Tark's Ticks War Point: A WWII Novel by Chris Glatte

Author:Chris Glatte [Glatte, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn River Publishing
Published: 2022-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

The enemy gunboat’s weapons aimed in their direction as the vessel approached. Tarkington saw two men holding binoculars and scanning the dead bodies on the shore. From that distance, they’d be tough to identify, but as they closed, that would change.

“Stay down,” he whispered unnecessarily. He saw Raker moving the barrel of his Springfield rifle as the boat moved. “If he opens up, try for the captain.”

“Got him in my sights,” growled Raker.

The sailor on the bow figured out what the blobs on the beach were first. He yelled, his voice carrying over the din of the engine. The enemy gunners aimed their barrels at the logs and jungle beyond, waiting for the word to open fire, but the commander didn’t have a target yet. The boat nudged closer but kept well away from the coral and sand, ready to maneuver.

The sound of another high-speed engine from the sea made Tarkington turn. Through the haze, he saw the wake of a speeding PT boat. Vick had told them about the enemy gunboat, and now they were speeding into range. The timing was going to be close. The enemy didn’t see or hear the approaching PT boat but would probably get close enough to their position behind the logs to see them, or at least suspect their position, and open fire.

“You got him, Raker?”

“Yep.”

“Couple more seconds…”

Just then, a few rifle shots rang out from the lagoon side. The enemy boat sparked with a few ricochets. To Tarkington’s horror, he saw natives charging from the jungle with their rifles and spears.

“No!” he called out, but the Japanese gunners saw the charging natives. They rotated their heavy machine guns and opened fire. “Open fire, Raker!”

The sound of Raker’s shot could barely be heard over the din of the heavy machine guns, but Tarkington saw the pilothouse window suddenly painted red with blood. He didn’t need to order the others to open fire.

He got to his knees and fired through his fifteen-round magazine quickly. The gun smoke from the heavy machine guns wafted over the slowly moving gunboat, and the muzzle flashes nearly touched the water. His rounds seemed to have little effect.

The natives were being cut in half. Body parts separated from bodies. Dirt and sand mixed with their blood in an evil fog. Suddenly, a new, vicious sound filled the air. The PT boat opened fire, and the air in front of the squad buzzed and snapped as .50-caliber and 20mm rounds ripped through the air. They instinctively dove for cover. The impacts on the enemy boat sounded like hammer blows delivered by Thor.

It ended as suddenly as it had started. Tarkington poked his head up. The Japanese gunboat still chugged along, but it burned mightily and the bow dug in and went lower and lower as seawater filled the hull. The enemy guns smoked but no longer fired, and he saw no more sailors aboard. Bodies bobbed in the water, their life preservers keeping their shredded bodies afloat.

He stood and faced the oncoming PT boat.

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