Iliad Redacted
Pacific Theater, 1944
μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί᾽ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε᾽ ἔθηκε,
Homer, Iliad 1:1-2
Pacific War, 1944
Men in aids thesis - pushes it always to the point. We swat mosquitoes - and all of the flies - in this little turret of hell, the rest is shit for the birds. This is the way that God intended it, in this year of 1943 - and who knows how many wars there will come after it - at least there will be one more world war, call it Number III. But this is the Pacific Theatre – a war unlike any other after, even Shakespeare. There have been great many land wars, and a few weird ships have taken each other prisoner; there are no land wars fought on ships, at least as far as I can tell. This, then, was the will from 1st Japan and the United States became involved. Across the sky, there came a screaming, in a way of foretelling it.
I stare out over the blue ocean over the rails and realize this is more the way the world is - than the United States, or for that matter the land war in Europe – sea gray sea. Japan staked out her claim as premier power and dared any to say otherwise. And at 1st we did not want to say otherwise, though our President probably thought we were the balance of the people in fighting it. He decided that they had to get laid upon, rather than strike 1st - and did they ever. Smoking my cigarette, letting it drop, and counting up the cost. Look at the Iron Ponies run in the Kentucky Derby. SNAFU wasn't half the beginning.
Then what do I know? I am only the lowest-ranked officer and stumbling around in the dark - like some mayor of nowhere, trying to guess the greatest mind of our political age. The gods themselves could not figure out the easiest line to Tokyo, though they contend in vain. That is why I will stick my nose back in my only o-book, even though it is a twitter of a romance in Japanese, as the French say “a deux” though they are sitting this one out on French leave – but I've beaten my gums on this topic.
At least God has a sense of humor - my father is Scottish, and my mother Japanese - so I was not sent to the 442nd, more is the pity - the 27th was still my home, though I was loaned to the Marines. God knows what it would be like to be called something like “Sulu”. What this did, was I erased every one of Japisms from my vocabulary - from Yamato-damashii downwards. It was my Beagle voyage – everything was new. Except a behavior report, filed in triplicate to mother, father, and fiancé, though close course to the girl back home that every word was written. Kiss me once, kiss me twice, Auguste Rodin.
Oh yeah, you want a story, not some claptrap about my war, with some devil's piano in the backdrop. I like character, more than action, as you could tell from the opening. But most of us of will be dead after the story, by the time you read it. And what other way is there to absorb the scope? By the time you are finished with this story I will have crawled up the back and taken my leave.
We were landing on Tarawa, in late November – the lame end of unpleasant pus of a year. How's that? Pray to Shay and all that jazz.
Fleet commander started shelling the razor-edge triangular atoll – and then stopped to let the clouds blow away. This gave the hosting team time to ready the goal-line defense, like gorillas. It did not matter how many guns would be taken out. Nimitz would have to reconsider this on Spruance's detailed bulletin. A warning from the electric brain. But MacArthur never would, no matter who would tell him. Even if the ex- or default (primarily by design) EO would plead to him.
The 1st wave had little difficulties, but by the 2nd wave lethal fire from the island was beginning to concentrate on the LSTs - and when my wave launched, it was pure and crass destruction. I saw 3 men lying down and looking skyward, with what came to be known as the million-year stare. I knew all of them, they were under my command. I do not know what the stars were doing, the stripes were littered on the sand. But there was not a pause, because I had to rally what little forces I have left and remind them to shoot the living expletive out of everything that they saw. And then some. At least I was able to do that until my groin and then my belly was shot to pieces. There are stories about people who know what hit them, I'm not one of those - I was simply unconscious after the 1st few seconds. God and his angels must have thought me dead.
It was night when the wakingness came on - the denuded of its fire were 1st thing that I saw clearly - through many unclear ones had stolen a march on my memory. Of course, my head was still in limbo, drooping both in and out. Then speaking became the priority - the only sound that came out all my mouth was closer to burbling, but finally, my lips formed a complete sentence:
“Where am I?” - even that got stung my throat.
