"God," Parker muttered. Both men could do the arithmetic. At the rate they were losing men and without replacements, the regiment would cease to exist in a relatively short while. They both knew that the dead and wounded had all been incurred in what news releases referred to as "minor skirmishes." The entire battle for Kyushu so far consisted of hundreds of such minor skirmishes.
"General, what'll we do when the Japs counterattack in strength as they must? Did General Doe have anything to say about that? And what about Swift?" Parker asked, referring to Maj. Gen. Innis Swift, who commanded I Corps.
"Swift wasn't there. He's off conferring with Krueger, who's probably getting more orders from Mac. Krueger, by the way, has finally gotten his headquarters ashore. He's set up shop on a hill just off Ariake Bay. Look, don't be so harsh on Doe, or Swift, for that matter. Everybody's taking it on the chin from the Japs, and some of the people who started fighting before we did are in even worse shape."
"I know, I know," Parker said. "It just seems like such a waste. What did he say about us getting better artillery support?"
The U.S. Army possessed virtually total air and artillery superiority, but had been unable to knock out very many of the numerous Japanese strongpoints. While they had gotten a high percentage of them, the better-sited and stronger Japanese positions remained impervious to bombing and indirect artillery fire. What was needed was close-in firepower that could shoot right down the throat of a bunker or cave. Artillery could plow up the ground nearby, but the hidden and dug-in Japs remained impervious to anything but the fortuitous direct hit on a gun embrasure. Ultimately, it was then necessary for the infantry to root them out, and this was wasting lives.
"Doe understands. He's trying to get some tanks and mountain howitzers assigned to forward units."
"Great. I just hope it occurs soon."
Monck agreed. He looked around and saw they were not headed back to their jeeps. "Colonel, just where the hell are you taking me?"
"To this dismal excuse for a town's waterfront, General. There're a couple of things I thought you'd like to see."
Monck allowed himself to be led to the shore, where low waves sloshed among a number of small and ruined wooden fishing ships. Some of them clearly showed bullet holes where they'd been strafed by low-flying aircraft. Their broken remains were either on the beach or in the shallow water. The livelihood of Miyazaki had been smashed, which might be one of the reasons there were so few people in the firebombed town. With the exception of a few old men and women, the civilian population appeared to have fled, doubtless to the north.
A number of them, however, must be dead, killed in the attacks that sank their ships and leveled their buildings. The air was filled with the lingering stench of rotting flesh. It was nothing new and they almost took it as normal, along with the scent of smoke from countless still-smoldering fires. They had been breathing the stink of decay since the moment they had landed. Fresh, clean air was an almost forgotten memory.
"Look, General."
Monck followed where Parker was pointing. "What the hell is that?" Monck asked as he stared at a small wooden boat about ten feet long that was lying on its side on the beach. It had an extremely low freeboard and a single seat in the back. The whole thing, with the exception of where the seat was, was covered by wooden decking. It reminded him of a kayak.
Parker walked over and towered over it, and it almost looked like a child's toy. "That, General, is a suicide boat that never made it out to sea. There are a lot of them around here. The front of the damned thing is supposed to be stuffed with explosives, and the driver sits in the rear with his legs covered by the decking. Then it scoots out into the water, and he tries to ram one of our ships. At that point the whole thing is supposed to blow up, taking the Jap to the Happy Hunting Ground or wherever dead Japs go, and sending the unlucky target ship to the bottom. There was a small outboard motor, but it looks like someone liberated it since I saw it a few minutes ago."
Monck tried to imagine going out to sea in such a frail craft, with waves crashing around and over it, and knowing that death was the only goal. The little boat pointed out the alienness of the Japanese way of fighting, and the desperation that made them such formidable enemies.
Parker wasn't through with his tour. He led Monck a ways down the waterfront to where a set of railroad tracks led directly into the water.
"This one's really something else, sir." They followed the tracks less than a hundred yards inland, to where a cave had been dug into a low hill. Inside, a long tubular shape rested on a flat handcar.
"General, this is one of their human torpedoes. They call it a kaiten. The intelligence boys were all over it since they thought all the kaiten were launched from ships. Now they know the Japs can send them down tracks like this, and into the water, from anyplace along the coast of Japan. Intelligence is particularly concerned that some of these bastards will be launched at us from the confines of Ariake and Kagoshima bays where the bigger ships won't have so much freedom to maneuver and escape."
"What happened to this one?"
"There were a couple of dead Japs lying around a little earlier, and one of them was probably the pilot. My guess is that a near miss from a bomb killed them. Maybe the same thing happened to the guys who were supposed to man the little boats. Who cares, just so long as they never got launched."
"Good," Monck muttered as he thought about the ships lying offshore. A number of them could be seen from where he was standing. Human torpedoes came in several types and had effective ranges that began with several thousand yards and went up to several miles. Again it was appalling to think of someone riding a torpedo as if it were a horse and sending it crashing into the hull of a ship.
Monck shook his head and thought of the men who were fighting and dying at sea, and then of his own men, who were clawing their way up each hill they confronted. Like most soldiers, he had often been jealous of the navy and that their war was relatively clean. It seemed to have just gotten a whole lot dirtier.
"Parker, just what the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"
He had no answer. Monck gestured to their guards and they began the journey back to their regiment.
Chapter 38
Platoon Sgt. Frank Collins slithered down the steep and rain-slicked hill oblivious to the light but constant rain. His clothing and the soft flesh underneath were cut where the small, wet rocks that jutted from the volcanic soil had sliced at him. He ignored them all. His only urge was to make himself one with the hateful ground and thus not be seen by the guns on the hill above him.
The thought that some Jap was looking down at him and aiming either his cannon or machine gun at him made him whimper with fear. With every jerky motion of his arms and legs, he prayed that he would be allowed to make another. He tried desperately to stay within the folds of the hill, but he had that nightmare feeling that scores of slanty eyes were glaring at him and laughing at his slow, painful progress to shelter.
Mud-covered and exhausted, he slipped into a small ravine and felt a surge of relief. He was safe. At least for the moment. Collins sucked a few lungfuls of air and moved over to Lieutenant Morrell, who looked at him with concern.
"You okay?" Paul asked.
"Other than scared shitless, Lieutenant, I'm just fine, thank you." Morrell offered Sergeant Collins his canteen, and Collins accepted it gratefully. The water, warm and rancid, tasted undeservedly delicious. Not even the purification tablets could rob it of its taste. Collins took a dirty rag from his pocket and wiped sweat and cold mist from his face. "I want to take up another line of work, sir."