1943 (Kirov Series Book 27) Read online

  Three more Marines made it to that house, their Tommy guns barking as they finished off that gun crew and two soldiers that had come in to support them. But the rest of the Japanese line wasn’t budging. The enemy was fighting with a fanatical zeal, and they would simply not retreat. At one point, when the weight of both Raider Battalions seemed like it might swarm one company, up came a reserve company wielding the bayonet and restoring the line. It was part of a strong contingent of the Yokosuka Naval Marines that had come in with the initial landings. They had been in reserve areas, posted at possible landing sites along the coast, but now the Japanese were relieving them with construction troops so they could rush to the fighting. That company stopped Solo from falling that day, and there were two more behind it that had come in by rail.

  By now the 8th Marines had pushed so close to M’ba field that their mortars could put fire on the landing strip. They did little more than kick up dirt, for the last of the enemy planes there had already taken off, Zeroes dueling with the Wildcats in the grey skies above. Then those skies opened up with a heavy rain, and the whole scene was lashed with a tropical storm. It being late in the day, the Raiders fell back to regroup, Japanese artillery from the vicinity of M’ba harassing them the whole way.

  “Carlson wasn’t happy when he met up with Edson.”

  “Goddamnit Eddie, your battalion was supposed to be here three hours ago!”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” said Edson. “Our lead company got over the river to lead in the Marines, but the Japs hit them pretty hard. I wanted my whole outfit before I swung west, so we waited until the Leathernecks could get through to my men. Now we’re here, so stop your bellyaching. Did to you see how my boys took down that infantry gun? Nicky did a good job with that.”

  He was referring to Major Lloyd Nickerson and his Boy’s AT Rifle team, but Carlson wasn’t impressed. “We tried getting around their left, but the line goes all the way to the high ground east of M’ba. The only way we can hit them now is right over this open ground, and that’s going to kill a whole lot of good men. So I say we all move up into those highlands, and hit them tonight on that flank.”

  “Tonight? In this rain? Night moves in unfamiliar terrain are risky. We won’t be able to see anything in his mess. I don’t like it.”

  “Don’t get your knockers balled up,” said Carlson. “My boys scouted it earlier today. 2nd Raiders can lead the way. You tag along behind.”

  “But if we move that far left we’ll lose contact with 2nd Marines.”

  “So what? We’ve enough ammo to operate independently for another couple days out here. Now’s the time to do it. They know we don’t move at night, so we can catch ‘em by surprise.”

  “They move at night,” said Edson. “Have you considered that? We ought to be hunkered down and ready for them, not caught flat footed like a bunch of suckers. And who said the smoking lamp was lit? You want some hot shot Jap sniper to put that cigarette out for you?”

  “Pipe down,” said Carlson. “They can hear you a mile away. Why’d you turn into such a dead battery, Edson? Tell me that.”

  “You out to prove something?” Edson came back at him. “Don’t go thinking to make a grandstand play here, cause all you’ll do is get good men killed.”

  It was like that for a while between the two men, but they eventually worked out a compromise, and it was fairly predictable. Carson would try that flank tonight, but Edson’s battalion would hunker down and be ready to open up with everything they had if things went wrong.

  The rain had abated somewhat when Carlson made his move, just before midnight, but the trees were still heavy with water, the steady drip dappling the undergrowth. With the front blown through a few hours ago, an eerie ground mist started rolling in on the light breeze. As Edson had expected, it was very dark under the remnants of that squall, and too damn quiet. As the men lined up, the clink of a canteen prompted Carlson to look over his shoulder with a frown.

  They moved out, the scout who had reconnoitered the way earlier in the lead. The growing mist seemed to tamp down every sound, and all was whisper soft and quiet. The Marines could feel the mud under their boots, and one caught a glimpse of a snake slithering across the trail. When you move like that, in darkness and mist, your ears strain to hear the slightest sound, unseen things in the undergrowth, or lurking above in the rain sodden trees. You strain to hear the silence between those trees, for fear that it might suddenly coalesce, finding tryst with the darkness and shadows, and become a living thing bearing a rifle leveled at your gut.

