Heroes: the Army
"...The woods remained still except for the buzz of insects around the bodies. There was no wind and the rising sun was partly covered by mist rising from the swamp so that the clearing was only illuminated in a kind of watery sunshine. As they crawled around the edge of the clearing, they could see more bodies of Gl's here and there in the short weeds. There were also two places where campfires seemed to have been burning..."
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On the 17th of January 2005, I received an e-mail message from a gentleman. The message included a story about a good friend of the submitter, Mr. Malcolm S. Rhyme, Jr.
After reading the story about Mr. Rhyme, I asked the submitter, Mr. Arch Wakefield, if he could follow up with some additional details with regards to the soldier depicted in the story.
Below is the response (edited) from Mr. Wakefield.
"...I don't have many answers for your questions, but I'll give it a shot.
Malcolm S. Rhyne, Jr. was a friend from the time we first met until his death five or six years ago. I was 13 and he was 15 when we met in Gastonia, NC in 1939. From then on, over the years, sometimes we were together, sometimes apart, but I, at least, considered him to be the brother that I did not have in my own family. We were just constantly together along with a third member of the group, Shannon Wiley Murphy, who still lives but has no nostalgia for those days. Strange - I have a thousand memories!
Being older, M.S. was drafted before I was and sent to the Pacific with, I think, an outfit called Merrill's Marauders. I don't know any other details about the unit - it's possible his wife may have some info (Name and address withheld for privacy.) I remember he thanked me profusely when I sent him two bottles of rum packed in Reader's Digest mags - we both considered it a miracle that these reached him wherever he was. I think he also considered it a miracle that he came home after three years in the infantry.
He did have an old wound scar in the area of his right kidney. This probably contributed to the necessity to be on dialysis the last four years of his life. He did not want to discuss this wound.
The story you have read, I got late one night over too many beers and too many cigarettes down at a shack on the river near Gastonia - just after the end of the war, probably in '46 or '47. I know he told me many of the names of the people involved - particularly his best friend whom I have called Charlie Commley - and the name of the Island in the Philippines, but I forgot them. I tried to put the story down on paper in '03 after more than 50 years. Another near miracle.
As for veracity. M.S. was the finest, truest, most honest man I ever knew. Not particularly intelligent and with only a high school diploma (Gastonia High), he set his own personal standards and stuck to them.
He did not curse (you may have noticed this in the story) and he absolutely would not say anything derogatory about any person. As I said at a testimonial dinner at his retirement: "I feel privileged that he calls me 'friend'."
He led a troop of boy Scouts for many years and was a Deacon in his church. At his funeral, I learned to my surprise, that there are at least three people among his descendants named 'Malcolm Shields'. He was greatly loved..."
Arch Wakefield
South Carolina
COMBAT PATROL
The two scouts, separated by about ten yards, crept slowly up the rise out of the swampy ground. There was a ridge line, maybe fifty feet high and a hundred feet wide, running through the low ground almost parallel to the landing beach which lay about eight miles behind them.
Sergeant Malcolm Shields (M.S.)Rhyne, on the right, gave hand signals to Sergeant Charlie Commley to hold up while he crossed the ridge to the far side. Then they turned left and proceeded slowly down the ridge toward the South. The forest cover was a little more open on the ridge and they could spread out wider but still stay in visual contact. The swamp, through which they had traveled almost the whole way from the beach, had been much denser with scrub trees, undergrowth and vines choking the semi-solid ground between the shallow pools of black water. Just ahead of them on the ridge was a space almost free of trees which was about a hundred feet long and almost as wide as the high ground.
The jungle was very quiet. The birds had gone silent with the soldier's passage. It was about 8 AM and the sun was just beginning to be high enough to light the higher tops of the trees on the western side. M.S. signaled to Charlie to meet him in the middle of the ridge just where the clearing started. They came together, both hunkering on their haunches and maintaining their constant surveillance of the surroundings while they spoke in whispers.
"Is this where we're supposed to meet the other guys?" asked Charlie.
"Somewhere along this ridge, I think," answered M.S. "We were supposed to be here yesterday - maybe they went on."
"We're supposed to wait for each other." Charlie spit from nervousness- "They would've waited."
"Maybe they went on back when they didn't find us. Or maybe they went a different way through the swamp. Look there." M.S. pointed.
"What? Ohhh. Its one of our guys. And there's another one. Shit! They must've bought it!"
