"I've been wondering that same thing since Ruger forwarded Lieutenant Morrell's report to me with his endorsement," Redwald said. "All I can say is no one really knows what went on in that poor boy's mind when he saw that grenade lying in front of him. Was he really trying to save his men or did he think he could smother it and save himself? Maybe he just plain stumbled while trying to get out of the way and fell on it despite himself. I really don't know and no one else does either. The only thing I do know is that the Wills boy is dead and two wounded men aren't, and all as a result of his actions. Ask the two wounded boys and they'll say Wills was Jesus Christ himself."
Monck agreed silently with Redwald's assessment. Neither officer would speak of another fact, that having a Medal of Honor winner under their command would mean an honor to the unit and some would rub off on Wills's superiors all the way up the chain of command.
"You gonna approve it, General?" Redwald asked hopefully.
"I don't know." Monck wasn't going to recommend something he didn't believe in. "Wills's going to get something, but I don't know just what. You know as well as I do that it might get knocked down to a Distinguished Service Cross or a Silver Star before the whole process is over. Both of them are high honors, but neither one is the Medal. Parker, what do you think?"
Parker ignored the talk and looked instead at the surrounding desolation. The area they were driving through had been heavily fought over, and a multitude of shell craters made the terrain look like a moonscape. At least the dead had been picked up. American graves registration had interred U.S. dead in temporary cemeteries, while Japanese dead had been buried in mass graves or plowed over where they'd fallen.
As on most of occupied Kyushu, no Japanese civilians were around, which was prudent on their part. Even civilians stood a good chance of being shot on sight. There had been enough suicide attacks on the part of old men, women, and even children to justify the quick response by the GIs. The few Japanese who did remain on southern Kyushu were housed in camps.
"Personally," Parker finally answered, "I'm glad I don't have to make that decision."
Monck grinned. "Thanks for your help."
"What's really important," Parker continued, "is why the shiny major in the front seat hasn't been shot at by the Japs. I mean, he is so clean he glistens."
Redwald laughed. The teasing was old hat. "Just trying to set an example for my men."
The jeep lurched through a large shell hole in the dirt road, then made a wide turn to avoid another one. They were less than a mile behind the slowly advancing front lines and traveling conditions were primitive at best. What few roads there were had been chewed up by the war. In many areas, supplies had to be hand-hauled up to the front, which further slowed the regiment's advance.
The situation was the same for the rest of the invasion force. Requests for mules had gone out and would be filled. Mules had been used with considerable success in Italy and in other rugged areas, but the need for them had not been anticipated in Kyushu, which was becoming more and more reminiscent of a World War I battlefield instead of a modern World War II killing ground.
In Monck's opinion, the lack of mules was just another after-the-fact screwup. A great big book would someday be written about what could have been done better in Kyushu. By that time, of course, it would be too late for the participants.
The jeep came to a virtual stop as they inched their way past a large pile of loose rubble. Suddenly the pile exploded and a demonic screech filled the air. Monck was paralyzed by the apparition that emerged through the dirt and dust. It was a Japanese soldier, his mouth wide with his scream, and a samurai sword gripped with both hands. With incredible quickness, he brought it up from his waist to over his head and swung it expertly.
With a near-silent swish it sliced off Redwald's head, sending it flying through the air to land on the ground with a dull thud. He swung again. Monck threw himself out of the jeep and the blade clanged against the metal side of the vehicle. Parker had scrambled out the other side, but the driver was trapped and had started to scream. Monck fumbled for his pistol, pointed it at the Jap, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. He had forgotten to remove the safety.
The Japanese soldier again shrieked his fury and the sound was recognizable as "Banzai." Just as he was about to kill the driver, one of the guards from the rear jeep ran up, jammed a Thompson submachine gun into the Jap's chest, and fired a burst that shredded their attacker's torso. He howled and fell backward. The GI stood over him and fired another burst, which further pulverized his body, sending flesh and bone spraying through the air.
Monck checked the driver, who was shaken and sobbing but otherwise okay. Parker was on his feet and unhurt, although almost equally shocked. The blood on Monck's uniform had come from Redwald's headless body, which still sat primly in the front seat beside the driver, who had begun vomiting over the other side.
Good idea, Monck thought. His own stomach was heaving at the grisly sight. He looked over to where Redwald's head lay faceup. Incredibly, it looked as if he was smiling.
"Parker," Monck gasped, "what the hell just happened? I thought this place was safe?"
Colonel Parker lit a cigarette with trembling hands. "Ain't nothing safe on this island, General. I think that was one of what our boys're calling spider men. Those are suicide soldiers who dig into the ground and cover themselves up. Then they wait until the fighting has passed by and attack targets of opportunity like one of those trap-door spiders back home in Arizona." He took a deep drag and it seemed to steady him. "Y'know, I think he went after Redwald and not you or me because Redwald looked more like a senior officer than we do."
"Helluva price to pay for clean living," Monck muttered, but he agreed with Parker's assessment. Redwald was dead and they were not because Redwald looked the part of an officer more than they did.
Monck's guards had finished searching the dead Jap's body. They were eager to drag the corpse out of sight so they could see if he had any gold fillings. It was a despicable habit, but if the frontline troops didn't get a crack at the fillings, then some rear-echelon jerk would pry them out. Monck tolerated pulling gold fillings, but drew the line at cutting off ears or penises and drying them for use as an obscene necklace.
According to the dead Jap's papers, he was an officer and about forty years old. In that case, Monck wondered, where the hell were the rest of the guy's troops? Maybe they were all dead and he was the last of the Mohicans and determined to join them. If so, he'd just got his wish.
Chapter 56
Gen. Omar Bradley ducked his head as he and Eichelberger entered the dugout headquarters of the U.S. Sixth Army on Kyushu. Along with the stale air and the heavy overlay of cigarette smoke, Bradley noticed the pathetic attempts at Christmas decorations. A few ribbons and some Christmas-tree balls hung on a local fir do not a holiday make, he thought ruefully. Another Christmas would be spent with American soldiers killing the enemy and dying in turn. What a lousy world it sometimes was.
In the distance, antiaircraft guns crumped into the sky, and the people in the dugout complex looked nervously at each other.
Bradley turned to General Krueger. "Should we get to a shelter?" The roof over their heads was camouflaged canvas.
Krueger looked worn-out. His eyes were dark-ringed and his face sagged. "No, at least not yet."