The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (26 page)

Welch raised his eyebrows, “Oh?” He looked at his friend, but he couldn’t seem to focus. He shook his head trying to clear his vision.
The saki’s stronger than I remember.
He grabbed the side of the table and held on as the room started to spin. He tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to make a sound. His tongue felt like a bloated fish; he couldn’t make it work. He released the table and held his head trying to get the world to stop spinning.

He woke hours later in a white room without furniture, except for the medical gurney he was strapped to. He looked side to side until he felt his head throb. He shut his eyes experiencing the worst headache he’d ever felt. A man was beside him and he spoke softly to him, “Relax Mr. Welch. No harm will come to you if you relax. Can you relax?”

He spent the next week and a half at the facility. At first he was afraid, after all he’d been kidnapped, but he was released from his restraints soon after waking and he’d been treated like an honored guest ever since.

2nd Lieutenant Araki visited often and they’d sit and talk for hours about events happening in Japan and around the world. He also spoke to knowledgeable men of power with unique insight into the way they thought their country and indeed the world, should be developed. Their plans were auspicious and full of optimism and they wanted him to be a part of them. His decision to help them was sealed when they assured him he’d be well compensated, both in money and power. They rewarded his decision by putting him in a richly decorated room with a huge bed in the center. Soon he was joined by four beautiful geisha girls who kept him up all night.

He’d sailed back to England with plans to join the Foreign Service. He applied and got what was considered the bottom of the Foreign Service barrel, the Solomon Island chain protectorate. He’d spent the next four years working in the Solomons, his most recent assignment, Guadalcanal.

***

He’d been walking for three hours towards the Japanese lines. He hadn’t seen any signs of pursuit. It wasn’t surprising since he was very skilled at hiding his trail. Even if they were following him, it would be difficult and slow. He’d be at the lines long before they could catch up with him.

He had to be more careful now. He was close to the Japanese line. He’d be shot on sight if he was seen. In order to survive, he had to be the one that saw them before they saw him.

He came to the edge of a small meadow and crouched in the tall grass. He listened and thought he heard voices. He melted into the jungle and listened as boots tromped through the field towards his position. There was no more talking, but he knew it had to be a Japanese patrol. Then he saw them, no more than ten yards away. They walked past his position. He thought about calling to them, but soldiers on patrol were jumpy and it would be risky. He waited until they passed out of sight and hearing, then followed their path back the way they’d come.

He had his rifle slung over his shoulder,
no reason to give someone an excuse
. He thought about what he would say. Should he call out as if he were a soldier coming in or simply walk in with his hands held high pleading his case? He hadn’t made up his mind when he came to the Japanese line. He laid down and crawled forward a couple yards. He peeled back the brush and could clearly see a a foxhole occupied by four soldiers. Their rounded helmets were poking above the hole. He could make out their chatter, but no words. It was good to hear the Japanese language again.

He called out in Japanese, “Friends, I’m coming in, don’t shoot. I’m your prisoner, don’t shoot.”

The four men put their Arisaka rifles to their shoulders and yelled, “Who goes there? Holy sun, Holy sun.”

They were looking for a counter-sign that he couldn’t know. He called out, “I don’t know the counter-sign. I’m standing up, I’m not dangerous. I’m your prisoner.” He took a deep breath. He’d either live or die in the next few seconds. He put his hands up and stood. He was fifteen feet away. The soldiers were sighting down their rifles, their fingers tightening on the triggers. “Don’t shoot, I’m here to see Colonel Araki. Colonel Araki is my friend. I’m your prisoner, don’t shoot.”

A stocky sergeant bounced out of the hole and keeping his rifle trained on him, motioned for him to come closer. Welch did so slowly, keeping his hands up and trying to keep his smile as friendly as possible. When he was a few feet away he said, “I’m your prison…”

The sergeant was half his size, but thick and mean looking. He yelled, “Shut-up!” and butt stroked him in the gut. Welch bent over, grabbing his stomach. The next swing was across his chin and he fell to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth from several broken teeth. The other soldiers helped their sergeant pull their prize into their lines. They all punched and kicked him, taking great delight in inflicting pain. The sergeant ordered two men to stay in the hole as he and the other dragged him through the lines.