M.S. said: "They gotta be the guys we were gonna meet. They must've run into some Japs."
Charlie: "Over there - there's some more of them." Pointing to three more bodies.
"Stay down! They might be still be here!" from M.S.
"We gotta look for the rest of 'em. Maybe some of 'em are still holding out," said Charlie.
"it don't took like it to me," said the Sergeant. "There's no shooting. I don't hear anything."
Charlie: "You go over toward the right and I'll circle left. Stay in cover!"
"O.K. But go real careful," said M.S. "Let's work over toward that tall tree at the end of the clearing," pointing.
Charlie: "O.K. Here I go. Keep your head down." He moved off to the left, almost crawling, from bush to bush, holding his rifle in one hand with finger on the trigger.
Both scouts circled slowly around the edge of the clearing, pausing frequently to listen and look. Within ten yards, they were out of sight of each other but both were making their way to the designated big tree at the far end of the clearing - about fifty yards distant.
The woods remained still except for the buzz of insects around the bodies. There was no wind and the rising sun was partly covered by mist rising from the swamp so that the clearing was only illuminated in a kind of watery sunshine. As they crawled around the edge of the clearing, they could see more bodies of Gl's here and there in the short weeds. There were also two places where campfires seemed to have been burning.
They arrived at the tree almost at the same moment. The last few yards were taken very slowly until they sighted each other and confirmed identity. Lying almost prone under a large shrub at the base of the tree, they conferred.
"I didn't see shit," said Charley, "except some more of our guys."
"Me neither," said M.S. "And I saw four or five more guys, too. It looks like the whole damn patrol bought it."
"It looked to me like the Japs had cut the guys up," said Charlie, "some of 'em had their pants pulled down and they were all bloody. Do you think the bastards tortured them?"
"No", responded the Sergeant. "Something worse. You saw those campfires?", He looked at Charlie, "Yeah, I saw 'em," Charlie responded.
M.S. spoke with deep feeling making his voice shake: "I think they cut pieces off our guys and eat 'em!" He said 'eat' but meant 'ate'.
Charlie shuddered. "What? Ate'em?"
"Yeah," answered M.S. "They cut off their butts and cooked 'em over those fires. The bastards!"
"My God! You're right!!" Suppressing a shudder of horror.
"Let's go back and tell the others - we need to find those Japs and we need help," said M.S.
Charlie asked: "Do you think we can bury 'em? I don't like to leave 'em like this."
"Maybe we can bury some of them, anyway," said M.S. "but I don't think we can do all of 'em. How many were there? Ten or twelve?"
"At least twelve. And we don't know if some more of them are somewhere else." said Charlie.
"Come on," said M.S. "let's get back to the others."
Both scouts skirted around the edge of the clearing on the same side Charlie had followed before. When they reached the spot where they had joined together after climbing the slope up from the swamp, M.S. said: "O.K. let's split again. You go back the way you came on the right and I'll go left - but this time stay in sight, if you can."
"O.K." said Charlie and moved off to the right and down the slope into the swamp.
M.S. moved left, but not so widely as on the approach a half hour before. He went slowly down the slope trying to keep Charlie in sight. Both of them were nervous as cats because of what they had seen on the ridge.
After about ten minutes careful progress to minimize splashing in the watery places, Charlie gave a low, almost guttural, whistle. It was answered immediately by a similar whistle directly ahead of him. He signaled to M.S. to stop and went slowly forward - giving another, softer, whistle. Again, he was answered and, looking in the direction of the whistle, he saw Willie looking through the leaves at him. He waved an arm and moved forward until Willie saw him.
The others were all ranged out behind Wiltie in two roughly parallel files, each within sight of the others.
Charlie gave a short, higher pitched whistle in the direction of M.S. and, a second later, they all saw the Sergeant come crouching through the brush to join them.
The Lieutenant joined them. "What?" he asked.
M.S. responded: "We found about a dozen dead guys on the ridge. Nobody alive. No Japs, no nothin"'.
"Aw shit!" said the Lieutenant. The two or three soldiers close enough to hear what M.S. said gave quiet exclamations of anger.
"Where are the f--kin' Japs?" asked Willie.
Charlie responded: "We dint see any. Not even any dead ones."
M.S. said: "There's something else."
"What?" asked the Lieutenant.
"The Japs cut pieces off our guys and eat 'em!"
