Chapter 8
Solitude
Arnold
Blanche Wilson and Margaret Taylor sit, sipping coffee and inquisitively peering through the sheer dining room curtains at Arnold Gray, standing at the bus stop with his hands in his pockets. There is the usual poor choice of color coordination, and his navy blue pants and dark brown coat look positively dreadful together. Tonight will be one of the 3 nights a week he will go down to the Luckie Street YMCA, and his dog-eared satchel containing his exercise garments tucked under one arm does little to improve his appearance – in fact, the opposite is true.
Margaret asks, "I wonder why he goes down to that Y so often. Is he training for some sort of contest or something?"
"I think not," Blanche replies. "I think he just has nothing else to do. In a way, he reminds me of myself 40 years ago."
Arnold gets on the bus and sits in the same seat that petite, blond-headed woman has sat for the past week. His heart begins to beat faster when the bus stops at her corner, and he sees her getting on. Now, he seems almost relieved she didn't sit down by him. Instead, she sits on one of the long, front seats, and her dress inches well above her knees. Arnold can't take his eyes off her until she notices him staring at her. Very conspicuously, he turns his head and begins looking out the window.
Since the first day he saw her, he has wanted to introduce himself but lacks the confidence. He wants so much to meet someone and have a regular girlfriend but at the same time, doesn't want to endure the constant worry and jealously that his lack of self-assurance inevitability produces each time he tries to have a lasting, or even temporary, relationship with a woman. He doesn't want to continue being ruled by relentless loneliness but fears that terrible atmosphere of insecurity he has always felt when he reached out for someone's affection.
The bus stops at Whitehall and Peachtree Streets, and the young woman gets off and starts walking towards Pryor Street, just as she does every day. Arnold walks along behind her, wanting so much to say something to her, but the words or confidence in not there. He finally stops and only watches the shapely contour of her body under her tight wool dress until she disappears around the corner.
He turns and walks down Peachtree Street, and his eyes fall on Rich's Department Store. He isn't at all looking forward to another day, standing there in the piano department with his unattended emotions boiling inside him and doing nothing for most of the day. What is it he feels – lust or simply a natural need for something he does not have?
He walks onto the service elevator, still harboring fanciful thoughts about meeting the woman on the bus and doesn't notice the floor manager is on the elevator until the door opens onto the 3rd floor. The floor manager steps out ahead of him, and Arnold looks at his dark brown suit, light yellow shirt and brown and white-stripped tie. His hair is neatly combed and is beginning to gray at the temples, giving him a very successful and distinguished appearance.
The day is like all the rest. The hours drag by. Most of Arnold's sales are made during the two nights a week he works until 9:00 PM, and during the days, he mostly just walks around the department, looking at his watch and at the women customers in the house ware department across the aisle.
He looks at his watch again and is relieved it is 4:30 PM and he will soon be leaving but immediately realizes all that means is this night will be like all the rest when he has nothing to do, and he will go down to the Luckie Street YMCA and try to blunt his sex drive with those tedious exercises.
He looks back at the department manager's glass cubical and sees he is motioning for him, and without much inducement, slowly walks into the cubical and sits down in the chair beside his desk.
Eugene Whitaker has managed the piano department at Rich's for longer than most people in the store have been alive. Some say when he first came to work, he was in short pants. He is a small, balding man with a wrinkled face and constantly has a cigarette in his hand. The ashtray on his desk looks to have at least 20 butts in it, and he stifles out yet another one as he looks at Arnold and says, "Do you know Mr. Wilkerson?"
Without much interest, Arnold snickers, "Not personally. I'm not in the same component of society as a floor manager."
"Well, he knows you. At least, he knows you now," Whitaker says as he impatiently reaches for another cigarette. "It seems you were in the elevator with him this morning and didn't speak. He's got this thing about knowing all the employees on the floor, and he expects everyone to know him as well." He leans forward and raises his brow, expecting Arnold to speak.
Arnold waits a moment and says, "When I get on the elevator, I don't look around like a homosexual to see what men are on there."
Whitaker twitches around in his chair and seems to be wrestling for words. "He asked me to say something to you about your appearance. He's got this thing about appearance too. It's always been the store policy that sales personnel wear business suits. I haven't insisted on that with you, because your sales have always been so good and I didn't want to have to put up with another one of those queers they sent up from men's furnishings, but the matter is out of my hands now. You're just going to have to conform.
Arnold feels heated resentment building within him but knows it best to say no more. Trying to conform is something he has been trying to do for as long as he can remember but he can't seem to do it, no matter how hard he tries. He does, however, know conformity involves more than just changing what he wears. He says, "Okay," and leaves the cubical just as Whitaker lights another cigarette, not realizing he already has one in his hand.
It is near 5:00 PM. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he stays in the store after closing to practice on one of the display pianos and decides to do that before leaving for the Y. He sits down at a 9 foot Steinway grand, and his eyes stare at the keyboard for a few moments as he recalls how proper Mr. Wilkerson had looked in the elevator that morning. Then, his thoughts turn to the woman on the bus. As the customers begin to leave the store, he begins to run his hands up and down the piano in c minor and E Major arpeggios before beginning to play the Listz Concert Etude Number 3, trying to capture the full sospirando style and the sighing, doleful mood Listz must have had when he created it. He accents the treble notes and rolls the base arpeggios in a murmuring and subdued temper that exemplifies precisely at he feels at this moment.
Suddenly, he feels he is not alone, stops, looks behind him and is startled at the unexpected sight of what is incontestably the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Her skin is clear and smooth, and her medium length, jet-black hair is combed to each side in a ducktail. Her white, orlon sweater fits snug to her body, accentuating her full breasts. Her skirt is the exact color of her hair, hugs her shapely hips and is hemmed just below her knees. Her high-spike heels emphasize the symmetrical contour of her diamond-shaped lower legs. She is so lovely he is awe-stricken and cannot summon the appropriate words for a situation of the type he has never found himself.
She looks at him and then at the piano and says in a softly feminine voice, "Oh, that's beautiful. If you only knew how many times I've tried to play that."
Arnold's feels a tingling sensation in his neck and his palms are moist he, but manages a pretentious composure as he stands and says, "Let's hear you."
"On no, I could never let you see my fumbling style after hearing you play like that." She seems genuinely interested and asks with sparkling eyes and a enchanting smile, "How long did it take you to become such a virtuoso?"
Arnold is surprised he can manage some nature of wit and responds, "From when I was about 3 years old until a moment ago." His nervousness begins to subside and he starts to savor the first time he can recall when a woman has ever seemed infatuated with him – or anything that resembled that.
She sits down beside him on the piano bench and eagerly says, "Play some more."
Quite uncharacteristically, his confidence builds. He has practiced that piece so many times it requires little effort, as his hands float over the keyboard in an unmistakable and impeccable rendition of one of Listz's most romantic compositions. The young woman's eyes follow his hands up and down the keyboard, and every few moments, she glances up at him with an alluring smile.
He stops and slowly turns towards her but doesn't know what to say. Her smile and the feeling of her soft shoulder against his arm induce an immediate passion and fixation.
"Do you think you could teach me to play like that?" she says and starts to bounce up and down on the bench, causing her breasts to brush against his arm. The fixation immediately turns to one of masculine drive. Her hand reaches out and grasps his, and she excitedly says, "Do you give lessons?"
Arnold has never even considered giving lessons to anyone. Probably because no one has ever asked but he responds, "Yes, but I'm not sure where we would need to start. How long have you been playing?"
His fixation continues to build when she says, "Why don't you just wait and see for yourself," and reaches into her pocketbook to remove a very fancy business card. Her lovely, dark brown eyes sparkle in the showroom lights when she extends the card to him and with that entrancing smile, says, "Call me."
"I'll look forward to it," he says, trying to conceal his fascination. He can't take his eyes off her as he watches her disappear on the escalator to the first floor. The porters mopping the floor come to a full stop, place their hands on top of their mops and gap at her before briefly looking at one another and then resuming their work. He looks down at her business card and recognizes the real estate agency as the largest one in Atlanta, but his eyes are set on her name in the center of the card:
Angela Jennings
Agent
Circle of
Achievement Award Winner
He walks down Spring Street, and the ancient YMCA building on Luckie Street doesn't appear as bleak as it normally does. He cannot get her image out of his mind. She makes the woman on the bus look like a third-grader. Always before, he has found himself taking the exercises largely due to frustration, loneliness and because he had nothing else to do but on this night, he finds a new energy. There is a searing want and yearning as he hopes, hopes this can be the chance he has wanted for so very long.
Blanche
Blanche and Margaret sit at the dining room table with their second cup of coffee, just as they do every morning. Again they are staring at Arnold as he stands at the bus stop. Margaret has an intrigued accent in her voice as she slowly says, "There's something different about him lately."
"I know what it is," Blanche says. "I was talking to him a few nights ago, and he told me he had met a woman."
Margaret turns her head towards Blanche for a moment and then looks back at the bus stop. With deliberation, she says, "Really? I didn't expect that."
Just then, they both see the dispiriting figure of Bertha Williamson walking down Euclid Avenue. She is pulling a small shopping cart behind her and looks the same as she always does, what few times she is seen at all. She is a rather large lady, is wearing a long, dark gray coat and as always, there is that wide-brimmed, black straw hat pulled down over her eyes.
"There's Bertha," Blanche says. Her eyes follow her for moment before adding, "I can't remember the last time I saw her."
Margaret seems more conversational than usual and asks, "What does she do, just sitting alone in that old house all the time?"
"I really don't know," Blanche replies and for a moment, pictures Bertha as a younger woman when her husband was still alive and their little son, Jamie, was only a boy. It seems impossible that the embittered woman she now sees is even the same person she recalls from all those years ago. It was so unfair her son's life was so unhappy when he was in school and never seemed to have any friends. He stuttered, wasn't very bright and was always the smallest boy in the class at Moreland Grammar School. Everything he did, or tried to do, seemed to go wrong from his first day at school until that terrible day after the Second War when the boyfriend of that Simmons girl gave him a terrible beating because he had asked her for a date. About the only time he seemed to have any pride in himself was just after he had enlisted in the Army but in time, even that had turned against him.
Jamie
The sea was calm along the Lingayen Gulf on the South China Sea under a clear, crystal sky. The surf gently tossed against the sandy beach that overlooked the camp and was backset by the docile waves of the placid ocean. Indeed, the setting was composed – like an image on a postcard and did nothing to disclose the turmoil of the world.
The sides of the squad tent serving as the company orderly room were rolled up, admitting a slight breeze that did little to suppress the stifling heat that seemed to stick to one's body and discourage any movement except what was unavoidable and then, only at a slow pace.
Perspiration distilled itself from every pore of Jamie Williamson's body as he stood staring at the intolerant grimace on Captain Lawrence Fletcher's face while he thumbed through Jamie's personnel file. The frown on his face became progressively more dismal until he threw the file down on the field table that was his makeshift desk and glowered, "How in the hell did you ever get in the damn Army?"
Jamie hesitated for a moment before answering, "I en...en...enlisted."
The captain stared at him before beginning to snicker. He ran his hand through his dark red hair and his eyes squinted so the pupils were barely visible. Somehow the term "an officer and a gentleman" seemed glaringly inappropriate for the captain when he leaned forward and in a rigid tone, said, "Don't get smart with me, boy. I mean how the hell did you get by the recruiter with aptitude scores just slightly above the level of a lunatic?"
Jamie was confused and didn't know what to say.
The captain leaned back, began to shake his head and put both hands on top of his head. The deriding sneer returned to his face, and he said, "I think I know what happened. Those fucking recruiters are more concerned with meeting their quotas and don't give a damn about what people like me are supposed to do with F4s like you. I don't see how you got far before someone did something."
The unexpected summons to the company commander had placed Janie in a position in which he had often found himself in his 23 years of life. He seemed constantly trying to justify himself and always had the insistent feeling he should apologize of even existing. He was a small man of 5' 7", slender statue, and his narrow shoulders made his head appear disproportionately large. His thick, wiry, reddish brown hair stood out from his scalp and accentuated his very small chin, long nose and ruddy complexion.
