The Final Storm Part 10

Adams felt helpless, like a small child, still shaking, said in a stammer, "I don't know. I couldn't ..."

He saw the lieutenant crawling toward them, the officer making a sharp glance toward Ferucci, who said, "He's okay. Not hit. We couldn't spot that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He's up in that brush somewhere."

"Sergeant, next time you want to designate somebody for recon, use your d.a.m.n brains! You sent him up there in the wide d.a.m.n open!"

"Aye, sir. But we hadn't seen any j.a.ps ... I thought ..." Ferucci stopped, frozen by the lieutenant's stare. "Aye, sir."

Porter looked at Adams, seemed to scan him.

"All right. Maybe that son of a b.i.t.c.h is gone, crawled back into his hole. Unless we give him another target. Let's stay in cover, keep close to the ditch, get past this guy. He can't be the only d.a.m.n Nambu gun in these hills, so stay low, use whatever cover you can. And keep your distance. Five yards apart! Move out on my signal. Walkie-talkie!"

"Sir!"

The man crawled along the rocky depression, pulled the equipment from his back, handed it to Porter.

"Charlie six, this is Charlie two. We're taking Nambu fire. You hear it?"

The response was a crackling garble, the words just audible.

"Roger, Charlie six ... a clump of trees ... two hundred yards above ..."

Porter spoke again, "Charlie two, we're moving out. Watch your flank. The enemy is still up there, but looks like a lone duck. Pretty sure we missed him."

A new voice came now, and Porter's reaction was different, his authority fading. It was Captain Bennett.

"Charlie six, negative that. We can't leave him in our rear. Charlie two, move up the hill. Charlie six, do the same. Find him!"

Porter lowered the walkie-talkie, seemed to pause, stared down, thoughts Adams couldn't read. Then Porter said, "Aye, sir. Charlie six ... out." The lieutenant handed the walkie-talkie to Hunley, the carrier, said in a low voice, "Guess we've got a job to do." He peered up briefly over a low flat rock, no fire coming down. In the ditch across the road, Yablonski called out, "If that b.a.s.t.a.r.d is still up there, I'll draw his fire. I poured two clips into those trees. I saw something move, but that's it. I mighta hit him."

Porter pointed a finger toward Yablonski, toward the others on that side of the road.

"Whether you hit him or not ... you're our cover! We're going up, and if that b.a.s.t.a.r.d opens fire again, lay down as much return fire as you can! Where's the BAR?"

Gridley was across the road as well, responded, "Here!"

"Good! Use it, son. Anything moves up there, blow h.e.l.l out of it! Watch out for Charlie two. They'll be moving up on our right, beyond that rise."

The lieutenant took a long breath, glanced both ways, the others on the near side of the road watching him. Adams saw something new in the lieutenant's eyes, a hard glaze, staring right through the men closest to him. The words came out slowly, precise, a slight wavering, and Adams realized now, the man was afraid.

"Keep low. Use the cover. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d fires, hit the deck, let these boys nail him from back here. They might see him before we do." He paused, looked to the right, where the road curved away, the direction they had just come. "Maybe Charlie two will get him first, save us the trouble." He looked both ways, pulled his carbine close to his chest, a long second, said, "Let's go!"

Porter moved first, crawled up over the flat rock, dove into brush, and now Ferucci followed, a hard shout to the others.

"Move your a.s.s!"

Adams was still spitting dirt and blood, coughed again, made a quick glance at the M-1, felt a quiver in his knees, the paralyzing fear again. But the others on both sides of him leapt up, crawling uphill, slipping into the thin patches of brush. He watched boots working frantically, one man driving up on his belly, moving away. Adams gripped the M-1, tried to stop the shaking in his chest. He heard another one of the sergeants farther along the road, pulling his men up onto the hillside, and behind him the muzzles of the rifles in the ditch were up, silent and still, ready for a target. His heart was pounding wildly, and he hesitated, but the others were moving on up the hill, and he shouted to himself, his own order, get moving! The springs uncoiled again, and he launched himself up and over the rock, stayed on his feet, running uphill, bent low, pushed past the brush, stepped over someone, saw a larger rock, no one there, dove headlong, hit the ground with a gut-busting grunt.

