“Dammit!” From the look on his face, it was clear that Philly realized what he had done.
The Japanese would have their own scouts, and they’d be listening for just such telltale sounds. He and Danilo had managed to climb up and back without making any noise, but Philly had just blown it.
Deke knew what was coming and got his rifle ready. Sure enough, seconds later, a Japanese head popped above the ridge. The soldier spotted them, pointed, and started to shout something.
Deke got off a quick shot and worked the bolt, then sprang to his feet. The time had passed for stealth. Now it was all about speed.
“Let’s get the hell outa here!”
Philly didn’t need to be told twice. He started running down the slope, Deke racing after him. Danilo took the slope in a series of running leaps, agile as an old billy goat.
The steep slope made running downhill difficult, so the men were half falling as they made their way back toward the company. Philly was shouting and waving a warning as they ran, getting the attention of the others below.
Deke paused long enough to spin and fire again, just as several Japanese soldiers appeared over the ridge, coming after them. The Japanese could run only so fast, but their bullets could move a whole lot faster. Fortunately for the three American scouts, shooting downhill and hitting anything was notoriously difficult, as the Japanese soldiers were discovering.
Still, dust and dirt exploded all around them as bullets struck at their feet, ricocheting off rocks and careening through the stands of kunai grass. The wave of Japanese soldiers had launched themselves over the ridge and were sweeping down toward the American line, which had spread out to meet them.
The US troops were firing at will. Bullets filled the air along with the crackle of rifle fire. Very few men went down on either side for the simple reason that the GIs and the Japanese were in motion, trying to get into position, and the fire was not very accurate as a result. It was a firefight on the fly.
Deke reached the American lines and threw himself down, breathing hard. He brought his rifle to his shoulder but found it hard to keep it steady. The Japanese were spread out on the slope and made difficult targets. He could have fired, but he hated to waste ammunition, even if it was courtesy of the US government. Meanwhile, it was hard not to feel as if the whole damn Japanese company was headed down the slope right at him.
Private Frazier stepped up beside Deke and unleashed the full fury of his BAR at the oncoming Japanese. Several toppled, their bodies sliding down the slope out of sheer inertia.
With the company forming a defensive line at the base of the hill, the Japanese attack soon lost momentum. However, Deke’s fears came true about the terrain being ideal for defense. Enemy soldiers used the shell holes, boulders, and even clumps of grass as cover; plus they had the advantage of occupying the hill. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough, more Japanese came pouring over the ridge to add their numbers to the attack. Captain Merrick’s company was already spread thin. There was real danger that they would be forced back toward Camp Downes, maybe even all the way to the beach.
“Dammit, what we need are reinforcements,” Honcho observed.
But as far as they knew, there weren’t any to be had.
Deke had finally caught his breath, so he lined up his sights on an enemy soldier, squeezed the trigger, watched the man go down through the scope, and then worked the bolt.
At the rate things were going, he was going to run out of ammo before he ran out of targets.
As soon as he’d seen what they were up against, Captain Merrick had been on the radio, requesting support before his company was overrun. He knew what the answer would be — that there wasn’t anyone to send. But he had to try. It was a shame that the navy boys and their big guns weren’t available — they would have made mincemeat out of the Japanese on the slope.
Much to Merrick’s surprise, division headquarters informed him that reinforcements were being sent.
He got off the radio, feeling a little incredulous. The question was, What reinforcements could headquarters possibly be sending?
They would find out soon enough. Until then they had to stand firm against the Japanese. He’d be damned if his company would give up an inch of ground.
For a change, the Japanese were not launching any pointless banzai attacks. Instead, they were steadily advancing down the slope, using the natural cover to fire from. The Japanese had sometimes gotten the reputation of being like bowling pins for being easy to mow down. This was not the case today. Whoever the commander was, he knew his business. Merrick had his hands full.
His own men were not dug in and thus were more exposed. They kept up a steady fire, but the situation was getting desperate.
Doc Harmon had moved out with the company that morning, leaving the wounded with his assistants. The surgeon had wanted to be available to help the wounded at the upcoming fight for Ormoc. Merrick was glad to have him come along, considering that they were short on medics and medical supplies. The situation was so desperate that Doc Harmon had put his medical equipment aside and picked up a rifle, which he was firing steadily at the Japanese.
They would hold on as long as they could. They had to.
In the distance, he heard the rumble of trucks coming in a hurry up the jungle road. He looked behind him, and his heart sank. There were trucks coming up the road, all right, but the trucks were clearly Japanese — not the familiar Studebakers.
The radioman had seen them too. “Sir?” he said, a nervous catch in his voice.
But then Merrick caught sight of the stars that had been hastily painted on the vehicles and realized that these must be more of the Japanese trucks that had been captured already in the push toward Ormoc.
“Those belong to us, son,” the captain told the radioman. “If those really are reinforcements, Christmas just came early.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
If Captain Merrick had known just who these reinforcements were, he might have been slightly less enthusiastic.
But beggars can’t be choosers. The entire division was short handed. Low on men and with no hope of getting additional troops across a sea that was fraught with enemy ships and planes, Division Commander General Bruce had been forced to make do with whatever men remained in the beach area.
To call it the rear echelon wasn’t exactly accurate, because this implied an area that was safely behind the front lines. Technically, the front lines were still just a few hundred feet from the beach landing area.
Consequently, all the support staff had been rounded up. This included mechanics and supply staff, clerks and cooks. These men had important jobs — no army was going to run with broken-down tanks and Jeeps, empty bellies, or even without paperwork, for that matter.
While their military role might be different, it was also true that you weren’t going to meet any tougher soldiers than mechanics and supply sergeants. They were already unsung heroes.
However, they were not frontline combat troops. The actual fighting was usually left to soldiers like the men in Captain Merrick’s company. Much to their surprise, these rear-echelon men had been told that they were headed for the front lines.
Loaded onto the captured Japanese trucks, they had been given whatever weapons were available. Technically, every man in the division was a potential combat soldier, but it had been a long time since some of these men had handled a weapon, much less fired one. From the sounds of the firing in the not-so-far distance, it sounded as if they were going to have plenty of opportunity to get reacquainted with the use of their rifles.
Looking dazed, these men jumped down from the trucks to reinforce the beleaguered company.