He very timidly asked, "What do you me....mean, sir?"
The captain slammed his palms down on the table and shouted, "I mean you ain't got what it takes up here to be a soldier," and mockingly began to point his finger to his head. "Your squad leader says you don't seem to know your right from your left. That's the only explanation he can offer for your constantly getting out of step in formation. He told me when the company was cleaning weapons the other day, you were trying to put your trigger housing group in backwards. I can't believe anyone is that stupid, but your squad leader assures me you are."
Jamie's eyes fell to the ground in front of the table, and he apologetically said, "I'm tr....trying as h....hard as I can, sir."
The captain snapped, "If what I've seen of you is your best, then your situation is worse than I thought. I've already discussed this with the battalion adjutant. Monday morning, I want you to report to the S1 tent. Tell them who you are. They're expecting you and will start processing you out of this man's Army."
There was a silence. Captain Fletcher finally leaned back and pointedly said, "That's all, soldier." He dropped his hands into his lap and added, "Damn, I don't even know what I should call you, but it sure as hell ain't soldier."
Jamie's slowly looked up at the captain and saluted. When he did his about face, the toe of one boot caught itself under the heel of the other, and he almost lost his balance. Walking back to his squad tent, his eyes were moist, and he felt a sickening cramp in his stomach – much the same as he had felt after receiving one of the many beatings at school as a child. He walked into squad tent, sat down on his bunk and his eyes searched over the other men's faces. As on most any Saturday afternoon, some were lying on their bunks while others were writing letters home.
For a moment, he studied Franklin Houser sitting on his foot locker, reading a magazine. He would read a few lines and then a smile would come to his face as he would stop and appear to be thinking about what he had just read. Franklin wasn't the typical volunteer enlisted man. He was from a very well-to-do family and had a college degree in some type business subject. No one could understand why he had not applied for Officer Candidate School – he certainly seemed intellectually qualified, but he always would contend he wanted to "just be a soldier."
Jack Atley was in his bunk sound asleep. He always seemed to be at a dead stop, was a man that seemed to have literally no ambition or direction and always ended up where the lines of least resistance led him.
Jamie stared at them. Franklin, with his gentile features and soft-spoken nature, was the type person Jamie had always envied. Jack was quite the opposite. He had been content with his job as a bartender before he had been drafted and always seemed to use what little energy he was willing to disburse in an effort to avoid work or create some method to dilute the work he could not avoid.
Jack woke up, sat up on the side of his bunk and began a very rasping cough before spitting on the dirt floor, looking at Jamie and tauntingly saying, "Damn, you ain't the easiest thing to look at when a man wakes up, unless it's Halloween."
Franklin stopped reading, glanced at Frank and then at Jamie.
Jack stared at Jamie and said, "You look like you just lost your last friend, but you don't have any friends to lose. What happened? Did you find out you've got the crep or something?" He started to laugh, reached for a cigarette and began to cough again.
Franklin looked up and said, "Leave him alone, Jack"
Jack lit his cigarette and snapped, "Bite my prick, sissy pants!"
Jamie looked at both of them and said, "They're go....gonna th....throw me out of the Army."
Jack fell back on his bunk, emitted a ridiculing crackle and said, "And all this time, I thought you were stupid. How the hell did you manage that?"
Jamie didn't say anything but Jack continued his unmannerly badgering. 'Oh, I get it. You just acted yourself." He began to laugh again and said in a deep tone, "And who said sincerity didn't pay off?"
Franklin put down his magazine, sat down beside Jamie and asked, "When did they tell you?"
Jamie began to whimper and replied, "C...Cap....Captain Fletcher just said I w....was making too many mis....mistakes."
Jack cried out, "Mistakes? Hell, just look around you. This whole damn setup is a mistake, if I ever saw one. You ought'a fit right in." He brought one hand under his chin and pretended he was thinking. "Let's see, what's today – December 6, 1941, and here you are in the beautiful and sweltering vacation paradise of the Philippine Islands. Shit, you'll be home for Christmas and laughing at us poor bastards sitting out here in this damn oven."
Franklin saw Jamie wanted to be alone, patted him on the shoulder and went back to his magazine.
Jack asked, "What's so fucking interesting in that book? Necked women?"
Jamie didn't sleep at all that night and lay in his bunk, staring at the top of the tent and listening to the gentle tossing of the ocean against the beach. He was dejected and dispirited, thinking that enlisting in the Army was the only thing he had ever given him any degree of pride in himself. Granted, what little self-respect it had offered was a fragile possession but it was more than he had ever known. What would he do when he found himself discarded back into the life he had so wanted to escape? Surely, everyone's outlook on him would become even more harsh. He turned over on his side and tears began running down his cheek, dampening his crumpled pillow.
No one stood reveille on Sunday mornings. The KP crew had been awakened at 0430, and the guard posts were changed at 0800. Jamie envied the guard crew as the sergeant of the guard marched them across the company area to position them at their posts. He sat on his bunk, staring aimlessly and feeling sorry for himself.
No one had gone out on pass for several weekends. Jamie had tried to follow the news reports concerning the negotiations between the US and Japan about China but couldn't piece it all together. He never went out on pass anyway. Most of the other soldiers seemed happy and were making jokes with one another and laughing. Jamie wanted so much just to be one of them, but the likelihood he could be accepted into any circle of friends now seemed less promising. Most everyone except Jack Atley was reasonably polite to him but still, he always felt alone. He even had re-occurring dreams about standing at a door in some strange place, constantly knocking but never being omitted. Those he wanted as friends only seemed to tolerate him but such charitable tolerance sometimes hurt him even more than the coarse rejection by those like Jack Atley.
Jamie continued to stare about the squad tent and lost track of time. All the while, he was wondering what he would do when he found himself back on Euclid Avenue and in the life he had enlisted to escape. How would his mother feel? In an indirect sense, surely this would be yet another disappointment he had heaped upon her. For a moment, he thought he would not even go back to Atlanta, but his several months' savings of private's pay wouldn't take him very far. Even he had the presence of mind to know his dilemma was directly tied to Atlanta. Then, what would he do?
Suddenly, there was a commotion around the orderly room. Men stirred about the company area and began to run towards the tent. Franklin looked at Jamie and Jack and said, "Something's happened. We'd better go down there."
Jack threw his cigarette down and spat out, "What now?" There're probably just looking for some shitty work detail."
As the three of them ran from the tent, Franklin replied, "I don't think so. Something's happened."
About 50 men were gathered outside the tent, and a voice could scarcely be heard over the communications receiver. Someone close to the tent shuttered, "God damn!"
Jamie, Franklin and Jack stood there in the crowd listening to the murmurs and uncertain comments: "Hawaii has been attached – Pearl Harbor – Japanese planes!"
In a few moments, Captain Fletcher appeared in front of the tent with a pale and shaken expression on his face and said, "Listen and listen good. As best as we can determine from Naval communications in Manila Bay, a strong Japanese aerial force has attacked Pearl Harbor. We don't have time to analyze exactly what's going on. Platoon leaders, get everyone formed in full battle dress in the company assembly area in 15 minutes."
Everyone turned around, obviously dazed, and began to walk a few steps in the direction of the tents before breaking into a full run. The men nervously put on their gear and babbled among themselves. Momentarily, Jamie forgot the events of the morning, because then, he was feeling a new order of dread and fear. Suddenly, the fear for his life and the continuing humiliation he had feared only a few minutes before seemed imperceptible by comparison.
Outside the tents, jeeps and trucks were speeding in all directions, while men with .30 calibers and pieces of mortars slung over their shoulders were chasing about in near panic. Gradually, the chaos subsided, and the 91st Infantry Combat Team stood with some degree of composure in the company assembly area. The Philippine scout sections were in platoon formation just to the right of the Americans, who were largely recent inductees, the same as Jamie, Franklin and Jack.
Colonel Howard Rogers, the team commander, stood before the group and quite understandably showed the same lack of poise as everyone else. He was a career soldier, well educated and very capable, having experienced combat in World War I, but weapons and tactics were far from what they had been then. He was a large-framed man with wavy, white hair and strong masculine features, but there was an uncharacteristic hesitancy in his voice as he said, "I'm sorry we don't have any more definite information, but we do know Pearl Harbor has been attacked by a strong Japanese air strike. We don't expect it to stop there, and I can only tell you our orders are to hold our position until the true condition develops. I would only add that from my experience, I can tell you that the first time under fire, the tendency is to forget one's training and simply worry about staying alive. I'm confident the few men in our group who have been in combat will tell you basically the same thing. What you've been taught offers the best prospect of both staying alive and accomplishing our mission, which is the defense of this island." He paused a moment and looked at the group before directing, "Company commanders, take charge of your units and move to your pre-assigned defensive positions."
The company commanders saluted just like Jamie had watched the basic training company commanders do so many times, but now, everything had such a different and more serious meaning.
The units moved at rout-step through the billet areas and into the sandbagged trench positions surrounding the base and facing the deceptively calm waters of the South China Sea. Just as they were moving into their positions, there was a rumbling in the air to the west. In panic, the men dashed for the trenches as what seemed several squadrons of Japanese Zeros were sighted in close formation and flying at low altitude. The men all dove into the trenches and lay hugging the earth for a few moments before cautiously rising to their knees and peering at the planes as they flew over them, never breaking formation.
Jamie could barely hear Franklin when he shouted, "I'll bet they're headed for Manila Bay!"
"W....wh....Why," Jamie asked.
"Because that's where our ships and airplanes are," he replied as the planes flew over them.
Jack blated out, "Who in the hell cares where they're going, as long as they don't stop here!"
They all stood there and watched them disappear in the direction of the Bataan peninsula.
____________________
Franklin was right but no one had the presence of mind at the moment to examine the Japanese strategy. December 7, 1941 had been the initial step in a plan long under preparation. With the destruction of the American Pacific Fleet, the Japanese hoped to seize essential territory in Malaya, which was then defended by the British, in the Dutch East Indies and the Philippines. Accomplishing that, a formidable defense perimeter would exist throughout the Western Pacific that would deny a strike on Japan.
The early phases of this plan were met with a large degree of success. Probably few of the American soldiers huddled in their defensive positions on that first day of World War II for the US even knew the Philippines had come under American protectorate through its victory over Spain in the Spanish American War in 1898. On 7 December, by comparison to the total American soldiers in the Philippines, the number of combat soldiers was very small – only about 20,000 – and the only combat-ready Filipino force was the American-trained Philippine Scout Division.
The enemy air formations that had flown over the 91st Combat team on that frightful day were indeed flying towards Manila Bay and within days, the Navy Yard at Cavite was destroyed. Most of the American P40s at Ida Air Base, parked wing-to-wing to protect against sabotage, were destroyed while they stood on the ground. What very few managed to take off were hopelessly outnumbered and quickly shot down. It must have been a terrible feeling for the few brave men in that final moment before their deaths, knowing they were to perish on the very first day of the war for the US. All their training and what hopes they had for the future surely must have flashed through their minds as the last things they saw in this world were their own blood and the suffocating flames and smoke billowing from their planes as they fell from the sky.
On that first night of the war, when the largely untested men of the 91st Combat Team huddled behind their sandbags, perhaps it was an unrealized blessing how decisive the Japanese victory had been a Pearl Harbor, how completely defenseless they were and what suffering was soon to befall them.
____________________
Large beads of perspiration trickled down Jamie's face. His heart pounded in his throat, and the sound of what seemed thousands of insects in the jungle surrounding the camp reverberated through the sandbag emplacements. One moment, he was sweating and the next, the gentle breeze from the South China Sea would cause him to shiver but then, he would realize he was shivering because he was afraid and not due to the cooling wind. The barrels of the .30 calibers glistened in the moonlight as it reflected the rippling waters of the Lingayen Gulf. Everyone was silent and gazed into the night, thinking thousands of thoughts.
Franklin looked at Jamie and in a settling voice, said, "Why so quite?"
"I'm t..th...thinking about h..how much I wanted to be in the Ar...Army," he replied.
