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  He looked around, and the battlefield undulated before his eyes. His legs gave out underneath him and he dropped to his knees. Through the smoke and mist he saw Japanese soldiers running toward him. He raised his submachine gun and pulled the trigger. The submachine gun chattered, but somehow the Japs kept coming. His aim was off. Something told Colonel Hutchins that he was going to die.

  He didn't want to die. He had things to do and whisky to drink, whores to screw and dice to throw. Gritting his teeth, he aimed the submachine gun carefully. The Japs were only fifteen feet away. Colonel Hutchins pulled the trigger and the submachine gun shook and stuttered in his hands. Bullets flew out of the stubby barrel, and the Japanese soldiers tripped over their feet. They spun through the air as the stream of bullets tore flesh off their bodies, and their blood made graceful red spirals in the air.

  They fell to the ground, and Colonel Hutchins burped like a bullfrog. The pressure in his chest suddenly was relieved. He realized that the pain had been caused by gas, not a heart attack. He wasn't as bad off as he'd thought.

  He looked around and saw men clashing everywhere. Half of the copper sun was above the horizon now, and the jungle was bathed in a red glow. Soldiers elbowed, kicked, stabbed, and shot each other. Both sides were at a standstill, unwilling to retreat and unable to advance.

  Colonel Hutchins reached down into his guts for his deepest loudest voice. “Forward Twenty-third!” he hollered. “Push the cocksuckers back!”

  Japanese soldiers nearby turned to him; his voice attracted their attention. Colonel Hutchins took a deep breath and charged forward, holding the butt of his submachine gun between his elbow and his waist. Japanese soldiers converged on him, and he pulled the trigger of the submachine gun.

  It rocked and bucked in his arms, but he held it tightly and bared his teeth. Hot lead shot out of the barrel and gunsmoke billowed in the air. The stream of bullets hit a Japanese soldier in the head and shredded it beyond recognition. Colonel Hutchins pulled the barrel down, and the next burst caught a Japanese soldier in the throat, ripping it apart. The Japanese soldier dropped to the ground, his head attached to his body by only a few tendrils. Again Colonel Hutchins leaned on the barrel of his submachine gun, because the firing tended to make it rise, and he shot a burst into the chest of the next Japanese soldier, mashing his lungs, heart, and esophagus. That Japanese soldier toppled to the dirt, and Colonel Hutchins ran out of ammunition again.

  Japanese soldiers came at him from all angles. Me and my big mouth, he thought. He raised his submachine gun to parry bayonet thrusts, when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a huge shadow enter the picture.

  This huge shadow was none other than Private Joshua McGurk from Skunk Hollow, Maine. He'd lost his M 1 rifle somewhere along the way, and now carried a long thick branch, wielding it in both hands like a club. He swung the club down with all his strength, and struck a Japanese soldier on top of his helmet. The helmet dented into a big V, and the top of the Japanese soldier's head caved in. Blood and brains squirted out of the Japanese soldier's eyes, nose, and mouth as the force of the blow hurled him to the ground.

  McGurk swung sideways and hit a Japanese soldier on his upper arm, cracking the bone. The Japanese soldier shrieked in pain and jumped up and down. McGurk swung again and whacked the Japanese soldier in the face, fracturing countless bones, knocking the Japanese soldier cold.

  The Japanese soldier fell to the ground and McGurk jumped over him, a murderous gleam in his eye. He swung to the left and right, clobbering the Japanese soldiers in the vicinity of Colonel Hutchins. The Japanese soldiers fell like flies, and Colonel Hutchins stared goggle-eyed at all the incredible mayhem.

  I'm gonna put this soldier in for a medal, he thought.

  McGurk swung the club low and broke a Japanese soldier's leg. He swung high and fractured a Japanese soldier's ribs. He swung down and smacked a Japanese soldier's head into his chest cavity. Lashing out with his foot, he kicked a Japanese soldier's balls into his intestines. Winding up and taking a deep breath, he slammed a Japanese officer on the shoulder, nearly dismembering it. On his backswing, he aimed at a Japanese soldier's head. The Japanese soldier had the presence of mind to lean back, but he wasn't fast enough. The end of McGurk's club took off the Japanese soldier's nose. Blood spurted out and the Japanese soldier didn't know what hit him. He staggered two steps to the left, and then two steps to the right, as blood poured down his face into his mouth and onto his uniform shirt. McGurk narrowed his eyes and swung again, connecting with the Japanese soldier's ear, shattering his skull. The Japanese soldier was thrown to the ground and didn't move a muscle.

