The hand moved, ever so quietly, like the flutter of a feather or a leaf falling, or the silent movement of a night moth. The head and shoulders slowly shrank away, disappearing, dissipating into the fog, but Tokawa caught a glint of light, like a firefly, and knew it was the other man’s eye reflecting the pale moon above, which finally emerged from the ragged clouds. He sat there, his finger sliding to find the trigger of his Type 96 LMG, his hand becoming a part of the cold steel weapon, his keen eyes watching that mist for any other sign of movement. His breath nearly stopped, silenced with the tension of that moment, that awful sliver of agonizing suspense before the violence that was surely at hand. He knew he could do nothing for the mine team now, but if he lay very still, and waited….
Part IV
Shattered Gem
“It is better to be a gem that is smashed to atoms than a tile that is whole.”
Chapter 10
The Devil Dogs of the Sea were out that night, wound up tight, and ready for anything. Carlson’s Marines would much rather be curled up in a dry spot under thick trees, but now that they were here, a good old fashioned night raid seemed just the thing to raise their spirits. It was better than watching the rain fill up your dugout, or thinking about the Cat Beer they’d feed you for breakfast back in the barracks. That was Marine slang for milk, Moo Juice, the stuff that came in the armored cows, cases of canned milk set out back in Suva for the lines of hungry men. And you knew things were bad when you found yourself dreaming about those trays full of the sliced ham that didn’t pass its physical—SPAM. All those jawbreaker biscuits didn’t seem so bad now either, not when you were out in the bush; not on a night like this.
So now the line had become dead still, the mud eaters earning their name as they crouched low. The scout shrunk back, until he found Carlson, who always led from the front.
“Three japs, and they look to be digging in with their army banjos.” He meant their shovels, of course.
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” said Carlson, looking over his shoulder to find Sergeant Allard. He gave him a silent hand signal indicating he wanted him to deploy his squad to the right. Then he waved Sergeant Cook off to the left. For once he was grateful for the soup they were in, for the fog would mask this deployment.
It did that, but Kenji Tokawa could hear it, smell it, and he knew what was coming next. The two men behind felt him tense up, and then one was stupid enough to rasp out something at the mine layers. Then all hell broke loose. There came a sharp burp of a Tommy Gun, and they saw three men in the mine team go down, the other two instinctively going prone, with one stupidly falling right on a freshly laid mine. The explosion blew the whole team to pieces, and then Tokawa let the lead fly from his Type 96.
Somebody shouted “Grenades!” and three pineapples flew up out of the mist, exploding all around the gun position and raking those last three men with shrapnel. Two went down, but not Tokawa. His hands were glued to his machine gun, and he fired until the cartridge ran dry, looking frantically around him for a second one when a Marine Sniper finally put a bullet right between those two sharp eyes and ears.
Silence. The cold mist laced with smoke and the smell of battle. Then came shouts from up ahead, and Carlson knew they had found the enemy line.
“Come on!” he shouted. “Get the lead out!”
He was on the radio at once: “Bluebird, this is Red Riding Hood. Come in Bluebird, Over.”
“Roger Red Riding Hood, Bluebird, Bluebird, over.”
“Big Bad Wolf. Repeat. Big Bad Wolf!”
“Roger wilco, Red Riding Hood. Big Bad Wolf.”
That was the signal for Edson’s battalion to open up, and seconds later they could hear the crump and pop of their 60mm Mortars, then the rattle of machineguns and a lot of semi-automatic fire. The sky was suddenly alight with the dull gleam of flares fired up by the enemy, then three bright star shells illuminated the scene. Carlson’s first platoon rushed forward, but Allen’s squad ran right over the mines the enemy had laid, and they put two men down for good. But that didn’t stop those Raiders. Their blood was up and they came charging through the ground fog like a wind of death.
That end of the Japanese line was being held by the Machinegun Company of II Battalion, 230th Regiment. It was going to be hit by three of Carlson’s Companies, which made good use of the uneven terrain as they advanced. The fire teams used their BARs and Tommy Guns to try and suppress the MGs, but the Japanese were putting up a very robust defense. They had taken a position with enough open ground to its front to make for a very difficult approach. In spite of the advantage of surprise, and the darkness, the Marines could not advance under that withering fire.
Then came the artillery.
Seeing his flank as exposed and subject to just this sort of attack, Colonel Shoji had pre-registered a battery of guns on that ground. The rounds fell just short of where the Marines had gone to ground to duel with those MGs, but Carlson could see they were going to walk them back through his men in short order.
Then something happened that no one expected. It was just one of those haphazard moments, men lost and bumbling about in the dark, but it decided the battle that night. The Japanese III Company, had been in the fight against Edson’s Battalion as it advanced on the town of Solo and the foot bridge. It was overrun, a third of its men killed, but in the confusion of that fighting, a sergeant led his men the wrong way and the unit moved south, thinking to find exposed elements of the American forces there to ambush.
They found nothing, wandered about in the dark for some time, and then someone produced a compass to find the way back north. Reduced to just six understrength squads, stumbling through the inky blackness and mist, they came upon the rear of Edson’s line again as they were laying down their diversionary fire for Carlson. The snap and pop of gunfire from that direction was most unexpected and the one thing that hit Edson’s mind was his remonstration to Carlson—the enemy moves at night.
“Hell!” he swore. “The bastards have worked around behind us somehow. Get on the radio to Carlson. Tell him we’ve been snookered.”
It didn’t take a radio call to convince Carlson that his little night foray had been ill advised. His men grounded by that MG and artillery fire, which decided the matter. He produced a pocket whistle, blew hard, and gave the signal to withdraw.
The night attack had been stopped, but on the other side of the M’ba River, the 2nd Marines had pushed right to the edge of the airfield. It was only the timely arrival of two companies of the Yokosuka SNLF that prevented the field from being overrun. Yet now Colonel Shoji could see that it was useless to leave his men where they were. The planes had all flown off, and the field was under enemy mortar fire. He had a perfectly good strongpoint to the rear at the sugar mill overlooking the rail bridge on the river. The open ground of the airfield could become a killing field from that position. If that were not enough, another night foray, this time done right by the Fiji Commandos, was the final straw.
The Kiwis had been on the southern flank of Collins’ division in the north, but left two days earlier, traveling mostly by night, and made their way over the high ridge behind the gold mine at Vatukoula. The defense of that sector had been given to Colonel Tanaka’s 229th Regiment, and it was fending off both the 35th Regiment of the Tropic Lightning Division, reinforced by the arrival of the 145th Regiment of the 37th Division, which had come over from Vanua Levu. For the last three days, Tanaka had worked a full battalion in those mines, carting off as much as he could and sending it back towards M’ba. But he hadn’t counted on the night banditry of the Kiwis.