Soldier

Two years later, I still tried to believe, and somehow I still clung to hope. That was before Limon.

I belonged to the 32nd Infantry, The Red Arrow. We had just come out of combat in Hollandia when the order came for us to launch an attack against Yamashita forces gathered in Limon: the invasion of the Phillipines had begun. We hadn't been resupplied in weeks and were expecting a break in action, but what we received in return was misery. From the landing site in Leyte, the Pinamopoan-Ormoc highway was one of the only routes into Limon. We were ordered to advance along the highway clearing out any enemy positions. By the time we reached Limon, our regiment had been separated by heavy Japanese resistance and were trying to rally our position. We were trapped by the mountains behind us and the stronghold of Limon ahead. Fighting had become so dense that our ammo reserves were gone. I remember hearing the CO's talking numbers, something like 6-800 rounds was all we had left. I issued an order that I thought hadn't been heard in a hundred years: affix bayonets.

When dawn came on December 22nd, we were wet and miserable; the heat soared to something near 90 degrees, and the rain came steadily. By noon, the advance orders came down: we were going to try to meet up with the rest of the division and relieve the men of the 24th Infantry that were pushing in from the west. We began the march, and as we approached Limon, I remember being relieved because for the first time in weeks I wouldn't have to eat those damned K rations, and by nightfall, I would have a fresh cigar and a glass of bootlegged saki. Nothing, nothing of my so-called human intuition could have prepared me for what happened next. We were closing through a stand of shelled-out buildings, making our way through the deserted streets near the city's center when the scouts called a halt. We suddenly became aware that we were surrounded; the Japanese were rushing to reinforce their lines all around us, we had walked right through their lines. The men made ready as the CO's deliberated amongst themselves, and finally they ordered us to dig in. We did. When the Japs finally noticed us, God turned away, and Satan rang his bells. I still remember each shot. I can almost count them sometimes in my nightmares, as they came, closer and closer. My garand was all that stood between me and death, and it was losing its war with inevitability. Then they were on us: our platoon was pushed back, fighting through the streets. I tried to stay with my men, to give them hope, but somehow I ended up seeking cover myself in an old building as the Japanese streamed past me, off to murder my friends. Fitch was with me, he had forgotten his helmet, dropped during the fight; he was notorious for that. I smiled and chastised him, and just as hope returned, just as his white teeth flashed through the grime and scruff, a bullet tore off his face. I saw the man silouetted in the doorway, and through a rage that I cannot define with words, I screamed and tore him to the ground. The world around me was gone, replaced by one of my own design, and it was made of hatred. His face filled my skies of rage, and his blood ran in the rivers of my hell. We fought, if that is a word that can be given to it.