“Three times, I think. You got a radio that works?”
Ryan shook his head, and Josh pointed behind him and said, “Send a runner that way. I left two operators putting one together.”
Ryan tapped an amtrac driver on his shoulder. “Son, go up the beach and see if you can find us a radio.”
The boy nodded and ran off, keeping low. A storm of bullets suddenly whipped the air above their heads. Ryan and Josh duckwalked to the sea-wall and crouched there, perusing the map together. Ryan pointed to where he thought they were, the extreme western end of the area designated as Red Beach One. Josh pondered the sandy peninsula that marked the right flank of the beach. On the other side of it was a shoreline that faced generally north. Josh put his finger on the map that identified that particular stretch of sand. “That’s Green Beach, and it looks wide open. If the Sixth Marines landed there, they could roll up the Japanese toot sweet.”
“The Sixth Marines are only supposed to be held in reserve,” Ryan replied dubiously. He looked seaward. Dozens of Higgins boats were burning on the reef, amtracs were adrift and on fire, and the lagoon was filled with hundreds of dead, drifting marines. “Looks like they’ve stopped trying to land,” he observed.
“The Second Marines are done,” Josh said. “General Smith is going to have to send in the Sixth, and here’s the place to do it.”
Just then, the first radio operator Josh had met fell down beside them. “We got a rig going, sir,” he said.
“Where’s your buddy?”
“Dead.”
“How about the runner we sent after you?”
“Dead, too.”
“See if you can raise Battalion,” Ryan ordered. “Tell them we’re holding on to Red One and intend to move over and secure Green Beach.”
“Which battalion, sir?”
Ryan shrugged. “Just contact anybody who’ll answer.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the operator replied and sat cross-legged in the sand and cranked the radio. After a few minutes, he looked up. “Sir, I got a Colonel Shoup. He said for us to take Green Beach if we can.”
Ryan looked surprised. “Colonel Shoup? Did he say where he is?”
“Red Beach Three, sir.”
Ryan rubbed his chin. “What the hell is Shoup doing on the beach? He’s supposed to be in charge of the whole damned landing. He ought to be on the Maryland”
“Nothing’s going as planned,” Josh answered, raising his voice as the Japanese made a sudden assault on their position, screaming curses and firing their long rifles at the hip. The marines rose and shot them down. When Josh saw the attack was over, he continued. “Shoup probably decided to get in and see what he could salvage of the landing and his career.”
Ryan called over two gunny sergeants. “Listen, gunnies, you don’t know me, and you probably don’t know many of these men, but put together a couple of rifle squads and get ready to move. We’re going to take that beach over yonder.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” one of the gunnies responded, and the other one nodded, then asked, “What about water? It’s hot as blazes, and the men can’t drink this piss in their canteens.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ryan promised, and off the gunnies went, yelling at the men or slapping them on the backs of their helmets to let them know they were still in the Marine Corps, didn’t matter what their old unit was, or how thirsty they were, and now they had a clear mission, which was all a marine ever needed. Josh felt for the first time a little optimism. If they could secure Green Beach, the gate to victory on Betio might be forced open, though it would have to be done by men who had not expected to fight.
Hearing a low drone overhead, Josh looked up and saw a scout plane. “Let’s hope that pilot will report back on Green Beach, too,” he said, but it was to nobody. Ryan, the gunnies, and all the other marines had gone over the seawall and were busily raising hell with a pillbox, which shortly exploded in a ball of fire and sand.
Then Josh saw an amazing sight. On the reef, a Mike boat, a medium landing craft, was disgorging six M-4 Sherman tanks. They ground across the reef and into the shallow lagoon, blue smoke blowing from improvised exhaust pipes stuck like snorkels from their engines. Japanese artillery had spotted them, too, and were lashing out with so many rounds the sea around the tanks was whipped into a white froth. When the fire lifted, Josh saw only two tanks still grinding toward shore. When those two reached the beach, Japanese artillery concentrated on the lead tank, and it exploded, its turret flung into the sky, falling with a mighty crash into the sand. The second tank, the name China Girl stenciled on its turret, successfully climbed the seawall and waddled on, unscathed. Josh ran after it, finding the driver’s hatch open. “Head for Green Beach!” Josh yelled to the driver, pointing the way, then hopping aboard.
