The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (13 page)

O'Connor hopped to his feet and nodded, “Lead on.” As they cleared the wood pile they saw more guys crouched next to trees and rocks covering their withdrawal. They ran past them and they followed in turn. When they got close to the plantation it was pockmarked with bullet holes, it looked like a deranged flock of woodpeckers had been unleashed.

Sergeant Carver was standing in the doorway his Thompson smoking. He tilted his helmet back, “Well, I’ll be, thought you fuckers were long dead.”

Lieutenant Caprielli was aiming his carbine out a window, his eyes like saucers. He gave a curt not to the men.

O'Connor only smiled, but Welch reached out and shook the sergeant’s hand. “Jolly good to see you, thought our goose was cooked back at the wood pile.”

Sergeant Carver looked him up and down. He was covered with mud and dirt, his white teeth shining like beacons. Carver dropped his hand, “Let’s get our shit and find someplace to hole up. When the Japs realize how thin we are they’ll come back pissed. We don’t wanna be here.” He glanced at Lieutenant Caprielli who nodded. He grabbed Welch by the shoulders, “You know this island, any place you know we can safely powwow?” Welch looked at him sideways not understanding the word. Carver rolled his eyes, “Someplace we can make a plan without getting our balls shot off.”

Welch’s eyes lit up and he raised a hand in recognition, “Ah,” then he put his hand to his chin and thought about it. After a few seconds he looked around at the plantation and nodded. “Yes, follow me. It’s close, we should be safe there.” He pointed behind him, “There’s an old mine on the edge of this property. The mine shaft’s old and out of use, but it’s safe. In fact old Smiley used to give tours.”

“Smiley?” Caprielli asked.

“Yes, the chap who owns this plantation, Smiley Witherspoon. He’s a good chap, but he was one of the first to flee.” He looked around at the shot up building, “Break his heart to see it this way.”

Sergeant Carver gathered the men for a quick head count. They’d lost two men in the ambush, Private Skinner and Private Markos, whittling their twelve man squad to ten. He nodded realizing it could have been a whole lot worse. “They’re all here, Sir.”

Caprielli nodded and they moved out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The bedraggled squad shouldered their packs. They were much lighter now; they’d used a lot of ammunition. They filed out the back door and trotted after Welch who kept waving them onward. The fast pace felt wrong, there were Japanese soldiers throughout the jungle, but they kept up and kept their eyes on the jungle.

They were following an overgrown trail. It was probably well used when Smiley was running this place, but the jungle was reclaiming it. If Welch hadn’t known about it the trail would be impossible to find.

They traveled at a trotting speed for a quarter mile before the trail opened up onto an open patch of land. Welch stopped at the edge and crouched. Lieutenant Caprielli ran forward and Welch pointed at the edge of the jungle. Lieutenant Caprielli strained and finally saw the dark hole in the side of a small hillock. The entrance was half covered with old wood that had once been on hinges, but they’d rusted and the door had leaned over. Caprielli nodded and motioned O'Connor and Crandall forward. They stayed low and crossed the low grassy field. When they got to the mine entrance Crandall moved the wood and stepped inside. O'Connor kept his carbine ready. Crandall disappeared into the blackness, but came out in seconds and waved the others forward. Lieutenant Caprielli nodded at Sergeant Carver and they went across, leaving plenty of space between each man.

At the entrance they crouched and Crandall said, “It’s clear, far as I can tell. Pitch black in there.”

Welch pushed his way past and went inside like he owned the place. Caprielli tried to grab his sleeve, but he slipped by. The Lieutenant was about to send someone in after him when he saw a soft glow coming from inside. Sergeant Carver entered and waved them inside, “He’s found some light.”

Entering the mine was like entering the inside of a musty old closet. The smell of wet earth tinged with some kind of metallic tang was oppressive. The mine shaft went straight for ten feet then turned a corner to the left. The soft glow was coming from around the corner. Welch poked his head back around and held up an old-fashioned kerosene lantern. It threw crazy shadows behind him. “Old Smiley always keeps a tin of matches and plenty of kerosene in his lamps.”

