The Rat Bastards #3, page 11
part #3 of The Rat Bastards Series
“Pin that son of a bitch down!” Butsko shouted.
“Where is he?” somebody asked.
“Over to the left.”
They saw smoke and a flutter of leaves, and then the flashes of light, obscured and faint. Braving the bullets, they raised their rifles and shot at the target. O’Rourke, who carried a Browning automatic rifle, poured hot lead into the machine-gun nest. The Japanese machine gunners swung their weapon from side to side, trying to stop the fire.
Butsko saw his opportunity and took it. Rising up again, he took aim while Billie Jones loaded the rocket and tied the wire to the terminal posts. Jones tapped Butsko’s helmet and Butsko pulled the trigger. The rocket shot out so slowly that it could be seen arcing through the air. It landed in the jungle and there was a powerful explosion, blowing away bushes and knocking down trees.
The smoke cleared and a sandbagged bunker could be seen. It had survived the artillery bombardment, and Butsko’s bazooka rocket hadn’t made a dent in it. It could only be knocked out from the rear.
“Who’s got the explosives?” Butsko shouted.
“I have!” replied Private Joseph Garino from the Third Squad.
Butsko ducked and tried to figure out how to knock out the bunker. His platoon continued firing at it, keeping the Japs crouching inside, but the Japs were brave soldiers, too, and they kept their weapon in section. Garino was a new man and Butsko hardly knew him. He was carrying the explosives because the new men always got the shit duties, but now Butsko wanted someone experienced and sharp to use them.
“Bannon!”
“Hup, Sarge!”
“Get them fucking explosives!”
“Hup, Sarge!”
Like a jackrabbit Bannon jumped out of his foxhole, holding his rifle in one hand and his helmet on his head with the other. He ran through the mangled jungle and dived into the foxhole with Garino, who handed him the haversack full of TNT. Bannon slung the haversack over his shoulder and looked up at the bunker, waiting for Butsko’s next move.
“Advance in waves!” Butsko yelled. “The First Squad first and the rest of you cover them!”
“Let’s go!” Bannon hollered.
The men of the First Squad came up from their shelter and charged the bunker while the rest leveled deadly fire at the bunker. Bannon’s legs pumped underneath him as he zigzagged toward the bunker.
“Hit it!” Bannon said.
They dived to the ground and fired at the bunker, to cover the next squad to move up.
“Second squad!” Butsko shouted.
The Second Squad advanced toward the bunker, and then the Third and Fourth squads. After everyone got set, the First Squad moved out again and the sequence was repeated, but this time Dunleavy from the Second Squad got shot in the head, and Buhl from the Fourth Squad took a bullet in the gut and rolled on the ground, screaming.
“Medic!” Butsko yelled.
Pfc. Harwood, the medic, a red cross on his arm, ran toward Buhl, carrying his bag full of bandages and medicine. Meanwhile the squads continued their advance, each covering the other, with Bannon’s squad moving to the far right, because that was the squad that would go around the back of the bunker and do the dirty work.
Butsko watched from his foxhole as his men moved into position. He was proud of them. They were a bunch of eight balls and madmen back on Henderson Field, but in combat they were a well-oiled machine; he’d made them that way.
Bannon lay flat on a bed of branches and leaves, waiting for the order to finish the job. Back in combat again, he felt charged with electricity, not too afraid, and surprised by the improvement in his mood. I must really be getting fucked up, he thought. I’m starting to like this stuff.
“First Squad—do it!” Butsko ordered.
While the others kept the Japs busy, Bannon and the First Squad swung around to the side of the bunker. They charged like running backs on a football team as they made the left turn, and then Bannon ran forward with the sack of explosives while the others dropped to their stomachs and aimed their rifles at the bunker door, ready to open fire if it opened suddenly.
But it didn’t open, and Bannon streaked over the jungle floor, the sack in his left hand and his rifle in his right. He stopped beside the door, laid the explosives against it, opened the flap, and set off the detonator. He had ten seconds to get away, and he darted around the corner of the bunker, pushing his fingers into his ears.