Josh hugged the turret until Major Ryan came running up. Seeing Josh and the tank, a grin spread across his sweaty face. “Where’d you find the Sherman?”
“Went out in the lagoon and pulled her in,” Josh replied, then hopped off while Ryan took his place to direct China Girl where it could do the most good.
Josh encountered the radioman. “Who you got on the line, son?” he asked.
“Colonel Shoup, sir. I already told him about the tank.”
“Well, tell him one other thing,” Josh said. “Tell him down here on Red Beach One we ain’t winning yet, but we’ve about stopped losing.”
The radioman rang up the line and announced Josh’s message. He listened for a long second, then looked up. “He wants to know your name, sir.”
“Tell him that was from Major Ryan,” Josh answered with a grin, then snarled when a piece of whistling shrapnel caught him in the back, knocking the wind out of him and pitching him face first into the sand. Gasping and spitting grit from between his teeth, he pushed back onto his knees, then looked around and saw the gentle, lapping sea, and the pretty blue-white foam climbing all about the exposed yellow reef, and also the surprised, dead face of the radioman, who had taken a piece of shrapnel in his heart. “You were brave,” Josh told him even though he was past hearing anything forever.
Josh carried the blood-spattered radio to Major Ryan and wordlessly dropped it in the sand. “It’s busted,” he said.
Ryan was digging in with his men behind Green Beach. “My God, Captain Thurlow. Now you’ve been hit in the back. Hang on.”
Josh hung on. Ryan asked his troops if any of them had a pair of pliers. One of his engineers did, and after Josh had taken his shirt off, Ryan used them to pull a jagged sliver of steel from his back. “There’s another big scar back here,” Ryan noticed.
“Nazis off Killakeet gave me that one,” Josh answered cryptically “Is it bleeding much?”
“Not much. Cauterized itself, I guess.”
“I think I’ll go find Colonel Shoup,” Josh said. “Just to make sure he knows Green Beach is open.”
“You’re going up that beach? You’ll never make it.”
Josh noticed the angle of the sun. It was already late afternoon. If he was going to find Shoup, he’d need to hurry. “Look, Major, there’s not much light left,” he said. “Most likely Jap will counterattack tonight, give you a big banzai scare. Just do whatever you can to keep this beach secure. The Japanese believe they’re the best night-fighters in the world, but we skunked them on Guadalcanal and you can skunk them here. When it gets dark, send out a couple of your best men to cut some throats. That’ll give them pause. Oh, and steal their water, too.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Tell Colonel Shoup I’ll hold the line here.”
Josh headed up the beach, a depressing trek that took him past hundreds of bodies and great piles of wreckage and soggy gear, all spoiling in the terrible heat. When he crossed the boundary to Red Beach Two, he was astonished to come upon a big sergeant and several other marines tossing sticks of dynamite over the seawall. The sergeant took a look at Josh, and his jaw fell open. “My God, man, you’re shot all to hell!”
“Where’d you
get that dynamite?” Josh asked.
“Brought it in with us. We were just about to go over the top to take out some pillboxes. Want to come along? Looks like Jap couldn’t do much more to you.”
Josh thought it over and said, “Why not?”
“That’s the spirit,” the sergeant said and introduced himself “Bill Bordelon. I’m a Texas boy.”
Josh made a quick study of the man’s open, honest face and instantly liked him. “Haven’t we met?”
“You bet we have! I was on the Canal. I helped build the runway at Henderson. Ever so often, you’d land there in that junk heap of a PBY of yours. Your pilot made every landing fun to watch. They were always more like crashes than landings.”
Josh smiled. “Mister Phimble taught himself how to fly. It ain’t pretty the way he does it, but he generally gets us where we’re going.”
Bordelon gave Josh a quick rundown of the rest of his men. Every one of them was a sergeant. “We used to be navy Seabees,” Bordelon confided, “but they decided to make us into marines for this foul-up. Since we were all technical, they had to make us sergeants. We’re a whole company of sergeants, believe it or not, what’s left of us. We got shot up pretty good coming in.”