At this point an enlisted man, who I guessed was dressed in green, came over to me with his white face with black stubble: “You are going back to the fleet, rest now because you have multiple injuries. I cannot even give you water.” Which was his way of saying I may go back to the fleet, though I was not likely to leave it. Even water would be a waste.
But - I persisted: “What time is it?” The ticking of the chronometer.
Flipped over his clock and looked down at me: “Local is 0300. Now sleep.” I thought for a moment, that we were: Exactly halfway around the world from the UTC – one fictional time zone to another – but at least we had fictionally lived on Tawara. Relaxing my muscles and thinking that I should doze off.
However, the Japanese had different ideas - and bullets came flying, out of some direction no one could fathom. My compass was confused, and even up and down were tricky prospects at best. The enlisted man slumped over, and with great effort, I reached out to him. He was dead. Water waste. Nor was I any better off - I could not get off my back, even if Jesus Christ himself had ordered it. Maybe the Lord himself could order it – this was no place for children or junior officers.
Turning over and crawling was an option – a painful option. My muscles squeezed Until they felt they had been squeezed out like an ash can at a narrow depth. It felt as if I knew the name of every strand when finally, they moved and I flipped over, only to have my face in the sugared cream sand. Gradually my 4 heads raised in 2 airs, and eventually I could see, somewhat. But there was a screeching noise, as if aircraft were dropping bombs - which side they were on no one could tell.
Boxes of howitzers were piling up, behind some men. It was these men that I needed to flag down because my gut was coming loose from its stitches, but waving was too much to ask my arm to manage. I stopped drew deep breaths and waited for my eyes to get used to the number darkness. When they did, I could see both the beach and figures moving boxes, which was good enough for me. Crawling was still the only way for me to get around, and slowly I made some progress. At least my figure was out of sight to Japs.
It was a slow progress, inch by inch I moved through the beach, with a stately progress – Beneath the meteor glare of tracer bullets, and the rumble of shells from our side. My sole objective was the point where the sleeves were piling up and a 1st Sgt. was directing them to be positioned for deployment. Godlike ack-ack - ack-ack like a dog.
Mind you, there was chaos and confusion, getting everything washed up and then sorted out. It is at this point where your unit does not matter. It is at this point where there are only 3 possibilities - alive, wounded, dead. Alive he took orders from anything which had more rank than you, dead washed up on the shore. Wounded was like being dead, only you knew that you were dead, and hoped that would be alive. The other point about being wounded was that there were degrees - that was the ugly virtue of triage. Until you have a definitive number, your natural inclination assigned one in the back of your head. Dower men assumed they were going out, happy men assumed they were coming back, and the ones who wanted home assumed that they were on their way but for a few small details. Think of it as a skull triage number.
For me, I thought I would be ready to fight, if only for a few small details in my body.
All this way I still crawled, until a boot came squarely up into my sight. Then a voice from above said: “Lieut. we have another wounded man from the 1st hit on the beachhead.” And then without thinking that I could hear him: “This one is bad.”
Two more boots came into the picture: these were pristine, and laced to a T. It was not just an officer; it was a 90-day wonder. God forgive me - there are too many subordinates who the devil will forgive on his account. He was about to announce the just as good as dead when a corpsman came up: “We will take him back if I can get his sutures in place.” He was examining me with a particular glance as if he knew what he was doing. A wind blew from my lungs - saved from the officer's call.
Sand was all over me – but at this point, it seemed clear that come daybreak I was going ship-side. I fluttered my eyes and was then in the hands of the corpsman. The only difference between the officer “KIA” and the corpsman “wounded” was the skill and determination to keep me alive.
Dark fell to sleep – then to lucid dreaming. The night of the dead and depraved.
Sometimes, a vision can be like consciousness, you believe that it is happening to you - buildings have depth and are in color. Nothing seems out of place at the time you are there. Other times, it is a scramble of words and images, and you comment to yourself about the differences from reality to pure fantasy. I can only remember the dark Polynesian face of a girl - and a swirl of other images. And then it was blank like someone had ripped the pages from their mooring.