Franklin asked, "When you enlisted, did you ever expect anything like this?"
Jamie looked out into the gulf and sighed, "All I wa...wanted to do was g..ge...get away from home."
Franklin seemed surprised and asked, "What do you mean. Wasn't things right at home?"
"No. That wa...wasn't it. I had a ni...nice home but all I was do...doing was making my parents un...unhappy."
"How?" Franklin asked.
"Just look at me. I cou...couldn't keep a j..job. They never said it, but I kn...knew I was a big d..di...disappointment to them." Jamie paused a moment, looked at Franklin and added, "I'll b...bet your pa...parents were real proud of y...you – I mean with your ed...education and all."
A slight smile came to Franklin's face as he shook his head and said, "I'm not sure they were. I didn't turn out exactly what they had hoped for myself."
A surprised expression came over Jamie but he didn't say anything.
Franklin stared out over the ocean and then down at the ground. "The simple truth is I'm sure my parents were every bit as disappointed with me as you think yours were with you. Sure, I'm educated. I had a nice, soft job in the family business, plenty of money and might have been on the way to having a girlfriend. I can't explain it, but I couldn't apply myself. I never felt where I belonged or even wanted to be. I remember hearing you say a few weeks ago you're parents were proud of you when you enlisted. I wish you could have seen the expression on my father's face when I told him that's what I had done. He just looked at me and said, 'How primitive.'''
Jamie's voice was one of complete surprise. "You me...mean you had all that and weren't h..ha...happy?"
Jack was quietly sitting with his eyes alternating between the two of them as they spoke. Finally, he joined in rather contemptuously and said, "Unhappy, hell. You don't know what tough shit is. At least, you had parents. I've been on the street since I was 15 years old. Nobody ever gave me a damn thing. It's grips my ass to see people like you talk about how tough everything's been on them. Shit, you don't know what unhappy is." With that rather unrefined oration, he picked up his weapon and moved down the line away from them.
No one slept for the next two nights. There was the constant preparation during the day for what "was coming" as everyone put it and guard duty during the night. It must have been on the morning of 10 December when Jamie, Franklin and Jack lay in their foxhole, finally managing a few hours sleep after being relieved from their guard posts. The earth began to shake below them. Simultaneously, their heads jerked up from their pillows fashioned from their field packs, as somewhere in the distance to the northeast, they heard shelling from somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean.
They rose to their feet. Jack seemed annoyed and spit out, "What in the hell?"
Jamie nervously said, "W..wh...what to you think th..that is?"
Franklin listened for a moment and replied, "It's coming from the direction of Aparri. Listen, can't you hear the explosions? That can only mean it's being fired from the ocean. They must be attacking."
Jack sarcastically related, "What the hell are you? Some kind of geography teacher or something?"
All around the camp, men got up and began to stare towards the explosions. Franklin grabbed Jamie and said, "Let's get over there," and pointed towards the communications tent where a number of men were already gathering.
As the three of them were running, they could hear intermittent voices on the radio between the periods of static and crackling. The man who was transmitting was obviously very young, and his voice was so frightened it quivered as he gasped for breath. "Pacific 7, this is Pacific 4. We are under heavy naval bombardment and receiving aerial strafing. An...anticipate immediate landing!"
The explosions from the sea bombardment erupted from the receiver, but the men's voices in the background could still be heard shouting instructions to one another. At that moment, Colonel Rogers came running across the assembly area with Captain Fletcher. They stopped at the radio receiver's table, and he nervously related the ominous situation to the two officers, who uneasily glanced at one another just as the communication abruptly ceased.
Everyone glared at the muted radio for a moment before Captain Fletcher faced Colonel Rogers and asked, "What have we got up there?"
The colonel seemed surprising composed and replied, "Mostly untrained Philippines and a few American cadre. They can't repel anything like this." He rested his chin on one hand and stared at the silent radio before turning to Fletcher and saying, "Get everyone ready to move. We'll have to check with division before committing anyone. Maybe they know more about how serious this is than that poor bastard on the radio."
Everyone ran back to their tents and hurriedly began gathering their equipment, but no one had any idea what they were about to be ordered to do. Some soon began to argue among themselves as to whether the most reasonable thing to expect was to move forward to reinforce the point of the attack or simply wait where they were and wait for the enemy to come to them.
The sound of the shelling became louder as the company stood in formation under the punishing tropical heat and listened to Captain Fletcher tell them the division had ordered the 91st Combat Team to hold its position until the strength of the Japanese attack could be assessed. The next several days were an eternity. The constant waiting, the sound of the shelling and airplanes in the distance and never knowing what the next moment might bring, in some ways was worse than being in the battle. On that dark day, the American forces under the command of General Jonathan M. Wainwright consisted of the 11th and 21st Divisions, the 91st Combat Team and the 26th Calvary, which was the last remaining unit of horse cavalry in the Army.
The upper echelon decided not to commit anyone on the first day of the battle and to hold all organized units in reserve until the tactical situation stabilized.
The tormenting waiting continued. The morning of 20 December 1941 seemed cooler than most, largely because the uniforms were still wet from the drenching rain the night before. Jamie sat in his foxhole, rubbing his M1 with his handkerchief and glanced out into the Lingayen Gulf. He saw several spots on the horizon but didn't think much of them and just continued cleaning his rifle.
Jack was arguing with Franklin about why the American economic system produced people like him, and Jamie continued to look out into the ocean. The spots were becoming larger. He dropped his handkerchief and laid his weapon on his lap for a moment. His eyes moved across the horizon, and he noticed there seemed to be a pattern to the spots, as they were lined one after the other. He called out to Jack and Franklin.
Jack showed his usual lack of graciousness as he walked up behind Jamie's foxhole and said, "What's the matter, goofus – forget how to put it back together agian?"
Jamie pointed out into the ocean and asked, "What's that out th... there?"
The three of them stood there, glaring out into the Lingayen Gulf. The images gradually became more visible, and Franklin said, "It looks like transport ships."
Jamie's head snapped towards them, and he elatedly asked, "Are we b...being relieved?"
Jack immediately interjected, "Hell no, they'd never commit that many ships without air cover. Those are Jap ships."
More and more men began to see them, and a heated commotion rapidly spread throughout the camp. Colonel Rogers and Captain Fletcher soon appeared on the beach and gaped through their binoculars for a few minutes before Fletcher grabbed a soldier by the arm and sent him off towards the communications tent.
The ships were sailing from the northeast to the south and soon, the sea was deceptively vacant but men's eyes remained fixed on the sea, waiting for something to happen. Then, in the distance there was the faint sound of shelling that seemed to be coming from both north and south. In a few moments, men began pouring from their tents into the trenches and foxholes.
Jack grabbed one of them and clamored, "What in the hell....!?"
The man only slowed down for a second and said, "It just came over the radio! The Japs have landed at several places along the Gulf. They're gonna hit us like they did Guam."
Guam had fallen on 10 December, only 3 days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and there had been reports of heavy fighting on Wake Island, which by all accounts, could not hold out much longer. The American forces were on the defensive throughout the Pacific and seemed to be losing everywhere.
The men crouched in their foxholes and listened to the sounds of the distant battles. They all feared the war that had been all around the Luzon Island was about to reach out and claim them. Soon after that reality grasped them, they found themselves marching in column formation through the dense jungle that surrounded the beach. The heat was sweltering, and the moist, soft ground of the jungle floor tugged at their legs producing a fatigue making the heat seem even worse. The damp air was filled with the strange noises of the jungle, and the branches of the trees and plants slapped against men's bodies, leaving a stinging tingle that made the heat, slimy foliage and insect-infested jungle near intolerable.
A curious feeling obsessed Jamie. One moment he was consumed by fear and the next, he thought if Pearl Harbor had been attacked 2 days later, he might not even be there. Throughout the long afternoon and for the first time in his life, he began to experience a phenomenon of pride in himself. It was an intoxicating feeling that seemed to distill energy all through his weary body.
The forced march had lasted all day with few rest stops. The company was marching south, close to the Luzon coast. Everyone was breathing heavily and their fatigue shirts were soaked with perspiration. The sun was setting over the South China Sea to the right of the column. The sounds of the jungle grew louder and louder as nightfall approached. All during the day, the sounds of the distant mortar and rifle fire had grown louder, until a sudden calm had fallen several hours earlier and then, there had been only an occasional rifle shot.
The column stopped and immediately, the tired men flopped to the ground. A faint mumble began to build until the voice of Captain Fletcher was heard in a provoked whisper, "God dammit. Keep quiet!"
In a moment, the captain emerged through the dense foliage and whispered something to Sergeant Graham, Jamie's squad leader. He nodded and called for the squad to gather around him. Quite obviously apprehensive, he said, "We're going on ahead to try to see how close we are to the Japs. Stay close together. It'll be dark soon."
The squad slowly moved to the west in the direction of the beach and could soon see the ocean through the foliage that danced from side to side in the gentle evening breeze. It was almost dark, and the sun setting over the ocean cast a brilliant, orange tinge over the rippling waves. As the squad came to the edge of the jungle, the setting sun momentarily blinded everyone, but as they shaded their eyes with their arms, a horrifying panorama came into view. They stood there, as if frozen, and looked from left to right. A light layer of smoke hovered about 3 feet from the ground and was in an orange tint from the setting sun.
The beach was covered with bodies of Philippine Army troops. Their twisted corpses lay at the top of their sandbag fortifications and their weapons lay all across the ground in front of them. Some were wearing khaki uniforms, some civilian clothes and hardly any had helmets.
Jamie, Franklin and Jack stood together glancing at one another and then back out on the beach. Franklin tugged at Jamie's arm and pointed out into the ocean where the bodies of a very large number of Japanese troops were floating in the shallow water and slowing being washed up on the shoreline. All along the beach, Japanese soldiers in their beige uniforms lay side-by-side with the Philippine Army defenders.
Jamie whispered into Franklin's ear, "They're all d...dead. Where aren't there any w..wo...wounded?"
Jack moved in between them and said, "The Japs probably don't take prisoners. They've already evacuated their wounded."
Jamie was puzzled as he turned to Franklin and asked, "Wh...what doe he mean?"
"He means they more than likely just shot them," Franklin responded.
All at once, small arms and automatic weapons fire rang out to the south. Sergeant Graham tried to get his bearings as to exactly where the squad was and where the firing was coming from before he ordered the squad to begin moving back to the company's position. In the eerie shadows of the jungle twilight, the squad felt its way back towards the company until Graham signaled them to stop. Somewhere to the right, there was a rustling in the thick vines and leaves. The squad knelt motionless and stared towards the noise until 3 Japanese soldiers appeared, not 10 yards from Sergeant Graham. For a fleeting moment, everyone was paralyzed by the strange combination of fear and the uncertainty that rules one's mind when he faces something the likes of which he has never known. Both the members of the squad and the Japanese soldiers seemed to be waiting for someone else to do something. A shocking bolt of energy surged through Jamie's body as he jerked the sling of his rifle from his shoulder, pointed it at the enemy soldiers and began to pull the trigger as rapidly as he could.
Everything came to a sudden halt. The jungle noises ceased. No gunfire could be heard anywhere, and the only auditory sound was the ringing of the empty clip as it ejected from Jamie's rifle. The 3 Japanese soldiers screamed, clutched their abdomens and fell directly at the feet of Sergeant Graham. After a moment of unmistakable shock, he inched forward and nervously turned the 3 men over so they were lying on their backs. He began to spread their legs and arms and search their dead bodies.
There was the fluttering of a group of birds in the trees overhead and the resumption of the constant sounds of the jungle as Sergeant Graham searched through the fallen soldiers' pockets, but nothing of intelligence value was found. Their weapons were still slung over their bodies and beside them lay a number of empty canteens. They obviously had only been sent out on a detail to obtain water for their own squad and probably had regarded such an assignment as much preferred to remaining wherever they came from, never conceiving it could lead them to the unceremonious death that had so suddenly claimed their lives.