Up the hill there was no response, and Porter was close to Adams, hidden by a bush to one side, said in a low growl, "Where the h.e.l.l is that b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

The others responded, short calls.

"Nothing!"

"No sign of him!"

Adams felt pain in his chest, the impact against the ground, the hard breathing, saw the others spread out across the hillside, some in good cover, some protected by a wisp of brush. Porter was up suddenly, running farther up, boots kicking up dirt, and he went down again, more cover, looked back at his men, scanned the hillside with a manic jerk of his head. Adams saw the man's eyes, furious, terror, and Porter shouted, "Dammit! Find the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Adams pushed up with one arm, ran after the lieutenant, and from the trees above them came the sound again, the tap tap tap of the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, closer now. There was no cover in front of him, but he flattened out again, and now the response, down the hill, the heavy thumping of the BAR. The Nambu was silent again, and Adams saw the lieutenant rise, firing the carbine, then moving up again, another low rock, falling in a heap of dust. Adams's legs reacted, following, and on both sides others were moving as well, short bursts of motion, then down. But there was little cover, the rocks small, the brush too scattered. They were close to the clump of trees, thin pines along the hilltop, and Adams hugged the ground, jerked his head to one side, looking for Porter, waiting, his chest heaving against the hard ground. There was a new burst of fire, from the right, pops from an M-1, then more, and now came shouts.

"Got him! Got him!"

Adams breathed the dirt, choked again, rose with Porter, who stayed down on one knee, still aiming the carbine. Adams mimicked him, pulled the M-1 up to his shoulder, scanned the trees, small s.p.a.ces, and Adams saw movement, men in the trees, saw ... green. Marines. Porter yelled out, "Hold your fire!"

The men in the trees were waving, but others had come up from the right, were swarming past them, cautious, taking position along the ridgeline, searching for more targets in the pine thickets. The lieutenant looked out to both sides, his own men spread out on the hill, said, "Easy! Keep low! Eyes on anything that moves!"

He rose up, stepping quickly, and Adams followed him to the trees, some of the others coming as well. The men from the other platoon were in position, and Porter moved close to one man, both of them on their knees. Adams knew the man, Sergeant Long, and Adams kept his distance, stayed down in line behind Porter, scanning the hillside. He looked back toward the road, saw the men there in good cover, dark spots of rifle barrels, the men there still aiming up the hill. Up beside Porter, the sergeant said, "Right here! Saw him poke his Nambu up out of this hole."

Porter said only, "Stay down. Could be more. I see the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

The two men crawled up past some low pines, and Adams felt a burning curiosity, followed, tried to ignore the pain in his sc.r.a.ped knees. The sergeant sat, facing Porter, raised a machine gun up from the brushy thicket, stood it upright on its b.u.t.t, a look of pure joy on his face.

"Look at this piece of c.r.a.p. That the best they got?"

Adams moved closer, staring at the machine gun, could see the enemy soldier now, the dull brown uniform, coated in blood, the man lying facedown beside what looked like a small round foxhole. The lieutenant eased over close to the hole, stared down, said, "Spider hole. Not big enough for a rabbit. These sons of b.i.t.c.hes could be all over the place. I bet we've been walking right past them."

"Not this one. I'll take credit for him, but I know your BAR ripped h.e.l.l out of the trees, could have nailed him too."

The sergeant was beaming, the star of his own show, his squad gathering up through the trees. He stood now, still held the Nambu, aimed it upward, his words directed toward his men.

"Pretty light weight. If this is the best they can do, it's gonna be a short fight."

Adams saw Porter looking away, toward his own men, ignoring the sergeant's bl.u.s.ter. Porter seemed to freeze now, pointed past Adams, said in a low voice, "There!"

Adams followed the man's eyes, saw a fat tuft of gra.s.s, a patch of raw earth a few yards away. He felt a jolt, a nervous stab in his stomach, pointed the M-1 at the odd clump. He stepped slowly, aiming, saw it was another hole, round and deep, like a home for some giant worm. Porter moved out to the side, covering him, and Adams said, "It's another one!"

