Calling the ridge “Tombstone” turned out to be way too appropriate.
The Japanese weren’t letting go. We began firing our howitzers almost continuously. Seemed like our constant rounds made no difference. The enemy had dug in for the duration and returned our blasts as fast as we fired them. Throughout the morning, our 361st Artillery unit blasted away constantly.
The humidity picked up and the heat from the big guns sent the thermometer rising. Many of the men took their shirts off, but no one slowed down. Handling the shells and the shell cases proved to be an arduous task, but no one backed away. Each man knew that the entire Tombstone Ridge area had to be hammered in order to protect the units trying to move forward. Our frontline soldiers were still getting killed.
Around noon, we got a call from the Command Center. The Second Battalion had made some progress pushing forward but ended up pinned down by the incessant fire from the other side. Company B had moved in and taken a small knob northeast of Tombstone. Command wanted us to stop firing until the situation had been clarified.
I shouted to the men, “Cease firing until further notice.”
The men stepped back and appreciated a break. As usual, they broke up into little groups, reflecting friendships, buddies, or whatever. McQuiston’s inner circle usually included Hans Goins as well as Swinging Bill plus a couple of other guys like George Morris and Lee Lewis. They busted out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. I stood on the edge and watched.
“Noticed that your hands were shaking today,” Hans said to Morris.
George flinched at first and then took a breath. “Well, ain’t you observant, since a slight tremble always comes with fatigue. You wouldn’t know about that since you never worked that hard.”
Hans grinned. Just one of his usual jabs for laughs.
McQuiston leaned back against an empty wooden box that had once held artillery shells. “I wonder what’ll come next after we finally push the Japanese off this island. Major, you know?”
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “I understand that our next stop will probably be Tokyo. From what we are seeing here, doesn’t look like they are going to surrender until we’ve nearly wiped them out. Afraid that’s not good news.”
Swinging Bill looked thoughtful for a change. “How bad’s that gonna be, Major?”
“They say women and children will meet us on the beach with bamboo spears sharpened to a point. We might be shootin’ at them. Not a pretty picture no matter how you color it.”
“Why, hell! Old Jimmy Doolittle and his Raiders bombed them and made it clear we were coming. You’d think they got the picture.”
“I knew one of those pilots,” Hans said. “A guy named Jack Sims. One heck of a pilot. Good man. After they smoked the enemy, Sims crash-landed in China and finally got out through the back door. Quite a story. Just think of how many guys never made it home.”
Soberness settled over the men and for a while no one spoke. Finally, Morris said, “I guess them Japanese just don’t think like us.”
Swinging Bill nodded. “Afraid so. I wonder if they ever think about home, a girlfriend, and dreams. What do you think?”
“They’re just different,” Lee Lewis said. “The imperial system trains them to die, to die fighting. I heard they call it the honorable way to go. They appear to be more focused on death and honor. I guess going down for the homeland is considered glory for them.”
The men smoked for a while. Hans looked up at me. “You think about home, Major?”
“I got a wife,” I said. “She’s waiting for me. I know that for certain. But we all know how war swallows your best thoughts. We’re on the other side of the world. Light-years away from home. Sometimes, it’s hard to stay focused.”
“I had a girlfriend at home.” George’s words sounded loaded with poignancy. “Haven’t heard from her in a while. Her letters began to sound distant. I’m not sure she’s still there. I got a feeling she doesn’t want to tell me good-bye while I’m out here maybe dying, but that’s where her head is. Don’t know about her heart.”
“Ooh,” Sergeant McQuiston said softly. “That’s a tough one.”
“I imagine this’ll sound silly, but I’ve got a horse at home out on our farm,” Bill Arnold said. “I loved to ride old Thunder. Grew up riding in the saddle. I just want to go back and ride my horse one more time.”
“I want to go fishin’ again,” Lee said, and took a big drag off his cigarette and sent a ring of smoke rolling overhead. “I’d just like to be sitting on a bank under a big willow tree and feel a jerk on my line. Why, I’d yank my pole and start reelin’ in one of those big fat bass. Now, that’d be something!”
Once again, the men settled into silence and quietly smoked.
“Do you think we’ll ever get back to normal, Major?”
I took a deep breath. “What is normal? I don’t know anymore. I once knew what normal was in Ada, Oklahoma. Could see the streets and walk down them—at least in my imagination—but I don’t know anymore. Maybe, by the time we get back, that past will all be gone. Normal will have become something else, something different. I fear that what was once normal for us will have disappeared.”
A hush settled again. Each one of us knew that life was going to be different in ways that we might not be prepared for. Out here on this godforsaken island nothing was like what we once remembered. Sometimes it was hard to even recollect what had been what.
McQuiston suddenly said, “You know . . . war has changed us. That’s one reason why everything will be different. We’re not the same. We ain’t ever gonna be normal again.”
Swinging Bill Arnold abruptly got up and walked away. He didn’t want any more of this kind of talk.
I didn’t either. The faces of dead children and men in black body bags already haunted me. Pushing those dastardly images aside remained a struggle that I had a hard time managing. I didn’t know whether Joan could understand any of this. For sure, I wouldn’t be telling her. We’d all come over here like American farm boys going out to milk the cows. The army whipped us into line and turned us into killing machines in only thirteen weeks. Now we were all human torpedoes, butcher boys, gunmen. Killing had eaten a hole in every last one of us.
Of course, there was no other choice. They’d get us if we didn’t get them first. Understandable? Not really. Just the way it was.
* * *
When Command finally called, we trudged back to the big guns and started firing again. Must have gone on for at least three hours. Tragically, the afternoon turned out to be one intense struggle.
Company B had tried to come up on the northeast side of Tombstone but got hit by intense mortar fire. Two platoons led by lieutenants Robert Jackson and John Fox had been forced to retreat. They jumped into an antitank refuge to escape the intense barrage. Anticipating a retreat, the Japanese had set up a machine gunner at the far end of the trench. As soon as the platoons hit the ditch, he opened up like a runaway maniac. The report said that at least two men were killed and eighteen others wounded. Both Jackson and Fox got hit hard.
C Company rushed up to stop the annihilation but got pinned down as well. Captain Robert Best moved in with a medical station, trying to evacuate the wounded from B Company. Tech Sergeant Frank Hartzer moved out alone and started spraying the ground with his flamethrower. The bloody chaos revealed the heroic efforts of every man. The struggle continued without relief. The evacuation did not end until six thirty that evening.
McQuiston had been right. We’d never be normal again.