The Ghost Mountain Boys - James E. Campbell [97]
Second, he was grateful that he was not out on guard. The guys on the posts had it the worst. They were in a no-man’s land, close enough to heave a stone and hit an enemy sniper. Jastrzembski knew that they were dug in like rodents, watching the jungle, hugging the inside of their foxholes. Though they had been issued watches with glow-in-the-dark dials, they made sure to cover them. They could not even smoke. A sudden light would draw fire from both sides—enemy and friendly. At night in the jungle, even the fireflies were not safe.
In the swamp northwest of the Triangle, Lutjens and his men had been pinned down for a week. They were tired, hungry, and antsy, especially Sergeant Halbert Davidson, the boxer, who resented the fact that he had been sent out on a fact-finding mission and confined to a wet foxhole for seven days. One day he left his foxhole and slipped over to the company’s flank, crept up on two Japs, and killed them with two short bursts from his rifle. Captain Schultz could hardly punish him. The Japanese already knew they were there, so it was not as if Davidson had given away Company E’s position. Besides, according to Lutjens, Davidson “was that kind of guy. He couldn’t bear not to shoot at them. He wanted to win the war.”
On the night of November 29, a messenger from battalion headquarters navigated his way through the thick swamp to deliver Company E the news—the attack would kick off at midnight. Schultz assembled Lutjens and his other platoon leaders. They huddled close together, lighting their maps by scraping phosphorous from a log.
After the meeting Lutjens retreated to his diary. There was a woman: Frances “Lorraine” Phillips. They had gone to high school together back home in Big Rapids. Lutjens believed that she was “out of his league,” but he loved her still. Now, on the night before the battalion’s first big push, Lutjens wrote her (although the letter is dated “Nov of 1942,” from the text it’s safe to assume that he wrote it on November 29). It was a letter he would probably never have the chance to send.
To a girl I love.
Dearest,
You will never know what you have meant to me since I have known you. I guess I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you 10 years ago. Many times I have tried to drive you out of my thoughts knowing how hopeless it was. Just to know that one day you smiled on me gives me courage to face most anything…You probably don’t even know I’m alive. Many a night, lying in the mud and hell of this country you have been my consolation and friend my courage and my life. The only time I would ever think of saying this is now when my life means nothing. Forgive me for taking this unforgivable privilege and please don’t laugh…If I do come through this everything will go back as it was. Never would I dare to mention this. Only God will know.
What Lutjens and the others did not know as they prepared for battle was that many of the Japanese soldiers were on the verge of despair, too. A captured diary from the Buna battlefield illustrates the mood of the Japanese troops: “Nov. 28. Very beautiful morning. Can this be a blood-smeared battlefield? As usual enemy planes bombed us. None of our planes appeared. At last our lives are becoming shorter. Look at the fierceness of the enemy mortar fire, which bursts near us. Today the word that the Buna crisis is imminent has reached the ears of the Emperor and he has asked that Buna be defended to the last man.”
In response to the Emperor’s request, the Japanese began to organize suicide squads. A Corporal Tanaka writes, “Today, Nov. 30th, Battalion Commander Yamamoto and subordinates organized a suicide squad…. Death is the ultimate honor. After my comrades and Iare dead, please bury us in your leisure time. I ask this because it is dis-honourable to remain unburied. Please take care of your health and serve your country.