Barrrooooommmm! Smoke and lightning shot out the door, and a second later Bannon was charging, his rifle in both hands, his finger on the trigger. He jumped into the bunker and looked through the smoke, ready to shoot, but all was still except the swirling gloom. Blood and limbs were everywhere. The Japs were torn apart, the legs of their machine guns were bent out of shape, and blood covered the walls like paint.
The others poured into the bunker and looked around. They smelled guts and cordite, and Longtree slapped Bannon on the back.
“Good work.”
Butsko came through the door, grim-faced, holding his rifle. “Let’s go,” he said. “I didn’t tell you to take a break.”
They left the bunker, formed their skirmish line, and advanced with marching fire again. Butsko looked around but couldn’t see any other Americans. He thought they should try to link up with other units, but first he wanted to take enough ground so they wouldn’t be pushed back into the river.
Beeaaannnnggggggg!
A bullet ricocheted off a tree near Butsko’s head, and a second later a volley of fire opened up in the woods in front of him.
“Hit it!”
The GIs dived into shell holes and behind fallen trees. Before them the entire jungle was alive with machine-gun and rifle fire. Butsko realized that the Japs had finally recovered and put together a front line. He estimated there were many more Japs in front of him than his men could handle easily, but he was reluctant to give up the ground he’d just taken.
“Jones!”
“Hup, Sarge!”
“Get that radio over here!”
Jones crawled forward, mumbling prayers, because he was sure his last day had come. Before him he saw not Japs but the wrath of God or maybe the retribution of Satan; he wasn’t sure. He caught up to Butsko and handed him the radio.
Butsko held the walkie-talkie to his ear. “Red Dog One calling Blue Dog King…. Red Dog One calling Blue Dog King…. Do you read me? Over.”
He heard static and faint fragments of conversation, then the voice of Captain Franklin came through. “This is Blue Dog King. I read you loud and clear. Over!”
“We’ve hit heavy Jap resistance and need help. We’re about a hundred and fifty yards from the beach in a straight line from where we landed. Over.”
“You’re where?”
“About three hundred yards from the beach in a …”
Captain Franklin interrupted him. “What the hell are you doing way out there?”
“Were we supposed to stop?”
There was silence for a few seconds. “No, you weren’t supposed to stop,” Captain Franklin said, exasperation in his voice, “but you’re far in front of the rest of us. You’d better pull back right now.”
“Why can’t you people come up here?”
“Sergeant Butsko, I just gave you an order. Pull back.”
“What the fuck for?”
“I said pull back!”
“But, sir, there ain’t no need!”
“Pull back, goddamn you!”
“Yes, sir.”
Butsko handed the radio back to Jones. “If Captain Franklin calls for me, tell him I’m not here.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anyplace. Shut up and let me think.”
Butsko looked around and surveyed the lay of the land. Although his men were outnumbered, they had good cover and deployment. If he could get his machine guns and mortars working, he might be able to hold the Japs off until the others caught up.
He shouted a litany of orders that moved his machine gun crews out on his flanks, so that the Japs wouldn’t work around them, and then he told his mortar sections to start shelling the Japs in front of him.
Again his men went into action smoothly, and soon they were throwing systematic hell at the Japanese. Butsko raised his head and fired at whatever targets presented themselves, realizing that although he couldn’t move forward any more, neither could the Japs. His only problem was that the Japs might outflank him, but if they tried, he was certain he could see it in time and pull back.
“Goddamn officers,” he muttered, thinking about Captain Franklin. “They’d even fuck up a wet dream.”
“What’d you say, Sarge?” Billie Jones asked.
“Shaddup and keep firing,” Butsko growled.
Chapter Nine
AT THE JAPANESE headquarters deep in the jungle, General Hyakutake sat frowning behind his desk while a crowd of officers murmured around him about the American assault across the Matanikau.
