The Ghost Mountain Boys - James E. Campbell [108]
Twice a day, American patrols attacked the Japanese and then retreated to their company command posts. Company E was so close to enemy lines that the GIs could hear the Japanese chattering. The patrols could not get too close because the Japanese had run trip vines up and down their lines. Behind the vines, though, the Japanese had grown lackadaisical. Swede Nelson and squad leader Sergeant Ned Myers took advantage of their inattention. Armed with tommy guns, the two men sneaked within thirty yards of a Japanese pillbox without being detected. Fifteen enemy soldiers were laughing and smoking when Nelson and Myers opened fire, killing twelve of them.
At night, the Americans ceased their attacks and stuck to their miserable, water-filled foxholes, which most men had dug using the pans from their mess kits because they did not have entrenching tools. They stayed put, two men to a hole for protection, listening to the sounds of the jungle, trying to distinguish the swamp rats scurring through the long grass from Japanese soldiers creeping in for a closer shot.
The Americans took little comfort in the foxholes. “Even with a guy right there, you’d wake up in the middle of the night and just lie there, listening and staring at the black,” Lutjens explained.
In contrast to Smith’s daytime raids, the Japanese did their dirty work at night. “The night,” emphasized a training slogan, “is one million reinforcements.” Japanese soldiers yelled out, “Tonight you die,” and then they worked their rifle bolts back and forth. Bizarrely, they were especially fond of Eleanor Roosevelt insults. “Eleanor eats shit!” they would often yell out. Sometimes they fired sudden shots that pierced the darkness, or set off firecrackers. It was their version of psychological warfare, designed to deprive the battle-weary Americans of sleep and peace of mind. And sometimes they would silently infiltrate an enemy camp, climb a tree, tie themselves in, and wait until daylight to do their damage.
One morning in early December, Captain Melvin Schultz, commander of Company E, spied a Japanese sniper just outside his command post. The sniper could have easily killed him but was waiting for more men to arrive. Schultz calmly went about his business and then whirled around and pumped eight shots into him. The sniper fell from his perch. His bullet-ridden body dangled above the ground for all to see.
Under extreme pressure for results, Eichelberger did not waste any time ordering his first attack. The plan was a basic one. On December 4, Stutterin’ Smith and his Ghost Mountain boys would close in on Buna Village, while Colonel Smith’s men from the 128th got in position to deflect a counterattack from Buna Government Station.
On the evening of December 3, the troops had their first hot meal in weeks. Eichelberger had demanded it—half-starved soldiers, he said, could not be counted on to fight. With full bellies, men found the energy to slip back to the Japanese bivouac that they had stormed two days earlier to search for souvenirs. Fearing booby traps, company commanders had issued strict orders to leave the stuff alone, but few of the men felt the need to comply with the order. The jungle was so thick that even in broad daylight they could sneak back to the Japanese outpost without being noticed.
That night, nine Zeros flying fifty feet off the ground dropped food supplies to Japanese troops at Buna Government Station. Eichelberger regarded the drop as a good omen. It was further evidence that the enemy was tired, sick, and running low on food and ammunition.
All of this was true. Some Japanese soldiers charged with holding