He was taken to a green, open-sided tent, pushed into a chair, his hands tied to a post and punched mercilessly until a lieutenant walked in and the enlisted men snapped to attention, stepping back from their labors. The lieutenant leaned down and inspected the bloody face. “Who told you to beat this man?” none of the soldiers responded. The lieutenant screamed, “Answer me, Sergeant!”

The stocky sergeant jumped and squirmed, “No one, Sir.”

“Then why did you do so?”

The sergeant looked confused. His eyes squinting even more than they naturally did, “He’s an enemy soldier, Sir, he surrendered without a fight; a coward, sir. Scum.”

“I was told he spoke fluent Japanese and knows our Colonel Araki, our regimental commander.”

The sergeant’s face went white, “He said those things, but I think he must be a spy.”

The lieutenant spun and looked down on the Sergeant’s terrified face. He yelled, “Let me do the thinking, Sergeant.” The sergeant cringed with each splatter of spittle upon his face. “Get out of my sight, back to your hole.” The sergeant did a perfect left face and marched from the tent, followed by the private.

The lieutenant kneeled in front of the bleeding Welch and lifted his chin. Welch groaned in pain. “Who are you?”

Welch’s head spun from the beating, but through blood and broken teeth he told the lieutenant everything. When his tale was told the lieutenant nodded and sent a man to summon Colonel Araki. He leaned down and whispered in Welch’s ear, “If you’re lying and I disturbed the Colonel for no reason, you’ll be begging to die, Gaijin.”

Through cracked and bleeding lips he mumbled, “Tell him Thomas Welch is here. Thomas Welch. He knows me.”

Ten minutes later Colonel Araki sauntered in and saw his old friend bound to the chair. Welch expected him to be angry at his treatment, expected to be released instantly, but instead the colonel crossed his arms across his chest and looked down on him. He told the lieutenant to leave and to put two guards outside the tent. The lieutenant left in a flourish of bows. “Well Thomas, it’s been awhile. You were supposed to deliver the Americans to me by now. I’m assuming you being here is a sign of your failure?”

Welch pulled against his restraints. “Can you release me? I’m not leaving. I came to you.” Colonel Araki only stared, awaiting an answer. For the first time, Welch was scared. He looked Araki in the eye, trying to see his old friend, but he wasn’t there. He was replaced by a hard, remorseless warrior. “It’s been a struggle. I couldn’t convince the Americans to attack towards the hills.They were already committed to their battle plan and weren’t going to change it.” He looked down and shook his head. Blood dripped from the side of his mouth and pooled on his torn pants. He shook his head and whispered, “Nothing has gone according to plan. Nothing.”

Araki paced, then slapped him hard across the face. The sudden violence caused Welch to cry out. Blood sprayed from his nose. “You have anything for me? Anything of use? Or have I been wasting my time all these years? Are you as useless as you appear?” Welch’s shoulders heaved as tears welled. Araki yelled, “You’ve always been weak. You’ve always disappointed. I was a fool to think you could be useful to the Empire.” He grabbed his chin and made him look into his eyes. “It’s time to end my mistake; something I should have done a long time ago.”

He went to his holster and started to unbutton his 9mm Nambu. Welch’s eyes went big as saucers. He had no doubt his old friend was about to murder him. “W-wait, I have information that will help you.”

Araki pulled the pistol from its holster and chambered a round. He placed the barrel against Welch’s temple. “Go on.”

“There’s a unit, a squad of soldiers on a ridge overlooking the battlefield. They’re calling in artillery and airstrikes on your positions. I, I know where they are. I can show you.”

Colonel Araki smiled. He’d been taking accurate American fire over the past week. He had his men scouring the highlands, but they’d come up empty on the spotters’ location. He assumed it was some high flying spotter plane’s doing. He pulled the gun from his temple and called to one of the guards outside, “Bring me a map and cut this scum loose.”