Behind them, the sergeant was dismissive, said, "Pa.s.sed a few more on the way up here. Looks like they skedaddled, left this one stupid a.s.shole behind to keep us honest. Guess it didn't work."

Porter moved up close to Adams, examined the hole, ignored the sergeant's arrogance.

"Let's get moving."

Long pointed back into the trees.

"My looey sent his walkie-talkie guy with us. He's right back there. You wanna use it?"

"Use your head. We're on a d.a.m.n ridgeline. Anybody holding a walkie-talkie is a target for every j.a.p around here! We're not sightseeing. Get your a.s.ses back down to the road. Your looey and I need to fill in the captain. But not from up here."

Long was still holding the Nambu, admiring his trophy, but it was too large, too clumsy for a souvenir. He tossed it aside, and Adams was drawn back toward the j.a.panese soldier, could smell a sweet stink, blood and filth, felt a turn in his stomach. Long was watching him, still with the smile, suddenly launched a hard kick into the body, a sickening crunch against the dead man's side.

"You ain't seen too many of these, have you kid?"

"No."

"Well, I seen a bunch. Before this is over, there'll be so d.a.m.n many, you can make a necklace out of their teeth. Nice gift for your girl, huh?"

Adams wasn't sure if Long was kidding or not, said only, "Sure."

Adams tried to avoid the wide smile on the sergeant's face, didn't know what else to say. Long leaned out closer to him, put one foot on the j.a.panese corpse, said in a whisper, "Give your looey credit. He led you guys up here. Mine stayed down on the road. Mine might be smarter, but yours has bigger b.a.l.l.s!"

Adams nodded, and Long laughed now, waved one arm toward his men.

"Let's go!"

On the hillside behind him, Porter had waved the men back down the hill. Adams began the descent, blew more dust through the crust of blood in his nose. He tried to spot Porter, but there was just the green, no faces, every man moving quickly through the stubble of brush. They settled back down on the roadbed, no one standing, all of them returning to their cover. He eased himself off the large flat rock, dropped down, grunted from the pain in his leg, saw he was next to Porter again, the lieutenant looking both ways, a silent head count. Adams wiped a rough hand on the crust of blood on his face, saw Porter look back up the hill, then he looked at Adams, said, "No casualties, thank G.o.d. But you ... you're one lucky son of a b.i.t.c.h. That sergeant is full of it. j.a.p weapons might not measure up, but don't let anybody tell you they can't shoot. Only reason that b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't rip you to pieces was because he thought he'd gotten you. Yep, you've got luck on your side. I'm betting a twenty on your next fight."

Adams nodded toward the lieutenant, wasn't sure how to respond.

"Uh ... thank you."

Porter moved away, past the others, to the head of the platoon, toward the walkie-talkie. But there were sounds on the road behind them and Adams saw Captain Bennett walking a short distance behind the other lieutenant, Berkeley. Berkeley's platoon spread out in the ditches, most down on one knee, some with canteens, faint clouds of cigarette smoke. Porter came back, and Adams heard him take a deep breath, moving close to the captain, and Porter said, "Problem solved. Charlie two got him."

"Yeah, I saw. Good job, all of you. I want us out of this hilly stuff, where we can dig in tonight and watch our flanks. Maps show a road that goes down the hill, flatter ground closer to the beach. We've got two more companies joining us along the way and the colonel is making sure we get some heavy support pretty quick. Recon reports that the enemy was seen in force all over the next hill, just beyond the intersection. They seem to be pulling away from us every step of the way, but in case they decide to stick around, there are some 75s coming up on the road behind us. The artillery boys will raise h.e.l.l all over that place, bust up whatever might be there."

Porter nodded, and Adams looked at the other lieutenant, who kept his distance. Adams thought of the sergeant on the hilltop. Yep, I guess your looey's smart. One mortar sh.e.l.l comes down right here, and we'd be in a fix.

Bennett turned, scanned the road in both directions.

"We get to the intersection, the whole company will go to the left. Once we're on flatter ground, I'll set up a CP on the beach side. The colonel will give us orders, probably in the morning. Let's not lose anybody tonight. Eyes sharp!"

Bennett moved away, and Porter said, "Saddle up! Let's go! Keep your gap!"

