By 8:30 p.m., A Company’s situation had become desperate. At the same time, C Company was getting hammered with a strong counterattack on the exposed left flank. Men were hiding, firing, ducking, running for cover while the enemy poured it on, when a mortar blast hurled Captain Royster backward. From my position I could see what was happening and hear the men talking. I listened intently.
“They got him!” one of his men shouted. “Medic!”
Royster rolled over and shook his head. “Where . . . where . . . am I?” He could barely push himself up on his hands. “Oh, my head . . .” His voice trailed away.
The medic dropped down by Royster’s side. “You caught a fragment of a mortar. Got it in the head. We’ll get you out of here.”
“No! No.” The captain waved him away. “Just put a bandage across my forehead.”
“But you’re bleeding like crazy,” the medic argued. “I don’t believe you can see anything.”
“Don’t argue,” Royster demanded. “Damn it! Get me bandaged so I can get back on my feet.”
“But sir—”
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed. “Now! Hurry up!”
The medic began rolling a wide bandage around Royster’s forehead and across the back of his head. He tried to tape it tightly enough to stay in place.
“Out of my way,” Captain Royster demanded, and got to his feet. “We’ve got to hold our ground.” He paused for a moment and turned to the medic. “Thanks. That helped.” He staggered forward, having a hard time seeing with the blood running into his eyes. “Come on, men! Don’t let those bastards stop you. Keep firing!”
Royster struggled over to the phone. “Get me Command,” he barked.
The sergeant handed him the receiver. “Listen,” Royster shouted. “We’ve got to have a smoke cover in order to withdraw. They’re killing us.” He listened for a moment. “Do what you can.” He hung up.
“What’s the score?” the sergeant asked.
“Company B of the Eighty-Eighth Chemical Mortar Battalion has been firing smoke, but the wind’s not blowin’ it our way. They’re going to keep trying.”
A mortar exploded, sending shock waves across both men. The captain grabbed the bandage across his forehead to keep it in place. The two men tumbled backward. Royster wiped away the blood that had trickled down into his eyes.
“God almighty!” Royster mumbled. “We got to get out of here.”
The company kept firing, but the shelling didn’t let up. Around ten o’clock either the wind shifted or the smoke became thick enough that the unit could retreat. Captain Royster waved to the men.
“Okay! We’re backing out. Keep your heads down.”
Lieutenant Dave Belman and the C Company men followed, but the withdrawal proved as desperate as staying put.
“Get the wounded out first,” someone yelled.
The soldiers moved as quickly as possible, but as soon as they reached the open ground where the unit had been pinned down, they found the same desperate situation. The Japanese kept their mortars trained on the ravine. They knew they had the upper hand for the moment.
By 10:30 p.m. some of the reserved members of A and C Companies finally reached the gorge. Captain John Van Vulpen, commander of B Company, came in with forward elements to reinforce the attack. Quickly surveying the numbers of the survivors and the overwhelming nature of the conflict, he at once called headquarters.
“Sir, the enemy is all over us. We’re struggling to survive.”
A mortar exploded, scattering shrapnel around the area.
Van Vulpen picked up the phone. “Hear that? Tells you where we are.” He listened for a minute. “That’s what you want? Oh, man! Okay. We’ll try.”
He slowly put the phone down and looked at the soldiers waiting for the order.
“Our orders are to attack!” The captain stopped and made a quick head count. Only forty-six soldiers had survived. “This is a tough one, but we’re the Deadeyes. We don’t stop. Grab your gear and prepare to move to the south bank. We’re moving out.”
I knew they had to move quickly to survive. I could see how desperate their position was becoming. I followed their movement closely and listened like a wolf tracking a wounded deer.
A sober look spread over each man’s face as if to say silently that they’d probably not come back alive. Another mortar exploded, but they picked up their rifles and prepared to struggle forward. They could quickly see an open field ahead. If they were to continue their assault, they had to get across. The unit had barely gotten into the open area when a barrage of machine-gun fire hit them. The men leaped to the ground, but a mortar explosion slung some of their bodies through the air and scattered others.