  That finished off the Japanese soldiers who'd surrounded Colonel Hutchins. The full light of morning illuminated the jungle, as McGurk walked up to Colonel Hutchins, whose trembling hands loaded his Thompson submachine gun.

  “You all right, sir?” asked McGurk, breathing heavily.

  “I'm fine.”

  “I think you'd better get back where it's safe, sir.”

  “Go back hell!” Colonel Hutchins replied. “I just got here!” Colonel Hutchins raised his submachine gun over his head and lurched forward into the thick of the fighting. “Push ‘em back!” he bellowed. “Kick their fucking asses!”

  His voice traveled all across the battlefield; they didn't call him “Hollerin’ Hutchins” for nothing. Buck Sergeant Charlie Bannon from Pecos, Texas heard the command, but he was in the thick of the fighting and didn't even know what direction the Japs should be pushed back to. A Japanese soldier pushed his rifle and bayonet toward Bannon's heart, and Bannon parried it to the side, smashing the Japanese soldier in the mouth with his rifle butt. The Japanese soldier collapsed, and Bannon stepped forward, slashing down with his rifle and bayonet, ripping the next Japanese soldier from the right side of his neck to the left side of his beltline. He stabbed his rifle and bayonet forward, burying the bayonet to the hilt into the chest of the next Japanese soldier, and then he pulled back on his rifle and bayonet, but the damned thing wouldn't disengage.

  The blade was stuck in the ribs of the Japanese soldier's chest. Bannon tugged again, but the blade wouldn't come loose. The Japanese soldier fell onto his back, and Bannon placed his foot on the Japanese soldier's chest to get some leverage.

  Soldiers fought and clawed all around Bannon, and a Japanese soldier named Machi saw Bannon trying to pull his bayonet out of the chest of the Japanese soldier on the ground, who was a friend of Machi's.

  “No!” yelled Machi, running toward Bannon.

  Bannon didn't understand what he said, but he heard Machi coming. He pulled his rifle and bayonet once more, but it still was stuck in the Japanese soldier's chest. Machi came closer, and Bannon didn't have time to bend over and pick up the Japanese soldier's rifle and bayonet. Machi already was on top of Bannon.

  “Yaaaahhhhhhhh!” screamed Machi, plunging his rifle and bayonet toward Bannon's heart.

  Bannon danced out of the way and looked around frantically on the ground for a weapon. Much stuff was there, but Machi had altered his course and charged Bannon again.

  “Yyaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Machi thrust his rifle and bayonet toward Bannon's stomach, and Bannon pounced on the rifle and bayonet with both his hands, while dancing to the side and sucking in his stomach.

  The blade missed Bannon's stomach by a half inch. Bannon tried to yank the rifle and bayonet out of Machi's hands, but Machi wouldn't let go. Machi leaned backwards, to pull the rifle and bayonet away from Bannon, but Bannon wouldn't let go.

  The two soldiers snorted and grunted as they tried to gain possession of the weapon. They were so close they could look into each other's eyes and smell each other's nasty morning breath. Bannon was taller and huskier than Machi, but Machi had muscles like steel belts. They twisted and tugged at the rifle and bayonet, but nothing worked for either of them.

  Machi tried to kick Bannon in the balls, but Bannon turned sideways and received the blow on his hip. Bannon tr
ied to snake his leg around Machi, to trip him up, but Machi wouldn't fall. Bannon was caught standing on one leg for a moment, and Machi pushed. Bannon fell backwards, but he wouldn't let the rifle and bayonet go. He dropped onto his back, and Machi fell on top of him.

  The rifle and bayonet was sandwiched between them. Machi reached up with his right hand and tried to jab his thumb into one of Bannon's eyes. Bannon raised his left hand and grabbed Machi's wrist. Machi punched Bannon in the mouth with his left hand, and Bannon was dazed momentarily. He grabbed Machi's throat with his right hand and squeezed Machi's Adam's apple.

  Machi had the worst sore throat in his life. He coughed while clawing wildly at Bannon's face. Machi had long dirty fingernails and they made four red lines across Bannon's cheek. One of his fingernails came within a quarter of an inch of Bannon's left eye.

