Meat Grinder Hill Read online

  “It is clear that we must withdraw,” General Sugiyama said. He turned angrily to Admiral Nagano, top commander of the Japanese Imperial Navy. “You landed the Army without sufficient arms and food and then cut off the supply! It's like sending someone on a roof and then removing the ladder!”

  “Well,” replied Nagano, “how long can you expect us to provide reinforcements? Do you think our resources are inexhaustible? Why haven't you retaken Guadalcanal long ago? Where is the Army's fighting spirit?”

  “We have plenty of fighting spirit!” General Sugiyama replied. “We need more men and supplies! We could have won long ago if we had half of what the Americans have! Up till now we've only received one percent!”

  Colonel Joichiro Sanada had arrived from Rabaul only three days ago, where he'd conferred with the leading military commanders in the southwestern Pacific. “Every responsible commander in the Solomon Islands believes all troops should be withdrawn from Guadalcanal as soon as possible,” he said. “Future military operations must not be jeopardized by continuing a campaign in which none of the front-line commanders has any confidence.”

  “No confidence?” asked Admiral Nagano. “Has the Army lost heart?”

  “It has nothing to fight with,” Colonel Sanada replied.

  Colonel Tsuji felt himself going over the edge. “How can we continue to discuss this?” he demanded. “The facts are quite clear! The Seventeenth Army must be withdrawn at once if it cannot be resupplied!”

  Tojo looked at Admiral Nagano. “If we were to withdraw the Seventeenth Army from Guadalcanal, how much time would it take for the Navy to do it?”

  “The end of January,” Admiral Nagano replied.

  “The end of January!” Colonel Tsuji said. “That's too late! Why waste so much time while good men are dying? What's wrong with the Navy? Why won't Admiral Nagano tell us what's wrong with the Navy?”

  “What's wrong with the Army?” Admiral Nagano replied.

  "Silence.’” hollered Tojo.

  The room fell silent. Tojo thought of how well the war had gone in the first months. Malaya, Singapore, Java, Formosa, Hong Kong—all had fallen before the might of Japanese arms. The American Navy had been demolished at Pearl Harbor. The Philippines had been taken and General MacArthur had been forced to flee like the dog he was. But now, at Guadalcanal, great difficulties were arising. And something terrible had happened to the Navy at Midway and in the Coral Sea, but even Tojo didn't know the full extent of the catastrophe.

  “It is not wise,” Tojo said, “to make critical decisions in the heat of anger. I'll have to think this over and present my recommendations to the Cabinet. That is all. Meeting dismissed.”

  After the meeting, in the corridor outside, Colonel Tsuji approached his friend General Owada. “Did you hear what went on there? Are they all crazy?”

  “You and I can do nothing to save the Seventeenth Army,” General Owada said solemnly. “I think it's best that you become more philosophical about the matter. It's all in the hands of the gods now.”

  “It's not in the hands of the gods. It's in the hands of those idiots who were in that room.”

  “Colonel Tsuji, I have a suggestion for you,” General Owada said. “I think you ought to go home and soak in your tub for a while. You're losing control of yourself. Good day, Colonel Tsjui.”

  General Owada walked away. Colonel Tsuji stared at Owada's back and thought of the starving soldiers on Guadalcanal .

  Two squadrons from the Cactus Air Force soared down from the sky and dropped bombs on Hill Twenty-nine while artillery pounded it unmercifully. The Japanese soldiers in the bunkers were shellshocked and numb, but no one thought of surrendering. They lay on the ground and stuffed their bony fingers in their ears. Colonel Yatsu knew his position couldn't take much more of the artillery and bombs. It was time for desperate measures. The mortars would have to be deployed and fired. It would be extremely hazardous to set up the mortars with all the shells falling, but it would have to be done.

  “Sergeant Sagamaki, set up the mortars!”

  “The mortars, sir? Now?”

  “Yes, now!”

  “But, sir, we won't stand a chance out there!”