Adams saw Ferucci, realized he hadn't seen him on the hillside. The sergeant was pulling thorns out of his pant leg, said, "Well, we got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The looey's right though. You're one lucky son of a b.i.t.c.h. But for chrissakes, wipe that crud off your face. You look like h.e.l.l."

Adams obeyed, a rough sleeve sc.r.a.ping the crust around his nose. Ferucci moved away and Adams waited for the prescribed five yards, and then began to move as well. The road made a wide sweeping curve to the right, dropping down into a narrow gully, out of the line of sight of whoever might have been in the trees above. He moved down the hill, kept a close watch on the brush and rocks above him, could see the beach far below. He felt the cold wetness in his s.h.i.+rt, soaked with his own sweat, realized now, his pants were wet. He had tried to ignore that, knew it had come when he had been pinned down by the Nambu gun, so close to being hit. He cursed to himself, carried the rifle low across his front, glanced across the road, saw Yablonski, the others, no one staring at him, no humiliation, at least not yet. He thought of Ferucci's words. Lucky? Maybe so. Maybe stupid. You wanted someone to climb up on that rock and see what was beyond those flat rocks. And so I shot my mouth off. Private Adams, volunteer. Next time, don't be Mr. Stupid a.s.s Rock Climber. If the sarge wants to see over the next hill, let him climb his own d.a.m.n rocks.

Welty came up close, violated the gap between them, hard breathing, a hand on Adams's arm.

"d.a.m.n, that was something. Surprised h.e.l.l out of me, that's for sure. You did good."

Adams looked back at him, was beginning to wonder if the whole world had gone stupid.

"Good? That j.a.p nearly blew my head off. I stood up there like a d.a.m.n lighthouse, for all the world to see. And then I froze, didn't know enough to get my a.s.s in gear. If the other platoon hadn't found that d.a.m.n j.a.p, he might have shot h.e.l.l out of all of us. You see those holes up there? Could have been dozens of them, just waiting for us to walk past them. We're stupid as h.e.l.l!"

He realized he was nearly shouting, Welty backing away, his response coming in a low voice.

"Well, yeah. He coulda killed a bunch of us, but he didn't. Seen a lot of that happen before. Saipan."

Adams was surprised, had never heard Welty mention anything about Saipan. He waited for more, the redhead silent now, dropping back, had said all he wanted to say.

They reached the intersection, and Porter held them up, a low rise in front of them, one fork of the road dipping away to the left. Adams still felt the wetness in his pants. d.a.m.n you, anyway. You a coward? You gonna p.i.s.s on yourself every time you see the enemy? He thought of the sergeant, Long, casual hatred, the man utterly immune to the death of the j.a.panese soldier. He wanted to be the one who killed him. He was proud. G.o.d, I need to be like that. I need to be the tough son of a b.i.t.c.h. He glanced at his right hand, made a fist. Yeah, they think you already are. Hey, put boxing gloves on him and he beats the c.r.a.p out of everybody. Must be a really tough guy.

Up ahead the men were following Porter to the left. Adams looked down, the stain on his pants. Yeah, you a.s.shole, there's a good story to tell your brother. Hey, Jesse, a j.a.p shot at me and I p.i.s.sed my pants. Pretty impressive, huh? He stared ahead, focused on the distance between him and Ferucci. It happens to everybody, right? Everybody's scared. You saw it in the looey's eyes. Maybe that sergeant, before that j.a.p was killed, maybe he p.i.s.sed his pants too. Adams looked across the road again, the others spread out in line, no one looking his way. d.a.m.n you, he thought, you better not be a coward, not out here, not when everyone will know. You better find a j.a.p and blow him to h.e.l.l, and maybe make one of those necklaces that sergeant bragged about. He thought of the j.a.panese soldier, the blood and the stink, could not hide from that. That sergeant was proud, he thought. He liked it. That's what I need to do. That's what a Marine's supposed to be. Dammit, you better get good at this.

12. ADAMS.

NORTHWESTERN COAST, OKINAWA.

APRIL 12, 1945, 8 P.M.