"My God! Are you sure?" burst from the Lieutenant.
"Yeah - we're sure." said M.S. "We saw the cook fires."
"We gotta kill the bastards!" exclaimed Willie. "Let's go!" He made a start in the direction of the ridge.
Several of the nearest Gl's who had heard the exchange muttered various imprecations and prepared to follow Willie.
The other patrol members began gathering around when they saw the agitation of the people around the Lieutenant. "What's happenin'? What's going on?" Loud whispers.
The news was passed quickly from one to the other until all had heard the scout's story.
"Let's go get the bastards! What the hell - come on!"
"Hold it guys!" said the Lieutenant. "Spread out! Don't bunch up! And shut the f--k up!" - this last to one man who was almost shouting to get the others to move on up to the ridge.
"This is because we got hung up in the swamp and didn't get there when we were supposed to," said the Lieutenant, "we're a whole day late!"
The patrol had started out, yesterday, in a straight line from the north end of the beach intending to go directly inland for the seven or eight miles to the ridge line. Here, they would turn and proceed south on the ridge. A similar patrol had started out from the south end of the landing beach and were supposed to come north on the ridge. The patrols would meet and follow each other's path back to the beach.
This patrol had run into a lake and had scouted both north and south for hours before they found a place shallow enough to cross. Darkness had caught them and they had bivouacked on a small hummock of dry land until it was light enough to proceed. Thus the delay in reaching the ridge line.
The Lieutenant and the two Sergeants got everybody calmed down and got the patrol spread out into two files again. Then M.S. and Charlie moved off in the lead - one to the right and one to the left - but this time nearly everybody was in sight of one another. Many of them had to pause to urinate because of nervousness. In their haste to go after the Japs, they made far more noise than necessary as they moved through the short stretch of swamp to the beginning of the slope. Here the Lieutenant spread them out into a skirmish line parallel to the slope - each one in sight of the two to his right and left. The scouts crept slowly up the hill a few yards ahead of the line, giving hand signals to the others to follow them.
The line arrived near the crest of the hill and paused in place. The clearing was at the left side of the line. The Lieutenant signaled. Irish to lead the right side of the line to swing around, still spread out widely, until they were across the hill, facing south. The G.I.'s on the right and left flanks were down in the swamp on each side of the ridge.
They held in this position while the Lieutenant sent Irish to range along the far side of the ridge south of the line and down into the swamp. M.S. went south along the near side of the ridge. They proceeded until they had gone past the clearing. Nothing was found so the Lieutenant posted scouts at four corners while the others went into the clearing.
Three of the soldiers began to collect the dog tags - the ones on the short chains, where present. Corporal Johns began searching some of the pockets and putting the wallets he found into a ditty bag he took from the Lieutenant.
"Are we gonna try to bury 'em?" asked one of the men.
"I'd sure as hell like to," said the Lieutenant, "but I don't think we can do it. There's too many."
"Poor f--kin' bastards!" said a private. "Gettin' eaten by the f--kin' Japs!"
Just then a fusillade of small arms fire broke out south of the clearing. Bullets flicked through the leaves and among the men in the clearing. There was a cry from the north west and then another one from a private in the clearing.
"I'm hit! Oh God, I'm hit!" a panicky cry from Little Johnny.
Everybody hit the deck and aimed their rifles in the general direction from which the fire had come. Nobody fired.
The corporal with the medical kit crawled over to Little Johnny. "Where is it? Where are you hit?" he asked.
Little Johnny responded with a shaky half scream: "In the arm. In the arm. The bastards hit me in the arm."
He held out his right arm, half holding it with the left. Blood was coming from a wound in the upper arm.
"Help me!"
The corporal unwrapped a wad of bandage and pressed it over the wound. "Here -hold this!" he said to Little Johnny.
Little Johnny held the bandage with this left hand, whimpering a little with his lower lip trembling. "How bad is it?" he asked.
"Wait a minute," said the corporal, "lemme look!" He took out a scissor from the medical kit and cut away the sleeve above the wound - working around the bandage. "It ain't bad - just into the muscle."
"Thank God!" said the Private. His lip continued to tremble and he fought back the urge to cry.
"Johnny!" called the Lieutenant from the north west where the first cry had come from, "Get over here with the kit, quick!"
"Coming," called the corporal, handing Little Johnny a roll of gauze. "Here, wrap this around that bandage."