Later on, I woke up, it was in another place entirely – and it was high clearing light. I was on metal, on a ship, with beds aplenty with people inside them, and a few bodies waiting to pass. I looked at both sides and tried to determine what it was that made one different from the other because there was a difference, but I did not know what it was. Then gradually a commanding officer came to my bed, he must have been directed towards me, but who did the deed wasn't clear. Though no one was around – they had all slipped out.
We were alone. He stood there with preternatural grace, with every tail tucked in, and every crease ironed in his uniform. Army.
“You've come to, Lieut.” From Able Grable down.
“In a manner of speaking, sir.”
“This conversation is not happening, Catch in the rye-22. Do you understand Lieut.?” All is not written.
“Perfectly so. Sir.” Crisper than crisp came out of my mouth – even if the words changed over time.
“Upstairs has a problem or will have when the report is released. A report by Gen. Dewitt was a motivating factor – he wanted any down to a 1/16 gone.” Who's on first?
“I understand, sir,” I do not want to know.
“No, I don't you do. Certain commands are not going to simply follow along, because there are loopholes – so long as they are not mentioned. In Hawaii is not going to just turn one 3rd of the population on someone's say-so. So, what I am offering you, is the choice of volunteering.”
“And I of course going to accept. Sir. But I am severely injured.”
“This is not, per se, a combat activity.” Does this mean I have to feed myself, without any C-rations?
“Is that better, or worse?”
“What do you think?” Worse.
“What's the mission?”
“I don't have permission to find out– it's need to know, above my paygrade.” And that wasn't the point. Him and
“What can you tell me, since I am supposed to be the fall guy, sir?”
“How did you figure that?”
“Because probably I will be missing, and you people can say what you like about me. It is not too hard to figure out, to sweep the pile under the rug.” I'm sure there is a Willie and Joe cartoon in this exact situation. I ain't laughing.
“That is probably true, the other alternative is to go to the unit that they're getting set up.”
“Worlds of choices, sir.”
“To you want cream of Shit.” - pardon my merde – “French. “
“So, what you are telling me, is this is all the I have to make up my mind with.”
“Precisely, Lieut. And the ward will have people on it very soon, so think carefully but think quickly.” Pressure, say goodbye to Allentown. Remember Charlie, remember Baker - you leave your childhood on every acre.
At that point, it was taking papers and signing, in triplicate, the bare bones - that I did not know what I was getting into, I did not care, that I sold the Army from all of this.
At that point, 2 weeks later I was picked up by the side of the hospital ship and ferried on to the most dilapidated wooden craft that can be imagined. Clearly, this was not military in any sort of way. The waves bobbed up and down while I transferred myself and my Military canvas duffel bag, loaded with everything that was going to be useless in the field. When I got and board, I saw the driver of this contraption.
“I am Lieut. Campbell.”
“You may call me Cristóbal.” Filipino.
“Where we are going?”
“I was told to take you somewhere to rest. Then they would come for you when they want you.”
We were going over to the left side of the Marianas Trench. There was something large afoot though I did not know what. Perhaps if my coughing stopped, I would think about it, but the ooze in my gut slowly drained away.
Overhead was an awning, for protection - though this is the South Pacific, and the variations in the temperature range between hot and oppressive. There was also a grime, which came almost as a patina - layered and lacquered as if by some Buddhist ritual. But still, the eyes were to the air, catching a whiff of enemy planes which would track us - anything near the fleet was suspect, and would be shot at. The breathing of both Cristóbal and myself was shallow from the want of anticipation - every strain made us hold our breath until we could find out what it came from. But nothing did, just the fleet growing slowly smaller. It would be a couple of days before we truly felt alone.
A day, a night, a day, a night – with scattered rain showers - mark our passing. During this time, we took each other's measure - I saw in him a crafty boatman, whose eyes scanned around endlessly, and use hands were endlessly directing the little things that would make us ready for whatever needed to be done. I do not know what he saw in me, but his eyes watched me with endless attention.