The darkness was already oppressive, more of the same routine, one man in each foxhole standing watch while the other tried to sleep. Adams stared out, the ground more flat than the rocky hills, but far out to the east he could see the taller ridgeline, thickets of pine trees. He held the M-1 close, ready, obeying the harsh instructions from the lieutenant, as though no one had done this before. Porter had seemed rattled after the experience with the j.a.panese machine gunner, and whether anyone else paid attention or not, Adams had seen something he didn't want to see. Porter was a veteran, like so many of the others, had done all of this before, Saipan mostly, or Guam. Like Welty, the lieutenant didn't seem interested in telling his stories, that loudmouth baloney Adams had heard from that other sergeant, Long. Adams had paid much more attention to the eyes, both Welty and the lieutenant showing hints of that odd stare that the men in the hospital had talked about. Not sure what that's about, he thought. I know a little about Saipan, I guess, stuff I heard in the hospital. He stared into darkness, thinking about Welty, yeah, he'd know how much of the newsreel stuff was c.r.a.p, and how much wasn't. But I can't ask him about it. I just can't. That's what the new recruits do, happy stupidity, gee, Buddy, what's it like? How many j.a.ps did you kill? Well, we killed one today. Doesn't seem like something to tell the grandkids about. I know d.a.m.n well Sergeant Long will tell somebody about that, part of his big adventure. Some of these guys ... that's just how they are, and that's what the recruits want to hear. But if the lead starts flying, I'd rather be close to the lieutenant, or even Welty. If one of them grabs his a.s.s and hauls it the other way, pay attention to that.

He had finally been able to eat, but the K rations were just as awful as ever. Welty had given him a chocolate bar, but that didn't sit any better in his gut. Before dark the lieutenant had gone through the platoon telling them all not to forget their Atabrine tablets, what was supposed to protect them from malaria. Maybe that's what I got, he thought. Not sure what's boiled up in my gut, and I don't know what the h.e.l.l malaria's supposed to do to you. I've seen a few of the others taking a haul-a.s.s squat in the brush, and n.o.body's said anything about some tropical disease. Funny how n.o.body's scared of snakes anymore. Haven't seen a single d.a.m.n one, and that Nambu gun changed a lot of these idiots. Yeah, there's worse things to worry about. He poked his stomach, felt the painful response, thought, no, you're not sick. Just tied up in knots. Some of these green beans they got in those fields would help, for sure. h.e.l.l, I don't see why that fertilizer should change anything. The d.a.m.n Okies seem fine, and they eat this stuff all the time. Their own c.r.a.p. He pondered that for a long moment. Well, maybe I'll skip the beans. He thought of the unfortunate goat herd, all that fresh meat we blew to pieces. n.o.body ate any of that, but h.e.l.l, if the Okies raise them for food, they can't be all bad. It's just meat. Real meat, not this stuff in the K rations. h.e.l.l, maybe we been eating goat all along. They're not gonna tell us one way or the other. He felt his stomach rolling over, a hard knot down low, whispered, "Oh h.e.l.l."

He probed Welty with his foot, heard a low grunt, Welty awake, alert, sitting upright.

"What is it?"

"Sorry. I gotta hit the head. Bad."

Welty was up on his knees quickly, the M-1 coming up. He leaned close to Adams, the whispers staying low.

"The pa.s.sword ... you remember the pa.s.sword?"

"Lollygag."

"Say it out loud."

Adams knew the routine, that if any man left his foxhole in the dark, he had better make sure his buddies knew who he was. The pa.s.sword was one of those delicious pieces of lore that inspired someone's clever inventiveness. The intel officers had spread the word that the j.a.panese couldn't properly say the letter l, and so every pa.s.sword contained a mouthful of l's. Yeah, he thought, I guess if some j.a.p overheard our pa.s.sword, and hollered out rorrygag, it wouldn't be too good for him. Adams felt the turmoil increasing in his gut, tried to see the small pile of dirt that marked the hole they had dug, just beyond arm's reach of the foxhole. The luxury of a slit trench for the whole platoon was a thing of the past now, each duo digging their own small latrine close by. It wouldn't do for anyone to get lost in the dark, pa.s.sword or not. He stayed still for a brief moment, then forced the word out loud.

"Lollygag."

The sound burst through the silence, another voice responding, Ferucci.