A/N: First chapter in the Pacific Theater. R&R. Don't like WWII fics, don't read. Imjusthere61944 gets credit for constructive criticism and inspiring this WWII fanfic.
August 17, 1942
5:00/ 5:00 A.M.
Makin Atoll
Pacific Theater
"So the plan is changed?" One of the men in the small LCLR boats. It was like a raft, rubber, but not filled with air as it looked. It held three men, the boat to their left holding the other two in their squad.
"We're landing on a single beach now, or so they say. Yea, great way to not get found." The man steering muttered, his eyes searching for the beach they were now all going to land on at once.
"Great. Fuckin' great." The first man replied. He was Earl Norman, one of the men selected for the Makin Atoll raid as were the men around him. At age 23, he was the oldest in the squad, but had never wanted to do this raid. Odds were he'd be one of the few captured during it.
The man steering was Jack Crone, age 21, specialty in driving. He always drove when possible.
The silent man in the boat was lighting a cigarette, one thing he did when nervous. His name was George Herald, age 20. He was absentmindedly checking his M1 Garand as they neared the beach.
They would have to rely on one of the other squads for support, as they hadn't been the squad to get the flamethrower, and they couldn't burn their way through the jungle like environment, only follow paths or try to make their way through and avoid getting cut or worse from the environment.
All three of them then heard a whistling sound.
"The hell?" Herald looked up, and the boat next to them was struck by something, flipping over with the men falling into the water, already dead.
"FUCK!" Crone yelled, steering them at an angle that would get them out of the line of fire, but make them more noticeable.
Another explosive struck the exact same spot as the last one, spraying the men with the water again.
They neared the beach, explosions all around them as they steered the last few feet to it, explosions still hammering into the water behind him.
They abandoned the LCLR and ran across the sand, heading for the jungle in front of them, which would surely hide them.
In the jungle, it was quieter, the explosions and water splashing muffled, their comrades hurrying aboard the beach themselves, some soaked, some dry, most heading directly for the jungle as well.
"Well, that wasn't supposed to happen..." Norman muttered.
Crone loaded his M1897 Trench gun and looked around. He felt deeply unnerved when he saw their comrades had already left them behind, probably trying to clear the way ahead of them.
"Let's move." Crone said, pumping the gun to load it.
The three moved through the jungle ahead, maneuvering under vines and around the trees until they came to a statue in the middle of a path.
"The hell is that?" Herald asked, reaching out to touch it. A rope slightly to his left jerked, moving slightly upward, causing him to jerk back, aiming his M1 up at the tree holding the rope.
"Fuckin' Japanese traps." Norman muttered, moving slowly around the rope, keeping his weapon trained on the tree it was tied to.
The three continued along the path, soon reaching a river where two other men were kneeling next to, looking out at the path that continued on the other side.
"Don't move." Crone said to the kneeling figures. They had no idea whether they were American or Japanese, and they weren't going to go up to them until they knew.
"Relax, Mac." One of the men replied, putting his rifle on the ground and turning to look at them. In the moonlight that was still there, Crone could see the patch of the American flag, the green color of their uniforms around it.
"Alright, what company you from?" Norman stepped forward, his Thompson aimed at the ground now.
"We were supposed to be with A, but the damn explosions made us go in the wrong direction. This path is supposedly going to the opposite end of the airfield, but we don't know if there are traps laid on it." The other man replied, a BAR in his hands.
Just then a loud crack filled the air, and the man who had set his rifle on the ground fell down, blood spurting from a hole in his stomach. He grasped for the rifle, but another crack followed the first, and he lay still.
The other man instantly ducked down, landing behind a fallen tree in front of the river, more cracks filling the air. Either the snipers were very quick to reload, or there were many of them along this path.
The three others quickly ducked down behind the same tree. Not daring to poke their heads up to present a target.
"Dammit! Now what are we going to do?" Herald cursed, a piece of bark chipping above him.
"Obviously you weren't looking. The flashes were coming from the left side, about three, all in the same area. Japs don't know how to spread out." Norman was about to move to go through the jungle to get to them.
"You, what's your name?" Norman had a thought.
"Corporal Alan White, sir." The man with the BAR replied, ducking as low as he could as the snipers continued to shoot the fallen tree.
"White, you come with me. Herald, Crone, stay here and fire your weapons to draw their attention. We'll flank around and kill these bastards." Norman motioned for the Corporal to follow him, and they both ducked down, crawling across the ground to get to the cover of the jungle.
Crone and Herald fired their weapons blindly over the cover, receiving more fire in return.
White and Norman pushed through the jungle, vines and leaves in their way as they heard the cracks getting louder, the small muttering of voices accompanying them. They were speaking in their own tongue, probably mocking them as they hid from their shots.
When another crack filled the air, Norman took his chance and grabbed the one in front, with the best view. The place where the were was set up with two men on the ground and a third positioned in a tree, a platform holding him up.
White grabbed the second man on the ground, turning him over and shoving his knife into his throat, the blood spraying onto his arm sleeve and shirt, the man's wind pipe and throat cut open as well as the blood vessels.
Norman, however plunged his knife into the back of the man's neck, striking the man's jugular vein in doing so. He pulled the knife out to the side, completely rupturing his jugular, the blood covering his knife and sleeve.
The third man, still muttering in Japanese, must have heard the absence of voices and thought they'd died, as he began yelling, looking over the side of the platform.