Ocean and sky merged at the horizon line, the whiteness and blueness waging a kind of war for supremacy, but in the morning light it was only skirmishes - while in the storms, the real battle commenced foreshadowing the battle which men fought in earnest. The people who lived here had a different language for what they saw here, different gods, different forces, and a respect that came from deep awe.
We did not talk – he was the boat, and he needed no assistance. And a filter of his anger showed just enough – with a javelin by his side. He started by turns. At last year was something on the horizon, it must have been an island, and not an atoll, or at least not the end stage of 1.
“There is where you will rest, there is someone who will tell you what is going on.”
“An officer?”
“It is the same to me as any other, but he is a doctor, which is what I am told you need.”
The whir in my gut grade with him. “Why are you doing this?”
“If you knew what the Imperial Navy did you would not ask.”
Everyone had a choice, and the co-prosperity sphere was only one option. Tokyo was a harsh mistress. America was not much better for most, but better benign neglect, than rape and pillage. The samurai aesthetic was unusually harsh - and my companion had hopelessly seen that.
I looked out on the swirl of clouds and tried to work out which island it was. But my geography brain was not good. But it whispered to me, calling in soft waves on the tide. Because even now, it had moved from the ocean to that bay that surrounds every speck of sand, hiding from the wind, dancing from the light. And we danced towards the light as if there was no other choice.
Gradually, we entered into the harbor, which held small ships and a huge number of boats for small-time commerce - each one a story of quiet despair with only a few that spoke of real prosperity. Many times one could see that it had been a long time since they caught a fish - because the war was on, and fish did not like the idea of being blown up anymore than people did. The difference is the fish knew there was no reason for it, while the men pretended there was something in it for them.
Silently, we slid to a point that was ours, in accordance with the rituals, and stopped. Cristóbal could bounce from the low stoop and bounces off the buoys as if it were natural, but there was no way I was going to do the same thing. I lurched towards somewhat of an erect position, when he turned back and quieted me, it was clear he was going an act a plan. Obviously, he had been thinking about it for a long time – but he had not told me. So, I sat – the sun oblique shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new, though it ignored the small motions of humanity, and went about its business.
Yet, it was not long before the outlines of the plot came into view – a small boat came careening through the posted ones. It was a slow motion that just touched each one in their turn. The small little man who navigated this was quite skilled in what he was doing - the many of the boats would clamor from the hullabaloo - though no actual damage had been done. But the pieces appeared out with a kind of snarl, which was all that honor demanded.
Gradually, the boat to a stop - and Cristóbal quietly motioned for them to lie down - assumes the position of respect. Flowing back the way that we came, over to the dock and all to a stretcher. Then the polls were set on the shoulders, and both knew where they were headed. Along the narrow passageways, and towards some destination that they knew of, but I did not. We settled near a large red hospital and lowered me down on a place for stretchers. Overhead I saw a blonde-haired bearded man, who I assumed must have been either a doctor or at least an attendant. He checked various things, including my heart rate with a stethoscope.
“You should get better soon, the injuries while numerous are not life-threatening.”
“And you are?”
“Dr. Smith, and yes - I am an Army Doctor. And you must be the person that I have been waiting for. Will get you will be up in no time, to send you back out again.”
“The military is pretty good at refurbishing their ruins.”
“Supply of killing has dealt a great deal of the demand.”
“It is what I am going to kill for, which interests me.”
“They will send along the brief - have no fear about that.”
A brief was a very short summary of the least important things to be accomplished, and the time that they should be done. The most important things were completely left out.
Campbell had not intended to fall asleep, but that is what happened - the insides got the better of him, and he quickly fell asleep, so as not to gain that exquisite pain that comes from the enthralling pustulates that burbles up from the inside of one's gut. Then he thought that he was an invisible man, alone in his skin, and wrapped in unconsciousness.
