With the rising of the sun, the roar of war sounded again. April 10 would be another difficult day. All through the day, the reports continued to filter in. The 382nd Infantry began coordinated attacks against Nishabaru Hill and Tombstone Ridge. The two units should extend fighting on Kakazu Ridge that was to the left of the Nishabaru area. Their attention was focused on making a breakthrough between the hill and the ridge. Like everything else in this war, the assault proved vicious and deadly.
I stood in the command headquarters and listened to the reports coming in as well as conversations between the men. E Company of the Second Battalion got across the eastern extension of Kakazu Gorge and pushed their way about 250 yards to the base of the ridge extending out of Nishabaru Hill. At that point, they started getting hit with intense artillery and took an extremely high number of casualties. Losses made it impossible for the two companies to hook up. In the struggle, Colonel Cyril Sterner got nicked by a mortar fragment but refused to stop or be taken out. The war was back on full tilt for sure.
Out of nowhere, two of the Japanese flying boxcar bombs came hurling down on top of the battalion command post. Dirt and rocks flew in every direction while the roar of the explosion left men nearly deaf. The force of the blast picked up men and slung them in every direction. I hit the ground.
“What’s happened?” a soldier lying on the ground muttered.
“Gone?” another man’s voice sounded far away. “They’re all gone?”
Both men sat up and stared. An entire mortar platoon had vanished in the explosion. The command post, obliterated.
“Medics,” a soldier mumbled. “Help!”
“Looks like it’s bad.” He stood up and shook the dirt off his clothing. Several rocks fell out of the fold in his pants. “Those three-twenty mortars sure dig a crater. God help us.”
The men began reassembling themselves. The soldiers found it hard to believe that an entire platoon had been wiped out by two large missiles. They had.
* * *
On the other end, the First Battalion began their turn. I watched men start working their way up Tombstone once more. By ten o’clock, B and C Companies had made excellent progress. Working their way west, they came through the town of Kaniku, meeting virtually no resistance. B and C quickly got atop the northern ridge. I could hear them shouting back and forth.
Anyone watching the battle knew that a quick advance with no problems wasn’t just good luck. The Japanese had something up their sleeves and before long the bubble would burst. An hour later, the expected came roaring in. Like a horde of wasps, the Japanese swarmed C Company.
The company commander, Lieutenant Robert Bolan, quickly recognized what was coming. I could hear him shout across the valley, “Heads up! A carload of the enemy are dropping in for a visit!”
Enemy artillery streamed into their position. Those god-awful 320mm mortars fell indiscriminately all over the hill. Hunks of turf sailed through the air like pigeons flying. The entire ridge had turned into the target.
“Here they come!” Bolan began firing his rifle.
Men around Bolan started shooting in all directions, but nothing could stop the Japanese rushing toward C Company in almost suicidal formation.
After several minutes, the commander could see that the enemy were only yards away from his men. No more than twenty yards separated the two sides.
“Shoot the flamethrowers!” Bolan demanded. “Hit them in the face!”
Men with tanks strapped on their backs assumed a position on the front line. The propane-operated devices come out roaring like an angry dragon. The pressure of the gas, activated through piezo ignition, produced its own velocity. The flames bellowed in the wind. Operators with the propane tanks on their backs surged forward, which meant they had to stand up in a vulnerable position.
“Attaboy!” Lieutenant Bolan kept shouting. “We’re roasting those mothers!”
But the Japanese didn’t slow down. After several runs at C Company, they brought their own flamethrowers. Fire exploded in waves on all sides.
“The bad boys ain’t gonna stop!” Bolan kept shouting. “Keep shooting.”
The commander stood to change his position. The crack of a rifle sent him spinning backward. For a few moments, he didn’t move.
“They got the lieutenant,” a soldier called out. “Medic!”
One of the medical staff rushed to Bolan’s side. “Sir, they shot you in the shoulder. Need to get you out of here.”
“Hell, no,” Bolan growled. “I’m not leaving in the midst of a confrontation.”
The medic felt around his shoulder and neck area.
“Aaaaah!” Bolan gasped.
“Your collarbone is broken,” the medic said. “You’re gonna have a hard time moving that side of your body.”
“Just sit me upright,” Bolan said. “Give me my forty-five pistol. I’m not going anywhere. That’s a command.”
The medic shrugged. “Well, you’re the boss.” He took the Browning High Fire out of Bolan’s holster and handed it to him.
Bolan started firing and the medic crawled away. I watched in amazement at such courage.
* * *
B Company began to experience the same ferocity. The difference was that the Japanese had holed up in small caves all over the area, giving them cover as well as the favorable position. The company had just set up the light machine guns when the enemy came pouring in with rifles blazing.
One of the gunners cranked his machine gun up and almost started to fire. A bullet caught him straight in the forehead, sending him flying backward. The Japanese landed on top of the man’s buddy. Before he could get his pistol out, the enemy stabbed him in the chest.
The Japanese were everywhere at once. Rifle fire smacked into the machine gunners. Two of the units began to fire, dropping the enemy almost as fast as they broke through the perimeter of the camp. Finally, the far-left gunner got hit in the chest and his machine gun went silent. The lone gunner remaining kept firing and the enemy retreated.
He called out to see if everyone was okay.
No one answered.
The lone gunner called again. He slowly got to his knees and crawled to the other men. Of the eight in the section, he was the only one who survived. He struggled, crawling from man to man. All were dead.
* * *
With the frightening struggle of B and C Companies to survive, A Company was ordered off the northern knob of the ridge and sent to bring relief. They were halfway up the hill when extreme mortar fire stopped them. Once again, the sky split open and another 320mm flying boxcar slammed into A Company. A basement load of dirt covered the men.
A soldier called out to the commander.
Someone answered that he’d disappeared. The men yelled for him.
A soldier pointed to a pile of dirt. The damn thing was moving!
The men rushed to the heap and began pulling out rocks and slinging dirt. After a few shovelfuls, a hand appeared. The fingers wiggled.
The men frantically pushed and pulled right and left, slowly wiggling their commander loose from the avalanche. Two men grabbed each arm and pulled with all their might. Slowly his body emerged from the dirt.
Lieutenant Doyle coughed and sputtered. He rolled over on his knees and tried to catch his breath. He couldn’t find his helmet in the pile of dirt.
They knew the Japanese would be pouring in again and had to get ready.
The explosions only increased, and the Japanese kept charging. The soldiers of Company A kept firing at the enemy, who were popping up like popcorn. The Japanese were everywhere at once, and the company’s ammunition kept getting lower and lower.
At two fifteen Colonel Johnson reported their completely untenable situation to headquarters.
Johnson listened for a few moments and then hung up. He told the men that they had thirty minutes to look for missing men and was particularly concerned about the machine-gun section. They had to get out of there.
The men nodded and immediately began preparations for leaving. In thirty minutes, their own artillery would turn the hill into a fire pit. The search for the machine gunners proved futile. They had all been killed.
The trail back proved arduous, with the enemy on their tail at every turn. Mortar fire and machine-gun fire never stopped. Rain started coming down, signaling the monsoon season was not far away. Company A kept returning the fire while they cautiously inched backward. When nightfall had come, the soldiers dug in to muddy, wet foxholes and prepared to defend themselves in the dark.
The men didn’t seem particularly disturbed by their retreat. Constant pandemonium and the uproar of war had settled into their psyches, leaving them numb. Mostly, they were simply too tired to give a damn.