“You and everybody else. You got any water?”
“No, but we got plenty of oil in our canteens.”
One of the sergeants silently handed Josh a utility shirt, and Josh put it on. It was a little tight but serviceable. He left it unbuttoned.
“You ready to go?” Bordelon asked.
Josh nodded, and Bordelon gave him a big grin, lit the fuse on a cluster of four dynamite sticks, and yelled, “Come on, all you sergeants! Let’s make some noise!”
Over the wall they went, a cluster of ex-Seabee engineers made into marine sergeants carrying dynamite, along with one battered Coast Guard captain, armed only with a K-bar.
The Japanese were caught entirely by surprise.
8
Sister Mary Kathleen was young, very young, and she had about her a certain Irish farm girl beauty, but her habit covered all but her face and hands. Still, more than a few of the battle-begrimed rikusentai glanced avariciously in her direction and, as Soichi had predicted, snarled their intentions to rape her. Although she understood them very well, her response was to nod and smile as if she didn’t. The wise captive always seeks to understand the language of her captors, and this was not the first time Sister Mary Kathleen had been imprisoned by the Japanese, or threatened by them. She even understood their curses when they descended into the slang of the streets. She knew gutter Japanese all too well. She also knew her only chance was to keep one of them from going over the edge and following through on his threat. It was the mentality of the pack. If one began his attack, the others, swept along by the frenzy, would follow. Then she and her fella boys would surely be torn to pieces.
A particularly loathsome brute with big yellow teeth reached toward her, only to have his hand slapped away by a defiant Tomoru. Seeing the confrontation, Captain Sakuri came up behind the Imperial marine and struck him on his head, bowling away his helmet. When the man bent over for it, Sakuri, screaming curses, further planted his boot on the man’s hindquarters and pushed him to the floor. The Japanese marine crawled after his helmet and, after retrieving it, hastily departed the fortress. Sister Mary Kathleen mumbled her thanks to Sakuri in English, but the officer, in response, burned his eyes into hers, then slowly drew his finger across his throat, saying in Japanese, “Woman, you will not live through this day.” Then he stalked outside.
Sister Mary Kathleen decided to take Lieutenant Soichi’s advice and shepherded her fella boys behind the table that held Captain Sakuri’s plans and maps and made them sit. “Be like the sea after a storm, me boys,” she directed them. “Be strong but quiet. Heads down, that’s it. Do not look at them.”
Tomoru objected. “If a Japonee comes near us again, I will break his back.”
“Nay, Tomoru,” the nun counseled in his dialect. “We did not come here to fight the Japanese but to find the Americans. I think they are coming. You must be patient.”
“Tomoru, you will heed Sister,” Nango advised the young man, and Tomoru, though he frowned, nodded assent. Nango was, after all, the next great chief of their island.
The rikusentai kept rotating in and out of the sand fortress, coming in-side to rest and eat and drink and resupply themselves with ammunition. The battle outside had only been noise to the nun. She had no idea what was happening, only that it must be a furious fight. She was surprised that no wounded Japanese were ever carried inside. Did that mean the Japanese were winning? Or were they leaving their wounded on the battlefield?
As the hours went by, the Japanese seemed to be losing control of themselves, becoming ever more hysterical as the battle got louder and apparently closed in on the fortress. Once, three of them came running inside and collapsed, breathing heavily and groaning. Then they rose to their knees and held one another and began to chant something that Sister Mary Kathleen could not understand. She concluded it was in an obscure Japanese dialect. Perhaps the men were all from the same remote village. Captain Sakuri came inside, saw the trio, and spoke to them. Immediately, they all nodded assent and, with shamed expressions on their faces, quietly gathered up ammunition and went back outside into the riotous tumult. Sister Mary Kathleen heard very clearly what the captain had said to them. “Do you expect to live? For shame! Your life is over! Today or tomorrow, you will die, either by the Americans or by suicide. These are my final orders.”
