The Ghost Mountain Boys - James E. Campbell [112]
Though Graber had taken out a bunker before he was killed, there were still Japanese everywhere, and Lutjens’ platoon was surrounded. Lutjens knew his only hope was to get a message to Captain Schultz. Perhaps Schultz could send the rest of the company forward.
Lutjens decided to try to get through himself. Because the chances of success were slim, he knew it was a job he could not ask any of his men to do. He took only a few steps when a Japanese soldier spotted him and hurled a grenade. The concussion rocked him, then another grenade lodged in the mud next to him. He lunged forward just as it went off, and the grenade tossed him through the air. Lying in the mud, he noticed that the barrel of his tommy gun was bent. Now he did not even have a gun to defend himself, but he was not sure it mattered. He was afraid to reach down, positive the grenade had taken him apart at the hips. At the thought, the strength seeped from his body. His arms felt as heavy as dumbbells. He shivered and then retched.
Lutjens lay there, then slowly he moved his hand down his legs. He was terrified they would be gone, severed below the knee. But they were still there—wet with blood, yes, but they were still there. Lutjens experienced a moment of joy until the soldier who had thrown the grenade started shooting. Lutjens rolled to his side and dragged himself along using his elbows. Disoriented, he nearly slithered into his enemy’s lap.
A bullet ripped through his shirt and another creased his eye. One struck him in the thigh. The pain was enough to make him vomit again. Another bullet slapped dirt in his face. I’m a dead man, he thought. For some reason, though, the Japanese soldier held back. It didn’t make any sense. He could have sauntered over to Lutjens and banged his head in with the butt of his rifle.
Lutjens struggled back to his elbows. This time, he tried to make some sense of where he was. Then he crawled again.
It was a miracle: Somehow he snaked his way to a medic who was sitting in a foxhole with his hands in a man’s gut. Scattered around him lay dead and wounded soldiers. The medic gave Lutjens a handful of sulfanilamide pills, and went back to work on the soldier. Lutjens was full of shrapnel and lead, but the belly wounds came first.
Lutjens eventually pulled himself through the muck back to a field hospital. His pulse was weak, his breathing shallow. He was losing consciousness and the shock was wearing off. His whole body burned as if it were on fire until a medic gave him a shot of morphine.
Like Lutjens’ men, Gus Bailey’s G Company was stranded in the jungle. Eichelberger was furious. He wanted Buna Village taken and called F Company out of reserve. Grose protested—nothing would be gained by throwing another company at the Japanese; they were dug in too well. Stutterin’ Smith also weighed in.
“Sir,” he said. “Pulling F Company out of reserve isn’t going to work.”
Eichelberger was not listening. He had been sent in by MacArthur to capture Buna, and MacArthur was growing impatient. Adamant that Buna fall that day, the three-star general was on the front, directing the troops.
“You will attack!” Eichelberger ordered.
Eichelberger called for Lieutenant Odell and told him what he wanted. Odell was to get as much information from the forward troops as he could and do a brief reconnaissance. Then he was to split up his company, sending half his men up one side of the trail and taking the rest up the other side.
Company F, the general said, was to storm the village and capture Buna. Odell was not sure he heard the general right—take Buna?
“Yes,” Eichelberger said, they were to “finish the job,” and they had need little more than their