In the day's last light, the squad found its way back to the company, waiting at the edge of the jungle. Jamie's heart finally resumed its normal beat and the cold sweat that had caused him to tremble all the way back had relented. Sergeant Graham reported to Captain Fletcher, who was plainly stupefied when he learned of the shocking scene out on the beach. He looked at his watch and then in the direction of the gunfire, which had suddenly resumed, before frantically waiving his arms for the platoon leaders to gather around him. The young lieutenants' eyes never left him as he made several gestures in the direction of the fighting and looked straight into their eyes, as they shook their heads and presently made their way back to their platoons.
Captain Fletcher walked over to where Jamie, Franklin and Jack were standing and for an instant, seemed lost for words. With a rather befuddled expression, he finally said, "Quick thinking. If they had reported our position, we'd be in a hell of a fix."
An inquiring feeling began to filter through Jamie's body. There was a certain satisfaction that the man who only a few days earlier had regarded him as a unfit to be a soldier had complimented him, but the screams of the men he had just killed kept ringing in his mind.
Franklin reached out and patted him on the back and said, "Good show, soldier."
It suddenly occurred to Jamie that no one had ever referred in earnest to him as "soldier," and he felt a strange compensation in knowing at least on that occasion, there was no requirement he try to justify himself.
Lieutenant Ferguson, the platoon leader, was about Jamie's age and had short, blonde hair and blue eyes. His slight build and light complexion gave him a rather juvenile appearance, and he rarely dealt directly with the men of the platoon. It wasn't completely clear if this was due to lack of confidence or strict adherence to chain of command, choosing to exercise his command through the platoon sergeant and squad leaders.
The platoon gathered around him. He showed some limited degree of poise, regardless of his self-confidence, lack of self-confidence or observance of the chain of command. His helmet was too large for him and wasn't straight on his head, giving him an even more strikingly immature appearance as he said, "Those ships we saw today were transports. The destroyers that covered the landing have apparently withdrawn, but the enemy has landed at several places along the western coast of Luzon. The battalion has been ordered to fight a delaying action until our defenses can be organized." He paused a moment and then, in a surprisingly convincing tone, continued, "What we're going to be doing isn't exactly the manual's 'close with and kill the enemy mission of the infantry'. We're going to hug the boundary of the jungle to avoid aerial observation, find the enemy and then, I guess, just see what happens."
With that irresolute tactical observation, the young lieutenant's short-lived impression of authority quickly expired.
Again, the company was creeping in close file formation along the jungle's edge. The moonlight glittered over the ocean, and a chorus of bird and insect sounds filled the night. They were drawing closer to the occasional automatic weapons fire until they heard the faint sound of voices, which were first indistinguishable but soon were soon identified as Japanese. No one was surprised that they had found the enemy before reaching friendly forces, because the demise of the ill-faded water detail attested that the enemy was between the company and whatever remained of the Luzon forces. The night was clear and there was no wind, but due to the persistent jungle noises, it was difficult to get a precise fix on the Japanese voices.
Word passed down to the platoon leaders to report to the head of the column. Jamie looked at his watch and saw it was 0130 hours, and he was surprised it had been that long since sunset.
When Lieutenant Ferguson returned, the men scurried to his side and must have been somewhat surprised to find him reasonably calm and even guardedly smiling as he said, "I'm relieved we're following the same school of thought I learned in ROTC. You're never supposed to attack with exhausted troops. We don't know exactly where to attack anyway. We're going to rest here until morning. Everyone keep absolutely quiet. Not a word. We don't yet have a feel for where the Japs are, and the captain has decided not to send out patrols or even position an outpost."
The company quietly dropped its field packs. Some of the men lay down on the edge of the beach while others sat, staring out into the ocean. No one seemed to want to look into the jungle. The intermittent gunfire continued in the distance, and no one slept. Jamie laid flat on his back staring at the stars above, and his body slowly began to relax. The tension gradually left his aching muscles, and he felt strangely at ease. His thoughts turned to those many nights on Euclid Avenue when he had lain in his bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. There had always been the rumbling sounds of the streetcars until 11:00 PM, and he could almost see the sheer curtains in his bedroom dancing in the gentle summer breezes. Sometimes, there had been the sound of a radio from the house next door, and more times than not, he had found himself dreading, sometimes even fearing, the next day. As a boy, he had always feared going to school. He always had trouble with his schoolwork and often was bullied by the other boys at recess. After high school, he no longer was afraid but still had been terribly unsure of himself. He had always found himself alone. It hurt him more than anyone ever knew when began to realize he was far from the son his parents had wanted. The love and pity they felt for him had been a peculiar coalition ultimately yielding to the need to simply accept what fate had given them and not react with understandable resent because of it. Beyond a point, it had probably been difficult for them to distinguish between love, pity, acceptance and resent. All these emotions wandering about in one's mind could hardly be expected to produce anything like the happiness most children bring their parents.
The strangest awareness came over him as he lay there listening to the sounds of the rolling waves and distant gunfire. It seemed he no longer felt afraid and in an indirect sense, was eagerly anticipating the next day as a newfound means to assert himself.
The next morning was dark, and it was difficult to distinguish between the thunder and gunfire that had drawn closer overnight. This by no means made the canned breakfast more palatable. The platoon leaders met with Captain Fletcher, and everyone was apprehensive when Lieutenant Ferguson gave the platoon a far too concise appraisal of the circumstances when he said, "We'll be moving out soon. Battalion S2 feels the sustained gunfire we've been hearing for the last several hours probably means someone has launched an attack."
A driving rain began to fall as the company entered the jungle. The rumbling thunder and crackling lightning caused some of the men to flinch, much like a fighter who has taken too many punches. After they had advanced for a mile or so, the undergrowth became less dense and gradually, the flat layout of the jungle gave way to a series of short, rolling hills and grassy meadows. The gunfire was very close as the company came to the crest of a small hill where Captain Fletcher dropped to his knees and signaled for everyone to drop to the ground. The gunfire was obviously just over the hill, and what seemed confused and shrieking Japanese voices were heard in the distance. For quite a few minutes, Fletcher observed through his binoculars whatever he was looking at before again signaling for the platoon leaders.
Jack was annoyed and protested, "This shit is getting monotonous."
When Ferguson returned, there was a slight quiver in his voice when he said, "The Japs are attacking our positions on the high ground ahead of us. We're going to place the BARs and two .30 calibers at the top of this hill and fan out the 1st and 2nd Platoons to the left and 3rd and 4th Platoons to the right. The captain feels we might be able to advance far enough forward to catch them in a crossfire."
The rain became heavier as the company moved over the hill, and when the 1st Platoon crept into the meadow, they could see large numbers of Japanese soldiers running from the bottom of the hill, some 200 yards away. The Americans were pelting them with rifle fire from hastily prepared defensive positions at the top of the next hill. There seemed no method to the Japanese advance, and they appeared simply running headlong into the defending fire.
Captain Fletcher was at the head of the 3rd and 4th Platoons about 50 yards to the right and suddenly spotted what must have been 2 companies of Japanese infantry crouched behind the tall grass ahead of them. The sound of the rain and thunder covered the company's advance, and the Japs never saw them until Captain Fletcher positioned 2 squads of riflemen in sitting position and began firing straight into them. They were completely surprised and began running in the opposite direction, directly towards the 1st and 2nd Platoons.
Lieutenant Ferguson was somewhat overwhelmed but after a moment's hesitation, in a high-pitched and less than authoritative voice, managed a very boyish, "Spread out!" followed by a screeching, "Open fire.!"
When the Japs realized what was happening, some of them crouched down and attempted to return fire, but their leaders quickly saw they had lost control and still didn't seem to know where the new volume of fire from coming from. In a moment, there was a sound that sounded like a bugle and in unison, the Japanese infantry bolted to the rear and what they thought would be the sanctuary behind the hill.
Jamie, Franklin and Jack ceased fire at the Lieutenant's order and lay flat on the rain-soaked ground, watching the impulsive retreat. Jamie looked at the company's position at the top of the hill and anxiously asked, "Why don't they o..op..open fire?"
Jack responded, "They're waiting for the stupid cocksuckers to get in point blank range."
The Japanese soldiers sprinted towards the hilltop, and some were stumbling and falling by the time they got within 30 yards of the crest of the hill. Then, the BARs and .30 calibers began to spew a mass of devastating fire. They fell to the ground in the pattern of traversing fire and began rolling down the hill, separating their forces into the distinct categories of the fallen dead and those waiting to be cut down. Screams rang out everywhere in a massacre beyond description.
Jamie looked at the American positions on the hilltop in front of them and saw several machine guns continuing to fire on the Japanese ahead who didn't seem to realize the disaster that had befallen the remainder of their force. He ran down the hillside to Lieutenant Ferguson's side and jerked his shirtsleeve, saying, "L..lo...look down there!"
Again, the lieutenant hesitated and didn't know what to say or do before looking over to Sergeant Graham. Possibly, it wasn't so much he didn't know what to do but lacked the stomach to give any sort of directive. Even though he never uttered a word, Graham motioned for the squad to assume the skirmish formation, and in a few moments, they began to trudge through the tall grass in the general direction of the confused enemy.
Suddenly, two men at the right dropped dead in their tracks. Jamie was just beside Graham who blated out, "God dammit!" We're being hit by our own fucking fire!" He immediately ordered the squad to fall to the ground.
Unknowingly, the squad had wandered into the fields of fire of the American automatic weapons, and it wasn't evident at the moment if those under attack even realized what was happening below them or if they could distinguish between the American or Japanese soldiers in the heavy rainfall. Jamie and everyone else lay waiting for Graham's order, but then it was he who became confused and didn't know what to do. Jamie thought for a moment and then, slowly began to inch forward on his stomach. No one saw him as the Japanese continued to fire towards the hilltop, and he easily crawled to within about 20 yards of the Japanese emplacements. He looked through the high weeds and saw four Japanese – one gunner, one feeding ammunition into the weapon and two others who must have been ammunition bearers. His hands only had a slight tremble as he felt up and down his shoulder harness. He had two grenades, and the very next second, he could not recall if he had reloaded his rifle the day before after he had cut down the enemy soldiers on the water detail. Slowly, he reached down and felt his ammunition pouches and saw one was empty. He hoped that meant he had reloaded but still was not sure.
Tentatively, he continued crawling towards the machine gun position. He stopped not 10 yards from the enemy, debating within himself as to whether or not he should shot them in the back. He never had to decide, because one spotted him and began screaming at the top of his voice. All at once, Jamie was on his feet and running straight towards them, his feet sloshing through the spongy ground and the rain lashing across his face. As the screaming Japs stood up, Jamie began pulling his trigger as rapidly as he could and was delighted to hear the rounds and feel the muzzle vacillating from side to side. At first, he was relieved to see the weapon was loaded but then realized he had no concept of where he was firing. Through some stroke of luck, the enemy soldiers fell in unison. Two were dead and the others lay clutching their abdomens and wincing in the pain engrossed over their faces. Jamie rose to one knee and with surprising presence of mind quickly reloaded.
Soon, all across the rain-drenched battlefield, gunfire began to subside, the Japs lay down their weapons and began to sit on the ground with their hands clasped over their heads. Jamie was surprised, because in training, he remembered someone's saying they would not surrender. He looked back at Lieutenant Ferguson and then at Captain Fletcher. Both motioned the platoons to begin moving forward. Captain Fletcher looked behind him, searched over the meadow and appeared relieved that the only casualties were the two men in Jamie's squad who had fell victim to friendly fire. Just then, a Japanese soldier sprang up from the tall grass and began screaming at the top of his voice and running towards Fletcher, who had already slung his carbine over his shoulder. The enemy soldier had his bayonet fixed and ran right in front of Jamie towards the captain who was benumbed but jerked the sling of his weapon so abruptly it struck the side of his helmet and went rolling across the ground in the direction of the shrieking Japanese soldier. Jamie raised his weapon to his shoulder, remembered to hold his breath and sighted the man's shoulders at the top of his sight blade. He slowly exhaled and squeezed of a single round that must have struck his heart and went all the way through him, because blood gushed from the yawning void in the center of his chest, and the small man was propelled forward. He released his weapon that sailed through the air and came to rest not 5 feet from where the stupefied captain stood.