General Ooka stood coolly to the side, not caring to retail rumors and suppositions and wishing he were at the front with his tanks, because a clever riposte at this point would rock the Americans back on their heels.
He thought of that black day on New Georgia Sound when the American Navy sank the battleship he was on as he was being transported to Guadalcanal. He remembered the bitterness of defeat in his mouth and the rage in his heart, and now wanted only to tear up Americans.
Colonel Tsuji, his face flushed, rushed into the office, a communiqué in his hands, and approached General Hyakutake’s desk. He saluted and said, “Sir, the picture is becoming clear. The Americans have two bridges across the Matanikau and are sending tanks and artillery across. Our soldiers have been pushed back varying distances; the line is ragged and confused at this point. We estimate that an American division is across the river right now and working its way inland against the troops we have in that sector.”
“I see,” said General Hyakutake, dread rising within him, because he remembered all the other setbacks his army had suffered on Guadalcanal. Standing, he walked to the large map of the island pinned to the wall, placed his hands behind his back, and studied the terrain on both sides of the Matanikau. “We will have to send reinforcements,” he said gravely. “The situation is serious but presents many opportunities for us. We know what the enemy is doing, but he knows nothing of our plans. General Saito!”
“Yes, sir!”
General Saito, a handsome, well-built officer with thick black hair, stepped forward.
“General Saito, you will move your division to the front at once and engage the Americans. You will stop them and drive them back across the Matanikau. When your position is consolidated, you will prepare to cross the Matanikau River, and at my command you will cross and assault Henderson Field. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please return to your headquarters and prepare to move your division to the front.”
General Saito saluted, turned, and marched out of the tent.
“General Ooka?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You will hold your division in readiness to move to the front at a moment’s notice.”
“May I make a suggestion, sir?”
“You may.”
“Sir, I believe this is an opportunity to use my tank corps.” General Ooka advanced to the map and pointed to the Matanikau River. “Once the weak point in the American line is determined, I can push my tanks forward and achieve a break-through. The Americans will be taken by surprise, and we can get behind them, destroy their bridges, cut them off, and annihilate all their forces on our side of the Matanikau. Then we can cross and reduce whatever forces they have left around their airfield.”
General Hyakutake shook his head. “I doubt whether tanks can have the mobility in the jungle to do all you suggest.”
“But, sir, the jungle has been heavily bombarded. Much of it presumably has been leveled. We should have no difficulty maneuvering.”
General Hyakutake’s expression became as hard as rock. “How do you know what the terrain is like there if you haven’t seen it?”
General Hyakutake’s tone was condescending, and Colonel Tsuji smiled as General Ooka felt his face becoming warm. “We all know what jungle looks like when it’s been bombarded.”
“Do we? Well, General Ooka, perhaps you’re clairvoyant as well as wise, but I certainly don’t know exactly what the terrain looks like out there, and I’m certainly not taking any chances with the tanks. Please be so good as to carry out my orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
General Ooka saluted and stormed out of the tent, his face white with rage. I am surrounded by fools, he thought. My tanks can change the face of the battle out there, but no one has the vision to understand that. What must I do to convince them?
The sun was a flaming ball just below the treeline as he sat in the backseat of his vehicle. In the distance he could hear the sound of the big battle. “To my headquarters,” he told his driver, “and hurry.”
Colonel Stockton’s map was laid on the hood of his jeep, and he marked the overlay with a pencil as his units reported in one by one and gave their coordinates. Not far away, tanks and seventy-five-millimeter pack howitzers were rolling across the pontoon bridge, while overhead the Cactus Air Force flew low over the tree tops, bombing and strafing Japanese positions.
“I have Captain Franklin on the radio, sir,” Lieutenant Harper said.
Colonel Stockton took the headset and pressed it against his mouth and ear. “This is Hound Dog calling Blue Dog King,” he said. “What is your position?”
