Slim Novel 8 - http://adventuresofkimi.blogspot.com - See Homepage
23. Advance
We movie out, advancing up the ridge through jumbles of volcanic rock overgrown with shrubbery. We race forward about 15 meters then dive behind bushes or boulders. So far no Marines. After a few forward movements I am breathing hard, aching all over and sweat soaked.
Another advance and I drop exhausted trailingFuji behind bush. “There's their line!” he mutters. In moonlight I see top of ridge marked by rocks between which tips of machine guns project. Fuji is busy on field phone.
Am I to join the wave of attack? I know I will never make it alive across the open stretch ahead. As if telepathic Fuji turns and says “Just stay here with me. We two, too important to die.”
23. Advance
We movie out, advancing up the ridge through jumbles of volcanic rock overgrown with shrubbery. We race forward about 15 meters then dive behind bushes or boulders. So far no Marines. After a few forward movements I am breathing hard, aching all over and sweat soaked.
Another advance and I drop exhausted trailingFuji behind bush. “There's their line!” he mutters. In moonlight I see top of ridge marked by rocks between which tips of machine guns project. Fuji is busy on field phone.
Am I to join the wave of attack? I know I will never make it alive across the open stretch ahead. As if telepathic Fuji turns and says “Just stay here with me. We two, too important to die.”
No-man’s land erupts, jarring eardrums as mortars drop from trajectory.
“Perfect hits!” shoutsFuji over phone to mortar men. “Now, the smoke bombs!”
“Perfect hits!” shoutsFuji over phone to mortar men. “Now, the smoke bombs!”
24. Attack
Bursts of dense white smoke fill the moonlit night obscuring the Marine guns. Fuji shouts Banzai! and all around I hear screamed curses: “Marine eat shit!” “Marine screw mother!” “Ass-fuck sister!” “Eleanor lesbian!” “FDR suck cock!”
Immediately the Marine response: Machine-gun bullets, artillery shells, mortars, grenades, rockets. The ground trembles from explosions, the night's blackness is streaked by brilliant tracers, the air overhead is cut by bullets, and, above it all, the agonized screams of men being torn apart.
A flare lights the sky; I lift head and glimpse no-man’s land strewn with bodies of dead and dying men screaming in pain. Along the rock-outlined top of ridge, figures grapple. An Imperial Army officer brings sword down on Marine whose bayonet has pierced the officer’s abdomen; and one of our infantrymen blows out an American boy’s brain, point blank.
The flare dies out and Fuji calls up next wave. Again the night fills with screams, banzais and curses then another wave.
25. Last Banzai
4 AM and a lull interrupted by stinking smoke. Eyes tear & sting, lips & tongue burn, throat raw & dry.
Five times, Fuji calls up a human-wave banzai charge, five times our men reach crest of ridge, battle Marines hand to hand and are repulsed.
I believed our propaganda about the ineptness of the American as fighting man – but to me this ineptness is admirable: Who wants to live among people who excel at murdering a stranger in the night? Now I see the American is as skillful at murder as we are.
I believed our propaganda about the ineptness of the American as fighting man – but to me this ineptness is admirable: Who wants to live among people who excel at murdering a stranger in the night? Now I see the American is as skillful at murder as we are.
Fuji is telephoning an order and interrupts my musing. “We're down to last dreg. Damn the Marine! He's pulled a Thermopylae . Time for the Last Banzai, Kimura.”
Last banzai? I anticipated an orderly withdrawal but Fuji’s expression is grim. He barks order into phone then shouts “Alright, move out!” I heft sub-machine gun and follow fearfully.
As we move crouching across clearing, it is hard to avoid bodies. Mortars pound the Marine line, temporarily silencing the machine guns but, before we get halfway, bullets whiz. To my right, Old Sarge drops, face a mess of blood. I fall to crawl. There is no place to go but forward.
I dive behind jumble of rocks. Above, 3 meters to right, flashing light and staccato sound locates Marine machine gun. Right and left, dark figures clamber over last rock shouting unintelligible imprecations.
I am poked sharply in rear. “Alright Kimura, up and at ‘em, your time to howl!” It is Fuji! He lobs grenade shouting “Kill! Kill! Kill!” and rushes toward the blasted-out machine gun nest, his burp gun beating a raucous rat tat tat while I run at his side, trigger finger pressed in uncontrollable spasm, body rocked by automatic rifle recoil. Maniac voice sounds in my ear, “Die, bastard, die!” I know the voice. It is I!
From here, recall is kaleidoscopic: Big Marine lieutenant kneeling in pool of bright red blood that rapidly deepens from spurting right neck gash, struggling to raise pistol and getting face blown away by Fuji's hand gun; a shiny sharp bayonet point accelerating toward my navel gripped by baby-faced, blue-eyed Marine who at last second is blown off aim and into eternity by my blasting burp gun's bursting bullets; a Yankee Monkee severed head lopped off by Fuji's samurai sword.
Mind recoils then blurs as head collides with hard place and I have vague impression of lying crumpled across several bodies at base of rock.
How many minutes or hours?
How many minutes or hours?
Drip-drip-drip dripping and something running down my cheek – blood – mine.
To read on, click 8.(26-27) My Gorgeous Geisha - Sex! Sex! Sex!
To read on, click 8.(26-27) My Gorgeous Geisha - Sex! Sex! Sex!
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