The Pacific, World War Two

The Pacific, World War Two

Copyright © 2009 by Clark Wilson

All rights reserved.

Cover design by CDW

Smashwords Edition 1.0, December 2009

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The Pacific

World War Two

PROLOGUE

They were some of the last Americans fighting on the Island of Mindanao in the late spring of 1942. Exhausted and terrified they struggled to help their wounded escape the battlefields. With extreme difficulty, they ascended the steep narrow road, strewn with debris from combat with the Japanese. Finally, they stumbled onto a less traveled one, which would be a cow pathway, back in the States.

They headed into the jungle to hide from the Imperial Japanese Army, who would show no compunction, in butchering them. Road signs did not exist. They had to get as far away as possible, from Sindangin Bay, a place where Jap troops were concentrated. It was a simple decision for American soldiers, fighting for survival against overwhelming odds, run and hide or go to meet your maker!

They worked their way up a winding path, away from the maelstrom of death, placing each foot forward, with extreme caution. Mind fields were everywhere! Eyes darted at every movement, and ears tuned to any sound, foreign to the jungle. They were constantly on the lookout for a vicious enemy, who had vowed, no prisoners, for all who had ignored the American commander General Wainwright’s order, to surrender.

The average age of the group was twenty-one years; they were American soldiers, on the run, trying to stay alive, one day at a time. Only eight of the original fourteen had survived, since the American’s laid down their arms, on June 9, 1942.

Connor said, Are you scared Liam?

Liam looked at his older brother with haunted eyes and said one word, Shitless.

Droplets of sweat, stung the eyes of each soldier, caused by the intense heat from the sun and dread of the unknown. The path snaked like a serpent past putrid swamps in the low lands. Around a sharp bend, hundreds of carrion eating seagulls startled by the approaching soldiers, panicked and took flight in a whoosh of fluttering wings, as they squawked at the intruders for disturbing mealtime.

A few fluttering blood speckled white feathers dropped from the flying white rats, as they circled overhead. The feathers slowly floated to the path in front of them. The point man, Johnson cried out in an anguished voice, Oh my God in heaven. as he turned to his fellow soldiers, his face as white as chalk, horrified he lifted his arm slowly, like a dying man. Pointing with his outstretched hand at what petrified him.

He dropped his rifle and fell to his knees. Arms wrapped around himself, he rocked back and forth, as he kept saying, Oh God, oh God. He had his eyes closed tight, trying to block out what he saw, but his olfactory sense would not let him blank out the revulsion he felt. He would see it in his psyche for the rest of his days.

As the others caught up to him, they inhaled death before they saw it. The disgusting odor of decaying flesh was so prevalent they gagged. They could taste it! Stomachs shuddered with loathing at the barbaric sight. On the side of the road, lay twenty-three mutilated, bloated bodies, of American soldiers. They had turned a blackish green shade from the heat. One of the dead was a priest. Diego, a marine from New Mexico crossed himself and said, Bella! Horrida bella Johnson looked at Diego perplexed and Diego said, War, horrid war.

The Japs had murdered American soldiers, who had their hands tied behind their backs. The Nips had looped the ropes around the POW’s necks to harness them together like animals. The rope neckties were now a crimson red from decapitation. Hordes of black flies left an extensive meal as the ragged collection of soldiers stumbled past dead compatriots.

They were horrified; the seagulls had feasted on the eyeballs of the severed heads. The emptiness of the sockets stared back at them and penetrated deep into their core. Only the eyes of the remaining flies gave them a defiant stare, from the emptiness of the sockets. Most of the soldiers threw up what little food they had in their empty stomachs. They exchanged individual promises to breathe a final breath like fighting men instead of sheep led to a massacre, even if they had to use sticks and stones as weaponry.

Fingers dug into the wooden stocks of weapons to stop hands from shaking. With a tremulous voice someone said, I will kill myself, before I let those bastards capture and torture me! These soldiers had looked into the eyes of death. They would not allow themselves to plummet into an abyss of nothingness, like lemmings.

They loathed leaving unburied Americans along the side of the road, but they had to keep moving in order to survive. They continued to tramp wearily along the rocky trail with grave spirits. Each of them tried to come to grips with the possibility of pending death. Repugnance for the Japs and for the terror and butchery of war, continued to grow.

The macabre carnage meant a struggle to the death, if they encountered Japanese soldiers. Following weeks of evading the enemy, they were a pathetic looking collection of soldiers, continuously concealing themselves from Jap observation planes. Finally, they discovered a grotto, on Mount Apo, at about the 4,500-foot elevation level. Trees hid the opening and protected them from enemy search planes. The summit is 9,700 feet. It is the highest mountain on the Island of Mindanao; it was now a temporary base for them.

Later, in the gloomy silence of the night, the soundless advance of elusive shadows was broken, when clouds blocked the stark moonlight. The stealth movement of Japanese soldiers went unnoticed, concealed by the strong night wind from the Pacific. A few droplets of rain turned into a slashing storm and gave the enemy cover they needed, to exterminate the exhausted American guards. Then, the flickering shadows continued to move forward.

