Memories of watching the infantry units assault Kakazu west would never leave my mind. I had seen the bravest and the best stand against murderous assaults of incredible proportions. The price for endurance had been paid by men of extraordinary courage. After talking with some of the survivors, I filled in more details.
While I headed back to my artillery unit, I thought on a few of the courageous deeds that had unfolded on Kakazu Ridge. Sergeant James Pritchard had refused to order his gunner into a vulnerable position and took the exact location himself. Pritchard sat alone, emptying six boxes of ammunition. When they finally got him, heaven knows how many of the enemy Pritchard took out of this world with him.
Lieutenant Willard Mitchell’s performance certainly took the cake. When one of his men had been wounded and remained pinned down under machine-gun fire, Hoss went to the rescue.
He dashed through incessant fire and grabbed the injured man, returning with the guy over his shoulder. Hoss got him and the entire unit out and back to safety. Such astonishing valor continued all day. By the time it was over, the top-drawer brass knew what had occurred. Lieutenant Willard Mitchell and PFC Joseph Solch were presented the Distinguished Service Cross. Sergeant John Bradley received the same posthumously. The other soldiers who survived the day were given either a Silver or Bronze Star.
By the time I got back to my 361st Artillery unit, the sun had nearly set. Sergeant McQuiston already had the figures.
“Looks like the 383rd Infantry had three hundred twenty-six causalities. Company L now has only thirty-eight men left. The First Battalion lost fifty percent of their men. April ninth will be a day to be long remembered.”
I sat down and took my helmet off. “Bravest men I ever met. Terrible, terrible losses.”
“One hell of a battle,” McQuiston said.
Some of the men gathered round. Swinging Bill Arnold sat down next to Captain Hans Goins. George Morris sauntered up. Lee Lewis leaned against the barrel of the howitzer.
“Are we gonna retreat?” Morris asked.
“Hell no!” I said. “We can’t let the deaths of all those good soldiers go unchallenged. We’ll be back at it in the morning.”
“That pile of bodies must be starting to stack up as high as a chimney,” Goins quipped.
I looked at him and glared. “You trying to be funny?”
“Oh no, sir.” Goins shook his head emphatically. He knew he’d crossed a line with me.
“You boys ought to take a little walk down there where the wounded are,” I said. “A quick glance will put today into perspective for you. April ninth will indeed be a day that sticks in your thoughts.”
Lee Lewis shook his head. “So many, many men killed.” His voice trailed away. “I . . . I . . . just don’t know.”
“Don’t think about it,” Sergeant McQuiston said. “Gets to be too much.”
“How’d we ever get in such mayhem?” Lewis asked.
“Makes you wonder if there is a God,” Goins said in an uncharacteristically sober voice.
“Ain’t no God,” Swinging Bill growled. “Look around at the legs blown off and the heads splattered like busted watermelons. See any sign of a God in that mess?”
Goins sighed. “Hard to think about the religious stuff when bullets are flying.”
“Not for me,” McQuiston said. “I pray like crazy.”
“How can you pray when there’s so much pain everywhere around you?” Morris asked.
“That’s the point,” McQuiston maintained. “Pain ain’t bad. The hurtin’ tells you where to pay attention. Without pain, you wouldn’t know you’d been whacked.”
“I’d be delighted not to know,” Swinging Bill said, and spit. “I can figure out when I been zinged without the pain attached.”
“Good for you,” Goins shot back. “But the rest of us need the hurts to know where to throw the antiseptic.”
“Okay,” Swinging Bill admitted. “But McQuiston, what’d your pain ever get you? Huh? Prayin’ done you any good?”
“I’m still here,” McQuiston fired back.
Swinging Bill snorted sarcastically.
“Do you really think there is a God?” Lewis looked at each man as if seeking a response from each one. Everyone nodded but Bill.
“What makes you such a cynic?” McQuiston pressed.
“Things happen in this world ’cause people are mean, nasty, real sonofabitches,” Bill answered. “If God made ’em like that, then God is one sonofabitch.”
“Oooh!” Goins howled. “I thought I was cynical. But old Bill here wins hands down.”
“Listen, you loudmouth gutter snakes! You don’t know shit. I’ve seen people burned to—” Bill stopped and bit his lip. “Well, I’ve seen grotesque faces that won’t leave your mind. Now, if your God made all this happen, that’s your problem. I keep my head on straight because I know there isn’t a God!” His voice had gotten louder and louder. “There ain’t no God! That’s not cynicism. That’s life. Understand?”
Arnold stopped and looked up at me. Our eyes met and we both understood what he was talking about. He sure as hell didn’t want me to spill the beans.
The sergeant sensed the conversation might be getting out of hand. I suppose he wanted a referee. McQuiston looked over at me.
“Major Shaw? What do you believe in?”
“Staying alive,” I answered McQuiston. “I don’t have time to think about God, Jesus, religion, or nothing. I keep my head down and hope to God we all get out of here alive.”
The discussion stopped. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but looking in empty eyes and watching men die fills one’s mind with a grotesque landscape that appears to stretch on without end. The truth was that they did think about God. None of these men had been in the predicament of Hoss Mitchell and his men, but they’d still seen enough death that they didn’t want any more. When the bullets started flying, they prayed for divine cover.
Swinging Bill brought his ghosts with him. Only he and I knew the truth. Most of the men had just been everyday guys living out the American dream. All they wanted was to get back home and keep on chasing the stars. The trouble was that those little hills like Kakazu and Cactus Ridge filled their heads with nightmares that would go on for decades.
I finally walked away from the group and lit a cigarette. There wasn’t much wind at the moment. Even though the big guns had temporarily gone silent, my ears still roared from the day’s bombardments. I took a deep breath and wondered myself. God, where are you?