He crawled away in the direction of the Lieutenant's call.
Twenty yards away he came on the Lieutenant and Charlie. Charlie was down and was obviously hit bad.
His face was white and he was shaking. The Lieutenant was pressing a bandage to the left side of Charlie's chest. There was a lot of blood.
"Am I gonna die?" Charlie asked the Lieutenant in a shaky whisper. "Oh God! Don't let me die!"
"You're gonna be OK," said the Lieutenant and lifted the bandage slightly so that the corporal could see the wound. It was a small bore bullet but had gone in very near the heart. It was obvious that it was very, very bad.
Corporal Whitaker still had the scissors in his hand, he cut through Charlie's shirt around the wound, got his bottle of antiseptic and, lifting the Lieutenant's hand holding the bandage, poured some into the wound. Then he sprinkled some powder from the kit and got out a fresh gauze bandage and pressed it into the wound.
The blood continued in spite of the pressure.
"Johnny, am I gonna die?" asked Charlie in a wavering voice. "How bad is it, Lieutenant?" he looked pleadingly at the Lieutenant.
"It's not so bad," said Johnny, "you're gonna be O.K."
The Lieutenant said: "Johnny is fixing it good. Don't worry about it."
The Corporal added another bandage on top of the first one and applied more pressure. "Lieutenant, hold this a minute -- lots of pressure," he said. The Lieutenant complied.
Whitaker got out a roll of adhesive tape and pulled off a piece about twenty inches long. It was too wide to tear easily, so he cut it with the scissors and placed it over the gauze and stuck it down from belly mid-line down to ribs. Then he added a second piece at right angles. Then a couple more. The blood flow lessened.
Meanwhile, the rest of the patrol was lying prone behind whatever cover they could find. Pointing their rifles in various directions depending on where each of them thought the firing had come from. There were no more shots but each man studied the surrounding forest intensely.
"Where the f--k are they?" one whispered.
"Charlie got hit!" whispered another.
"What the hell are we going to do?" asked another. "Lets shoot over there where the shots came from," suggested one Private.
"Hold your fire!" whispered the Sergeant "Don't shoot unless you see something to shoot at!"
The Lieutenant came over, crawling on his knees and elbows, cradling his carbine in his left hand. "M.S." he whispered.
"Sir," answered the Sergeant crawling toward the Lieutenant.
"Sergeant Commley got hit bad. We gotta try and figure how to get him outta here."
"Not Charlie!! Oh God!" said M.S. "Where's he hit?"
"In the chest - left side. Johnny's got him bandaged good, but he doesn't look so hot," said the Lieutenant.
"We're gonna have to carry him back, some f--king how."
The Sergeant said: "I gotta go see Charlie. Be right back" At the Lieutenant's nod, he moved off in a half crouch to where his friend lay.
"How's it goin', Charlie?" he asked, falling to one knee beside the injured man.
"Not so good, Buddy. I think I bought it." his voice trembled and he grasped M.S. by the collar of his shirt. "It hurts like hell."
"Where'r you hit?" asked M. S. Then: "Oh, I see it - it don't look so bad."
Charlie pulled himself up off the ground with his grip on the Sergeant's collar. "Promise me one thing, M.S." he pleaded.
"Sure, Charlie, what is it?"
"Promise me you won't let the f--king Japs eat me? I can't stand that!" Charlie's voice was shaking with fear, pain and horror. "Promise me you won't let 'em eat me?"
"Sure, Charlie. I promise I won't let 'em eat you." the Sergeant replied, adding, although he didn't really believe it: "We're gonna get you out of here and you're gonna be O.K."
"Don't gimme no shit, M.S., just don't' let 'em eat me!"
"Swear to God, buddy, I won't let the Japs get you", M.S. responded - thereby committing himself in his own mind.
"Thank's, M.S. That's what I needed to know." Charlie released his grip on the shirt collar and fell back on the ground.
M.S. said: "Gimme your poncho - we're going to make a stretcher to carry you on." He picked up the poncho from beside Charlie where the Lieutenant had thrown it when he took off Charlie's web belt and pack.
Moving back to the Lieutenant he asked: "Are we gonna go on south before we turn out to the beach. Or are we just gonna go back the way we came?"
"No f--king way we're going south. That's where the Japs shot from. Besides -- with the other patrol all shot up, there ain't no need to keep on with the f--king plan".