  The way led up, along the slope of the high hill to the west that was called Koronviria, or Hill 1299 on Carlson’s map. It was an imposing height, though the slopes were not steep, rising gradually to the west and growing taller with Hill 1763. It was wild country, with no habitation for fifteen kilometers in that direction, and nobody wanted to climb the slippery, muddied flanks of that hill.

  They moved out in a long, sinuous line, the sound of runoff from the heavy rain creating little streams on the hillside and masking their quiet movements. Soon the frogs started up a chorus of croaking song in the clammy night. Edson had been right about the Japanese being keen on moving after dark, but not this night. General Toshinari Shoji had seen the Marines make their attack that afternoon, and he had a good idea what he was up against. The enemy had a brigade here, or so he thought, and with half his men on the other side of the M’ba River, he was in no mind to thin out his line here and make a night attack with what might amount to only 20 percent of his regiment. So he was doing what Edson had advised—hunkering down.

  It was the last thing many of Carlson’s men wanted to be doing that night too, snaking through that low mist, the trees dappling your helmet with heavy drops of water, the leaves licking at your shoulders. The footing was always uncertain, causing a heavy set, well laden Marine to slip and fall with a dull thud and an involuntary curse under his exasperated breath. The whole line stopped whenever that happened, tense and alert, but there was no other sound or sign of the enemy. So they moved on, and ten minutes later Carlson saw the lead scout freeze, one arm extended, catching the subtle downward movement of his hand before the man slowly descended himself into the grey white mist.

  The lead fire team went into a low crouch, one man looking to see he was eye to eye with a big fat ground frog hunched on a low branch. They were mostly dormant at night, and even by day they were sluggish “sit and wait predators,” hoping for insects to happen by.

  That Marine didn’t have to worry much about the frog, but this night there were other sit and wait predators crouching in the landscape ahead. Toshinari Shoji wasn’t making a night attack, nor did he plan to move his men, but he had extended his perimeter with patrols, and several had been tasked with laying mines in the undergrowth where the Japanese thought the Americans might advance. One squad was right in the path of Carlson’s advance, with three men digging holes in the mud, two more laying eggs, and the last three sitting in a well concealed position behind a machinegun.

  Whether by chance or fate, the gunner in that patrol was Kenji Tokawa, reputed to have the best night eyes in the battalion, and even better ears. He had been listening to the song of the forest, eyes closed, counting the frogs in his mind, hearing the raindrops on the thick green leaves of the trees. Then he felt, more than he heard or saw, that something was very wrong. He could hear the quiet mutter of the men in the mine detail about fifteen yards off. Then he opened his eyes and gazed past the shoulder of one of those men, and saw that Marine Scout forming from the shadows and mist like an apparition, silent, motionless, still as death. The specter had one arm extended, the shoulders and head of the man all that was visible above the heavy ground fog.

  The hand moved, ever so quietly, like the flutter of a feather or a leaf falling, or the silent movement of a night moth. The head and shoulders slowly shrank away, disappearing, dissipating into the fog, but Tokawa caught a glint of light, like a firefly, and knew it was the other man�
��s eye reflecting the pale moon above, which finally emerged from the ragged clouds. He sat there, his finger sliding to find the trigger of his Type 96 LMG, his hand becoming a part of the cold steel weapon, his keen eyes watching that mist for any other sign of movement. His breath nearly stopped, silenced with the tension of that moment, that awful sliver of agonizing suspense before the violence that was surely at hand. He knew he could do nothing for the mine team now, but if he lay very still, and waited….

  Part IV

  Shattered Gem

  “It is better to be a gem that is smashed to atoms than a tile that is whole.”

