Satan's Cage Read online

  Frankie pressed the blade against Lieutenant Breckenridge’s throat, and a thin red line of blood appeared.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked into Frankie La Barbara’s eyes. “Go ahead,” he said tauntingly. “Only a sick son of a bitch like you would kill another American who couldn’t defend himself. You’re a coward—that’s what you are. A coward and a bully. If I wasn’t helpless right now, you wouldn’t dare talk to me that way.”

  Frankie was so angry he quaked from head to toe. He was angry because he knew Lieutenant Breckenridge was more or less right. He pulled the knife away from Lieutenant Breckenridge’s throat.

  “You know what I’m gonna do?” Frankie said. “I’m gonna carry you the fuck out of here and deliver you personally to the first hospital I see. I’m gonna stay there until they cure you and then I’m gonna call you out and kick your big fat ass all over the jungle.”

  “You couldn’t do it before,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “What makes you think you can do it now.”

  “You were lucky those other times. You hit me when I wasn’t looking.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “You’re a dumb fuck. You think you’re so smart, but you’re the one lying on the ground all covered with blood, and I’m clean as a whistle. Guess you ain’t as smart as you think you are, big lieutenant.”

  “I never liked you, Frankie,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, “and I still don’t like you. You don’t have a decent bone in your body. You’re the scum of the earth.”

  “Don’t piss me off,” Frankie replied, “because I’ll cut your fucking throat as soon as look at you.”

  “You might as well do it right now because we’ll never get out of this mess alive. You’re not smart enough to get us out alive. You couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”

  “I brought you this far, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t see how somebody with the amount of brains you’ve got could get much farther.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Frankie chewed his gum and worked his shoulders up and down. He looked to his left and right. A burst of automatic-weapons fire erupted not far away.

  “We’d better be moving,” Frankie said. “You’re wasting my fucking time.”

  Frankie leaned the Arisaka rifle against the trunk of a tree. He bent over and picked up Lieutenant Breckenridge, who wrapped his arm around Frankie’s neck.

  “You weigh a ton,” Frankie said. “You’re a fat fuck.”

  Frankie picked up the Arisaka rifle with his left arm and held on to Lieutenant Breckenridge with his right hand.

  “Let’s go,” Frankie said.

  “Which way’re you going?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.

  “Shut your fucking mouth,” Frankie said. “I’m in charge here now.”

  “Lemme get my compass.”

  “I don’t need no fucking compass.”

  Frankie stepped forward, dragging Lieutenant Breckenridge along with him. Lieutenant Breckenridge moved his legs and tried to help as much as he could, but felt weak. He looked up at the sky and spotted the North Star. He realized that Frankie was moving in the right direction at least. Lieutenant Breckenridge felt dizzy now that he was upright. He saw waves and squiggles in front of his eyes.

  Frankie staggered along the narrow jungle trail. He knew he shouldn’t be on the trail, because that was the most dangerous place, but he couldn’t drag Lieutenant Breckenridge through the thick jungle. It’d take forever to get someplace that way.

  “I’m thirsty,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.

  “Drink your spit,” Frankie replied.

  “You’re an animal, you son of a bitch. No, I take that back. You’re worse than an animal.”

  “I ain’t never met an officer who was worth the powder to blow him to hell.”

  Frankie rounded a bend in the trail and two Japanese soldiers jumped out of the bushes directly in front of him. They were only six feet away and there was nothing he could do.

  “Idiot!” Lieutenant Breckenridge said in Frankie’s ear.

  The Japanese soldiers stepped closer. One of them said something and Frankie couldn’t understand Japanese but he thought he’d better raise his hands in the air. He let go of his rifle and Lieutenant Breckenridge, who collapsed onto the ground at Frankie’s feet. The rifle landed a few inches from Lieutenant Breckenridge. Frankie raised his hands as high in the air as he could.

  “Don’t get nervous and shoot somebody,” he said softly, with a big smile, to the Japanese soldiers. “I’m not going to make any trouble at all.”