The Americans left homes, in cities and towns, from all over America, to defend the US. Now, this rancid cave in the Philippines would be their burial chamber, far from families back home.

Over forty Japanese voices screamed a battle howl, Banzai. in unison. The Americans were as good as dead; they grasped whatever weapon they could find to fight to the death. A hand grenade flipped end over end. It hit the stone floor; and rattled forward like a kicked tin can. They stared at it in dismay, frozen immobile; knowing it was their instant to die. The burst was blinding, and the explosion deafening, as the shock wave hit and the impact threw their bodies against the rock wall. Young men, ripped apart, screamed in anguish, as they died.

Survivors of the blast came out of a daze and heard muffled screaming through bleeding ears, as the Nips started to bayonet the wounded. Some crawled to the rear of the cavern. They wiggled through a small crawl space and came up at the rear of some bushes on the mountainside. They had survived, but shame for leaving the wounded would also live on, forever!

A massive explosion, set off by the enemy, closed off the cave entrance and the impact of the blast flattened them. Gasping for air, one thought rushed through their minds. ‘I am breathing’!

Liam heard the enemy coming. He tried to raise his head, but it was too heavy. He was dying! His destiny cast in granite.

Liam O’Brien, United States Ranger Special Forces suddenly jerked wide awake. His eyes flew open in panic; it was tough to focus for a split second. The train conductor called out, Union Station and then he made an apology to the travelers for the hasty stop, which had almost knocked everyone from their seats. He said, A new engineer trainee is up front, and he’s a little hard on the brakes today.

It had been the same old nightmare. His body still trembled and sweat ran down his face. The middle-aged woman sitting in the opposite seat asked him if everything was all right. Her grey hair brushed against his face, as she leaned toward him, in her worry. She had set her knitting aside in her fret for him. It made him think of his own mother.

Liam smiled at her and said, Sorry if I frightened you Ma’am and I certainly hope I didn’t say anything in my ranting to offend you.

She smiled and replied, It wasn’t anything I haven’t heard before. My husband was on the Bataan Death March in WW2. He spent three years as a POW imprisoned under those decadent Japanese camp guards. He was used as slave labor in Japanese coal mines. The prisoners traveled from Bataan to Japan on a cattle ship. The prisoners called it a Hell Ship. Many died on the journey to Japan.

Preparing to get off the train, she hesitated, and with tears in her eyes she said, He says things in his sleep he would rather forget. He has nightmares just like you. Only you and God know what suffering you went through. I can only say it will get better with time, God Bless you son.

Major O’Brien took his small brown leather briefcase from the overhead rack and left the train. He looked like a poster boy for the armed forces in his Army Ranger uniform. ‘Thank God they can’t see the uncertainties, buried in my mind’, he thought. He looked at his wristwatch as he pushed open the glass doors of Union Station and thought, ‘Christ, I better get the lead out, or I’ll be late for court!’

The Court House

Chapter One

It was raining incessantly, the early morning fog made it difficult to see across the street. Two yellow cabs rushed past him. One of them hit a puddle beside the curb. Grimy water from the gutter landed on Liam’s overcoat. ‘God damn jerk’ he said to himself as he stepped off the curb in front of the next cab and forced the cabbie to hit the brakes, firmly. Liam grabbed the door handle and threw open the door.

The cabbie screamed, For Christ sakes soldier, you got a God damn death longing? Liam slid onto the rear seat and gave the driver a severe look. The driver shut up straight away.

Then, in an unruffled voice, Liam said, There’s an extra buck in it for you, if you get me to Central Courthouse, in the Bronx, before 9 AM.

The cabbie had an unlit cigar in his mouth he was chewing on, and thought to himself, ‘You just spent another buck pal.’ Liam jerked back in the seat as the driver spun the tires on the wet pavement and accelerated into traffic. The cabbie glared into his rear view mirror with an arrogant look on his face.

He was stunned to see Liam staring into the mirror. Those knife-like dark eyes held not a glimmer of fear. They locked with a perilous intensity straight into the reflection of the cabbies eyes in the rear view mirror. This New York City Yellow cab driver did not take shit from anyone, but for a few moments, he felt real dread, in the pit of his stomach. Then Liam winked and leaned back in the seat in contemplation about how the day would unfurl.

Buried deep in thought, he heard, but disregarded the din of the traffic, the sounds of heavy buses accelerating, aggravated drivers hitting horns and the steady thump, thump of the cabs windshield wipers. He saw the rear of the cab driver’s head and when the cabbie looked out the side window, he could see the drivers jaw moving as he munched on his soggy cigar. The reek of the half-smoked stale cigar made Liam’s nostrils cringe. It permeated the air in the cab.

Every time Liam smelt a stale cigar in a closed in space, it gave him a flashback when he smoked his first cigar at nine years of age. It was a Saturday evening in the dog days of summer and his mother had found cigarette butts hidden in his pillowcase. She twisted his ear and marched him out to his father, who