Islands of the Damned by R.V. Burgin

Author:R.V. Burgin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

Headquarters had sent our regiment north along the west road because there was a change in strategy. Instead of tackling the Umurbrogols head-on, they had decided to move around behind them and come down from the north. Our job was now to secure the north end of Peleliu. Once this was done we’d start working our way down the ridges and valleys, digging the Japs out of their caves as we went.

The morning after the terrible night along the west road, we moved through the ruins of a small village that Second Battalion had taken the day before. Then we attacked and overran a steep hill that overlooked a trail connecting the island’s west and east roads across a broad saddle. All the time we were taking Jap artillery fire from somewhere north of us and from a big gun over on Ngesebus Island. Every time it went off you could hear the whump! all over Peleliu.

North of our hill, a row of four round-topped hills extended across the island to the eastern shore. At right angles to these hills a ridge continued along the west road, overlooking the narrow channel that separated Peleliu from Ngesebus. Once the hills had been covered with thick trees, but we’d blasted them until they looked like they’d had a bad haircut. Still, they were full of hidden caves, and the caves were full of Japs. As long as they stood in front of us, there was no way to get at Ngesebus.

From the top of our hill we looked across a sixty-foot drop-off to the valley floor. On the hills opposite we could watch for Japs to appear in the cave openings and pick them off. And they could pick us off. There was a man on my left that afternoon, sitting about three or four feet away. I heard the whack of the bullet even before I heard the rifle shot. I knew instantly he was dead. I’d shot enough deer on the farm to know what a bullet sounds like when it hits. It got him about half an inch above his eyes, dead center.

There was no way to dig two-man foxholes, so once again we piled up rocks and hoped for the best. Normally we’d stay about six feet apart, almost at arm’s length so we could reach out and touch one another. Through the night we’d take turns sleeping. I’d watch and the next man over would sleep. The man beyond him would watch and the next one would sleep, and so on.

When the Japs came calling at night they wore these rubber-soled canvas shoes, a little like sneakers. They didn’t make a sound. You’d look out and not see a thing. You’d look the other way for a second and turn back. And there’d be a Jap right in front of you. Twenty feet away, where there was nothing at all before.

The fourth man down the line from me was sleeping. All of a sudden I heard this scuffle, these grunts, and then a long, drawn-out scream.

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