“I’m just glad they’re on our side,” he shouted above the din of the big guns and the roaring boat motor. “I wouldn’t ever want those navy boys to rain misery down on our heads.”
“Yeah, it’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for the Japs,” Deke agreed. “Well, almost. The more I think about it, I’m kind of glad to see the navy boys beat the tar out of the Japs.”
On Guam, many of the men recalled being on the receiving end of Japanese mortar fire, artillery, even tanks. There was nothing so frightening, such a helpless feeling, as cowering in a foxhole as enemy shells rained down, and it was not something they’d forget anytime soon.
Given the awesome firepower from the navy ships, the return fire from the Japanese was almost nonexistent, hushed by the sheer, overwhelming force of the big US guns.
That silence did not last for long.
High up on Hill 522, that Japanese bastion that Patrol Easy knew all too well from its earlier “visit,” flashes filled the air as enemy artillery opened fire. That seemed to be a signal for other enemy artillery units, which also began to return fire.
Splashes erupted in the water all around them. From shore, there began a stream of machine-gun fire, the brilliant blue streaks stitching the air just above the water. The Nambu machine guns had an uncomfortably long range, reaching out to the incoming landing force. Streaks of red tracers answered from the American side.
The Japs were putting on quite a show, but deep in the belly of the landing craft, it was hard to see what was going on. These substantial vessels protected the men from rifle shots and even the machine guns that managed to reach out this far to sea.
They could hear the insistent ping of bullets hitting the metal sides. However harmless that fire might be as it bounced off the heavily built sides of the landing craft, it still sent shivers down Deke’s spine as a reminder of what was to come.
Of course there was always some fool who had to climb up the side of the boat to see what was going on. Sure enough, some idiot of a green bean made his way to the gunwale of the landing craft and peered over. It was as if he didn’t believe the bullets were real.
“Get down, you dumb son of a bitch!” shouted Lieutenant Steele. “Do you want to get your head blown off?”
But the warning came too late. One of the bullets found the soldier, who tumbled back into the mass of men below, dead before he landed.
“Get him off me, get him off me!” a soldier screamed as the dead man’s arms managed to wrap around him like a grasping, lifeless rag doll.
“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Steele muttered. He raised his voice. “The rest of you keep your damn heads down. No sense letting the Japs thin us out before we even get there.”
“Yeah, they’ll do plenty of that once we get to the beach,” Philly pointed out.
“Put a cork in it, Philly,” Steele grumbled. “Nobody needs to hear that.”
Someone propped the dead man to one side, where his body rolled back and forth as the boat went up and down in the waves.
While the men in the boats were relatively protected from the random rifle fire and machine-gun bursts that managed to reach out from shore, the same was not true of the artillery rounds that struck all around with increasing frequency, sending up geysers of spray.
A few men around Deke started to pray out loud. Who the hell could blame them? A couple more bent over and vomited, either from seasickness or out of sheer fright. Normally, during a training exercise, this would’ve brought curses and rebukes from the other men, but this morning, they barely even seemed to notice.
The stink of vomit drifted up and mixed with the smell of diesel exhaust, salt spray, and sweat as the landing craft continued rushing to shore and whatever was awaiting them on the beach.
Not more than two hundred yards away, one of the Japanese shells struck true and hit one of the landing craft. The initial blast blew a hole in the bottom, letting in the sea. Flames raced across the craft as the fuel caught fire. As it started to sink swiftly into the waters of Leyte Gulf, the men aboard who had survived the artillery explosion and the flames had no choice but to leap overboard and swim for shore.
Many didn’t get far. It was no easy task to swim when you were encumbered by a pack, a rifle, and so much other equipment. Other men found themselves in the water before they had time to shed their gear. More than one man sank like a stone and disappeared. You could hear their final screams for help, sharp and frantic, cutting through the sounds of boat engines and artillery.
No help came. The pilot at the wheel of their own landing craft had made no effort to slow down or circle back to pick up any survivors. They struggled to swim in the wakes kicked out by the passing landing craft.
“We ought to stop the boat and help those poor bastards,” Philly said, giving voice to what every man was thinking.
“We’re under orders not to stop,” Steele said. “We’d be sitting ducks out here. It would only be a matter of time before we’d end up just like them.”
As if to prove the lieutenant’s point, another splash threw spray into the open boat as a shell dove into the sea nearby.
Philly swore. “I get the picture, Honcho. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Listen, if we get hit, the best thing to do is swim away from the boat,” Steele said. “It’s nothing but a big metal tub. If the Japs put a hole in this tub, it’s going straight to the bottom and taking everybody inside with it. Get some distance from the boat and then swim for shore.”
Those words swim for shore were not reassuring to Deke. The lieutenant might as well have said fly to the moon. He tightened his grip on his rifle, then decided to sling it crosswise over his chest. If he went in the water, his arms would be freed up so that he could at least try to swim. He’d cut his pack loose. As long as he had his rifle and his knife, he’d have a fighting chance once he got to shore.
From the glimpses that he’d had, Deke could see that it was still a long way to shore. A lot farther than he wanted to swim, considering how much he disliked the water to begin with.
He would much rather run across a mile of open ground under heavy fire than be forced to swim half that distance on a calm sunny day with nothing more awaiting him on shore but a soft towel and a cool drink. But as the mountain people said back home, you made soup with what was in the pot.
For now the landing craft carrying Patrol Easy and the rest of the company seemed to be leading a charmed life. The driver had started to zig and zag as much as possible to create a more elusive target for the Japanese gunners. The problem was that the other landing craft were all doing the same thing. Considering that they were not spread far apart, colliding with another vessel became a real hazard.
Some of the men shouted a warning as another landing craft came within spitting distance, then veered away. A geyser appeared in the space that had suddenly opened up between the two vessels. A few seconds earlier and the Japanese gunner would have gotten the two-for-one special.
“I guess we should have done a better job taking out that Japanese fort,” Philly said, referring to the raid on Hill 522.
“Just be glad we knocked out those really big guns,” Deke replied. “Otherwise I reckon they’d be doing to the cruisers and the rest of the ships what they’re doing to us right now.”
Those ships hadn’t fallen silent and were still pouring fire down upon the beach and hillsides, wherever a Japanese gun revealed itself with a bright stab of flame. The morning light was growing so that the ships and the landing craft were becoming easier targets for the enemy.
At the same time, as the details of the shoreline became more visible, the heavy vegetation gave nothing away about the Japanese positions, but only delineated the jungle, mountains, and the well-defended obstacles, such as Hill 522, that the soldiers would face once ashore.