“Yes, sir.”
Side by side, they sheltered behind a sand ledge and studied the tree line ahead. Most of the enemy fire appeared to be coming from a single spot.
“Those Japs can sweep the whole beach from that point,” Woodall said. “They’ve got us pinned down.”
“They must have a pillbox set up.”
“We’ll have to rush them.”
“I may have a better idea, sir.”
Deke set his rifle across the sand, aiming at the muzzle flashes. The gunners themselves were well hidden, but it was clear enough where he had to shoot. The gunner would be right behind the gun, aiming down the beach. As he watched, a trail of tracers sizzled across the beach, and the fresh burst of unseen bullets churned up the sandy ledge where the troops had taken shelter.
Deke squeezed off a round, worked the bolt, fired again. The machine gun fell silent. Although there was still plenty of fire from hidden rifle pits, the biggest threat had been from the machine gun.
Woodall sprang up again. He shouted at his men: “Go! Go! Get the hell off this beach!”
Deke didn’t need to be told twice. He wanted to get into the jungle itself, where there was cover, instead of being stuck out here in the open. It might only be a matter of time before the Japs got another man on that machine gun or they managed to zero in on those mortars.
He sprang up and ran for the trees, screaming a bloodcurdling rebel yell. The rest of the soldiers followed.
The colonel had stayed behind, forcing reluctant men to their feet and urging them forward. The men weren’t all his scouts, but soldiers from units who had gotten mixed up in the confusion of the landing. No matter — the colonel was getting them into the fight.
Deke reached the trees and got in among them, rifle at the ready. He spotted a Japanese infantryman falling back to another spider hole and shot him between the shoulder blades. He worked the bolt just in time because another Japanese appeared. This one ran right at Deke, screaming bloody murder. He was so close that Deke could see his angry, contorted face. The Japs were shorter and smaller than the Americans, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. This one also had a bayonet on the end of his rifle. He looked eager to sink the pointy end into the nearest American.
Deke shot him in the chest. The Japanese soldier went to his knees but was still moving, so Deke shot him again for good measure. This time the enemy soldier lay still. Deke kicked his rifle away, just in case.
He pressed deeper into the trees, moving more slowly and cautiously. The enemy fire seemed to have slackened, but that didn’t mean this sector wasn’t crawling with Japs. He knew from experience that their preferred tactics included keeping hidden until the American troops had gone by, and then ambushing them from behind. They were sneaky bastards, every last one of them.
Now that he was in among the trees and jungle growth, he marveled at the sheer amount of destruction. The naval bombardment had shattered trunks and torn the undergrowth asunder. It looked as if the worst hurricane you could imagine had swept through, turning trees into matchsticks. Everything had been chewed up and spit out.
Many of the trees closest to the beach were palms, now missing most of their fronds so that they resembled irregularly spaced telephone poles. Similar to Guam, the forests on Leyte were substantial, with massive hardwoods climbing up the slopes farther inland. The hurricane winds of the bombardment had still managed to shatter and twist these sturdier trees.
And yet the bombardment had not been enough to entirely thwart the Japanese defending the beach itself. They had either been dug in deep, unaffected by anything but a direct hit, or they had rushed into position as soon as the bombardment stopped.
The navy had put on one hell of a fireworks show, Deke thought, but in the end it hadn’t amounted to a hill of beans.
He looked around and detected motion among the trees. In his frenzy to get at the Japs, he had outpaced the rest of the soldiers. Now, among the shattered trunks, he could see other GIs doing the same thing as him, cautiously advancing.
Take a step. Look around. Take another step. Rifle at the ready. See a hole? Lob a grenade or empty a clip into it. Keep going.
The sight of more American soldiers reassured him. He was no longer out here alone. Maybe, just maybe, they had taken the beach.
With the worst of the Japanese threat eliminated, Deke decided that he’d done his job for now. Colonel Woodall led his company, including his scouts, deeper into the jungle.
“Spread out, men,” he heard Woodall shout. “Keep five-yard intervals. Don’t make it any easier for the sons of bitches.”
Considering what a target Woodall had been on the beach, Deke was a little surprised to see that he was still alive. Not only was he brave, but he was lucky.
That didn’t mean Deke was going to stick with this unit. He still hadn’t given up hope that he could find somebody from Patrol Easy. The Japs in this section had been cleared out, so Deke turned around and headed back toward the beach. A couple of other GIs he passed gave him a look because the only men going to the rear were wounded, but they didn’t say anything. There weren’t any sergeants or officers close enough to give him a hard time. Other than Woodall, Deke realized that maybe the other officers were all dead.
Deke retraced his path, knowing that it was probably the route least likely to have any hidden Japs. On the way he passed the two Japs he’d shot. At first the enemy soldiers resembled bundles of rags rather than dead men. The dead always looked smaller, but these dead Japanese looked almost childlike, much smaller than the American soldiers.
He tried to register some emotion as he stepped around the Japanese bodies and realized that he didn’t feel a damn thing. Well, that wasn’t quite true. What he did feel was anger. They were the ones who had started this war in the first place. They were the reason that so many Americans were already dead on this beach — them and their emperor, Hirohito. Deke wouldn’t mind getting him in his sights.
Back on the beach, more men and material were being ferried ashore. The Japanese fire hadn’t been entirely suppressed. Shells still splashed into the sea. Rifle shots still rang out. From time to time, sniper fire claimed a stretcher bearer or officer. Perhaps out of sheer perversity, the Japanese snipers loved to target stretcher bearers. It didn’t make any damn sense to Deke.
High up on Hill 522, Japanese artillery still fired, dropping a few shells on the beach but mainly targeting the incoming craft. Before long somebody would have to take that hill. Deke pitied the poor bastards who got sent up there. He had seen those defenses and knew that it wouldn’t be an easy fight. The entire hill was one big fortress. If they hadn’t seen many Japs near the beach, he suspected that it was because they were all up on that hill, dug in and waiting for the Americans.
Despite the sniper fire and occasional shells, supply depots were already being established. The army organization of beachheads was like a well-oiled machine at this point. Bullets and bayonets got you only so far. In the end, logistics would be what won the war.
Tarps had been set up to provide shelter from the tropical sun and wind. Under them, medics were at work trying to save the wounded. Those who hadn’t made it lay stretched out in neat rows, field jackets or blankets covering their faces, their exposed boots pointing toward the sky. Poor bastards. Every man who passed the dead knew that it might just as easily have been him stretched out and awaiting the graves registration detail.
Deke wandered the beach, avoiding anyone who looked as though he might be in charge of something. He was still hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face from Patrol Easy.