  “I have just given you an order!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Sergeant Sagamaki rounded up his mortar squads. The men moved listlessly and reluctantly. Captain Yatsu realized that the men didn't want to do it and that he would have to lead them personally. He stood and picked up a crate of mortar ammunition.

  “Let's go!” he said. “Follow me!”

  He dragged the crate of mortar rounds out of the bunker and into the smoke and flames of the bombardment. Shells exploded all around him and trees crashed to the ground. Choking from the dust and smoke, he set the crate of ammunition on the ground, expecting to be blown apart at any moment.

  No one followed him out. He crawled back into the bunker and grabbed a mortar tube from the hands of the terrorized soldier.

  “If you men want to be cowards, I'll do it myself,” he said.

  His insult stung the men. To be a coward was the worst fate that could befall a Japanese soldier. The men followed him outside into the hell and havoc. A piece of shrapnel hit a private in the chest and nearly tore him in half. Another soldier was hit in the face with a bomb fragment and his head disappeared.

  “Hurry!” said Captain Yatsu. “We can stop them if we get these mortars set up.”

  The men dropped the mortar plates in the trench and screwed on the tubes. Crates of ammunitions were stacked next to the mortars. Shrapnel whizzed all around them, chopping down trees and ripping apart the jungle. The ground heaved underneath as if an earthquake were occurring.

  "Banzai!” shouted Captain Yatsu, dropping a mortar round into the tube beside him.

  The round blasted out of the tube and soared high into the air, then fell to earth on the advancing Americans. The other mortar squads followed Captain Yatsu's example, and soon mortar shells were raining down on the front line of the American advance.

  "Banzai! Give it to them!” Captain Yatsu screamed above the thunder of the bombardment. "Hurry! Don't stop now!”

  The Japanese soldiers loaded their mortars as fast as they could as the earth trembled in the whirlwind of flames and death.

  The mortar rounds dropped down on the Second Battalion, surprising the men. Their first thought was that their own artillery shells were falling short and landing on them.

  "We're being shelled by our own people!” somebody yelled. "Stop the goddamn shelling!”

  Bannon knew mortar rounds from artillery shells and realized the Japs were up to their old tricks. When the Americans conducted a barrage, the Japs shot back mortar rounds to make the Americans think their own shells were falling short. Often the trick worked because the Americans stopped their artillery barrage until they found out what was wrong. "They're not our shells!” Bannon screamed. "Hold fast!”

  Unfortunately American artillery had fallen short several times in the past, and many of the GIs thought it was happening again.

  "Stop the artillery!” somebody shouted. "They're aiming short!”

  Captain Orr also knew mortar rounds from artillery shells. "They're not aiming short! Stay where you are!”

  The troops were scared. Many had been under bombardment before, and they didn't like it. Many pulled back, and some officers ordered their men to retreat.

  Most of the men of the Second Battalion retreated down the hill, first on their bellies and then, when they felt safe, on their feet. The sight of other men running away increased their panic, and soon a rout was on.

  "Hold it there, goddamnit!” Captain Orr shouted. "They're only a few Jap mortar rounds!”

  Half of George Company and all of the recon platoon stayed where they were, but most of the Second Battalion ran away. Bannon ground his teeth and banged his fist on the ground angrily. After coming so far, the Second Battalion was giving up all the ground they'd won, and now they'd have to f
ight to take it back.

  “Son of a bitch!” he muttered. “Goddamn stupid bastards!”

  Several officers in the Second Battalion panicked and called the artillery units, screaming into their walkie-talkies that the bombardment should be halted immediately. The artillery commanders ordered a ceasefire to find out what was going on, and the battlefield became quiet except for the sound of the mortar rounds falling on abandoned positions.

  Colonel Smith heard the artillery stop firing and saw his men streaming through the jungle in full retreat. A GI ran past him and Colonel Smith grabbed him by the shirt.

  “You're going the wrong way, soldier!”

  The soldier was pale and his eyes wild. “We're being hit by our own artillery, sir!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We're being hit by our own artillery, sir!” the soldier repeated, scared to death.

