Meanwhile, soldiers tugged on the ropes, their muscles bulging and sweat dripping down their faces as they strained to guide a heavy truck up the steep incline. Foot by foot, tires spinning, the vehicle climbed the hill.
“Should we help?” one of the new members of Patrol Easy asked.
“Nope. Looks to me like they got it just fine on their own,” Philly said.
After all, a smart soldier knew better than to volunteer for any form of physical work that he could avoid.
They kept going up the hill, passing the crew struggling with the vehicle, and found that the road ended. Soon after that, it was clear the Japanese had been there before them. Instead of a dirt trail leading higher, there were steps cut into the sides of the hill and lined with logs to keep the dirt from washing away. The steps were rough and shot through with roots and rocks, but it made the going a lot easier.
“And one thing’s for sure, we’re going to get plenty of exercise this morning,” Philly said.
They kept climbing as the sound of the winch behind them faded and the sounds of fighting grew more intense.
“We are not joining in that fight,” Steele clarified. “Our job is to go around the edges and catch any Japs trying to sneak in behind us. So keep your eyes open.”
“In other words, shoot first and ask questions later,” Philly said.
Deke ignored Philly’s banter. To say that Philly shared his thoughts half baked was an understatement. Most of the time, Philly’s thoughts didn’t even make it into the oven.
All Deke’s attention was now focused on the surrounding forest. The Japanese could be anywhere. The trees pressed in close, creating a dense green wall of vegetation. There could be an entire company of Japanese not more than fifty feet away in all that greenery, and they would never see them until the enemy opened fire and it was too late. It had happened to more than one patrol, and the division’s losses were mounting.
Deke used every sense he had to try to detect the enemy. His ears strained to hear anything that wasn’t a bird or a droning insect. Some rustle of leaves or crack of branches would give the enemy away. His eyes searched for any flicker of movement, which was the best way of determining whether there was anyone in these woods.
He even pressed his nose into service, sniffing the humid air. The Japanese smelled different, just as he was sure they could smell the Americans. Some said the Japanese had a kind of fishy scent because of their diet, but Deke wasn’t so sure about that. He would’ve been at a loss for words to describe the smell, other than to say it was different.
A sniper rifle wasn’t much use here in this dense forest, with its limited sight lines. Instead, they would’ve been better off with a submachine gun. That was all right. He would get off at least one shot with the Springfield before unloading the .45 that hung in a holster on his utility belt. It was also reassuring that Lieutenant Steele was behind him with his 12-gauge shotgun at the ready.
Deke had seen that one-eyed bastard do a lot of damage with that shotgun.
“I don’t like this one bit,” Philly muttered, watching their surroundings nervously.
“Shut up, Philly,” the lieutenant said quietly. “Less talking and more looking. Keep your eyes open.”
All of Deke’s senses vibrated on high alert, expecting at any moment for the enemy to come swarming at them out of the brush. Bugs buzzed in his ears, but he scarcely noticed. He was a lot more worried about the buzzing of bullets that might come at any moment.
They came to a small clearing, and Deke went into a tense crouch, weapon at the ready. When he saw two forms lying prone in the middle of the clearing behind a log, half hidden by the dappled shade, he automatically raised the rifle to his shoulder, getting ready to fire.
But as the target sprang closer through the telescopic sight, he could see that something wasn’t right. The two figures were tangled together like lovers. When he looked closer, he saw the staring eyes and bloated skin of corpses that had been dead for at least a day.
These were Japanese, all right, probably killed in the shelling that had been done to soften up the area. Their comrades had either left them behind or the two men had simply been forgotten. Flies covered the dead like they always did, giving the soldiers the unsettling appearance that they were moving. Deke just hoped to hell that if he got killed, somebody would bury him before he got covered in flies like that. The ants, too, had gone to work on the bodies. Nature was relentless here, offering the dead no dignity. The dead simply provided a feast for all the creepy-crawlies of these hilly jungles.
“What is it?” Honcho asked, coming up beside him.
“I damn near shot them just for good measure. Just dead Japs,” Deke said.
Honcho touched his shoulder reassuringly. “All right, let’s keep going,” he said.
Deke skirted the clearing, keeping an eye out for any trip wires or booby traps. One of the new guys approached the bodies as if to look them over for souvenirs, which was always a popular pastime.
“Don’t even think about it,” the lieutenant warned. “For all we know, those dead Nips are lying on top of a couple of grenades.”
The GI had gotten close enough to disturb the flies, which swarmed up around the Americans.
“Damn it,” Philly said, wiping at his face. “These flies were just licking dead Japs a second ago. Now they’re licking me. I hope to hell they don’t think I taste better.” He picked up the pace to follow Deke away from the clearing and back into the forest trail. The smell of death subsided behind them. “Do you think somebody already counted these dead guys?”
All the men knew that emphasis had been placed on counting the number of dead. HQ constantly demanded updates.
“Yeah, we’ll add them to the total. You know how the brass is about these reports,” Deke replied.
Toward the top of the hill, the crest was honeycombed with trenches and small caves. Lucky for them, the ground had been plowed by the artillery bombardment, clearing out the enemy. A few more dead Japanese sprawled in the trenches. One of them had been impaled on the shattered trunk of a sapling, his limbs now hanging stiffly down. It was a gruesome sight, but at least it seemed to indicate that the area was cleared of Japanese.
Suddenly a shot rang out, and one of the new guys dropped as if he’d been felled by an ax. He was dead as soon as he hit the ground. Everybody else dove for cover in the bottoms of the muddy trenches.
“Sniper!” one of the new guys yelled.
The warning was understandable but unnecessary. The problem was that every damn Japanese was a sniper, and every damn GI was a target. Another shot whipped overhead, and then another.
“Where the hell are they?” Philly shouted.
“Who’s got eyes on these damn Nips?” Deke said.
He had eased his rifle over the lip of the trench, resting it on a log. Movement caught his eye, and he saw the outline of a Japanese helmet. When he looked closer, he could also see that the Japanese soldier held a rifle. Deke lined up his sights on the enemy soldier and squeezed the trigger. The firing fell silent.
“Nice shot, hillbilly. That’s one down,” Philly said.
When there were no other shots, the soldiers slowly emerged from the trenches. Philly looked down at the dead guy. “Anybody know his name?”
“I think that was Carlson,” Yoshio offered.
“Anybody know his first name?”
Nobody did.
“Doesn’t matter,” Philly said. “Now it’s Carlson’s Ridge.”