Before he could organise an attack, the friendly armoured car rolled around behind them and removed the threat.
The other anti-tank gun position was taken and the gunners slaughtered to a man.
However, the doughboys of the 343rd were proving a sterner test, and Japanese victory was not yet assured.
He called a small group around him and swept down the trench line from east to west, bringing an advantage to every little fight as the small force moved along the position.
The Marmon-Herrington was suddenly lashed with machine gun bullets, two M20’s charging out of the town to do battle.
Tanji spared a moment to take in the unusual sight of warring armoured cars, as his men completed the rout of the defending infantry, a few GIs running back as fast as they could.
His own men celebrated.
“Banzai!”
Tanji realised what the next enemy position was.
“One more effort! The Emperor demands it of us! There is the enemy commander! There! Follow me!”
The surviving forty-two soldiers rose up as one and charged.
“Banzai!”
Haro and his crew were having a bad time of it with the six-wheeled enemy cars, who were not only faster, but also packed a bigger punch with their .50cal machine guns.
The MG34 equipped Marmon-Herrington was decidedly outgunned, even before men appeared in the open-topped structures of the M20s, each armoured car introducing a bazooka to the fight.
The MG34 fell silent as the belt ran out.
“Reload, you moron!”
This was no time to lose firepower.
Both enemy vehicles slowed to give their weapons a better chance to hit, providing Haro with an unexpected opportunity.
“Right, pull right now and head to the river. Weave, but push quickly.”
The driver responded instantly and the South African built vehicle bounded, its acceleration making all the difference as two rockets cut through the air near where it had been a moment before hand.
The MG34 chattered briefly, the slowed M20 nearest presenting a better target than previously.
Haro noted the pieces fly off the machine gunner. He was also sure that the reloading bazooka man had taken a good hit in the head.
“Good shooting. Maybe not such a moron after all.”
The exchange was good-humoured; the gunner had been with Haro for years.
.50cal bullets struck the rear of the vehicle and more than one passed through the crew compartment. Haro felt the loss of power immediately, which was quite strange as the engine was in the front. The engine picked up again quickly, but the bigger armoured car was gaining.
However, Haro’s manoeuvre had not really been about making it to the river. He had brought the pursuing M20 into a place where it could clash with an all together different proposition.
“What’s that fish breath doing?”
“I nearly killed him, Commander.”
“Hmm.”
The Marmon-Herrington had just bounded out of cover, racing at top speed for the river, surprising everyone on Masami.
Behind it, and following the same path, the M20 emerged, seemingly oblivious to the Panther’s presence.
“Gunner engage.”
It was a difficult shot as the enemy vehicle was moving fast. The gunner followed the vehicle, the traverse just about keeping up before settling in because of the decreasing angle change.
The driver of the M20 made a mistake.
Turning left to round an obstacle, he presented a moment of advantage to Masami, one the gunner took full benefit of.
Even then, he only just clipped the armoured car, but its armour offered no resistance and the nearside front was destroyed in an instant.
“Fakku! Load high explosive!”
The M20 was a sitting duck and the 75mm HE shell completed the work done by an ordinary armour piercing round.
The American armoured car died spectacularly.
Hamuda ordered the Panther forward again and returned the wave from the commander of the strange armoured car, who had obviously deliberately risked himself to draw the enemy vehicle across Masami’s bows.
‘The man has courage.’
The headquarters personnel stood their ground and fired everything they had at the screaming horde.
To no avail for, although they knocked a number of men down, more than enough made it to the bunker to ensure the Japanese victory.
“Banzai!”
Colonel Edgar Painter calmly fired his Colt left-handed, selecting a different target with each shot and, to his surprise, hitting with most.
His officers and men went down under the surge of bodies, and the screams of dying men invaded every part of his consciousness.
The 1911A hung open on an empty magazine, and he quickly tried to put another magazine in, his right hand unable to contribute to the process.
One Japanese soldier saw him and plunged forward, screaming loudly, intent on skewering the American officer.
Painter side-stepped and the bayonet sailed past his side, ramming into the sandbags.
The automatic pistol struck the soldier twice across the nose, and the insensible man dropped to the earth, out of the fight.
Trembling with the shock and the enormity of what was happening, Painter was again unable to slide the new magazine home before he was seen by another enemy rifleman.
This man fired and the bullet punched into Painter’s abdomen, throwing the American commander against the bag that was spilling its sand from the bayonet tear.
Painter bellowed in pain, as much for the new wound as the sandbag’s impact with the scissors still lodged in his right arm.
The magazine was in the slot, but not home, so he slapped the butt against his thigh and thumbed the slide into place.
The rifleman was already down, put to death with a triple shot from a Garand.
Lieutenant Tanji, fresh from ramming his sword into the stomach of a young corporal, kicked the dead man off his blade and turned towards Painter.
The Colt fired and the .45 bullet smashed Tanji’s left arm just above the elbow joint, almost severing the limb. His pistol fell from useless fingers, but he gave no cry of pain. Only one single word escaped his lips.
“Banzai!”
Tanji steadied himself and walked purposefully towards Painter, who shot twice.
The Japanese officer, knocked backwards by the energy of the bullet clipping his left shoulder, smashed face and chest first into an old tree trunk, used to hold the camo netting roof over the bunker.
His nose and mouth erupted in streams of blood.
Inside his body, the savage impact of a protruding piece of tree caused a rupture of some blood vessels in his lungs, and small quantities of red fluid started to enter the damaged lung.
Shaking his head to clear the mist, Tanji pulled himself up onto his knees, and then struggled to stand up, the obvious spread of blood on his stomach indicating another area of damage, above the right hip.
Again the pistol barked, but this time the American officer missed, the growing presence of the vengeful swordsman affecting Painter’s aim.
Tanji had moved forward nearly ten feet before the next two rounds hit him. Actually, only one, the first shot struck his binocular case, deflecting off the metal and narrowly missing his neck as it went on its journey.
Spun slightly by the initial impact, the second round slid across the Japanese officer’s chest, gouging the skin and leaving a long and bloody trench in the soft tissue as it passed through.
Tanji fell to his knees, the pain overcoming him momentarily. Again, he stood up, coughing and spitting blood as more of the bloody broth worked its way from his damaged chest and face into his lungs.