M.S. said: "I'll get a couple of guys to make a stretcher so we can carry him out."
"We can't just stand up and walk out of here 'til we clear out the bastards." said the Lieutenant "Take a couple of guys and see if you can flush the bastards out. Send one down the right side of this ridge and one down the other side."
The Sergeant moved off towards the two nearest soldiers. "Tonio," he whispered, "we're gonna go scout out these Japs."
The Private answered: "Good - let's go get the bastards!"
"You go along the ridge here down thataway." The Sergeant pointed. "Keep me in sight, if you can. I'll be over there on that side." He pointed again. "Go real slow and keep your eyes peeled."
Tonio asked: "What do I do if I see a Jap? Can I shoot?"
M.S. responded: "No. I think it's better if you wait 'til I see one, too. If you see something, give me the signal." He stuck up the middle finger of his left hand.
"O.K." said Tonio, spitting twice and holding his rifle with both hands to still the shaking.
"Tell your guys where we're going. I don't wanta get shot by one of them," said the Sergeant., "wait 'til I get over yonder, then we'll move out together."
"O.K."
The Sergeant moved over to the left side of the ridge, giving a thumbs up to the Lieutenant as he passed within view and crawling up to each soldier he saw to give a whispered message. He handed his and Charlie's ponchos to one of the men: "Get a couple of sticks and make a stretcher so we can carry Sergeant Commley." He passed Little Johnny who was prone under a bush and nursing his bandaged arm. He looked like hell. "Me and Tonio are going down that way to see if we can find the Japs," he whispered.
Little Johnny nodded.
M.S. kept looking over to where Tonio was crawling from man to man to pass the word. It was going to be hard to keep in sight when they had to stay so low. He waited until Tonio seemed to be ready, then signaled to move out south. To keep in sight of each other it was almost necessary to stay in the. clearing; when he and Charlie had come this way before, they could stay in the trees on each side of the clearing because they were walking upright.
Twenty minutes slow progress and Tonio suddenly saw a movement ahead of him. He froze and gave the finger signal to M.S. At the moment, they were too far apart and M.S. didn't see it. Tonio decided he had only seen the movement of a leaf, so he proceeded onwards very, very slowly.
All of a sudden there was a shot from somewhere in a tree directly ahead of Tonio. He took the bullet just under the collar bone on the left side. He jumped upright with a strangled scream and fired the full clip in his rifle at nothing before he fell to the ground and began the heavy grunting breaths leading to death. Two more shots came from the tree.
M.S. heard the shot, of course, and rose to his knees to look at Tonio. He saw him rise and shoot then fall.
When the additional shots came from the tree, he was watching. He lifted his rifle and fired three times at the spot. There was a cry from the tree and a figure dressed in brown fell with a heavy crashing noise.
M.S. moved immediately toward Tonio. By the time he reached him, it was obvious that the Private was dead, M.S. wasted no time. He got under some brush, reloaded his rifle, and waited.
Three or four brown clad figures wearing the distinctive Japanese helmets came through the underbrush at a half crouch. M.S. calmly aimed and fired three times with deliberate speed. Two of the figures fell - the others disappeared into the underbrush.
A fusillade of small arms fire erupted through the woods. Most of it seemed to be aimed in the general direction of where Tonio lay. One or two bullets passed through the leaves near M.S. He delayed no longer but took off back toward the rest of the patrol with all possible speed considering he was on all fours.
Every four or five yards, he stopped and checked behind him. Once, he detected a pursuer, aimed carefully and took him down. Figuring there was little more to fear, he began calling in a strong whisper: "Hey guys, it's me. Don't shoot."
He was answered almost immediately by several voices: "Over here, Sarge! Come on!" He risked rising to a half crouch and ran into the perimeter the soldiers had made facing south.
"Where's Tonio? What happened? How many Japs did you see?" several voices called.
"Tonio bought the farm," he responded. "I think I got a couple of them, but there's more following me."
As if in response to his warning, a skirmish line of Japs came out of the brush coming at them in a half run. They were firing their rifles as they came - to little effect.
"Shoot the bastards!" yelled the Lieutenant, firing his carbine from the prone position.
A ragged volley broke out from the M1 's in support of the carbine. Most of the attacking Japanese fell to the ground. Some were hit and shrieked as they fell, others were merely taking cover and continued to fire.
