The Old Breed

Chapter 46

Machinato Airfield, Okinawa

May 1st, 1945

"1st squad, on me." Lieutenant Gibson ordered, standing besides a charred stump which poked up beside a bomb crater, only a few yards away from us.

I huffed, set aside a K-ration can I'd been futilely trying to open. The damn cans. I leaned forward, plucked my helmet from inside of the foxhole. It was practically floating by now. The rain still had not stopped, which had provided logistical nightmares as well as physical nightmares for us. I could only imagine the state my feet were in, as they had been sitting in the same dirty and soaked socks for over a day now. Any hope of my fatigues staying dry under my poncho had evaporated too, the fat raindrops finding their way into every nook and cranny. The cloth stuck to my body like glue, and I wouldn't be surprised if the stickiness was permanent. Sure felt that way. The rain also caused the wide fields and ridges to become laden with thick, goopy mud, worse even than the mud that we had begun in. The roads were all clogged thick, and our jeeps and supply trucks got either completely stuck, or had to take the journey at a snail's pace, prime targets for Jap artillery and mortars. With only a limited number of supplies coming through, we would likely run out of ammunition quickly, and food and clean water, the three essentials on the battlefield. Definitely at the rate we were expending each. The only thing the rain had helped was in clearing the mud from our faces. I could tell who each man was again.

I plopped the steel pot on my head, grimaced as streams of water suddenly etched their way down my hair and sides of my face. Rainwater that had collected in my helmet. Next I grabbed my rifle, slung it over my shoulder. These were the two things I never went without anymore. My helmet and rifle. The two items alone could probably get me through the war. At least I thought they could. There was only one philosophy in war to me, and that was the age-old kill or be killed. My rifle would help me kill, and my helmet would help me in not being killed.

I got up with a grunt, my legs sore from yesterday's running. Lanky was right behind me as we moved over towards the shell hole. The members of each of the two squads were still making their way over to the crater, most of 1st Squad arriving quickly. I noticed one of the BAR gunners from 2nd squad, a Peleliu veteran, Lewis Kelly, and two 2nd squad privates I didn't recognize. Lieutenant Gibson waved for us to sit down, which we did, Gibson himself sitting back on the stump. The rest of us settled down in the mud, a few quiet grumbles about the looey's spot compared to ours.

"Here's the skinny, men," Gibson started. He seemed careful not to use the word boy, likely because of the fact that over half the platoon was older than him, him being twenty, and another third were combat vets. If not older than him in age, a lot of us were older than him in experience. But we could not say that Gibs was not a combat veteran anymore. From the moment his life was first endangered by the falling mortars, he had seen combat. Just like the rest of the new guys. They might still be new to our standards, but already, they were vets. It seemed hard to imagine so. It had been so long since I'd become a veteran, years.

"To the front of the battalion, we're looking at a large ravine... here," he said, unfolding a good sized map and pointing to spot just beyond our front lines, stenciled in blue, a quick identification, 1/1. The only thing I could make out was the shape of the ravine, a long L-shape, the depth, length, and terrain impossible to decipher from the map.

"Battalion wants to move our tanks up to add firepower as we crush any resistance to the front of the Asa Kawa. Based on our intelligence, though, this ravine is registered under heavy artillery and AT guns. There's only one place where the ridge had been filled in for a road which our tanks could cross from, and the Japs blew it up. Command wants a small patrol to check out to see if we can find other access points for our armor. That's you, men." he said, looking around at our dirty faces, tired eyes under helmets. I noticed a lot of the Marines shifting nervously, a few quiet grumbles and groans. One of the braver men from 2nd squad spoke up, speaking all of our thoughts.