8.(11-16) Conqueror of Guadalcanal?

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11. Conqueror of Guadalcanal

Aboard a troopship on hot afternoon out of Rabaul heading down the Slot, as Navy now refers to the channel between the two rows of islands leading to Guadalcanal. I travel at Ichiki's side, notebook in hand taking down every word he utters.  Fuji has convinced Ichiki that my History of the Solomon Islands Campaign will be a hero-maker so Ichiki favors me with utmost confidence. The ship is packed with men and equipment; the troops are fresh from Tokyo – clean-shaven, well-uniformed and, like Ichiki, bright-eyed to hit the Yankees hard.
   Strolling among them I hear wagers on who will return with the most Marine ears. Ichiki himself is top of heap, posing for photos in gray-green combat fatigues, dark glasses, grenades hanging from shoulders and samurai sword handle jutting from waist like wicked cartoon erection. I can see the caption – CONQUEROR OF GUADALCANAL AWARDED EMPEROR’S MEDAL OF HONOR.

12. First Battle Plan

Night has fallen as our blacked-out transport silently slices through waters off Guada. The plan is to land at Taivu Point and march west along north coast to mouth of the Ilu River, which is eastern defense line of the airfield, then attack at 10 PM tomorrow just when Ichiki expects the Marines to be tucked in and kissed off by Red Cross comfort women who, according to our propaganda, always accompany American troops. Our men will cross the Ilu at a shallow sandbar and, in a daring banzai charge, completely overrun the airstrip and send the terrified Marines jumping into the jungle in their underwear. The plan is simple and would succeed if it had surprise and we had number superiority but after Yamamoto's interview I take it the Americans know our plans, so for me the main question is: How to avoid getting killed.

   We wade ashore in early AM; dark and luminous sea creatures cling to our uniforms causing them to give off eerie glow and have a ghostly appearance.

13. Losers

In first light of dawn the troops get ration of rice, dried fish and a pineapple slice. As I sit eating with Ichiki, we hear a rustle from jungle edge and, turning, I see 5 men stumble toward us. Some are naked, some wear only tattered remains of Imperial Army uniforms and their skins are alive with leeches, blood red and finger long, and also covered by festering scabs and raw bruises. Eyes shine abnormally from emaciated-skull heads signifying advanced malaria. They fall at Ichiki's feet speaking barely intelligibly. “Your Excellence – we Navy men – in Jungle ten days – no food – poison water – Malaria.”

   Ichiki turns to his officers. “So these are the losers who ran away. Navy men? A disgrace to the Imperial fighting forces! A self-respecting soldier or sailor who has lost to the Yankee Monkeys should be dead by the enemy or by his own hand.”

   Despite his anger, he orders the stragglers escorted to an evacuation launch.

14. Leave War to Us Professionals

For the rest of morning we run sham battle; then the brigade assembles for pep talk. I jot down phrases: “Holy battle!” “Defend mothers, sisters, wives!” “White barbarians!” “No retreat!” “Die with honor!” “Preserve the Emperor!” At its end, most of the men are in tears.

   Late afternoon the soldiers hitch up fighting gear and troop off behind Ichiki. Night drops with sodden southern suddenness and a light rain starts to fall as I march beside Ichiki, with Tennyson’s “Into the Valley of Death” in my mind. We move into swarms of malarial mosquitoes.
   From the bush come screeches. I mention to Ichiki perhaps they may be American coastal scouts signaling our approach. He laughs.  “You’ve a writer's imagination, Kimura, everybody knows the Americans are afraid of jungles. Why don't you leave war to us professionals?”
 We trudge on in silence.

15. Ambush

11 PM: We pause one kilometer from the Ilu River with attack set for midnight. The jungle screeches have stopped and we sit on the sand. Staccato automatic weapon fire shatters silence and brilliant white flare in sky ahead momentarily turns night into day. Ichiki orders the men to advance.

   The rat-tat-tat ceases with flare burnout and night is impenetrable especially here drenched in inky blackness. I can barely make out Ichiki beside me. We advance further, the men spread out in rows holding bayonet-tipped rifle barrels at forward 45-degree while Ichiki holds in right hand his samurai sword pointing forward and in left, his hand pistol. And I with submachine gun I know not how to use!  I pray to Atheist Goddess, “Let me live!” My heart beats faster, faster, not my own master when I imagine what is ahead. My uniform is soaking wet with sweat and I recall the words of an old sergeant: “When bullets fly, keep a tight asshole.” I am trying.

   Peering ahead into the blackness I am first to make out the ragged figure staggering towards us – our scout. As he comes up to Ichiki and gives weak salute I note with horror in brief flash of rockets he is dripping blood from raw hanging piece of flesh. He falls at Ichiki's feet. “Excellence, it is an ambush!” And then he is none.

   Ichiki looks down and, saying nothing, raises arm and gives flash signal to the troops. The assault will proceed as planned.

16. It Could Be Worse

We no longer have surprise and from what happened to our scout one can guess the Marines are not being tucked in by their Red Cross women. Why use scouts if their intelligence is ignored because it does not fit an ill-conceived immutable plan of action?

   Ahead is sound of running water. Minutes later we stand on east bank of the Ilu River where it flows into the sea. The water is cool and shallow as we cross over a sandbar.

   Ichiki raises his right arm from which luminous paint gives signal. We are walking in water no more than ankle deep. A few steps further my foot strikes something, I lurch forward extending my left hand to cushion the fall, and it sinks into something soft and still warm, the innards of a body torn open. I am roughly pulled to my feet and shoved forward. We reach a wide sandbar halfway point in river crossing, pause, then Ichiki raises hs hand, signaling further advance.
   Brilliant white flare lights sky behind. Glancing over shoulder I see as in camera flash rows of men in gray-green Imperial Army combat fatigues holding bayonet-tipped rifles pointed forward and up 45-degree. The faces appear ghost like in eerie flare light.

   Ichiki raises sword. A second flare lights scene and Ichiki’s face explodes. It is almost too quick to comprehend. One second he is standing, heroic figure with sword upraised and face contorted in martial madness, next the face is disintegrated into mangled masses of raw red flesh speckled with white shattered bone, and bright red blood spurts from severed arteries in neck. Where, an instant before had been Colonel Kiyonao Ichiki, would-be conqueror of Guadalcanal and most certainly soon-to-be possessor of posthumous Purple Chrysanthemum from the Emperor, now is a tangle of bleeding flesh that will feed the sea life of coral mudflats.

   With Ichiki's sudden death, my senses are temporarily blocked but they rapidly recover. Night silence and dark is shattered and lighted by what seems hundreds of firecrackers followed by massive earth-quaking explosions. All is chaos and confusion. Almost everybody about is dead or dying. I am saved by flinging myself forward on my face. Above my prostrate body, machine gun bullets fly and the air is filled with screams.

  More flares overhead. I have only one thing in mind now – survival.  I squirm forward in the shallows using dying dead bodies for protective screen. After several minutes the water deepens and I find myself swimming out into the shark-infested sea. Given choice between Yankee bullets and possible Coral Sea shark jaws I choose jaws. As I once heard a physician say at the bedside of a patient whose hands, feet and face were eaten away by bacteria “It could be worse.” I swim into darkness while behind me the ghastly light of flares tells the fate of Ichiki and his men.
   To read on, click 8.(17-18) Napoleon, at Guadalcanal?