“Captain!” one of the soldiers yelled. “They’re eatin’ us alive.”
Van Vulpen looked out from his ground cover and started counting. Seven men had been lost in an instant. Rolling in the tall grass, the captain cussed at the situation and realized they’d all be dead if they kept advancing.
“Make litters from your ponchos,” Van Vulpen yelled. “We’ve got to drag the wounded and the dying out of here. Hurry!”
A sergeant crawled up next to him. “By damn, they’ll kill every last one of us if we keep movin’ forward.”
The captain nodded. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
“Ain’t there some better way to keep out of the line of that mortar and artillery fire?”
The captain stuck his head up and looked around. “Should be the case, Sarg.” Van Vulpen began inching backward. “Retreat, men!”
The doughboys made a hasty withdrawal. The captain kept rubbing his head and thinking. Finally, he called to the sergeant.
“Sommers, we need a litter squad of about six men for the wounded if we are to accomplish a withdrawal. I’m going to call for smoke to cover us. Give me the walkie-talkie.”
“When we got hit out there in the open, we lost the phone,” the sergeant said. “We got no way to call.”
“Shit!” the captain exploded. “We got to have help!” He looked around. “Lieutenant Ford! Come here.”
The lieutenant crawled over.
“Take command,” the captain said. “Sommers and I got to leave here in order to get fire support and arrange for moving the wounded. We’ll be back.”
Ford saluted and inched his way back to his position.
Van Vulpen and Sommers began maneuvering back to the battalion command post. Machine-gun fire kept erupting all around them.
“Watch out!” Sergeant Sommers screamed, and started firing his rifle as rapidly as the weapon would shoot. “There’s one of the enemy over there!” Two Japanese fell to the ground.
The captain leaped against the base of a large palm tree. “God almighty! I didn’t see them.”
Machine-gun fire beat out a symphony of terror. Both soldiers grabbed their heads and rolled up in a ball. Then Van Vulpen straightened and hurled a grenade. Silence followed the explosion. They started to stand and run when artillery blasted directly behind them. Once again they fell to the ground.
Back up, both men rushed forward through several clusters of bushes. Gun fire followed them. When the sergeant saw a trench in front of them, he dived in with the captain directly behind him.
“A-a-h!” Sommers screamed and pointed. “Snake! God help us! One big sonofabitch.”
What looked like at least a six-foot python slithered toward them from the other end of the trench. Van Vulpen fired ten times, blowing the snake’s head to pieces. Both men lay there breathing hard with hands shaking. The sergeant’s teeth chattered a frightened staccato.
“God help us,” Sergeant Sommers moaned. “I’ve always been terrified of snakes. Scared silly!”
“We got to get out of here,” the captain said. “Come on.”
As the men got further away from the front line, direct fire decreased, but never-ending explosions constantly rocked them, sending an unending roar through their heads and sometimes blurring their vision. Both men kept running and falling. They stumbled over pointed rocks and broken sticks that punctured their legs and scraped their arms, as sharp pangs of pain shot through their bodies. The roar of artillery echoed in their ears and left them dizzy.
The sun had begun to sink when they staggered into the command post. Both men approached the commanding and executive officers mumbling, trying to say something that no one could quite understand.
“Need help.” Captain Van Vulpen’s words were slurred. “Now.” The word was almost unintelligible. “Need help . . . bad.”
“Where?” an officer asked.
“Out there.” Sergeant Sommers pointed and then sank to the ground.
“These men are in no condition to lead a rescue party at the moment,” the executive officer said. “They’re in bad shape.”
Captain Van Vulpen held his head in his heads and kept mumbling to himself.
I had seen bravery before, but nothing like what I witnessed and heard that day. These were soldiers who stood together to the death. The Japanese may have thought they themselves were tough, but they didn’t hold a candle to these men.