  Bannon continued to squeeze Machi's throat, and Machi pounded his fists on Bannon's face, smashing Bannon's nose. Bannon was forced to loosen his grip on Machi's face. Machi punched Bannon again, and Bannon lost consciousness for a few moments.

  Machi jumped to his feet, looked around on the ground for something to bash Bannon with, and saw a rock. He picked it up with both of his hands, raising it into the air. Bannon opened his eyes and saw the rock about to be launched toward his head. Then he saw something flash in the middle of the Japanese soldier's chest. It was the end of a bayonet. The rock dropped out of the Japanese soldier's hands. Bannon struggled to get to his feet. The Japanese soldier was pulled backwards as Frankie La Barbara yanked his bayonet out of the Japanese soldier's back.

  “Ya owe me one!” Frankie La Barbara shouted to Bannon.

  He turned around and was whacked in the face by the butt of a Japanese rifle. Frankie was knocked cold and went flying onto his back, where he didn't move a muscle.

  Bannon picked up the nearest rifle and bayonet. A Japanese soldier stood over Frankie and prepared to run him through, when Bannon charged.

  Blood dripped from Bannon's broken nose as he thrust his rifle and bayonet toward the Japanese soldier's chest. The Japanese soldier tried to parry it out of the way, but he'd been taken by surprise and couldn't do it. The tip of the bayonet tore through the Japanese soldier's shirt and pierced his skin. It burrowed into the Japanese soldier's soft belly, and the Japanese soldier's eyes rolled up into his head. He heaved his last sigh and dropped to his knees. Bannon pulled back his bayonet. The Japanese soldier fell onto his face, and a pool of blood widened underneath him.

  Bannon turned around and saw Frankie La Barbara getting up off the ground.

  “We’re even!” Bannon hollered.

  On another part of the battlefield, General Yokozowa chopped up American soldiers with his samurai sword. He swung to the left and right, lopping off arms, legs, and heads. American soldiers tried to stab him with their rifles and bayonets, and he parried the thrusts easily to the side. General Yokozowa was a master swordsman, and he knew all the dirty tricks too. He advanced steadily, cutting down Americans the way a man with a machete cuts saplings and branches. His nostrils were flared with anger and his eyes were wide with delight.

  General Yokozowa was enjoying himself. He felt as if every American he killed helped to purge the foul American blood in his veins. His fanaticism over this gave him extra strength, and no American could stand for long in front of him. Some Americans were bigger than he, and he cut them down to size. The smaller ones he dispatched easily. Americans fired wild shots at him but missed. He whacked off the hands that held their pistols and rifles. He screamed Banzai! at the top of his lungs and moved forward inexorably against the Americans.

  In the press of battle, it was difficult to see General Yokozowa until he was right on top of you, and by then it was too late. He slashed and ripped, chopped and hacked, leaving a trail of blood and broken limbs behind him. He held his famous antique samurai sword in both his hands and brought it down with all his strength, cleaving apart the skull of the American soldier in front of him. The American soldier dropped to the ground, and behind him was Private Victor Yabalonka, the former longshoreman from San Francisco.

  Yabalonka looked up and saw the Japanese officer in front of him. The Japanese officer had a gleam in his eyes and a triumphant smile on his lips. Yokozowa raised his samurai sword over his head and swung down. Yabalonka held up his rifle and bayonet to defend himself, and the blade of the samurai sword came down on top of it.

  Sparks flew into the air and the clang echoed across the battlefield. Yabalonka’s hands stung and he knew that the Japanese officer in front of him was a strong son of a bitch. General Yokozowa reared back his sword to swing at Yabalonka from the side, and Yabalonka held out his rifle again to protect himself.

  Clang!

  The samurai sword struck the M 1 rifle with such force that Yabalonka lost his grip, and the M 1 rifle went flying through the air. The grin on General Yokozowa’s face broadened as he raised his samurai sword for the death blow.

  Fuck this! thought Private Yabalonka. He spun around and ran away, colliding with the back of an American fighting with a Japanese, dancing around both of them, continuing to steam-roller through the thick mauling battle. He ducked and dodged, receiving cuts on his arms from stray bayonets, but managed to get away from the deadly sword of General Yokozowa, who had plenty of American victims nearby whom he didn’t have to chase.

  Yabalonka continued to flee but finally was stopped cold by the sight of a Japanese soldier in front of him. The Japanese soldier had been following his progress and maneuvered to get in his way. Before Yabalonka could change direction, the Japanese soldier charged, angling his rifle and bayonet toward Yabalonka’s heart.