  The Japanese soldiers talked to each other, and Frankie figured they were discussing whether to shoot him and Lieutenant Breckenridge on the spot or take them prisoner. Frankie knew what he’d do if the situation was reversed. He’d shoot the Japs and leave them where they lay.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge lay sprawled at Frankie’s feet, wondering if he could do something. He thought maybe he could lurch forward and knock one of the soldiers off his feet, but would Frankie have the presence of mind to handle the other one? Lieutenant Breckenridge didn’t know, but it was the only chance he had.

  He pulled together his last remaining ounces of strength and grit his teeth. The Japanese soldiers continued to jabber to each other. Lieutenant Breckenridge tensed his muscles and took a deep breath. That old college cheer came back to him:

  End, center, tackle, guard!

  Get your man and hit him hard!

  He dug his toes into the ground and hurled himself forward, spreading out and throwing a body block into the knees of the Japanese soldier on the right. The Japanese soldier screamed as he went down, his arms flailing the air, and the other Japanese soldier looked instinctively to see what had happened.

  Frankie’s reflexes were right on the ball. He saw the side of the Japanese soldier’s face and reared back his arm. Pow! He punched the Japanese soldier in the face and the Japanese soldier staggered backwards. Frankie was on him like stink on shit, yanking the rifle out of his hands and bashing him on the mouth with the butt.

  The Japanese soldier fell on his ass and Frankie turned to see Lieutenant Breckenridge struggling on the ground with the other Japanese soldier. Frankie stepped to the side and kicked the other Japanese soldier in the head. He raised the butt of the rifle he’d just taken and smashed the Japanese soldier in the head, fracturing his skull. The Japanese soldier went limp on the ground.

  The first Japanese soldier tried to get up. Frankie spun around and kicked him in the face. The Japanese soldier fell onto his back and Frankie jumped beside him, bashing him in the head, then turning the rifle around and jabbing the bayonet on its end into the Japanese soldier’s stomach. Frankie twisted the bayonet for good measure and pulled it out, drops of blood falling from its end.

  Both Japanese soldiers lay motionless on the ground. Lieutenant Breckenridge drew himself unsteadily to his feet.

  “We did it,” he said.

  “Whataya mean, we did it?” Frankie replied, “I did it. You’d be rat food right now if it wasn’t for me.”

  “We’d better get out of here.”

  “You’re fucking right we’d better get out of here.”

  Frankie looked ahead on the trail and hesitated, because he thought more Japs might be that way.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge chuckled as his knees wobbled and he leaned from side to side. “You don’t know what to do, do you?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I know what to do,” Frankie replied.

  “What?”

  “Lemme think.”

  “We’d better stay off this trail from now on.”

  “That’s just what I was going to say.”

  “I think we’d better cut into the jungle right here. The hardest way might be the easiest way in the long run.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking.”

  Reluctantly and with great distaste, Lieutenant Breckenridge draped his arm over Frankie La Barbara’s shoulder. Just as re
luctantly, and with as much distaste, Frankie La Barbara wrapped his arm around Lieutenant Breckenridge’s waist. Together they pushed into the jungle, and in seconds were swallowed up by the leaves and darkness.

  Private Randolph Worthington, the barrel-chested former big-game hunter who hailed from Greenwich, Connecticut, crept through the thick black jungle. An owl hooted in a tree nearby, and in the distance he heard the shot of a rifle. He moved with his knees bent and his shoulders hunched over, listening for Japs, trying to be as cautious as he could.

  He knew that one wrong move could mean the end of his life. This was nothing like hunting big game in Africa, where he had been safe from bodily harm. Guides and natives had been with him, furnishing protection. He’d picked his shots without a worry in the world.

  Now he was the hunted, and it didn’t feel so good. He knew the jungle was swarming with Japs. He could hear them shouting to each other in the area he was in. They were beating the bushes, looking for him, and now he knew how those lions and rhinos felt when he was stalking them in Africa.