Motion shook him from the sleep furiously, and slowly his eyes opened. What he saw was behind the screen, what he could tell was the doctor was treating some islander or other. Not thinking anything of it, he gently moved on to his side - but as he did so, the face of a came into view. If you would like to think that the face that he had imagined was exactly the face laid here before him, but he knew that was not the case - memory had confixed and conjoined until they were the same. Befixed, bebothered, and bewilded.
The doctor looks over at him, with amusement. The girl had just realized there was a white man - as far as she could tell - quickly ran out.
When she left, the doctor came over to the cot: “I would stay away from her, she is already spoken for.”
“By whom?”
“By your friend, Cristóbal. It is not the way marriages are arranged back home - the parents decide, and the daughter dutifully submits.”
“I thought there was some kind of arrangement.”
“Women who have children can do what they want if alone – especially if they want to go away - but Virgin girls are off limits. It is a very tricky situation that we work with here. The natives don't like it any more than we do. And I am telling you, stay away.”
I must have let my scowl hang on my face.
“Be pleasant, do what you have to do, and get out.”
The wall seemed the best place to leave my face, at this point. With some effort, I fell asleep.
Days into weeks - and I wailed away my time with nothing particular to do as 1943 merged to 1944. That is what will is: monotony is the Golden Rule. Everything sprawled to a particular kind of eternity that only healing affords: the intimate details of every stethoscope and suture became welded into my brain. Even the flies became distinct to my sight: I almost had names for them. Every glimpse reminded me of another.
At last Smith came in with the brief - the only point that could be relied upon, was the objective: to scan enemy Zeros, and report them back in code. I tried to figure out any other information, but it was a complete loss. I do not know where in the chain the doubletalk crisscrossed into triple talk, even the difficulty mangling left something to be desired.
The next day, my sort of enemy/friend came to the door - he was taciturn, this Cristóbal, With a large leer on his face.
“I was told that you had received some orders and that I was taking you and your equipment.”
“That is true, are you sure are up to it?” There was thing odd about his expression.
“You want Japs, I want Japs. You have a transmitter; I have a ship. What else is there to be discussed?”
Everything and nothing. But then I did not have any alternative.
“I have a few things to do, the doctor, and with various technical trades, to verify that things are truly going. By the way – have you been trained to take out tanks?”
Turning away, he glanced over his right shoulder and pointed to where it is ship was docked. It was slightly menacing, but that could be just me. “I can take out the iron horses.”
And watched him walk away.
Ever so meekly, I gingerly took my bearings, it would be a painful sort of excursion, but I think I could do it. On my bunk, I sorted and then made shipshapes of the things that would have to be taken, from pencil to wire.
At this point, the doctor came in and told me to breathe in and breathe out. He listened for a time, then clasping his stethoscope on the nape of his neck:
“You can be sure that the mission will go smoothly, but the moment it is over, it is most probable that one of the 2 of you will be dead.”
“I sort of have that impression.”
“Just so you are aware, he has heard all your dalliance with his girlfriend.”
“There isn’t much that stays secret.” And I left for the radio station, to pick up a secretive antenna - though I did know why they did not just talk in Navajo - the secret weapon of our side.
As I was walking away from the dilapidated villa, I looked over the crests all over the island and realized that this may be the last chunk of earth only would catch hold of. Bali-hai may call you. Then I tracked towards the meeting place, and soon we were on the evening tide, with the opalescent blue that crowded in around us. Soon the lights were just visible enough and then were gone. I did not know the way in which native boatmen tilled, but it was different from the Navy way, a sign that not only the best could divine the currents.
Soon, it was night – and the outrigger had its own quiet motion as we paddled our way along. The stars were quiescent, and Different from the north, though some of the northern stars were still visible, but it was the haze that wrapped around. The equatorial stars were ascendant, and Night became the waning hours of morning.
North and west of here, there were green lights - about the size of airplane propellers, and they were dropping out of sight, in a distinct pattern. They were zeros meaning extreme harm to the American naval force. In some time, there would be combat – out there in the void. I did not know with whom laid the advantage, that was again beyond my pay grade. But I would take account - somebody had to.
