However, the soldiers couldn’t resist searching one more body. The man appeared to be an officer, which might prove to be rich pickings. The dead Japanese officer lay on his belly in the dirt. The soldiers could see a sword hilt half concealed under him. Whooping with excitement, they descended upon him like buzzards.
The soldier who had confronted Lieutenant Steele bent down to roll the dead Japanese over.
But they soon discovered that the officer was not dead. He was clutching a hand grenade to his chest. In a flash, he raised the grenade in his right hand. In his final act on earth, he planned to take out a few of the hated Charlies with him.
Taken by surprise, the soldiers did not have time to react before the grenade exploded. Two did manage to turn away quickly enough that the shrapnel caught them in the legs and buttocks. They rolled away, screaming in pain.
The bantam-size soldier hadn’t been so lucky. Blood streamed from his chest and wounds in his face. He didn’t make a sound but stumbled away in shock.
As for the Japanese officer, he was now well and truly dead.
After that, most of the soldiers gave up on collecting souvenirs and took the precaution of putting a bullet into any Japanese bodies that they did have to approach.
Philly had the bug for souvenirs as bad as anyone.
“I’m going to have a look around,” he announced as he started toward one of the huts. “Why let those guys get all the good stuff, right?”
“Hold on now, Philly,” Deke said. “Didn’t you hear what Honcho said about souvenirs? Didn’t you see those fellas get blown up?”
“Aw, stuff a sock in it, Granny Deke. He meant those other guys. He didn’t mean me. Besides, I’m not stupid like them.”
“Don’t go too far,” Deke suggested. “Maybe take Yoshio with you. There might still be Japanese around.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me. I just need to catch my breath.”
“All right. Come on, Yoshio.”
The two moved off, but they hadn’t been gone long before Philly gave a shout. “Hey, over here!”
Philly had stumbled upon a wounded Japanese soldier who was trying to lift his rifle, but it was clear that his hands were too badly burned to grasp the weapon. It was a pitiful scene. Standing with his back to the wall of the hut, the soldier refused to give up the fight and was clearly in pain, but literally not able to defend himself.
Considering the tense situation, he wouldn’t be allowed to live for long.
Yoshio was saying something urgently to the Japanese soldier, who didn’t seem to be listening.
The standoff ended when Deke walked up and snatched the rifle away. The Japanese soldier sank to his knees and glared at Deke. Deke raised his rifle to finish him off, and the Japanese soldier closed his eyes as if expecting the bullet.
“Hold on,” Lieutenant Steele said, approaching them. “HQ is always wanting prisoners, and there are precious few of them. Let’s send him back to the beach.”
“This guy is pretty banged up, Honcho. Hell, I don’t even know if he can make it back to the beach.”
“These Japanese are tougher than you think, Philly. Anyhow, let’s see if he knows anything first. Yoshio, ask our friend here what we can expect up ahead.”
Yoshio stepped forward and spoke a few words in Japanese. The captured soldier seemed surprised to hear his own language being spoken by someone in a US uniform. At first, all he could do was stare at Yoshio.
The prisoner closed his eyes and winced in pain. He stammered a few words in response to Yoshio’s questions.
“What’s he saying?” the lieutenant demanded.
“I asked him where the rest of his unit is hiding. He says there are concrete bunkers about a quarter mile from here on the way to Ormoc, hidden in the forest.”
“All right, that’s something. We’ll ship him back to HQ and see what else he knows.”
“Should we bandage him up first?”
“Hell no. We’re not wasting bandages on the enemy. We’ve barely got enough medical supplies with us as it is. They can patch him up at HQ.”
Steele looked around and ordered two of the men who had been wounded by the Japanese officer’s grenade to escort the prisoner back to the beach area. One man who wouldn’t be making the trip was the bantam rooster of a soldier. He lay on his back, blood-soaked bandages covering his face. His dead body looked even smaller, all the fight having gone out of it.
“Hey, you two, I’m going to check and make sure that this prisoner made it there. Larson and Walsh, right? Don’t go shooting him and then say he was trying to escape. Guy like that, where would he go, anyway?”
“Yeah, I hear you, Honcho,” Larson said sullenly. “I suppose you want me to give him a drink of water, maybe polish his boots for him?”
“Watch your mouth, soldier,” Steele snarled. “Just be sure he makes it back to the beach. If he doesn’t, I’ll add some buckshot to that shrapnel in your ass. You disobeyed orders and got yourselves rendered unfit for duty. Last time I checked, that was worthy of a court-martial.”
That got the soldier’s attention. He pulled himself up straight, and it looked as if he might salute, but then he seemed to remember where he was. There wasn’t any saluting on the battlefield.
He actually sounded convincing when he responded, “You got it, Honcho. We’ll deliver this prisoner safe and sound.”
Deke was relieved that Steele hadn’t sent him back with the prisoner. He seemed to be reading Deke’s thoughts as he turned to him and said, “Even half-sick, you’re twice as good to us as those jokers. They must think this is all some kind of big souvenir hunt. That’s why I’m sending them back to the beach to get stitches in their ass and keeping you here.”
“You won’t get no argument from me, Honcho.”
Although the enemy had delayed their advance, the victory had come with some rewards. For one thing, the Japanese had left behind several trucks. The original plan must have been for the Japanese to withdraw from the village using the trucks, but the intensity of the fight had spiraled out of their control. Any survivors had simply fled on foot.
Immediately, these trucks were pressed into service. Later, when there was time, sloppy white stars would be painted on them. For now, it would have to suffice that someone had tied a small, ragged American flag to the lead vehicle. Hopefully they wouldn’t be machine-gunned from the air by their own planes.
The vehicles were smaller than comparable US trucks — they had found that everything from rifles to the interiors of tanks to the cockpits of Zero fighters was scaled to the smaller dimensions of Japanese men. Built by Isuzu, these were Type 94 six-wheeled trucks with canvas tops rigged across the beds to keep the sun off. The tall front grille, along with swooping running boards over the front tires, gave the trucks a vague resemblance to a working man’s Packard.
The trucks might be cramped, but they sure beat walking. Even better, the trucks were fueled up and ready to go.
As they climbed into the back of a truck, Philly said, “Gee, it sure is strange riding in a Japanese truck. Might as well have been built by Martians. You could never sell a Japanese vehicle in the States, that’s for sure. Nobody would buy them. I just hope these things don’t fall apart — or blow up before we get where we’re going.”
“I hate to say it, but these are better built than our own trucks,” Honcho said. “Maybe not as big, but sturdy as hell. The Japanese were planning for jungle conditions.”
Deke, at least, was grateful for the ride. He closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.
Captain Merrick wanted to know how many Japanese they had killed so that he could report it back to headquarters. The final tally was eighty-three dead Japanese and one prisoner.