  He crouched behind a bush and caught his breath. His forehead was covered with sweat and he wiped it off with the back of his arm. He was afraid, but not so afraid that he couldn’t think straight. The fear didn’t paralyze him; it only sharpened his senses and made him more anxious to stay alive.

  He too was navigating by the stars. Looking up to the sky, he checked his direction and saw that it was generally okay. He wished he could smoke a cigarette or have a drink. A cup of coffee would go down real well, but there were no coffee shops in the vicinity.

  He heard leaves rustle in front of him, and ducked lower into his bush. The leaves rustled again and he estimated that the sound was coming from approximately twenty yards in front of him. Then he heard a Japanese voice, followed by another Japanese voice. His hairs prickled on the top of his head when he realized that at least two Japanese soldiers were heading straight toward him.

  He hoped he was wrong. He hoped they really weren’t headed straight toward him. He crouched lower behind the bush, his mouth going dry. His heart beat faster and he felt a mild pain in his stomach. His stomach rumbled and then he farted. He had to move his bowels but there was no time for that.

  The Japanese soldiers came closer. Private Worthington was forced to admit that they were headed directly toward him. He wondered whether to crawl into the bush he was hiding behind and hope they didn’t see him, or try to crawl away and hope they wouldn’t hear him.

  He narrowed his eyes and looked around. There was little light but his night vision was on and he could perceive that the jungle in the area wasn’t as thick as it could be. Narrow openings were between the bushes and trees and he thought he could sneak through them without making much noise. I’ll try it, he thought. It’s better than staying here.

  One of the Japanese soldiers nearby said something, and the other Japanese soldier replied. Private Worthington realized they were only approximately ten yards away now, and he had to get moving.

  He pivoted on the balls of his feet and crept to his right, passing between two bushes, moving silently by a tree whose trunk was covered with a net of vines. He ducked under a low-hanging branch and paused, listening to the Japanese soldiers advancing toward the spot where he’d been. Am I far enough away, he wondered, or should I keep going?

  He decided to keep going. He looked ahead and saw a small round clearing six feet in diameter. Raising his foot gingerly, he brought it down carefully on the jungle floor covered with leaves.

  The jungle floor didn’t support him and his foot sank into it. He lost his balance and toppled belly first into a puddle of mud. The mud splashed onto his face and got into his eyes. He raised his hands to wipe the mud out of his eyes, but his hands were covered with mud too. Tiny grains of sand rubbed against his inner eyelids every time he blinked. He kicked his feet in the mud but it seemed to be bottomless. Every time he kicked he sank more deeply into it. Then his blood went cold and his eyes bulged out of his head. Quicksand! he thought, horrified. I’ve fallen into quicksand!

  He swallowed hard, and sweat squirted from every pore in his body. Panic overwhelmed him for a few moments and he wanted to scream, but he didn’t dare scream. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. His body sank to his cartridge belt in the quicksand. The Japanese soldiers were nearby, still talking with each other. Worthington reached around for something to grab onto, but couldn’t find anything. There was only more quicksand. He realized that his frantic movements made him sink even faster. In basic training they’d taught him that a person could swim in quicksand, and he kicked his feet, trying to make his body flatten out on top of it, but that only made him sink faster too.

  Again the panic rose inside him and threatened to freak him out of his head. He wondered whether he’d be better off surrendering to the Japs or just drowning in the quicksand. It was up to his chest now. He was sinking fast. Something told him that if he called for the Japs, they’d just come over, laugh at his predicament, and shoot him in the head.

  His only alternative was to drown like a rat, and he sank more deeply into the quicksand with every passing second. He clawed with his hands, hoping to find something solid, but nothing was there. The Japs were very close now, still talking. It sounded as though they’d stopped a few yards away and were discussing which direction to move in next. Worthington hoped they wouldn’t move in his direction. The quicksand rippled up to the top portion of his chest, near his collarbone. He could smell its cruddy odor. Jesus, am I gonna the in this stuff? he asked himself. Is this the way I’m gonna go?