“Well,” said Captain Franklin, “my command has become split. My company is operating in grids sixty-three and sixty-four, but your recon platoon is in grid eighty-seven.”
“Why are they way out there?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’ve told them to come back, but I haven’t been able to reach Sergeant Butsko. His runner keeps telling me that Butsko is off someplace.”
Colonel Stockton smiled faintly because he knew what must have happened. It was like the first night they had landed on Guadalcanal. Butsko’s platoon had advanced farther than any other and had gotten surrounded, but it had held on until finally the rest of the regiment had caught up.
“I think,” Colonel Stockton said, “you’d better move the rest of your company up with Butsko’s platoon.”
“But, sir, we’re facing extremely heavy resistance.”
“You wouldn’t have faced it if you’d moved faster. If the recon platoon could do it, why couldn’t you?”
“Evidently they had easier going than the rest of my company.”
“How could that be? You were all in the same area.”
“Well, we can’t do much now. The Japs have reinforced the sector in front of us. I’m afraid your recon platoon will get cut off out there.”
“Listen to me,” Colonel Stockton said in his most menacing top-brass voice. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I want you to move your company up right behind Butsko. The way should be fairly clear behind him if he’s not cut off yet, and he’s probably not, otherwise he would have notified you. Any questions?”
“No, sir,” Captain Franklin said.
“Then get going.”
The connection broke off, and Colonel Stockton handed the headset back to Lieutenant Harper. He knew that Captain Franklin would be furious at Butsko just then, but Butsko knew how to take care of himself. The main thing was to advance as far as possible and dig in before the Japs counterattacked.
Butsko lay on his stomach and watched through his binoculars as American airplanes strafed and bombed the jungle in front of him. The Japs weren’t firing at him and his men much anymore, because they were too busy ducking. His mortar squad still lobbed shells at the Japanese positions while his machine gunners covered his flanks. Everything was okay, but it would be better if Baker Company would catch up with him. What the hell were they waiting for?
Butsko heard running footsteps and lowered his binoculars. Longtree was running through the jungle toward him and slid into his foxhole.
“What’s up?” Butsko asked, noticing that the Indian’s sleeve was torn open and blood was showing on his left bicep.
“Sarge, who’s the squad leader in the First Squad: Bannon or me?”
“You are.”
“But Bannon’s back.”
“Bannon’s not supposed to be back. Bannon’s fucking AWOL.”
“How can he be AWOL if he’s here?”
“He’s AWOL. Take my word for it.”
“Is he the assistant squad leader?”
“He’s nobody. Forget about him.”
“How can I forget about him if he’s here?”
“Treat him like a private, but if you’ve got anything a little hairy to do, you can have him do it.”
“What about the character with him?”
“That sad sack? I dunno. Treat him like a private too.” Butsko got mad, because he didn’t want to deal with Bannon and Plotnik. “Look, it’s your squad. Handle them the way you want to.”
“Hup, Sarge.”
Longtree crawled away to his hole, where Bannon and Plotnik were waiting for him, firing their rifles at the Japs.
“What he say?” Bannon asked.
“He said to treat you guys like privates. He also said you’re AWOL.”
Bannon turned to Plotnik. “Did you hear that? How can we be AWOL?”
“Search me,” Plotnik said.
Longtree spat into the dirt. “This is the most fucked-up thing I ever heard of.”
“Shit,” Bannon said, “if I wanted to be AWOL, the Army would never find me again.”
“Me too,” said Plotnik.
Machine-gun bullets peppered the front of the hole they were in, and a few minutes later mortar rounds began to fall. The Japanese fire became more intense, and a report came in to Butsko that Japanese infantry was trying to work around his right flank. Butsko ducked as mortar rounds smashed into the ground, sending clods of earth flying through the air. His platoon was falling into danger because Captain Franklin wouldn’t move his company up. If he didn’t get some support soon, he’d have to retreat and give up the ground he’d taken.