  —Confucian Era Proverb: The Story of Yuan Jing-An

  Chapter 10

  The Devil Dogs of the Sea were out that night, wound up tight, and ready for anything. Carlson’s Marines would much rather be curled up in a dry spot under thick trees, but now that they were here, a good old fashioned night raid seemed just the thing to raise their spirits. It was better than watching the rain fill up your dugout, or thinking about the Cat Beer they’d feed you for breakfast back in the barracks. That was Marine slang for milk, Moo Juice, the stuff that came in the armored cows, cases of canned milk set out back in Suva for the lines of hungry men. And you knew things were bad when you found yourself dreaming about those trays full of the sliced ham that didn’t pass its physical—SPAM. All those jawbreaker biscuits didn’t seem so bad now either, not when you were out in the bush; not on a night like this.

  So now the line had become dead still, the mud eaters earning their name as they crouched low. The scout shrunk back, until he found Carlson, who always led from the front.

  “Three japs, and they look to be digging in with their army banjos.” He meant their shovels, of course.

  “Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” said Carlson, looking over his shoulder to find Sergeant Allard. He gave him a silent hand signal indicating he wanted him to deploy his squad to the right. Then he waved Sergeant Cook off to the left. For once he was grateful for the soup they were in, for the fog would mask this deployment.

  It did that, but Kenji Tokawa could hear it, smell it, and he knew what was coming next. The two men behind felt him tense up, and then one was stupid enough to rasp out something at the mine layers. Then all hell broke loose. There came a sharp burp of a Tommy Gun, and they saw three men in the mine team go down, the other two instinctively going prone, with one stupidly falling right on a freshly laid mine. The explosion blew the whole team to pieces, and then Tokawa let the lead fly from his Type 96.

  Somebody shouted “Grenades!” and three pineapples flew up out of the mist, exploding all around the gun position and raking those last three men with shrapnel. Two went down, but not Tokawa. His hands were glued to his machine gun, and he fired until the cartridge ran dry, looking frantically around him for a second one when a Marine Sniper finally put a bullet right between those two sharp eyes and ears.

  Silence. The cold mist laced with smoke and the smell of battle. Then came shouts from up ahead, and Carlson knew they had found the enemy line.

  “Come on!” he shouted. “Get the lead out!”

  He was on the radio at once: “Bluebird, this is Red Riding Hood. Come in Bluebird, Over.”

  “Roger Red Riding Hood, Bluebird, Bluebird, over.”

  “Big Bad Wolf. Repeat. Big Bad Wolf!”

  “Roger wilco, Red Riding Hood. Big Bad Wolf.”

  That was the signal for Edson’s battalion to open up, and seconds later they could hear the crump and pop of their 60mm Mortars, then the rattle of machineguns and a lot of semi-automatic fire. The sky was suddenly alight with the dull gleam of flares fired up by the enemy, then three bright star shells illuminated the scene. Carlson’s first platoon rushed forward, but Allen’s squad ran right over the mines the enemy had laid, and they put two men down for good. But that didn’t stop those Raiders. Their blood was up and they came charging through the ground fog like a wind of death.

  That end of the Japanese line was being held by the Machinegun Company of II Battalion, 230th Regiment. It was going to be hit by three of Carlson’s Companies, which made good use of the uneven terrain as they advanced. The fire teams used their BARs and Tommy Guns to try and suppress the MGs, but the Japanese were putting up a very robust defense. They had taken a position with enough open ground to its front to make for a very difficult approach. In spite of the advantage of surprise, and the darkness, the Marines could not advance under that withering fire.

  Then came the artillery.

  Seeing his flank as exposed and subject to just this sort of attack, Colonel Shoji had pre-registered a battery of guns on that ground. The rounds fell just short of where the Marines had gone to ground to duel with those MGs, but Carlson could see they were going to walk them back through his men in short order.

  Then something happened that no one expected. It was just one of those haphazard moments, men lost and bumbling about in the dark, but it decided the battle that night. The Japanese III Company, had been in the fight against Edson’s Battalion as it advanced on the town of Solo and the foot bridge. It was overrun, a third of its men killed, but in the confusion of that fighting, a sergeant led his men the wrong way and the unit moved south, thinking to find exposed elements of the American forces there to ambush.