She could not help but feel admiration for Sakuri and the rikusentai and marveled at the faith that allowed them to so willingly sacrifice themselves for their cause—but could they not see how foolish, and ultimately worthless, their deaths would be? Fight for your beliefs and your country, yes, but when the enemy is overwhelming, why deliberately die? To her, by everything her church had taught her, this was a mortal, unforgivable sin. Yet here were all these men, made by the same God as she, accepting death as long as it was glorious, and it didn’t matter much if it was by the hand of the enemy or their own. She reflected that if she had stayed in Ireland, she would have never observed such strange beliefs. Giving it some thought, though, she wondered if that was really true. Her father, during his protracted war with the English, had adopted much the same philosophy, had he not? And if she allowed herself to look back, to trace the line of fate that had brought her to this terrible atoll, it was what her father had believed that had caused his death and therefore changed her life, ultimately bringing her into the sisterhood. And was that not good? Could mortal sin be the direct cause of goodness? She did not know. There was so much she did not know.
A sudden crash at one of the portals startled her from her contemplation. A gout of smoke blew inside, a choking sulfurous fog. As it condensed, she saw a Japanese marine staggering around the bunker, his quivering hands reaching out. She saw now that his face was gone, replaced by a gory mass of torn flesh. He swiveled his head hideously and helplessly trying to see, though all that remained was dripping scarlet eye sockets. Pitifully, he staggered to the table and put his hands on it, allowing it to take his weight. She saw now that he had no jaw; his upper teeth, the few of them left, exposed like pink pegs in the purple mush of his palate. Captain Sakuri came inside and wordlessly gripped the man by his shoulder and turned him around. Then the captain put a dagger in the man’s hands and watched stoically as the Imperial marine plunged it hard into his stomach and jerked it once, then twice, his terrible face bubbling his agony Though she knew it was sinful, she was grateful when the man fell. She rose to go to his side, to pray for his everlasting soul. Captain Sakuri roughly pushed her away. But then he looked at her, and for just an instant, she thought she saw no hate in his eyes but a kind of desperate sadness, a yearning for an end to the torture. She entered his eyes for a moment, to allow him to understand that she desired such a release herself. Startled by her silent honesty, he opened his mouth to speak, then cl
osed it and walked swiftly to the portal and outside, leaving her and her fella boys alone once more. Now she knelt beside the faceless soldier, crossed herself, and said a prayer for him, and then one for herself:
Saint Monessa, as ye had such faith, ye chose to die upon baptism, let me have an equal faith in the mission God has visited upon me. In yer few short years on earth, ye acquired a marvelous humility and serenity. Teach me, Saint Monessa, and take me and me fella boys under yer protection.
When Sister Mary Kathleen finished her prayer, she waited with hope that she might receive a sign from the tiny saint. She looked up at the roof of palm logs and, though she knew full well it was but her imagination, saw a child in a robe, much like the habit she wore, except woven with gold thread. The little girl was alert, as if listening, and then she cocked her head, and Sister Mary Kathleen decided she was hearing her prayer. In an instant, the child was gone, climbing into a white nothingness toward the throne of heaven itself. Run for me, little saint, the nun silently urged, and then she thought she heard a small tinkle of joyful laughter even while the ground beneath her shook. Though she did not fear death, Sister Mary Kathleen feared pain, and her heart pounded in her chest. Something awful was coming now, something gigantic and wounded, and it was coming to maim and kill all that stood in its way.
9
Josh staggered along the beach. He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d just seen. Sergeant Bordelon and the other sergeants of the Seabee-turned-marine outfit had crawled up next to a bunker and calmly tossed in spewing sticks of dynamite. The bunker exploded in a rain of logs and sand, and then they had sprinted to three more and dynamited them, too. When a blasting cap had gone off in Bordelon’s hand, blowing away his thumb, he’d laughed and wrapped it up in a torn strip of his shirt. All the while, Japanese snipers were sniping away. Though wounded several times, Bordelon never stopped until a bullet caught him in the stomach. Finally, he sat down. “Helluva place to die,” he remarked as Josh sat down beside him.