“They are telling them to open fire!”
Startled, they realized that the Japanese had not been shooting back but had been intent on closing the distance to the US position. Just as Yoshio had warned, the Japanese started shooting for the first time. Bullets whistled overhead. Most of the shots were not very well aimed, with the oncoming Japanese simply firing their rifles from their hips. A few soldiers dropped to one knee so they could take better aim at the Americans in the foxholes. Like the snipers, the Japanese were equipped with bolt-action rifles, giving them a slower rate of fire. The American star shells overhead now worked to the enemy soldiers’ advantage as they took aim and picked off targets of their own.
Bullets began to find their mark. Off to Deke’s left, a man whose voice he didn’t recognize screamed, “I’m hit! I’m hit!”
“Medic!” somebody else shouted. There seemed to be wounded all over the place.
A soldier wearing a white armband ran past, risking his life to save another.
More bullets zinged past. There was nothing quite like the sound of a passing bullet to make your spine turn to Jell-O. Even above all the shooting, they could hear the frenzied war cries of the Japanese. Were these humans or madmen?
It was anybody’s guess as to whether the US position was about to be overwhelmed.
A fresh strategy on the part of the Japanese also became clear as several soldiers who had been scattered throughout the ranks suddenly pressed forward into view. These soldiers carried stick bombs — long poles with an explosive charge attached to one end. The Japanese called them shitotsubakurai.
Though primitive in appearance, there was no doubt that the stick bombs would be more than effective. All that one of the Japs had to do was jam the explosive tip against a tank or even a machine-gun emplacement, wiping them out. He’d blow himself up in the process, but that thought didn’t seem to trouble the attackers.
One of the bombers separated himself from the horde and began to run right at one of the tanks that had been brought up in support of the US position. The light tanks were not as invincible as they looked. The Japanese had quickly learned this early in the fight for Guam and the tank now made an irresistible target for the bomber.
By some miracle, the Japanese soldier had managed to dodge the streams of machine-gun fire, intent on cutting him down. He juked and dodged as he ran, making him a difficult target for the infantrymen.
“Deke, get him!” shouted Lieutenant Steele. Armed only with a combat shotgun, the lieutenant must have realized that the Japanese was out of range.
The lieutenant knew that Deke was a crack shot. If anybody could bring down that bomber before he reached the tank, it was Deke.
Deke didn’t waste energy responding but put his crosshairs on the racing soldier. It was a difficult shot in that the man was moving fast and was an athletic runner, leaping over obstacles that now included the bodies of his own fallen comrades. He seemed to run even faster as he got closer to the tank. In another few steps, the bomber would reach the tank and slam his explosive-laden pole against it. Deke would have to lead him, same as he would a running deer.
Before he could fire, a Japanese bullet whipped past Deke’s ear, causing him to flinch. He resettled the sights and was swinging them out just ahead of the bomber—
A little voice in his head said, Hurry, hurry, but Deke forced himself to go slower. He knew that he’d have only one shot, and he couldn’t allow himself to miss.
Overhead the star shells that had been illuminating the battlefield began to burn out all at once, plunging the battlefield into darkness.
Deke’s target disappeared in the inky backdrop.
Where in hell—
He couldn’t see the Japanese bomber anymore, but Deke knew that he was still out there, running at the tank. He kept the rifle moving, hoping that he had kept pace with the now-invisible runner.
He pulled the trigger.
An instant later, the darkness erupted with a tremendous explosion in that very spot. Deke had no way of knowing if he’d hit the runner and caused him to drop the explosive tip of the charge he was carrying into the ground, or if he’d somehow hit the charge itself, causing it to detonate.
He reckoned it didn’t matter. The result was the same. The Japanese soldier hadn’t reached the tank. As another star shell climbed into the sky and lit the battlefield again, it was clear that all that was left of the Japanese runner was a hole in the ground.
Philly whooped. “Got him!”
“Good shooting, Deke,” the lieutenant shouted. “I knew you could do it.”
Even in the midst of battle, Deke felt a warm glow from the lieutenant’s praise. For the last few years, Deke had been indifferent to what anyone thought of him, with the exception of his sister, Sadie. With his pa gone, and then his ma, life had been too hard, and filled with too much loss, for him to seek anyone’s approval, or to much care.
But he felt different around the lieutenant. This was a man whose opinion mattered. A few words from Steele felt about as good as a medal.
A nearby shout forced him to ignore his momentary elation at having shot the runner. This fight ain’t over yet.
The Japanese had reached the line. Their numbers had been thinned out considerably, as attested to by the bodies that lay scattered in the kunai grass. But in the moment, however many got through still seemed like too many.
A screaming enemy soldier appeared out of nowhere, racing toward the foxhole. Deke swung the rifle up and shot him, simply pointing the muzzle rather than aiming. The scope was no damn use at point-blank range. Before he could even work the bolt, another soldier charged at them, shouting furiously, “Banzai! Banzai!”
Light flashed off the bayonet that was angled right at Deke. He started to raise his own rifle, hoping to use the barrel to parry the blade. The Springfield was not equipped with a bayonet.
Off to his right, Philly’s rifle cracked. The Japanese soldier crumpled.
Deke looked over and nodded at Philly.
Like a wave against rock, the Japanese banzai attack broke in an angry froth. A few of the attackers launched themselves down into the foxholes, stabbing furiously with their bayonets.
The soldiers responded with their own bayonets, rifle butts, knives, or fists. The hand-to-hand combat did not last long, but it was brutal and savage.
Deke watched as a soldier in a neighboring foxhole used his entrenching tool like a club to bring down the Japanese infantryman who had decided to leap into the hole with him. There was a sickening crunch of metal against bone; then the GI struck a couple more times to make sure the job was done.
The dying screams of American soldiers were mixed with the battle cries of the Japanese. A few Japanese had loaded themselves with hand grenades and leaped into foxholes, turning themselves into human bombs that detonated savagely, blowing themselves up in the process.
The Japanese might be determined, but, ultimately, not enough of them had managed to cross the killing ground. The savage, swift skirmishes in the foxholes brought the attack to its bloody end.
“Cease fire, cease fire!” Lieutenant Steele shouted, finally getting the battle-crazed machine gunners and soldiers to stop shooting. A strange silence settled over the battlefield, punctuated by the groans of the wounded and dying. The Japanese attack had broken like a wave on shore, with only a few of the enemy ebbing back into the jungle. Incredibly, Deke and his companions in the foxhole had survived.
Philly began to laugh, softly at first, then harder and harder. Deke started to worry that Philly had completely cracked up. It had been known to happen to more than one man.
“Dammit, Philly. Pipe down, will you? If any Japs are still out there, they’ll know right where to find us.”