  They found nothing, wandered about in the dark for some time, and then someone produced a compass to find the way back north. Reduced to just six understrength squads, stumbling through the inky blackness and mist, they came upon the rear of Edson’s line again as they were laying down their diversionary fire for Carlson. The snap and pop of gunfire from that direction was most unexpected and the one thing that hit Edson’s mind was his remonstration to Carlson—the enemy moves at night.

  “Hell!” he swore. “The bastards have worked around behind us somehow. Get on the radio to Carlson. Tell him we’ve been snookered.”

  It didn’t take a radio call to convince Carlson that his little night foray had been ill advised. His men grounded by that MG and artillery fire, which decided the matter. He produced a pocket whistle, blew hard, and gave the signal to withdraw.

  * * *

  The night attack had been stopped, but on the other side of the M’ba River, the 2nd Marines had pushed right to the edge of the airfield. It was only the timely arrival of two companies of the Yokosuka SNLF that prevented the field from being overrun. Yet now Colonel Shoji could see that it was useless to leave his men where they were. The planes had all flown off, and the field was under enemy mortar fire. He had a perfectly good strongpoint to the rear at the sugar mill overlooking the rail bridge on the river. The open ground of the airfield could become a killing field from that position. If that were not enough, another night foray, this time done right by the Fiji Commandos, was the final straw.

  The Kiwis had been on the southern flank of Collins’ division in the north, but left two days earlier, traveling mostly by night, and made their way over the high ridge behind the gold mine at Vatukoula. The defense of that sector had been given to Colonel Tanaka’s 229th Regiment, and it was fending off both the 35th Regiment of the Tropic Lightning Division, reinforced by the arrival of the 145th Regiment of the 37th Division, which had come over from Vanua Levu. For the last three days, Tanaka had worked a full battalion in those mines, carting off as much as he could and sending it back towards M’ba. But he hadn’t counted on the night banditry of the Kiwis.

  The Commandos found a section of the lightly guarded carts and pack horses, and crept into position. As the lead pack horse rounded a bend, there were three burley commandos, wearing dark bandanas and an evil grin.

  “Hello Mates,” said one. “This here’s a toll road. What’s that you’ve got tucked away there? Looks like it’ll make a nice tidy payment.”

  The Japanese had no idea what they had said, and were gunned down as they frantically tried to get to their shouldered rifles. Then the Kiwis “Commandeered” the gold, led it off the trail, and assigned a small team to dea
l with it, moving on into the silence and shadow of the mist. Drawn to the sound of fighting to the west, they would arrive on the flank of the battle for M’ba field at just the right moment.

  Colonel Shoji heard the sound of their coming as fighting broke out on his extreme left flank. He quickly gave the order to redeploy to the sugar mill. Then he got on the radio and notified General Sato, informing him of the situation. The only two bridges over the M’ba river would soon be under attack, and if they fell, it would mean two thirds of the 38th Division would be cut off east of the river at Tavua. With great reluctance, Sato sent word that Ito and Tanaka should bring their regiments to M’ba at once.

  Collins would take Tavua the next day.

  * * *

  The loss of Tavua and the gold mines were serious enough that Sato now contemplated suicide rather than explain why this had happened to any superior officer up the chain of command. Yet for the moment, the necessities of war stayed his hand. There was no word in the Japanese language for retreat, yet that was what Ito and Tanaka were now doing, no matter how the move was couched as a redeployment to see to the defense of M’ba.

  Further south, Sato could also take some solace in the fact that the 48th Division had also redeployed, falling back to the very outskirts of Nandi itself in the face of a determined and relentless attack by Patch and the 23rd Pacifica Division.

  In both these actions the Japanese had suffered from the fact that they had only two regiments forward deployed on the defense. Sato had kept his 230th Regiment in the rear at M’ba, and wisely, for that vital field and the bridges over the river would already be in enemy hands if he had not done so. As for Major General Tsuchihashi in the 48th Division, he had deployed his 1st and 2nd Formosa Regiments on the Momi Line when the attack started, but retained Abe’s Regiment at Nandi as a reserve, and to watch for any possible enemy landing from the sea.