The others gathered around the light, it was downright cozy and since the Japanese would have a hard time finding the place they felt relatively safe. Sergeant Carver wasn’t taking any chances though, “Crandall, go to the front and make the entrance disappear. Wipe any sign of us and keep watch.” Crandall trotted around the corner. Carver took Lieutenant Caprielli’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “Think it would be a good idea to lay low here awhile. The men are beat and could use some chow and some shuteye. It’s nice and cool in here, be a good place to rack out for a few hours.”

Caprielli nodded. He looked at his watch which was still ticking despite the jungle’s best efforts to corrode anything with moving parts. He returned to the men, “Alright we’re gonna stay here and get some food and rest. Break out what you got, lay out your ponchos and get some sleep. We’ll rotate the guard on the hour.”

The men didn’t need coaxing; they tore into their packs and pulled out their K-rats. They hadn’t eaten since embarking on the doomed mission. The sound of tin cans being opened was quickly followed by slurping and burping, then light snoring.

Sergeant Carver, Lieutenant Caprielli and Welch sat around the lantern and talked in quietly. Caprielli said, “We’ll roust the men at 1400 and try to get around these Japs again. Any ideas on how we can do that?”

Welch’s face went white in the yellow glow, “Surely you’re not thinking of continuing the mission after what’s happened?”

Carver glared, “Of course we’re continuing the mission. We haven’t accomplished it yet.”

“But things have changed, you’ve lost men, you’re understrength.” He looked down realizing how weak the argument was.

The Lieutenant continued, “You’re not obligated to stay with us, but your knowledge of the land could be the difference between success and failure.”

Carver grumbled, “Didn’t help us much last night.”

Welch’s face went from white to red as quick as a light switch turns dark to light. “You can’t blame me for that, that trail’s normally clear. It’s the same one I took to get to your lines the other day.”

Caprielli put a hand on his shoulder, “Easy does it.” He waited for Welch’s color to come back, “Is there another way through?”

Welch thought about it, then hesitantly said, “We could cross the river. I know of a decent fording spot, but there are crocodiles.”

Carver grinned, “Crocodiles? Why they call it alligator creek?” Welch glared and Sergeant Carver continued, “I haven’t seen any crocs, or gators, for that matter.” Welch told them about their early morning experience with the Japanese. Carver shook his head, “Shitty way to go, even for a Jap.” He looked at the Lieutenant, “Sounds better than risking the trail again.”

Caprielli nodded, “Yeah, we’ll watch for crocs. I’d rather fight them than Japs.” Welch played the scene of the two Japanese soldiers being taken by the crocs and wasn’t sure he agreed.

***

At 1400, Sergeant Carver rousted the men and they grumbled and stretched, farted and belched. They shuffled gear, getting ready for the coming move. They were glad not to be moving back up the trail.

They crouched at the entrance to the mine. Each man wanted to stay in the shaft; it was quiet, safe and the perfect temperature for sleeping. Carver touched O'Connor’s shoulder. He nodded and pushed the cover aside and reentered the hostile world of Guadalcanal. Welch told him what bearing to follow to get to the ford spot and he moved from cover to cover. He saw no sign of enemy soldiers. The going was easy, the jungle was thick overhead, but the ground cover sparse. They could move quickly and quietly. It wasn’t long until O'Connor came up against a well-used path. He kneeled and waited for counsel.

Sergeant Carver conferred with Welch who said the crossing was only a couple hundred yards down the trail. Carver directed O'Connor to stay to the side of the trail and take it slow avoiding any more ambushes. O'Connor gritted his teeth, blaming himself for leading them into the ambush the night before.

His pace was slow, every step thought out and calculated for noise control. He stopped several times when he thought he heard something, but it was always nothing. He was regaining his trust in his stalking abilities.

He’d gone a quarter mile when he heard the distinct sound of water babbling over shallow rocks. The river flowed deep. He hadn’t known it to have any shallow rapids, but the sound was clear. He crouched and waved Sgt. Carver up. Welch came too and nodded, “That’s it, that’s the crossing. It’s shallow and easily crossed here, but it’s usually croc infested because other animals cross here too.”

