with smoke and splitting crashes. H-hour drew near. The riflemen lay poised along the length of the knoll awaiting the word to attack.

As suddenly as the noise had started, a quick silence left the woods panting and fuming. I whispered a Hail Mary. We leaned forward as the time pointed to 0558.

Seabags Brown stepped from a small clump of trees, far below us. A rifle in his right fist and over his left shoulder the body of Red Cassidy. He trotted in jerky, shaky steps to the stream, where he stumbled and fell. He raised to a crouch and darted down the middle of the stream, running directly under us.
Crack! Crack! Rat-a-tat….

“Goddammit, they still got them in there!”

“Give her the gas, Seabags. Take off!”

He buckled under his load and staggered down the stream, zigging away from the rain of fire from the smoldering woods. We screamed to him from our position.

“He’s around the ridge…he made it!” A cheer arose.

Huxley grabbed the field phone. “Give me How Company.”

“This is How.”

“This is Huxley. Give ’em hell!”

With a dim swish the mortars from How arced over us and fell on the stream. Our ridge became alive with machine gun fire. Red tracers crissed and crossed as they sprayed the treetops below. Huxley gave the phone to the How observer who directed the fire in its gradual creep to the edge of the woods.

0600!

The jungle was torn under the impact of the blasting. The machine guns stopped. Only the mortars still roared in. The skipper of George Company arose, his .45 in his right hand. He raised his left hand to his mouth and pointed down to the gulley. “Come on, you Whores—you’ll never get a Purple Heart up here. Follow me!”

Along the ridge Huxley’s Whores arose with their rifles at high port. The Japs answered with vicious fire.

We poured from the ridge into the gully, our rifles blazing and with bloodcurdling shrieks and rebel yells on our lips. The assault was on! The screams became deafening as we swept over the stream and into the jungle.

January 26, 1943

“I guess there ain’t no use of hoping no more.”

“Topeka Blue didn’t see hide nor hair of them.”

“Don’t give up hope. They may be lost in the jungle. It’s easy.”

“Pore damn farmer.”

“Oh, well, another day another dollar.”

We were on the beach now. There was no trace of Seabags or Cassidy. There was but one chance in a million that they were alive. We had forded the Kokumbona River, about half the drive was over. The Army in the interior held a steel ring around the mountain base, cutting off escape for the Japs. Ten more miles to Tassafaronga Point and we would have the enemy in a vise.

“Jesus,” said Lighttower, “I got to crap again.”

“Good old dysentery.”

“Us Injuns are regular fellows,” he said racing for the one-two-three trench.

“I want two volunteers, Andy and Danny, to dig a hole for the officers.”

“But we just dug one yesterday,” Andy protested.

“It’s full, they need a new one.”

“I always said it was true about them officers,” he moaned as he grabbed his trenching tool.

L.Q. took the message coming over the TBX. He doffed his earphones and shouted, “Condition Red!”

“Condition Red, air raid!” the word passed along the line.

We propped ourselves comfortably against trees along the beach to watch the show. A far-off sound of motors, and black dots began to appear on the horizon across the channel, over Tulagi. As they became larger, we counted.

“One…two…three…four….”

“Twenty-nine…thirty…Holy Christ…forty of them!”

Huxley held his field glasses up. “You men better take cover this time, there’s a mess of them.”

“Ain’t we supposed to shoot at them, Sam?”

“We’re not boondocking at Eliot, son. Let’s let Henderson Field take care of them.”

“Well, where the hell they at?” Speedy asked as the Japs loomed close. We could see the red balls painted on their sides and wing tips. Slow, steady Mitsubishi bombers moving right for our lines, surrounded by quick buzzing Zeros.

“Lookit!”

“Here they come! Gyrene Corsairs!”

“They were upstairs waiting all the time.”

Marine Corsairs, the F4Us with inverted seagull wings that the Japs called “Whispering Death.” The sky was soon alive with streaking tracers and snarling planes.

A streak of smoke…a plane careened and lowered…another burst into flame. As the Jap craft broke into dizzy whirls and plunged into Skylark Channel a cheer arose from the beach.

An inching bomber burst into flame, disintegrated, and scattered.

“Hit the deck!” A Zero broke and roared in on the beach. Its guns spewing, it zipped by only twenty feet overhead, sending a spray of bullets over us. Our CP machine gun spit back vainly and Speedy emptied his rifle, then defiantly threw it up at the plane as it came in for another pass.

The bombers, now over us, heaved their loads into our midst and the dogfight went on.

“Oh, Jesus—three Japs on that lone gyrene.”

“Dirty bastards, three to one ain’t fair.” A long black line of smoke erupted from the Corsair’s tail and it dropped into the sea.

Finally they left. The remnants of the Jap formation limped home, the Army P-38s falling from the sky upon them as they raced back over Tulagi.

Speedy Gray stood up and stretched. Marion put aside his pocket book, adjusted the tape which held his glasses together. “Got to get to the machine gun,” Speedy drawled. “Two-hour guard watch.”

Marion picked up his book again and nodded as the Texan peered over his shoulder and spelled out the words on the book’s cover. “What the hell you reading that stuff for—Oriental Fi-losophy?”

Marion smiled. “One of these days, Speedy, we’re going to stop fighting. I’m thinking it might be a good idea then to know how to deal with them.”

Speedy scratched his head. “I kind of figured that we’d shoot them all or throw them into stockades.”

“Seventy-five million people? I’m afraid that’s the wrong solution. We’d be defeating our purpose.”

“Aw, they’ll probably all commit hara-kiri.”

“I doubt that too. Somewhere we must find the answer. It must be something that coincides with their culture. If we used your method we’d be the same as the people we are fighting.”

“What culture, Mary? They ain’t nothing but a bunch of monkeys.”

“On the contrary. Their civilization dates back to a time when all good Texans were living in caves.”

“Aw, that there crap is too deep for me. Shoot them all, I say. See you later, I got to take the watch.”

Marion turned the page.

Speedy jumped down into the trench that lay in a grove of trees along the rim of the beach. The man on watch hoisted himself out. “Password is Lilac,” Speedy said.

“Check.”

The sandy-haired lad with the freckled face checked the machine gun. He swung it in an arc aiming his eye through the sight. It commanded any approach up the beach. The dying sun blew up like a leviathan flaming ball. It hit the horizon off Cape Esperance and its mammoth circle silhouetted the curving palms and the gold sand. The water of Skylark Channel was tinged with orange. A quiet and serene beauty like his home back in Texas on the gulf. For a moment he even thought he should like to come back here some day and just lie on the beach and look at it again. His thoughts were broken by a mosquito alighting on his forehead for a drink. He checked his timepiece and settled back.