Welch looked at Araki and smiled. Blood soaked his shattered teeth, giving him the look of a bloodthirsty maniac. Colonel Araki scowled at him, “You look like shit, Thomas-san.”

The soldier brought the map and handed it to Colonel Araki who spread it on a table. Welch was cut loose and he fell forward, rubbing his bleeding wrists. Colonel Araki looked at him while drumming his fingers. Welch staggered to his feet and joined him at the table. Araki said, “Show me.”

It took Welch a moment to orient himself to the map. He put his bloody finger on the spot where they were and followed it up until stopping on a ridge. Araki nodded, “I wondered about that. It was our next searching point, but the Americans attacked and I had more pressing matters.” He took out a pen from his inside pocket and circled the spot. He then brought his finger down the map to a spot in the hills far above his camp. He did some calculating in his head and nodded. “Our artillery can hit that ridge with a high arcing shot. You’re sure of this, Thomas?” Welch nodded.

Colonel Araki took out a pad of paper and wrote down the coordinates. He called to the guard who was standing against the wall at attention. “Take this to the radio room. I want the forward battery on this fire mission, priority.”

The private bowed, took the paper and ran outside. Ten minutes later the soft thumping of outgoing 175mm shells were heard. The barrage lasted five minutes. The ridge was hit with twenty shells.

Colonel Araki had been outside the tent with his old friend beside him. Welch had a bandage wrapped across his jaw and his other wounds had been treated. Araki tried to see the impacts of the barrage, but the ridge was over the horizon of a closer ridge, so it was useless. He called Lieutenant Kogi over. He ran up and stood at attention. “I want confirmation on those shots. Take half of C Company to the ridge and check to make sure of it’s complete destruction. Then I want the ridge occupied and used as a spotter position.” Lieutenant Kogi gave a crisp salute and was turning to leave. Colonel Araki asked, “Don’t we have another unit in that area, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Kogi stopped and nodded, “Yes, Sir. A squad from D Company is on the hill to the west, due South of our position. They’ve recently returned to exchange radios. They had battery power, but they are stringing communication wire up to the position as we speak. I expect them to be back in position by this evening.”

“Can they see the ridge from there?”

“It’s across the valley, but I don’t know if the jungle allows for a direct visual. When they check in I can have them scout the ridge.”

“I’ll send C Company anyway, but yes. Have them give me a damage report.” Lieutenant Kogi bowed and went to find C Company. “One more thing, Lieutenant,” he trotted back to stand in front of Colonel Araki at attention. “Mr. Welch will be accompanying you to the ridge. He knows the area and may be useful.” He slapped Welch on the back, “Perhaps after our victory you can lead the company to Captain Morrisey’s village.”

Welch grinned, relishing the thought. He started working out just what he’d say to the arrogant son-of-a-bitch as he snuffed out his last breath.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Carver, Dunphy, Hooper and O'Connor were back on the other side of the ridge listening to the Japanese troops move back into their position. By the sound of it, there was probably a light platoon. They were far outnumbered. The evening sky was cloudy and the sun was shining through in shafts. The color infused the air with a beautiful lightness, adding a tint of pink to everything. If they weren’t in such close proximity to death it would’ve been a glorious evening. They stayed hunkered down in their hastily dug foxholes. It was surreal listening to the enemy going about their business, completely oblivious to their presence.

The sun was just touching the horizon and the Japanese chatter had died down. The squad hadn’t heard anything for a few minutes. Sergeant Carver wanted to find out what was happening. He signaled that he was going to take a look. O'Connor shook his head and pointed to himself. Carver grit his teeth, but knew it was a better choice. O'Connor was a better stalker. He nodded to O'Connor, who flashed him a thumbs up.

With his rifle cradled in the crooks of his elbows, he slithered from his hole. Soon he was out of sight. Waiting was agony for the rest of them. They expected to hear shouting, then shooting and then they’d die, but it didn’t happen. twenty minutes passed before O'Connor slithered back to them. It was now completely dark. The clouds had cleared, unveiling a black sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars. Another gorgeous night on Guadalcanal.