A brief fire fight broke out punctuated by cries and shouts. The M1 fire became more disciplined and systematic. The remaining Japanese leaped to their feet and ran back from were they had come - two more fell during this retreat. The woods became still except for the cries of the wounded.
"Let's go get 'em!" shouted the Lieutenant, leaping to his feet and looking at his men.
Several soldiers got to their feet. One man was trying to reload his rifle. "Come on! Let's get the bastards!," one of them called. The lieutenant started off in the direction the Japanese had gone. Five or six men followed him. All were standing in a half crouch. Two of the downed Japanese tried to rise and aim their rifles. Both were immediately shot.
At that instant, a mortar round fell nearby. The explosion was deafening.
Everybody hit the ground. "I'm hit!," screamed one man.
"Me, too!" shouted another.
"Who's hit?" yelled the Lieutenant, holding his left arm where a piece of shrapnel had struck a glancing blow.
"Me!" yelled one man." Ed! Where's Johnny? I need help!" Panic in his voice.
"I'm hit, too," called another.
"Who?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Hank." called the man. "I think Johnny's hit, too!"
The Lieutenant called: "Sergeant, where are you?"
M.S. answered from a little distance away. "Over here Lieutenant!"
"Let's get out of this spot. The bastards will probably put another round in. Go back north." the Lieutenant called.
Several soldiers rose to a half crouch and began moving back north along the ridge. A number were obviously wounded. One soldier put his arm around another to help him when he saw that his leg was hurt.
There were several cries of pain and some moans as the little band straggled back about 50 yards.
Another mortar round came in. Almost in the same place as the first. Nobody called out.
The lieutenant crawled from man to man checking who was present and what injuries there were. M. S. did the same. They met to confer.
"I saw O'Malley and Denver and Maddox and Osmar. Osmar is hit. He's Hank. isn't he?" the Lieutenant said.
"Yeah," said M.S. " I saw Wally and Jack and Tim and Little Johnny. Little Johnny is hit in the arm. Tonio bought it just before the firing - he's out there somewhere." Waiving a hand in the general direction.
"And Sergeant Commley is still over there where we left him." added the Lieutenant.
"Did you see Johnny?" asked M.S.
"That's Whittaker?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Yeah"
"No, I didn't," said the Lieutenant. Turning to two men nearby, he asked:" Did you all see Whittaker - Little Johnny?"
They both answered no. One said, "I didn't see him when we were running back here."
At that instant, another round landed nearby. There were two cries from the general area where it landed.
"Oh, God!" said the Lieutenant, "Somebody else got hit!" He moved off in the direction of the cries. M. S. followed, maintaining his distance.
They found Sergeant O'Malley sitting up with a dazed look on his face staring at a gaping wound in his right leg just above the knee. M. S. crawled over to him.
"How's it goin' Irish?" he asked.
The Sergeant looked at him with blank eyes, "I'm hit! I'm hit! Real bad!"
"It's not so bad." said M. S. "Here, lemme work on it a minute. You just lie back"
He tore the pants leg away from the wound as best he could. "Where's your aid kit?" he asked.
"On my belt in the back," responded O'Malley. his voice shaking. He fumbled to get it, but M.S. pushed his hand aside and opened the kit. He got out the bandage and pushed it into the wound. He opened his own kit and wrapped his bandage around the leg, tying the ends together to keep everything together.
The Lieutenant whispered: "I'm going to try to get us all assembled at the north end where we came up the ridge. Try to get there." He moved off.
M.S. responded: "O.K." Then he looked at the bandage. "That ought to hold it for a minute." he said to O'Malley, "Do you think you can walk?"
"I don't know," said O'Malley, "I'll try." With help, he got to his feet and took one step. The hurt leg buckled at the knee. "Ow! Ow! That hurts!".
M.S. said: "I'll hold you up - we need to move out of here." He lifted O'Malley to his feet and got the injured man's right arm around his neck. Going slowly, they moved off north along the ridge to where the others were assembled.
Fifteen minutes later at the assembly point, spread out from the top of the ridge line down the slope to the edge of the swamp, were: The Lieutenant with a bandage on his arm, M.S., Charlie in a stretcher made with two poles and two ponchos, Irish with a splint on his leg and a crutch made from a forked stick, Ed with a bandage on the left side of his face and his left arm in a sling, Little Johnny with a bandage on the superficial wound on his arm, Hank with his right arm in a sling and a bandage on shoulder and arm, Willy, Homer, Tim, Wally and Jack.