The morning was with the Japanese, a wave – teaming – A throng through the air. It seemed as if it was a spirit wind from out of legend. Even he was terrified of the awesome forces which were arrayed here. But still, he countered, and counted, because each measurement had to be made in detail. A fast whirlwind arrangement with only one purpose: to annihilate their aggressors.
Meanwhile, Cristóbal was more blasé - he looked into the din and saw nothing but engines going out on a mission - it seemed to him just another bleed on the attack. No more, no less - he was here only to ferry cargo. Then, he calmed himself down - because he was a watcher, not a participant. And then he became just a machine doing his job. And the job was to relay the information that an attack was coming.
He realized that the signature move was not the going out, but how many came back in - if there were many, that would be bad. If there were few, that would be good. Statistics were key: how many were coming back? Only the blue air would tell on the way back. And still, he wondered at how Cristóbal remained calm, paddling his way to and fro. It was then to wait on the movements of the planes. The planes. The planes. Reisen. Zeke.
And then came the total: at 1st neither of us could believe how many zekes were destroyed - it was an annihilation, and we watched in fascination. Around in the sky, were both Zeros and Hellcats relating for position - but it was a one-sided affair. Then the unthinkable happened - the American forces went on the counterattack, coming at them with force, with some very long odds in their favor. The night was coming, and still, they rushed for an advantage - it seemed that the commanders gambled that even a few good hits would be worth it in the long run. The night backed them in as if furry could not stop them in the coldest air. The odds were the longest in the frigid air.
“Guam.” Pointing at some island. I simply nodded – I learned the religiously. They were all new because they were all strange to the naked eye - tropical parallax in extreme. Like my hometown which was warm in a free sort of way. Not the way the South was.
Cristóbal and just watched as the scene unfolded, they were a fly spec in the overall scheme of things. There was missing, something more as the night unfolded - we could see explosions and crashing in the sobering reality fresh with frozen snow.
Crash.
A lumbering forward came out of nowhere, or rather, crumpled into a board from behind. It was Cristóbal, haunting his way now that the mission was complete. Terrible to behold, and vicious to display - crapcuple – swamp a leer of face with an akimbo sachet dims – all very uproarious. And the uproarious sign was a will to destroy.
Teeth were all around. Munching away at our brains.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Now that we did our duty, it is time to do ours.” A crackle in the distance of lightning.
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You looked at my girl and that cannot be.”
“I just want to get off the island, and far away.” In my own hole.
“My mind tells me differently.” The spear in his hand twitched to find an opening in his hand. It was calm and serene, gentle to the bamboo grain. Again and again, the pointed slat in his face, Cristóbal was on intent on doing the maximum damage with grenade like to a tank - but could he inflict it? Because taking the measure of Cristóbal - he was wiry, and while not in prime condition, he was still able to easily take me. But that is the point - I just wanted to get home. Not to the island, but truly home.
“I do not know how I can tell you that I do not want your woman.”
“Let me kill you.” That was short and compact. One could see that logic had only a few values. Nuance was a finished product that the native population did not waste its time on. Each time the spear this way back onto his face.
What was the way to diffuse this encounter? What was the pattern he had?
“Why do you not take her now?”
“You do not know the ritual.”
Yes - that is what I am trying to say. Why is it taking so long to explain this? But I know why, and it must be painted, en plein air.
“It seems as if a misconception has occurred.”
“Big words - what do you really mean?”
I tried to explain, though it was not exactly neat. “I do not want a girl. It is not my way.” Suddenly, all was easy and serene. It was nothing less than ecstatic the way in which the easy breath gorged from the in my esophagus, and nothing to replace that wretched feeling of a half-stuttered stop that had magically been shorn from the depths which it had been hiding in plain sight -.
And then both of us laughed. What is there left to do? All had been revealed, and all had been explained.
In this, the tortured way of the gentle keynote was a strange pretentiousness silence. This widened touch of grace which one can exactly tell the deep bass note. Over the wide Sargasso sea to the tamer of horses.