Jamie held his rifle at his shoulder for a moment and then slowly lowered it to his side. He and Fletcher just stood there in the driving rain, glaring at each other for a few moments before Jamie turned and moved towards a group of surrendering enemy and gestured for them to move towards the others further up the hill. The two soldiers he had just wounded were glaring him as two others, who must have been medics, began to attend them.
Jamie moved back to his own squad and momentarily, his eyes fell on the two fallen American soldiers, just as Captain Fletcher began to regain his self-composure. His voice rang out for the company to move forward towards the American forces on the hilltop. Everyone inquiringly stared at Jamie as he assumed his place, and the platoon again moved forward in the skirmish formation.
Jamie's response to the first test of battle had left the others in the platoon with an even greater doubt about him. True, his image as a misfit was rapidly becoming modified, but even that rendered a whole new order of doubt about him. That night, no one heckled or made fun of him. Instead, there were just those cautious stares, which no doubt were precipitated by uncertainty as to whether an apology or compliment was what Jamie expected.
Jamie sat alone with his mess kit and potted meat, not knowing what he should say himself and was awe-struck when Ferguson walked up to him, extended his hand and in his characteristic boyish manner, said, "Congratulations, you've been recommended for the Bronze Star."
The next morning, there was a near festive spirit among the company. The balance of the battalion had joined the group overnight, and there was a reassurance, not only in increased numbers, but also in having decisively defeated the enemy in the first combat encounter. The light-hearted spirit was, however, short-lived, because word quickly circulated among the hastily prepared foxholes, that the 11th and 21st Divisions had been routed after the Japanese landings along the western coast of Luzon. The newfound joyous spirit soon relented to the more familiar intuitions of fear and doubt.
Indeed, the untrained Philippine Army had not stopped the enemy on the beaches. The 26th Cavalry had been committed on the first day of battle and had also sustained heavy losses. Everyone in the company was bewildered upon learning all of the Luzon forces were in full retreat and had been ordered to continue the delaying action back towards Bataan. Although unclear, it appeared the strategy was to position a portion of the forces at key river crossings while the balance continued the retreat to a point where effective defensive positions could be established. Then, the forward force was to withdraw behind the new defense perimeter and organize still more positions to the rear in the hope the enemy could be delayed in such an alternating retreat until the anticipated relief arrived.
No one had asked the name of the shallow body of water, as the jeeps and 2 1/2 ton vehicles forded the winding river that streamed through the jungle before yielding to rolling meadows with purple-rimmed mountains in the distance. The company was first to reach the other side and took up positions along the higher ground from which to cover the withdrawal.
Jack dropped to his knees, began to scratch out a foxhole and commenced his usual complaining. "This means we'll be the first bastards to stay."
Very soon, his grim prediction proved correct, as several battalions were positioned on the either side of the company and ordered to dig in. The waiting resumed. Some communications had been lost, and no one could say where the other forces on the island were. Many of the soldiers who began to wander across the river in the next few hours did not seem to be parts of organized units – only fragments of a number of units that had been decimated by the numerically superior Japanese force. Many were wounded and were being carried on stretchers. Apparently, very little of the 26th Cavalry had survived the early stages of the Japanese attack, and the expressions on the exhausted men's faces, as they dragged themselves across the river, could only attest to the grim prospect they had just been part to a terrible defeat.
Throughout the day, there was the uneasy calm of the flowing water and restive thoughts that retained one's mind when it is so completely possessed by fear. At the outset, fields of fire had been assigned and the weapons were cleaned but then, the waiting resumed and left a hollowness in men's souls that yielded only a compelling yearning for yet another chance to amend those things in life that are only admitted to one's self. Gradually, after an imposed period of self-examination, thoughts turned from competing regret and hope to a much more pragmatic vein, as everyone wondered how many places along the river were suitable for crossing and just where the enemy advance would come.
With nightfall, there came a certain sense of security that quickly forfeited to vivid imaginations prompted by a boundless repertory of noises from the jungle across the riverbank. The day had been cooler than most, and there was a chill in the moist air as it crept across the trickling water. Suddenly, a barrage of mortar explosions began at the river bank sending a drenching spray all along the defensive line and soaked Jamie, Franklin and Jack. Their first instinct was to duck as far as they could into their shallow foxholes, but somewhere behind the line was the voice of Captain Fletcher. "Keep your eyes open!" Fire on anything that moves in your sector!"
All sorts of things fill the mind at a time of fear. At that moment, Jamie remembered an instructor in basic training mentioning there was a certain disinclination to fire on a defensive line, especially at night, for fear of giving away your position and drawing fire to yourself. He never understood what he meant until then.
The barrage stopped as suddenly as it had begun and Jamie whispered to Franklin, "Why do y..you think they st...stopped?"
He thought a moment and responded, "They're probably adjusting the range of their mortars."
Jack spit on the ground and hissed, "Oh shit!"
Within 10 minutes, the barrage resumed, casting oranges flashes behind and to the left of the squad. A chorus of screams was heard somewhere down the line, just before .30 caliber fire erupted from both sides. The Japanese on the other side of the river saw the flashes from the weapons and immediately returned accurate fire. The fears about giving away one's position at night seemed well founded.
Captain Fletcher ran along behind the foxholes, directing in an intolerant tone, "Don't shoot unless you can see what the hell you're shooting at!"
Again, there was an abrupt silence. Jamie's ears were ringing from the mortar barrage but then, he began to hear moaning sounds all along the riverbank. Medics could be heard moving through the darkness and portions of frightening dialogues were intermingled with sporadic small arms fire – "He' dead"...."I think my arm is broken"...."I can't stop the bleeding"...."All we can do is give him morphine."
Listening to the sounds of men in pain and the frantic efforts of the medics to assist them rendered something of a paralyzing hypnosis on the frightened men all along the line who found themselves in an oppressive trance induced by exhaustion and fear.
Franklin whispered to Jamie, "Look over there," and pointed up to the higher ground where the outlines of a group of men carrying a number of stretchers offered ghostly silhouettes against the moonlit sky. Strangely, Jamie found the possessing fear he had known during the first few days had left him. There was an unaccountable calm within him as he looked back out across the river. He could scarcely see what appeared to be several platoons of infantry wading out into the water from the far bank. He quickly found Sergeant Graham and whispered, "L...look over there."
At that moment, the night exploded. There was a deafening mortar barrage punctuated by what seemed scores of machine guns, as the mortar rounds began striking along the line of foxholes. Still, above it all, there were the sounds of men crying in pain and others, after overcoming the initial shock, beginning to shout obscenities and to return the fire.
The earth shook and the vibrating roar of the battle caused Jamie's body to tingle while he ran back to his foxhole and dove in headfirst. The enemy was already well into the water, and the fire from the defensives was stirring up foam in the water all around them. After a few minutes of constant fire, a large number of Japanese bodies could be seen slowly floating downstream. Then, there were several high-pitched Japanese voices, apparently ordering a withdrawal. In a few moment, there was again only the stillness that began to feed the imagination.
As the shock from the violent battle began to relent, there was the odor of gunpowder in the air and the voices of squad leaders moving through the emplacements and attempting to fill in for those who had been lost to the ill-faded Japanese attack. Still, the most dire part of it all was hearing the evacuation of the wounded. Some were screaming while others appeared to have already gone into shock and were quite serene. The Japanese bodies continued to flow downstream and soon disappeared.
It was a moonlit night, and in the eerie and uncertain calm, the vacant stare on men's faces glistened in their perspiration, but again, Jamie had that strange feeling about himself. He didn't seem to be afraid. His thoughts turned back to those days when he was in grammar school and the other boys would wait for him after classes in the schoolyard. At first, he had feared the beatings he knew they would give him but eventually, when he finally realized there was nothing he could do to stop them, he began to fight back and found that some of them began to fear him.
By dawn, there was the sound of reconnaissance aircraft in the air. Franklin said, "They'll he hitting us with artillery soon," as Jamie and Jack lay by his side on the soft earth. Occasionally, there would be a single sniper shot from the opposite bank, and each of them would flinch, glance at one another and continue to wait for the expected bombardment.
Finally, Jack looked at Franklin and said in a deriding tone, "You're a long way from that big house and servants. Tired of doing things for yourself?" When Franklin didn't respond, he tauntingly added, "I don't believe you were as unhappy in having everything as you make out you were."
Franklin looked at the ground, and it was obvious he had no inclination to open such a conversation but in a moment, he asked Jack, "Tell me, were you completely satisfied when you were back home?"
Jack sneered, "Hell no, I wasn't satisfied, but I'll take what I had back there to this. I damn sure don't look at all this shit as some sort of liberating fulfillment like you're trying to make it."
Franklin began to caress is palms, one against the other, as he lips drew rather tight when he said, "I'm afraid it was other people that were dissatisfied with me. My parents always said I lacked ambition. I felt out of place, just trying to be what they though I should. My father constantly told me I wasn't outgoing enough. I tried to be what everyone in the business expected but just couldn't do it. I began to lose self-confidence and feel more and more alone. Finally, being alone is all I wanted."
Jack quickly responded, "Well, if you were living in the street, you're automatically alone – want it or not. When I finally got a descent job and had a little money in my pocket so I could have a few things I wanted, I reached out and tried to take too much too soon. It wasn't ambition that your folks thought you lacked - it was greed. The people I worked with were never disappointed in me. Hell no, they were suspicious and thought they could never trust me. Soon, I was feeling more alone than when I was on the street. I felt more at home around misfits like myself. There's always a certain understanding among people of a kind."
Jamie's attention alternated between Franklin and Jack who must have sensed he felt uneasy being left out of the conversation. Jack asked Jamie, "You missed getting out of this shithole by one day. Damn, you must be the most unlucky fucker in the world.'
"I didn't w...want to go back," Jamie said, which brought a surprised look to both their faces.
Jack looked at Franklin and said, "I thought he said he didn't want to go back."
Jamie quickly responded, "I did s...say that, because It's tr...true. I didn't have any fr...friends and couldn't k...keep a job. I was making everyone un...unhappy as me."
Franklin looked across the river, nodded and said, "I know what you mean, Jamie. I began to blame myself and never was sure what everyone felt towards me – blame or what."
Somehow, the conversation was instilling more resent into Jack who said, "Love all-accommodating, like shit. Look out for yourself."
Just then, Sergeant Graham walked up behind them and impatiently said, "You men keep quite and keep your eyes on that damn river."
Each of them lay staring at the river and reflecting on what the others had said. Franklin seemed to have had everything Jack wanted but still was not satisfied and felt out of place. Jack was bitter at having had nothing and had shown the natural tendency to reach out and take as much as he could when he had the chance. People's reaction and mistrust of him had only pushed him further into the ever-present, captivating loneliness. Loving and understanding had not been enough to prevent Jamie's eventual lonely existence. He hadn't been trying to be accepted in the sense that Jack had been or had not been attempting to live up to some ill-defined expectation as had Franklin. He always had seemed to be trying to vindicate himself for the very fact he existed at all, until he too only wanted only to be left alone – no more ridicule and no more polite but obvious efforts to avoid him by the women he found so attractive.
No one expected a daylight attempt to cross the river and with that came a reassurance – at least, during the day. About midday, there was a faint droning noise in the distance, and everyone's eyes turned to the sky. Men began running wildly for their foxholes when several formations of Japanese fighter planes came into view, slowly peeled off and began strafing the shoreline from low altitudes. The fragile positions were helpless. There were no antiaircraft weapons, and the only available defense was the few men who attempted feeble small arms fire as the planes swept over them.
When the first formations began to regain altitude, two more groups of airplanes flew over the entrapped Americans and began dropping bombs up and down the river for several hundred yards, and the concussions from their explosions sent the lifeless bodies of many defenders flying into the air. After about 15 minutes of brutal slaughter, the planes quietly withdrew. Jamie, Franklin and Jack stood up, looked down the riverbank and could immediately see the attack had been highly successful. There didn't seem to be any wounded. All the bodies lay without motion and were observably dead. Everyone waited, waited for the frontal assault that seemed the only tactic in the enemy technique, but nothing happened.
