With the Old Breed_ At Peleliu and Okinawa - E. B. Sledge [154]
*I've read accounts of “mortars glowing red” when firing rapidly for long periods. They sound dramatic and impressive. But from my experience I'm skeptical that a mortar can be fired safely and accurately when its barrel is glowing red. My experience was that if a barrel got very hot from rapid fire—so hot that the surrounding air had insufficient cooling effect—it was dangerous to drop a round down the tube. The one time I did, the heat ignited the increments, then the propellant cartridge ignited before the shell slid all the way down the barrel. Consequently, the shell wobbled out of the barrel and fell short after having slid down only about half its length.
Thus, to avoid short rounds, we either had to wait for the air to cool our barrel, fire at a slower rate, or, as in this fire mission, which was an emergency, cool the barrel with water.
* For the assault against Shuri Castle, ⅕ and ⅗ actually attacked eastward, turning approximately ninety degrees to the left of the southward-facing front. The 5th Marines thus crossed over into the zone of the 77th Infantry Division to reach Shuri Castle. The 77th Infantry Division was located north of Shuri, and a large number of Japanese were still entrenched between the army division and the 5th Marines as the latter moved eastward behind the Japanese who were blocking the 77th Division's advance.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beyond Shuri
We pushed past Shuri over some muddy hills in the army's zone of action and came across a group of about twenty Japanese prisoners. Each man was stripped except for a G-string. They stood barefooted in the mud alongside a trail winding along the slope of a barren hill. Several dirty and battle-weary army infantrymen guarded them. The captured enemy had been ordered by an interpreter (army lieutenant) to stand off the trail so Company K's column could pass.
We slipped and slid wearily toward the sound of firing up ahead. A grizzled rifleman in front of me and I had been cursing the mud and exchanging remarks about how glad we were to be past Shuri. Suddenly a Japanese prisoner stepped in front of my friend, blocking his way.
“Get outa the way, you crazy bastard,” growled the Marine.
The soldier folded his arms calmly, raised his chin, and displayed a picture of arrogance. My buddy and I heated up fast. He pushed the Japanese backward and sent him sprawling into the mud. The enemy soldier sprang up quickly and assumed his former position.
“What's that crazy bastard doin’?” I yelled as I dropped my mortar ammo bag and reached for my .45 pistol.
My buddy unslung his rifle, grasped it by the stock with his left hand and by the pistol grip with his right hand. He planted his muddy feet firmly on the trail, flexed his knees, and growled, “Git outa my way, you bastard.”
Other Marines behind us had halted when we did. Seeing what was happening, they started cursing the Japanese.
“What's the hold up? Move out,” someone behind us yelled.
The army first lieutenant (he was actually wearing his silver bars on his collars), clean-shaven and spotless except for muddy combat boots, came along the column to ascertain the problem. Seeing my buddy's stance and realizing he might soon have one less prisoner, he said, “You can't mistreat these men. They are prisoners of war. According to the Geneva Code, POWs must be treated humanely.” He looked desperate; the whole column of muddy, raggedy-ass Marines glared at and cursed the prisoners strung out alongside us on the trail.
“Screw the Geneva Code. If that slant-eyed sonofabitch don't move outa my way, I'll give him a vertical butt stroke in his big mouth and knock out every one of them goddamn buck teeth.” My buddy slowly moved his rifle back and forth, and the enemy soldier's arrogant expression began to fade. The army lieutenant knew he had a