O'Connor smiled, predators in the Oregon woods hung out at spots like this too and for the same reasons. It was nice to know no matter where you were in the world, animal behavior was generally the same.

Sergeant Carver said, “I’m more concerned about the predators on two legs.” He waved for Lieutenant Caprielli and pointed out the fording spot.

He nodded and pointed at Crandall, “You and O'Connor move across. The rest of us will cover you. Signal when it’s safe to cross.”

Crandall and O'Connor nodded and moved to the edge of the river. It was muddy limiting their view of the bottom. O'Connor was the first to enter. The water went up to his knees. He got his balance and took a tentative step. The bottom was mud covered rocks. He moved carefully not wanting to fall in and make a lot of noise.

With each step the water got deeper until it was over his belt. It wasn’t cold, but cooler than the air. It felt good. With each step he felt more exposed. When he was halfway across he felt like he had Japanese crosshairs on his back. Any passing patrol would see him instantly; he wouldn’t have a chance. He quickened his pace. Corporal Crandall entered the river and followed.

They rendezvoused near the bank on the far side. Crandall was jumpy looking over his shoulders in jerky movements. O'Connor said, “What’s the matter with you? Calm down.”

Crandall took a deep breath, “Sorry, that story about the crocs has got me spooked.”

O'Connor nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t think they like all the shelling. I heard someone saying they’ve pretty much disappeared with all the bombing.”

“What about the ones that ate the Japs?” O'Connor shrugged. He went up onto the bank to investigate. He didn’t want the rest of the squad to come over without clearing this side. The Japanese might be waiting for the main force just like last night.

He went twenty yards each way and came back to Crandall who was crouched on the bank. “It’s clear. Signal the others.”

Crandall waved them over and they entered the river at fifteen yard intervals. They sloshed across quickly, nervous about crocs and Japanese. Welch was almost running and kept looking over his shoulder for the coming river monster.

Safely across, Sgt. Carver put O'Connor on point and they moved out. There was no trail on this side and the jungle was thicker. O'Connor felt better about this side. He moved with more confidence. With every passing step he felt more in control. He was sure he’d sense any Japs in the area long before they saw him.

He slipped into an efficient routine. Take stock of the world, take five quiet steps, take stock, five more. He had to remind himself to stay vigilant. He’d been on point for two hours, this was the time when point men got sloppy. Sergenat Carver had already asked if he needed a break, but he’d shaken his head. He was in his element, wanting to keep the men safe, making up for getting Markos and Skinner killed.

He sensed something in the jungle ahead. He crouched and searched from left to right. Everything looked okay, but he couldn’t shake the feeling; something wasn’t right. He sniffed the air and listened for anything different. He was sure something was out there despite the lack of evidence. He’d learned to trust his instincts and they were buzzing now. He felt something big crawling up his pant leg, but ignored the tickling sensation.

He motioned for the others to get down and he sensed more than heard them going to their bellies. He brought his arms out of the backpack’s shoulder straps and laid it beside him. He didn’t want the squad to advance until he figured out what was bothering him. He looked back at Sergeant Carver and signaled that he was moving forward to take a look. Carver nodded and passed it along to the Lieutenant. The men were poised, their weapons trained on the surrounding jungle.

O'Connor crept forward. His steps careful and quiet, his carbine at the ready. There was a thicker portion of jungle to his front. When he got to it he went to his knees then his belly and slithered underneath the low vines and branches. It got darker and he heard something off to his left, someone was there. He brought his rifle up and aimed into the bush, but he couldn’t see the source. Then he did. Bloodshot eyes set deep into the blackest skin he’d ever seen were staring at him. His eyes adjusted and the form took shape. A man crouched, an old bolt action rifle aimed at him. His reaction was to shoot, but this wasn’t a Japanese soldier. A crucial second passed when both men could have killed the other, but instead, they only stared.