  He admitted to himself that it probably was the way he was going to go. He realized that his life was just about over, and soon he’d be suffocating in the muck. The thought of it nearly drove him out of his mind. He wanted to shriek and flail his arms around, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to be quiet.

  The quicksand rose to his throat. He told himself that if he was going to die, he wanted to the as a man. He’d just grit his teeth and when his nose went under he’d breathe in all that shit and the as fast as he could.

  Then a new thought came to his mind. He wondered if he could turn his rifle around and shoot himself with it. He maneuvered his rifle around to actually try that, but noticed that his movements made him sink faster. He didn’t think he had time to get his rifle ready, take off the safety, and ram a round into the chamber. He thought of slicing his wrists with his bayonet, but what would be the point of that? He’d be drowned before he could bleed to death.

  He became aware that the Japanese soldiers were moving away from him. He could hear them scraping against leaves and talking to each other, but what good would that do him now?

  My God, I’m finished, he thought. The realization fell on him like a ton of bricks. He was going to die, and he was only twenty-four years old. He thought of his mother, father, sisters, brothers, back in Greenwich, Connecticut, near the sea. He flashed on a few of the girls he’d screwed and some of the animals he’d shot in Africa.

  The mud covered his mouth and he clamped his lips shut. His nostrils were only a half inch away and then the party would be over. He felt like crying, because he thought he was too young to die, but he tried to make himself strong so that he could the like a man instead of a sniveling weak-kneed coward.

  The water rose to his nostrils. Private Worthington said good-bye to the world, when something caught his eye. Something moved in front of him. His first thought was that it was a wild animal of some kind who’d come to bite his head off.

  He saw a human arm, and then a tiny ray of moonlight shone on a human head. Private Worthington blinked his eyes and nearly opened his mouth in astonishment, but caught himself in time. He realized that a human being was there pushing a branch toward him! Private Worthington held his breath and lunged for it. His head went under the muck but his fingers closed around the branch. He reached out with his other hand and clamped that one onto the branch also. The person pulled and Worthingt
on’s head came up out of the muck. He opened his eyes and saw a native naked from the waist up on the other side of the branch. The native pulled again and Worthington kicked his feet. His shoulders came out of the muck and now he realized for the first time that he wasn’t going to the after all!

  The native pulled again. His feet were braced against some roots at the edge of the quicksand, and he put all of his weight into his work. Worthington's body gradually became parallel to the surface of the quicksand. He kicked his feet and tried to work himself loose from the quicksand. The native continued to pull from one end, and the quicksand sucked Private Worthington down at the other end. Private Worthington wriggled and squirmed. He pumped his legs and flapped his arms as the native yanked and tugged.

  Private Worthington felt himself coming free. He kicked his feet and the native gave a mighty pull. Private Worthington’s elbows touched down on solid ground! The native grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him forward. Private Worthington’s stomach was out of the quicksand, then his thighs, then his knees. He crawled forward on his hands and knees and collapsed, breathing heavily. Angling his head to the side, he looked at the native and wheezed, “Thank you.”

  The native couldn’t speak English. He made a motion with his finger that indicated Worthington should follow him. Worthington nodded and raised himself up wearily. He was covered with mud from his boots to the space just below his nostrils, and his breath came in deep drafts.

  The native bent his head and moved into the jungle. Private Worthington got low and followed him, leaving behind a harmless-looking little clearing that really was a bottomless vortex of death.

  The two Japanese soldiers who’d passed close to Private Worthington continued to comb the jungle for American soldiers. They knew that American soldiers were in the area, trapped behind the Japanese advance, and the Japanese soldiers’ job was to search and destroy.

  One of the Japanese soldiers was Pfc. Soma, and he was short and slim. The other was Private Nagao, and he was a few inches taller, also slim. Pfc. Soma used to be on the heavy side, but now his skin hung in flaccid loops on his face. Private Nagao always had been slim and his head was shaped like a football, with wide cheekbones, a small pointy head, and a small pointy chin.