Then again, marksmanship probably didn’t matter as much as nerves when it came to fending off a nighttime banzai attack.
Deke reckoned that Philly could be forgiven for being more than a little nervous. As the green troops on Guam had quickly discovered, there was nothing more nerve-racking than waiting for a Japanese night attack.
Off to his other side was Yoshio, the baby-faced Nisei interpreter whom they had taken to calling “the Kid.” Could he count on Yoshio? That remained to be seen. He glanced that way but saw only darkness.
“Kid?”
“Yeah?”
“Just checkin’ to make sure the Japs didn’t carry you off.”
“Don’t you think I’d ask them not to do that?” Yoshio was one of the few US soldiers who spoke Japanese.
“I ain’t sure they’d listen.”
“I’d ask them nicely — the first time, anyhow,” Yoshio said.
Deke smirked into the darkness. At least the kid had a sense of humor.
In addition to carrying a rifle and fighting, the idea was that Yoshio, using his ability to speak the enemy’s language, could help question prisoners. So far there hadn’t been any prisoners. It was becoming apparent that the Japanese would just as soon shoot themselves or blow themselves up with a hand grenade than surrender. This fanaticism was something that the Americans had trouble understanding. It made the enemy seem all the more strange and frightening. As for the Japanese willingness to take any Americans prisoner, the general consensus was that you couldn’t count on it.
Considering that no attack had taken place yet, Deke almost dared to hope that maybe the Japanese were clear on the other side of the island. It was just like the Japs to keep them guessing. The enemy soldiers were masters of the nighttime attack — in part, Deke supposed, because of the added element of fear that such attacks produced. The situation had been no different for his ancestors on the frontier, fending off the Chickamauga.
While Deke sided with his pioneer ancestors and was grateful to them, he could see how the Chickamauga had a point. If Deke had been an Indian, he wouldn’t have much liked a bunch of palefaces taking over his land.
Unfortunately it was becoming clear that the Japanese had not slipped away into the night. Deke’s ears told him everything that he needed to know, even if the jungle remained a dark blur. From time to time, opposite the American line, he heard a low, guttural voice issue what sounded like an order.
The occasional noise of metal on metal reached his ears, sounding like the buckle of a rifle sling clicking against a steel barrel. Every now and then he heard the sound of a branch breaking or a muffled footstep. The sounds provided all the evidence Deke needed that the darkness was crawling with the enemy.
Philly must have heard the noises, too, because he muttered, “Son of a bitch.”
Deke gripped his rifle and waited.
Having grown up hunting, Deke had plenty of patience. If it came down to it, he could sit still as a stone for hours on end. He also had no problem with killing. He had grown up killing in order to put food on the table. Now he was killing for an equally fundamental purpose — to stay alive.
From his hunting days, he knew that the best strategy was simply to stare straight ahead, waiting for the target to show itself. If anything moved, he’d pick up on it. Still, the waiting was the hardest part. From time to time, Lieutenant Steele or another one of the officers spoke up to say, “Hold your fire, boys. And whatever you do, don’t get out of your foxhole — not unless you want somebody to shoot you by accident.”
Not long after Steele’s warning, the silence from the dark tangle of vegetation before them deepened. All sounds of shuffling feet and rattling equipment stopped. The darkness seemed to inhale and didn’t let out its breath.
It was the quiet before the storm.
“Here they come,” Deke muttered, just loud enough so Philly and Yoshio would hear him.
An instant later, shouts and cries shattered the stillness. The Japanese assault had begun.
The attack was made all the more eerie by the fact that the Japanese did not fire a single shot. Instead, their plan seemed to be to cross the open ground and bayonet the Americans. They could all hear the pounding of the enemy’s boots as they raced closer. Screaming Japs were pouring at them out of the darkness.
They had all heard about the Japanese banzai attacks on Guadalcanal, the furious charges that had been terrifying to behold. So far the Japanese attack remained cloaked in darkness.
But not for long. Brilliant flashes of light blinded Deke as machine guns opened fire from the American side, the tracers stitching patterns of flame in the night.
A few tanks had been brought up from the beach. Their big guns, so useful against enemy gun emplacements, seemed only to go over the heads of the attacking infantry and explode in the jungle beyond, starting fires in the undergrowth. They changed tactics, and their machine guns opened up on the advancing enemy with more telling effect.
Star shells fired from the American lines arced up and then fell back to earth, illuminating the incredible scene spread before them. The Japanese charged en masse, their visible faces contorted in battle fury accentuated by the glow of the burning shells overhead. Each enemy soldier seemed to wear a mask of rage. Bayonets and even sword blades glinted in the light. It was as if hell’s gates had unleashed masses of furious demons.
Deke felt his insides clench at the sight. A man could almost be forgiven for turning tail and running at the sight of the horde approaching them. But Deke wasn’t the running kind.
Neither were Philly or Yoshio. In the glare from the star shells, he could see them on either side of him, bent over their rifles.
Deke settled the crosshairs of his telescopic sight on a Japanese soldier who had outrun all the others, apparently intent on being the first to reach the American lines. He seemed to want the glory of being the first to die, and Deke decided to oblige.
He put his crosshairs on the Japanese soldier and fired. The man spun around and went down. Seconds later, his comrades trampled over top of him.
Already the Japanese had covered so much ground, and so quickly, that Deke was able to pick out individual faces in the glare of the star shells. The enemy soldiers were no longer a uniform mass. He could see that some were taller, some shorter, some skinny, and some solid. Suddenly the war was getting up close and personal.
Deke picked out another target, this time settling his sights on an officer waving a sword. The fact that the officer wore round eyeglasses made him look somewhat like a demented schoolteacher.
Deke touched the trigger, and a round from the Springfield hammered into him. The officer crumpled.
Of course Deke wasn’t the only one shooting. On either side of him, he heard Philly’s and Yoshio’s rifles banging away. The firing from the sniper squad was more methodical because they were armed with bolt-action Springfield rifles versus the semiautomatic M1 weapons with which most troops were equipped. No matter — the snipers made each shot count.
Up and down the line, soldiers poured fire into the oncoming enemy ranks. Added to the machine-gun fire, the small-arms fire was having a devastating effect on the enemy. Whole rows of troops were mowed down at once. Deke was reminded of how old-timers back home used a scythe to mow hay or cut fodder, each sweep of the blade laying out a neat row of cut grass in the field. It looked as if they had taken a scythe to the Japs.
Despite their losses, the Japanese attack showed no signs of faltering. No matter how many enemy soldiers fell, more seemed to surge in behind to take their place.
Shouted orders could now be heard in the Japanese ranks.
“Yoshio, what the hell are they saying?” Philly demanded.