A burst of bullets suddenly entered the man's head, and he dropped from the platform, landing next to White's kill with a crunch. White felt an evil satisfaction overtake him as the man he'd slit the throat of try to grab at him but fail.
Norman whistled, and Crone suddenly popped his head over the cover, and whistled back.
Norman also felt the evil satisfaction of killing the men who'd tried to kill them, but he was slightly sickened by it. He'd always been taught that killing a man was wrong, but he couldn't fight it now, he had to help win this war.
"Have fun?" Herald asked when he and Crone made their way over to the other two.
"Hell yeah. Didn't you know I used to cut throats back in America?" White tried to joke.
Norman was sickened even more that the man would even joke about that. Sure, Pearl harbor had struck many men with patriotism, and hate for the Japanese, but he still retained that killing was wrong, and he would never change his thoughts of it.
"Let's just go." Norman ordered, moving along the path. This was most likely the only set up they had, and they'd have to move fast to catch up with the rest of the men.
They came along several abandoned barrels as they neared a gate to the airfield, and examined them. They all appeared to hold gasoline or another flammable substance, and were unguarded.
Herald examined them while the other three looked at the gate. It was locked obviously, with barbed wire at the top, the fence part of it stretching in both directions.
"Looks like we'll just have to shoot it off." Crone finally said, aiming the Trench gun at the lock.
"Or we could blow it off." Herald suggested, rolling one of the barrels towards the gate.
"Too much noise, it would be better to blow the lock off." Norman stopped it right there. He had another idea for the barrel.
Crone shot the lock and pumped the trench gun in case it was still attached. The gun had done its job, the lock was on the ground, and the gate was able to be opened.
"Alright, Herald and White, carry the barrel. I've got a better idea." Norman ordered, shoving the gate open.
The men followed in an order; Crone in front, Norman in the middle, the other two carrying the barrel behind them. The path wasn't very long and they soon found themselves creeping down a runway, the airfield itself very quiet.
"Something's not right... The explosions were mortars, so they had to know we're here..." Herald muttered, his eyes darting, examining the area around him.
"Alright, put the barrel down. I want you all to listen to me good. When we blow this barrel, we are going to fucking run, got it? No heroics. The only heroes to me are the ones that survive this, not the ones who die pointlessly. No offense to your deceased friend, White." Norman explained, nodding at White. White nodded back and he and Herald set the barrel down.
Norman proceeded to slit the top of it open and back away, his eyes on the barrel next to a hangar door. The explosion would rip a hole in the wall and attract attention, giving them enough time to possibly get to the other side of the airfield and regroup with the other men.
Norman suddenly heard gunfire that sounded like it was coming from the other side of the airfield, where they were aiming to get to. Maybe that was why the area was so quiet, the large group of men had attracted more attention.
Norman shot the barrel anyway, and the group began running, their feet pounding on the runway, fear enveloping them all as the explosion ripped a hole in the hangar as it should, and a fire spread across it, opening the hole even larger.
They made it to near the edge of the airfield before they received fire, making their pace quicken as the bullets hit the ground near them.
Herald suddenly cried out, falling forward over a fallen tree, where the other three ducked behind. They now saw they were with the main force now, the men to their left drawing most of the fire now.
Herald had been hit in the left shoulder, his weapon dropped to the ground next to him as his shoulder bled onto his uniform, staining it.
"MEDIC!" Norman called, using his knife to cut off a piece of Herald's pant leg and pressing it to the wound, hoping to suppress the bleeding long enough for a medic to arrive.
The medic had heard their call and was there quickly, shoving Norman out of the way to get to Herald. The man ended up wrapping the man's shoulder up tightly, allowing blood flow, but limited movement.
A series of explosions suddenly filled the air, a column of smoke striking the air in the middle of the airfield, the Japanese fire momentarily stopping to look at the source of the explosion.
Many of them cried out and began moving towards the area, fearing more damage would happen if they did not stop it. The few left were shot before they could continue fire. White raked down a line of them before they could fire back, the evil satisfaction growing stronger, making him feel sick but satisfied again.
Norman did not fire, and left it to White and Crone. He felt sick hearing the Japs' cries as they died or were wounded and did not want to participate in the killing again.
"The job's done. Let's go." Norman ordered. The job was done, and the main force of men were already moving back towards the beach, where most of the LCLRs were waiting.
"There's more boats to our right, sir. I have a feeling the rest of my squad won't be coming back to take it." White stopped Norman in his tracks. Norman turned and went the direction White suggested, leaving him, Crone, Herald and the medic there.
Without speaking, the medic and Crone lifted Herald up and began moving after Norman, White watching their backs.
White was right, and they found Norman waiting on the beach, three LCLR boats waiting. Norman was starting the engine on one.
The medic and Crone set Herald down in a second boat and began starting that one's engine, the medic making sure the man's wound was stable.
"Let's get the fuck out of here..." Crone muttered mostly to himself as he got the engine started, the boat still sitting still.
White got into the boat Norman was occupying and sat at the engine and steering place, ready to leave this place. Norman nodded and looked over to Crone, who nodded at him.
The boats began moving slowly, and then sped up, moving quickly over the water, spraying it back at the island behind them as they headed out again.
Makin Atoll had succeeded, and they'd escaped with their lives, Herald only just. Norman was trying to figure things out with his conscious and the way the army made him kill. Crone and White were just concentrating on making sure they got back without the engines dying.
"And this is only the beginning..." Crone muttered.