  Yabalonka didn’t have enough time to get away. All he could do was stand his ground and try to do something spectacular. The Japanese rifle and bayonet came closer and Yabalonka stepped forward, batting the barrel out of his way with a sweep of his left forearm, and punching the Japanese soldier flat in the mouth with his right fist.

  It was a haymaker, and the Japanese soldier went down for the count. Yabalonka snatched the rifle and bayonet out of the Japanese soldier’s hands, and spun around. Another Japanese soldier attacked him from behind. Yabalonka parried the thrust out of his way, but he’d started his parry a split second too late. The Japanese soldier’s bayonet tore across Yabalonka’s left bicep muscle. Yabalonka bellowed like an angry wild animal as he bashed the Japanese soldier in the mouth with his rifle butt.

  The Japanese soldier fell down. Yabalonka looked straight ahead and saw a Japanese sergeant aiming a pistol directly at him. Yabalonka decided that his only hope was to charge the Japanese sergeant and somehow confuse his aim.

  Yabalonka snarled and threw his left foot forward, charging the Japanese sergeant, and the Japanese sergeant pulled his trigger its final eighth of an inch.

  Blam!

  Yabalonka felt as if somebody hit him on the chest with an ax. He was knocked off his feet and fell flat on his back. The Reverend Billie Jones happened to be standing in the vicinity, and saw him go down. Billie Jones pulled his bayonet out of the chest of the Japanese soldier he’d just stabbed and ran toward the Japanese sergeant who’d shot Private Victor Yabalonka.

  The Japanese sergeant heard him coming and spun around, firing his pistol. The bullet zipped through the material of Billie Jones’ shirt, but missed his flesh, and then Billie Jones was on top of the sergeant. He thrust his rifle and bayonet toward the Japanese sergeant’s chest, and the Japanese sergeant tried to parry the bayonet with his pistol, an inadequate weapon for the job.

  The bayonet smashed into the Japanese sergeant’s chest, and the pistol dropped out of his hand. Billie Jones raised his big foot, placed it against the sergeant’s chest, and pulled his bayonet out. Then he turned around and ran toward Victor Yabalonka, kneeling beside him.

  Yabalonka’s chest was covered with blood. It welled out of a hole near his breastbone, and Yabalonka’s face was pale as snow. Billie Jones reached for Yabalonka’s wrist, to fe
el for his pulse, but there wasn’t much pulse to feel. Yabalonka was nearly dead.

  “Medic!” the Reverend Billie Jones shouted.

  There was no medic around. The Reverend Billie Jones wanted to bandage Yabalonka’s wound, but heard the rustle of footsteps in front of him. He looked up and saw a Japanese officer advancing toward him, holding a samurai sword over his head in both his hands.

  The Japanese officer’s eyes glittered with delight; a fiendish smile spread across his face. His samurai sword dripped blood, and he was General Yokozowa himself, still on his gory rampage.

  Japanese and American soldiers struggled against each other, stabbing and kicking, as General Yokozowa measured the Reverend Billie Jones. Billie Jones was a big man, and General Yokozowa considered him worthy of his steel. He stepped toward the Reverend Billie Jones, and Billie stood up over the body of Victor Yabalonka, his friend although they’d disagreed about nearly everything.

  Billie Jones’s rifle and bayonet was in his hands, and bad intentions shone in his eyes. His closest friend was dying, and Billie Jones was in the full rush of violent emotions. Sorrow mixed with rage in his heart. He wanted to kill every Jap in the world.

  General Yokozowa took another step toward the Reverend Billie Jones, and the Reverend Billie Jones took a step toward General Yokozowa. Both knew they were in the preliminaries of a fight to the death. General Yokozowa was confident that he’d win, because he’d killed countless American soldiers already that morning. The Reverend Billie Jones wasn’t certain that he’d win, but he was definitely going to try and put the tall Japanese officer away.

  “Banzai!” screamed General Yokozowa, and he charged toward the Reverend Billie Jones, the beautiful antique samurai sword held high over his head.

  The Reverend Billie Jones charged also, angling his rifle and bayonet toward General Yokozowa’s heart. General Yokozowa swung the samurai sword down, and Billie Jones realized he’d better block that blow. At the last moment he raised his rifle and bayonet into the air, and General Yokozowa’s famous samurai sword crashed down into it. Orange sparks flew into the morning sky, and Billie Jones took a step backwards.