Just as the smoke began to clear, there was the sound of small arms fire to the south. The hasty withdrawal over the past several days had left only a rudimentary communications net of a series of walkie-talkie relay stations, and as the medics began to gather the dead, there was the faint, crackling voice over one of the walkie-talkies. Someone was shouting and unmistakably quite upset. Within a few minutes, the voice of Captain Fletcher, showing his usual lack of refinement was heard. "God dammit! They've flanked us and crossed the river downstream. The bastards are attacking our right flank through the jungle!"
Within the next hour, there were several muffed conversations with the platoon leaders before Lieutenant Ferguson appeared. Nothing about his appearance or mannerism was encouraging, as he simply said, "Pack up. We're moving back."
No sooner was the company on its feet than incoming artillery began to fall along the shoreline prompting an impulsive and disorganized dash away from the impact area. Lieutenant Ferguson showed what was his first positive action, as he and Captain Fletcher frantically ran to the front of the fleeing mass and somehow managed to turn it towards a series of gullies about 300 yards from the shoreline. The entire company tumbled head over heel into the coveted refuge. The men lay at the bottom of the gully for a few moments, gasping for breath, before one by one beginning to inch forward towards the top of the void in the earth, looking back out across the field, then saturated with artillery explosions.
Jamie, Franklin and Jack had remained together and in awe, looked at the dead bodies laying in patterns everywhere until Franklin shouted, "Look there!" and pointed to one of the squad members lying some 75 yards out in the field. He couldn't have been more than 18 years old and was facing the gully, clutching his leg.
Simultaneously, the 3 of them sprang up and running low to the ground, hurried to the wounded man's side. The tears, running down his dirt-cake face, left lines on his cheeks that implied he hadn't reached the age necessary to shave, and he was screaming, "It's broke" It's broke!"
No one else was left in the field - that is, no one alive. The ground trembled with the artillery explosions and clods of dirt were flung all around the 4 of them as Jack took his knife and began to cut the injured man's fatigue pants. "God damn, it's a compound fracture!" he said, dropping his knife and staring at the wound. The sight was sickening. Perspiration wept down the sides of his leg making streaks in the light layer of brown dirt from the sides of his knee to the top of his boot. About 2 inches of jagged bone was exposed and was framed by bight, red blood just beginning to drop to the ground.
Franklin held up his hand, looked at Jack and began to shake his head, quickly realizing what Jack had just uttered was the worse possible thing he could say and was near certain to cause the wounded man to go into shock. He tried to keep him from looking at is wound, pushing his head to the ground and saying, "Don't worry. We'll get you out of this. You're gonna be all right." He carefully began to wrap the man's first aid bandage around the wound.
Jack understood what Franklin was trying to do and refrained from making any more pointed observations. He waited for Franklin to complete the bandage, took off his belt and began making a splint with the man's rifle. He gradually stopped crying and seemed to relax, as his eyes alternated between the 3 of them. He began sobbing, "Thank you. Thank you."
They slowly lifted him and with explosions continuing to fall all around them, ran back to the gully where the medics were waiting. He was slightly delirious but continued to say over and over again, "Thank you. Thank you," as the medics carried him away.
No one knew how close the enemy was, and fields of fire had already been assigned within the squad' new position. In a few minutes, Sergeant Graham walked up behind Jamie, Franklin and Jack with a rather curious expression on his face and said, "That was just one man. If we had been attacked while you were out there, we would have needed your weapons here. We could have lost the whole squad. What made you that?"
They glanced at one another before Franklin, in a mannerism so uncommon for him, looked squarely at him and said with a tight mouth, "Sergeant Graham, you magnificent bastard. He was alone. Do you know what the hell it feels like to be alone!?"
The company was surprised and disappointed when the order was received to again dig in. The Japs had already forded the river and luckily, the gullies were in favorable terrain for establishing defenses. Long days, followed, and the majority of the Luzon forces were withdrawn by 1 January1942, leaving only about 5000 infantry soldiers in forward positions to engage the enemy and purchase time with men's lives in anticipation that a general withdrawal could be organized. The defenders were scattered between Abucay and Manila Bay westward to Mount Batib, and with little imagination, the perimeter became known as the Abucay Line. Communications remained poor but everyone knew that was not the real reason orders were frightfully unspecific and seemed only to imply an eventual defeat with reoccurring directives such as "hold as long as possible."
Jamie, Franklin and Jack clawed in the ground with their entrenching tools, which during the past few weeks, had become their most prized possession.
Jamie stopped for a moment and asked, "Wh...what do they me...mean, as long as possible?"
Franklin continued to prod in the earth. His t-shirt was soaked in perspiration and was a dingy brown. After a moment, he responded, "I'm afraid we're expendable, Jamie. We weren't at all ready when they hit us at Pearl. It's going to take time to replace our losses and reorganize. I wouldn't be surprised if Washington views Hitler more of a threat than the Nips. I think they're just going to leave us here. That's what they mean by as long as possible."
Jack dropped his entrenching tool, looked at Frank and seemed about to make one of is priceless observations, but Lieutenant Ferguson began circulating through the platoon positions, spending a few minutes with each squad. It was readily obvious by observing the expressions on the men's faces what he was telling them was anything but good news. In a few minutes, he made his way into the 1st Squad's position, kneeled down and seemed to display a dawning degree of ease and self-confidence when he said, "It looks like the Japs have a naval blockade all around the island. Some of our subs have been successful in running it, but logistics are becoming a pressing concern. Obviously, we can't look forward to getting any reinforcements, and it doesn't take much of a thinker to know if replacements can't come in, nothing can go out either." He didn't dwell on that point and quickly added, "We're going to need 3 volunteers to man an outpost with a field telephone about 500 yards outside the perimeter. Since we don't know exactly where the Japs are, Colonel Rogers has ordered outposts be placed all around out positions." It was unmistakable from the look on his face the last thing he wanted to do was to designate who was to man the outpost, and there was a pleading appearance about him as he looked about the platoon.
Jamie, Franklin and Jack all glanced at one another. Since the Japanese invasion, the 3 of them had been strangely drawn together by both the past and present. That fact was somewhat unaccountable, because their past lives had been so dissimilar, but they had all been ruled by solitude. Jamie was the first to hold up his hand, and as soon as Franklin and Jack saw him, they also raised their hands. In an oblique way, Jamie had a good feeling, because it was the first time in his life anyone had even implied they were being guided by something he had done.
Ferguson gave them a field telephone and a spool of wire, looking as though he wanted to thank them, but he never did. Perhaps he thought that doing something like that would diminish from his emerging image as a leader. As they were leaving, he said, "By the way, you've all been recommended for some kind of decoration for that rescue the other day."
A smile came to each of their faces, and again that strange feeling came over Jamie. It was the same feeling he had noticed during the first day of action when he realized it would be impossible for the Army to discharge him as unfit. He was determined then and now not to let the only chance he had ever had to prove himself slip away. He wasn't sure precisely how long this presumed chance would last, and his enthrallment with the opportunity displaced his fear. Then too, he had never known anyone quite like Franklin and Jack. He was becoming to feel more and more they were truly his friends – again, a whole new experience for him.
Conversely, Franklin had also changed. He seemed much more assertive, yet still soft-spoken, although his manner had become decidedly less gentle.
Jack's temperament had moderated somewhat, but it was quite clear he was still what he had always been and no doubt would always be – a loner who was more content without the company of anyone. Possibly, Jamie and Franklin had changed that to some extent.
It was graphically apparent what the other platoon members were thinking when the 3 of them made their way in the day's last light past the defense perimeter and out into the waiting no man's land. Some of the others had sort of a sneer on their faces, quite obviously thinking them foolhardy to have volunteered for anything under the present less than promising tactical conditions. Mostly, however, there were just those dogface stares that had adorned soldiers' faces throughout the ages. They had been instructed to position themselves about 500 yards outside the perimeter, which was a semicircle design, because what little intelligence was available suggested the enemy had advanced on both flanks, and it was anticipated a major attack was imminent.
Their bodies were already soaked in perspiration when they found a small crevice in the ground, and they took a few minutes to catch their breath before Franklin and Jack hooked up the wires to the field telephone and began to test it. Such devices had always confused Jamie, and he only watched with some degree of misunderstanding as to which wire went where.
There was no moon, no breeze and the stifling humidity pressed down on their fatigued bodies. Jamie tried to think when he had last slept. He couldn't remember and turned to the others, saying, "You 2 sleep. I'll wa...watch."
Franklin and Jack nodded and slipped a few feet down into the crevice. Jamie carefully surveyed the ground ahead but the night was so black, he could see nothing. He listened but could hear nothing except the sound of insects that were everywhere. He tried to keep alert, but his mind began to wander until it was filled with the unhappy memories of the past. He so clearly recalled the long halls of Moreland Grammar School and the little primary grades tables and chairs. He thoughts went far back to when he was in the 2nd grade and for the first time had noticed Danielle Simmons at one of the tables on the aisle across from him. She had been so pretty in her white dress, white socks and black patent-leather shoes. He had been so taken with her, and the infatuation had deepened all through grammar and high school. He had often dreamed of what it would be like if he could have her as his girlfriend all through school and even afterwards, when she worked at Carl's Five and Ten Cent Store on Euclid Avenue. He never seriously considered asking her for a date but wanting her as a girlfriend deepened his loneliness. Each he looked at her, his emotions struggled within him. She made him feel so much like a man but at the same time, knew harsh reality would always deprive him of all but fanciful dreams.
Suddenly, he heard movement somewhere straight ahead. He listened very intently for a few minutes and faintly heard what were unmistakably Japanese voices before slipping down and awakening Franklin and Jack. He held his finger over his lips and whispered, "L...li...listen."
They all lay propped up against the crevice, staring out into the night. In a few moments, Franklin pulled the field telephone under his body to muffle the sound as he began to crank it. With a slight tremble in his voice, he began transmitting. "Home Plate, this is First Base. We have enemy contact. Can't determine number or location." He put his hand over his other ear and listened for what seemed quite a long time. Finally, he raised his head, seemed somewhat dismayed, and unenthusiastically said, "Wilco." He slowly moved back up to Jamie and Jack's side and quietly said, "They want us to go out there and find them. They need to know what size unit it is and what type equipment they have."
The 3 were speechless for a moment, until Jack finally said, "Well, that settles that." There was another short period of silence during which Jack began to lose his temper. His mouth drew tight as he said, "Surely, those bastards aren't stupid enough to think they won't put out an outpost just like we have. If we get past that, how the hell are we supposed to tell how many of them there are and what type equipment they have in pitch black, not to mention getting back to our fucking lines."
"I suppose we're about to find out," Franklin replied.
They stared at each other. Jack exhaled and said, "Well, slit!"
Without anyone speaking another word, they crawled out of the crevice and began creeping out into the night. Abruptly, Jamie reached out and grabbed them both by the shirt sleeves and whispered, "W...Wait a minute. Wh...what's gonna happen to them ba...back there, if we get k...killed?" They won't know wh..wh...what to do."
They stopped and immediately realized the ill-conceived nature of their orders. Franklin looked at Jack and said, "He's right. Someone's got to stay with the telephone."
Immediately, Jamie said, "I''' g...go," and trotted away, soon disappearing from sight and leaving Jack and Franklin kneeling down and staring at each other.
Jamie slowly move forward only a few yards at a time, stopped, kneeled down and listened. Soon, he got a bearing on the direction of the voices but strangely, his thoughts turned to a day when he must have been no more than 5 years old. He and his mother had gone to Rich's Department Store, and he somehow became separated from her and was lost. He remembered how he had run around the store, crying and looking for her until he finally saw her at the end of one of the aisles. He ran to her, still crying but feeling so secure when she picked him up and said, "It's okay. Here's mother." Remembering the horrifying feeling he experienced that day, he began to wonder how he was going to find his way back to the outpost. He looked around and just to his left where he could barely see a gentle slope covered with tall, brown grass. He estimated it must be about 100 yards forward and slightly to the left of the outpost. At that moment, he planned to try to find the enemy, wait until dawn for enough light to accomplish his mission and then, try to get back to that sloop, if he could see it.
