Discussing the president’s death and who Harry Truman might turn out to be continued into the evening. Most of the men hadn’t been interested in politics, so the conversations didn’t amount to much. Back home, none of us got national news anyway except through the newspapers and a few static-filled radio broadcasts. Of course, that meant details were sparse and information often delayed. We came from mostly small towns where life went on its own way regardless of what the bigmouths did in Washington. When the bottom fell out of the economy, the WPA and other public assistance programs kept people alive and in some sort of job. Although the Republicans were always chewing on his case, Roosevelt got the credit for pulling America up from off the bottom. Some of the soldiers liked those facts; some didn’t.
Before the war, a group called the America Firsters strongly opposed getting involved in Hitler’s war in Europe. Even a national hero like Charles Lindbergh joined in the America First group, opposing getting into one of those age-old far-off conflicts between European nations. That opposition disappeared like morning mist when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. By the end of 1942, America was a different country than it had been.
“When do you think we’ll hear something from Command?” Sergeant McQuiston asked me.
“Ought to come fairly quick,” I said. “Since we came to a halt in that last drive, the Japanese probably think they’ve stopped us. We’ve got to come back with some response before long.” I looked at the darkening sky. “Personally, I’m ready to sleep whether the big boys call or not.”
“Yeah,” McQuiston said. “Getting awful quiet out there.”
“Um-huh. Don’t like that lack of shooting or rumbling. Not a good sign.”
“You think something’s up?” McQuiston pushed.
“Probably,” I said. “But maybe this would be a good time to stretch out and go to bye-bye sleepland.”
“Guess so.” McQuiston walked over to his foxhole.
I sat there smoking a cigarette and listening to the quiet settle in. Darkness had just turned a shade deeper when the roar of an explosion shook the ground. A mortar went sailing overhead and exploded behind me. Before I could move, the rattle of machine guns out there in the distance ended the quiet of night.
The war was back on with a vengeance.
“Everybody up and on the cannons!” I yelled. “Keep your rifles handy.”
The blasts only increased. No one had reported such activity coming, and I knew the entire infantry probably were struggling with the same surprise that we were. We loaded the howitzers and stood ready to execute. The cracking of gunfire sounded like the enemy were closing in on all of us. No question about it. The Japanese had mounted an offensive.
Swinging Bill ran up to me. “Sounds like they’re about a thousand yards in front of us. Right?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Just pay big-time attention. Understood?”
The walkie-talkie rang, and I picked it up. “Yeah?”
“Looks like the Japanese have mounted a major counteroffensive. We’re getting hit across the entire front line simultaneously. This one is really big. Don’t fire until we have better coordinates. Just stand by.”
“You bet.” I hung up and turned to McQuiston. “Tell the men to lower their sights and be ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. We’re in for a major assault tonight.”
The sergeant took off, running from cannon to cannon.
“Hell of a time to start an offensive,” I muttered to myself. “Gonna be a long night.”
* * *
The Japanese intended to push us off the island, and so the doughboys on the front line got it in the teeth. Apparently, the enemy thought the lull in fighting signaled weakness on our part. Probably, they interpreted our pullback as a retreat and believed we were highly vulnerable. Whatever. The brunt of their attack hit Colonel Halloran’s troop in the chops. No question that the Japanese had planned this attack carefully. They came rushing in like walking machine guns and probably would have broken through if it were not for men like Sergeant Beauford T. Anderson.
I don’t know where he got the name, but everyone just called old Beauford “Snuffy.” Of all places, Snuffy came down from Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin, and was he ever ready to fight. He was one enterprising son of a gun!
Some of the men in A Company had crawled into a cave. Snuffy’s mortar squad was good at what they did, but like the rest of us, they had bedded down for the night just before the Japanese hit. When the screaming meemies started racing toward them, Sergeant Snuffy hung tight, not being sure what to do next.
Mortars exploded all around them, and it quickly became clear the squad couldn’t get out alive even if they wanted to run. Something radical had to be done.
Snuffy didn’t want everybody exposed to deadly fire. He knew they would have to take it one person at a time. If one man went down, the next man must take his place.
One of the men piped up, “You just want us to wait while somebody goes out there and gets killed?”
The sergeant stared at him with harsh, threatening eyes.
The soldier didn’t say any more.
Snuffy said that he was going out there first and alone. All he wanted them to do was keep their rifles ready.
Snuffy began crawling toward the ledge in front of the cave. Staying on his belly, he pulled a hand grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin, and threw it straight at two Japanese about to run toward the cave.
The explosion sent both of the enemy flying backward. Snuffy picked up his rifle and began firing in all directions. Enemy started falling on all sides. The enemy kept firing back, but Snuffy returned his response with greater accuracy. In between rifle shots and throwing grenades, Snuffy held them from breaking through. He kept shooting; Japanese kept falling.
A mortar flew over his head and bounced off the rock wall but didn’t explode. Snuffy grabbed the explosive and hurled it into the night. A blast signaled the dud had finally worked, but in the enemy’s nest.
The sergeant had a new idea. He called for the men to bring a box of mortar shells to the edge of the cave.
The men instantly hauled the shells forward. Snuffy began grabbing the explosives and pulling them out of the casing. He pulled the safety pins, activated the mortars by hitting them against the rock, and hurled them. Off in the distance, the discharge shook the ground.
Snuffy grabbed the shells as quickly as the men put them in his hands, and he slung them into the darkness. Discharge after discharge boomed through the night. Somehow, the Japanese never shot him even though he was in plain sight heaving the bombs.
Finally, the Japanese backed off and quiet fell over the hillside.
The men crept back into the cave. The next morning, the terrain didn’t reflect any new movement. The men crawled out and started checking what was in front of them. They found twenty-five dead Japanese, seven abandoned knee mortars, and four machine guns lying on the ground.
Someone heard Snuffy say, “Not a bad night’s work.”