  Colonel Smith let him go and grabbed his radio, calling front-line commanders and trying to figure out what was going on. After several heated conversations he found out most of his battalion was running away. Finally he reached Captain Orr.

  “Sir,” said Captain Orr, “the Japs have lobbed a few mortar rounds at us and the men think our artillery is falling short!”

  “What about your company?”

  “Half my company and all of the recon platoon is still here.”

  “Stay there and hold your fire! Let the Japs think everybody's gone! I'll get back to you once I turn this mess around!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Captain Yatsu stood behind the mouth of his bunker and peered through his binoculars at the retreating Americans. The artillery bombardment had stopped and the Americans were running away. The ruse had worked!

  “We've done it!” he shouted. “We've pushed them back!” The men jumped up and down, cheering. They slapped each other on the back and grinned happily. They knew the Americans would come back, but at least they'd won the first round.

  “I can hear them,” Bannon said.

  “So can I,” replied Longtree.

  Bannon pointed. “They're just up there, I think.”

  “I'll go look. Cover me.”

  Longtree crawled forward into the jungle. Captain Orr, checking on his men, noticed him. He moved toward Bannon.

  “Where's that man going?”

  “Can you hear the Japs?” Bannon asked.

  Captain Orr closed his eyes and concentrated on his ears. He picked up the sounds of the Japs celebrating their successful trick.

  “I hear them,” he said.

  “Longtree's gone to find out where they are.”

  Captain Orr thought for a moment. “Good idea.”

  “Did our mortar squads run away?”

  “Two didn't.”

  “I think you'd better get them organized, sir, because we'll need them if Longtree spots those Japs.”

  Longtree crawled on his belly, keeping his face close to the ground. Branches scratched over his back and down his legs as he moved along. He slithered through shellholes and around boulders. He paused beneath bushes and listened to the chatter of the Japs, then moved forward again, heading toward their voices, which steadily became closer. The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and burning vegetation. The higher he climbed, the clearer he could hear the Japanese voices, the sound of rifles bolts being closed, the bustle of men.

  He saw bushes move in front of him, and a skinny Japanese soldier appeared, carrying an Arisaka rifle. It was one of Captain Yatsu's lookouts moving into position. He was headed straight for Longtree, and Longtree thought the Jap would spot him. He raised his M 1 so he could shoot the Jap first.

  The Jap moved cautiously, and Longtree lined him up in his sights. It would be easy to kill him, but a shot would give away Longtree's position. Longtree lay still, and the Jap walked by him only a few yards away.

  Longtree waited a few minutes, then crawled forward again. He correctly guessed that the Jap probably wasn't the only lookout in the vicinity. Longtree would have to be more careful than ever. He moved slowly, pausing every few minutes to listen, and then moved again. Sweat poured down his face, and he felt a tension headache coming on. He wished he could smoke a cigarette. He wondered why he'd volunteered to do this.

  Then he saw it. In the jungle straight ahead, camouflaged by bushes, were the log walls of a bunker only twenty yards away. Longtree stopped, his heart beating wildly. A mad idea entered his mind: He could dash up there and drop a grenade into that slot before the Japs knew what hit them.

  He took a deep breath and wondered if the idea was too wild. He might succeed, but then what? Could he get away? Was it worth a chance?

  He looked at the bunker; it was a temptation. It would be a great accomplishment to knock it out when the whole battalion couldn't do it, even supported with artillery. It was the kind of challenge no warrior could walk away from, and underneath his US Army uniform Longtree still considered himself an Apache warrior. A warrior's function was to perform heroic acts. He could not tum tail and run away from the bunker. It was too good an opportunity. What was death compared to the glory of a great personal victory?

  I'll use two grenades instead of one, he thought, but first I should get in a better position so I can attack from its blind side.