He moved in a straight line, keeping the slope directly behind him, and was surprised that once again, he wasn't afraid. Instead of dwelling on the peril of his immediate situation, his thoughts inexplicably turned back to those days at Moreland School, when the other boys would wait to beat him up after school. He had been alone then – just as he was on that black night, yet knowing Jack and Franklin were his friends made him feel more secure. As he continued to move ever so cautiously, his thoughts again turned to Danielle Simmons and the last time he had seen her only a few days before he had left home, sitting at a table in the Euclid Pharmacy. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment.
Suddenly, his thoughts were broken by Japanese voices to his right. He dropped to the ground and remained motionless. He was startled and surprised when he noticed the voices were coming closer and closer and were behind him instead of the direction in which he had been advancing. It appeared they would walk directly over him. He held his breath, grasped the stock of his M1 and put his finger on the trigger just as they passed – not more than 20 feet from where he was. It wasn't until then that it occurred to him how fortunate he was to be lying in tall grass. He slowly brushed it to one side and saw what must have been a squad-size patrol. The men were constantly jabbering among themselves with little thought of where the American force was. He lay completely still until it precipitously struck him he should follow them. He rose and moved as quietly as he could, barely keeping them in sight. All at once, a cold shock incised his body when he realized for the past several minutes, he had lost all orientation to his grass-covered slope and had no concept of in which direction he was moving. He felt reassured and his panic did not last, when he realized he would have had to follow them, regardless of his knowledge of where he was or where they were leading him.
He followed them about 10 minutes until abruptly they disappeared, but he could still hear their voices as well as still other voices. Prudently, he crept forward on his hands and knees until he came to a steep slope where he stopped stone still. He could scarcely see a glowing number of cigarettes and the outlines of quite a large number of figures at the bottom of the slope. He embraced the ground and thought as hard as he could, trying to estimate how long he had been moving with the grassy slope directly behind him and at what angle the patrol had been moving in relation to the slope. He lay there for quite a long time racking his brain, trying to reconstruct what turns he had made and trying to get some notion how far he was from the outpost until finally, a refreshing but tentative thought came to his over-taxed mind. He was doing something his past lack of confidence had abrogated his even considering – he was trying to reason out something for himself, although his newfound thought process was a yield of necessity and not choice.
The darkness began to evaporate and slowly, the black sky turned to a dim gray. The insect noises gradually diminished, and the enemy started to move about on the low ground before him. He edged closer to the top of the ravine and moved in behind a cluster of vines that ran all along the top, looking down at what appeared several companies of Japanese soldiers. He strained his eyes, looking for heavy weapons but saw nothing but mortars. There was heavy jungle about 200 yards behind them, and he guessed no armor or artillery could be moved through it. Continuing to hug the ground, he slipped backward a few yards and began to survey the terrain. He looked far to the left and slowly moved his eyes to the right until his head stopped with a jerk at what appeared the grassy slope. A sensation of relief seeped over him as he closed his eyes and tried to regain the image he had seen soon after leaving the outpost. He traversed the terrain over and over again but could see nothing else that resembled the vague image of the slope in his mind; and in the absence of any other choices, decided he was looking at what he had seen the night before and appeared to know where he was.
Jamie's mind methodically began to sort out his situation. He knew what he must do, or at least try to do, to get back to the outpost. He knew approximately how many enemy soldiers there were and was reasonably sure he knew what type equipment they had. That was everything his mission was to determine, so he started to creep back out into the field but stopped dead still. The Abucay Line reached for miles and miles, and what information he had was little more than was previously known. Something told him he must stay and somehow obtain something, anything that would be more usable.
He cautiously moved back behind the vines, waiting and looking. The enemy was finishing its morning field ration, being careful not to leave anything on the ground that would benefit American Intelligence. They gradually began to assemble into platoon formations. Then, a cramp came into Jamie's stomach, because he knew if they were assembling for an attack, he could never make it back to the outpost in time to warn the battalion. The apprehension grew as he lay there and watched them disappear single file into the jungle until he could see nothing. He sat with his rifle between his legs, stared over the rolling terrain in front of him and back at what he hoped was the grassy slope. His eyes followed the edge of the jungle into which the enemy had just vanished, and then, it struck him. All the Americans on the island were in the direction of what he thought was west, and the enemy had just moved to the east. His heart began to pound, his mouth became dry and he was seized with a terrifying premonition. He looked back at the edge of the jungle and noticed it curved gently in the direction of the American defense perimeter. The terrain had a series of gradients in one place close to where he thought led in the direction of the battalion and would offer excellent concealment for an assault originating from the jungle. He was seized with a vehement, vivid perception of what the Japs could do. He visualized if they attacked from the jungle along the rises and falls in the ground, they could get very close to the American lines before coming under effective fire. Although he could see or hear nothing of the enemy, he was persuaded in his own mind that would be their scheme of maneuver.
Desperately, he leaped to his feet and began running as fast as he could towards what he hoped was the grassy slope. The sun was just beginning to rise; and although he was not sure why, he was convinced the attack would come at daylight. His heart pounded in his chest, as he tried to run faster and faster. His lungs felt as though they would erupt from his chest.
It's curious, the things that enter the mind at times of extremity. He remembered all those times at Moreland School when the other boys would make fun of him and chase him around the schoolyard. Everyone else had looked forward to recess, but he dreaded it. No wonder he had done so poorly in his schoolwork and was driven to the point he only wanted to be left alone – an attitude that had prevailed until he met Franklin and Jack. For some, solitude is an affliction but for others, it is a benediction. The gasping, desperate feeling he had at that moment was one with which he was well familiar but now, his thoughts were not confined to himself. He was thinking of Franklin, Jack and the men back on the defense perimeter and was in a near panic. One moment, he was sure he was running in the right direction but the next, we was tormented by the possibility he was not. All the time, visions filled his mind of the enemy's leaching out of the jungle towards the unsuspecting and poorly defended American positions.
His legs began to ache and his right arm holding his rifle hung limp at his side. By the time he reached the grassy slope, he was barely moving. Intently, he looked in the direction of where he thought the outpost was until at last, there was Franklin and Jack running out to him. He collapsed in their arms, and the 3 of them stood for a moment in each other's grasp. Jamie had never known the feeling of friendship that seized him at that instant.
Jack looked earnestly concerned for him and gratified to see him – quite a different disposition than all those other times during the past few weeks when he had made fun of him. Maybe he was happy to have a friend as well, because as they stood there in each other's arms, there was not the slightest suggestion of the ridicule and mockery in his eyes when he looked at Jamie and said, "God damn. Where have you been? One of us was about to come after you."
Jamie was gasping for breath and could not speak.
Jack said to Franklin, "He looks like he just saw the fucking devil."
Jamie's body was bathed in perspiration and his skin glowed in a red tinge. He started to babble over and over, "Gonna a...attack. Go...gonna at...attack!"
Franklin tried to hold Jamie still, placing his head firmly in his hands as he looked him straight in the eyes and tried to make some sense out of what he was saying. When Jamie's wild motions and babbling began to relent, Franklin said, "Lay him down over there," and pointed to the improved foxhole he and Jack had dug while he was gone.
Jamie's feet drug across the ground, because he was too tired to lift them. They lowered him into the foxhole and when they laid him down, he must have passed out for a few moments. They both crouched over him, loosening his belt and unbuttoning his fatigue jacket. Abruptly, Jamie regain consciousness, sprang to his feet and began babbling all over again, "Go...gotta get w...word to them. They're go...gonna attack."
Franklin began to shake him and persisted, "Jamie, what did you see out there!?"
"A lot of so...soldiers. They're go...gonna attack. Got to get wo...word back." His eyes were glassy, his skin clammy cold and his hands were shaking. Jack feverishly began to crank the field telephone and reported the enemy contact, but whoever received the transmission had no idea what to do, left the telephone and stayed gone a good 5 minutes. When he finally returned, he simply said Captain Fletcher had ordered them back to the perimeter.
Franklin carried Jamie's field pack and ammunition belt and Jack carried his rifle. They all hobbled back to the main body, and when the line came into sight, Jack snapped, "Fuck! We forgot the damn telephone!"
Captain Fletcher and Sergeant Graham were standing just inside the perimeter, and when Jamie saw them, he broke away and ran on ahead. Jack and Franklin stopped and gazed at him as he ran up to the captain, gave a modified salute and started making several animated gestures towards the jungle. Fletcher and Graham had something of an entertained expression on their faces as they listened to him rattle, "Sir, se...several companies with small arms and mo...mortars. They went into the ju...jungle about an hour ago. They're go...gonna attack."
Jack pointed at him and said, "He looks like a little boy telling his mother he hit a home run."
Captain Fletcher crossed his arms in front of his body, a deriding sneer came over him and he clamored, "How in the hell do you know what they're going to do?"
Jamie intently exhorted his report, kept pointing behind him and pleaded, "The l..low ground o...out there. They're go...gonna attack. I kn...know they are.!"
Fletcher walked out about 20 yards and stood with his hands on his hips, looking in the direction where Jamie insisted the attack would come. He turned around, looked at the ground and with a disbelieving frown on his face, walked over to Sergeant Graham. They unrolled a map and began to study it for a moment. Presently, Graham came over to the 3 of them and asked, "Where's the telephone?"
There was a silence before Jack replied, "We left it out there."
Fletcher rolled up the map and pointedly said, "That's about the only good thing you did. We won't have to re-string the wire when we send someone else out there. We can't leave this sector unmonitored." Before he turned around and began to walk back to the CP, his eyes, florid with a disesteeming connotation, remained fixed on Jamie for a moment.
Jamie was noticeably shaken and gaped at Franklin and Jack with the most pathetic expression on his face.
Fletcher snapped at Graham, "Get someone else out there," and then motioned for the company clerk, who had been tagging along behind him, and uttered, "Get back to the CP and get Colonel Rogers on the field telephone. We'll have to report contact." He gave Jamie another cold stare before abruptly turning around and stomping off towards the CP.
The other men in the platoon stared at the 3. Some quietly began to laugh as they intermittently scowled over their shoulders at them. A cook from the mess section gave them 3 K-Ration portions and unenthusiastically said, "We're down to 2/3 rations."
They sat on the ground, quietly chewing their meal until Jamie, with a slight quiver in his voice, said, "I thought we were d...doing the ri...right thing."
Jack quickly snarled, "Don't pay any attention to Fletcher. That son of a bitch....."
Just then, a full platoon trotted by them and headed towards the sector from which Jamie had insisted the attack would come. Two .30 caliber machine crews were not far behind them.
The 3 looked at each other and then, back at the CP. Sergeant Graham was leisurely walking back towards the squad and never came to a stop as he passed them and in a matter-of-fact manner, said, "Colonel Rogers ordered that platoon forward, just in case."
The platoon moved out past the defense perimeter and soon disappeared into one of the gullies.
The morning was hot and humid, and Jamie was confused as he sat there with his eyes unmoving, staring towards where he thought he had been at dawn. He thought how many times he had studied so hard for a test in school, only to make a poor grade. That was the type feeling he had, sitting in the sweltering heat, only now his disappointment was more intense. His emotions competed, and he became unsure if what he felt was fatigue or disappointment in having failed again.
Without warning, small arms and machine gun fire burst out from the forward platoon. It seemed every man was firing his weapon as rapidly as possible. Simultaneously, mortar rounds began to explode all around the defense perimeter. Men ran in every direction, looking for their helmets and weapons before diving into their foxholes.
Jack reached out and grabbed Jamie and said, "Look there," as he pointed out at the rolling gullies. Several columns of Japanese infantry were seen moving through the low ground directly towards where the forward platoon had last been seen.
Jamie looked at Franklin and asked, "W...What's ha...happening?"
Franklin was noticeably afraid but managed a reserved smile when he said, "They're attacking just where you said they would, Jamie."