The Lieutenant asked: "Is anybody left back there?" Waving at the top of the ridge where the mortars had landed.
One soldier responded: "Only Johnny - he's dead." Another said: "I ain't seen Tonio."
M.S. said: "Tonio bought it just before the Japs came at us."
"O.K." said the Lieutenant. "Let's move out straight back the way we came."
M.S. grabbed the poles on one end of Charlie's stretcher. Willy picked up the other end. They lifted and were rewarded with an agonized groan from Charlie.
The Lieutenant said to Jack and Hank, whose names he really didn't know, "You two stay back about ten yards to watch the rear." Noticing the fear on their faces, he added: "A couple of us will relieve you every few minutes."
The patrol moved out. M.S. and Willy carrying Charlie, Homer helping Irish as best he could with Wally carrying Homer's pack and rifle. After about fifteen minutes and a half mile, the initial pace had slowed. The Lieutenant called in a loud whisper: "Hold up a little. You two," he pointed at Little Johnny and Ed, "take up the rear guard."
Shortly, Jack and Hank rejoined the group. The Lieutenant told them: "You guys take the stretcher for awhile when we move out again."
M.S. said, steadily, "I'm gonna carry Charlie. I promised and I'm gonna do it!"
The Lieutenant shrugged: "Suit yourself. When you get too tired, one of us will take over."
The patrol proceeded in this way following the path they had already laid out as best they could. The pauses became more and more frequent. M.S. consistently refused assistance with Charlie's stretcher. He was beginning to show the strain - he had thrown away his pack and his web belt with canteen. When they reached the place where they had waded through the lake, he threw away his rifle, too.
"Come on, Sarge, lemme take over," said Tim. "Yeah, me too" said Jack.
The Sergeant responded with a gruff: "No! I'm gonna do it - I promised."
Willy asked the Lieutenant: "Lemme go on ahead and see if some guys will come and meet us."
"Wait 'til we're closer to the beach," the Lieutenant answered , "we need you "here right now."
"Then how 'bout I go on ahead?" asked Ed. "I can't do much here."
"O.K. go ahead, but don't get too far away," said the Lieutenant.
They waded through the muddy water trying to follow the line they had scoped out before where it wasn't too deep. The water varied from knee to waist deep and the footing was soft mud. Irish had a hard time making it through the swamp. One man got on each side and held him under the arms. Another carried the crutch. The two stretcher bearers were overwhelmed. Even with help from two more soldiers, they frequently let Charlie fall into the water.
After one such fall, the Lieutenant came over and examined Charlie. "I think he's dead," he told the stretcher bearers.
"No! Noi" said M.S. "He's gonna be fine when we get to dry land."
After a struggle that exhausted all of them, they reached the firm ground on the other side of the water. Little Johnny, the Lieutenant and Willy examined Charlie closely. "He's dead," they all said, "look, he's not breathing." The lieutenant tried to find Charlie's pulse in wrist and then in the neck. "He's dead," he said.
M.S. grasped the stretcher poles and prepared to lift.
"What are you doin', Sarge?" asked Willy. "He's dead. We don't have to carry him any further."
M.S. glared at him. "I promised. We're gonna carry him back. I promised the Japs wouldn't eat him !"
"What the f--k are you talking about," said the Lieutenant. "He's dead - leave him here. It's no use carrying him any more."
"I'm gonna carry him," said the Sergeant, "I promised."
"Well you're gonna do it by yourself, then," said Willy, "I aint carrying no dead man!"
Several others agreed: "Leave him here, Sarge. We can't carry him any more."
M.S. contemplated them for a moment. He removed Charlie's shoelaces and, with deliberate movements, used one to tie Charlie's wrists together and the other to tie his ankles.
"What the shit are you doing?" asked Little Johnny. "Yeah, what the f--k is that for?" asked Hank. The lieutenant watched.
M.S. grasped Charlie's hands and feet and, with a sudden effort, lifted him to his shoulders in a fireman's carry.
"That's stupid!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "What the hell are you thinking?"
"I'm gonna carry Charlie," said M.S. and, staggering a little under the weight, stepped off in the direction of the beach, "I promised."
Little Johnny said: "Come, on, guys. If he's gonna do that, we gotta help!" "No we don't," said the Lieutenant. "If he's going to be that dumb, nobody is going to help him!"