  He crawled slowly to his right, choosing the thickest part of the jungle for his path. His skin tingled with excitement as he made his way underneath trees cut in half by the shelling. The jungle was unbelievably tangled, with bushes uprooted and lengths of trees lying everywhere in weird angles. His mouth was dry with anticipation. He wondered how many Japs were in the bunker. Finally he reached a place where he thought he could launch his one-man attack. Staying low, he slung his rifle across his back so that his hands were free. He thought of the recon platoon farther down the hill and wondered what Bannon would do when he heard the explosions. I don't care what he does. This is for me to do.

  He pulled two grenades from his lapels and yanked the pins, holding one grenade in each hand, pressing the levers tight. He looked at the bunker and took deep breath, thinking of great Apache warriors and especially the famous Mangus, who had been Longtree's grandfather. He sprang up and started running.

  He let out no war cry, because he didn't want to alert the Japs, but he was moving quickly through the jungle and they heard him coming anyway.

  “What's that?” Captain Yatsu said.

  He looked through the hole in the bunker and couldn't see anything, but he could hear the sound of somebody coming at the bunker from the side. “Sergeant Sagamaki, come with me!”

  Captain Yatsu and Sergeant Sagamaki dashed toward the rear of the bunker while the other Japanese soldiers looked at each other in alarm. Outside, Longtree ran swiftly toward the mouth of the bunker, kicking out his legs and gulping air. He leaped over a log, vaulted a shell crater, and kept charging. As he closed with the bunker he let the levers go, and they popped into the air, arming the hand grenades. In five seconds they'd go off.

  He held both of the grenades in one of his big hands, dived toward the mouth of the bunker, tossed both grenades between the barrels of the machine guns and rolled away. His helmet fell off as he kept rolling, trying to get away from the mouth of the bunker.

  Baaarroooooommmmm!

  The grenades exploded simultaneously, and a bolt of lightning shot out the mouth of the bunker. Outside, in the rear trench, the concussion knocked Captain Yatsu and Sergeant Sagamaki to the ground. Captain Yatsu scrambled to his feet and saw an American soldier running away. He snatched the Arisaka rifle out of Sergeant Sagamaki's hands and took aim.

  Longtree was running as quickly as his feet would carry him. He was thrilled by the success of his deed and his heart beat like a tom-tom.

  Crack!

  Longtree felt as if he'd been hit in the back by a Mack truck. He lost his footing and everything went black. He crashed against a tree and fell to the ground.

  Captain Yatsu rushed into the bunker and saw bl
ood and guts. Wounded men groaned in pain, but most were dead, mutilated beyond recognition. "No!” he shouted.

  Sergeant Sagamaki entered the bunker and blinked. He couldn't believe his eyes. The bunker had been designed to withstand the most ferocious attacks, but it had been wiped out by one American soldier.

  Captain Yatsu knew the entire hill was threatened and that he'd have to do something fast. He looked at the radio; it had been demolished along with his men.

  “Sergeant Sagamaki,” he said, his throat constricted by horror, “go to the other bunkers! Get one-third of the men from each one and one-third of the machine guns and bring them here immediately!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Sergeant Sagamaki ran out of the bunker. Captain Yatsu rushed to the opening of the bunker and laid Sergeant Saga-maki's rifle on the parapet, determined to hold off any Americans who attacked, even if it cost him his life. The stench of guts was almost unbearable, and Captain Yatsu tried not to look at the gore around him. He peered down the hill and saw the American soldier lying still against the tree. At least I got him. At least I did that, Captain Yatsu thought.

  Bannon flinched when he heard the explosion. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Sounds like hand grenades,” said Nutsy Gafooley.

  Bannon tried to figure what was going on. Longtree was the only GI up the hill and he must have got into trouble. But would the Japs throw hand grenades at him. No, they'd more likely try to shoot him. Then Bannon heard Captain Yatsu's rifle shot, and the picture became clear: That crazy fucking Indian must have tried to toss a grenade at the bunker and then the Japs shot at him.

  He jumped to his feet. "Let's go!” he yelled. "The Chief's in trouble!”

  Bannon ran through the jungle and up the hill, the rest of the platoon following him.

  Captain Orr looked up and saw them advancing through the jungle. "Where the hell are you men going?”