All along the line, men lay in their foxholes, waiting and glaring towards the gullies. Only then did it occur to everyone the company was in the worse possible defensive position with many areas of low ground that would protect the enemy from their fields of fire. Lieutenant Ferguson and Sergeant Graham scurried about behind the platoon, clamoring, "First Platoon, on us!"
The men uneasily glanced at one another, crouched low to the ground and fell in behind them. Just as they entered the sector under attack, mortar rounds began to explode everywhere. Men began to curse to themselves and others in blatant intonations that rang out, even above the mortar explosions. The platoon compressed itself into the foxholes with the men already there and again waited, gazing ahead where sounds of small arms fire roared through the sultry air.
Jamie, Franklin and Jack lay together in one of the crowded foxholes. Jamie looked out across the field where he thought the forward platoon must be and said, "L...look. They're n...not under mo...mortar fire like we are!"
"That's because the Japs already had registered fire on where we are before we got here," Franklin responded. "They don't seem to have thought we would put anything out there.'
The forward platoon was out of sight due to the rolling ground but their weapons could be heard. Gradually, the sounds became more and more sporadic until at last, there was nothing. The mortars abruptly ceased, and there was complete silence.
Suddenly, several squads of screaming Japanese soldiers came bolting from one of the gullies directly in front of their foxhole and the 8 men crammed into it spontaneously emptied their M1s at point blank range. Not 20 yards away, about 2 squads of the attackers fell to the ground in unison. Everyone in the foxhole quickly reloaded, and there was another silence before gunfire rang out to the right in an area that had not been reinforced. About 15 Japanese overran the sparsely manned positions, and some of the men along the line were so shocked, they sprang to their feet and began running towards the gullies but were quickly cut down by an unseen enemy firing from within the gullies. Immediately, the remaining Japanese force saw the line had been penetrated and quickly rushed another platoon of men through the breach. They fanned out to the left and right, expelling gunfire in all directions. Americans and Japanese fell screaming to the ground, who knew by whose fire.
Jack screamed out, "They're just hitting that one place!" sprang up and began to run towards the hand-to-hand fighting.
Franklin gasped, "Come on, Jamie," and the 2 of them and about half the other men in the foxhole were a few steps behind him.
Jamie saw all of the Japs had fixed bayonets, but none of the Americans had possessed the presence of mind to fix their own. Jamie and all the others just stumbled forward over the bodies of fallen soldiers until they stood right at the edge of the chaos. Everyone was so absorbed by the peril of the moment, no one noticed them until finally, one of the enemy came charging at Jamie with his bayonet protruding at arm's length. Franklin stepped forward and swung his rifle like a baseball bat, hitting the soldier squarely between the eyes; and even above all the turmoil, a gushing sound was heard as his skull caved in and the impact of Franklin's blow caused both eyes to burst out of his head. They both fell at Jamie's feet and goggled up at him as though they continued to see.
After a moment of understandable shock, the Americans raised their weapons to their shoulders but before they could fire, Jack dropped to his knees and shouted, "Use grenades! They're all dead!
Indeed, the dead bodies of the Americans lay scattered everywhere, and the Japs seemed momentarily unsure what to do next. They looked about, apparently trying to locate their leaders, until their eyes fell on the hastily organized aggregation crouching 40 yards in front of them. They were stunned just long enough for Jack and the others to release to their grenades straight into the center of where they were standing. As soon as they realized what was about to happen, they panicked and began running in all directions, just as the grenades began to explode. The concussion lifted some of them completely off their feet, and the fragments tore through their bodies, sending them plummeting to the ground. A few of them staggered about in disarray and were quickly cut down by Franklin and Jamie's rifle fire.
The 3 friends and other men from the foxhole walked slowly at port arms through the maze of bodies. Some lay flat on their stomachs, some flat on their backs. Still others lay in compact and agonized balls and must have endured for a few moments before that died. Even though they were dead, the look of agony and terror was still on their faces.
The sun was beginning to beat down on the Americans' necks as they prudently walked through the array of corpses. The attack had been so quick and violent but had ended as abruptly as it had begun, resigning to only that formidable stillness. Presently, those who were in various stages of shock began to moan and cry out for the medics but just then, somewhere to the east, again there was the sound of rifle and mortar fire. No one ever said anything, but they all wondered if all the Americans had really been dead before they released their grenades and how many of them they might have just killed.
A trouble look came over Franklin as he said, "They must be attacking all along the line."
Looking equally concerned, Jack added, "I think this is it. We're not going to get out of this."
Jamie didn't say anything, and his eyes continued to alternate between the two of them and the dead and dying bodies all around them.
The medics began to attend the wounded and Sergeant Graham with the rest of the squad walked up behind them. Bodies were heaped on top of one another all around the 3 friends. Jack looked at Graham and blurted out, "Glad you could fit this meeting into your busy schedule!"
Franklin reached out and grabbed him by the arm, shaking his head and saying, "That won't help now, Jack."
It was unmistakable Graham felt so very awkward in that the situation simply didn't permit him to manifest any description of leadership quality. He could summon no fitting words and continued to stand there, looking very inept.
Jamie asked Graham, "Wh...what about them?" and looked out over the field from which the attack had came.
Graham was relieved he had the opportunity to say something and was chafed as he snapped, "What about who!?"
Jack stepped up to Graham, placed his face about 2 inches in front of him and snarled, "He means those poor bastards they sent out there before the attack – or don't they matter any more?"
No one had noticed Lieutenant Ferguson who chose that moment to speak up and say, "We're sending out a section of medics in a few minutes," and adeptly seeing Graham needed some means to vindicate himself for not organizing some resistance to the attack, added, "Sergeant Graham, you and your squad go with them."
The medics were beginning to evacuate the wounded as the 1st Squad moved past them in file formation and descended into one of the gullies. All the while, the sounds of the distant battle were growing louder and louder. The squad carefully felt its way along the rugged turf, taking but a few steps and then stopping to gap around the next bend.
Jack whispered to Jamie, "There ain't a damn Nip in sight, dead or alive. You were right. We couldn't even see the son of a bitches from where we were."
Graham again seized the opportunity to assert himself and rather sheepishly hissed, "Keep quiet!"
Jack snickered for a few seconds, and a taunting grin came over his face just as the file stopped, and everyone towards the front kneeled down. They seemed aghast as their heads slowly turned back and forth across the ground ahead of them. Graham motioned for them to continue forward, and the men towards the back of the file strained to see what had caused those ahead to exhibit such shock a few moments before. The gully began to taper off and the ground entered a gentle descend. As the squad came into the open ground, Graham signaled for the skirmish formation. The men fanned out abreast of each other and were all shaken by the scene ahead. The forward platoon had found what they must have thought was an advantageous position along the high ground at the mouth of the gullies and were dispersed over a 75 yard area in squad groups with the machine guns placed at very orderly intervals among them. Every one of them was lying on his stomach, looking directly ahead at the hillside littered with enemy bodies. The initial impression was they were only waiting for another attack but as the platoon moved closer, the men began to notice gapping wounds in their bodies and blotches of blood across the backs of their fatigue jackets. They were all stone dead, but a good half of the enemy attack force also lay dead ahead of them.
The 3 friends stood beside one another, shaken by the morbid panorama and in almost a whisper, Franklin said, "If they hadn't taken out so many of them, we'd all be dead now."
Sergeant Graham walked through the line of dead soldiers and a few steps out into the field. He kneeled down to study the terrain and could see nothing alive between the platoon and jungle. He face was pale when he turned around and said as he walked through the platoon, "Let's get back. There's nothing here."
Moving back to the defense perimeter, everyone's attention was commanded by the sounds of the distant battle. Worried glances were exchanged but few words were spoken. They all wonder how long it would be before they met such a fate as what they had just witnessed.
Franklin, Jack and Jamie remained together, and the reality of all that had happened that morning finally came over them. Jamie contended what everyone else most certainly was thinking about the distant sounds. "Th...that's been g...going on all morning. They must h...have hit them h...harder than they did us."
"You're probably right," Franklin responded. "When you were all there all by yourself this morning, you probably saw what hit us. They sure as hell have more men on the island than what we saw."
Just then, Jack reached and grabbed them both and said, "What in the hell is happening up there?" as he pointed to the perimeter that was in a near turmoil. Men were running in every direction, Jeeps seemed to be buzzing around in circles and the coarse voices of NCOs could barely be heard among the chaos. Jack blurted, "I'm a son of a bitch, if they're not getting ready to move out."
"Mo...move out? Move out wh...where," Jamie asked.
Lieutenant Ferguson saw them and came running out, making impatient gestures. It was obvious from his frightful appearance he wasn't about to tell them the war was over, and it was no real surprise to anyone when he heaved out to Graham, "Get everyone ready to move out right now. They've broken through our lines!"
Just as he uttered those words, the sounds of the distant battle stopped. There was no gunfire, no explosions and only absolute quiet. The whole battalion came to a complete halt and stared off to the east. Men tensely reached for their weapons and intermittently glared into the jungle and at each other. In was such a strange feeling. The silence was not at all consoling, because it opened the mind to many impressions – the most vivid being the sight of onslaughting Japs from the the flanks at any moment.
Jamie moved over to Graham and asked, "Hadn't you be...better tell someone what we fo...found out there?"
Graham didn't acknowledge his suggestion but hurried to catch up with Lieutenant Ferguson who seemed to have forgotten what the platoon had been sent out to determine. The fevered activity along the perimeter resumed.
All morning, the battalion prepared for the retreat, anxiously glancing over their shoulders to the east. It must have been about noon when they wearily began to plod down the East Coast Road when Jamie asked Franklin, "Wh...where are we go...going?"
"I doubt if anyone really knows," he responded. "They must have gotten a radio report on what happened down there this morning that persuaded them we couldn't hold."
The customary sarcasm was absent from Jack's voice when he added, "We can only retreat so far and pretty soon, we're gonna be in the damn ocean. What're we gonna do then?"
The next few days brought little action and permitted thoughts and longings to remove the men to scores of different places, if only in their imaginations. Thoughts of past times and future hopes were not necessarily comforting for all. In Jamie's case, his reminiscences of his past life were not at all solacing, nor did he have any yearning to return to it – at least not as it was. In a most strange and unaccountable manner, he almost preferred to be there on that island, as threatening as it was, because the events of the past several weeks had caused him to develop a self-confidence he had not previously known. This feeling of personal reassurance was something he had begun to value, and the prospect to forfeiting it to something like what he had known along Euclid Avenue frightened him more than whatever was ahead on that sweltering island. Somewhere inside him, he knew what he was feeling, as reassuring as it was, really was not genuine courage. He simply feared going back to his past more than the present.
It was late January 1942, and the infantrymen drudged down the winding road, only knowing they were moving west and, hopefully, away from the enemy. Their eyes were fixed on the ground in a trance-like gaze when artillery began to fall in the distance. Instinctively, they all dashed to both sides of the road and dove behind the weaving vines at the jungle's edge. Somehow, there was an artificial amenity in hiding from sight, even though the flimsy vines offered no cover whatever from artillery fire. Franklin's attention was trained on the sound of the barrage for a few moments before he turned to Jamie and Jack, who were hugging the ground beside him, and said, "That's coming from the west."
Everyone was confused but also relieved when no explosions fell on them and began casting inquisitive peers in all directions. The ground felt cool to the perspiration-soaked uniforms, and the trees of the jungle covered the bewildered men with a refreshing shade. Momentarily, it reminded Jamie of when he was a little boy and those hot summer afternoons when he would walk barefooted on the hot sidewalks along Euclid Avenue and jump off on the grass when the pavement began to burn his feet.
Shortly, Captain Fletcher came walking down the middle of the road, making animated motions for everyone to get back on the road and shouting, "That's ours. We've got to keep moving!"
As the squad trotted back into the column, Jack muttered, "Fuck! I thought coming under the cover of friendly artillery would be a good sign. He talks like the Nips are right behind us."
What it all meant was General James Weaver's Provisional Tank Group with its 75 millimeter self-propelled artillery had move forward to cover the withdrawal and presently, mo