So the group struggled on. The uninjured ones supporting the injured. Ed and Homer were practically carrying Irish who had almost given up trying to use his good leg and was being almost dragged. M.S., of course, fell further and further behind. Each time he would stagger and fall, dropping Charlie's body, one of the others would quietly drop back to help him pick up his burden again.
The ground gradually rose and became firmer. This made progress a little easier, but the underbrush got thicker where it did not have to grow in standing water and this impeded progress again. The patrol exited the tree line at the beach. Willy was the first; he stumbled on at a half run yelling for help. The lieutenant was next followed closely by Tim and Homer, carrying Sergeant O'Malley between them. Jack and Hank came next. Jack's right arm was under Hank's shoulder, taking most of his weight, and his left held Hank's arm around his own neck. Hank was in bad shape - he had thrown away his helmet and his rifle and his wound had bled heavily.
Ed and Little Johnny hung back trying to persuade M.S. to let them carry Charley. "We're back to the beach, Sergeant, let us carry him now" said Little Johnny.
The Sergeant, with the look of death on his face, did not appear to hearthem. He plodded on with his burden, staggering this way and that but remaining on his feet.
"C'mon, Sarge, we can carry him now." said Ed. His wound had bled a lot and he didn't look like he could help anybody carry anything.
Little Johnny tried to remove one of Charlie's feet from the Sergeant's right shoulder: "Lemme carry him, Sarge." The Sergeant twisted his upper body violently to jerk the foot out of Johnny's hands. He did not speak.
The group broke through the trees and started across the beach - M. S. carrying Charlie's body across his shoulders, with Ed on one side and Little Johnny on the other trying to support some of the weight. All three reeling and staggering at the limit of endurance-Four corpsmen came jogging up carrying two stretchers.
"Here, guys, put him in the stretcher." They laid a stretcher on the ground and opened it. M. S. and his two side supporters staggered on without, apparently, even noticing the corpsmen. Little Johnny tried again to remove Charlie's feet from M.S.'s shoulders staggering on with the Sergeant as he continued his slow progress down the beach.
"Hey, guys'" yelled one of the Corpsmen, "Stop and let us carry him."
M.S. continued plodding onward. Little Johnny gave up his attempt to help and suddenly sat down in the sand. He began to cry, quietly. When Ed saw this, he also gave up trying to support some of Charlie's weight. He fell to all fours in the sand - his head hanging almost to the ground.
The Corpsmen loaded each of them into a stretcher, picked them up and began taking them to the aid station which was almost directly ahead just above high water mark. They passed M.S. and his burden. Willy, Hank and the Lieutenant had now come back from the aid station and surrounded the Sergeant trying to remove Charlie's body. M. S. fought them off and continued on his painful course. They quit trying to help and walked, slowly, beside the Sergeant. A couple of corpsmen and several G.l.'s had come to see what was happening. They all stood silently watching until M. S. reached the entrance to the aid station tent.
Pausing a moment and looking slowly around, he seemed to become aware of where he was. He stood reeling with exhaustion for what seemed to be a half minute and then sank to his knees, bowed forward and released Charlie's body on to the sand.
Ready hands grasped Charlie and put him on to a stretcher. More hands grasped M. S. and put him on to a second stretcher which was carried into the aid station immediately.
Lieutenant Smalley, Sergeant Irish O'Malley, Private Ed Morten, Private Little Johnny Smith and Private Hank Osmar - all wounded - were evacuated to the hospital ship within two hours. Irish lost his right leg just above the knee and was discharged from the Army a year later.
Sergeant Rhyne was held in the aid station for ten hours. He was given two units of glucose for dehydration and he was washed to remove the blood, sweat and dirt. Then he was evacuated to a ship where he was fed and put to bed for a long sleep. Two months later he took part in another landing on another island and afterwards was assigned to the garrison in Hiroshima. This is the story of one incident on a small Pacific island during the big war.
Interested in some background
information?
Check out the related links below...
American Battle Monuments Commission: WWII Honor Roll
National World War II Memorial
The above story is by Mr. Arch Wakefield of South Carolina.
The story is re-printed here on World War II Stories -- In Their Own Words with the kind permission of Mr. Heintze.
Original Story submitted on 17 January
2005.
Story added to website on 14 February
2005.
September 5,
2002.